“Then, if all tales are true, you may, without much difficulty. For the coachman told me only to-day, that you may see her light in the window of that room almost any night, towards midnight. He told me, too (for I made quite a friend of him to-day, on purpose to hear his tales), that one of the maids, who left the other day, told the groom—and he told the coachman—that she had once heard talking; and, peeping through the key-hole of a door that led into that part of the old house, saw a figure, dressed exactly like the picture of Lady Euphrasia, wandering up and down, wringing her hands and beating her breast, as if she were in terrible trouble. She had a light in her hand which burned awfully blue, and her face was the face of a corpse, with pale-green spots.” “You think to frighten me, Funkelstein, and make me tremble at what I said a minute ago. Instead of repeating that. I say now: I will sleep in Lady Euphrasia’s room this night, if you like.” “I lay you a hundred guineas you won’t!” cried the Bohemian. “Done!” said Hugh, offering him his hand. Funkelstein took it; and so the bet was committed to the decision of courage. “Well, gentlemen,” interposed Mr. Arnold at last, “you might have left a corner for me somewhere. Without my permission you will hardly settle your wager.” “I beg your pardon, Mr. Arnold,” said Funkelstein. “We got rather excited over it, and forgot our manners. But I am quite willing to give it up, if Mr. Sutherland will.” “Not I,” said Hugh;—“that is, of course, if Mr. Arnold has no objection.” “Of course not. My house, ghost and all, is at your service, gentlemen,” responded Mr. Arnold, rising. They went to the drawing-room. Mr. Arnold, strange to say, was in a good humour. He walked up to Mrs. Elton, and said: “These wicked men have been betting, Mrs. Elton.” “I am surprised they should be so silly,” said she, with a smile, taking it as a joke. “What have they been betting about?” said Euphra, coming up to her uncle. “Herr von Funkelstein has laid a hundred guineas that Mr. Sutherland will not sleep in Lady Euphrasia’s room to-night.” Euphra turned pale. “By sleep I suppose you mean spend the night?” said Hugh to Funkelstein. “I cannot be certain of sleeping, you know.” “Of course, I mean that,” answered the other; and, turning to Euphrasia, continued: “I must say I consider it rather courageous of him to dare the spectre as he does, for he cannot say he disbelieves in her. But come and sing me one of the old songs,” he added, in an under tone.