Ashby came in.

"'Marse Livingstone,' he asked huskily, 'whar has you been wif de
horses?'

"I told him; and during the brief account of our adventures his face
grew ashen and his eyes seemed about to start out of his head. When I
was through he tottered over to the window, muttering, 'Gawd help us!
Gawd help us!'

"'What's the matter, Uncle Ashby?' I asked curiously. 'What on earth are
you so excited about?'

"'Boss,' said he entreatingly, 'doan' make me tell you--you'll be sorry
ef you do. 'Deed, Marster, I really mus' go now, sah; dey's waitin' fer
me at de stables. And youse been down dar an' seen it! Oh, Lordy,
Lordy!'

"'Come back here,' said I, my curiosity getting the better of me. 'Don't
be a fool, old man; brace up. What's the trouble? You are not afraid to
speak out, eh?'

"'Well, Marse Livingstone, ef I mus' tell you, I 'spose I mus'--thar
doan' 'pear to be no help fer it. But I'd ruther not, boss; 'deed, I'd
ruther not.'

"'Go on; tell your story,' said I impatiently. 'I guess I can stand it.
Just try me, anyhow.' So in the semi-darkness a marvellous tale was
unfolded to my ears.

"In the first place, Uncle Ashby solemnly assured me that I had that day
seen a ghost. The flesh-and-blood Ailsee, he declared, had been dead
many years. Her father, Coot Harris, was a rough customer who took up
his abode in the marsh--'mash,' Uncle Tucker called it--at the close of
the Civil War. Here he gained a precarious livelihood by 'pot-hunting';
for Harris and others of his ilk paid but little attention to the poorly
enforced game laws of the section. Coot Harris, the marshman, had a
daughter, who, as Uncle Ashby contemptuously remarked, 'was peart enuff,
as pore white trash folkses go.'

"This daughter was named Ailsee. Thwarted by her father in some love
affair with a swain of the neighborhood, she had drowned herself in a
gloomy pool in the very darkest part of the forest. The body was found
shortly afterward and buried in the cottage garden. Harris then left the
country and has never since been heard of. All this, according to Uncle
Ashby, happened twenty years ago. The ghost of the ill-starred Ailsee
had occasionally been seen by the country folk, but always with dire
results. Bad luck, disease, and in some cases death, had been the fate
of those who saw the 'ha'nt.' One man lost his house by fire within
forty-eight hours after the shadowy form crossed his path. The body of
another unfortunate was found