JASPER
She led them to the north gallery and, pausing at
the door, said merrily, “The ghost—or
ghosts rather, for there were two—which
frightened Patty were Sir Jasper and myself, meeting
to discuss certain important matters which concerned
Mr. Treherne. If you want to see spirits we will
play phantom for you, and convince you of our power.”
“Good, let us go and have a ghostly dance, as
a proper finale of our revel,” answered Rose
as they flocked into the long hall.
At that moment the great clock struck twelve, and
all paused to bid the old year adieu. Sir Jasper
was the first to speak, for, angry with Mrs. Snowdon,
yet thankful to her for making a jest to others of
what had been earnest to him, he desired to hide his
chagrin under a gay manner; and taking Rose around
the waist was about to waltz away as she proposed,
saying cheerily, “’Come one and all, and
dance the new year in,’” when a cry from
Octavia arrested him, and turning he saw her stand,
pale and trembling, pointing to the far end of the
hall.
Eight narrow Gothic windows pierced either wall of
the north gallery. A full moon sent her silvery
light strongly in upon the eastern side, making broad
bars of brightness across the floor. No fires
burned there now, and wherever the moonlight did not
fall deep shadows lay. As Octavia cried out,
all looked, and all distinctly saw a tall, dark figure
moving noiselessly across the second bar of light
far down the hall.
“Is it some jest of yours?” asked Sir
Jasper of Mrs. Snowdon, as the form vanished in the
shadow.
“No, upon my honor, I know nothing of it!
I only meant to relieve Octavia’s superstitious
fears by showing her our pranks” was the whispered
reply as Mrs. Snowdon’s cheek paled, and she
drew nearer to Jasper.
“Who is there?” called Treherne in a commanding
tone.
No answer, but a faint, cold breath of air seemed
to sigh along the arched roof and die away as the
dark figure crossed the third streak of moonlight.
A strange awe fell upon them all, and no one spoke,
but stood watching for the appearance of the shape.
Nearer and nearer it came, with soundless steps, and
as it reached the sixth window its outlines were distinctly
visible. A tall, wasted figure, all in black,
with a rosary hanging from the girdle, and a dark beard
half concealing the face.
“The Abbot’s ghost, and very well got
up,” said Annon, trying to laugh but failing
decidedly, for again the cold breath swept over them,
causing a general shudder.
“Hush!” whispered Treherne, drawing Octavia
to his side with a protecting gesture.
