The old creature entered and proceeded to fill the kettle, while Susan lighted the fire. “How you sleep last night? You didn’t see nuffi’n, did you?” “Hush—I’ll tell you after a bit. I don’t believe I really saw any thing, but I believe I _fancied_ I saw that white vestured female figure gliding among the tombstones,” said Susan, with a retrospective shudder. “_’Tis she!_ Sure as ebber you lib in dis worl’ _’tis she_!” exclaimed the old woman in a voice of deep horror. “Nonsense! it was imagination, optical illusion, no doubt,” replied Susan, whose superstitious terrors had disappeared with the shadows of night, and whose right reason had returned with daylight. “Don’t matter what you call it, child,—wedder ’magination, optional solusion, or ghos’—it’s all one and de same thing, and I rudder see a live lion o a robber, nor one o’ _dem_. Has you any browned coffee?” “No; I will get you to brown some,” said Susan, going to a hamper and taking out a packet, which she handed to her assistant. Then leaving the old woman to her task, Susan once more visited the room of her mistress, whom she now found awake. “Have I disturbed you, by coming in, my lady?” “No, dear girl, I am about to rise.” “Did you sleep well, Madam?” “As usual, Susan.” “Nothing disturbed you in the night, I hope, my lady?” “Nothing, Susan.” “No, of course not, _her_ windows have shutters to them, and are, besides, on the opposite side of the house to the graveyard,” thought Susan, with a momentary relapse into credulity. But her mistress was now rising, and Susan busied herself in assisting at her toilet. Mary Queen of Scots has been criticised for dressing as carefully each day, in her prison of Fotheringay, as at her palace of Holyrood. I have no doubt that it was a mere mechanical matter of habit, rather than of care or thought. Certainly it was only from force of habit that Lady Montressor, in the course of her simple matinal toilet, seated herself in a chair and yielded up her beautiful head of ebon hair, to be carefully dressed by her maid, whose affectionate hands braided up the back locks and rolled them in as neat a knot, and divided and disposed the front locks in as beautiful ringlets, as if, instead of hiding in this half ruined house, her ladyship had been going to receive morning visitors, in her boudoir of Montressor Castle. And with the same careful attention, she arranged the black cashmere morning dress, with its white lace collar and cuffs. And then, as was her custom, she left the lady to her devotions, and passed into the parlor to open the shutters, light the fire, and set the solitary table for her morning meal. Then she returned to the kitchen, where she found that the old busybody there had set the coffee, made biscuits and put them to bake, and was now engaged in preparing a fat partridge for the gridiron. “Dear me! where did that quail come from?” asked Susan, in surprise and delight that this luxury was provided for her lady’s table.