Glenthorpe from
taking his nightly walk on the rise, although Ann, out of her liking and
respect for the old gentleman, had even ventured to forget her place
and beg and implore him not to go. But he had laughed at her, and said
if he met the White Lady he would stop and have a chat with her about
her ancestors. Those were his very words, and they made her blood run
cold at the time, though she little thought how soon he would be
repenting of his foolhardiness in his coffin. If he had only listened to
her he might have been alive that blessed day, for she hadn't the
slightest doubt he met the White Lady that night in his walk, and his
doom was brought about in consequence.

Ann concluded by solemnly urging Colwyn, as long as he remained at the
inn, to keep indoors at night as he valued his life, for ever since the
murder the White Lady had been particularly active, shrieking nearly
every night, as though seeking another victim, and the whole village was
frightened to stir out in consequence. Ann had reluctantly to admit that
she had never actually heard her shrieking herself--she was a heavy
sleeper at any time--but there were those who had, plenty of them.
Besides, hadn't he heard that Charles, while shutting up the inn the
very night poor Mr. Glenthorpe's body had been taken away, had seen
something white on the rise? On Colwyn replying that he had not heard
this, Ann assured him the whole village believed that Charles had seen
the White Lady, and regarded him as good as dead, and many were the
speculations as to the manner in which his inevitable fate would fall.

The relation of the legend of the White Lady lasted to the conclusion of
lunch, and then Colwyn sauntered outside with a cigar, in order to make
another examination of the ground the murderer had covered in going to
the pit. The body had been carried out the back way, across the green
which separated the inn from the village, and up the rise to the pit.
The green was now partly under water, and the track of the footprints
leading to the rise had been obliterated by the heavy rains which had
fallen since, but the soft surface retained the impression of Colwyn's
footsteps with the same distinctness with which it had held, and
afterwards revealed, the track of the man who had carried the corpse to
the pit.

Colwyn examined the pit closely. The edges were wet and slippery, and in
places the earth had been washed away. The sides, for some distance
down, were