areless tone, as if he would
make light of it. "You know what Deerham is, mother. Some think Dan Duff
saw his own shadow; some, a white cow in the pound. Either is sufficient
marvel for Deerham."

"So vulgar a notion!" reiterated Lady Verner, resuming her seat, and
taking her essence bottle in her delicately gloved hand. "I wonder you
don't stop it, Lionel."

"I!" cried Lionel, opening his eyes in considerable surprise. "How am I
to stop it?"

"You are the Lord of Deerham. It is vulgar, I say, to have such a report
afloat on your estate."

Lionel smiled. "I don't know how you are to put away vulgarity from
stargazers and villagers. Or ghosts either--if they once get ghosts in
their heads."

He finally left the Court, and turned towards home. His mother's words
about the ghost had brought the subject to his mind; if, indeed, it had
required bringing; but the whispered communication of the vicar the
previous night had scarcely been out of his thoughts since. It troubled
him. In spite of himself, of his good sense and reason, there was an
undercurrent of uneasiness at work within him. Why should there be?
Lionel could not have explained had he been required to do it. That
Frederick Massingbird was dead and buried, there could be no shade of
doubt; and ghosts had no place in the creed of Lionel Verner. All true;
but the consciousness of uneasiness was there, and he could not ignore
it.

In the last few days, the old feeling touching Lucy had been revived
with unpleasant force. Since that night which she had spent at his
house, when they saw, or fancied they saw, a man hiding himself under
the tree, he had thought of her more than was agreeable; more than was
right, he would have said, but that he saw not how to avoid it. The
little episode of this morning at his mother's house had served to open
his eyes most completely, to show him how intense was his love for Lucy
Tempest. It must be confessed that his wife did little towards striving
to retain his love.

He went along, thinking of these things. He would have put them from
him; but he could not. The more he tried, the more unpleasantly vivid
they became. "Tush!" said Lionel. "I must be getting nervous! I'll ask
Jan to give me a draught."

He was passing Dr. West's as he spoke, and he turned into the surgery.
Sitting on the bung of a large stone jar was Master Cheese, his attitude
a disconsolate one, his expression of countenance rebellious.

"Is Mr. Jan at ho