of ’em; and if you don’t leave that ’ere coachman and smile on me, I shall either go up like a baloon, or else there’ll be a case of combustion.’  I went on in that ‘ere style, yer know, thinkin’ she’d melt like a h’yster in a fryin’-pan, but she didn’t; and the next thing I hears wus that the coachman wur at the willage alehouse readin’ my letter.  Since then I’ve guv up the tender passion and guv up writin’ letters.”

“Well, you have had bad luck, Simon; but perhaps you’ll be more fortunate next time.  Mr. Temple tells me you have something to tell me about the ghost.  What is it?”

“You ain’t a-seen that ’ere hinfidel willain since he went away from ’ere, Mr. Blake, have ’ee?”

“I saw him in Hyde Park one day, but have never spoken to him.”

“Well, I’m in a fog.”

“In a fog!  How?”

“Why, I can’t understand a bit why that ’ere ghost wur a got up.”

“You think it was got up, then?”

“Certain of it, yer honour.”

“Well, tell us about it.”

“Well, sur, after you left all of a hurry like, we had a big party in the house, and all the servants ’ad to ’elp; and no sooner did I git in that ’ere house than I beginned to put two and two together, and then I see a hindiwidual that I beginned to think wur mighty like that ’ere ghost.”

“And who was that?”

“Why, that ’ere hancient wirgin, Miss Staggles.”

“Ah, what then?”

“Well, I heard somebody tellin’ her as ’ow you were gone to London, and I thought she looked mighty pleased.  After dinner, I see her come out of the drawin’-room, and go away by herself, and I thought I’d watch.  She went up to her room, yer honour, and I got in a convenient place for watchin’ her when she comes out.  She weren’t a minnit afore she wur out, Mr. Blake, a-carryin’ somethin’ in her hands.  She looks curiously ’round, and then I see her make straight for your bedroom door, and goes into your room.  In a minnit more she comes out, with nothin’ in her hands.  So then I says to myself, ‘She’s deposited some o’ her combustible matter in Mr. Blake’s room.’

“It was a bold and dangerous thing to do, yer honour, but I goes into your room and looks around.  Everything seems right.  Then I looks and sees that the drawer of the wardrobe ain’t quite shut, so I takes a step forward and peeps in.”

“And what did you see?”

“Why, I see the trappin’s of that ’ere ghost.  The shroud, knife, and all the rest on’t.”

“Well, Simon?”

“Well, sur, I takes it to my shanty, and puts it in my own box, to show you at ‘a convenient season,’ as Moses said.”

“Is that all?”

“Not quite.  The next mornin’ I see her a-airin’ her sweet self on the lawn, so I goes up to ’er all familiar like, and I says, ‘Top o’ the mornin’, Miss Staggles.’

“‘Who are you, man?’ she says.

“‘As nice a chap as you ever see,’ I said, ‘though I am marked wi’ small-pox.  But that ain’t my fault, ma’am; it is owin’ to the experimentin’ o’ a waccinatin’ doctor.’