I was not deceived in my expectation.  I found that the boards that usually covered the window opening had been carefully removed, and were standing in a corner awaiting replacement, probably.  Here was a sign that the midnight visitor had been surprised, and had not dared to wait to cover up the window again—­unless, indeed, it meant that another “apparition” was intended.  But a more close investigation convinced me of trickery.  Flung away into a corner was a small brush bearing traces of luminous paint, and in a heap of rubbish I discerned the very lid of a small tin of that effective spiritualistic medium.  No further proof was needed.  By lucky chance I discovered what appeared to be a clue to the reason of all this mystification.  Loosened stones in the chimney and by the hearth suggested that a search had been made for something supposed to be hidden in the hut.  The spiritual visitor had evidently been bent upon seizing the material riches which rumor had doubtless located in the dwelling of one whom those not in his confidence would have reason to regard as a miser.  Here then was one illusion dissipated by my discoveries.

Father Vansome was driven over again in time for dinner.  During the progress of the meal I was inclined to make merry over my find; but I had little success in gaining the interest either of Val or our guest, who both seemed to shun the topic.

When dinner was over, it occurred to me to introduce the subject of my own ghostly experience, for I was curious to hear what the priests would think of it.  As I led up to it by degrees I saw the dark eyes of Father Vansome light up with expectation.  Both he and Val listened with keen interest, neither attempting to interrupt the narration.  Then they looked spontaneously at each other.

“I am quite as convinced as yourself,” said the Benedictine to me as I finished my relation, “that what you saw was neither an hallucination nor a human figure.  I have seen it also, and that is why I am here now.”

He then gave, in turn, his experience.  During the early part of the night he had been unusually restless.  When he did at last fall asleep he had a strange dream.  He saw the figure of an elderly woman, clad in antique garb, holding by the hand a young man, who wore the habit of his own Order.  The woman fixed upon him eyes full of entreaty, and implored him in piteous accents to offer Mass for her soul, for it was in his power to release her from grievous torments.  Father Vansome then awoke, the impression made by his dream still vivid.  He struck a light and looked at his watch.  It was two o’clock only; but his nerves were too highly strung to suffer him to sleep again, and he lay wondering what the dream could signify.

Suddenly, while still wide awake, he was aware of the figure of the woman of his dream standing by his bed.  Her eyes were full of intense supplication, and her hands stretched out to him in eager entreaty.  Yielding to a sudden, irresistible impulse, he exclaimed: