“That’ll deea for te-neet, Balaam,” said Adam; “t’ ghaust’s run te ’arth like a fox, an’ we mun dig ’im oot.”
Balaam obeyed the bridle, turned his steps homeward, and in a few minutes the anxiety of Judy was allayed by the appearance of her good man, all safe and sound.
“Adam!” said she, “Wherivver hae yo’ been, te be so late?”
“Why, me an’ Balaam’s been te see t’ boggle!”
“What, Sister Agatha’s ghost?” said Judy, who was not by any means a sceptic with regard to spirits from the vasty deep in general, and this one in particular.
“Sister Agatha’s gran’mother,” said Adam, contemptuously. “It’s my opinion ’at it isn’t a sister at all, but a brother, an’ a precious rascal at that, wiv ’is white smock, an’ ’is bloody breest, an’ ’is blue bleeazes. If he dizn’t mind, he’ll get mair o’ them last sooat o’ things then he’ll care for; bud we’ll dig ’im oot.”
The next day Adam related his midnight encounter to Farmer Houston and Nathan Blyth, and they resolved to go and explore the haunted spot. They were ultimately rewarded by the discovery of an underground cave, probably the handiwork of the monkish denizens of Cowley Priory, with whose monastery it was said Nestleton Abbey had been connected by a subterranean passage in those “auld-warld” times, when Rome ruled the roast in England, and when its anchorites led not only an ignoble and wasted life, but were guilty of evil doings and malpractices that were infinitely worse. The spacious hollow which the explorers discovered, penetrated far into the earth. Candles were provided to prosecute the search, and there they found much thievish booty, including the tin box which had been abstracted from Waverdale Hall. The astonished discoverers kept their secret, and quickly arranged to set a secret watch on the bramble-covered entrance to the burglar’s den. Two or three nights afterwards they were successful in capturing a man just as he was in the act of descending to his secret lair. He was seized by strong hands and carried to Farmer Houston’s kitchen. As may be imagined, the entrance of the redoubtable ghost caused no little stir among that peaceful household, each of whom in turn came to “have a look” at him. Among the rest came Hannah Olliver, who was plying her needle for the good of the household wardrobe, and as soon as she set her eyes upon the prisoner she screamed out, “Aubrey Bevan!” and fell fainting on the floor. The quondam valet was safely lodged in York Castle. Eventually that crafty, clever, but craven-hearted rascal turned king’s evidence; the entire gang, which had long been a terror to the country side, was captured, and speedily “left their country for their country’s good.” It is gratifying to be able to say that both poetical and practical justice was at length able to lay its hands on Master Bevan himself, and he, too, was sent to join his former comrades in the distant and uncomfortable settlements of Botany Bay. Hannah Olliver, who had been instrumental in his identification, was permitted to be the bearer of the tin box to its rightful owner, and on giving up the precious article to Squire Fuller, she received a kind and full forgiveness for the unwary folly of which she had been guilty in introducing the burglars into Waverdale Hall.
