what could she do? It must be right to do herbest, to profit to the utmost by the opportunities her aunt's goodnesswas giving her, even if it made her companions--though, to tell thetruth, the word was in Claudia's mind represented by Charlotte Waldronalone--dislike and almost hate her. Yet it was so painful, so new; andto have to face these problems for the first time, when for the firsttime she was alone and with no one to reprove or advise her, did seemhard. For it would have been impossible to express all her difficultiesclearly in a letter, even had she not felt that it would be disloyal toher aunt, and cruel to the anxious hearts at home, to attempt to do so.
"No," she repeated, as Lady Mildred did not at once speak, "I don'tquite know why I don't feel as usual. Perhaps I am working a verylittle too hard. If it were summer I am sure I should be as merry asever--it must be too lovely here in summer, Aunt Mildred."
"But you get plenty of fresh air--it is a good drive into Wortherham andback every day?"
"Oh, yes, and I do _so_ enjoy it. You don't know how nice it is. I amso glad papa managed to teach me to drive quite as a child, though Inever had anything like Kelpie to drive before. She is such a darling,Aunt Mildred."
Claudia's face lightened up with the thought of her pony's perfections.Lady Mildred looked at her: she saw that when the momentary glow fadedthe girl seemed again pale and tired-looking.
"My dear, do you sleep well?" she said suddenly.
"Not _very_ well, perhaps," Claudia admitted.
"You're not nervous--you don't mind being alone?"
"Oh, no," said Claudia; "I have always had a room alone since I wasquite a little girl."
"Yes; but at home, in a smaller house, where you all seem nearertogether, it is different. You are quite sure you are not nervous here?Don't be afraid of saying so if you are. No one has been telling younonsense about this house being haunted, or anything of that kind?"
A light broke over Claudia's face, which had been growing ratherbewildered-looking.
"It is very kind of you to have thought of it, Aunt Mildred," she said."But indeed I am not the least nervous in that way. I have not sleptwell partly perhaps because I have been thinking so much about mylessons. I do so want to show them at home that I am doing well, andthe examinations and all that will be coming on soon."
"Don't overdo it," said Lady Mildred. "Your father and mother--and I,for that matter, if you care about me in that way--will be perfectlysatisfied that you have done your best, without any prizes or things ofthat kind."
"There is only one prize given at Christmas," said Claudia, "and that isa German one that the master gives himself. I do dreadfully want to getit. Mamma is so anxious about my German."
"Well, don't overwork yourself, my dear. It would be very unlucky ifyou were to fall ill here--you that have always been so strong. Itwould reflect badly on me, or on Silverthorns, if you lost your rosycheeks here. And to some of those girls, doubtless, prizes must seemmatters of life or death--many of them probably are training forgovernesses."
"Some perhaps may be," said Claudia; "but I think many of them,particularly some of the least refined, are very rich. And I don'tthink any of them can wish for this prize more than I do. Think what itwould be to send it home! But, Aunt Mildred," she went on in adifferent tone, "as you see I'm not nervous, I wish you would tell memore about the ghost."
"I know very little about, the story, my dear," Lady Mildred replied."Mr Osbert, my husband, disliked its being spoken about, and I did notcare to hear. There was some nonsense about the ghost being heard orseen at the time of the old squire's death, which annoyed him. I fancyit was set about by some cousins who had no right to the place, buttried to claim something, and they wanted to make out that the ghost wason their side."
"How very absurd, and how wrong!" said Claudia. "Yes; I know verylittle about it however. The ghost is supposed to be the spirit of avery ruffianly old Osbert, who cannot rest in peace."
"He haunts the tower, doesn't he?" said Claudia. "Old Peebles, thegardener, told me that, one day when I was asking him if there wereowls' nests up there. He said he `durstn't take upon himself to disturbthem, nor anything else about the tower, and he couldn't say.'"
