ed man, and what has he to do with
you? Who is this ghost, that is only seen in the black nights and bad
weather? How does he know, and why does he haunt, this house, whispering
through chinks and crevices, as if there was that between him and you,
which neither durst so much as speak aloud of? Who is he?'

'You do well to say he haunts this house,' returned the widow, faintly.
'His shadow has been upon it and me, in light and darkness, at noonday
and midnight. And now, at last, he has come in the body!'

'But he wouldn't have gone in the body,' returned the locksmith with
some irritation, 'if you had left my arms and legs at liberty. What
riddle is this?'

'It is one,' she answered, rising as she spoke, 'that must remain for
ever as it is. I dare not say more than that.'

'Dare not!' repeated the wondering locksmith.

'Do not press me,' she replied. 'I am sick and faint, and every faculty
of life seems dead within me.--No!--Do not touch me, either.'

Gabriel, who had stepped forward to render her assistance, fell back as
she made this hasty exclamation, and regarded her in silent wonder.

'Let me go my way alone,' she said in a low voice, 'and let the hands of
no honest man touch mine to-night.' When she had tottered to the door,
she turned, and added with a stronger effort, 'This is a secret, which,
of necessity, I trust to you. You are a true man. As you have ever been
good and kind to me,--keep it. If any noise was heard above, make some
excuse--say anything but what you really saw, and never let a word or
look between us, recall this circumstance. I trust to you. Mind, I trust
to you. How much I trust, you never can conceive.'

Casting her eyes upon him for an instant, she withdrew, and left him
there alone.

Gabriel, not knowing what to think, stood staring at the door with a
countenance full of surprise and dismay. The more he pondered on
what had passed, the less able he was to give it any favourable
interpretation. To find this widow woman, whose life for so many years
had been supposed to be one of solitude and retirement, and who, in her
quiet suffering character, had gained the good opinion and respect of
all who knew her--to find her linked mysteriously with an ill-omened
man, alarmed at his appearance, and yet favouring his escape, was a
discovery that pained as much as startled him. Her reliance on his
secrecy, and his tacit acquiescence, increased his distress of mind. If
he had spoken boldly,