George Atherley, I believe, Mrs. de No--"

"Her ladyship would like to see you in the drawing-room, sir," said
Castleman, suddenly coming in.

The doctor bowed to me and immediately left the room.

CHAPTER III

MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL

"No, they have not seen any more ghosts, sir," replied Castleman
scornfully next day, "and never need have seen any. It is all along of
this tea-drinking. We did not have this bother when the women took their
beer regular. These teetotallers have done a lot of harm. They ought to
be put down by Act of Parliament."

And the kitchen-maid was better. Mrs. Mallet, indeed, assured Lady
Atherley that Hann was not long for this world, having turned just the
same colour as the late Mr. Mallet did on the eve of his death; but
fortunately the patient herself, as well as the doctor, took a more
hopeful view of the case.

"I can see Mrs. Mallet is a horrible old croaker," said Lady Atherley.

"Let her croak," said Atherley, "so long as she cooks as she did last
night. That curry would have got her absolution for anything if your
uncle had been here."

"That reminds me, George, the ceiling of the spare room is not mended
yet."

"Why, I thought you sent to Whitford for a plasterer yesterday?"

"Yes, and he came; but Mrs. Mallet has some extraordinary story about
his falling into his bucket and spoiling his Sunday coat, and going home
at once to change it. I can't make it out, but nothing is done to the
ceiling."

"I make it out," said Atherley; "I make out that he was a little the
worse for drink. Have we not a plasterer in the village?"

"I think there is one. I fancy the Jacksons did not wish us to employ
him, because he is a dissenter; but after all, giving him work is not
the same as giving him presents."

"No, indeed; nor do I see why, because he is a dissenter, I, who am only
an infidel, am to put up with a hole in my ceiling."

"Only, I don't know what his name is."

"His name is Smart. Everybody in our village is called Smart--most
inappropriately too."

"No, George, the man the doctor told us about who is so dangerously
ill is called Monk."

"I am glad to hear it; but he doesn't belong to our parish, though he
lives so close. He is actually in Rood Warren. His cottage is at the
other side of the Common."

"Then we can leave the wine and things as we go. And, George, while the
boys are having tea with Aunt Eleanour, I think I shall drive on to
Quarley Beacon and t