"But what made her say that?" exclaimed Cook. "Why, from what she read in a letter from London, to be sure, stupid. Why else should she say it?" "There, didn't I tell you so!" exclaimed Cook triumphantly. "What are you up to now?" said Edward in a tone of gruff contempt. "What do you mean?" "Why, I always thought she'd have Mr Bray, as was so wonderful attentive. Why, Mrs Pottles, down at the Seven Bells, has told me lots of times about how he used to come and put his horse up there, and then follow her about." "Humph!" ejaculated Edward. "When did you see Mother Pottles last?" "Yesterday," said Cook. "And she said she thought that Pottles would take the twenty pounds off the good-will, and--" "Why didn't you tell me so before?" said Edward gruffly. "Because she said Mr Pottles would come over and see you, and you do snub me so for interfering." "Humph!" ejaculated Edward again. "What, you are going to have the Seven Bells, then?" said the housemaid. "O, I am glad; it will be nice! And you're going to be married, after all." "Don't you be in a hurry," growled Edward. "We ain't gone yet, and perhaps we shan't go at all; so now then. There goes the bell; now, then, clear off. Missus is going to bed." "Did you fasten the side-door, Mr Ed-dard?" said the housemaid. "Slipped the top bolt, that's all," said the footman, as he went to answer the bell. "Let's lay them bits of lace out on the lawn, Cook, and leave 'em all night; the frost 'll bleach 'em beautiful," said the housemaid. "Ah, so we might," said Cook; and taking some wet twisted-up scraps of lace from a basin, cook and housemaid tied their handkerchiefs round their necks, placed their aprons over their heads, and ran down a passage, unbolted the side-door, and went over the gravel drive to lay the lace upon the front lawn. "I'll pop out and take them in when I light the breakfast-room fire," said the housemaid. "My, what a lovely night! it must be full moon." "Scr-r-r-r-r-r-r-eech--screech--screech!" went the cook. "Scre-e-e-e-e-ch-h-h-h!" went the housemaid, giving vent to a shrill cry that would have made an emulative locomotive burst in despair; and, still screaming, the two women clung together, and backed slowly to the house, ran down the passage to the kitchen, shrieking still, where the cook sank into a chair, which gave way beneath her, and she fell heavily on the floor. "Are you mad, Mary--Cook? What is the matter?" exclaimed Mrs Brandon, running into the kitchen, chamber-candlestick in hand, closely followed by Edward. "They _are_ mad--both on 'em!" growled the footman. "A ghost, a ghost!" panted Mary, shuddering, and pointing towards the passage. "A ghost!" exclaimed Mrs Brandon contemptuously. "You foolish wicked woman! How dare you alarm the children with such ridiculous, such absurd old grandmothers' notions? You've been out, I suppose?" "Yes, yes!" sobbed Mary, covering her blanched face with her hands.