Amid the torrent of lamentations, questions, and hypotheses that the wife poured forth, Laura withdrew into the background. But she could not prevail on herself to go. Daring or excitement held her there, till the old man should be quite himself again. He struggled to his feet at last, and said, with a long sigh that was still half a shudder, "Aye--noo I'll goa home--Lisbeth." He was a piteous spectacle as he stood there, still trembling through all his stunted frame, his wrinkled face drawn and bloodless, his grey hair in a tragic confusion. Suddenly, as he looked at his wife, he said with a clear solemnity, "Lisbeth--I ha' got my death warrant!" "Don't say any such thing, Scarsbrook," said Helbeck, coming forward to support him. "You know I don't believe in this ghost business--and never did. You saw some stranger in the park--and she passed you too quickly for you to see where she went to. You may be sure that'll turn out to be the truth. You remember--it's a public path--anybody might be there. Just try and take that view of it--and don't fret, for your wife's sake. We'll make inquiries, and I'll come and see you to-morrow. And as for death warrants, we're all in God's care, you know--don't forget that." He smiled with a kindly concern and pity on the old man. But Scarsbrook shook his head. "It wur t' Bannisdale Lady," he repeated; "I've often heerd on her--often--and noo I've seen her." "Well, to-morrow you'll be quite proud of it," said Helbeck cheerfully. "Come, and let me put you into the cart. I think, if we make a comfortable seat for you, you'll be fit to drive home now." Supported by the Squire's strong arm on one side, and his wife on the other, Scarsbrook managed to hobble down the long passage leading to the door in the inner courtyard, where the pony cart was standing. It was evident that his perceptions were still wholly dazed. He had not recognised or spoken to anyone in the room but the Squire--not even to his old crony Mrs. Denton. Laura drew a long breath. "Augustina, do go to bed," she said, going up to her stepmother--"or you'll be ill next." Augustina allowed herself to be led upstairs. But it was long before she would let her stepdaughter leave her. She was full of supernatural terrors and excitements, and must talk about all the former appearances of the ghost--the stories that used to be told in her childhood--the new or startling details in the old man's version, and so forth. "What could he have meant by the light on the hand?" she said wondering. "I never heard of that before. And she used always to be in grey; and now he says that she had a black dress from top to toe." "Their wardrobes are so limited--poor damp, sloppy things!" said Laura flippantly, as she brushed her stepmother's hair. "Do you suppose this nonsense will be all over the country-side to-morrow, Augustina?" "What do you _really_ think he saw, Laura?" cried Mrs. Fountain, wavering between doubt and belief.