tand them,
though they had a strong personal opinion about their learned author.

"The only ghost _I_ ever came across, or, rather, came within measurable
distance of, never appeared at all so far as one knew."

"Miss Lebas has a story," said the squire, "Won't she tell us her story?"

The ladies murmured, "Do, please."

"It really cannot be called a ghost-story," remarked Miss Lebas, "it was
only an uncomfortable kind of coincidence, and I never think of it
without a shudder. But I know there is not any reason at all why it
should make any of _you_ shudder; so don't be disappointed.

"It was the Long Vacation before last," said the Girton girl, "and I went
on a reading-party to Bantry Bay, with Wyndham and Toole of Somerville,
and Clare of Lady Margaret's. Leighton coached us."

"Dear me! With all these young men, my dear?" asked the maiden aunt.

"They were all women of my year, except Miss Leighton of Newnham, who was
our coach," answered the Girton girl composedly.

"Dear me! I beg your pardon for interrupting you," said the maiden aunt.

"Well, term-time was drawing near, and Bantry Bay was getting pretty
cold, when I received an invitation from Lady Garryowen to stay with them
at Dundellan on my way south. They were two very dear, old, hospitable
Irish ladies, the last of their race, Lady Garryowen and her sister, Miss
Patty. They were _so_ hospitable that, though I did not know it,
Dundellan was quite full when I reached it, overflowing with young
people. The house has nothing very remarkable about it: a grey, plain
building, with remains of the chateau about it, and a high park wall. In
the garden wall there is a small round tower, just like those in the
precinct wall at St. Andrews. The ground floor is not used. On the
first floor there is a furnished chamber with a deep round niche, almost
a separate room, like that in Queen Mary's apartments in Holy Rood. The
first floor has long been fitted up as a bedroom and dressing-room, but
it had not been occupied, and a curious old spinning-wheel in the corner
(which has nothing to do with my story, if you can call it a story), must
have been unused since '98, at least. I reached Dublin late--our train
should have arrived at half-past six--it was ten before we toiled into
the station. The Dundellan carriage was waiting for me, and, after an
hour's drive, I reached the house. The dear old ladies had sat up for
me, and I went to bed as soon as poss