“The dawn was close upon me:  and as soon as the sky reddened I took my bath, dressed and went downstairs.  And there at the pantry door I found Mrs. Carkeek, also dressed, with my candlestick in her hand.

“‘Ah!’ said I, ‘you picked it up.’

“Our eyes met.  Clearly Mrs. Carkeek wished me to begin, and I determined at once to have it out with her.

“’And you knew all about it.  That’s what accounts for your plugging up the cistern.’

“‘You saw? . . .’ she began.

“’Yes, yes.  And you must tell me all about it—­never mind how bad.  Is—­is it—­murder?’

“‘Law bless you, miss, whatever put such horrors in your head?’

“‘She was washing her hands.’

“’Ah, so she does, poor dear!  But—­murder!  And dear little Miss Margaret, that wouldn’t go to hurt a fly!’

“‘Miss Margaret?’

“’Eh, she died at seven year.  Squire Kendall’s only daughter; and that’s over twenty year ago.  I was her nurse, miss, and I know—­ diphtheria it was; she took it down in the village.’

“‘But how do you know it is Margaret?’

“‘Those hands—­why, how could I mistake, that used to be her nurse?’

“‘But why does she wash them?’

“’Well, miss, being always a dainty child—­and the house-work, you see—­’

“I took a long breath.  ’Do you mean to tell me that all this tidying and dusting—­’ I broke off.  ’Is it she who has been taking this care of me?’

“Mrs. Carkeek met my look steadily.

“‘Who else, miss?’

“‘Poor little soul!’

“’Well now’—­Mrs. Carkeek rubbed my candlestick with the edge of her apron—­’I’m so glad you take it like this.  For there isn’t really nothing to be afraid of—­is there?’ She eyed me wistfully.  ’It’s my belief she loves you, miss.  But only to think what a time she must have had with the others!’

“‘The others?’ I echoed.

“‘The other tenants, miss:  the ones afore you.’

“‘Were they bad?’

“’They was awful.  Didn’t Farmer Hosking tell you?  They carried on fearful—­one after another, and each one worse than the last.”

“‘What was the matter with them?  Drink?’

“’Drink, miss, with some of ’em.  There was the Major—­he used to go mad with it, and run about the coombe in his nightshirt.  Oh, scandalous!  And his wife drank too—­that is, if she ever was his wife.  Just think of that tender child washing Up after their nasty doings!’

“I shivered.

“’But that wasn’t the worst, miss—­not by a long way.  There was a pair here—­from the colonies, or so they gave out—­with two children, a boy and gel, the eldest scarce six.  Poor mites!’

“‘Why, what happened?’

“’They beat those children, miss—­your blood would boil!—­and starved, and tortured ’em, it’s my belief.  You could hear their screams, I’ve been told, away back in the high-road, and that’s the best part of half a mile.  Sometimes they was locked up without food for days together.  But it’s my belief that little Miss Margaret managed to feed them somehow.  Oh, I can see her, creeping to the door and comforting!’