"Rubbish! And by what?"

"By a white lady. She wanders up and down the park, wringing her hands.

But this Franklin evidently does not believe in ghosts, for he has been there these two months, and never a word from him."

"What kind of a man is he?"

"A tall man, with very black eyes, and a black beard. No," added Mrs.

Parry, correcting herself, "I am wrong. He had a beard when he first came, and now has shaved it off."

"Have you seen much of him?"

"Hardly anything. Morley is the only person with whom he is intimate in any degree. He hardly ever comes out, and when people call he is not at home. Why the man should have five thousand a year I can't make out. He does no good with it."

"Any family? a wife?"

"There is a daughter, I understand, but she is an invalid, and keeps to her room or to the grounds. Weak in the head I should say, seeing how secluded her father keeps her."

"Have you seen her?"

"Yes, I came on her unexpectedly one day--or rather one evening. A short girl, with red hair and a freckled face. She looks a fool, and was dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. I don't wonder he--I mean Franklin--keeps her out of sight."

"Humph!" said Ware, rather astonished by the extent of Mrs. Parry's information, "did the servants tell you all this?"

"There are no servants," retorted Mrs. Parry, with scorn. "The man is a mean creature. You may not believe me, Ware, but he has only three people to do the work of that huge house."

"Then there are three servants?"

"Some people might call them so," retorted Mrs. Parry, determined not to give up her point, "but they are a queer lot--not at all like the domestic I have been used to. An old man, who acts as a kind of butler; a woman, his wife, who is the cook; and a brat of fifteen, the daughter I expect, who does the general work. Oh, it's quite a family affair."

"A queer household. Does this man intend to stop long?"

"He has taken the Priory on a seven years' lease."

"And Morley visits him?"

"Yes, and he visits Morley. They are as thick as thieves. Perhaps they may be thieves for all I know."

"Does this man Franklin go about much?"

"Not a great deal, but he occasionally takes a walk into the village.

Sometimes he comes to church, and I believe the rector has called. I wish any one but him had taken the Priory. We want company in this dull place. Will you call and see him?"

"I ought to," replied Ware slowly, "seeing that I was engaged to Daisy, who should have had the money. But from what you say I should not think Franklin would care to see me, and certainly he does not seem to be a desirable neighbor."

"He's quite a mistake," snorted Mrs. Parry. "I tried to be friendly, but he gave me to understand that he preferred his books to my company. He's a great reader, I understand."

Evidently the good lady was somewhat sore on the subject, for she shortly changed it for another. First she began to talk of Daisy; secondly, wonder who had killed her, and why; and thirdly, she made mention of the grave. "There's something queer about that," she remarked, rubbing her nose, a sure sign of perplexity.

"How do you mean, queer?"

"Well----" Mrs. Parry looked thoughtfully at her guest. Then, before replying, she gave him permission to smoke. "I like the scent of a cigar about the place," she said; "it reminds me of the Colonel. He was an awful man to smoke. The one habit I could not break him of."

Giles lighted a cigarette willingly enough, and repeated his question.

This time he got an answer that surprised him. "It's this way," said the old lady, taking up her knitting, "for some time the grave was quite neglected."

"No, I gave orders that it should be looked after. I told Drake and my gardener. He's a friend of the s.e.xton's, and I thought there would be no trouble."

"There has been, then," said Mrs. Parry triumphantly. "The s.e.xton and your gardener quarrelled, and have not been on speaking terms for months. Thomas, the s.e.xton, won't let Williams do anything to the grave, and out of spite won't touch it himself, so it went to rack and ruin.

The gra.s.s is long--or rather was long--and the flowers all gone to seed.

A sore wreck, Ware."

"I am most annoyed. I'll see about it to-morrow."

"There is no need. The grave is now as neat as a new pin. The gra.s.s is clipped, and fresh flowers were planted a month ago. I never saw a grave better kept. Quite a labor of love."

"And who has done this? Mrs. Morley?"

"Pish!" said the old dame pettishly. "As though that woman had the gumption to do anything. Humph! No one knows who has done it."

"What do you mean?" Ware looked puzzled.

"What I say; I usually do. The grave has been put to rights. At first few people noticed it, because few go into that corner; but one day some imp of a choir boy saw the improvement, and told old Thomas. He came and looked at it, and others came. No one knew who had put it to rights.

Then," continued Mrs. Parry impressively, "it was discovered that it was done at night."

"At night?"

"Yes; but no one seems to know by whom or at what time. Every morning some fresh improvement was noted. Some people watched, but saw no one coming. Yet when the watching was dropped there was something fresh done. It may be a brownie," added Mrs. Parry, with a sniff, "but it's a mystery. Even I can't find out the truth."

"It's very strange," said Ware thoughtfully.

"It's worse; it's improper," cried Mrs. Parry in her sternest voice. "I see no reason why such a thing should be done in the darkness of night.

Though to be sure," she continued, rubbing her nose, "we have had moonlight lately."

"I must see into this," said Ware, rising.

"You'll find nothing. Everyone has watched, but to no purpose, my friend. Now the idiots talk of ghosts, and what not."

"What do you think yourself?" asked Giles.

"Why, that some one who loved Daisy better than you did has taken pity on her neglected grave, and----"

"Don't!" he cried, wincing. "I did my best to make her happy. The engagement was unfortunate."

"The marriage would have been still more so. It is just as well the poor girl died. No, no, I don't blame you. But Anne----"

"Don't say a word against Anne," he interrupted quickly. Then, before his hostess could reply, he took his leave. "I must be going now."

Mrs. Parry was not at all pleased, but knowing how far she could go, decided that she had reached the limit of his forbearance. With feminine craft she smothered her resentment, and parted from him in the most cordial manner. All the same, she still held to her opinion that Anne was not the wife for her favorite.