e thing stopped, reared
itself, as it were, on its hind-legs, and swayed about uncertainly in
front of her. Still clinging to the gate, Biddy thought of her mother
and began to say her evening prayers; her knees were giving way, and she
felt she must soon sink upon the ground.

Then--oh, blessed moment!--there suddenly sounded out of the darkness,
at the back of the awful figure, a cheerful human voice and a firm human
footstep. Mr Roy's lantern flashed in the surrounding gloom.

"What's the matter? Who's this?" he said in comfortable human accents,
and held the light full in the ghost's face. What did Biddy see? Not
the spectral features of any strange old Truslow, but the earthly and
familiar ones of--poor Crazy Sall!

Dulcie did not die. When, a little later, the curate came hastening
back with the doctor, she was quite well and sleeping calmly in her
cradle. It had not been croup, the doctor said, and Mrs Roy had
alarmed herself without cause. Nevertheless Biddy had earned her
mistress's undying gratitude by her conduct that evening, and she was
quite as much praised and thanked as if she really had saved the baby's
life.

"For it _was so_ brave of her, you know, Richard, because she could not
tell then that it was only poor Crazy Sall."

Only poor Crazy Sall, returning half-tipsy from the public-house!

Cunning enough to know that in this condition she could not safely trust
her unsteady, reeling steps over the narrow bridge, it had occurred to
her on one occasion to crawl on her hands and knees. This once done, it
was often repeated, and, as surely as the night was dark and she had
freely indulged at the village inn, the Truslow ghost might be seen
crossing the Kennet at ten o'clock. Each fresh beholder adding some
gruesome detail to the dimly-seen form in its flapping sun-bonnet, the
ghost bit by bit took shape, and at last was fully created. Who can
tell how many years longer it might have lived but for Biddy's scream
and her master's flashing lantern?

The whole village felt the discovery to be mortifying; and after
everyone had said that he, for one, had never given credit to the ghost,
the subject was discreetly dropped. There was silence even at the inn,
where for years it had been a fruitful source of much conversation and
many solemn opinions.

Mr Sweet did indeed refer to it once, for meeting Mrs Shivers he
ventured to say derisively: "You and yer old Truslows, indeed!" But she
was