ression of acute agony on his face. The
twins, having brought their pea-shooters with them, at once discharged
two pellets on him, with that accuracy of aim which can only be attained
by long and careful practice on a writing-master, while the United
States Minister covered him with his revolver, and called upon him, in
accordance with Californian etiquette, to hold up his hands! The ghost
started up with a wild shriek of rage, and swept through them like a
mist, extinguishing Washington Otis's candle as he passed, and so
leaving them all in total darkness. On reaching the top of the staircase
he recovered himself, and determined to give his celebrated peal of
demoniac laughter. This he had on more than one occasion found extremely
useful. It was said to have turned Lord Raker's wig grey in a single
night, and had certainly made three of Lady Canterville's French
governesses give warning before their month was up. He accordingly
laughed his most horrible laugh, till the old vaulted roof rang and
rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door
opened, and Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. "I am
afraid you are far from well," she said, "and have brought you a bottle
of Doctor Dobell's tincture. If it is indigestion, you will find it a
most excellent remedy." The ghost glared at her in fury, and began at
once to make preparations for turning himself into a large black dog, an
accomplishment for which he was justly renowned, and to which the family
doctor always attributed the permanent idiocy of Lord Canterville's
uncle, the Hon. Thomas Horton. The sound of approaching footsteps,
however, made him hesitate in his fell purpose, so he contented himself
with becoming faintly phosphorescent, and vanished with a deep
churchyard groan, just as the twins had come up to him.

[Illustration: "THE TWINS ... AT ONCE DISCHARGED TWO PELLETS ON HIM"]

On reaching his room he entirely broke down, and became a prey to the
most violent agitation. The vulgarity of the twins, and the gross
materialism of Mrs. Otis, were naturally extremely annoying, but what
really distressed him most was that he had been unable to wear the suit
of mail. He had hoped that even modern Americans would be thrilled by
the sight of a Spectre in armour, if for no more sensible reason, at
least out of respect for their natural poet Longfellow, over whose
graceful and attractive poetry he himself had whiled away many a weary
hour w