She was thin and colorless, and all her bright
animation was gone.
"Gertrude," I said, "I have been a very selfish old woman. You
are going to leave this miserable house to-night. Annie Morton
is going to Scotland next week, and you shall go right with her."
To my surprise, she flushed painfully.
"I don't want to go, Aunt Ray," she said. "Don't make me leave
now."
"You are losing your health and your good looks," I said
decidedly. "You should have a change."
"I shan't stir a foot." She was equally decided. Then, more
lightly: "Why, you and Liddy need me to arbitrate between you
every day in the week."
Perhaps I was growing suspicious of every one, but it seemed to
me that Gertrude's gaiety was forced and artificial. I watched
her covertly during the rest of the drive, and I did not like the
two spots of crimson in her pale cheeks. But I said nothing more
about sending her to Scotland: I knew she would not go.
CHAPTER XXV
A VISIT FROM LOUISE
That day was destined to be an eventful one, for when I entered
the house and found Eliza ensconced in the upper hall on a chair,
with Mary Anne doing her best to stifle her with household
ammonia, and Liddy rubbing her wrists--whatever good that is
supposed to do--I knew that the ghost had been walking again, and
this time in daylight.
Eliza was in a frenzy of fear. She clutched at my sleeve when I
went close to her, and refused to let go until she had told her
story.
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