"I don't believe in ghosts," returned the girl, paling a little and her hands trembling in a fashion which rather belied her words, "or I'd say as I'd just seen Miss Lavinia's sperrit look in at the door. If it isn't her ghost it's her double."
"Why don't you run outside and settle your mind?"
"'Cause it's impossible it could be her. The girl's at boarding school."
"What's that got to do with it? You go and see."
Hannah hesitated, but at last plucked up her courage and went to the door. She saw close to the wall some few yards away a somewhat draggle-tail figure in cloak and hood. Within the hood was Lavinia's face, though one would hardly recognise it as hers, so white, so drawn, were the cheeks.
"Saints alive, surely it isn't you, Miss Lavvy?" cried Hannah, clasping her hands as she ran to the fugitive.
"Indeed it is, worse luck. I'm in sad straits, Hannah. I wouldn't have come here—I know what mother is—but I couldn't think what to do."
"But good lord—the school—mercy on us child, they haven't turned you out, have they?"
"No, but they will if I go back. I dursn't do that. I couldn't get in. I've been robbed of the key. It was inside my reticule that a rogue snatched from my wrist on London Bridge."
"London Bridge! Gracious! What mischief took 'ee there and at this time o' the mornin'?"