food, an antique decanter filled with wine, a
glass, and a phial with some thick black liquid,
uncorked. I felt weak and sick with the
atmosphere of the place, and I seized the
decanter, wiped the dust from it with my
handkerchief, tasted, found that the wine was good,
and drank a moderate draught. Immediately it
was swallowed I felt a horrid giddiness, and
sank upon the coffin. A raging pain was in my
head and a sense of suffocation in my chest.
After a few intolerable moments I felt better,
but the heavy air pressed on me stiflingly, and
I rushed from this inner room into the larger
and outer chamber. Here a blast of cool air
revived me, and I saw that the place was
changed.

A dozen other candelabra besides those I had
lighted were flaming round the walls, the hearth
was all ruddy with a blazing fire, everything
that had been dim was bright, the lustre had
returned to the gilding, the flowers bloomed
in the vases. A lady was sitting before the
hearth in a low arm-chair. Her light loose
gown swept about her on the carpet, her black
hair fell round her to her knees, and into it her
hands were thrust as she leaned her forehead
upon them and stared between them into the
fire. I had scarcely time to observe her attitude
when she turned her head quickly towards me,
and I recognised the handsome face of the
magnificent lady who had played such a sinister part
in the strange scenes that had been enacted
before me two nights ago. I saw something
dark looming behind her chair, but I thought it
was only her shadow thrown backward by the
firelight.

She arose and came to meet me, and I
recoiled from her. There was something horridly
fixed and hollow in her gaze, and filmy in the
stirring of her garments. The shadow, as she
moved, grew more firm and distinct in outline
and followed her like a servant where she
went.

She crossed half of the room, then beckoned
me, and sat down at the writing-table. The
shadow waited beside her, adjusted her paper,
placed the ink-bottle near her and the pen
between her fingers. I felt impelled to approach
near her, and to take my place at her left
shoulder, so as to see what she might write.
The shadow stood at her other hand. As I
became more accustomed to the shadow's
presence he grew more loathsome and hideous.
He was quite distinct from the lady, and moved
independently of her with long ugly limbs. She
hesitated about beginning to write, and he made
a wild gesture with his arm, which brought her
hand down quickly on the paper, and her pen
began to move at once. I needed not to bend
and scrutinise in order to read what was written.
Every word as it was formed flashed before me
like a meteor.

"I am the spirit of Madeleine, Lady Thunder,
who lived and died in this house, and whose
coffin stands in yonder room among the vanities
in which I delighted. I am constrained to
make my confession to you, John Thunder,
who are the present owner of the estates of your
family."

Here the pale hand trembled and stopped
writing. But the shadow made a threatening
gesture, and the hand fluttered on.

"I was beautiful, poor, and ambitious, and
when I entered this house first on the night of
a ball given by Sir Luke Thunder, I determined
to become its mistress. His daughter, Mary
Thunder, was the only obstacle in my way. She
divined my intention, and stood between me
and her father. She was a gentle, delicate girl,
and no match for me. I pushed her aside, and
became Lady Thunder. After that I hated her,
and made her dread me. I had gained the object
of my ambition, but I was jealous of the
influence possessed by her over her father, and I
revenged myself by crushing the joy out of her
young life. In this I defeated my own purpose.
She eloped with a young man who was devoted
to her, though poor, and beneath her in station.
Her father was indignant at first and my malice
was satisfied; but as time passed on I had no
children, and she had a son, soon after whose
birth her husband died. Then her father took
her back to his heart, and the boy was his idol
and heir."

Again the hand stopped writing, the ghostly
head drooped, and the whole figure was
convulsed. But the shadow gesticulated fiercely,
and cowering under its menace, the wretched
spirit went on:

"I caused the child to be stolen away. I
thought I had done it cunningly, but she tracked
the crime home to me. She came and accused
me of it, and in the desperation of my terror at
discovery, I gave her poison to drink. She
rushed from me and from the house in frenzy,
and in her mortal anguish fell in the river.
People thought she had gone mad from grief
for her child, and committed suicide. I only
knew the horrible truth. Sorrow brought an
illness upon her father, of which he died.
Up to the day of his death, he had search
made for the child. Believing that it was alive,
and must be found, he willed all his property
to it, his rightful heir, and to its heirs for ever.
I buried the deeds under a tree in the orchard,
and forged a will, in which all was bequeathed
to me during my lifetime. I enjoyed my state
and grandeur till the day of my death, which
came upon me miserably, and, after that, my
husband's possessions went to a distant relation
of his family. Nothing more was heard of
the fate of the child who was stolen; but he
lived and married, and his daughter now toils
for her bread — his daughter, who is the rightful
owner of all that is said to belong to you,
John Thunder. I tell you this that you may
devote yourself to the task of discovering this
wronged girl, and giving up to her that which
you are unlawfully possessed of. Under the
thirteenth tree standing on the brink of the
river at the foot of the orchard you will find
buried the genuine will of Sir Luke Thunder.
When you have found and read it, do justice, as
you value your soul. In order that you may