“After all,” thought Susan, “I might as well have given her this reason for my lady’s deep mourning, and sorrow-stricken countenance, as to have her always wondering about it, and perhaps talking of it.” She then changed the conversation, and inquired about the neighbors, which she discovered to be a “minus quantity” in that district; and then about the traditional ghost, that haunts every old half-ruined, country mansion, and which ought, of course, to be on duty at the Headland House, and which she found, in this instance, to be “a lady all in white, who wandered about the house and grounds at night, weeping and wringing her hands.” “The Lord forbid that I should believe in ghosts; but still I’d rather not have heard the story; for if I happen to go through the upper rooms, in the dark, or look out of any of the windows, it will scarcely be in human nature not to take a patch of moonlight, or the silvery bark of a white maple or beech tree, for the ghost of the white-robed lady,” said Susan. “Ah, child! if _dat’s_ de worst you see.” “But who was she when she was alive?” “Ah, honey, she lib many and many a year ago! Her name Miss Blanche Brande. She was crossed in love, you see, child, and she’s jes pined away and died, and has been walking here eber since.” “A very weak-minded ghost! I don’t think I shall be afraid of Miss Blanche,” said Susan. “Wait till midnight, honey! only jes wait till midnight.” As it was now very late, the old woman arose to take leave. “Der’s wood enough in for yer mornin’ fire, honey, and please de Lor’ I’ll step up here yerly in de mornin’, and fetch yer anoder pail of fresh water to put de kettle on.” “Thank you, yes; if you and your old man can engage to bring the water and cut the wood, and assist me in the little house-work when your services are needed, my mistress is liberal, and will pay you well.” “I wasn’t thinkin’ nothin’ ’bout no pay, honey. Howsever, jes as you please ’bout dat. I’ll be round yerly in de mornin’,” said Amphy, preparing to depart, by tying her check handkerchief closely under her chin, and taking up her thick walking-stick. “Good-night, child. I’d a heap liefer it be _you_ nor _me_ stayin’ in dis lonesome ole house all night. Marster bress you, honey.” And with this benediction, the namesake of the ocean goddess departed. Susan was not more than ordinarily superstitious—that is to say—in broad daylight, or in a room full of company, she did not believe in “ghosts;” but at ten o’clock of a dark night, alone in a room of an old dilapidated country house, reputed to be haunted, she felt at least uncomfortable. She quickly set the kitchen in order, and went into the parlor to rejoin her mistress.