"'That must be reformed at once!' said the Fairfax bride, drawing
herself up with much dignity, and also perhaps with some jealous
suspicion.
"'It shall, by my soul! I will give orders to that effect,' quavered
Philip Dubarry.
"'Nay, do not take that trouble. It is my prerogative to order my
household, and I shall do it,' proudly answered the lady.
"And here the matter might have ended, but for that interest Philip
Dubarry felt in the subject. He remembered the most awful threat of his
betrayed gipsy wife: 'In the flesh or in the spirit, to dwell in the
house as long as its walls should stand! In the flesh or in the spirit,
to blast and destroy the bride he should bring there to take her place.'
Up to this time he had never had any reason to suppose that the gipsy
girl had kept her word. He had never seen nor heard of anything unusual
about the house. But now when his wife spoke of this silent inmate in
the red cloak, he recognized the portrait all but too well, and his
guilty soul quaked with fear. And yet he was not superstitious. He was a
son of the eighteenth century, which was much more incredulous of the
supernatural than the nineteenth, with all its mysterious spiritual
manifestations, can be. He was a scientific and practical man. Yet he
shuddered with awe as he listened to the description given by his
unconscious wife of this strange visitant. And he could not forbear to
question her.
"'Did you speak to the girl when you found her in your room at
midnight?' he inquired.
"'Yes, certainly; I asked her how she came to be there so late. But
instead of answering my question, she glided silently away.' "'Have you spoken to any of the servants of this girl's intrusion into
parts of the house where she has no business to come?' "'No, not until this morning; for I never really felt interest enough in
the little creature that I only casually met in the passages of the
house, until I found her in my bedroom at midnight. So this morning I
described her to the housekeeper, and asked who she was, and who gave
her liberty to intrude into my bedroom so late. And what do you think
old Monica answered?' "'I'm sure I don't know.' "'She crossed herself, and cried out, 'Lord have mercy on all our souls!
You have seen her!' I inquired, 'Seen who?' But she answered, 'Nothing.
Nobody. I don't know what I'm talking about. My head's wool-gathering,
I believe.' Nor could any further questioning of mine draw from her any
more satisfactory answer. And so I came to you for an explanation. And
you tell me that she is Milly Jones, the child of poor parents, living
on the mountain, and that she comes here for broken victuals and old
clothes. Very well. In future I shall pension the poor family on the
mountain, for I would not have any fellow-creature in my reach to suffer
want; but I shall do it on condition that Miss Milly Jones stays home,
and helps her mother with the family cooking and washing, instead of
losing her time by day and her sleep by night in wandering through all
the rooms of a gentleman's house, and taking possession of a lady's
bed-chamber.' "You see this bride never imagined a ghost, but strongly suspected a
sweetheart, and so she was a little surprised when her husband answered: "'Do so, my dear; and may Heaven grant that you may get rid of this
unpleasant visitor at once and forever.' "And as he said this, Philip Dubarry arose and went into his library and
rung the bell, and to the servant who answered it, he said: "'Send Monica the housekeeper here.' "In a few minutes Monica entered the room.