“Miss Wenna,” he said—­and she started suddenly—­“are you bold enough to climb with me up to the castle?  I know my mother would rather stay here.”

She went with him mechanically.  She followed him up the rude steps cut in the steep slopes of slate, holding his hand where that was possible, but her head was so full of dreams that she answered him when he spoke only with a vague yes or no.  When they descended again they found that Mabyn had taken Mrs. Trelyon down to the beach, and had inveigled her into entering a huge cavern, or rather a natural tunnel, that went right through underneath the promontory on which the castle is built.  They were in a sort of green-hued twilight, a scent of seaweed filling the damp air, and their voices raising an echo in the great hall of rock.

“I hope the climbing has not made you giddy,” Mrs. Trelyon said in her kind way to Wenna, noticing that she was very silent and distrait.

“Oh no,” Mabyn said promptly.  “She has been seeing ghosts.  We always know when Wenna has been seeing ghosts:  she remains so for hours.”

And, indeed, at this time she was rather more reserved than usual all during their walk back to luncheon and while they were in the inn; and yet she was obviously very happy, and sometimes even amused by the childlike pleasure which Mrs. Trelyon seemed to obtain from these unwonted experiences.

“Come, now, mother,” Master Harry said, “what are you going to do for me when I come of age next month?  Fill the house with guests—­yes, you promised that—­with not more than one parson to the dozen?  And when they’re all feasting and gabbling, and missing the targets with their arrows, you’ll slip quietly away, and I’ll drive you and Miss Wenna over here, and you’ll go and get your feet wet again in that cavern, and you’ll come up here again and have an elegant luncheon, just like this.  Won’t that do?”

“I don’t quite know about the elegance of the luncheon, but I’m sure our little excursion has been very pleasant.  Don’t you think so, Miss Rosewarne?” Mrs. Trelyon said.

“Indeed I do,” said Wenna, with her big, earnest eyes coming back from their trance.

“And here is another thing,” remarked young Trelyon.  “There’s a picture I’ve seen of the heir coming of age—­he’s a horrid, self-sufficient young cad, but never mind—­and it seems to be a day of general jollification.  Can’t I give a present to somebody?  Well, I’m going to give it to a young lady who never cares for anything but what she can give away again to somebody else; and it is—­well, it is—­Why don’t you guess, Mabyn?”

“I don’t know what you mean to give Wenna,” said Mabyn naturally.