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“And the stranger?”

“Oh, he vanished as oddly as he came, and has never been found. A strange story, lad. Keep silent, and let it rest.”

“No fear of my tattling,” and the boy smiled curiously to himself as he bent over the book, polishing the brassbound cover.

“What are you doing with that pretty white wax?” asked Lillian the next day, as she came upon Paul in a quiet corner of the garden and found him absorbed in some mysterious occupation.

With a quick gesture he destroyed his work, and, banishing a momentary expression of annoyance, he answered in his accustomed tone as he began to work anew, “I am molding a little deer for you, Miss Lillian. See, here is a rabbit already done, and I’ll soon have a stag also.”

“It’s very pretty! How many nice things you can do, and how kind you are to think of my liking something new. Was this wax what you went to get this morning when you rode away so early?” asked the child.

“Yes, Miss Lillian. I was ordered to exercise your pony and I made him useful as well. Would you like to try this? It’s very easy.”

Lillian was charmed, and for several days wax modeling was her favorite play. Then she tired of it, and Paul invented a new amusement, smiling his inexplicable smile as he threw away the broken toys of wax.

“You are getting pale and thin, keeping such late hours, Paul. Go to bed, boy, go to bed, and get your sleep early,” said Hester a week afterward, with a motherly air, as Paul passed her one morning.

“And how do you know I don’t go to bed?” he asked, wheeling about.

“My lady has been restless lately, and I sit up with her till she sleeps. As I go to my room, I see your lamp burning, and last night I got as far as your door, meaning to speak to you, but didn’t, thinking you’d take it amiss. But really you are the worse for late hours, child.”

“I shall soon finish restoring the book, and then I’ll sleep. I hope I don’t disturb you. I have to grind my colors, and often make more noise than I mean to.”

Paul fixed his eyes sharply on the woman as he spoke, but she seemed unconscious of it, and turned to go on, saying indifferently, “Oh, that’s the odd sound, is it? No, it doesn’t trouble me, so grind away, and make an end of it as soon as may be.”

An anxious fold in the boy’s forehead smoothed itself away as he left her, saying to himself with a sigh of relief, “A narrow escape; it’s well I keep the door locked.”

The boy’s light burned no more after that, and Hester was content till a new worry came to trouble her. On her way to her room late one night, she saw a tall shadow flit down one of the side corridors that branched from the main one. For a moment she was startled, but, being a woman of courage, she followed noiselessly, till the shadow seemed to vanish in the gloom of the great hall.

“If the house ever owned a ghost I’d say that’s it, but it never did, so I suspect some deviltry. I’ll step to Paul. He’s not asleep, I dare say. He’s a brave and a sensible lad, and with him I’ll quietly search the house.”

Away she went, more nervous than she would own, and tapped at the boy’s door. No one answered, and, seeing that it was ajar, Hester whisked in so hurriedly that her candle went out. With an impatient exclamation at her carelessness she glided to the bed, drew the curtain, and put forth her hand to touch the sleeper. The bed was empty. A disagreeable thrill shot through her, as she assured herself of the fact by groping along the narrow bed. Standing in the shadow of the curtain, she stared about the dusky room, in which objects were visible by the light of a new moon.