“No assurance is needful to convince me you are a gentleman,” replied Foxwell. “I will lodge you in a manner as nearly befitting your quality as security and my poor means will allow. I must be your jailer for to-night, at least.—Caleb, go before with the lantern. To the hall first. And slowly.—I trust you can make shift to walk, sir.” Placing the gardener and the groom at either side of the prisoner, and the keeper at his rear, Foxwell set the party in motion. The two gentlemen, following close, gave their arms to the ladies upon reaching the head of the steps, and the procession went on at the slow pace which Everell’s ankle-cords made imperative. “A mighty pretty fellow, whatever he may be,” said Lady Strange, _sotto voce_. “Georgiana is to be envied,” said Mrs. Winter. “Such are the rewards of virtue.” “He is vastly in love with her,” declared Lady Strange. “Did you ever see such tender glances?” “’Tis the kind of ghost you could find it in your heart to be haunted by, is it not, Di?” queried Mrs. Winter. “The keeper must have been in some doubt whether the ghost _was_ the ghost,” put in Rashleigh, “before he decided to give the alarm.” There had indeed been indecision on the part of the keeper, but upon other ground than Rashleigh mentioned. As he sat with the gardener over their extra beer later that night, the keeper explained to his comrade: “I were in a powerful state o’ uncertainty, and that’s the truth of it. For, in course, I knowed the young mistress and her maid as soon as ever they come into the garden. And when this here young captain,—for I take it, he can’t be no less, what with the air he have, and the way he handle his sword,—so when the young captain appeared, I soon see how the land lay. Though I couldn’t make out what they was a-sayin’, I could tell it were a matter o’ clandestine love. Now I were to give a owl’s hoot when the ghost appeared. Thinks I, ‘Devil a ghost this is, but yet ’tis the only ghost we’re like to behold. If I wait for a real ghost,’ thinks I, ‘we sha’n’t get to our beds this night; and yet I haven’t the heart to spoil the young lady’s love-affair.’” “And small blame to you, David,” said Andrew the gardener. “Your thoughts was my thoughts, and I kep’ a-wondering to myself, ‘What will David do? If he doesn’t hoot, we shall have to stay out here all night, and then only get credit for going asleep and seeing nothing. And yet, if he does hoot, there’ll be a pretty kettle o’ fish for the young lady.’” “Yes, Andrew, it were a great responsibility. I wished it had been left to you to do the hootin’, for, thinks I, ‘Andrew’s a wiser man than me, and he’d know the right thing.’” “Maybe so, David, but not such a good hooter,” said Andrew, modestly. “I’ll admit I did a’most make up my mind that such kind of love-affairs comes to no good, and the master ought to know, so the best thing for all of us would be for you to consider the stranger a ghost, and hoot.”