"I beg you pardon, Miss Halcombe," interposed
the schoolmaster, a little uneasily—"but
I think you had better not question the boy.
The obstinate folly of his story is beyond all
belief; and you might lead him into
ignorantly——"

"Ignorantly, what?" inquired Miss
Halcombe, sharply.

"Ignorantly shocking your feelings," said
Mr. Dempster, looking very much discomposed.

"Upon my word, Mr. Dempster, you pay my
feelings a great compliment in thinking them
weak enougn to be shocked by such an urchin as
that!" She turned with an air of satirical
defiance to little Jacob, and began to question him
directly. "Come!" she said; "I mean to know
all about this. You naughty boy, when did you
see the ghost!"

"Yester'een, at the gloaming," replied Jacob.

"Oh! you saw it yesterday evening, in the
twilight? And what was it like?"

"Arl in white—as a ghaist should be,"
answered the ghost-seer, with a confidence beyond
his years.

"And where was it?"

"Away yander, in t' kirkyard—where a ghaist
ought to be."

"As a 'ghaist' should be—where a 'ghaist'
ought to be—why, you little fool, you talk as if
the manners and customs of ghosts had been
familiar to you from your infancy! You have
got your story at your fingers' end, at any rate.
I suppose I shall hear next that you can actually
tell me whose ghost it was?"

"Eh! but I just can," replied Jacob, nodding
his head with an air of gloomy triumph.

Mr. Dempster had already tried several times to
speak, while Miss Halcombe was examining his
pupil; and he now interposed resolutely enough
to make himself heard.

"Excuse me, Miss Halcombe," he said, "if I
venture to say that you are only encouraging
the boy by asking him these questions."

"I will merely ask one more, Mr. Dempster,
and then I shall be quite satisfied. Well," she
continued, turning to the boy, "and whose ghost
was it?"

"T' ghaist of Mistress Fairlie," answered
Jacob, in a whisper.

The effect which this extraordinary reply
produced on Miss Halcombe, fully justified the
anxiety which the schoolmaster had shown, to
prevent her from hearing it. Her face crimsoned
with indignation—she turned upon little
Jacob with an angry suddenness which terrified
him into a fresh burst of tears—opened her lips
to speak to him—then controlled herself—and
addressed the master instead of the boy.

"It is useless," she said, "to hold such a
child as that responsible for what he says. I
have little doubt that the idea has been put into
Ins head by others. If there are people in this
village, Mr. Dempster, who have forgotten the
respect and gratitude due from every soul in it
to my mother's memory, I will find them out;
and, if I have any influence with Mr. Fairlie,
they shall suffer for it."

"I hope—indeed, I am sure, Miss Halcombe
—that you are mistaken," said the schoolmaster.
"The matter begins and ends with the boy's own
perversity and folly. He saw, or thought he
saw, a woman in white, yesterday evening, as
he was passing the churchyard; and the figure,
real or fancied, was standing by the marble cross,
which he and everyone else in Limmeridge knows
to be the monument over Mrs. Fairlie's grave.
These two circumstances are surely sufficient to
have suggested to the boy himself the answer
which has so naturally shocked you?"

Although Miss Halcombe did not seem to be
convinced, she evidently felt that the schoolmaster's
statement of the case was too sensible
to be openly combated. She merely replied by
thanking him for his attention, and by promising
to see him again when her doubts were satisfied.
This said, she bowed, and led the way out of
the schoolroom.

Throughout the whole of this strange scene,
I had stood apart, listening attentively, and
drawing my own conclusions. As soon as we
were alone again, Miss Halcombe asked me if I
had formed any opinion on what I had heard.

"A very strong opinion," I answered; "the
boy's story, as I believe, has a foundation in
fact. I confess I am anxious to see the monument
over Mrs. Fairlie's grave, and to examine
the ground about it."

"You shall see the grave."

She paused after making that reply, and
reflected a little as we walked on. "What has
happened in the schoolroom," she resumed,
"has so completely distracted my attention from
the subject of the letter, that I feel a little
bewildered when I try to return to it. Must we
give up all idea of making any further inquiries,
and wait to place the thing in Mr. Gilmore's
hands, to-morrow?"

"By no means, Miss Halcombe. What has
happened in the schoolroom encourages me to
persevere in the investigation."

"Why does it encourage you?"

"Because it strengthens a suspicion I felt,
when you gave me the letter to read."

"I suppose you had your reasons, Mr. Hartright,
for concealing that suspicion from me till
this moment?"

"I was afraid to encourage it in myself. I
thought it was utterly preposterous—I distrusted
it as the result of some perversity in my own
imagination. But I can do so no longer. Not
only the boy's own answers to your questions,
but even a chance expression that dropped from
the schoolmaster's lips in explaining his story,
have forced the idea back into my mind. Events
may yet prove that idea to be a delusion, Miss
Halcombe; but the belief is strong in me, at
this moment, that the fancied ghost in the
churchyard, and the writer of the anonymous
letter, are one and the same person."

She stopped, turned pale, and looked me
eagerly in the face.

"What person?"

"The schoolmaster unconsciously told you.
When he spoke of the figure that the boy saw