“There he goes now, as if he could see _her_; and maybe 't would be as well for him he did n't,” said Tate, as, in contempt of the English incredulity, he gazed after the eager youth. “Is his honor well, my Lady?--when did you hear from him?” “We heard this very day, Tate; he is perfectly well.” “And Master Lionel--the captain, I mane--but I only think he's a child still.” “Quite well, too,” said Helen. “Don't alarm yourself, Tate; you know how sadly the wind can sigh through these old walls at times, and under the yew-trees, too, it sounds drearily; I 've shuddered to myself often, as I 've heard it.” “God grant it!” said old Tate, piously; but the shake of his head and the muttering sounds between his teeth attested that he laid no such flattering unction to his heart as mere disbelief might offer. “'T is n't a death-cry, anyhow, Miss Helen,” whispered he to Miss Darcy, as he moved towards the door; “for I went down to the back of the abbey, where Sir Everard was buried, and all was still there.” “Well, go to bed now, Tate, and don't think more about it; if the wind--” “Ah! the wind! the wind!” said he, querulously; “that's the way it always is,--as if God Almighty had no other way of talking to our hearts than the cry of the night-wind.” “Well, Captain Forester, what success? Have you confronted the spectre?” said Lady Eleanor, as he re-entered the apartment. “Except having fallen into a holly-bush, where I rivalled the complaining accents of the old witch, I have no adventure to recount; all is perfectly still and tranquil without.” “You have got your cheek scratched for following the siren,” said Lady Eleanor, laughing; “pray put another log on the fire, it is fearfully chilly here.” Old Tate withdrew slowly and unwillingly; he saw that his intelligence had failed to produce a proper sense of terror on their minds; and his own load of anxiety was heavier, from want of participation. The conversation, by that strange instinct which influences the least as well as the most credulous people, now turned on the superstitions of the peasantry, and many a legend and story were remembered by Lady Eleanor and her daughter, in which these popular beliefs formed a chief feature.