The village lay southward of the house. So
to the village we went next.

XI.

OUR inquiries at Limmeridge were patiently
pursued in all directions, and among all sorts and
conditions of people. But nothing came of
them. Three of the villagers did certainly assure
us that they had seen the woman; but as
they were quite unable to describe her, and
quite incapable of agreeing about the exact
direction in which she was proceeding when they
last saw her, these three bright exceptions to
the general rule of total ignorance afforded no
more real assistance to us than the mass of their
unhelpful and unobservant neighbours.

The course of our useless investigations
brought us, in time, to the end of the village, at
which the schools established by Mrs. Fairlie
were situated. As we passed the side of the
building appropriated to the use of the boys, I
suggested the propriety of making a last inquiry
of the schoolmaster, whom we might presume
to be, in virtue of his office, the most intelligent
man in the place.

"I am afraid the schoolmaster must have been
occupied with his scholars," said Miss
Halcombe, "just at the time when the woman passed
through the village, and returned again.
However, we can but try."

We entered the playground enclosure, and
walked by the schoolroom window, to get round
to the door, which was situated at the back of
the building. I stopped for a moment at the
window and looked in.

The schoolmaster was sitting at his high desk,
with his back to me, apparently haranguing the
pupils, who were all gathered together in front of
him, with one exception. The one exception was a
sturdy white-headed boy, standing apart from
all the rest on a stool in a corner—a forlorn
little Crusoe, isolated in his own desert island
of solitary penal disgrace.

The door, when we got round to it, was ajar;
and the schoolmaster's voice reached us plainly,
as we both stopped for a minute under the
porch.

"Now, boys," said the voice, "mind what I
tell you. If I hear another word spoken about
ghosts in this school, it will be the worst for all
of you. There are no such things as ghosts;
and, therefore, any boy who believes in ghosts
believes in what can't possibly be; and a boy
who belongs to Limmeridge School, and believes
in what can't possibly be, sets up his back
against reason and discipline, and must be
punished accordingly. You all see Jacob
Postlethwaite standing up on the stool there in disgrace.
He has been punished, not because he
said he saw a ghost last night, but because he is
too impudent and too obstinate to listen to
reason; and because he persists in saying he saw
the ghost after I have told him that no such thing
can possibly be. If nothing else will do, I mean
to cane the ghost out of Jacob Postlethwaite;
and if the tiling spreads among any of the rest
of you, I mean to go a step farther, and cane
the ghost out of the whole school."

"We seem to have chosen an awkward
moment for our visit," said Miss Halcombe,
pushing open the door at the end of the
schoolmaster's address, and leading the way in.

Our appearance produced a strong sensation
among tile boys. They appeared to think that
we had arrived for the express purpose of
seeing Jacob Postlethwaite caned.

"Go home all of you to dinner," said the
schoolmaster, "except Jacob. Jacob must stop
where he is; and the ghost may bring him his
dinner, if the ghost pleases."

Jacob's fortitude deserted him at the double
disappearance of his schoolfellows and his
prospect of dinner. He took his hands out of his
pockets, looked hard at his knuckles, raised them
with great deliberation to his eyes, and, when they
got there, ground them round and round slowly,
accompanying the action by short spasms of
sniffing, which followed each other at regular
intervals—the nasal minute guns of juvenile
distress.

"We came here to ask you a question, Mr.
Dempster," said Miss Halcombe, addressing the
schoolmaster; "and we little expected to find
you occupied in exorcising a ghost. What
does it all mean? What has really happened?"

"That wicked boy has been frightening the
whole school, Miss Halcombe, by declaring that
he saw a ghost yesterday evening," answered the
master. "And he still persists in his absurd
story, in spite of all that I can say to him."

"Most extraordinary," said Miss Halcombe.
"I should not have thought it possible that
any of the boys had imagination enough to
see a ghost. This is a new accession indeed
to the hard labour of forming the youthful mind
at Limmeridge—and I heartily wish you well
through it, Mr. Dempster. In the mean time,
let me explain why you see me here, and what
it is I want."

She then put the same question to the schoolmaster,
which we had asked already of almost
every one else in the village. It was met by
the same discouraging answer. Mr. Dempster
had not set eyes on the stranger of whom we
were in search.

"We may as well return to the house, Mr.
Hartright," said Miss Halcombe; "the information
we want is evidently not to be found."

She had bowed to Mr. Dempster, and was
about to leave the schoolroom, when the forlorn
position of Jacob Postlethwaite, piteously sniffing
on the stool of penitence, attracted her attention
as she passed him, and made her stop good-
humouredly to speak a word to the little prisoner
before she opened the door.

"You foolish boy," she said, "why don't you
beg Mr. Dempster's pardon, and hold your tongue
about the ghost?"

"Eh!—but I saw t' ghaist," persisted Jacob
Postlethwaite, with a stare of terror and a burst
of tears.

"Stuff and nonsense! You saw nothing of
the kind. Ghost indeed! What ghost——"