"Never, my lady—we never noticed it," was the answer. "For my part, I seldom come into these rooms at all: but my old 'ooman dusted 'em out reglar once a month or so; and if she'd missed anythink I should have knowed of it in a moment. But——"
"But what, Abraham?" said Lady Ravensworth, in a kinder tone.
"There's one circumstance that has troubled me and my wife more than once—or twice—or a dozen times, my lady: and yet——"
"Speak candidly. Why do you hesitate?"
The old man cast a hurried glance around,—for it was now growing dusk,—and, sinking his voice to a whisper, he said, "The Hall is troubled, my lady."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Adeline, starting from her seat, as if those words had electrified her. "Explain yourself, old man—speak!"
"Ah! my lady—there's no doubt on it!" returned Abraham, again looking suspiciously around. "Mr. Vernon can't rest in his grave—his sperret walks——"
"A truce to this idle folly!" cried Lady Ravensworth, her tone once more becoming severe.
Had the old man assured her that he had seen the spirit of Lydia Hutchinson, she would have been suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of tremendous awe; and she would have sunk beneath the appalling weight of an announcement the truth of which she would not have dared to question. This influence, however, could only have been exercised over her by the superstition associated with her own dread crime; and when, contrary to her expectation, but greatly to her relief—the phantom she so much dreaded was not the one of which the old man spoke, she immediately rejected his tale as unworthy of credit.
"A truce to this idle folly!" she cried; "and prepare yourself to give the explanations which my solicitor may require at your hands to-morrow. Leave me."