"Now then. I am come to hear what you mean."
The tones were persuasive: the face, as it drooped a little, wore a smile of inviting confidence. I bent my head and told him—that I thought what people had seen at midnight and taken for a ghost might be himself walking in his sleep; but that I could not say this to Mrs. Penn. He made no rejoinder whatever. He lifted his head and gazed straight out towards the entrance of the pine-walk.
"Shall I tell Mrs. Penn that it is not a ghost at all, sir, and set her mind, so far, at rest? I need not give any particulars."
"But suppose it is a ghost, Miss Hereford?"
The tones were very sad and serious. My heart beat a little quicker.
"Did you not assure me you saw it the other night—when I was safe in this very parlour?"
"Yes; but I thought afterwards it might be what you said—one of the gardeners. Night-light is so deceptive."
"Come back for his tools," added Mr. Chandos. "Mrs. Penn, however, says it is something else that walks there—my late father's spirit. Do you think she believes it?"
"Yes. She spoke as if she did believe it: and dreaded it. Shall I tell her she need not?"
"No," he sadly said. "I cannot unfortunately ask you to do that."