“It is certainly very singular,” said the General, “that these idle fancies of weak brains should be so contagious. The first man who propagates the idea of a house being haunted has much to answer for. He never finds any lack of ready-made believers; and it is remarkable that we who know better, when we have a subject like this so persistently forced on our notice, come at last, quite unconsciously to ourselves and with no desire whatever to do so, to give a sort of half credence to it. We listen with a more attentive ear to statements so obstinately made, and emanating from so many different sources.” “My dear uncle,” cried Kester, “you are surely never going to allow yourself to be converted into a believer in this wretched nonsense!” “My dear Kester, I am not aware that I have ever been accounted as a superstitious man, and I don’t think that I am going to become one so late in the day. I merely say that there is about these matters a certain degree of contagion which it is next to impossible altogether to resist.” Richard, who up to this point had taken no part in the conversation, now spoke. “From what I can make out,” he said, “there seems to be a strange coherence, a remarkable similarity, in the stories told by the different persons who profess to have seen these appearances. And now they are not content with saying that Park Newton is haunted by one ghost: they will have it that two of them have been seen of late.” “Two of them!” exclaimed the General and Kester in one breath. “Ay, two of them,” answered Richard. “One of them I need not name. The other one is said to be the ghost of my poor lost brother.” “What wretched fabrications are these!” exclaimed Kester. “Are you and I, sir,” turning to the General, “to have our lives worried and our peace of mind broken by the babbling of a set of idiots, such as there unfortunately seems to be in this house?” “They do not disturb my peace of mind, Kester.” “They do mine, sir. This house is my property—pardon me for mentioning the fact. Once let it acquire the unenviable reputation of being haunted, and for fifty years to come everybody will swear that it is so. Should you, sir, ever choose to leave the house, what chance shall I have of getting another tenant? None! With the reputation of being haunted, no one will live in it. Slowly but surely it will go to rack and ruin.” “It is hardly to be wondered at,” said the General, “that these people have connected a tragedy so terrible, as that which will make Park Newton memorable for a century to come, with certain ghostly appearances. I myself find my thoughts dwelling upon the same thing very frequently indeed. What a strange, sad fate was that of poor young Osmond! Him I did not know. But in my dreams I am continually seeing the face of my poor lost boy whose fate was only one degree less sad. Do you never find yourself haunted in the same way, Kester?”