t that of the old priest, and she
felt pretty sure whose it was--that healthy, sturdy, plain-spoken Meg,
the cook-maid, was the destined victim, and was likely to be little
injured, while there was a good chance of Agatha's receiving her
deserts.

Just as Meg reached the landing, a low groan issued from the uncanny
thing. Agatha of course could not see; she only heard the steps, which
she still mistook for those of Father Jordan. Meg stood calmly gazing
on the apparition.

"Will none deliver an unhappy soul in Purgatory?" demanded a hollow
moaning voice, followed by awful groans, such as Amphillis had not
supposed it possible for Agatha to produce.

"I rather reckon, my Saracen, thou'rt a soul out o' Purgatory with a
body tacked to thee," said Meg, in the coolest manner. "Help thee? Oh
ay, that I will, and bring thee back to middle earth out o' thy pains.
Come then!"

And Meg laid hands on the white sheet, and calmly began to pull it down.

"Oh, stay, Meg! Thou shalt stifle me," said the Turk, in Agatha's
voice.

"Ay, I thought you'd somewhat to do wi' 't, my damsel; it were like you.
Have you driven anybody else out o' her seven senses beside me wi' yon
foolery?"

"You've kept in seventy senses," pouted Agatha, releasing herself from
the last corner of her ghostly drapery. "Meg, you're a spoil-sport."

"My dame shall con you but poor thanks, Mistress Agatha, if you travail
folks o' this fashion while she tarrieth hence. Mistress Amphillis,
too! Marry, I thought--"

"I tarried here to lessen the mischief," said Amphillis.

"It wasn't thee I meant to fright," said Agatha, with a pout. "I
thought Father Jordan was a-coming; it was he I wanted. Never blame
Amphillis; she's nigh as bad as thou."

"Mistress Amphillis, I ask your pardon. Mistress Agatha, you're a bad
un. 'Tis a burning shame to harry a good old man like Father Jordan.
Thee hie to thy bed, and do no more mischief, thou false hussy! I'll
tell my dame of thy fine doings when she cometh home; I will, so!"

"Now, Meg, dear, sweet Meg, don't, and I'll--"

"You'll get you abed and 'bide quiet. I'm neither dear nor sweet; I'm a
cook-maid, and you're a young damsel with a fortin, and you'd neither
`sweet' nor `dear' me without you were wanting somewhat of me.
Forsooth, they'll win a fortin that weds wi' the like of you! Get abed,
thou magpie!"

And Meg was heard muttering to herself as she mounted the upper stairs
to the attic chamber