house was soon reached. Not to the stately front entrance did he bend his
steps, but to a small side entrance, which he found open. Pursuing his
way down sundry passages, he came to what used to be called the "west
kitchen;" and there sat three women at breakfast.

"Well, Mirrable! I thought I should find you up."

The two servants seated opposite stared with open mouths; neither knew
him: the one he had addressed as Mirrable turned at the salutation,
screamed, and dropped the teapot. She was a thin, active woman, of forty
years, with dark eyes, a bunch of black drooping ringlets between her cap
and her thin cheeks, a ready tongue and a pleasant manner. Mirrable had
been upper maid at Hartledon for years and years, and was privileged.

"Mr. Percival! Is it your ghost, sir?"

"I think it's myself, Mirrable."

"My goodness! But, sir, how did you get here?"

"You may well ask. I ought to have been here last night, but got out at
some obscure junction to obtain a light for my cigar, and the train went
on without me. I sat on a bench for a few hours, and came on by the goods
train this morning."

Mirrable awoke from her astonishment, sent the two girls flying, one
here, one there, to prepare rooms for Mr. Elster, and busied herself
arranging the best breakfast she could extemporise. Val Elster sat on a
table whilst he talked to her. In the old days, he and his brothers,
little fellows, had used to carry their troubles to Mirrable; and he was