“’Tis a ghost,” saith Austin; “and folks laughed at me when I said I had seen it: may-be they’ll give o’er now.”
“Why didst not send a buck-shot through her?” quoth Ned.
“Good lack! I had no arms,” saith Austin: “and what good should come o’ shooting a ghost?”
“Make you first sure she is a ghost,” saith Father: “for it should be right little good that should come of shooting a woman.”
This was all said that night; and we brake up at nine o’ the clock, and away hied our guests.
But yestereven, as I was a-crossing of the hall, just after the dusk fell, what should I see but Aunt Joyce, clad in hood, cloak, and pattens, drawing back of the bolt from the garden door: and I ran to help her.
“Why, Aunt Joyce, whither go you so late?” said I. “But may-be I do ill to ask.”
“Nay, thou dost not so, child,” saith she: “and I will take thee into my secret, for I can trust thee. Nell, I am going to see the ghost.”
“Aunt Joyce,” was all I could utter.
“Ay,” saith she, “I will: for my mind misgives me that this is no ghost, but a living woman: and a woman that it should be well had an other woman to speak unto her. Be not afeared, dear heart; I am not running afore I am sent. It was said to me last night, ‘Go in this thy might.’ And when the Lord sends men on His errands, He pays the charges.”