"There is a letter for you, Miss Edith," said Nurse as the girls came in from school, the next Saturday. "It is for Miss Frances, too."

"For us both?" exclaimed Frances. "Where from?"

"Pierre brought it from the Manor," replied Nurse.

"I can't get over there being no telephones in the houses here," remarked Frances, snatching off her hat. "Imagine having to send a man with a note instead of just taking down a receiver and talking. Not to have telephones is so very English."

"The English don't hold much with new inventions, Miss," Nurse agreed.
"What was good enough for those before us does us very well."

"I know it!" sighed Fran, "but think of the convenience of a telephone."

Edith was holding a dainty square note bearing the inscription:

"Miss Edith Pearce,
Miss Thayne,
Rose Villa.
À la main de Pierre."

"From Miss Connie, of course," said Edith delightedly. Each took a corner of the enclosed card and with several little squeals of amused pleasure, Frances read it aloud.

"Miss Lisle presents her compliments to Miss Pearce and Miss Thayne and requests them to grant her the favor of attending a meeting of the Society for the Suppression of Ghosts to be held in the haunted room of Laurel Manor this evening at ten.

Notes:

Dinner 7:30.
Beds provided at 9:45 (Ghost not guaranteed to appear).
Very best nighties because of looking pretty for spooks.
Breakfast any old hour."

Screaming with delight, Edith ran to find Estelle, Frances for her mother.

"But I don't know that I want you to sleep in a room that has the reputation of being haunted, Edith," protested Estelle. "Will Mrs. Thayne permit Frances to go?"

"Oh, Sister, there's some joke about it," pleaded Edith. "There must be, because Miss Connie always laughs whenever the ghost is mentioned. And would her father let her sleep in that room if it was anything to frighten people? Oh, Star, it will be such fun!"

Up-stairs, Frances was besieging her amused mother. Two minutes later, the girls met in the hall, dancing with glee, for each might go were the other permitted.

"Dinner at the Manor, too!" sighed Frances. "What bliss!"

Neither Estelle nor Mrs. Thayne had much peace from then until it was time to start. Finally the hour arrived and the family assembled in the hall to see them off, Win interested and Roger openly envious. "I'd like a chance at that ghost just once," he vowed. "I'd settle him."

"Perhaps later, Miss Connie will invite you boys," said Edith. "Why, here's Pierre. Oh, he's come for our bags."

To have a servant sent for their light luggage again struck Frances as most charmingly English, and two very happy girls waved farewell to Rose Villa as they turned out of the terrace.

In the great hall of the Manor, Constance greeted them, ceremoniously enough, but with mysterious smiles and twinkles. In person she conducted them to a pretty guest-room near her own apartments.

"We won't invade the ghost's domain until time for bed," she announced gayly. "You'll find a bath adjoining and would you like Paget to do your hair or fasten your dinner frocks?"

"We will help each other," said Edith, as full of twinkles as Connie herself.

"Then I will dress and come for you in about half an hour."

"Isn't Miss Connie the dearest thing!" said Edith enthusiastically as the door closed. "I never saw anybody just like her before."

"Mother thinks her charming," replied Frances, brushing her curly hair. "Edith, do you suppose we shall ever know the truth about that story of the Italian prince?"

"It doesn't seem as though it were true," observed Edith. "Or at least, as though she cared very much if she had to break her engagement, for she is always so gay and happy."

The face that was looking just then from the mirror in Connie's room did not precisely correspond to these adjectives, but the young mistress of the Manor was the daughter of a brave soldier and the descendant of a long line of gallant gentlemen. Those slow weeks since Christmas that Constance crowded with gayety were bringing gradual healing. The heart under the fluffy frock she slipped on to-night was not so heavy as the one under the white gown worn that day when she stood by Win in the Manor library and watched the boat for St. Malo leave the harbor.

Frances and Edith were ready when she came for them, also prettily dressed in white.

"Nice little English flappers," Constance remarked approvingly. "Why, what is the matter with Frances?"

"I don't know what a flapper is," confessed Frances, sure however, that it could be nothing very dreadful.

Constance laughed and patted the brown cheek. "Merely a jolly little English school girl with her hair down her back. Yours is tidily braided but Edith looks the typical flapper."

She took a hand of each and three abreast they went down to the hall where Colonel Lisle was standing in a soldierly attitude before the fire. He greeted them with charming courtesy, offered Fran his arm and conducted her to the dining-room.

Both girls were supremely happy, Edith quietly so, Frances fairly radiating enjoyment in the stately room with its fine old portraits and windows open to admit the sweet odors of myrtle and daffodils.

