All went well at first. Phemie and Eliza felt dull, but were sufficiently comfortable. They had plenty to eat, and little to do. Not having been told that the Hall was supposed to be haunted, to them the north wing was the same as any other part of the house, and they neither saw nor heard anything to frighten them. The deaf and stolid cook kept herself, as usual, to herself, and said nothing. Indeed, it may be concluded that she had nothing to say. Had a whole army of apparitions placed themselves in a row before her at the "witching hour o' night," it would not have affected her; she utterly despised them, and the belief that could put faith in them. Old Aaron chuckled at the success of his new arrangements. "We shall be bothered with no more cock-and-bull stories about grisly ghosts now," thought he. But, though the new maids were safe enough from hearing gossip inside the house, they were not out of it. Aaron, however good his will might be, could not keep them within for ever: they must go to church, they must go into the town; they claimed, although strangers in the place, a half-holiday now and then. And the first half-holiday that Phemie had, something came of it. The girl made the best of her way to Nullington. Small though the town was, it had its shops; and shops have a wonderful fascination for the female heart. Into one and into another went Phemie, making acquaintance with this vendor of wares and with that. Mysterious things were talked of; and when she got back to the Hall at night, she had a rare budget of strange news to tell Eliza. The Hall was haunted. At least, the north wing of it was. A young woman. Miss Winter's maid, had mysteriously disappeared in it one night last winter, and had never been heard of since. The two previous housemaids had been nearly terrified out of their wits afterwards. They had heard doors clash after dark that were never shut by mortal hands; they had heard a voice that sobbed and sighed along the passages at midnight; and they had been once awakened by a strange tapping at their bedroom door, as if some one were seeking to come in. More dreadful than all, they had seen the deathlike face of the missing girl staring down at them over the balusters of the gallery in the great entrance-hall: and it was for being frightened at this, for speaking of it, they were turned away!--which was shamefully unjust. All this disquieting news, with the observations made on it, had Mistress Phemie contrived to pick up in the course of one afternoon's shopping, and to bring home to Eliza.