“It’s a blessed ghost, that’s what it is, Colonel,” answered George, keeping his eyes fixed upon the hole as though he momentarily expected to see the object of his fears emerge. “Nonsense,” said Harold doubtfully. “What rubbish you talk. What sort of a ghost?” “A white un,” said George, “all bones like.” “All bones?” answered the Colonel, “why it must be a skeleton.” “I don’t say that he ain’t,” was the answer, “but if he be, he’s nigh on seven foot high, and sitting airing of hissel in a stone bath.” “Oh, rubbish,” said the Colonel. “How can a skeleton sit and air himself? He would tumble to bits.” “I don’t know, but there he be, and they don’t call this here place 'Dead Man’s Mount’ for nawthing.” “Well,” said the Colonel argumentatively, “a skeleton is a perfectly harmless thing.” “Yes, if he’s dead maybe, sir, but this one’s alive, I saw him nod his head at me.” “Look here, George,” answered Harold, feeling that if this went on much longer he should lose his nerve altogether. “I’m not going to be scared. Great heavens, what a gust! I’m going down to see for myself.” “Very good, Colonel,” answered George, “and I’ll wait here till you come up again—that is if you iver du.” Thrice did Harold look at the hole in the masonry and thrice did he shrink back. “Come,” he shouted angrily, “don’t be a fool; get down here and hand me the lantern.” George obeyed with evident trepidation. Then Harold scrambled through the opening and with many an inward tremor, for there is scarcely a man on the earth who is really free from supernatural fears, descended hand over hand. But in so doing he managed to let the lantern fall and it went out. Now as any one will admit this was exceedingly trying. It is not pleasant to be left alone in the dark and underground in the company of an unknown “spook.” He had some matches, but what between fear and cold it was some time before he could get a light. Down in this deep place the rush of the great gale reached his ears like a faint and melancholy sighing, and he heard other tapping noises, too, or he thought he did, noises of a creepy and unpleasant nature. Would the matches never light? The chill and death-like damp of the place struck to his marrow and the cold sweat poured from his brow. Ah! at last! He kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the lantern till he had lit it and the flame was burning brightly. Then with an effort he turned and looked round him. And this is what he saw. There, three or four paces from him, in the centre of the chamber of Death sat or rather lay a figure of Death. It reclined in a stone chest or coffin, like a man in a hip bath which is too small for him. The bony arms hung down on either side, the bony limbs projected towards him, the great white skull hung forward over the massive breast bone. It moved, too, of itself, and as it moved, the jaw-bone tapped against the breast and the teeth clacked gently together.