he had paid her first visit to Braeside. There the walls were
covered with pictures of all sorts and sizes, the table was littered
with silver toilet articles, photographs and trinkets, and the bookshelf
was filled with books. Most of these things were presents from her
father and mother, or from relations or acquaintances, and spoke for
themselves of the difference in the lives of the two girls--the one
solitary and simple in a remote country place, the other in the midst of
friends and relations in the rush and hurry of a great city.

"How sweet your room is!" said Blanche as they went in.

"It isn't like yours, though," replied Marjory doubtfully. "You have
such a lot of pretty things."

"Oh, but I love this!" cried Blanche enthusiastically, sniffing the
lavender-scented air and walking to the window; "and what a lovely view!
I could sit and look out all day."

They decided to wait till the next night to watch for the ghost, for
they thought it would be better to pay a visit to the old wing in the
daylight first, and to explore it thoroughly, so that they should both
be well acquainted with the staircases and the various rooms. They spent
some time in discussing their plans, and Blanche's cheeks flushed and
her eyes grew bright as they talked them over.

"Isn't it exciting?" she cried. "I do hope the light will come, so that
we shall be able to see it. I hope I shan't feel frightened when the
time comes, but I don't think I shall with you, Marj. You don't seem to
be afraid of anything."

"Except Uncle George," amended Marjory.

"Yes; and I can't think why. Fancy being less afraid of a thing that
might be a ghost than you are of a real flesh-and-blood uncle, who is
really quite a dear old man!"

"It does seem silly," admitted Marjory, "but it's no good pretending it
isn't true, because it is."

They went to the old wing next morning. It consisted of a large square
hall, from which led a wide staircase to a gallery above, and two or
three other rooms on the ground floor. From the gallery led several
narrow corridors, with many turns and corners, steps up and steps down,
which were traps for the unwary visitor. It was seldom that any one came
to the old wing; its tenants were rats and spiders. Birds built their
nests in the crumbling walls, and it smelt damp and musty, as if it had
seen no sunlight for many a day.

The girls' footsteps and voices echoed through the empty rooms and
passages. The old place had