"Don't think the Island winters are all as mild as this," the Colonel was saying as Yvonne removed the soup plates. "I have seen both snow and hail in Jersey and sometimes we have extremely cold weather. But you were asking, Frances, why French is the official language here. The Channel Islands came to the English crown with William the Conqueror, and have always remained one of the crown properties. So while the islanders are English they have French blood in their veins and each island has retained its peculiar historic customs, the official use of French being one. When Normandy was regained by France, the islands remained with England and though Jersey was frequently attacked and sometimes invaded by the French they never held more than a portion of it temporarily. Indeed, so much was a Norman or French invasion feared, that the islanders inserted in the Litany an additional petition: 'From the fury of the Normans, good Lord, deliver us!'"

"We have seen the tablet in the Royal Square, marking the spot where
Major Pierson fell in the battle of Jersey," said Edith, who shared
Win's liking for history.

"Ah, in 1781. That was the last French invasion. Speaking of the Royal Square," the Colonel went on, "there is a curious custom connected with the Royal Court there, that might interest you. Any person with a grievance relating to property has a right to come into a session of the court and call aloud upon Rollo the Dane. The Cohue Royale,—the Court,—must listen and must heed. That is a very ancient relic of Norman rule in the Island. Oh, no, it is seldom resorted to. One does not lightly call Prince Rollo to one's aid. That is the final appeal when all other justice fails."

Yvonne, who was waiting upon the table, reappeared from a brief absence with a beaming face.

"It is Monsieur Max who arrives," she said confidentially to Constance.

"Max!" exclaimed Connie. "Why, how nice! Sha'n't he come directly, Dad?
Tell him not to dress, Yvonne."

"By all means, tell him to come as he is," said the Colonel, his face lighting with pleasure at this news.

"Pardon, m'sieur," said Yvonne. "Monsieur Max already hastens to his room and says the dinner shall not delay, that he shall be fast,—ver' queeck."

"Max can be fast," said Constance smiling. "Well, we will dawdle over our fish. I never thought of his coming," she went on, watching Yvonne as she deftly laid another place beside Frances. "This must be one of the week-ends he promised. I wonder why he didn't warn us?"

"I suppose there was no time to do so," said the Colonel. "Max knows he is welcome at any hour."

Max was "queeck." The fish was only just finished when he came quietly into the room, dressed for dinner and looking not in the least as though he had recently stepped from a steamer. Edith and Frances watched eagerly. If they were still in deep ignorance concerning Miss Connie's Italian prince, this was surely their chance to discover how matters stood between their adored little lady and Mr. Max.

Disappointment awaited them, for nothing could have been more commonplace than the greeting exchanged. Even the fancy of fourteen years could not construe Constance's "Hello, old boy!" and Max's nonchalantly offered hand into the slightest foundation for a romance. So far as outward appearances went Max was much more affectionate towards the Colonel, who did not disguise his marked pleasure at seeing him.

With gay words for both girls, the newcomer slid into his seat. "I'm as hungry as a hunter, Connie," he announced. "Soup, Yvonne? Anything and everything that's going. Oh, it was rather a rough crossing, but it merely gave me an appetite. Where are the boys? Couldn't they come to this exclusive dinner? Or am I butting in myself?"

"You are," replied Constance mischievously, "but for Dad's sake, we will forgive you. The boys are not here for the simple reason that they were not invited. Having fortified ourselves with strong meat, the girls and I are going to brave the Manor ghost to-night."

Darkness had fallen and with it a sense of the eerie over Fran. She was distinctly relieved to hear Max laugh at this announcement.

"Do you really want to see the ghost?" he asked, turning to her.

"Crazy to," was Fran's prompt reply. "I wouldn't dare stay alone in that room, but with Miss Connie and Edith, I sha'n't be afraid. Indeed, I want dreadfully to see the ghost."

"You know yourself, Max, that it doesn't materialize every time it is invoked," began Constance.

"I know it," said Max. "I only wanted to ascertain how keen the spook-hunters are. I slept in that room once for two weeks when the house was full and became much attached to his ghost-ship."

"So I told the girls," replied Constance with equal gravity.

Edith and Frances were looking at each other in puzzled bewilderment but Max suddenly changed the subject. His eye had fallen upon Grayfur, the big cat that had purred himself into the room in the shelter of Yvonne's skirts.

"Hello, old chap!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Do you like cats,
Frances?"

"No," confessed Frances. "I love dogs. Edith is the one who likes pussies. She is always bringing stray kittens home."

