at's not correct, then?"

"There are various interpretations of the legend. No one knows the
truth--only that she killed herself and cursed the family in that
unpleasant manner."

"And has the curse come true?"

For a moment Miss Duggan hesitated. Then she sent startled eyes up into
his face. There was the look of a dog at bay in them.

"I don't believe the story, Mr. Deland! I don't believe a _word_ of it,
for such things cannot possibly be, in this civilized country," she
answered in a scared tone. "And yet--ever since that day, one at least
of each generation has died unnaturally. And now--in _this_ generation
there is only Father and Ross.... This peasant-girl is supposed to haunt
our dear Castle, and after midnight to stalk the place over, looking for
the man who dishonoured her and who has been dead these many generations
past."

"H'm! I see. And so, naturally, she cannot find him. A weird story, and
more pleasant in the daylight than in the dark. And this is the lady's
spinning wheel, I take it? Your father has it by his writing-table, I
see. Rather in the way, isn't it?"

"It used to stand over there, in the corner, but Paula declared that it
was too dark there, and that it did not show to its full beauty. So she
moved it. Father lets her do whatever she wishes. And of course it does
show better there, by the window, doesn't it? And as it's Father's
_left_ hand that comes beside it, Mr. Deland, I don't really see that it
much matters."

"No, I suppose not.... Hello! we've been a long time here, haven't we?
And I haven't seen the half of the place yet. Isn't that the luncheon
gong? Or is it just your tangy Highland air that makes me hungry enough
to imagine it?"

"Neither," said she, laughing. "That's Rhea's bell. It hangs just under
the bronze statue of Rhea--you remember the one I showed you yesterday
as we came home together?--and it rings upon the entrance of any one
through the great gate. A clumsy contraption, which has never been
altered in all these years."

"But quite useful--with unwanted visitors," he replied, stooping
suddenly and picking up something off the carpet. "Hello, what's this?
Looks like a bit of flexible electric wire. Something of your brother's
hobby, no doubt."

He held it out to her in the open palm of his hand. It was just a little
scrap of crimson-covered flexible wire, and she barely noticed it.

"And ... hello, hello! No electricity used in here, either. I suppose
th