“I have not been looking anything up,” said Janet, indignantly. She stood by while he closed the door; but when he turned to go away, made a step after him timidly. “Oh!” she said, “if you would only let me speak to you for a moment. Mr. Vicars, you said you were a servant----” “Did you take me for the master, miss?” he said, with a low laugh. “Oh!” said Janet, “if you would but tell me. Who is the old gentleman at the window with the white hair? And why does he cry so? I will never, never say a word if you will but tell me. I am so frightened, I don’t know what to do.” “There is no gentleman at the window--and he don’t cry,” said Vicars, fixing her once more with keen eyes. “But I saw him--and I’ve heard him, oh! three times. Mr. Vicars, tell me, for goodness’ sake, does Mrs. Harwood know?” “You’d best go and tell her, and see what she’ll say. You’ll not stop another night in this house if you bother the missus with what you hear and see. You may take my word for it, Miss Peep and Pry.” “You are very impertinent,” said Janet, indignantly, “and I do not care in the least whether I stop here another night or not. Does Mrs. Harwood know?” “I’d advise you, miss, not to offer her no information,” said Vicars, “about things as happen in her own house;” and with this he turned his back on Janet, and went deliberately away. Should she go and tell Mrs. Harwood what she had seen? She turned towards the drawing-room door, which was so close at hand; but she paused again before she had opened it. Had Vicars remained there she would certainly have done it; but as he was gone, and as there was nobody to see, Janet hesitated, pondered--and, finally, though with a beating heart, and every nerve in her body thrilling, went away in the other direction, and very softly and slowly, hesitating at every second step, retired upstairs. CHAPTER XXI.