"And now she has taken fright," proceeded the lady. "How anyone could
make her hear their story, the Lord in heaven alone knows; and if there
was anything to see, I am sure she is far too blind to see it; but she
says she daren't stay. She does not want to see poor master again till
she is dead herself."

"I have got a tenant for the house the moment you like to say you will
leave it," said Mr. Craven, in reply. "He cares for no ghost that ever
was manufactured. He has a wife with a splendid digestion, and several
grown-up sons and daughters. They will soon clear out the shadows; and
their father is willing to pay two hundred and fifty pounds a year."

"And you think there is really nothing more of any use amongst
the papers?"

"I am afraid not--I am afraid you must face the worst."

"And my sister's child left no better off than a street beggar,"
suggested Miss Blake.

"Come, come," remonstrated Mr. Craven; "matters are not so bad as all
that comes to. Upon three hundred a year, you can live very comfortable
on the Continent; and--"

"We'll go," interrupted Miss Blake; "but it is hard lines--not that
anything better could have been expected from Robert Elmsdale."

"Ah! dear Miss Blake, the poor fellow is dead. Remember only his
virtues, and let his faults rest."