This mysterious circumstance made a great talk in the village, and in the kitchen of Hernshaw Castle; but not in the drawing-room: for Mrs. Gaunt instantly closed her door to visitors, and let it be known that it was her intention to retire to a convent; and, in the meantime, she desired not to be disturbed. Ryder made one or two attempts to draw her out upon the subject, but was sternly checked. Pale, gloomy, and silent, the mistress of Hernshaw Castle moved about the place like the ghost of her former self. She never mentioned Griffith; forbade his name to be uttered in her hearing; and, strange to say, gave Ryder strict orders not to tell any one what she had heard from Thomas Leicester. "This last insult is known but to you and me. If it ever gets abroad, you leave my service that very hour." This injunction set Ryder thinking. However, she obeyed it to the letter. Her place was getting better and better; and she was a woman accustomed to keep secrets. A pressing letter came from Mr. Atkins. Mrs. Gaunt replied that her husband had come to Hernshaw, but had left again; and the period of his ultimate return was now more uncertain than ever. On this Mr. Atkins came down to Hernshaw Castle. But Mrs. Gaunt would not see him. He retired very angry; and renewed his advertisements, but in a more explicit form. He now published that Griffith Gaunt, of Hernshaw and Bolton, was executor and residuary legatee to the late Griffith Gaunt, of Coggleswade: and requested him to apply directly to James Atkins, Solicitor, of Gray's Inn, London. In due course this advertisement was read by the servants at Hernshaw; and shown, by Ryder, to Mrs. Gaunt. She made no comment whatever; and contrived to render her pale face impenetrable. Ryder became as silent and thoughtful as herself, and often sat bending her black judicial brows. By-and-by dark mysterious words began to be thrown out in Hernshaw village. "He will never come back at all." "He will never come into that fortune." "'Tis no use advertising for a man that is past reading." These, and the like equivocal sayings, were followed by a vague buzz, which was traceable to no individual author, but seemed to rise on all sides, like a dark mist, and envelope that unhappy house. And that dark mist of Rumor soon condensed itself into a palpable and terrible whisper, "Griffith Gaunt hath met with foul play." No one of the servants told Mrs. Gaunt this horrid rumor. But the women used to look at her, and after her, with strange eyes. She noticed this, and felt, somehow, that her people were falling away from her. It added one drop to her bitter cup. She began to droop into a sort of calm despondent lethargy. Then came fresh trouble to rouse her. Two of the county magistrates called on her in their official capacity, and, with perfect politeness, but a very grave air, requested her to inform them of all the circumstances attending her husband's disappearance.