Mr. Raby came back, and Grace waited to see if he would tell her.  I don’t think he intended to, at first:  but he observed her eyes inquiring, and said, “One of the men, who was out after you tonight, has brought in word there is a light in Cairnhope old church.”

“Do you believe it?”

“No.  But it is a curious thing; a fortnight ago (I think, I told you) a shepherd brought me the same story.  He had seen the church on fire; at least he said so.  But mark the paralyzing effect of superstition.  My present informant no sooner saw this light—­probably a reflection from one of the distant torches—­than he coolly gave up searching for you.  ‘They are dead,’ says he, ’and the spirits in the old church are saying mass for their souls.  I’ll go to supper.’  So he came here to drink my ale, and tell his cock-and-bull story.”

Grace put in her word with a sweet, candid face.  “Sir, if there had been a light in that church, should we not have seen it?”

“Why, of course you would:  you must have been within a hundred yards of it in your wanderings.  I never thought of that.”

Grace breathed again.

“However, we shall soon know.  I have sent George and another man right up to the church to look.  It is quite clear now.”

Grace felt very anxious, but she forced on a careless air.  “And suppose, after all, there should be a light?”

“Then George has his orders to come back and tell me; if there is a light, it is no ghost nor spirit, but some smuggler, or poacher, or vagrant, who is desecrating that sacred place; and I shall turn out with fifty men, and surround the church, and capture the scoundrel, and make an example of him.”

Grace turned cold and looked at Mr. Coventry.  She surprised a twinkle of satisfaction in his eye.  She never forgot it.

She sat on thorns, and was so distraite she could hardly answer the simplest question.

At last, after an hour of cruel suspense, the servant came in, and said, “George is come back, sir.”

“Oh, please let him come in here, and tell us.”

“By all means.  Send him in.”

George appeared, the next moment, in the doorway.  “Well?” said Mr. Raby.

“Well?” said Grace, pale, but self-possessed.

“Well,” said George, sulkily, “it is all a lie.  Th’ old church is as black as my hat.”

“I thought as much,” said Mr. Raby.  “There, go and get your supper.”

Soon after this Grace went up to bed, and Jael came to her, and they talked by the fire while she was curling her hair.  She was in high spirits, and Jael eyed her with wonder and curiosity.

“But, miss,” said Jael, “the magpie was right.  Oh, the foul bird!  That’s the only bird that wouldn’t go into the ark with Noah and his folk.”

“Indeed!  I was not aware of the circumstance.”

“’Twas so, miss; and I know the reason.  A very old woman told me.”