"Really?"
"Yes. When Aunt Julie Ann used to tell them to me at night in the nursery they were vivid and terrible realities."
"And you've laughed away all the romances of childhood now?"
"No," he answered firmly. "I halfway believe in ghosts still, and the old dreams of beauty and love, of honour and truth, seem to me more and more the only things in human life that have any value."
They had returned to the hall. Stella placed the candle on the table and sat down on the davenport. John followed her instinctively and seated himself by her side.
Suddenly she placed her soft hand on his, exclaiming:
"Oh! There's one thing we've forgotten!" She felt him tremble at her touch.
"What?"
"The legend of the secret way—tell me about it—how it originated and all—of course, I know it is only a legend. Such things are only found in stories."
John looked at her, with a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
"You have ceased to believe in romance, ghosts and fairies?"
