Fitzroy. “And don’t you think you ought to have let the house as well?”
Lyle. “No, no, no; I could not bear to think of a footstep crossing my father’s hall. Old Peter will see to the gardens with the help of a lad, and the ancient cook, who is indeed one of the family, and whom I could not have dismissed, will keep on peat fires enough to defy the damp.”
Fitzroy. “And how does your little gipsy lass Zella suit as a housekeeper?”
Lyle. “Excellently well. There she comes with the tea; judge for yourself.”
Zella, tall, handsome, and neatly attired, comes upon the scene to place a little table near the two friends and lay the tea. What a change from the wild waif! We last saw her springing up at the end of the Gothic bridge, and startling the horse of Bland’s emissary. She is still a gipsy, but a very civilised one.
Captain Lyle. “I am expecting old Peter every minute.”
Fitzroy. “Talk of angels, and they appear. Lo! yonder comes your Peter, or your Peter’s ghost.”
Old Peter opens the gate at the sea-beach as he speaks, and comes slowly up the walk.
Lyle. “Come away, Peter. Why, you pant. Sit down and have a cup of tea. How goes all at the dear old house?”
Peter, smoothing the head of Ossian the old deerhound, who has arisen from his corner to bid him welcome. “Bravely, sir, bravely and well. But would you believe it, though it’s no a month since you left, they will have it that the hoose is haunted? Heard you ever the like?”