ght,
and that'll account for his own bloody end. And it's my belief that she
appeared to the young chap who was hidin' in th' woods the night we saw
un. And look what's happened to un! He's got to be hanged, which is a
violent end, thow p'r'aps not bloody."

"If that's the local belief, I wonder anybody went down into the pit to
recover Mr. Glenthorpe's body."

"Nobody wouldn't 'a' gone down but Herward. I wouldn't 'a' gone down for
untowd gowd, but Herward comes from th' Broads, and don't know nartin'
about this part of the ma'shes. Besides, he ain't no Christian, down't
care for no ghosts nor sperrits. I've often heerd un say so."

"Is it true that the White Lady has been seen since Mr. Glenthorpe was
murdered?"

"She's been heered, shure enough. Billy Backlog, who lives closest to
the rise, was a-tellin' us in the _Anchor_ bar that she woke him up two
nights arter th' murder, a-yowlin' like an old tomcat, but Billy knew
it worn't a cat--it weer far more fearsome, wi gasps at th' end. The
deaf fat chap at Benson's arst him what time this might be. Billy said
he disremembered th' time--mebbe it wor ten or a bit past. Then the fat
chap said it wor just about that time the same night, as he wor shuttin'
up, he saw somefin white float up to th' top of th' pit. He thowt at th'
time it might be mist, thow there weren't much mist on th' ma'shes that
night, but now he says 'es sure that it wor the White Lady from the
Shrieking Pit that he saw. 'Then Gawdamighty help yow, poor fat chap,'
says Billy, looking at him solemn-like. 'The hearin' of her is narthin',
it's th' seein' o' her that's the trouble.' The poor fat chap a' been
nigh skeered out o' his wits ever since, and nobody in th' village wud
go near th' pit a' nighttimes--no, not for a fortin. I ain't sure as
it's safe to be here even in daytimes, thow I never heered of her comin'
out in the light." Mr. Duney turned resolutely away from the pit, and
called to his dog, who was sitting near the edge, regarding his master
with blinking eyes and lolling tongue. "I'll be goin', in case that
Queensmead sees me from th' village. I cot this coney fair and square in
th' open, but it be hard to make Queensmead believe it. Well, I'll be
goin'. Good mornin', ma'aster."

He trudged away across the rise, with his dog following at his heels.
Colwyn was about to turn away also, when his eye was caught by a scrap
of stained and discoloured paper lying near the edge of the pit, where