"It is most likely," said I, "for if he were living he would never have
left them in suspense all these years."

"There, you're wrong, Miss Bawn. Master Luke is not dead."

Dido stirred uneasily and whimpered.

"He's not dead, Miss Bawn, for if he was dead the banshee would have
cried. And the dead coach would have driven up with a rattle and stopped
at our door. It never has, Miss Bawn. What you've heard has never
stopped at our doors. To hear wheels in the distance is nothing. As for
the cryin' in the shrubbery, that is another story. Some day I may tell
it to you, child."

"You have not told me yet," I said, "why you blame my godmother."

I had it in my mind that Lord and Lady St. Leger did not blame her, so
there could be nothing to blame. It was some stupid and ignorant
prejudice of old Maureen's. I knew she had fostered my Uncle Luke, and
that she loved him, as the foster-mother does, with an unreasoning and
jealous passion.

Her old lips met tightly.

"Ask Miss Mary herself about that, Miss Bawn," she said. "No one can say
that I am one to talk. After all those years, it would be a pity to
spoil all the tellin' for Miss Mary."

She sat smiling to herself, a bitter and mocking smile, when she had
finished the sentence. I knew Maureen better than to try to win talk