The sailor gave a sudden start, and seemed very unwilling to quit the side of the Gipsy, who, after this little occurrence, greatly lost her loquacity and power of repartee, and she was voted by those who had not before spoken to her to be a very dull and uninteresting Gipsy. Her conversation with the sailor was interrupted by a cry from several of the guests, and from one end of the room there stalked forth a figure in a suit of Lincoln green, with hunting-cap on head and spear in hand. The face of the figure was properly whitened, but there was a jauntiness in the walk and a twinkle in the eyes, as the ghost moved among the crowd, which soon betrayed the true character of the supposed visitant from the grave. He had not, however, reached one end of the hall before the eyes of the guests were turned towards the other end, where there appeared a figure in a similar costume, but more worn and stained, with what was evidently a winding-sheet trailing behind; the countenance was deadly pale, and there was an unnatural glare in the eyes which it was painful to look at, while the features were rigid and fixed in an extraordinary manner. A curious halo, or mist it seemed, surrounded the figure as it stalked along, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, nor appearing to notice any one in the room. No one ventured to speak to it and ask it whence it came, but two or three gentlemen, who had come in characters of a doubtful nature, crept hurriedly out of its way. One was in black, with a pair of small chamois horns on his head, hoofs on his feet, and a long tail, which he carried gracefully coiled round his arm; another was a wood-demon, a green monster with wings, and claws, and horns, he was accompanied by a troop of imps, all of different colours, though bearing many of his characteristics; while a third represented a leaden blue-coloured demon, produced in the unwholesome imaginations of German poets. Everything about him was blue—watch, snuff-box, and toothpick-case. He got out of the way with even more haste than the rest, to the great amusement of the little imps, who did not appear to have the same dread of the awful-looking being as the rest.

On it came, slowly and silently, people making a broad way for it, and some even hurrying out of the room with looks indicative of terror; the bright lights grew dim as it passed, so many afterwards declared. The Gipsy, when she saw it, started, and, after scrutinising it for a moment, became so agitated that, had it not been for her companion, who was evidently a fellow not to be daunted by even his Satanic Majesty himself, she would have fallen. The sailor, on seeing this, looked very much inclined to rush forward and bring the ghost, if such it were, to action, but the Gipsy, grasping his arm, held him back.

“No, no. Do not interfere with it,” she exclaimed. “There may be more of reality in it than you suppose.”

The sailor, on hearing this, burst into a hearty merry laugh, which seemed to have some influence on the ghost, for it slowly turned its fearful eyes towards him, then turned back its head, and stalked or rather glided on.

“Never fear, my fine fellow, but I’ll find you out, and prove that a ghost can squeak if he can’t speak,” cried the sailor, still undaunted. “Avast there! Heave-to, I say! I want to light my pipe, and your goggles will just suit my purpose.”

To this address the ghost paid no attention, and the sailor seemed very much inclined to give chase, when, as it had got about three-quarters of the way down the room, Sir Gilbert, who had left it for a short time, re-entered.

“What gramarye5 is this?” he exclaimed, with a look of astonishment and annoyance. “I did not suppose that any visitor to this house would have taken so unwarrantable a liberty. Whoever you are, I must beg that you will instantly retire, and only appear again in your proper costume. We have all assembled to enjoy ourselves in an evening of harmless amusement, and I cannot allow the opportunity to be taken to try the nerves of ladies and children; for I hope all the men present will perceive that it is only a remarkably well got-up piece of mummery.”

The figure stopped for an instant listening to this address, and then turned round so withering a glance that even the baronet was put out of countenance. He soon recovered himself, however, exclaiming:

“Nonsense! Such things cannot be!” But the unusual expression of doubt and vexation which his countenance wore showed too plainly what were his real feelings. To have a ghost walk into his room without his will, or to receive a visit from any unwelcome visitor, is enough to annoy any man, and this post-­sepulchral visit of old Hooker, if such it was, certainly was anything but pleasant. But, besides this, Sir Gilbert had been vexed at the non-arrival of his son Charley, whom, in spite of his wildness, he dearly loved. He could not help fearing that he might have got into some scrape at Portsmouth, or have been detained elsewhere by some escapade or other. Probably, had Lady Ilderton seen the ghost and been alarmed at it, he would have been still more angry than he was—that is to say, as far as his kind, genial nature would allow him to be angry.

