ith that horse that's ill, and Mrs. Verner spoke to me
about some ponies. It was only to-day I heard these were in the market,
and I mentioned them to her. But, for all I know, they may be already
sold."

Lionel turned to walk out of the yard. "After Mrs. Verner shall have
learned to drive, then we shall see; perhaps we may buy a pair," he
remarked. "My opinion is that she will not learn. After a trial or two
she will give it up."

"All right, sir."

CHAPTER LVI.

A LIFE HOVERING IN THE BALANCE.

Jan was coming up the road from Deerham with long strides, as Lionel
turned out of Poynton's yard. Lionel advanced leisurely to meet him.

"One would think you were walking for a wager, Jan!"

"Ay," said Jan. "This is my first round to-day. Bitterworths have sent
for me in desperate haste. Folks always get ill at the wrong time."

"Why don't you ride?" asked Lionel, turning with Jan, and stepping out
at the same pace.

"There was no time to get the horse ready. I can walk it nearly as fast.
I have had no breakfast yet."

"No breakfast!" echoed Lionel.

"I dived into the kitchen and caught up a piece of bread out of the
basket. Half my patients must do without me to-day. I have only just got
away from Hook's."

"How is the girl?"

"In great danger," replied Jan.

"She is ill, then?"

"So ill, that I don't think she'll last the day out. The child's dead. I
must cut across the fields back there again, after I have seen what's
amiss at Bitterworth's."

The words touching Alice Hook caused quite a shock to Lionel. "It will
be a sad thing, Jan, if she should die!"

"I don't think I can save her. This comes of the ghost. I wonder how
many more folks will get frightened to death."

Lionel paused. "Was it really that alone that frightened the girl, and
caused her illness? How very absurd the thing sounds! And yet serious."

"I can't make it out," remarked Jan. "Here's Bourne now, says he saw it.
There's only one solution of the riddle that I can come to."

"What's that?" asked Lionel.

"Well," said Jan, "it's not a pleasant one."

"You can tell it me, Jan, pleasant or unpleasant."

"Not pleasant for you, I mean, Lionel. I'll tell you if you like."

Lionel looked at him.

"Speak!"

"I think it must be Fred Massingbird himself."

The answer appeared to take Lionel by surprise. Possibly he had not
admitted the doubt.

"Fred Massingbird himself; I don't understand you, Jan."

"Fred himself, in