But Miss Timmens's passion soon subsided into a grave, settled, awful dread. For she saw that this had been written to delude her into the belief that Harriet was in health and life--when she might be in neither one nor the other. She brought the letter to Crabb Cot. She took it round the parish. She went with it to the police-station; imparting her views of it to all freely. It was a sham; a blind; a forgery: and _where_ was she to look for poor lost Harriet Roe? That same evening the ghost appeared again. Miss Timmens and others went up to the cottage, intending to demand an interview with Roe; and they found the house shut up, apparently deserted. Reconnoitring the windows from all points, their dismayed eyes rested on something at the end casement: a thin, shadowy form, robed in white. Every one of them saw it; but, even as they looked, it seemed to vanish away. Yes, there was no question that the house was haunted. Perhaps Harriet had died from fright, as poor David died. Things could not go on like this for ever. After another day or two of discomfort, Mr. Todhetley, as a county magistrate, incited by the feeling in the parish, issued a private mandate for Roe to appear before him, that he might be questioned as to what had become of his wife. It was not a warrant; but a sort of friendly invitation, that could offend no one. Jiff the policeman was entrusted with the delivery of the message, a verbal one, and I went with him. As if she had scented our errand for herself, and wanted to make a third in it, who should meet us in the broad path, but Miss Timmens. Willow Cottage might or might not be haunted, but I am sure her legs were: they couldn't be still. "What are _you_ doing up here, Jiff?" she tartly asked. Jiff told her. Squire Todhetley wanted Roe at Crabb Cot. "It will be of no use, Jiff; the door's sure to be fast," groaned Miss Timmens. "My opinion is that Roe has left the place for good." Miss Timmens was mistaken. The shutters were open, and the house showed signs of life. Upon knocking at the door--Miss Timmens took off her patten to do it with, and you might have heard the echoes at North Crabb--it was flung wide by Mrs. James. Mr. Roe? No, Mr. Roe was not at home. Mrs. Roe was. Mrs. Roe was! "What, Harriet?" cried excited Miss Timmens. Yes, Harriet. If we liked to walk in and see her, we could do so. By the kitchen fire, as being biggest and hottest, in a chair stuffed about with blankets, sat Harriet Roe. Worn, white, shadowy, she was evidently just getting over some desperate illness. I stared; the policeman softly whistled; you might have knocked Miss Timmens down with a feather. "Good patience, child--why, where have you been hiding all this while?" cried she. "And what on earth has been the matter with you?" "I have been upstairs in my room, Aunt Susan, keeping my bed. As to the illness, it turned out to be ague and low fever." "Upstairs where?" "Here."