There was a dead silence after Sir Gilbert had spoken, but no one stepped forward to confront or stop the ghost, probably from the impression that such things cannot be stopped, or that unpleasant consequences would ensue if the attempt were to be made. At all events, the appearance of old Hooker passed on unimpeded, until it reached one of the bowers at the end of the room where no seats had been placed. When it got there, suddenly a blue flame burst forth, surrounded by which it vanished.

“The mummery has been admirably got up, I must confess,” observed Sir Gilbert. “Some of my household have, of course, been in the secret, though I wish that I had first been consulted. And now, my friends, let the dancing commence, as I must before long request you all to unmask.”

Some little time, however, elapsed before the equanimity of many of the guests was restored. At length the gay strains of the dance music, and the exertions of Cousin Peter, who had re­appeared as Robin Hood, and others, put them into their former good spirits, and they began to talk, and laugh, and joke as if no such unpleasant visitor as the long-buried old Hooker had appeared. When Cousin Giles was asked what he thought of the matter, he shook his head, and declared that he was in a very great hurry to get out of the room and out of the clothes when the real thing so unexpectedly appeared. Sir Gilbert, as soon as he had seen his guests once more amusing themselves as if nothing had happened, sent his steward and two or three other trusty people to endeavour to discover what had become of the person, if person it was, who had represented old Hooker’s ghost. They returned after searching in every possible place, declaring that they could find no one hid away, nor had they seen any one pass in any similar costume except Mr. Peter, who had taken no pains to conceal himself.

“Very strange—very strange indeed!” muttered Sir Gilbert. “Did you examine the attics, Masham?” he asked his steward. “There are several old chests in the north lumber-attic. Several of them contain dresses, and if they have been disturbed, it may give us a clue to the culprit, for a culprit I consider whoever played the trick, admirably as I must own it was done.”

“As to that, Sir Gilbert, with due respect to your opinion, I don’t exactly like to be certain,” answered Masham, with a bow. “I have heard of a gentleman who came down to these parts with a Scotch name, I think, who could make tables turn, and articles of furniture and musical instruments fly about the room, and spirits of persons a long time dead, some of them in foreign parts, come and talk and say all sorts of things to people who like to ask them questions. Now, if this is true—and it is extraordinary how many gentlefolks believe in it—I do not see why the ghost of old Hooker shouldn’t walk about the house, or even through the ball-room, especially when he knew that somebody had been dressing up like himself, which of course wouldn’t be pleasant to him; and besides, Sir Gilbert—I didn’t like to say it before—this is the very day, so it is reported, that he came to his end, and that’s another reason why he wouldn’t like people to be dancing and jigging away like mummers over his grave, so to speak.”

Masham was a dissenter of the puritan school—an honest, upright man, always accustomed to speak his mind to his employer, by whom he was highly esteemed. In this instance, however, he went a little too far, and he acknowledged afterwards that he had never before seen his master in such a taking.

“Nonsense, man—nonsense!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert. “The fellow you speak of is an impostor, an arrant humbug, and the people are geese who believe in him, whatever their station in life—more shame to them if they are well educated. That is a poor reason for believing that old Hooker’s ghost should haunt the Hall. Go and search again. I am resolved to have the trick discovered before the guests leave the house. They shall not go away, and spread all over the country the story of its being haunted. Look first into the north attic. Take care, Masham, that none of the servants set the place on fire by letting a candle fall in their fright, should a cat jump up or a rat move. I conclude that you know the chests I mean?”

“Oh yes, Sir Gilbert; I helped Master Charles to overhaul one of them three years ago, when he wanted to collect some dresses for a play, and I went up with the housekeeper, and we put them all safe back again the day after,” answered the steward, hurrying off.

Sir Gilbert was joined soon afterwards by Lady Ilderton, who came to ask him the particulars of the strange story of which she had heard rumours, but which no one had ventured directly to tell her.

“Merely, my dear lady, that some one has walked through the ball-room in a hunting costume to represent the old keeper Hooker, and because no one spoke to him, or tried to stop him, they have taken it into their heads that what they saw was no living being, but a ghost or spirit.”

“How very extraordinary—and that it should have taken place during the few minutes we were both together out of the room,” observed Lady Ilderton, in a low voice. “I am disinclined to believe in such things, and yet this is more than I can well account for.”

“Oh, nonsense—nonsense, Lady Ilderton!” exclaimed Sir Gilbert; and yet his tone was not quite so firm as usual. “Depend on it, Masham will find it all out before long, and, if he does not, Cousin Giles will tomorrow, though of course I would rather the trick had not been played. And now let us go back into the drawing-room.”

