"Eh? What?" briskly resumed Mr. Edwin Barley. "The ghost walks again! Sir Thomas Chandos! Give my compliments to it, and ask if it remembers me! You foolish woman!" he went on, the scorn in his voice echoing on the air. "A troubled conscience may cause people to 'walk' in life; but it never yet brought them back after death. Now don't—oh, I thought you were going to insist on the ghost. Upon thorns lest you should be missed and called for? Hill looks you all up so sharply? I'll depart then. Advice? I have none to give." I heard his steps walking leisurely away. Stealing swiftly along the bye-paths, I went round to the servants' entrance, determined to see whether Lizzy Dene was out of doors or not. A miserable gnat had bitten me, affording an excuse; but I should have made one in case of need. The cook stood by her kitchen fire. "Oh, cook, would you please give me a little warm water? A gnat has just stung my wrist. Perhaps if I bathe it at once, it will not inflame." She gave it me immediately, putting the basin on the table underneath the window. Harriet ran and brought a little sponge. At that moment Mrs. Hill came in. "Where's Lizzy Dene? Is she not here?" "No, she's not here," was the quick answer of the cook, spoken with irritation. "She's off again—as she always is. I sent her to get the eggs, for the boy never brought them in this morning, and she has been gone pretty near an hour! It's a shame." "It is not Lizzy's work, that you should send her," remarked Mrs. Hill; "but she has no business to stop. Have you hurt your hand, Miss Hereford?" I told her what it was, and she left the kitchen again, leaving orders for Lizzy Dene to come to her in the linen-room as soon as she entered. "You need not have told," remonstrated Harriet to the cook, in an undertone, on account of my presence. "Mother Hill finds enough fault with us without being helped to more." "I'm not going to put up with Lizzy, then, if you are!" cried out the cook, not caring whether I was present or not. "Send her but for the least thing, and there she stops. My custard ought to have been made, and set to cool by this time. She gets talking to the out-door men; I know she does. What else can she do?" "That woman was here again last night," rejoined Harriet, as they stood over the fire. "I say, who _is_ that woman?—coming after Lizzy Dene, as she does! Why shouldn't Lizzy be open about it?" "I asked her who it was, the other day, but she'd give me no answer," replied Harriet. "You know that weeping ash, off yonder to the right. Well, there they stood with their heads together, last night, Lizzy Dene and the woman. Lizzy's very much altered of late. I can't make her out. At the time of the accident to Mr. Chandos, she was like one out of her mind. I asked her if _she_ had frightened the horse. There was always something odd about her."