"I wonder he can rest in his grave," said Miss Blake, when at last she
began to realize, in a dim sort of way, the position of affairs.

According to the River Hall servants' version, Mr. Elmsdale did anything
rather than rest in his grave. About the time the new mourning had been
altered to fit perfectly, a nervous housemaid, who began perhaps to find
the house dull, mooted the question as to whether "master walked."

Within a fortnight it was decided in solemn conclave that master did;
and further, that the place was not what it had been; and moreover, that
in the future it was likely to be still less like what it had been.

There is a wonderful instinct in the lower classes, which enables them
to comprehend, without actual knowledge, when misfortune is coming upon
a house: and in this instance that instinct was not at fault.

Long before Mr. Craven had satisfied himself that his client's estate
was a very poor one, the River Hall servants, one after another, had
given notice to leave--indeed, to speak more accurately, they did not
give notice, for they left; and before they left they took care to
baptize the house with such an exceedingly bad name, that neither for
love nor money could Miss Blake get a fresh "help" to stay in it for
more than twenty-four hours.

First one housemaid was taken with "the shivers"; then the cook had "the
trembles"; then the coachman was prepared to take his solemn affidavit,
that, one night long after everyone in the house to his knowledge was in
bed, he "see from his room above the stables, a light a-shining on the
Thames, and the figures of one or more a passing and a repassing across