"Nonsense, girl. Of course what has happened _has_ happened, and it's
very distressing; and you, of all people, must feel it so: but you will
forget it in time. If you don't care to go back to No. 7 before Mr. and
Mrs. Peahern come home----"
"I can never go back to No. 7, sir," she interrupted, a vehemence that
seemed born of terror in her subdued voice. "Never in this world. I
would rather die."
"Stuff and nonsense!" said the Squire, impatiently. "There's nothing the
matter with No. 7. What has happened in it won't happen again."
"It is an unlucky house, sir; a haunted house," she contended with
suppressed emotion. "And it's true that I would rather die outright than
go back to live in it; for the terror of being there would slowly kill
me. And so, ma'am," she added quickly to Mrs. Todhetley, evidently
wishing to escape the subject, "I should like to go away altogether from
Saltwater; and if you can help me to hear of a place in London, I shall
be very grateful."
"I will consider of it, Matilda," was the answer. And when the girl had
left the room the Mater asked us what we thought about recommending her
to Miss Deveen. We saw no reason against it--not but that the Squire put
the girl down as an idiot on the subject of haunted houses--and Miss
Deveen was written to.
The upshot was, that on the next Saturday Matilda bade farewell to
Saltwater and departed for Miss Deveen's, the Squire sarcastically
assuring her that _that_ house had no ghosts in it. We should be
leaving, ourselves, the following Tuesday.
But, before that day came, it chanced that I saw Owen, the milkman. It
was on the Sunday afternoon. I had taken little Joe Blair for a walk
across the fields as far as Munpler (their Montpellier-by-Sea, you
know), and in returning met Thomas Owen. He wore his black Sunday
clothes, and looked a downright fine fellow, as usual. There was
something about the man I could not help liking, in spite of the doubt
attaching to him.
"So Matilda Valentine is gone, sir," he observed, after we had exchanged
a few sentences.
"Yes, she went yesterday," I answered, putting my back against the
field fence, while young Joe went careering about in chase of a yellow
butterfly. "And for my part, I don't wonder at the girl's not liking to
stay at Saltwater. At least, in Seaboard Terrace."
"I was told this morning that Mr. and Mrs. Peahern were on their way
home," he continued.
"Most likely they are. They'd naturally want to look into the affair for
themselves."
"And I hope with all my heart they will be able to get some light out
of it," returned Owen, warmly. "I mean to do _my_ best to bring out the
mystery, sir; and I sha'n't rest till it's done."
His words were fair, his tone was genuine. If it was indeed himself
who had been the chief actor in the tragedy, he carried it off well.
I hardly knew what to think. It is true I had taken a bit of a fancy
to the man, according to my usual propensity to take a fancy, or the
contrary; but I did not know much about him, and not anything of
his antecedents. As he spoke to me now, his tone was marked, rather
peculiar. It gave me a notion that he wanted to say more.
"Have you any idea that you will be able to trace it out?"
"For my own sake I should like to get the matter cleared up," he added,
not directly answering my question. "People are beginning to turn the
cold shoulder my way: one woman asked me to my face yesterday whether I
did it. No, I told her, I did not do it, but I'd try and find out who
did."
"You are sure you heard and saw nothing suspicious that night when you
rang the bell and could not get in, Owen?"
"Not then, sir; no. I saw no light in the house and heard no noise."
"You have not any clue to go by, then?"
"Not much, sir, yet. But I can't help thinking somebody else has."
"Who is that?"
"Matilda."
"Matilda!" I repeated, in amazement. "Surely you can't suspect that
she--that she was a party to any deed so cruel and wicked!"
"No, no, sir, I don't mean that; the young women were too good friends
to harm one another: and whatever took place, took place while Matilda
was out of the house. But I can't help fancying that she knows, or
suspects, more of the matter than she will say. In short, that she is
screening some one."