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 immediately ready with such a pointed and personal reply about "a couple of long ears" that he retreated hastily and felt himself to be worsted. So the Truslow ghost vanished from Wavebury, and very soon from most people's memories also, but Biddy had not forgotten it when she was quite an old woman. STORY THREE, CHAPTER 1. AFTER ALL!--ALBERT STREET. "The wealth of a man is the number of things which he loves and blesses, which he is loved and blessed by."--_Carlyle_.