“Don't mention the poor dear lady, Mr. Norris, if you wouldn't make me cry,” said Laura, taking out her pocket-handkerchief. “She had dreadful faults, no doubt; but she was always very kind to me, and I will say this of her, she was the loveliest creature ever beheld.”
“She contrived to do a great deal of mischief in her time,” observed Norris.
“Granted,” rejoined Laura. “But you ought to feel some sorrow for her, seeing how very handsomely she behaved to you, Mr. Norris. I'm sure I feel very much obliged to her for my fifty pounds, though I wish it had been five thousand, like Lord Courland's legacy.”
“Yes, that's a good lumping sum,” observed Norris, “and will console his lordship for her loss.”
“I suppose he has got the money?” remarked Laura.
“Yes; the legacy has already been paid,” replied Norris.
“I thought it had,” said Laura. “But do tell me, Mr. Norris—is it true the poor lady has been seen since her death?”
“Clarissa declares she certainly beheld her the other evening in the dressing-room,” replied the butler.
“Dear me, how dreadful!” exclaimed Laura, “I should be frightened to death. Clarissa saw her in the dressing-room, you say. How was it? Do tell me!”
“Clarissa's tale is this. She was in the poor lady's bedchamber the other evening, just as it was growing dusk, when fancying she heard a sound in the dressing-room, she opened the door, which was standing ajar, and then beheld an apparition exactly resembling Mrs. Calverley, and holding a small phial, at which the figure was looking. So scared was Clarissa at the sight, that she could neither cry out nor stir till the apparition turned its head and fixed its eyes upon her. Their expression was so terrible that she rushed back, and fell senseless on the bedchamber floor. This is the account she gives, and most of the women-servants believe it, but I regard it as mere fancy.”