"Who are you, girl?" he asked; "and what brings you to this place?"
He trembled as he spoke. A sudden agitation had seized upon him, which he had no power to account for. It seemed as if Providence had brought him to this spot to–night, and had placed this ignorant country–girl in his way, for some special purpose. Whatever the secrets of this place might be, he was to know them, it appeared, since he had been led here, not by the promptings of curiosity, but only by a reverent love for a scene that was associated with his dead wife.
"Who are you, girl?" he asked again.
"Oi be Betsy Murrel, sir," the damsel answered; "some on 'em calls me 'Wuk–us Bet;' and I be coom here to cle–an oop a bit."
"To clean up what?"
"The paa–intin' room. There's a de–al o' moock aboot, and aw'm to fettle oop, and make all toidy agen t' squire gets well."
"Are you all alone here?"
"All alo–an? Oh, yes, sir."
"Have you been here long?"
The girl looked at Mr. Arundel with a cunning leer, which was one of her "wuk–us" acquirements.