He was about to close the door when
the prolonged rustle of a trailing skirt in the passage attracted his
attention. The sound was so unlike that made by any garment worn by
Rosey that he remained motionless, with his hand on the door. The sound
approached nearer, and the next moment a white veiled figure with a
trailing skirt slowly swept past the room. Renshaw's pulses halted for
an instant in half superstitious awe. As the apparition glided on and
vanished in the cabin-door he could only see that it was the form of a
beautiful and graceful woman--but nothing more. Bewildered and curious,
he forgot himself so far as to follow it, and impulsively entered the
cabin. The figure turned, uttered a little cry, threw the veil aside,
and showed the half troubled, half blushing face of Rosey.
"I--beg--your pardon," stammered Renshaw; "I didn't know it was you."
"I was trying on some things," said Rosey, recovering her composure and
pointing to an open trunk that seemed to contain a theatrical
wardrobe--"some things father gave me long ago.
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