"My father was of the old race," said my mother, "and lived in the days of the highwaymen and their horses, when 'ale was ale,' as he used to say, and 'was good for man and beast'. We knew that on the night in question he would not be home till very late; so we offered to sit up for him in lieu of the servant, who was glad enough in such weather, and after a hard day's work, to escape to her bed. My mother was indisposed and had retired to rest early. Well do I remember that night; it was the beginning of December, and the weather for some time past had been piercingly cold. The wind howled through the leafless boughs, and there was every appearance of an early and severe winter, as indeed befel. Long before eleven o'clock all was hushed and quiet within the house, and indeed without (nothing was heard), except the cold wind which howled mournfully in gusts. The house was an old farm-house, and we sat in the large kitchen with its stone floor, awaiting the first stroke of the eleventh hour. It struck at last, and then all pale and trembling we hung the garment to dry before the fire which we had piled up with wood, and set the door ajar, for that was an essential point. The door was lofty and opened upon the farmyard, through which there was a kind of thoroughfare, very seldom used, it is true, and at each end of it there was a gate by which wayfarers occasionally passed to shorten the way. There we sat without speaking a word, shivering with cold and fear, listening to the clock which went slowly, tick, tick, and occasionally starting as the door creaked on its hinges, or a half-burnt billet fell upon the hearth. My sister was ghastly white, as white as the garment which was drying before the fire. And now half an hour had elapsed and it was time to turn. . . . This we did, I and my sister, without saying a word, and then we again sank on our chairs on either side of the fire. I was tired, and as the clock went tick-a-tick, I began to feel myself dozing. I did doze, I believe. All of a sudden I sprang up. The clock was striking one, two, but ere it could give the third chime, mercy upon us! we heard the gate slam to with a tremendous noise. . ." "Well, and what happened then?" "Happened! before I could recover myself, my sister had sprung to the door and both locked and bolted it. The next moment she was in convulsions. I scarcely knew what happened; and yet it appeared to me for a moment that something pressed against the door with a low moaning sound. Whether it was the wind or not, I can't say. I shall never forget that night. About two hours later, my father came home. He had been set upon by a highwayman whom he beat off." "And what was the result?" "The result? why, my sister was ill for many weeks. Poor thing, she never throve, married poorly, flung herself away." "I don't see much in the story," said my father; "I should have laughed at it, only there is one thing I don't like." "What is that?"