“They say, Sir,” said the aged man, “that she looked solemn and stern enough as she sat in that window, just where you do now, leaning her head upon her hand, or something that looked like one. She sat quite still, for some time, and old Taylor sat quite still looking at her, for he could not move;—but when she rose up and turned round, and made a motion with her hand—thus—as much as to say, ‘Go about your business!’ he thought he should have dropped, and would have gone fast enough if he could.” “Ay,” said Mr. Simpson; “there was the characteristical in manner, as well as in dress. This must be a true history!” “Well, friend,” said Willoughton, “and what followed?” “Why, Sir, then she went down this steep place you now stand upon, into the hall there, where _he_ could not have gone, in broad day-light, without risk of his neck; she sank down, as it were, and he lost her awhile, it was so dark; but presently he saw her, all on a sudden, standing in that door-way there,—and I can almost guess I see her there now.” “You are a silly old man,” said Mr. Simpson; and he looked immediately to the door. “You would not like,” said Willoughton, smiling, “to inquire minutely into the difference between purposely avoiding to look, and purposely looking in the midst of this story;” but—turning to the old man—“what next?” “Why, Sir, she stood in the arch some time with a very stern look; but I never rightly understood what became of her. Old Taylor said she passed away like a cloud; but then afterwards he was not sure but he saw her again, in a minute or two, in this very window.” “And have you never been fortunate enough,” said Mr. Simpson, “to see any of those sights?” “No, Sir, no; I hope I have no need of them; though, if I was that way given, I might have thought _I_ saw things too sometimes. Once by Mortimer’s tower, down in the tilt-yard, I as good as thought I saw a man standing with a mask on his face, in a moonlight night, with a drawn sword in his hand.” “That tower,” remarked Willoughton, “was doubtless named after Mortimer, the paramour of the infamous Isabel?” “They say, Sir, some king was once shut up there.” “Ay, Edward the Second, for a short time.” “And they will tell you a power of stories of what was to be seen about that tower, before it was pulled down, and after too; but I don’t believe a word of them. People are always conjuring up strange tales when they have nothing better to do. I have got an old book at home full of them, enough to make one’s hair stand on end, if one could but make it all thoroughly out. I showed it to Mr. Timothy, the school-master, and he could hardly make it out neither; but he said it was no matter, for it was full of nothing but nonsense. He read me some of it, and I could not get it out of my head again for a week.” “Ay, it met with a thriving soil,” said Mr. Simpson, “it’s well you got the nonsense out of your head at all. But how happened you to buy a book in a language you could not read?”