The Ghost of Guir House

After breakfast they walked again into the garden, and while Paul

smoked his cigarette, meditatively, Dorothy gathered flowers for the

house. There was an earnestness in everything that she did, quite

unusual in a girl of her age, and at times her manner was grave and

sad, but strangely attractive, nevertheless. When she had completed

her labors in the garden, she came and seated herself beside him.

"Some day, Paul, we'll have a cheerier home than this; won't we?" she

said, looking wistfully up at the quaint old pile before them.

"I don't think we could have a more romantic one," he answered; and

then, hoping to elicit an explanatory answer, added, "but why should

Guir House not seem cheerful to you?"

"I don't know; it has always been gloomy; don't you think so?"

"Not having known it always, Dorothy, I am not in a position to

judge; but it will always be the sweetest place on earth to me,

because I met you here for the first time."

"Yes, I know; but you must not forget your promise."

She seemed nervous and anxious concerning his fulfillment of it.

"And do you suppose that I could ever forget anything you asked me?

No, Dorothy, while you will it, I am your slave; but, as I told you

before, you exert such a strange power over me that you could make me

hate and fear you. I don't know why this should be so, but I feel

it!"

"Hush!" she said, extending her outstretched hand toward his mouth;

"do not talk in that way; you frighten me; for, O Paul! I was just

beginning to hope that in you I had found a friend who would never

shrink away from me. Do not tell me that you will ever become afraid

of me like the others. I could not bear it."

"I shrink! God forbid," he answered, "but tell me why are other

people afraid of you? You mystify me."

"Because I am different--so different from them!"

"I'm quite sure of that," he replied, "else I should never have come

to love you within an hour of meeting you."

She did not smile; she did not even look up at him, but sat gazing at

nothing, with countenance as solemn and imperturbable as that of a

Sphinx.

"How am I ever to understand you, Dorothy, you seem such a riddle?"

said Paul presently.

"You will never understand me," she answered with a sigh, "No one

ever has understood me, and you will be just like the rest!"