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Updated: May 7, 2025
Barminster's face was white and his voice shook as he ventured the horrid speculation: "The good Lord save us it's that demmed haunted house Pen was talking about!" "But ze lights?" queried the count. "Ghosts!" "Let's get out of this place," said Lord Bazelhurst, moving toward the door. "It's that beastly Renwood house. They say he comes back and murders her every night or so." "Mon Dieu!"
Don't be afraid. I'm with you, dearest." "I know," she gulped. "But you have only one arm. Oh, I can't!" "It's all nonsense about ghosts. I've slept here twenty times, Penelope. People have seen my light and my shadow, that's all. I'm a pretty substantial ghost." "Oh, dear! What a disappointment. And there are no spooks? Not even Mrs. Renwood?"
And she was responding she knew that eager words were falling from her lips, but she never knew what they were responding with a fervor that was overwhelming her with joy. Lips met again and again and there was no thought of the night, of the feud, the escapade, the Renwood ghost or of aught save the two warm living human bodies that had found each other.
The old Renwood cottage on the hill. Been deserted for years. Renwood brought his wife up here in the mountains long ago and murdered her. She comes back occasionally, they say; mysterious noises and lights and all that. Well?" "Well, I'm very much interested in spooks. In spite of the feud I rode over here for a peep at the house. Dear me, it's a desolate looking place.
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