And
Brian, too, as he worked in the garden, caught himself often in the act
of pausing to look about with nervous apprehension.
During the noonday meal they made a determined effort to laugh at
themselves, and by the time dinner was over had almost succeeded. But
when Brian, as he pushed back his chair, said, jestingly, "Well, am I
to work in the garden again this afternoon?" Betty Jo answered,
emphatically, "Indeed you are! I will not stay another minute in this
house alone. Goodness knows what I will do to-night!"
There was no jest in the man's voice as he answered: "I'll tell you what
you will do to-night,--you will go to bed and you will go to sleep. You
will leave the door to your room wide-open, and I shall lie right there
on that couch, so near that a whisper from you will reach me. We will
have no more of this midnight prowling, I promise you. If any ghost
dares appear, we--"
The reassuring words died on Brian Kent's lips. His eyes, looking over
Betty Jo's shoulders, were fixed and staring, and the look on his face
sent a chill of horror to the girl's heart. She dared not move nor look
around as he sat like a man turned to stone.
A woman's laugh broke the dead silence.
With a scream, Betty Jo sprung to her feet and whirled about.
As one in a trance, Brian Kent arose and stood beside her.
The woman, who stood in the open doorway, laughed again.
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