But as yet there had been no tragedy in this pleasant pathway, and it was with feelings of consternation that the villagers heard of the Lester murder. Henceforth tradition and imagination and winter tales would invest the spot with ghostly interest. Already the lovers of the village declared that nothing would induce them to seek the lane after twilight, lest they should meet the spectre of the murdered girl. And this when the tragedy had been enacted only a few hours! Think, then, how such a statement would grow into an established belief when the circumstances of the death became sanctified by time! Chaskin led his two companions through the wood, until he paused close beside the stile which barred the lane at that end from the common. Several rustics were examining the spot with eager interest; but on seeing squire and vicar they made speed to leave the lane before their arrival, lest they should be reproved for morbid curiosity. One heavy ploughman, however, was slow in going, and before he could hasten out of earshot, Herne called on him to wait. This the yokel did unwillingly enough, and looked rather afraid when the squire addressed him directly. "Brent," said Herne, while his companions waited in wonder to know why he had stopped the man, "were you in the lane last night?" "Ees, squire, I be," replied Brent, sheepishly. "About what time?" "Arter church, Squoire; between eight and nine." "Were there many people in the lane?" "Noa, Squoire; theer were a Methody meetin' at t'other end of Barnstead, and arter pass'n preached they all goas theer t' 'ear the caal for unconverted sinners." "But you were in the lane?" "Ees, Squoire; I wos wi' Jaane Bilway; but she made me taake her t' th' Methody Chapel alsoa." "About what time did you leave this place?" "Jest before nine." "Did you see Miss Lester here?" "Noa, sir." "Did you see Mr. Lovel?" "Noa, sir." "Well--did you see anyone?" asked Herne impatiently. "Noa, Squoire; I see noabody." "Did you hear the shot fired?" "Ees, I did, Squoire. I was passin' t' church wi' Jaane Bilway when I 'eard it. ''Uilol' ses I. 'there's some poachin' goin' on'; and I wanted to goa back and see; but Jaane she ses, 'Giles, you're a fule; 'tain't nothin',' soa I goes on wi' 'er to the Methody Chapel." "About what time was the shot fired?" asked Paul, regardless of a frown from the squire. "Just about nine, sir. T'clock was striking when I 'eard the shot." "And you saw no one when in the lane?" said Herne, giving Brent a shilling. "Noa, Squoire, not one soul, I sweer." "Very good, Brent. You can go." The man pulled a rough forelock and slouched off heavily. Herne looked after him with a frown, and afterwards turned towards the clergyman with a sharp look of interrogation. "Do you believe what that fellow says, Chaskin?" he demanded. "Yes; I see no reason why he should lie." "H'm! the reason might be found in his pocket." "What do you mean, Herne?" asked Paul, sharply.