"Yes; but no one seems to know by whom or at what time. Every morning some fresh improvement was noted. Some people watched, but saw no one coming. Yet when the watching was dropped there was something fresh done. It may be a brownie," added Mrs. Parry, with a sniff, "but it's a mystery. Even I can't find out the truth." "It's very strange," said Ware thoughtfully. "It's worse; it's improper," cried Mrs. Parry in her sternest voice. "I see no reason why such a thing should be done in the darkness of night. Though to be sure," she continued, rubbing her nose, "we have had moonlight lately." "I must see into this," said Ware, rising. "You'll find nothing. Everyone has watched, but to no purpose, my friend. Now the idiots talk of ghosts, and what not." "What do you think yourself?" asked Giles. "Why, that some one who loved Daisy better than you did has taken pity on her neglected grave, and----" "Don't!" he cried, wincing. "I did my best to make her happy. The engagement was unfortunate." "The marriage would have been still more so. It is just as well the poor girl died. No, no, I don't blame you. But Anne----" "Don't say a word against Anne," he interrupted quickly. Then, before his hostess could reply, he took his leave. "I must be going now." Mrs. Parry was not at all pleased, but knowing how far she could go, decided that she had reached the limit of his forbearance. With feminine craft she smothered her resentment, and parted from him in the most cordial manner. All the same, she still held to her opinion that Anne was not the wife for her favorite. Giles went at once to the churchyard to view Daisy's grave. He found everything in good order. The grass was shorn, the flowers were blooming, and the white marble of the stone had been cleansed carefully. Wondering who had performed this labor of love, he returned to get his horse. At the gate of the churchyard a tall man passed him with bent head. As he brushed past the young squire he raised it suddenly. Giles saw a clean-shaven face, large black eyes, and a sallow complexion. He stood aside to let him pass. "Rather a nice day," said Ware pleasantly. "Very," responded the man, and continued his walk. Giles knew very well that he was the new tenant of the Priory. It was in his mind to speak to him, but on second thoughts he decided to do so on a more propitious occasion. Standing at the gate, he looked thoughtfully after the retiring figure. There was something familiar about it and about the face of the man. His eyes especially aroused a vague recollection in his mind, but he could not, as the saying goes, "put a name to it." But while walking to the inn it suddenly flashed into his brain that this was the man whom he had seen in church on that fatal New Year's Eve. "It's the clerk," he said breathlessly. "He has shaved his beard. He is Wilson, the man who fled with Anne, who murdered poor Daisy!" CHAPTER XIII MRS. BENKER REAPPEARS