in the drawing-room; for Mrs. Gaunt
instantly closed her door to visitors, and let it be known that it was
her intention to retire to a convent; and, in the mean time, she desired
not to be disturbed.

Ryder made one or two attempts to draw her out upon the subject, but was
sternly checked.

Pale, gloomy, and silent, the mistress of Hernshaw Castle moved about
the place, like the ghost of her former self. She never mentioned
Griffith; forbade his name to be uttered in her hearing; and, strange to
say, gave Ryder strict orders not to tell any one what she had heard
from Thomas Leicester.

"This last insult is known but to you and me. If it ever gets abroad,
you leave my service that very hour."

This injunction set Ryder thinking. However, she obeyed it to the
letter. Her place was getting better and better; and she was a woman
accustomed to keep secrets.

A pressing letter came from Mr. Atkins.

Mrs. Gaunt replied that her husband had come to Hernshaw, but had left
again; and the period of his ultimate return was now more uncertain than
ever.

On this Mr. Atkins came down to Hernshaw Castle. But Mrs. Gaunt would
not see him. He retired very angry, and renewed his advertisements, but
in a more explicit form. He now published that Griffith Gaunt, of
Hernshaw and Bolton, was executor and residuary legatee to the late
Griffith Gaunt of Coggleswade; and requested him to apply directly to
James Atkins, Solicitor, of Gray's Inn, London.

In due course this advertisement was read by the servants at Hernshaw,
and shown by Ryder to Mrs. Gaunt.

She made no comment whatever; and contrived to render her pale face
impenetrable.

Ryder became as silent and thoughtful as herself, and often sat bending
her black judicial brows.

* * * * *

By and by dark mysterious words began to be thrown out in Hernshaw
village.

"He will never come back at all."

"He will never come into that fortune."

"'T is no use advertising for a man that is past reading."

These, and the like equivocal sayings, were followed by a vague buzz,
which was traceable to no individual author, but seemed to rise on all
sides, like a dark mist, and envelop that unhappy house.

And that dark mist of Rumor soon condensed itself into a palpable and
terrible whisper,--"Griffith Gaunt hath met with foul play."

* * * * *

No one of the servants told Mrs. Gaunt this horrid rumor.

But