all its eerie particulars to her father and
Eleanor when they got home.

"And you believe it really is a ghost
going to a ball, do you, my credulous little
Effie?" said the colonel, pulling her ear
playfully.

"But the noises, papa! We all heard
them."

"I have no doubt you did, and that the
noises exist, though we have not been able
to account for them. But don't you see,
my dear girls, that it was the noises that
were the cause of the ghost; not the ghost
that was the cause of the noises?"

When we got home, of course, I told all
this to Captain Macnamara, who, like all
sailors, loved a ghost-story. But neither
of us was troubled with nervous terrors.
On inquiry we found that the sad story
of the poor little truant girl was substantially
true; and then the matter passed
from our minds.

It was now April, very fine weather, and
warm for the time of year. Tempted by
the beauty of one fragrant evening we had
lingered on the terrace, on returning from
a stroll in the garden after our usual late
dinner, till I was quite tired. So leaving
Dick to finish his last cigar, I stepped in to
the drawing-room by the window, and
sat down to the pianoforte. It was quite
dusk indoors, but I did not care to ring for
lights till he came in, so I continued playing
little bits of soft music by heart, till at
last I fell upon one of an old set of
Beethoven's waltzes, which had not come into
my head for a long time. While I was
playing, I heard the door to which my
back was turned, open gently; but no one
came in. I thought it was my husband, and
that he was stopping to listen, as the waltz
was an old favourite of his.

"Is that you, Dick?" said I. " Will
you order tea?"

No answer. I turned round, and there,
looking in at the half-opened door, as if the
person were standing behind it, I saw a face
so strange, so wan and wistful-looking,
that I uttered an involuntary cry. In a
moment Dick sprang in at the window,
and I pointed to the door. " Who is it?"
said I, faintly. He went to the door.
"There is no one here." It opened into
an ante-room which he crossed, and looked
out into the corridor.

"What was it, dear?" said he, coming
back. " You look scared." I told him
what it was.

"The housemaid coming to see
whether the room was put to rights, I
suppose."

"I suppose it must have been. But oh,
Dick, you can't think how weird, and
ghastly, and odd the face looked!"

"Why, so does yours at this moment,
love; and most faces do look pale and
queer at twilight: especially peeping in at
a door. Let us have lights."

He rang the bell. The servants came in
with the lamps and tea, and I persuaded
myself I had been mistaken. But somehow
I did not like to think of that face at
the door: and I shunned making the
inquiry, whether the housemaid had looked
in.

A few weeks later, we were to go up to
town to pass the London season with my
parents, who had taken a house there; and
we had engaged to pay visits to various
relations in the country afterwards, before
returning to Manorbere for the cub-hunting
in September. The members of the hunt
who happened to be still remaining in
the neighbourhood had got up a parting
dinner, at which Captain Macnamara
was to make one. It took place at Barton,
a town five or six miles from us, and at an
early hour, because some of the party had
a long ride home afterwards. I dined alone
at our usual time. I walked in the garden
a little with our favourite terrier, Fussy,
and then I sat lazily enjoying my tea
and a new book till I found myself beginning
to nod. Looking at my watch I saw
it was already eleven o'clock, and knowing
that my husband might be expected home
in half an hour or so, I preferred waiting
up for him to going to bed; so I went to
the piano to rouse myself. Fussy, who was
very fond of music, sat up, stretched
himself, and followed me to the instrument,
where he placed himself at my feet. After
playing several pieces, the old Beethoven
waltzes recurred to my memory and I
began them.

I must make the confession that after
the evening when that very unpleasant
face had looked in so mysteriously, I
had been weak enough to have the piano
moved so as to sit facing any one who
might come to the door. There was only
one lamp in the room, on my reading table:
so the other end of the spacious apartment
was imperfectly lighted. Looking up as I
played, to my astonishment I saw in the
distance what I thought to be two white
mice capering about on the floor. I left
the piano and went to the spot, but nothing
was to be seen. This did not surprise me,