I ran round to tell the news to our people. Matilda followed me slowly; I thought, reluctantly. Even in the dim twilight, as she stood at our gate in hesitation, I could see how white her face was.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked her, going out again to where she stood.
“I hardly know, Master Johnny. Jane Cross used to have fits. Perhaps she has been frightened into one now.”
“What should frighten her?”
The girl looked round in a scared manner before replying. Just then I found my jacket-sleeve wet. Her trembling hands had shaken a little of the ale upon it.
“If she—should have seen Mr. Edmund?” the girl brought out in a horrified whisper.
“Seen Mr. Edmund! Mr. Edmund who?—Mr. Edmund Peahern? Why, you don’t surely mean his ghost?”
Her face was growing whiter. I stared at her in surprise.
“We have always been afraid of seeing something, she and me, since last May; we haven’t liked the house at night-time. It has often been quite a scuffle which of us should fetch the beer, so as not to be the one left alone. Many a time I have stood right out at the back door while Jane Cross has gone for it.”