By one side of the house there was a wide, open ditch, fringed with
rushes--a deep, black ditch, that flowed down to the river.
"I can't compliment you on the situation of your cottage, mate," he
said; "it might be livelier."
"I dare say it might," answered Black Milsom, rather sulkily. "I took
to this place because everybody else was afraid to take to it, and it
was to be had for nothing. There was an old miser as cut his throat
here seven or eight year ago, and the place has been left to go to
decay ever since. The miser's ghost walks about here sometimes, after
twelve o'clock at night, folks say. 'Let him walk till he tires himself
out,' says I. 'He don't come my way; and if he did he wouldn't scare
me.' Come, captain."
Mr. Milsom opened the door, and ushered his visitor into the lively
abode, which the prejudice of weak-minded people permitted him to
occupy rent-free.
The girl whom Jernam had seen at the Wapping public-house was sitting
by the hearth, where a scrap of fire burnt in a rusty grate. She had
been sitting in a listless attitude, with her hands lying idle on her
lap, and her eyes fixed on the fire; but she looked up as the two men
entered.
She did not welcome her father's return with any demonstration of
affection; she looked at him with a strange, wondering gaze; and she
looked with an anxious expression from him to his companion.
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