little tunnel of a court, and to the gas-lamp (lighted now), and to the iron gate.
" He was put there," says Jo, holding to the bars and looking in.
" Where ? 0, what a scene of horror !"
" There ! " says Jo, pointing, " Over yinder. Among them piles of bones, and close to that there kitchin winder! They put him wery nigh the top. They was obliged to stamp upon it to git it in. I could unkiver it for you, with my broom, if the gate was open. That's why they locks it, I s'pose," giving it a shake. " It's always locked. Look at the rat !" cries Jo, excited. " Hi ! Look ! There he goes ! Ho ! Into the ground !"
The servant shrinks into a corner—into a corner of that hideous archway, with its deadly stains contaminating her dress ; and putting out her two hands, and passionately telling him to keep away from her, for he is loathsome to her, so remains for some moments. Jo stands staring, and is still staring when she recovers herself.
" Is this place of abomination, consecrated ground ? "
" I don't know nothink of consequential ground," says Jo, still staring.
" Is it blessed?"
" Which ?" says Jo, in the last degree amazed.
" Is it blessed ? "
" I'm blest if I know," says Jo, staring more than ever; " but I shouldn't think it warn't. Blest?" repeats Jo, something troubled in his mind. " It an't done it much good if it is. Blest ? I should think it was t'othered myself. But I don't know nothink !"
The servant takes as little heed of what he says, as she seems to take of what she has said herself. She draws off her glove, to get some money from her purse. Jo silently notices how white and small her hand is, and what a jolly servant she must be to wear such sparkling rings.
She drops a piece of money in his hand, without touching it, and shuddering as their hands approach. " Now," she adds, " show me the spot again !"
Joe thrusts the handle of his broom between the bars of the gate, and, with his utmost power of elaboration, points it out. At length, looking aside to see if he has made himself intelligible, he finds that he is alone.
His first proceeding, is, to hold the piece of money to the gas-light, and to be overpowered at finding that it is yellow—gold. His next, is, to give it a one-sided bite at the edge, as a test of its quality. His next, to put it in his mouth for safety, and to sweep the step and passage with great care. His job done, he sets off for Tom-all-alone's ; stopping in the light of innumerable gas-lamps to produce the piece of gold, and give it another one-sided bite, as a re-assurance of its being genuine.
The Mercury in powder is in no want of society to-night, for my Lady goes to a grand dinner and three or four balls. Sir Leicester is fidgetty, down at Chesney Wold, with no better company than the gout ; he complains to Mrs. Rouncewell that the rain makes such a monotonous pattering on the terrace, that he can't read the paper, even by the fireside in his own snug dressing-room.
" Sir Leicester would have done better to try the other side of the house, my dear," says Mrs. Rouncewell to Rosa. " His dressing-room is on my Lady's side. And in all these years I never heard the step upon the Ghost's Walk, more distinct than it is to-night !"
