"Is it more physic that you want?" asked Jan. "Has the pain in the side come again?"
"It is not about pains or physic," she answered, drawing nearer to the counter. "Mr. Jan"—dropping her voice to a confidential whisper—"would you be so good as to tell me the truth of this story that is going about?"
Jan paused. "What story?" he rejoined.
"This ghost story. They are saying, I understand, that—that—they are saying something about Frederick Massingbird."
"Did Cheese supply you with the information?" cried Jan, imperturbable as ever.
"He did. But I must beg you not to scold him for it—as he thought you might do. It was I who drew the story from him. He said you cautioned him not to speak of it to me or Amilly. I quite appreciate your motives, Mr. Jan, and feel that it was very considerate of you. But now that I have heard it, I want to know particulars from somebody more reliable than Master Cheese."
"I told Lionel I'd say nothing to any soul in the parish," said Jan, open and single-minded as though he had been made of glass. "But he'd not mind my making you an exception—as you have heard it. You are Sibylla's sister."
"You don't believe in its being a ghost?"
Jan grinned. "I!" cried he. "No, I don't."
"Then what do you suppose it is that's frightening people? And why should they be frightened?"