So we all march solemnly upstairs, armed with lights, to investigate this awful mystery. Sir James and Thornton take the lead, as I decline to separate from Marmaduke or to go anywhere but in the middle. Not for worlds would I head the procession and be the first to come up with what may be store for us. With an equal horror I shrink from being last--fearful of being grabbed by something uncanny in the background. The whole scene is evidently an intense amusement to the men, and even Harriet, to my disgust, finds some element of the burlesque about it. The lamps upon the staircase and along the corridors throw shadows everywhere, and are not reassuring. Once Mr. Thornton, stalking on in front, gives way to a dismal howl, and, stopping short, throws himself into an attitude of abject fear that causes me to nearly weep: so I entreat him, in touching accents, not to do it again without reason. Another time, either Harriet or Bebe--who are walking close behind me (having ordered Lord Chandos to the extreme rear, as a further precaution)--lays her hand lightly on my shoulder, whereupon I shriek aloud and precipitate myself into Marmaduke's arms. At length we reach the dreaded spot, and Thornton, after a few whispered words with Sir James, flings up the window, and, with what appears to me reckless courage, steps out upon the darksome balcony alone. He is a long time absent. To me it seems ages. We three women stand waiting in breathless suspense. Bebe titters nervously. "He is without doubt making a thorough examination," says Sir James, gravely. We strain our eyes into the night, and even as we do so, something supernaturally tall--black, gaunt, with a white plume waving from its haughty head--advances slowly towards us, from out the gloom. I feel paralyzed with fright, although instinct tells me it is not _the thing_. "Who are ye, that come to disturb my nightly revel?" says the plumed figure; and then we all know we are gazing at Mr. Thornton, lengthened by a sweeping-brush covered with a black garment, which he holds high above his head. "Thornton, I protest you are incorrigible," exclaims Marmaduke, when at length he can command his voice; "and I thought better of you, James, than to aid and abet him." I am on the very verge of hysterics; a pinch, administered by Bebe, alone restrains me: as it is, the tears of alarm are mingling with the laughter I cannot suppress. "My new black Cashmere wrap, I protest!" cries Harriot, pouncing upon Chips and his sweeping-brush. "Well, Really, Chippendale--- And the feather out of my best bonnet. Oh, this comes of having one's room off a balcony. Why, you wicked boy, you have been upsetting all my goods and chattels. Who gave you permission, sir, to enter my bedroom?" "Sir James," replies Chips, demurely, who has emerged, from his disguise, and is vainly trying to reduce his dishevelled locks to order. "It was so convenient."