“Passing round from the house, sir, in front, under the chestnut. They had been sent by the Rector to inquire.”
I got up from the table.
“Where are they?” I asked.
“In the servants’ hall, sir.”
“Bring them into the sitting-room.” And I followed him out and waited. Presently the swing-door opened and the children looked in. Behind them were the pale faces of the servants, whispering and staring.
“Come in,” I said to the children, “and sit down. Don’t be afraid.”
They came timidly in, evidently very much frightened. The door closed behind them.
This was their story.
They had been to the house to inquire how the old man was, and were returning to the Rectory. But they had hardly started, in fact had only just reached the chestnut-tree in front of the house, when both of them, who were looking towards the lighted windows, had seen quite plainly the figure of the old priest standing just inside the gate. He was bareheaded, they said, dressed in black, but they could only see his head and shoulders over the bank, as the road is a little lower than the grass which borders on it and runs up to the gate. He seemed, they said, to be looking out for some one. When I asked them how they could possibly see any one at that distance on such a dark night, they had no sort of explanation; they could only repeat that they did see him quite plainly. At last I took them out myself, and made them point out to me the place where they had seen it; but, as I expected, all was dark, and we could not even make out the white balls on the pedestals. I took them on to the end of the drive, as they still seemed upset; and they told me there that they would not be frightened to go the rest of the way alone. Fortunately, however, as we waited a man passed in the direction of the village, and he consented to see them as far as the Rectory gate.
When I entered the house again the maids with the boy were standing in the hall. They looked eagerly towards the door as I opened it, and one of them cried out.