For some reason this statement seemed to amuse Max. To the surprise of the girls, he and Constance exchanged a smile.

Ten o'clock struck before Edith and Frances found themselves, after a happy evening, again in the pretty guest-room.

"Miss Connie, I am afraid you weren't ready to come up," said thoughtful Edith. "Didn't you want to stop longer with your father and Mr. Max?"

"Max doesn't leave until Tuesday morning," Constance replied. "Dad will love to have him all to himself for a good talk and smoke, and if Max has anything especial to say to me, there will be plenty of opportunities. I'm quite glad to come up."

When she came for them, the girls were ready and the little procession started, three kimonoed figures each bearing a lighted candle along the echoing halls to the haunted room above the library. Electricity had not trailed its illuminating coils above the first floor of the house so the big apartment looked spooky and shadowy enough, the candles placed on the mantel, quite lost in immense distances. Three white cots stood side by side in its centre.

"First, we will fasten the door securely," said Constance, suiting the action to the word. "Then we will take this electric torch and look about a bit."

Careful inspection showed the room undoubtedly tenantless, the handsome old-fashioned furniture offering no hiding-place for any intruder. Like the library below, its walls were of paneled oak, with three large portraits set into the wood-work. One, a Lisle of Queen Elizabeth's time, looked down benignly, attired in doublet and ruff.

"Miss Connie, how shall we know what to look for or expect?" asked Frances when the three were settled in their beds, lights out and the room illuminated only by the moon.

"It wouldn't be wise to tell you," said Constance mysteriously. "All I'll say is that it is nothing at all disturbing or frightful. The few people who have seen or heard anything never knew at the time that it was a ghost."

"But you will tell us in the morning?" asked Edith.

"Yes," replied their hostess. "I will tell you then, whether you see anything or not, and very likely you will not. But if you want to have the creeps and would truly enjoy them, I'll tell you something that really happened to me once in Italy."

"Oh, do, do!" begged both girls in unison. "That would be simply perfect," added Edith, sitting up in bed, her fair hair floating about her shoulders and turning her more than ever into the likeness of an angel.

"Some years ago, when I was about your age," began Constance slowly, "Dad and Mother and I were traveling in southern Italy, and Max was with us. He was with us a great deal, you know. We stopped one night at an old hotel that had once been a monastery, though it was different from the usual monasteries because it was a place where sick monks came to be cured and to rest.

"The location was wonderful, on a cliff overlooking the sea and though the place had been altered for the purposes of a hotel, it was still a good bit churchly. The partitions between the cells had been knocked out and additions built, but the hotel dining-room was the old refectory with stone walls and floor, and the wonderful garden was much as the monks left it. Such roses you never saw and such climbing vines and flowering trees. Oh, there's no place like Italy!"

Constance stopped. The moonlight falling across her bed touched her face into almost unearthly beauty.

"We had connecting rooms that night," she went on. "Dad and Mother took the corner one with two beds. Next was a tiny room where I was to sleep and Max's was beyond mine. All were originally cells opening on a terrace, covered with roses and passion-flowers and looking down to the sea, which was shining with little silver ripples.

"We'd had an especially happy day and I was so keyed up with enjoyment that I couldn't go to sleep right away, but lay looking out at the flowers and the waves. Mother went through to see that Max was all right and then came back to kiss me. She closed the door into his room, but left open the one from mine into hers.

"I remember hearing Mother and Dad laugh a little about something and I suppose I went to sleep, because I woke very suddenly with a start, all awake in a minute."

Connie paused, this being the proper moment for a thrill. "What do you think I saw?" she asked impressively.

"Oh, I can't imagine!" gasped Frances, shivering in delighted anticipation. "Do go on!"

"Have you chills down your spine!" laughed Constance. "In the moonlight right beside my bed, I saw a monk, dressed in white, the usual robe of the Dominicans. He had a wise, kind face, with a pleasant expression, and as I looked at him, he took my wrist very gently, and put his finger on my pulse."

"Oh-h!" said Edith, pulling the covers about her more tightly. "Oh,
Miss Connie, what did you do?"

"That frightened me," said Connie. "Up to that time, I noticed only his pleasant, gentle look, but it seemed as though a bit of ice touched me and I gave a scream that brought Mother and Dad up standing. Of course, when they came hurrying in, nobody was visible. I made a big fuss, presumably because I wanted to be petted and coddled.

