t, did I not believe her, I could see the burn on her wrist. Upon
my suggesting that this wound might have been inflicted by the iron in
its fall, she did use me in so unwifely a manner that I sought my bed in
much wrath and vexation of spirit. Nay, I do fear me that I cursed the
day I was wed, the day on which my wife was born, wishing all women to
the d--l; and that, moreover, out loud, which put me to much shame
afterwards for some days; although, be it said to my still greater
shame, it was full a fortnight e'er I confessed my repentance unto the
wife whom I had so abused.

But meseems I have in this digression transgressed in the matter o'
length; therefore, to return to the bare facts.

It was on the subject of this ghost that my lord and the Lady Margaret
had disagreed. My lord, being a flighty lad, although a marvellous fine
scholar and well-disposed, did agree with my wife in the matter of the
ghost; while my lady was of a like mind with myself.

It doth seem but yesterday that she came to me as I was training the
woodbine o'er the arbor that led to her little garden, and put her white
hand on my shoulder. (My lady was never one for wearing gloves, yet the
sun seemed no more to think o' scorching her fair hands than the leaves
of a day-lily.) She comes to me and lays her hand on my shoulder, and
her long eyes they laugh at me out of the shadow of her hat; but her
mouth is grave as though I were a corse.

Quoth she:

"Butter, dost thou believe in this ghost?"

"Nay, my lady," answered I, hoping to shift her to better soil; "I ne'er
meddle with ghosts or goblins. Why, an there be such things, should they
wish me harm? O' my word, my brain is no more troubled with ghosts,
black or white, than our gracious Queen's"--here I doffed my cap--"is
with snails and slugs;" and here I plucked a slug from a vine-leaf and
set my heel on't.

"Nay, nay!" quoth she, a-shutting of her white eyelids so tight that all
the long black hairs on them stood straight out, like the fringe on
Marian's Sunday mantle in a high wind. "Butter! thou nasty man!"

"Why--for how dost thou mean, my lady?" quoth I.

"Why, for mashing that poor beast to a pap." And then a-holding of her
hand level below her eyes, so that she might not discern the ground,
"Is he dead?" quoth she.

"Dead?" asked I, for I was somewhat puzzled in my mind.

"Ay, the slug; is he dead?"

"That he is, verily," said I; for in truth he was naught but a jelly,
an