After partaking of the bounteous and really sumptuous supper provided by his hosts, Adam Olliver was prevailed upon to smoke his pipe in the chimney-corner in company with other guests who indulged in that regalement. It was getting late when the old man mounted his faithful steed, and started on his homeward way. For a while he was favoured with the companionship of fellow guests, but as he proceeded, first one and then another turned down highway or byeway, until, at length, Balaam and his master were left to jog along, beneath the stars, alone. As usual, the old hedger made a confidant of his dumb companion. It was a bright moonlight night; the clear blue sky was studded with stars, and Balaam’s hoofs were pattering along the frosty road, when the big bell at Cowley Priory boomed out the hour of eleven. “Balaam, aud friend, this is a bonny tahme o’ neet for thoo an’ me te be wanderin’ throo’ t’ coontry, when a’most ivvery honest body’s gone te bed. Besides, thoo knoas it’s dangerous travellin’ noo-a-days, for there’s robbers, an’ hoosebrekkers, an’ ’ighwaymen aboot. They’ll hae sum trubble te rob me, hooivver, for that man frae York ’ticed ivvery copper oot o’ my pocket, an’s left ma’ as poor as a chotch moose. What’ll Judy think on us, gallivantin’ aboot at midneet i’ this oathers? She’ll think thoo’s run away wi’ ma’, Balaam.” The idea of Balaam being guilty of any such absurd indiscretion, tickled the old man’s risible faculties so finely, that he broke out into a hearty fit of laughter, loud and long. Scarcely had the sound subsided than there rose upon the air a scream so wild and piercing, that for a moment both Balaam and his rider were astonished. Rising up in his stirrups, Adam Olliver looked across the adjoining hedge. The hoary gables of the old Abbey stood out bold and clear, and the crumbling walls and shapeless heaps of stone, and the all-pervading ivy were to be seen almost as clearly as by day. But there was one sight that never could be seen by day which now displayed itself to Adam’s wondering gaze. This was nothing less than the veritable apparition of the ancient nun. Robed in flowing white, with white folds across the brow, and that awful crimson stain upon the breast, there it stood, or slowly walked with measured pace around the ruined pile. One death-white hand was laid upon the bosom, the other one was lifted heavenward, as if in deprecation or in prayer. “Balaam,” said Adam, as he settled himself again in his saddle, “there _is_ a boggle, hooivver!” This startling information was received by that philosophic quadruped with no symptoms of surprise. The fact is that Balaam had, for reasons which will shortly appear, made up his mind in favour of the genuineness of the ghost in which even his sceptical master had now confessed a tardy, but definite belief. Balaam simply laid one ear backwards, and cocked the other upright, as who should say as plain as signs could speak,--