and make private revelations to Betsey Barnes, the under housemaid--?"
said the doctor, with a sardonic grin.

"I don't mean that, doctor; but if she could not rest in her grave, poor
old lady--"

"You think, then, my dear," said the vicar, "that Lady Mary, an old
friend, who was as young in her mind as any of us, lies body and soul in
that old dark hole of a vault?"

"How you talk, Francis! what can a woman say between you horrid men? I
say if she couldn't rest,--wherever she is,--because of leaving Mary
destitute, it would be only natural,--and I should think the more of her
for it," Mrs. Bowyer cried.

The vicar had a gentle professional laugh over the confusion of his
wife's mind. But the doctor took the matter more seriously. "Lady Mary is
safely buried and done with, I am not thinking of her," he said; "but I
am thinking of Mary Vivian's senses, which will not stand this much
longer. Try and find out from her if she sees anything: if she has come
to that, whatever she says we must have her out of there."

But Mrs. Bowyer had nothing to report when this conclave of friends met
again. Mary would not allow that she had seen anything. She grew paler
every day, her eyes grew larger, but she made no confession; and Connie
bloomed and grew, and met no more old ladies upon the stairs.