"A woman was murdered here once an' they say her spirit walks, so there's few people dare venter here by day an' never a one by night, an' that's why 'tis so lonely an' that's why I loves the place."
"Then you don't believe in ghosts?"
"Well I sees strange things among the Romans; there's the dukkerin and dukkeripen, an' the Walkers o' the Heath. They're a strange folk, the Romans—'specially old Azor!"
"But you are not afraid—never have been?"
"No," she answered, shaking her head slowly, "I've never been afeard of anything or any one yet—except old Azor." And beholding her as she said this, observing the proud cast of her features, the lofty carriage of her head, her compelling eyes, resolute chin and the noble lines of her form, I knew she spoke truth and began to doubt if she were no more than a mere comely, well-shaped young female, after all.
"Pray, what is your name?" I enquired.
"Anna."
"Indeed it is a pretty name, though you are more like my conception of
Diana."
"Who's she?"
"She was a young goddess."