Katharine loved Jane, and was comforted to have her seated near her, and was soothed by her affection: it was evident, however, to the latter, that something weighed heavily upon the spirits of her friend, and that the feelings of hope and the clear promise of recovery, did not impart to her all the gratitude and cheerfulness which might be naturally expected in the pleasant dawn of convalescence.
She had not been many days at Milverton when an incident occurred which discovered the cause of her anxiety.
As Jane was looking from the window in the afternoon, and remarking to Katharine on the beautiful effect of the low autumn lights, she observed the figure of a man with folded arms leaning near a tree in the beechery, and she playfully exclaimed, “That must certainly be the musical ghost, which played so sweetly, and brought us all such bad luck, and frightened every body in Milverton House but your dear self, and the grave Master Cuthbert:—how I should like to have the treacherous creature caught.”
“Dear lady,” said Katharine’s maid, “how can you talk so boldly?—why nobody can catch a spirit. It is only air.”
“I have a notion, good lass,” replied Jane, “that it is very proper flesh and blood, and if I were a man, and not a maid, would try my speed with it, and bring it to parley. I should like to hear the voice of it, or see its face, and tell it of all the mischief it has done.”
“Well-a-day! what a heart you have, lady! There is not one in the kitchen but stout Richard would venture that; and though he could not find any thing the other day when he followed it, he’s obstinate as a mule, and says it’s no ghost, but a young gallant that’s under hiding at my mother’s, in Warwick Liberties; but there is nobody thinks with him at Milverton.”
“Well, then, I am of Richard’s way of thinking, in part:—it is a tall man; but whether young, and whether under hiding, I know not.”
“Why, there is a gentleman under hiding at my mother’s, sure enough, and one that knows my lady, as she says, and was quite glad when he heard that she first began to mend.”
“Ruth,” said Katharine, raising her head from the pillow, “if you will go and make me some fresh barley water, I think I shall like it better than this fever drink.” The wish was no sooner expressed than her maid vanished to do her bidding, and Katharine and her friend Jane were left by themselves.