Not long after this, two most riotous sailors rushed into the room, insisting on playing leap-frog, tumbling over each other, and committing a variety of eccentricities unheard of in a ball-room. At last one of them rushed up to Lady Ilderton, and, throwing his arms round her neck, gave her a hearty kiss, when his mask falling off, displayed the well-bronzed, merry countenance of her son Charley. He introduced his companion as a brother-officer, whom he had invited to spend a few days at the Hall.

He was heartily welcomed by his father, who loved him in spite of his occasional wild proceedings, and of course his mother and sisters doted on him, and fully believed that he would turn out a second Nelson if he had the opportunity.

The ball went off with the greatest possible spirit, and without any other contretemps, could the incident which has been described, be considered one. Masham came back, and reported that the old chests had undoubtedly been opened and the contents tumbled out, as there were marks where the dust had been disturbed, but that he had discovered no trace of the person who had represented old Hooker’s ghost.

CHAPTER V

MORE OF THE GHOST’S PRANKS, AND HOW HE WAS FINALLY LAID

Sir Gilbert had allowed the adornments of the ball-room to remain undisturbed, that his tenants and others might see them—a favour which was sure to be highly prized.

The following evening a large party were assembled in the ball-room, for the young people had declared that they should be far too tired to do anything but dance, and musicians were, therefore, retained, and all the people in the immediate neighbourhood invited to come back. Lord Harston was glad of it, because he had made up his mind to propose to Miss Ilderton, and, as other young men have done, fancied that a ball-room was a very good place for the purpose. Captain Fotheringsail might possibly have had some similar ideas on the same subject with regard to Jane Otterburn. Charley and his brother-midshipman declared that they were ready for a dance every night of their lives. Jane had gone to her room after dinner, which was in a wing of the house away from the ball-room, and at this time as silent as at midnight; the evening guests had not yet arrived. A cheerful fire was burning, the flames from which sent at times a flickering and uncertain light through the room, but were generally bright enough to enable her to dispense with the light of her candles, as she sat down in an arm-chair to meditate pleasantly, as young ladies who have made a satisfactory conquest are apt to do. Though reveries of that description are pleasant, realities are pleasanter, and so she was about to get up to go down into the ball-room, when a feeling that she was not alone made her turn her head, and there, standing at the open door, was the figure of old Hooker the keeper, exactly as it had appeared on the previous evening.

She was a courageous girl, but her heart beat quick, and she felt that she would very much rather it had not been there. She rose from her seat, determined to confront it, when, with a sound which might be described as a plaintive cry, it glided from the door. She bravely hurried after it, exclaiming, “Stop! stop! I must insist on knowing who you are.” But the passage was in total darkness, and the figure had disappeared. She had heard of the phantoms of the imagination to which some few people are subject when out of health, but she felt perfectly well, and had never had any visitation of the sort, and so, discarding all idea of a supernatural appearance, she felt convinced that somebody who had played off the trick on the previous evening had again dressed up to carry it on further. Still, therefore, undaunted by what might have frightened some ladies into hysterics, she lighted her candle, and drawing a large shawl over her shoulders, for the passages were cold, she prepared to descend to the ball-room.

It would be too much to say that she had no uncomfortable sensation, or that she did not peer into the darkness ahead, and occasionally take an anxious glance over her shoulder, or that she altogether felt sure that she should not see old Hooker gliding before her, or noiselessly coming up behind her. She could not help allowing all the ghost stories she had ever heard to pass in ghastly review through her mind. Still she tried not to walk faster than she should otherwise have done; indeed, she foresaw that if she attempted to run, the wax taper she held would most prob­ably be blown out. This, strong-minded as she was, she would very much rather should not happen. The keen wind of Christmas was blowing outside, and blasts here and there found their way along the passages, in consequence of one or two doors which ought to have been shut having been left open.

Huntingfield Hall was an old edifice, and the same attention to warming the passages and shutting out the wind had not been paid when it was constructed as is the case in more modern buildings. The young lady saw before her a door partly open, but which seemed at that moment about to close with a slam. To prevent this, forgetting her former caution, she darted forward, when the same blast which, as she supposed, was moving the door, blew out her candle. She knew her way, and remembered that a few paces farther on there were two steps, down which she might fall if not careful. A creeping feeling of horror, however, stole over her when, as she attempted to advance, she felt herself held back. It must be fancy. She made another effort, and again was unable to move forward. Her heart did, indeed, now beat quickly. She would have screamed for help, but she was not given to screaming, and her voice failed her. Once more she tried to run on, but she felt herself in the grasp of some supernatural power, as a person feels in a dream when unable to proceed. Her courage at length gave way, every moment she expected to hear a peal of mocking laughter from the fiend who held her, for her imagination was now worked up to a pitch which would have made anything, however dreadful, appear possible. At length, by an effort, she cried out:

“Help me! help! Pray come here!”

