* * * * *

“If this is the best Aunt Eleanour has to show in the way of a ghost, she does well to keep so quiet about it,” was Atherley’s comment on that part of the story which, by special permission, I repeated to him next day.  “I never heard a weaker ghost story.  She explains the whole thing away as she tells it.  She was, as she candidly admits, ill and feverish—­sickening for a fever, in fact, when the most rational person’s senses are apt to play them strange tricks.  She is alone at the dead of night in a house she believes to be haunted; and then her dog—­an odious little beast, I remember him well, always barking at something or nothing;—­the dog suggests there is somebody near.  She looks round into a dark part of the room, and naturally, inevitably—­all things considered—­sees a ghost.  Did you say it wore a ruff and puffed sleeves?”

“So Mrs. Mostyn said.”

“Of course, because, as I told you, Aunt Eleanour believed in the Elizabethan portrait theory.  If it had been Aunt Henrietta, the ghost would have been in armour.  Ghosts and all visitors from the other world obligingly correspond with the preconceived notions of the visionary.  When a white robe and a halo were considered the proper celestial outfit, saints and angels always appeared with white robes and halos.  In the same way, the African savage, who believes in a god with a crooked leg, always sees him in dreams, waking or asleep, with a crooked leg; and—­”

Here we were interrupted by a great stir in the hall outside, and Lady Atherley looked in to explain that the carriage with Uncle Augustus was just coming down the drive.

Her manner reminded me of the full importance of this arrival, as well as of the unfortunate circumstance that, owing to the ill-timed absence of the dissenting plasterer, the Canon must be lodged in the little room opposite to my own.

However, when I went into the drawing-room, I found him accepting his niece’s apologies and explanations with great good-humour.  To me also he was especially gracious.

“I had the pleasure of dining at Lindesford, Mr. Lyndsay, when you must have been in long clothes.  I remember we had some of the finest trout I ever tasted.  Are they still as good in your river?”

His voice, like himself, was massive and impressive; his bearing and manner inspired me with wistful admiration:  what must life be to a man so self-confident, and so rightly self-confident?

“Is not Uncle Augustus a fine-looking man?” asked Lady Atherley, when he had left the room with Atherley.  “I cannot think why they do not make him a bishop; he would look so well in the robes.  He ought to have had something when the last ministry was in, for Aunt Clara and Lord Lingford are cousins; but, unfortunately, the families were on bad terms because of a lawsuit.”