advancing a few paces tremulously with the
glass of water.

"Am I sure?" exclaimed Uncle Joseph,
descending the stairs to meet her. "What
fool's question is this? Who should it be?"

"The ghost, sir," said Betsey, advancing
more and more slowly. "The ghost of the
north rooms."

Uncle Joseph met her a few yards in
advance of the foot of the stairs, took the glass
of water from her with a gesture of
contempt, and hastened back to his niece. As
Betsey turned to effect her retreat, the bunch
of keys lying on the pavement below the
landing caught her eye. After a little
hesitation, she mustered courage enough to pick
them up, and then ran with them out of
the hall as fast as her feet could carry her.

Meanwhile, Uncle Joseph was moistening
his niece's lips with the water, and sprinkling
it over her forehead. After a while, her
breath began to come and go slowly, in faint
sighs, the muscles of her face moved a little,
and she feebly opened her eyes. They fixed
affrightedly on the old man, without any
expression of recognition. He made her drink
a little water, and spoke to her gently, and
so brought her back at last to herself. Her
first words were, "Don't leave me." Her
first action, when she was able to move, was
the action of crouching closer to him.

"No fear, my child," he said soothingly;
"I will keep by you. Tell me, Sarah, what
has made you faint? What has frightened
you so?"

"O, don't ask me! For God's sake, don't
ask me!"

"There, there! I shall say nothing, then.
Another mouthful of water? a little mouthful
more?"

"Help me up, uncle; help me to try if I
can stand."

"Not yet—not quite yet; patience for a
little longer."

"O, help me! help me! I want to get
away from the sight of those doors. If I
can only go as far as the bottom of the stairs,
I shall be better."

"So, so," said Uncle Joseph, assisting her
to rise. "Wait now, and feel your feet on
the ground. Lean on me, lean hard, lean
heavy. Though I am only a light and a little
man, I am solid as a rock. Have you been
into the room?" he added, in a whisper.
"Have you got the letter?"

She sighed bitterly, and laid her head on
his shoulder with a weary despair.

"Why, Sarah, Sarah!" he exclaimed.
"Have you been all this time away, and not
got into the room yet?"

She raised her head as suddenly as she had
laid it down, shuddered, and tried feebly to
draw him towards the stairs. "I shall never
see the Myrtle Room again—never, never,
never more!" she said. "Let us go; I can
walk; I am strong now. Uncle Joseph, if
you love me, take me away from this house;
away anywhere, so long as we are in the free
air and the daylight again; anywhere, so
long as we are out of sight of Porthgenna
Tower."

Elevating his eyebrows in astonishment,
but considerately refraining from asking any
more questions, Uncle Joseph assisted his
niece to descend the stairs. She was still so
weak, that she was obliged to pause on gaining
the bottom of them to recover her strength.
Seeing this, and feeling, as he led her afterwards
across the hall, that she leaned more
and more heavily on his arm at every fresh
step, the old man, on arriving within speaking
distance of Mr. Munder and Mrs.
Pentreath, asked the housekeeper if she possessed
any restorative drops which she would allow
him to administer to his niece. Mrs.
Pentreath's reply in the affirmative, though not
very graciously spoken, was accompanied
by an alacrity of action which showed
that she was heartily rejoiced to take the
first fair excuse for returning to the
inhabited quarter of the house. Muttering
something about showing the way to the place
where the medicine chest was kept, she
immediately retraced her steps along the
passage to her own room; while Uncle
Joseph, disregarding all Sarah's whispered
assurances that she was well enough to depart
without another moment of delay, followed
her silently, leading his niece.

Mr. Munder, shaking his head, and looking
wofully disconcerted, waited behind to
lock the door of communication. When he
had done this, and had given the keys to
Betsey to carry back to their appointed place,
he, in his turn, retired from the scene at a
pace indecorously approaching to something
like a run. On getting well away from the
north hall, however, he regained his self-
possession wonderfully. He abruptly slackened
his pace, collected his scattered wits,
and reflected a little, apparently with perfect
satisfaction to himself; for when he entered
the housekeeper's room, he had quite
recovered his usual complacent solemnity of
look and manner. Like the vast majority of
densely-stupid men, he felt intense pleasure
in hearing himself talk, and he now discerned
such an opportunity of indulging in
that luxury, after the events that had just
happened in the house, as he seldom enjoyed.
There is only one kind of speaker who is
quite certain never to break down under any
stress of circumstances—the man whose
capability of talking does not include any
dangerous underlying capacity for knowing
what he means. Among this favoured order
of natural orators, Mr. Munder occupied a
prominent rank—and he was now vindictively
resolved to exercise his abilities on the two
strangers, under pretence of asking for an
explanation of their conduct, before he could
suffer them to quit the house.

On entering the room, he found Uncle
Joseph seated with his niece at the lower end