"Then Mr James began to search for this--this last of the Sinclairs. He searched the world, that he did; his agents went to all foreign parts, to India and everywhere, till a few days ago, and I got telegram after telegram from him to prepare the house, that he had found the person he wanted. Oh, I was glad, that I was, when I saw you, ma'am, I nearly fell on the ground." "You think I am like Mr Gerald?" The old fellow made no answer for a moment, then he got up off his chair to go. "Ma'am, you'll excuse my sitting in your presence, you'll excuse my talking so free, but I am old, and I have grown to love that child as if it was my own, it's that sweet and that innocent, and, saving your presence, ma'am, doesn't know what a man is, or a woman is neither. I've heard talk of angels, but there never was an angel more innocent, no, nor more sweet; and to think of harm coming to it, it that is so unharmful. It wrings my heart, the thought of it do; many's the night, ma'am, I've woke in a sweat thinking I've heard the trumpeter, but it's been only ringing in my ears----" "The trumpeter, what do you mean?" I asked. "The ghost, ma'am, Sir--Sir Gerald's ghost, it comes through the passages at midnight blowing a trumpet always before the eldest son is killed. Oh, ma'am, it's a fearful sound and a fearful sight." "When was it heard last?" "Twenty-three years ago, ma'am, the night before Mr Reginald was killed by Mr Wilfred Sinclair." Twenty-three years, that was exactly my age. "It has not been heard since, not even at Mrs Wilder's death?" "No, ma'am, that trumpet never sounds for the death of women, not for no one, only the eldest son who is about to die." "Did anyone hear or see this trumpeter the last time he came?" "I did, ma'am, see him, and hear him both." "Tell me about it. Did you see his face?" "No, ma'am." Somehow I knew the old fellow was telling a lie, and that he _had_ seen the trumpeter's face, but I said nothing.