broiled chickens, green corn, asparagus and mashed
potatoes, with fragrant coffee for a beverage and peaches and cream for
dessert.

When they had partaken of this, and had rested a while, Craven Kyte went
out and paid the bill. And Mary Grey again drew the landlady aside, out
of hearing of her companion, and said:

"We are so much rested and refreshed by your admirable hospitality that
my brother and myself think we shall walk back to town and attend
afternoon service."

The good hostess smiled approval, but expressed a hope that they would
not overdo themselves.

Mary Grey smiled and took leave, and walked off with her captive.

They went on until they came in front of the vacant house with the
vine-clad porch.

"Come, won't you rest here a little while?" inquired Craven Kyte, laying
his hands upon the latch of the gate.

"Yes, for a little while only," said Mary Grey, consulting her watch.
"It is now half-past three o'clock, and service commences at half-past
four. And I _must_ be at church in time for the commencement of the
service. You will go to church with me, of course," she added.

"Of course!" answered Craven Kyte, emphatically.

"I am sorry that I can not ask you to sit with me; but the fact is I
have only one seat that I can call my own in a crowded pew belonging to
the Blairs. But you can walk with me to church, and join me again after
the service," exclaimed Mary Grey.

"I should so much like to sit by your side!" said poor Craven, with a
disappointed look.

"Don't you see, my dear, it is quite impossible? The service, however,
is short, and I will join you immediately after it."

And as they talked they went in and sat down on the porch.

"This is a pretty little old-fashioned cottage. Don't you think so?"
inquired the beauty, as they looked around them.

"Very pretty," agreed her victim, who would equally have agreed to
anything she might have proposed.

"Look what a fine luxuriant garden it has behind it, all growing wild
with neglect."

"Yes."

"And the orchard back of that. See the trees bending under their loads
of ripening apples or peaches."

"Yes. It's a wonder the boys don't go in and steal them."

"No boy would enter there for love or money."

"Why?"

"Because this is the house in which Barnes killed his wife and child, in
a fit of insane jealousy; and the place has the terrible reputation of
being haunted."

"Oh!"

"Yes; it is said that the ghost of a weeping w