Harold thought that if her remote grandmother had chanced to resemble the fair young girl at his side, there was a good excuse for the sportsman; but he held his tongue. “The bride was exacting--or perhaps she was only timid. At any rate, she used her influence to wean her husband from his outdoor pursuits--especially hunting. He must have been very much in love with her, for she succeeded, and he promised to give it all up--after one day more. It seems that he could not get out of this last run. The meet was on the lawn; the hunt breakfast was to be at Lisnahoe House. In short, it was an affair that could neither be altered nor postponed. “This meet,” continued Polly, “was on New-Year’s Day. There was a great gathering, and after breakfast the gentlemen came out and mounted at the door; the hounds were grouped on the lawn; it must have been a beautiful sight.” “It must, indeed,” assented Harold. “Well, this old Mr. Connolly--but you must understand that he was not old at all, only all this happened so long ago--he mounted his horse, and his wife came out on the step to bid him good-bye, and to remind him of his promise that this should be his last hunt. And so it was, poor fellow; for while she was standing talking to him, a gust of wind came and blew part of her dress right into the horse’s face. Mr. Connolly was riding a very spirited animal. It reared up and fell back on him, killing him on the spot.” “How horrible!” exclaimed Harold. “Wait! The shock to the young wife was so great that she died the next day.” “The poor girl!” “Don’t waste your sympathy. It was all very long ago, and perhaps it never happened at all. However, the curious part of the story is to come. Every one that had been present at that meet--men, dogs, horses--everything died within the year.” “To the ruin of the local insurance companies?” remarked Harold, with a smile. “You needn’t laugh. They did. And next New-Year’s night, between twelve and one o’clock, the whole hunt passed through the place, and they have kept on doing it every New-Year’s night since.” “A most interesting and elaborate ghost-story,” said Harold. “Pray, Miss Connolly, may I ask if you yourself have seen the phantom hunt?” “No one has ever done that,” replied Polly, “but when there is moonlight they say the shadows can be seen passing over the grass, and any New-Year’s night you may hear the huntsman’s horn.” “I should like amazingly to hear it,” replied the young man. “Have you ever heard this horn?” “I have heard A horn,” the girl answered, with some reluctance. “On New-Year’s night between twelve and one?” he pursued. “Of course--but I can’t swear it was blown by a ghost. My brothers or some one may have been playing tricks. You can sit up to-night and listen for yourself if you want.” “Nothing I should like better,” exclaimed Harold. “Will you sit up too?”