"An accident maliciously perpetrated. Some venomous spirit in the guise of a woman sprang before my horse with a shouting scream, and threw up her arms in his face. Black Knave wont stand such jokes. I was riding carelessly, and lost my seat." "Bless my heart!" exclaimed Mr. Dexter, after a pause, given to digest the words. "Who was it? Is she taken?" "A tramp, probably. Though why she should set on me I am unable to conjecture. Where she vanished to, or what became of her, I know not. I raised myself on my elbow directly I could collect my wits, which I assure you were somewhat scattered, but the coast was already clear: and I had not been down a minute then." "What was the woman like?" pursued the agent, as I handed him some tea. "I can tell you nothing of that. She wore a grey cloak, or something that looked like one, which enveloped her person and shaded her face. I should not know her if she stood before me this minute." "Was the cloak assumed for the purpose of disguise, sir, think you?" eagerly questioned the agent, who seemed to take the matter up with much warmth, as if he had a suspicion. "It looked uncommonly like it." "Then I tell you what, Mr. Chandos; it was no ordinary tramp, or gaol-bird of that description. Depend upon it, you must look nearer home." "Nearer home!" repeated Mr. Chandos. "Do you allude to our household servants?" "I don't allude to any party or parties in particular, sir. But when a disguise is assumed for the purpose of molesting a gentlemen, riding to his home in the dusk of night, be assured that the offender is no stranger. This ought to be investigated, Mr. Chandos." "I sent two of the men to seek round about, and they scoured the plantations near the spot, but without result. So far as they could ascertain, no live body, worse than a hare was concealed there." "I could understand if you were obnoxious to the tenants, or to any others, in the neighbourhood, but the exact contrary is the case," pursued Mr. Dexter, stirring his tea violently round and round. "The tenants often say they wish Mr. Chandos was their real landlord. Not that they have any cause of complaint against Sir Thomas; but Sir Thomas is a stranger to them, and you, sir, are in their midst; one, as it were, of themselves." "Talking about tenants—and to leave an unprofitable subject, for we shall make nothing of it in the present stage of the affair," resumed Mr. Chandos—"I don't like the new tenant by the gates here, Dexter." "No? Why not, sir?" "And I should like to get rid of him." Our visitor put his bread-and-butter down on the plate, and stared at Mr. Chandos, as if questioning whether he might be in jest or earnest. "What is your objection to him, sir?" he asked, after a pause. "I cannot state any objection in detail. I have seen the man, and I don't like him. How can he be got rid of, Dexter?"