d go and talk to the like of Betsy Barnes about what is on her mind!
I think sometimes I shall break my, heart, or else throw up my place,
Miss Mary," Prentiss said, with tears.

"Oh, don't do that; oh, don't leave me, Prentiss!" Mary said, with an
involuntary cry of dismay.

"Not if you mind, not if you mind, dear," the housekeeper cried. And then
she drew close to the young lady with an anxious look. "You haven't seen
anything?" she said. "That would be only natural, Miss Mary. I could well
understand she couldn't rest in her grave,--if she came and told it all
to you."

"Prentiss, be silent," cried Mary; "that ends everything between you and
me, if you say such a word. There has been too much said already,--oh,
far too much! as if I only loved her for what she was to leave me."

"I did not mean that, dear," said Prentiss; "but--"

"There is no but; and everything she did was right," the girl cried with
vehemence. She shed hot and bitter tears over this wrong which all her
friends did to Lady Mary's memory. "I am glad it was so," she said to
herself when she was alone, with youthful extravagance. "I am glad it was
so; for now no one can think that I loved her for anything but herself."

The household, however, was agitated by all these rumors and inventions.
Alice, Connie's elder sister, declined to sleep any longer in that which
began to be called the haunted room. She, too, began to think she saw
something, she could not tell what, gliding out of the room as it began
to get dark, and to hear sighs and moans in the corridors. The servants,
who all wanted to leave, and the villagers, who avoided the grounds after
nightfall, spread the rumor far and near that the house was haunted.

XI.

In the meantime, Connie herself was silent, and saw no more of the lady.
Her attachment to Mary grew into one of those visionary passions which
little girls so often form for young women. She followed her so-called
governess wherever she went, hanging upon her arm when she could, holding
her dress when no other hold was possible,--following her everywhere,
like her shadow. The vicarage, jealous and annoyed at first, and all the
neighbors indignant too, to see Mary transformed into a dependent of the
city family, held out as long as possible against the good-nature of Mrs.
Turner, and were revolted by the spectacle of this child claiming poor
Mary's attention wherever she moved. But by-and-by all these strong
sentiments