d little
feeling in it. Not a tenth part so much as little Merton, who was in
real sorrow,--actually shed tears,--although he had no hand in the cruel
deceit. Ah! Merton is the only one of those children who has any heart."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Montfort, "I didn't know it was as bad as that."

"Quite, I assure you, dearest John. If it were not for my poor William
and his children, I should take Merton with me and be a mother to him.
His nerves, like mine, are shattered by the terrible occurrences of the
last two nights. He was positively hysterical as he pointed out to
me--what I had already pointed out to you, Margaret--that the _real
thing_ had not been explained. I might, in time, live down the effect of
those children's wicked jest; but the Voice of Fernley has never been
explained, and never will be."

Mr. Montfort pulled his moustache, and looked out of the window,
observing the prospect; but Margaret cried:

"Oh, Cousin Sophronia, you are wrong; indeed, indeed you are! Young Mr.
Merryweather found out all about it last night, only he had not time to
tell us. He said it was something perfectly simple, and that there was
no need of being alarmed in the least."

"By the way," said Mr. Montfort, "I have a note from the lad this
morning. He found some special tools were needed, and went up to town by
the early train to see about them. May be gone a day or two, he says.
What was the noise like, Margaret?"

Margaret was about to tell all she knew, but Miss Sophronia interrupted.
"Spare me, dearest Margaret, spare me the recalling of details. I am
still too utterly broken,--I shall faint, I know I shall. John, it was
simply the voice that was heard ten, or it may be fifteen years ago,
when I was a young girl. You must remember; it is impossible but that
you must remember."

"I remember perfectly," said Mr. Montfort. "That was thirty years ago,
Sophronia; that was in 1866. Oh, yes, I remember." Again Mr. Montfort
became absorbed in the view from the window. His face was very grave;
why, then, did the buttons on his waistcoat shake? "And Master Merton
was frightened, was he?" he resumed, presently. "Ha! that looks bad.
Good morning, Jones," as a respectable-looking man in livery came up the
gravel walk. "A note for me? no answer? thanks." The man touched his
hat, and departed; Mr. Montfort opened the pretty, pearl-coloured note,
and read, as follows:

"DEAR JOHN:

"Don't punish the children; it wa