"There's nobody got in--I'm certain of that. We've examined every door and window. There's not the least sign of any human being about the premises. I tell you, Mr. Redfield, it's spirits; and no wonder, considering how poor Henry was took away." She said this solemnly, relapsing into moody silence. I felt quite convinced that the imaginations of the pair, already awed and excited by the murder, had converted some trifling atmospheric or other phenomena, or some combination of circumstances, easily explained when the key to them was found, into the mystery of a haunted house. I was sorry, for two reasons: first, that they thought of leaving, when I knew that their departure would give trouble to Mr. Moreland, who had left the entire charge of the place to them for years, and at a time when he was too bowed with heavier cares to be vexed with these small matters; second, that the couple would be sure to spread the report through the village, causing gossip and conjecture, and exciting a prurient interest which would throng the vicinity with idle wonder-seekers. So I said, "I wish your husband was at home to-night. I must see him. It will not do for him to trouble Mr. Moreland at this time, by throwing up his situation. You would both of you be sorry and ashamed at such a movement, before many weeks, I'm convinced. What do you say to my coming out here to-morrow, and to our going through the house together? If there is any thing in it which ought not to be, we will turn it out. I will stay until you have aired the house and looked at the clothing; then you can lock it up, and leave it for a few weeks without the necessity of going through it." "Well, Mr. Redfield, if you're willin' to do it, I ought to be ashamed to hang behind. I'll do it, of course, and be thankful to you; for my conscience hain't been easy, lettin' them things go so. I'm right glad you happened out." "And tell your husband, please, not to say any thing about this matter to others. It will make it unpleasant for the friends." "I did tell him not to. He ain't said nothin' yet, I'm sure. It's the last thing we'd be willin' to do, make any more trouble for them that has too much now, and that has always been kind to us. Must you go, sir?" "Yes; I'll say good-night, Mrs. Scott. You may expect me in the morning, a little before noon. By the way, have you seen or heard any thing of Miss Sullivan?" "Not the least thing. She's kept clear of here since that day you found her here. So she's run away, entirely, has she? Well, well, well--I never! I declare, I turn these things over in my brain, some days, till my head gets dizzy." "So does mine, and my heart sick. Good-night, ma'am." "Good-night, and good luck to you, this dark night."