"I told them about the monk and Dad at once thought that Max had been playing a joke on me. He stepped into Max's room, intending to be severe, but Max was sound asleep and besides, the door into his room squeaked so that he couldn't possibly have opened it without waking us all.

"Then they said I had the nightmare. Perhaps I did," said Constance with a smile, "but I can see yet the kindly face of that old monk. I didn't want to stay in my room, so Dad told me to go in with Mother and he'd take my bed. We all settled ourselves again.

"I was asleep or nearly so, feeling so comfy and safe in my bed close to Mother's when suddenly she sat up straight and said 'Richard!' in such an odd, startled tone. I woke and heard poor Dad piling out of bed again to come into our room. Mother sat there looking very troubled and holding one wrist in the other hand. She didn't say anything more,—neither of them did,—but I knew perfectly well that the old monk had been feeling her pulse."

"And what happened in the morning?" demanded Frances breathlessly.

"Nothing at all," said Constance cheerfully. "In the morning everything was beautiful and lovely as in no other country but Italy. Mother and I merely agreed that we had an odd dream. We did not stay a second night, for we were on our way back to Rome."

"Did you ever hear anything more about the monk?" asked Edith.

"Years after," said Connie dreamily, "we met some Americans in Switzerland who told us of a similar experience in this hotel. Later, I learned that Dad found out at the time that the place was reputed to be haunted by an old monk physician who turns up at intervals and feels people's pulses, and is often seen pottering about the garden in broad daylight. Monks are such a common sight in Italy that the hotel guests stop and converse with him, thinking him a gardener and never suspecting that he is a ghost."

"But the Manor ghost isn't like that?" asked Edith, who wanted reassurance.

"Not a bit," said Constance. "As for that, there was nothing so very frightful or repellent about the monk. Don't you think we should go to sleep now and give his spookship his innings?"

The girls agreed and silence fell over the big room with its three white beds. Outside the open casements a vine waved within Fran's line of vision, tapping gently against a window pane.

Presently a slight sound caught Fran's wakeful ear, as of steps on a somewhat unfamiliar stair where it was necessary to grope one's way. Touching Edith's shoulder, she sat up in bed. They had entered the haunted room by a door now locked, opening on a big stone staircase; these steps seemed upon muffled wood.

Next moment there came a sudden convulsive sneeze that sounded in her very ear. Frances gasped but Constance sat up laughing.

"No fair!" she exclaimed.

For a second there was absolute silence, then somebody laughed, extremely close at hand, though yet behind a partition. The laugh was followed by the soft sound of retreating footsteps.

"What happened, Miss Connie?" begged Edith.

"No ghost," said their hostess merrily. "I had forgotten. That was clever of Max."

Silence again followed for a period, succeeded by the sound of music in the garden below the windows, soft and very sweet.

"Oh, is that the ghost?" demanded Frances in great excitement.

"Your mother will bless me for letting you stop awake all night," said Constance. She sat up, wrapped a white robe about her and stuck her feet into slippers. Upon the music came the sudden unearthly miaow of a cat.

The noise sounded directly in the room and all three girls jumped.
Constance laughed again.

"I might have known Max did not come into that passage for nothing," she sighed. "Where's that electric torch?"

Having turned on the flash-light, Connie approached the large oil painting set into one side of the gloomy room, its base about a foot above the floor. She touched a knob on its frame and the portrait became a door opening outward and revealing a narrow, dusty winding stair descending to the floor below. On its top step sat the big cat, just opening its mouth for another howl.

"Come in, Grayfur," said Constance. "Max brought you, didn't he? If he hadn't sneezed and given himself away, he'd have opened the door a crack and let you in."

"Is it a secret stair?" asked Frances, her eyes big with excitement.
"Where does it go? Wouldn't Roger be crazy over it?"

"We will let him go up it," answered Connie, swinging the portrait into place again. "The passage comes out below in the library. Max thought he would provide one ghost anyway."

Putting the cat into the hall, she locked the door again and then stuck her pretty head from the window.

"Max," she said severely, addressing the unseen musician, "you are spoiling your fiddle and breaking your promise. You said you wouldn't be silly. Go to bed now like a good boy."

The fiddle responded with two ear-splitting squawks.

"Stop it!" commanded Constance. "There goes a string and it serves you quite right. You'll have the bobbies coming to investigate if you don't leave off."

The unappreciated serenader appeared squelched by this threat, for complete silence followed.

"Nothing more is at all likely to happen tonight," said Constance, coming back to bed. "And I hope Max will go properly to his room. Now go to sleep, girlies, and in the morning, I'll tell you how the Manor ghost disports itself."