rtha rushed to the drawing-room
door and locked it. They then with one accord began to pray. The steps
halted outside the room, the door slowly opened, and the blurred
outlines of a group of ghastly-looking figures, supporting a
grotesquely shaped object in their midst, appeared on the threshold.
For some seconds there was a grim silence. It was abruptly broken by a
thud--Ruth had slipped from her chair to the floor in a dead faint;
whereupon the shadowy forms solemnly veered round and made their way
back again to the front door. The latter swung violently open, there
was a rush of icy wind which swept like a hurricane across the hall
and into the drawing-room, the front door then slammed to with a
crash, and the coach drove away.

Every one's attention was now directed to Ruth. At first sal-volatile
and cold water produced no effect, but after a time she slowly, very
slowly regained consciousness. As soon as she had recovered
sufficiently to speak, she expressed an earnest desire that no
reference should ever be made in her presence to what had just
happened. "It was for me!" she said in such an emphatic tone as filled
her audience with the direst forebodings. "I know it was for me; they
all looked in my direction. God help me! I shall die like Mary."

Though greatly perplexed as to what she meant, for no one excepting
herself had been able to make out the phenomena with any degree of
distinctness, they yielded to her entreaties, and asked her no
questions. The servants had neither heard nor seen anything. A
fortnight later, Ruth was taken ill with appendicitis; peritonitis
speedily set in, and she died under the operation. The Whittingens now
began to wish they had never come to Donaldgowerie; but, with the
astuteness that had been characteristic of the family through
countless generations of fair days and foul, they took the greatest
precautions never to drop even as much as a hint to the servants or to
any one in the town that the house was haunted.

A year passed without any further catastrophe, and they were beginning
to hope their ghastly visitors had left them, when something else
occurred. It was Easter-time, and Ernest, his wife, and baby were
staying with them. The baby, a boy, was fat and bonny, the very
picture of health and happiness.

Mrs. Whittingen and Martha vied with one another in their devotion to
him; and either one or other of them was always dancing attendance on
him. It so happened that one