"Ah, yes, you see that explains it all. No doubt there have been owlsthere for generations, and if no one ever disturbs them they have it alltheir own way. We have never used those rooms much--the rooms in thelower part of the tower, I mean."
"But they are dear old rooms. The one the servants call the chintz roommight be made delightful. I should not be the least afraid to sleepthere," said Claudia.
"Well, if ever the house is more full of guests than it is likely to bein my time," said Lady Mildred, who was particularly amiable to Claudiathat evening, "you shall move there and try how you like it. We haveoften used it as a sort of bachelor's room or odd spare room--it iseasily put in order. And, by the bye, you would have no reason to fearthe ghost, Claudia. He only appears to, or is heard by--I don't knowwhich--members of the Osbert family. They must have Osbert blood inthem."
"How disappointing!" Claudia replied. "I shouldn't care so much forsleeping in the tower if that's the case."
"Well, go and sleep in your own bed now, and let me see you lookingbetter to-morrow. It is getting late," said her aunt.
Claudia kissed her and said good night, and went off. She feltbrightened by the talk with Lady Mildred. It was not often that the oldlady was so genial and sympathising.
"It was really _very_ kind of her to think of my being perhapsfrightened at night," she said to herself. "Very few grown-up peoplethink of such things. If it had been poor Alix now--I don't believeAlix will ever be able to sleep in a room alone."
She was up-stairs by this time on the large first floor landing, whichat one side was separated from the oldest part of the house by a doorand short passage. Claudia looked at the door.
"I wonder now if I should be frightened if I slept in the tower," shethought. "I hardly think so. Yet it must be queer and lonely up inthat empty room. I wonder if it's at all moonlight to-night. I've agreat mind to run up just for a moment. I'll leave this door open, sothat if I _am_ frightened I can rush down at once."
And half laughing at her own temerity, Claudia opened the door, proppingit ajar, for it was a spring one, by the aid of a chair on the widelanding, and running along the passage, began the ascent of the stairs.A few steps led to the chintz room, the door of which, imperfectlylatched, was rattling somewhat uncannily, as if some one were trying toget out. But Claudia did not stop to close it--she hastened on, up thetwo flights, to the tower room itself. The staircase was dark save forsome light from below, whence, too, came the sounds of the servantsmoving about and speaking in the distance, for on the ground floor ofthis wing were some of the offices in regular use. Claudia was notsorry to hear the murmurs--it seemed less "ghosty." But as she openedthe tower room door and entered, it banged to behind her--and then itseemed indeed as if she were far away from everybody, up there with themoonlight and the owls.
For moonlight there was, though of but a faint and fitful kind. Therewas frost about, though as yet no snow had fallen this winter, and theoutside world looked grim and unadorned, as Claudia went to the windowand gazed out. Except where here and there a ray of light fell on theevergreen trees in the avenue, all seemed black and lifeless.
"How dreary," she thought with a little shudder. "I can't help pityingthe ghost if his rambles are restricted to this melancholy room. Iwonder what he did that was so wicked," and her eyes restedunconsciously on the drive, seen here and there in patches of light anddark through the trees, down which poor Bridget Osbert so many, manyyears ago had crept away, sobbing and broken-hearted. Claudia had neverheard the story, Lady Mildred herself did not know it, but as the girlstood and gazed a strange sensation--not of fear, but of pity andsadness--came over her; and suddenly her thoughts reverted to themention made by her aunt of the cousins who had been disappointed intheir expectations, some of whom apparently had
held the lastcommunication on record with the Osbert ghost.
"Poor things," she thought; "I feel sorry for them. Perhaps they hadsome rights, after all. It must be hard to part with an old place likethis, or to give up hopes of having it if one has expected it. There issomething strange in the thought of inhabiting the very spot where one'sancestors have lived for hundreds of years. It must seem so full ofthem--permeated with their feelings and actions. If they had been badpeople, I think it would seem rather dreadful. I wonder why I feel thisso much to-night. Standing here, I could