Mr. Duck commenced by solemnly lifting his eyes to the ceiling, and exclaiming, in dramatic tones:
‘Mrs. Turvey, madam, Mr. Gurth Egerton is there!’
Mrs. Turvey started up with a little scream, and glanced in amazement at the ceiling. Then she looked at Mr. Duck, to see if he was in his right senses.
‘Where?’ she gasped, presently.
‘In heaven, ma’am,’ answered the gentleman; then, dropping his voice and glancing significantly at the carpet, he added, ‘I trust he’s not there.’
‘Lawks a mercy, Mr. Duck, how awful! You don’t mean to say that the master’s dead?’
‘I don’t say positively he is, ma’am, and I can’t say positively that he is not, but the chances are that he is there now.’ Mr. Duck had glanced at the carpet as he spoke, but he instantly corrected the mistake, and looked up solemnly at the ceiling.
‘Mr. Duck,’ said Mrs. Turvey, half crying, ‘don’t trifle with my feelings. I’ve been alone in this house so long, I’ve lost all the nerve I ever had. If the master’s dead I’d rather not stop here. I shouldn’t like to be in a dead man’s house. He was never easy in his life, poor man, and—and——’
‘And he’s just one of those men you’d expect to come wandering about his house after death—eh, Mrs. Turvey?’
‘Well,’ answered the lady, glancing uneasily round, ‘it’s a dreadful thing to say, but I always did believe, and I always shall believe, as the master had—had——’