"Who are you, boy? What brings you here? And what ails you?"
"Oh, miss! I'm Taters, I am. And I come to fetch a letter from Marse Jacky Lytton to Miss Lorrer. And I seen a sperrit at the top o'them stair steps. And that's what's the matter of me," cried the boy.
"A spirit! Jerome, do you think he's been drinking?" inquired the young lady in a low, frightened voice.
For an answer Jerome, without the least hesitation, seized Taters by the head, pulled open his jaws, and stuck his own nose into the cavity and took an audible snuff. Then, releasing the head, he answered:
"No, miss, he a'n't been drinking nuffin. His breff's as sweet as a milch cow's. I reckon he must be subjick to epperliptic fits, miss, by the way he fell down here all of a suddint, crying out as he'd seen a sperrit."
"You said you had a letter, boy. Where is it?" inquired Emma.
"Here, miss! Here it is! I'll give it to you, though I wouldn't give it to him there!" answered Taters, with a contemptuous glance toward Jerome.
Emma took the letter, which was inclosed in a wonderfully dingy yellow envelope, and she read the superscription, and then called to Laura, saying:
"Come here, my dear. Here is a letter from Lytton Lodge for you."
Laura Lytton, who, with Electra, had been standing just within the drawing-room door, near enough to observe the group, but not to hear the whole of their conversation, now came when she was called and received her letter.