the child whom she least liked. Sensible and resolute woman

as she was, Mrs. Norbury shuddered with terror as she sat at
the window of her room, watching the sunrise, and thinking of

her dreams.
She made the first excuse that occurred to her, when her maid

came in at the usual hour, and noticed how ill she looked.
The woman was of so superstitious a temperament that it would have

been in the last degree indiscreet to trust her with the truth.
Mrs. Norbury merely remarked that she had not found the bed

quite to her liking, on account of the large size of it.
She was accustomed at home, as her maid knew, to sleep in a small bed.

Informed of this objection later in the day, the manager regretted
that he could only offer to the lady the choice of one other bedchamber,

numbered Thirty-eight, and situated immediately over the bedchamber
which she desired to leave. Mrs. Norbury accepted the proposed change

of quarters. She was now about to pass her second night in the room
occupied in the old days of the palace by Baron Rivar.

Once more, she fell asleep as usual. And, once more, the frightful
dreams of the first night terrified her, following each other

in the same succession. This time her nerves, already shaken,
were not equal to the renewed torture of terror inflicted on them.

She threw on her dressing-gown, and rushed out of her room
in the middle of the night. The porter, alarmed by the banging

of the door, met her hurrying headlong down the stairs, in search
of the first human being she could find to keep her company.

Considerably surprised at this last new manifestation of the famous
'English eccentricity,' the man looked at the hotel register,

and led the lady upstairs again to the room occupied by her maid.
The maid was not asleep, and, more wonderful still, was not

even undressed. She received her mistress quietly. When they
were alone, and when Mrs. Norbury had, as a matter of necessity,

taken her attendant into her confidence, the woman made a very
strange reply.

'I have been asking about the hotel, at the servants'
supper to-night,' she said. 'The valet of one of the gentlemen

staying here has heard that the late Lord Montbarry was the last
person who lived in the palace, before it was made into an hotel.

The room he died in, ma'am, was the room you slept in last night.
Your room tonight is the room just above it. I said nothing for fear

of frightening you. For my own part, I have passed the night as
you see, keeping my light on, and reading my Bible. In my opinion,

no member of your family can hope to be happy or comfortable in
this house.'

'What do you mean?'
'Please to let me explain myself, ma'am. When Mr. Henry

Westwick was here (I have this from the valet, too) he occupied
the room his brother died in (without knowing it), like you.

For two nights he never closed his eyes. Without any reason for it
(the valet heard him tell the gentlemen in the coffee-room)

he could not sleep; he felt so low and so wretched in himself.
And what is more, when daytime came, he couldn't even eat while he was

under this roof You may laugh at me, ma'am--but even a servant
may draw her own conclusions. It's my conclusion that something

happened to my lord, which we none of us know about, when he died
in this house. His ghost walks in torment until he can tell it--

and the living persons related to him are the persons who feel
he is near them. Those persons may yet see him in the time to come.

Don't, pray don't stay any longer in this dreadful place! I wouldn't
stay another night here myself--no, not for anything that could be

offered me!'
Mrs. Norbury at once set her servant's mind at ease on this last point.

'I don't think about it as you do,' she said gravely.
'But I should like to speak to my brother of what has happened.

We will go back to Milan.'
Some hours necessarily elapsed before they could leave the hotel,

by the first train in the forenoon.
In that interval, Mrs. Norbury's maid found an opportunity of

confidentially informing the valet of what had passed between her
mistress and herself. The valet had other friends to whom he related

the circumstances in his turn. In due course of time, the narrative,
passing from mouth to mouth, reached the ears of the manager.

He instantly saw that the credit of the hotel was in danger,
unless something was done to retrieve the character of the room

numbered Fourteen. English travellers, well acquainted with the peerage
of their native country, informed him that Henry Westwick and

Mrs. Norbury were by no means the only members of the Montbarry family.
Curiosity might bring more of them to the hotel, after hearing

what had happened. The manager's ingenuity easily hit on the obvious
means of misleading them, in this case. The numbers of all the rooms

were enamelled in blue, on white china plates, screwed to the doors.
He ordered a new plate to be prepared, bearing the number, '13 A';

and he kept the room empty, after its tenant for the time being had
gone away, until the plate was ready. He then re-numbered the room;

placing the removed Number Fourteen on the door of his own room
(on the second floor), which, not being to let, had not previously been

numbered at all. By this device, Number Fourteen disappeared at once
and for ever from the books of the hotel, as the number of a bedroom

to let.
Having warned the servants to beware of gossiping with travellers,

on the subject of the changed numbers, under penalty of being dismissed,
the managercomposed his mind with the reflection that he had done his

duty to his employers. 'Now,' he thought to himself, with an excusable
sense of triumph, 'let the whole family come here if they like!

The hotel is a match for them.'
CHAPTER XVIII

Before the end of the week, the manager found himself in relations
with 'the family' once more. A telegram from Milan announced

that Mr. Francis Westwick would arrive in Venice on the next day;
and would be obliged if Number Fourteen, on the first floor,

could be reserved for him, in the event of its being vacant at
the time.

The manager paused to consider, before he issued his directions.
The re-numbered room had been last let to a French gentleman.

It would be occupied on the day of Mr. Francis Westwick's arrival,
but it would be empty again on the day after. Would it be well to

reserve the room for the special occupation of Mr. Francis? and when
he had passed the night unsuspiciously and comfortably in 'No. 13 A,'

to ask him in the presence of witnesses how he liked his bedchamber?
In this case, if the reputation of the room happened to be called

in question again, the answer would vindicate it, on the evidence
of a member of the very family which had first given Number Fourteen

a bad name. After a little reflection, the manager decided
on trying the experiment, and directed that '13 A' should be

reserved accordingly.
On the next day, Francis Westwick arrived in excellent spirits.

He had signed agreements with the most popular dancer in Italy;
he had transferred the charge of Mrs. Norbury to his brother Henry,

who had joined him in Milan; and he was now at full liberty to amuse
himself by testing in every possible way the extraordinary influence

exercised over his relatives by the new hotel. When his brother
and sister first told him what their experience had been, he instantly

declared that he would go to Venice in the interest of his theatre.
The circumstances related to him contained invaluable hints

for a ghost-drama. The title occurred to him in the railway:
'The Haunted Hotel.' Post that in red letters six feet high, on a

black ground, all over London--and trust the excitable public to crowd
into the theatre!

Received with the politest attention by the manager, Francis met
with a disappointment on entering the hotel. 'Some mistake, sir.

No such room on the first floor as Number Fourteen. The room bearing
that number is on the second floor, and has been occupied by me,

from the day when the hotel opened. Perhaps you meant number 13 A,