About three years later, I was again sleeping in the same room, when I was awakened by heavy footsteps. I felt too frightened to cry out, and all the same scene was enacted. I dared not tell my parents this time, but confided in a dear old farmer who lived at “The Priory” next door. He listened to me with respect, and told me that our house was some hundreds of years old and had been a monastery in earlier days. He knew that my bedroom had been altered from two small ones to one large one. He also advised me to tell my parents of my fright, as he was sorry for me. After this I slept in the attic for some time but, later, I was taken ill and, to save steps, I was put into my “nun room” again. My fright had worn off by then. However one night, as I lay tossing on my bed, I again heard the heavy footfalls. I screamed loudly, and when my mother came in she found I had fainted from sheer fright. I have had many experiences of ghosts, though I am far from hysterical, and have been laughed at when I have spoken of them, so I usually keep silent about them. But my “nun” was so real that, on cycling by the house recently I felt shivery at looking up at the old bedroom window. And why a nun should appear in a monastery is a thing unexplained. Was it a Curse? I WELL remember when I was a schoolgirl, my father taking an old farm which had been uninhabited for years. It was a quaint old house with three stairways, and the best bedroom had queer little knobs and ornamentations all over the ceiling, and the date 1643 or 83 let into the wall—I forget exactly, it was so long ago. It was pleasantly situated, but bore a bad reputation, for it was said that the old lady who owned it in bygone days had come by it through fraudulently altering a will; then, towards the end of her days, it was unlawfully wrested from her for some paltry debt. This preyed on her mind and she died soon after, vowing that she would haunt the spot, so it was said, and anyone who took it would rue it. My mother was very averse to taking it and so was my grandmother, who, indeed, begged and prayed father to have nothing to do with it, saying there was a curse on the place, and no good would come of it. However, father, not being at all superstitious, but an honest, God-fearing man, laughed at such predictions. He had the farm put in repair, and we went there to live. From that day our modest prosperity vanished; we lost money steadily. In a few months my father was brought home seriously ill. He got up at last from his bed a wreck of his former self, only to linger for two years a semi-invalid, then a recurrence of his illness took him from us within a few days.