“Which I never did, sir!” declared Mrs. Spruce emphatically, “No, sir, never!  For when the old Squire died, she was jest a slip of fifteen and her uncle, the Squire’s own twin brother, what had married an American heiress with somethin’ like a hundred million of money, so I’m told, took her straight away and adopted her like, and the reg’ler pay for keepin’ up the Manor and grounds has been sent to us through a Bank, and so far we’ve got nothin’ to complain of bein’ all strictly honourable both ways, but of Miss Vancourt we never heard a thing.  And Mr. Oliver Leach he is the agent of the property, and he ain’t never said a word,—­and we think, me and my husband, that he don’t know nothin’ of her comin’ back, and should we tell him, sir?  Or would you reckon that we’d better keep a still tongue in our heads till she do come?  For there’s no knowin’ why or wherefore she’s comin’,—­though we did hear her poor uncle died two years ago, and we wondered where she and her aunt with the hundred million was got to—­but mebbe she’ll change her mind and not come, after all?”

“I should certainly not count upon that, if I were you, Mrs. Spruce,” said Walden decisively; “Your business is to keep everything in order for the lady’s arrival; but I don’t think,—­I really don’t think, you are at all bound to inform Mr. Oliver Leach of the matter.  He will no doubt find out for himself. or receive his orders direct from Miss Vancourt.”  Here he paused.  “How old did you say she was when, she went away from home?”

“Fifteen, sir.  That was nigh eleven years ago,—­just one week after the Squire’s funeral, and a year afore you came here, sir.  She’s gettin’ on for seven-and-twenty now.”

“Quite a woman, then,” said Walden lightly; “Old enough to know her own mind at any rate.  Do you remember her?”

“Perfectly well, sir,—­a little flitterin’ creature all eyes and hair, with a saucy way of tossin’ her curls about, and a trick of singin’ and shoutin’ all over the place.  She used to climb the pine trees and sit in them and pelt her father with the cones.  Oh, yes, sir, she was a terrible child to rule, and it’s Gospel truth there was no ruling her, for the governesses came and went like the seasons, one in, t’other out.  Ay, but the Lord knows I’ll never forget the scream she gave when the Squire was brought home from the hunting field stone dead!”

Here John Walden turned his head towards her with an air of more interest than he had yet shown.

“Ah!—­How was that?” he enquired.

“He was killed jumpin’ a fence;” went on Mrs. Spruce; “A fine, handsome gentleman,—­they say he’d been wild in his youth; anyhow he got married in London to a great Court beauty, so I’ve been told.  And after the wedding, they went travelling allover the world for a year and a half, and just when they was expected ’ome Mrs. Vancourt died with the birth of the child, and he and the baby and the nurses all came back here and he never stirred