my eyes firmly fixed upon it—saw it walk with great solemnity of step across the room, shake its head, as if to indicate some disappointment, and then retire with corresponding solemnity to the door, past which it slowly vanished."
"Gracious goodness!—you inspire me with terror."
"Well," continued the reverend gentleman, "having in some degree recovered my self-possession, I rose, and went to the door, and there, to my utter amazement, discovered the outer door open! How it became open, heaven only knows. I heard no sound—no lock unfastened—no chain removed—no bar unlatched—no bolt withdrawn. Indeed there was not time for any mortal to have accomplished even one of these things. Still all had been accomplished at once, and in silence—all had been done by magic! Well, I closed the door, and having done so, I heard the faint sound of footsteps behind me! I turned on the instant, and then beheld the same spirit slowly ascending the stairs!"
"Gracious powers!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor, "what can be the meaning of this dreadful visitation?"
"I gave no alarm," resumed the reverend gentleman; "I thought it would be useless—probably presumptuous. I therefore returned to the parlour and listened, and there we remained till the morning dawned, when, as all was still, we departed."
"What on earth can have induced this? What can it mean?"
"I have hitherto, my dear madam, been to a certain extent a disbeliever in these supernatural appearances: I have hitherto held them to be either the coinage of a diseased imagination, or phantoms set up by designing men to draw the ignorant into superstition. But, although I still believe that the majority of those cases of which we have heard are ascribable to either knavery or enthusiasm, I now know beyond all doubt that spirits appear upon earth."
"But, my dear sir, tell me," said Aunt Eleanor anxiously, "tell me, to what do you ascribe—to what can you ascribe the awful appearance of this spirit here?"
"I know not, my dear madam, what to ascribe it to. I know not from what it may spring, nor to what it may tend. These things are far above human comprehension. But do you remember—believe me I do not ask for the gratification of any idle curiosity——but do you recollect any circumstance connected with any deceased friend, or any member of your family, at all calculated to warrant the belief that that friend or relative did not depart this life in peace?"
Aunt Eleanor started, and turned deadly pale! "A thought strikes me!" she exclaimed—a dreadful thought! But no—no—no—it cannot be! And yet, that horse was his! Great heaven! if it should be the spirit of him!"
"My dear madam," said her reverend friend soothingly, as clasping her temples she burst into tears. "Compose yourself: be calm. As there is One above who protects the innocent, be assured that He will still protect you. Whatever may have befallen, I feel that you are guileless."
"And he was guileless too."
