indeed, my lord," said the boatman thoughtfully. "Forgive me, my lord, but it is a strong point with me, and I must keep to it whatever." "All right," said the earl carelessly, "you and I are old friends, Jack, and we won't quarrel over a glass of wine!" He tossed off the contents of the glass, followed it by another, and said, as the company rose and dispersed into the sunny glades; "Here, sit down, Jack, and partake, with Little Miss Primrose, judiciously, of such relics of the feast as you may think to be free from the pernicious juice of the grape. You never approved my taste for it in those old days when you and I went salmon-fishing. Why, I remember as it were yesterday, how you stole a bottle of brandy I had in my pocket, ready against any emergency, and flung it into the river, while I was asleep in the boat!" And he laughed at the recollection. "And if I did, my lord," said the boatman, "I meant no disrespect to your lordship. It was my duty, for in truth I was fearful for you, when I found what taste you had for such things at your tender years." "And if I had----" begun the young earl eagerly. "Well, Jack," he continued in an altered tone, "how goes the curse on yon castle? Have the foolish tales yet died out, or do you all cheerfully doom me to the fate of my forefathers?" "I pray God, sir, you may be spared to threescore years and ten," answered Jack, "and to outlive these ill rumours, which yet grow apace, and pass from mouth to mouth among us, with none to say them nay. In truth, my lord, I am glad you have seen fit to come thus and show your face among your people for a season, and I would you were more often with us, for then it might be that these idle tales would after a while die out. But, my lord, you must indeed own that it is seemingly mysterious, when the earls of Bryn Afon, owning this noble old castle, must needs leave it year after year to rot and ruin, scarce dwelling therein at any time for more than two or three days together, except when they come to die. And then, my lord, an I may mention it without offence, there is doubtless good reason for us to say it is haunted." A perceptible shudder ran through the earl's frame, but he said carelessly; "Imagination, good Jack, is generally at the bottom of these foolish stories of ghosts and haunted dwellings. An owl, screeching night after night on the hill-top becomes the shriek of a murdered person, and so the tale goes from one to another of yon credulous villagers. What form has the popular mystery taken in their simple minds? Is there one among them who has ever dared to frame a credible story out of so much imaginary material?" "Nay, my lord," answered Jack; "it would ill befit any of us simple folk to spread abroad false tales of matters concerning the House of Bryn Afon, and indeed a spirit of fear moves our people to quietness, for ghosts are fearsome things to deal with, and it is not well to talk over-much of them." "Aha!"