"Even to that time. Uncle, you remember
where I was living, and what had happened
to me, when—"

"When you came here in secret?
you asked me to hide you ? That was the
same week, Sarah, when your mistress died;
your mistress who lived away, west, in the
old house. You were frightened, then—pale
and frightened as I see you now."

"As everyone sees me! People are always
staring at me; always thinking that I am
nervous, always pitying me for being ill."

Saying these words with a sudden fretfulness,
she lifted the tea-cup by her side to her
lips, drained it of its contents at a draught,
and pushed it across the table to be filled
again. " I have come all over thirsty and
hot," she whispered. " More tea, Uncle
Joseph—more tea."

"It is cold," said the old man. "Wait
till I ask for hot water."

"No! " she exclaimed, stopping him as he
was about to rise. " Give it me cold; I like
it cold. Let nobody else come in— I can't
speak if anybody else comes in." She drew
her chair close to her uncle's, and went on:
—" You have not forgotten how frightened I
was, in that byegone time—do you remember
why I was frightened?"

"You were afraid of being followed—that
was it, Sarah. I grow old, but my memory
keeps young. You were afraid of your
master, afraid of his sending servants after
you. You had run away; you had spoken
no word to anybody; and you spoke little—
ah, very, very little—even to Uncle Joseph,
even to me."

''I told you, " said Sarah, dropping her
voice to so faint a whisper that the old man
could barely hear her. " I told you that
my mistress had left me a secret on her death
bed— a secret in a letter, which I was to give
to my master. I told you I had hidden the
letter, because I could not bring myself to
deliver it, because I would rather die a
thousand times over than be questioned
about what I knew of it. I told you so
much, I know. Did I tell you no more?
Did I not say that my mistress made me
take an oath on the Bible ?— Uncle! are there
candles in the room? Are there candles we
can light without disturbing anybody, without
calling anybody in here?"

"There are candles and a match-box in my
cupboard," answered Uncle Joseph. "But
look out of window, Sarah. It is only
twilight—it is not dark yet."

"Not outside; but it is dark here."

"Where?"

"In that corner. Let us have the candles.
I don't like the darkness when it gathers in
corners, and creeps along walls."

Uncle Joseph looked all round the room,
inquiringly; and smiled to himself as he
took two candles from the cupboard and
lighted them. " You are like the children,"
he said, playfully, while he pulled down the
window- blind, " You are afraid of the
dark."

Sarah did not appear to hear him. Her
eyes were fixed on the corner of the room
which she had pointed out the moment before.
When he resumed his place by her side, she
never looked round, but laid her hand on his
arm, and said to him suddenly:—

"Uncle! Do you believe that the dead
can come back to this world, and follow the
living everywhere, and see what they do in
it?"

The old man started. " Sarah! " he said,
"why do you talk so ? Why do you ask me
such a question ?"

"Are there lonely hours," she went on,
still never looking away from the corner, still
not seeming to hear him, " when you are
sometimes frightened without knowing why,—
frightened all over in an instant, from head
to foot? Tell me, uncle, have you ever felt the
cold steal round and round the roots of your
hair, and crawl bit by bit down your back?
I have felt that, even in the summer. I have
been out of doors, alone on a wide heath, in
the heat and brightness of noon, and have
felt as if chilly fingers were touching me—
chilly, damp, softly-creeping fingers. It says
in the New Testament that the dead came
once out of their graves, and went into the
holy city. The dead! Have they rested,
rested always, rested for ever, since that
time?"

Uncle Joseph's simple nature recoiled in
bewilderment from the dark and daring
speculations to which his niece's questions
led. Without saying a word, he tried to
draw away the arm which she still held;
but the only result of the effort was to make
her tighten her grasp, and bend forward in
her chair so as to look closer still into the
corner of the room.

"My mistress was dying," she said, " my
mistress was very near her grave, when she
made me take my oath on the Bible. She
made me swear never to destroy the letter;
and I did not destroy it. She made me swear
not to take it away with me, if I left the
house; and I did not take it away. She
would have made me swear for the third
time, to give it to my master, but death was
too quick for her—death stopped her from
fastening that third oath on my conscience.
But she threatened me, uncle, with the dead
dampness on her forehead, and the dead
whiteness on her cheeks—she threatened to
come to me from the other world, if I
thwarted her—and I have thwarted her!"

She stopped, suddenly removed her hand
from the old man's arm, and made a strange
gesture with it towards the part of the
room on which her eyes remained fixed.
"Rest, rest, rest," she whispered under her
breath. " Is my master alive now? Rest,
till the drowned rise. Tell him the Secret
when the sea gives up her dead."

" Sarah! Sarah! you are changed, you are