g serenity in the long
sky-line and the eager air. Here at least there was no neighbour to pry
and chatter.

The laird had left his phaeton and two ponies behind him, with the aid
of which my father and I would go the round of the estate doing such
light duties as fall to an agent, or "factor" as it was there called,
while our gentle Esther looked to our household needs, and brightened
the dark old building.

Such was our simple, uneventful existence, until the summer night when
an unlooked-for incident occurred which proved to be the herald of those
strange doings which I have taken up my pen to describe.

It had been my habit to pull out of an evening in the laird's skiff
and to catch a few whiting which might serve for our supper. On this
well-remembered occasion my sister came with me, sitting with her book
in the stern-sheets of the boat, while I hung my lines over the bows.

The sun had sunk down behind the rugged Irish coast, but a long bank of
flushed cloud still marked the spot, and cast a glory upon the waters.
The whole broad ocean was seamed and scarred with crimson streaks. I had
risen in the boat, and was gazing round in delight at the broad panorama
of shore and sea and sky, when my sister plucked at my sleeve with a
little, sharp cry of surprise.

"See, John," she cried, "there is a light in Cloomber Tower!".

I turned my head and stared back at the tall, white turret which peeped
out above the belt of trees. As I gazed I distinctly saw at one of the
windows the glint of a light, which suddenly vanished, and then shone
out once more from another higher up. There it flickered for some time,
and finally flashed past two successive windows underneath before the
trees obscured our view of it. It was clear that some one bearing a lamp
or a candle had climbed up the tower stairs and had then returned into
the body of the house.

"Who in the world can it be?" I exclaimed, speaking rather to myself
than to Esther, for I could see by the surprise upon her face that she
had no solution to offer. "Maybe some of the folk from Branksome-Bere
have wanted to look over the place."

My sister shook her head.

"There is not one of them would dare to set foot within the avenue
gates," she said. "Besides, John, the keys are kept by the house-agent
at Wigtown. Were they ever so curious, none of our people could find
their way in."

When I reflected upon the massive door and ponderous shutters which
guarded the l