Capper. Lord Hartledon, I am sure, knows nothing
of this suspicion."
"I never heard nothing about grounds, sir," simply replied the woman. "I
suppose folks fastened it on him because he's a loose character: and his
face is all covered with hair, like a howl."
He almost laughed again as he turned away, dismissing the suspicion she
had hinted at as unworthy a moment's credit. The broad gravel-walk
through this portion of the park was very short, and the large grey-stone
house was soon reached. Not to the stately front entrance did he bend his
steps, but to a small side entrance, which he found open. Pursuing his
way down sundry passages, he came to what used to be called the "west
kitchen;" and there sat three women at breakfast.
"Well, Mirrable! I thought I should find you up."
The two servants seated opposite stared with open mouths; neither knew
him: the one he had addressed as Mirrable turned at the salutation,
screamed, and dropped the teapot. She was a thin, active woman, of forty
years, with dark eyes, a bunch of black drooping ringlets between her cap
and her thin cheeks, a ready tongue and a pleasant manner. Mirrable had
been upper maid at Hartledon for years and years, and was privileged.
"Mr. Percival! Is it your ghost, sir?"
"I think it's myself, Mirrable."
"My goodness! But, sir, how did you get here?"
"You may well ask.
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