The words had scarcely left her lips when a door in the passage opened, and she saw a person hurrying with a light towards her.

“Thanks, thanks, Henry!” she exclaimed, giving way to an hysterical laugh, as she sank into the arms of Captain Fotheringsail, feeling now perfectly secure against all enemies, either of a supernatural or natural character.

“What is the matter, dearest?” he asked, in a voice of alarm.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. My candle went out, and I felt myself unable to move on,” she answered.

“I see you could not, for the skirt of your dress and your shawl have both caught in the door,” he exclaimed, with a merry laugh, which did more than a dose of sal volatile or camphor would have done to dispel her fears, and, taking his arm, she accompanied him to the ball-room.

Should she tell him of the reappearance of old Hooker, or some living representative? Why not? She hoped always to have the privilege of enjoying his perfect confidence, and giving hers in return, so she told him what she had seen, or fancied that she had seen, assuring him at the same time that she did not believe her visitor had intended to come to her room. Again he gave way to a peal of merry laughter, and exclaimed:

“I am delighted to hear it, for now he will be caught to a certainty. I have not the slightest doubt that he intends again to visit either the ball-room or the servants’-hall, but whenever he comes we will be ready for him. I have an idea that your wild young cousin and his friend have no little to do with the trick, for I have ascertained that they arrived at the Hall some hours before they made their appearance in the ball-room in the character of sailors. When I saw their proceedings I rather regretted the character I had assumed, lest I should have been taken for one of the party.”

The guests were assembling in the ball-room as the captain and Jane reached it. People looked at them and smiled significantly, and some of them said, “I thought it would be so.” One or two remarked, “Well, it is curious how the dark girls cut out the fair ones. Who would have thought that that little Miss Otterburn would have been preferred to her cousins the Ildertons? Lady Ilderton won’t thank her, I think.” However, Lady Ilderton was as much pleased when she heard that Captain Fotheringsail, whom she liked very much, had proposed to her niece, as if he had made an offer to one of her daughters; and so people, for once in a way, were wrong.

Captain Fotheringsail and Jane at once separated from each other, and went round to each of the guests separately, whispering in their ears. They instantly formed themselves into a quad­rille, and the musicians struck up. On this the captain slipped from the side of his partner, and adroitly ran a dark thin line across the room, almost the height of a man’s knee from the floor.

The quadrille was concluded and nothing happened. A valse was gone through, and then another quadrille was played. It seemed, however, that if the captain had hopes of catching the ghost, the ghost was not to be caught. He begged Cousin Giles to ascertain whether old Hooker had appeared in the servants’-hall, or anywhere about the house. Cousin Giles had assured him that he knew nothing at all about the matter, and was on the point of going to perform his commission, when, from the exact spot where the ghost had appeared on the previous day, forth he stalked, looking quite as dreadful as before. The guests ran from side to side to let him pass, when just as he reached the middle of the room he stumbled, made an attempt to jump, and then down he came full length on the floor. Off came a head and a pair of shoulders, and then was seen the astonished and somewhat frightened countenance of the simple Simon Langdon, who exclaimed, “Oh, Charley, Charley, I didn’t think you were going to play me that trick.” Finding that the trick was discovered, Charley dashed out from behind a screen with a tin tube and lamp in his hand, and blew a superb blue flame over Simon, who was quickly divested of his hunting-dress amid the laughter of the guests. Charley and his friend confessed that they had induced Simon to act the ghost that evening, though who had played it the previous one they did not say.

“Well, young gentlemen, you have had your fun, and no harm has been done, though the consequences might have been more serious than you anticipated,” said Sir Gilbert. “It requires no large amount of wit to impose on the credulous, as the spirit-rappers and mediums have shown us, and as we may learn by the exhibition of my young friend here and his coadjutors.” And the baronet looked very hard at Simon and Charley. He then added, in his usual good-natured tone, “However, as I said, no mischief has been done, though I must have it clearly understood that I cannot again allow old Hooker’s ghost to make his appearance at Huntingfield Hall.”

Note.—The author has to state, that there is more truth in this story than may generally be supposed. A ghost, or spirit of some sort, was believed by a whole neighbourhood to have paid occasional visits to members of his own family, and it was not till after the lapse of many years that one of them by chance heard of the story, which had not even the shadow of a foundation.