Rebecca (taking up her crochet-work). He prophesied that there
was a heavy storm brewing--

Mrs. Helseth. That is very strange, miss, because there isn't a
scrap of cloud in the sky.

Rebecca. Let us hope he doesn't meet the White Horse. Because I
am afraid it will not be long before we hear something of the
family ghost.

Mrs. Helseth. God forgive you, miss--don't talk of such a dreadful
thing!

Rebecca. Oh, come, come!

Mrs. Helseth (lowering her voice). Do you really think, miss,
that some one here is to go soon?

Rebecca. Not a bit of it. But there are so many sorts of white
horses in this world, Mrs. Helseth--Well, good-night. I shall go
to my room now.

Mrs. Helseth. Good-night, miss. (Rebecca takes her work and goes
out to the right. MRS. HELSETH shakes her head, as she turns down
the lamp, and mutters to herself): Lord--Lord!--how queer Miss West
does talk sometimes!


ACT II