It was Christmas Eve, and a large gathering there was at Rosewarne.  In the hall the ladies and gentlemen were in the full enjoyment of the dance, and in the kitchen all the tenantry and the servants were emulating their superiors.  Everything went joyously; but when the mirth was in full swing, and Ezekiel felt to the full the influence of wealth, it appeared as if all in a moment the chill of death had fallen over everyone.  The dancers paused, and looked one at another, each one struck with the other’s paleness; and there, in the middle of the hall, everyone saw a strange old man looking angrily, but in silence, at Ezekiel Grosse, who was fixed in terror, blank as a statue.

No one had seen this old man enter the hall, yet there he was in the midst of them.  It was but for a minute, and he was gone.  Ezekiel, as if a frozen torrent of water had thawed in an instant, recovered himself, and roared at them.

“What do you think of that for a Christmas play?  Ha, ha, ha!  How frightened you all look!  Butler, hand round the spiced wines!  On with the dancing, my friends!  It was only a trick, ay, and a clever one, which I have put upon you.  On with your dancing, my friends!”

But with all his boisterous attempts to restore the spirit of the evening, Ezekiel could not succeed.  There was an influence stronger than any he could command; and one by one, framing sundry excuses, his guests took their departure, every one of them satisfied that all was not right at Rosewarne.

From that Christmas Eve Grosse was a changed man.  He tried to be his former self; but it was in vain.  Again and again he called his gay companions around him; but at every feast there appeared one more than was desired.  An aged man—­weird beyond measure—­took his place at the table in the middle of the feast; and although he spoke not, he exerted a miraculous power over all.  No one dared to move; no one ventured to speak.  Occasionally Ezekiel assumed an appearance of courage, which he felt not; rallied his guests, and made sundry excuses for the presence of his aged friend, whom he represented as having a mental infirmity, as being deaf and dumb.  On all such occasions the old man rose from the table, and looking at the host, laughed a demoniac laugh of joy, and departed as quietly as he came.

The natural consequence of this was that Ezekiel Grosse’s friends fell away from him, and he became a lonely man, amidst his vast possessions—­his only companion being his faithful clerk, John Call.

The persecuting presence of the spectre became more and more constant; and wherever the poor lawyer went, there was the aged man at his side.  From being one of the finest men in the county, he became a miserably attenuated and bowed old man.  Misery was stamped on every feature—­terror was indicated in every movement.  At length he appears to have besought his ghostly attendant to free him of his presence.  It was long before the ghost would listen to any terms; but when Ezekiel at length agreed to surrender the whole of his wealth to anyone whom the spectre might indicate, he obtained a promise that upon this being carried out, in a perfectly legal manner, in favour of John Call, that he should no longer be haunted.