"How much does Dorothy know about the circumstances of your uncle's death?" Mr. Conroy took an opportunity of inquiring of Ella.
"Indeed, I cannot tell," replied Ella. "I have not liked to question her. I dare say she knows no more than we know."
"Um--that's as it may be. She was here during all the time."
"Oh yes, she was here."
"Rather a queer notion that of hers, which I hear she has taken up," continued Conroy after a long pause; "that she may meet the Squire's ghost if she goes near his old rooms at night."
"Dorothy was always so silly in that way. You have some motive, Edward, in saying this."
"Yes, I have been watching Dorothy--waylaying her when she steals out to that little patch of herbs which she calls her own garden, and turning in at other times to her sitting-room, ostensibly to hold with her a bit of chat--and she gives me the impression of a woman who has something on her mind; something that will not allow her to rest.
"She has her superstitious fancies."
"I don't mean her fancies. It is a more tangible fear--unless I am mistaken."
"A few days ago I found her crying and trembling," said Miss Winter. "She told me she had dozed off in her chair over her work, and had had a dream which frightened her.