e at
each end conducted to the tower stairs, others, to the reception-rooms
and domestic offices. In the right wing, besides bedrooms galore, was a
lofty and spacious picture gallery; in the left--a chapel; for the
Wimpoles were, formerly, Roman Catholics. The general fittings and
furniture, both of the hall and house in general, were substantial,
venerable and strongly corroborative of what Mrs. Grimstone hinted
at--they suggested ghosts.

"The walls, lined with black oak panels, or dark hangings that fluttered
mysteriously each time the wind blew, were funereal indeed; and so high
and narrow were the windows, that little was to be discerned through
them but cross-barred portions of the sky. One spot in particular
appealed to my nerves--and that, a long, vaulted stone passage leading
from a morning room to the foot of the back staircase. Here the voice
and even the footsteps echoed with a hollow, low response, and often
when I have been hurrying along it--I never dared walk slowly--I have
fancied--and maybe it was more than fancy--I have been pursued.

"Time passed, and from being merely used to my new environments, I grew
to take a pride in them, to love them. I made the acquaintance of
several of my neighbours, those I deemed the most desirable, and on
returning from wintering abroad, brought home a bride, a young Polish
girl, who added lustre to the surroundings, and in no small degree
helped to dissipate the gloom. Indeed, had it not been for the picture
in the hall, and for the twilight shadows and twilight footsteps in the
stone passage, I should soon have ceased to think of ghosts. Ghosts,
forsooth! When all around me vibrated with the sounds of girlish
laughter, and the summer sunshine, sparkling on the golden curls of my
child-wife, saw itself reflected a millionfold in the alluring depths of
her azure eyes. In halcyon days like these who thinks of ghosts and
death?

"And yet! It is in just such times as these that hell is nearest. There
came a night in August when the air was so hot and sultry that I could
scarcely breathe, and unable to bear the atmosphere of the house and
gardens any longer, I sought the coolness of the wood. Olga--my
wife--did not accompany me, as she was suffering from a slight--thank
God, it was only slight--sunstroke. It was close on midnight, and there
was a dead stillness abroad that seemed as if it must be universal--as
if it enveloped the whole of nature. I tried to realize Londo