Little Golden's Daughter; or, The Dream of a Life Time. Alex. McVeigh Miller

horror and consternation, she felt a pair of warm, mustached lips pressed fully and passionately upon her own.

      "Lovely Erma, may your spirit rest in peace after this fond kiss of love," he cried; and Golden, trying vainly to struggle out of his clasp, lifted her eyes and saw a dark, splendid, handsome face gazing into her own, with large, black eyes that were full of eager admiration and sparkled with pleasant excitement.

      "Let me go!" she cried, with her blue eyes full of angry tears, "let me go! How dared you—oh, how dared you kiss me?"

      But the strong arms held her fast, although Bertram Chesleigh began to realize that it was not a phantom, but a real creature of flesh and blood he had kissed so warmly.

      He held her fast, and looked down with a smile into the girlish face that was so very beautiful even through the crimson flush of anger.

      "Do not be angry," he said. "You should be glad that I have kissed you."

      "Why should I be glad?" she demanded, in a sharp, imperious little voice.

      The dark eyes of little Golden's captor sparkled with mirth at her indignant question.

      "They told me up yonder at the hall," he replied, "that if a handsome man could catch and kiss the Glenalvan ghost its wandering spirit would be laid forever. Do you think that you can rest easy in your grave now, beautiful Erma?"

      Golden wrenched herself from his clasp, but he still held her so tightly by one hand that she could not leave him. She looked at him with bright eyes in which anger and reluctant mirth were strangely blended. His quaint humor was infectious.

      "Do you think yourself so very handsome, sir?" she demanded.

      "A lady told me so this evening," he replied, unblushingly. "One must always take a lady's word, must not one, fair Erma?"

      "I am not Erma," she replied, impetuously; "I am only Golden."

      "Golden! What a beautiful name!" cried Golden's captor. "Golden—what?"

      "Golden Glenalvan," she replied.

      "That is prettier still," he said; then he looked at her more closely. "Are you any kin to Clare and Elinor?"

      "Yes; we are cousins," the girl replied, frankly.

      She forgot how strange it was for her to be standing there talking to this stranger from whom she had been desperately fleeing a moment ago.

      But the dark, mesmeric eyes held her gaze with a luring power; the warm, soft hand that clasped her own, sent strange thrills of tingling sweetness through every nerve.

      When she had looked at the dark, handsome, smiling face once she liked to look at it again. She forgot to feel afraid of him.

      They were standing on the border of the lake. The moonlight made it shine like a sheet of silver; but Bertram Chesleigh had no eyes for its beauty while the fair, fresh face of that innocent girl was lifted to his.

      He said to himself that in all his life he had never seen anyone half so lovely.

      "And you are not a ghost, after all?" he said.

      "No; I was only masquerading," she replied. "I did it to frighten my cousins and spoil their party. Do you think I have succeeded?" she inquired, with naive anxiety.

      He looked a little surprised.

      "I do not know, I am sure," he said. "Why did you wish to spoil their pleasure?"

      "Because they would not invite me to go, and said cruel things to me, besides," answered Golden, with a heaving breast.

      "Why would they not invite you?" he inquired, more surprised than ever.

      "Elinor said I was too young, but I should sooner think that grandpa guessed the true reason!" she replied with innocent frankness.

      "What did grandpa guess?" he inquired.

      "They were afraid for Uncle John's rich guest to see me. They mean to marry him to Elinor," she replied, readily, and without a suspicion that it was the "rich guest" himself who held her small hand that moment so warmly and tightly in his own.

      Bertram Chesleigh laughed long and merrily, and the little girl awoke to a sense of her imprudence.

      "Oh? I should not have talked to you so," she cried. "They will be very angry. Oh, please don't tell anyone I was the ghost! Grandpa would scold me, and I could not bear that."

      At that moment the murmur of voices and laughter was borne to them on the breeze from the hall door.

      "Your friends are coming to look for you," she cried. "Oh! do let go my hand. I must hide myself. You will not betray my secret?"

      "No; I will keep it faithfully, Golden," he replied, then he kissed her small hand and released her, for he did not wish his friends to find him with her.

      She darted away like a bird, and hid herself in the shrubbery. The young man lighted a cigar and turned back to meet his friends.

      "Did you catch the ghost? Did you kiss her?" they asked him, eagerly.

      "I was never so outwitted in my life," he replied. "Would you believe it if I should tell you that I pursued her across the lawn to the border of the lake, and that just as I might have touched her with my hand she sprang into the water and not a ripple on the surface showed where she had gone down?"

      This clever and non-committal reply was accepted as a statement of facts by the credulous. The romantic story spread from one to another rapidly.

      Bertram Chesleigh found himself quite a hero a few minutes after he had returned to the house. But though they praised his bravery, everyone chaffed him because he had failed to get the kiss from the beautiful phantom.

      CHAPTER V

      "Father, where is Golden this morning?"

      Old Hugh Glenalvan looked up with a frightened start as his son came into his presence with a stern brow and heavy footstep.

      It was the morning after the Glenalvans' little party, and the old man was sitting in the sunny bay-window, thinking of his little sunbeam, as he called her lovingly in his thoughts.

      Old Dinah had been in and brought him a message to say that she was very lonely and wished her grandpa to come and see her and bring her a bunch of roses. He was just thinking of doing so, when John Glenalvan came frowningly into his presence.

      "Father, where is Golden this morning?" he asked, sharply, and the old man trembled with fear of, he knew not what, as he replied:

      "She is up in the haunted rooms where you told me to put her, John."

      "Come with me. I wish to see her," he said, and the old man's face grew ashen pale as he asked:

      "What is the matter? Has Golden done anything, John?"

      "You will know soon enough," was the short reply; and full of apprehension the old man led the way to his granddaughter's room.

      Beautiful Golden was walking up and down the dreary chamber, impatient as a captive bird. She started, and grew very pale as she caught sight of her Uncle John's stern face. She did not speak to him, but ran up to her grandfather and kissed his poor, old, wrinkled cheek.

      "Good-morning, dear grandpa," she said. "I am very lonely. I miss you so much. Did black mammy tell you to bring me some roses?"

      "Yes, dear, but I did not have the time," said the grandfather, with a tremulous voice, and stealing a glance at his son. For some inexplicable reason he stood in great fear of him.

      "Have done with such foolish chat, girl," broke in John Glenalvan, roughly. "So you played the ghost last night, eh, miss?"

      Golden gave a violent start, and clung to her grandfather. She trembled, and her sweet lips grew very pale.

      "You need not deny it. Your looks betray your guilt," continued John Glenalvan, roughly.

      "No, no, my Golden would not have done such a thing," cried her grandfather, warmly. "Who says that she did?"

      Golden looked anxiously into her uncle's face as that question left the old