ntry wench
frightened by a ghost, and Mistress Charity averred that she seldom went
to bed now before midnight. Certain it is that Master Busy himself had
met the lady wandering about the house candle in hand at an hour when
all respectable folk should be abed, and when she almost fell up against
Hymn-of-Praise in the dark she gave a frightened scream as if she had
suddenly come face to face with the devil.

Then there was her young ladyship.

She was neither ill-tempered nor yet under the ban of fear, but Master
Busy vowed unto himself that she was suffering from ill-concealed
melancholy, from some hidden secret or wild romance. She seldom laughed,
she had spoken with discourtesy and impatience to Squire Pyncheon, who
rode over the other day on purpose to bring her a bunch of sweet
marjoram which grew in great profusion in his mother's garden: she
markedly avoided the company of her guardian, and wandered about the
park alone, at all hours of the day--a proceeding which in a young lady
of her rank was quite unseemly.

All these facts neatly docketed in Master Busy's orderly brain,
disturbed him not a little. He had not yet made up his mind as to the
nature of the mystery which was surrounding the Court and its inmates,
but vaguely he thought of abductions and elopements, which the presence
of the richest heiress in the South of England in the house of the
poorest squire in the whole country, more than foreshadowed.

This lonely, somewhat eerie corner of the park appeared to be the center
around which all the mysterious happenings revolved, and Master
Hymn-of-Praise had found his way hither on this fine July afternoon,
because he had distinct hopes of finding out something definite, certain
facts which he then could place before Squire Boatfield who was
major-general of the district, and who would then, doubtless, commend
him for his ability and shrewdness in forestalling what might prove to
be a terrible crime.

The days were getting shorter now; it was little more than eight
o'clock and already the shades of evening were drawing closely in: the
last rays of the setting sun had long disappeared in a glowing haze of
gold, and the fantastic branches of the old elms, intertwined with the
parasitic ivy looked grim and threatening, silhouetted against the lurid
after glow. Master Busy liked neither the solitude, nor yet the silence
of the woods; he had just caught sight of a bat circling over the
dilapidated roof of t