Wot I meant
was, that very night the gal gets a boat an' rows up to Kit's House,
arter leavin' a letter to say as she'd drownded hersel'. An' there
she lived in hidin', 'long wi' the leppards for the rest of her days,
which, by the tale, warn't many, an' she an' her sweetheart was
berried in wan grave." Caleb paused for breath.
"And the ghosts?"
said Mr. Fogo, much interested.
"Some ha' seed her rowin' about here in a boat, o' dark nights; and
others swear to seein' all the leppards a-marchin' down wi' her
corpse to the berryin'-ground. Leastways, that's the tale.
Jan Spettigue was the last as seed 'em, but as he be'eld three devils
on his own chimbly-piece the week arter, along o' too much rum,
p'r'aps he made a mistake. Anyways, 'tes a moral yarn, an' true to
natur'. These young wimmen es a very detarmined sex, whether 'tes a
leppard in the case or a Rooshan."
Mr. Fogo had fallen into a reflective silence.
"'Tes a thousand pities this 'ere place should be empty, wi' a
lean-to Crystal Pallis--by which I means a conserva-tory, sir--an'
gardens, an' room for a cow, an' a Pyll o' ets own--"
"A what?"
"Pyll, sir, otherwise a creek--'c, r, double e, k--an arm o' the
sea,' as the spellin' book says."
A curious fascination stole over Mr. Fogo as he looked earnestly at
the house round which these memories hung.
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