Hannah could not define to herself the feeling which took possession of her from the moment she saw Bessie standing there in the low, old-fashioned room, with the October sunshine falling on her golden hair and lighting up her beautiful face, still pale and worn from recent sickness.  It was as if an angel had come suddenly to her, bringing the peace and rest she had never known since that awful night more than forty years ago, and she felt all her olden horror rolling away, as she watched Bessie going over the house, with Grey—­; now up the crooked stairs to the room under the roof where Grey used to sleep when a boy, and where there were still the remains of a horse, and a boat which he had sailed in the big iron kettle by the well—­; now down the cellar stairs to see the foundation of the big chimney which occupied the center of the house, and in which the swallows built their nests; now out to the well where the bucket hung, and then to the little bench where Grey used to sit and kick the side of the house, while the terror-stricken old man looked on trembling, lest the boards should give way and show what was hidden there!  It was there yet, dust and ashes now, but still there, and Bessie sat down alone beside it, while Grey shivered as his grandfather had done, and drew her away as quickly as possible.

“Where does this lead to?” she asked, laying her hand upon the door which was always closed.

“That was grandfather’s room.  No one goes in there,” Grey said, hurriedly, as he put his arm around her, and told her she had seen enough, and must rest until after dinner.

He took her to the pleasant south room, where the early dinner was served, with the tiny silver teaspoons, marked with the initials of Hannah’s mother, and the bits of old china, which modern fashion has made so choice and rare now.  And Bessie enjoyed it with the keen relish of a returning appetite.  She had improved rapidly within the last week, and declared herself is well and strong as ever, when, after dinner was over and the dishes cleared away she nestled down among the cushions of the chintz-covered lounge.

“This is such a dear old place,” she said, “that I should like to stay here always.  People say there is a skeleton in every house, but I am sure there can be none here, everything seems so peaceful and quiet.”

“Why did she make that remark, of all others?” Grey thought, as, with a face whiter even than that of his Aunt Hannah, he sat down beside her, and drawing her closely to him, laid her golden head upon his shoulder.

“Bessie,” he said, and his voice shook a little, “I am going to tell you something which perhaps I ought to have told you before I asked you to be my wife, and which I should have told you had I thought the telling would make any difference in your love for me.”

“Nothing could make any difference in that,” Bessie said, lifting up her sweet face to be kissed, and then dropping her head again upon Grey’s arm, just as Hannah came in and took a seat on the other side of her.