"Ghosts!"

She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say
she had declared it, and would stand by it.
Such a look was a challenge in itself. Miss
Pole came down upon her with indigestion,
spectral illusions, optical delusions, and a
great deal out of Dr. Ferrier and Dr.
Hibbert besides. Miss Matey had rather a leaning
to ghosts, as I have said before, and what
little she did say, was all on Mrs. Forrester's
side, who, emboldened by sympathy,
protested that ghosts were a part of her religion;
that surely she, the widow of a major in the
army, knew what to be frightened at, and
what not; in short, I never saw Mrs.
Forrester so warm either before or since, for she
was a gentle, meek, enduring old lady in most
things. Not all the elder-wine that ever was
mulled, could this night wash out the
remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole
and her hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine
was brought in, it gave rise to a new burst of
discussion: for Jenny, the little maiden who
staggered under the tray, had to give
evidence of having seen a ghost with her own
eyes, not so many nights ago, in Darkness
Lane—the very lane we were to go through
on our way home. In spite of the uncomfortable
feeling which this last consideration
gave me, I could not help being amused at
Jenny's position, which was exceedingly like
that of a witness being examined and cross-
examined by two counsel who are not at all
scrupulous about asking leading questions.
The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny
had certainly seen something beyond what a
fit of indigestion would have caused. A lady
all in white, and without her head, was what
she deposed and adhered to, supported by a
consciousness of the secret sympathy of her
mistress under the withering scorn with which
Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she,
but many others had seen this headless lady,
who sat by the roadside wringing her hands
as in deep grief. Mrs. Forrester looked at us
from time to time, with an air of conscious
triumph; but then she had not to pass
through Darkness Lane before she could bury
herself beneath her own familiar bed-clothes.
We preserved a discreet silence as to the
headless lady while we were putting on our
things to go home, for there was no knowing
how near the ghostly head and ears might be,
or what spiritual connexion they might be
keeping up with the unhappy body in Darkness
Lane; and therefore, even Miss Pole
felt that it was as well not to speak lightly
on such subjects, for fear of vexing or insulting
that woe-begone trunk. At least, so I
conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual
in the operation, we tied on our cloaks as
sadly as mutes at a funeral. Miss Matey
drew the curtains round the windows of the
chair to shut out disagreeable sights; and the
men (either because they were in spirits that
their labours were so nearly ended, or because
they were going down hill) set off at such a
round and merry pace, that it was all Miss
Pole and I could do to keep up with them.
She had breath for nothing beyond an imploring
"Don't leave me!" uttered as she clutched
my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted
her, ghost or no ghost. What a relief it
was when the men, weary of their burden and
their quick trot, stopped just where Headingley-
causeway branches off from Darkness
Lane! Miss Pole unloosed me and caught at
one of the men.

"Could not you—could not you take Miss
Matey round by Headingley-causeway,—the
pavement in Darkness Lane jolts so, and she
is not very strong?"

A smothered voice was heard from the
inside of the chair—

"Oh! pray go on! what is the matter?
What is the matter? I will give you
sixpence more to go on very fast; pray don't
stop here."—"And I'll give you a shilling,"
said Miss Pole with tremulous dignity, "if
you'll go by Headingley-causeway."

The two men grunted acquiescence and
took up the chair and went along the causeway,
which certainly answered Miss Pole's
kind purpose of saving Miss Matey's bones;
for it was covered with soft thick mud, and
even a fall there would have been easy, till
the getting up came, when there might have
been some difficulty in extrication.

The next morning I met Lady Glenmire
and Miss Pole, setting out on a long walk to
find some old woman who was famous in the
neighbourhood for her skill in knitting woollen
stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with a
smile half kindly and half contemptuous upon
her countenance, "I have been just telling
Lady Glenmire of our poor friend Mrs.
Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes
from living so much alone, and listening to
the bug-a-boo stories of that Jenny of hers."
She was so calm and so much above superstitious
fears herself, that I was almost ashamed
to say how glad I had been of her Headingley-
causeway proposition the night before,
and turned off the conversation to something
else.

In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss
Matey to tell her of the adventure—the real
adventure they had met with on their
morning's walk. They had been perplexed
about the exact path which they were to take
across the fields, in order to find the knitting
old woman, and had stopped to inquire at
a little way-side public-house, standing on
the high road to London, about three miles
from Cranford. The good woman had asked
them to sit down and rest themselves, while
she fetched her husband, who could direct
them better than she could; and, while they
were sitting in the sanded parlour, a little girl
came in. They thought that she belonged to the
landlady, and began some trifling conversation
with her; but, on Mrs. Roberts' return, she
told them that the little thing was the only
child of a couple who were staying in the