DUST
ing up the basement steps; and surmising that the janitor was coming to light the hall, the young man waited, leaning over the balusters. His guess proving correct, he called down:
"O'Hagan? Is that you?"
"Th' saints presarve us! But 'twas yersilf gave me th' sthart, Misther Maitland, sor!" O'Hagan paused in the gloom below, his upturned face quaintly illuminated by the flame of a wax taper in his gaslighter.
"I'm dining in town to-night, O'Hagan, and dropped around to dress. Is anybody else at home?"
"Nivver a wan, sor. Shure, th' house do be quiet's anny tomb"
"Then who was that lady, O'Hagan?"
"Leddy, sor?"—in unbounded amazement.
"Yes," impatiently. "A young woman left the house just as I was coming in. Who was she?"
"Shure an' I think ye must be dr'amin', sor. Divvle a female—rayspicts to ye!—has been in this house for manny an' manny th' wake, sor."
"But, I tell you"
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