"I must say I consider it rather courageous of him to dare the spectre as he does, for he cannot say he disbelieves in her. But come and sing me one of the old songs," he added, in an under tone.
Euphra allowed him to lead her to the piano; but instead of singing a song to him, she played some noisy music, through which he and she contrived to talk for some time, without being overheard; after which he left the room. Euphra then looked round to Hugh, and begged him with her eyes to come to her. He could not resist, burning with jealousy as he was.
"Are you sure you have nerve enough for this, Hugh?" she said, still playing.
"I have had nerve enough to sit still and look at you for the last half hour," answered Hugh, rudely.
She turned pale, and glanced up at him with a troubled look. Then, without responding to his answer, said:
"I daresay the count is not over-anxious to hold you to your bet.""Pray intercede for me with the count, madam," answered Hugh, sarcastically. "He would not wish the young fool to be frightened, Idaresay. But perhaps he wishes to have an interview with the ghost himself, and grudges me the privilege."She turned deadly pale this time, and gave him one terrified glance, but made no other reply to his words. Still she played on.
"You will arm yourself?"
"Against a ghost? Yes, with a stout heart."
"But don't forget the secret door through which we came that night, Hugh. I distrust the count."The last words were spoken in a whisper, emphasized into almost a hiss.
"Tell him I shall be armed. I tell you I shall meet him bare-handed. Betray me if you like."Hugh had taken his revenge, and now came the reaction. He gazed at Euphra; but instead of the injured look, which was the best he could hope to see, an expression of "pity and ruth" grew slowly in her face, ****** it more lovely than ever in his eyes. At last she seemed on the point of bursting into tears; and, suddenly changing the music, she began playing a dead-march. She kept her eyes on the keys. Once more, only, she glanced round, to see whether Hugh was still by her side; and he saw that her face was pale as death, and wet with silent tears. He had never seen her weep before. He would have fallen at her feet, had he been alone with her. To hide his feelings, he left the room, and then the house.
He wandered into the Ghost's Walk; and, finding himself there, walked up and down in it. This was certainly throwing the lady a bold challenge, seeing he was going to spend the night in her room.
The excitement into which jealousy had thrown him, had been suddenly checked by the sight of Euphra's tears. The reaction, too, after his partial intoxication, had already begun to set in; to be accounted for partly by the fact that its source had been chiefly champagne, and partly by the other fact, that he had bound himself in honour, to dare a spectre in her own favourite haunt.
On the other hand, the sight of Euphra's emotion had given him a far better courage than jealousy or wine could afford. Yet, after ten minutes passed in the shadows of the Ghost's Walk, he would not have taken the bet at ten times its amount.
But to lose it now would have been a serious affair for him, the disgrace of failure unconsidered. If he could have lost a hundred guineas, it would have been comparatively a slight matter; but to lose a bet, and be utterly unable to pay it, would be disgraceful--no better than positive cheating. He had not thought of this at the time. Nor, even now, was it more than a passing thought; for he had not the smallest desire to recede. The ambition of proving his courage to Euphra, and, far more, the strength just afforded him by the sight of her tears, were quite sufficient to carry him on to the ordeal. Whether they would carry him through it with dignity, he did not ask himself.
And, after all, would the ghost appear? At the best, she might not come; at the very worst, she would be but a ghost; and he could say with Hamlet--"for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing as immortal as itself?"But then, his jealousy having for the moment intermitted, Hugh was not able to say with Hamlet--"I do not set my life at a pin's fee;" and that had much to do with Hamlet's courage in the affair of the ghost.
He walked up and down the avenue, till, beginning to feel the night chilly, he began to feel the avenue eerie; for cold is very antagonistic to physical courage. But what refuge would he find in the ghost's room?
He returned to the drawing-room. Von Funkelstein and Euphra were there alone, but in no proximity. Mr. Arnold soon entered.
"Shall I have the bed prepared for you, Mr. Sutherland?" said Euphra.
"Which of your maids will you persuade to that office?" said Mr. Arnold, with a facetious expression.
"I must do it myself," answered Euphra, "if Mr. Sutherland persists."Hugh saw, or thought he saw, the Bohemian dart an angry glance at Euphra, who shrank under it. But before he could speak, Mr. Arnold rejoined:
"You can make a bed, then? That is the housemaid's phrase, is it not?""I can do anything another can, uncle."
"Bravo! Can you see the ghost?"
"Yes," she answered, with a low lingering on the sibilant; looking round, at the same time, with an expression that implied a hope that Hugh had heard it; as indeed he had.
"What! Euphra too?" said Mr. Arnold, in a tone of gentle contempt.
