Valentine was vexed, and yet relieved. Such a ridiculous tale could only be an invention; and yet, if she would have told it in different words, or have added anything, it might have led to some discovery—it might, at least, have shown how it came to pass that such a story had obtained credit.
"That was it, was it?" he said, feigning content. "I should like to ask you another question; perhaps your daughter will not mind going down."
With evident reluctance the daughter withdrew. Valentine shut the door, and came back to his place.
Naturally enough, he cared nothing about the story; so he approached the only thing he did care about in the matter. "I want to ask you this one thing: a ghost, you say, appeared to you—well, what do you think it was for—what did it want—what did it mean?"
Evident surprise on the part of his listener.
"It must have come for something," Valentine added, when she remained silent. "Have you never considered what?"
"Ay, sir, sure-ly. He came to let folks know he was gone."
"And that was all, you think?"
"What else could he come for?" she answered.
"Nobody has ever said, then, that it came for anything else," thought Valentine. "The poor ghost is not accused of any crime, and there is no crime known of concerning the family or place that could be imputed to him."