“You know how to do it, don’t you?” she once said.

“I was obliged to sew for myself when I was so poor, and this is delightful,” was Emily’s answer.

“But you could buy it all and save yourself the trouble.”

Emily stroked her bit of cambric and looked awkward.

“I’d rather not,” she said.

Well as she was, she began to think she did not sleep quite so soundly as had been habitual with her.  She started up in bed now and again as if she had been disturbed by some noise, but when she waited and listened she heard nothing.  At least this happened on two or three occasions.  And then one night, having been lying folded in profound, sweet sleep, she sprang up in the black darkness, wakened by an actual, physical reality of sensation, the soft laying of a hand upon her naked side,—­that, and nothing else.

“What is that?  Who is there?” she cried.  “Someone is in the room!”

Yes, someone was there.  A few feet from her bed she heard a sobbing sigh, then a rustle, then followed silence.  She struck a match and, getting up, lighted candles.  Her hand shook, but she remembered that she must be firm with herself.

“I must not be nervous,” she said, and looked the room over from end to end.

But it contained no living creature, nor any sign that living creature had entered it since she had lain down to rest.  Gradually the fast beating of her heart had slackened, and she passed her hand over her face in bewilderment.

“It wasn’t like a dream at all,” she murmured; “it really wasn’t.  I felt it.”

Still as absolutely nothing was to be found, the sense of reality diminished somewhat, and being so healthy a creature, she regained her composure, and on going back to bed slept well until Jane brought her early tea.

Under the influence of fresh morning air and sunlight, of ordinary breakfast and breakfast talk with the Osborns, her first convictions receded so far that she laughed a little as she related the incident.

“I never had such a real dream in my life,” she said; “but it must have been a dream.”

“One’s dreams are very real sometimes,” said Hester.

“Perhaps it was the Palstrey ghost,” Osborn laughed.  “It came to you because you ignore it.”  He broke off with a slight sudden start and stared at her a second questioningly.  “Did you say it put its hand on your side?” he asked.

“Don’t tell her silly things that will frighten her.  How ridiculous of you,” exclaimed Hester sharply.  “It’s not proper.”

Emily looked at both of them wonderingly.

“What do you mean?” she said.  “I don’t believe in ghosts.  It won’t frighten me, Hester.  I never even heard of a Palstrey ghost.”

“Then I am not going to tell you of one,” said Captain Osborn a little brusquely, and he left his chair and went to the sideboard to cut cold beef.

He kept his back towards them, and his shoulders looked uncommunicative and slightly obstinate.  Hester’s face was sullen.  Emily thought it sweet of her to care so much, and turned upon her with grateful eyes.