"A'most never in winter time," replied Molly--a round-eyed, red-cheeked, strong-looking damsel, attired in a blue linsey skirt and a cotton handkerchief crossed on her neck. "We had a gentleman for a week or two just at the turn o' January. He had this here same bedroom." "They were his things, doubtless, that your mistress said she was removing to make space for me." "In course they were," replied Molly. "Master said he'd not have this room used--that the coats and things should stay in it: but missis likes to take her own way. This here stalk, mum--is he too big to go in?" "That is: we must have only the little ones. What was the gentleman's name, Mollee?" "He was young Mr. Castlemaine: a foreign gentleman, so to say: nephew to the one at Greylands' Rest. He came over here to put in his claim to the money and lands." "And where did he go?--where is he now?" questioned Madame Guise, with an eagerness that might have betrayed her painful interest, had the servant's suspicions been on the alert. "It's what my master would just give his head to know," was the answer. "He went into the Friar's Keep one moon light night, and never came out on't again." "Never came out of it again!" echoed Madame Guise "What do you mean?--How was that?" Bit by bit Molly revealed the whole story, together with sundry items of the superstition attaching to the Friar's Keep. Very much gratified was she at the opportunity of doing it. The tale was encompassed by so many marvels, both of reality and imagination, by so much mystery, by so wide a field of wonder altogether, that others in Greylands, as well as Molly, thought it a red-letter day when they could find strange ears to impart it to. Madame Guise sat down in a chair, her hands clasped before her, and forgetting the herbs. Molly saw how pale she looked; and felt prouder than any peacock at her own powers of narration. "But what became of him, Mollee?" questioned the poor lady. "Well, mum, that lies in doubt, you see. Some say he was spirited away by the Grey Monk." Madame Guise shook her head. "That could not be," she said slowly, and somewhat in hesitation. "I don't like revenants myself--but that could not be." "And others think," added Molly, dropping her voice, "that he was done away with by his uncle, Mr. Castlemaine. Master do, for one." "Done away with! How?" "Murdered," said the girl, plunging the herbs into the saucepan of water. A shudder took Madame Guise from head to foot. Molly looked round at her: she was like one seized with ague. "I am cold and fatigued with my long journey," she murmured, seeking to afford some plausible excuse to the round-eyed girl. "And it always startles one to hear talk of murder." "So it do, mum," acquiesced Molly. "I dun'no which is worst to hear tell on; that or ghosts." "But--this Friar's Keep that you talk of, Mollee--it may be that he fell from it by accident into the sea."