As the carriage drove away, the consul hurried back a little viciously to his fair countrywoman. “There!” he said, “I have done it! If I have managed to convey either the idea that you are a penniless orphan, or that I have official information that you are suspected of a dynamite conspiracy, don't blame me! And now,” he said, “as I have excused myself on the ground that I must devote myself to this dreadful business of yours, perhaps you'll tell me WHAT it really is.” “Not a word more,” said Miss Desborough; “except,” she added,--checking her smile with a weary gesture,--“except that I want to leave this dreadful place at once! There! don't ask me any more!” There could be no doubt of the girl's sincerity. Nor was it the extravagant caprice of a petted idol. What had happened? He might have believed in a lovers' quarrel, but he knew that she and Lord Algernon could have had no private interview that evening. He must perforce accept her silence, yet he could not help saying:-- “You seemed to like the place so much last night. I say, you haven't seen the Priory ghost, have you?” “The Priory ghost,” she said quickly. “What's that?” “The old monk who passes through the cloisters with the sacred oil, the bell, and the smell of incense whenever any one is to die here. By Jove! it would have been a good story to tell instead of this cock-and-bull one about your property. And there WAS a death here to-day. You'd have added the sibyl's gifts to your other charms.” “Tell me about that old man,” she said, looking past him out of the window. “I was at his cottage this morning. But, no! first let us go out. You can take me for a walk, if you like. You see I am all ready, and I'm just stifling here.” They descended to the terrace together. “Where would you like to go?” he asked. “To the village. I may want to telegraph, you know.” They turned into the avenue, but Miss Desborough stopped. “Is there not a shorter cut across the fields,” she asked, “over there?” “There is,” said the consul. They both turned into the footpath which led to the farm and stile. After a pause she said, “Did you ever talk with that poor old man?” “No.” “Then you don't know if he really was crazy, as they think.” “No. But they may have thought an old man's forgetfulness of present things and his habit of communing with the past was insanity. For all that he was a plucky, independent old fellow, with a grim purpose that was certainly rational.” “I suppose in his independence he would not have taken favors from these people, or anybody?” “I should think not.” “Don't you think it was just horrid--their leaving him alone in the rain, when he might have been only in a fit?” “The doctor says he died suddenly of heart disease,” said the consul. “It might have happened at any moment and without warning.” “Ah, that was the coroner's verdict, then,” said Miss Desborough quickly.