“No, sir—not of late. It’s nigh on for three years since it was seen last, and then it was her ladyship who was nearly frightened out of her wits by it. She was coming downstairs at the time, and had reached the lowermost landing, when she saw the Grey Monk glide across the hall in the moonlight. She shrieked out, and they do say she nearly fainted. The best of it was that up to then she had always made light of the ghost, and said its appearances were nothing more than ’lucinations, whatever they may be. But she never said so after that night. Sir Gilbert was awfully wild when he heard about it, and would fain have hushed it up; but it was too late. However, that’s an old wife’s tale by this time. As I said afore, sir, I’m mortal glad to see you.” “Not for one moment do I doubt you, old friend. All the same, I am sure you would like to know why I am here and where I am bound for at this hour of the night. Listen! there is the turret clock striking twelve. Well, I will tell you.” He waited till the clock had done striking; then resumed: “I have just left my father. He and I have said goodbye to each other for a long time to come. I am on my way to Westwood station: you know the near cut. Forty-eight hours hence I shall have left England, to return I know not when.” “I am main sorry to hear that, Master Alec,” remarked the keeper in a tone of real concern. In common with everybody connected with the Chase, and a good many people in no wise connected with it—for such things cannot be kept secret—he was cognisant of the breach between Sir Gilbert and his heir, and could form a pretty shrewd guess as to the origin of it. “And I am no less sorry to have it to tell,” replied Alec. “Now, when I tell you further that I don’t want anyone to know of my present visit to the Chase, nor to hear from your lips that you have as much as set eyes on me, you will, I am sure, respect my wishes.” “O’ course I will, sir. You may make yourself easy on that score. I _dreamt_ as I saw you—that’s all—and I don’t tell my dreams to nobody.” CHAPTER II. AN OLD FAMILY AND ITS HOME Withington Chase was a fine old Jacobean mansion, which had been added to from time to time as whim or necessity had dictated. The walls of the original structure were composed of small red bricks, relieved at frequent intervals, as far as the main frontage was concerned, by fluted pilasters of white stone with Ionic capitals, which, when seen from a little distance, had all the effect of marble. However incongruous and out of keeping with the general scheme of the house the various additions which had been patched on to it during the course of the last two centuries might have seemed when they were crude and new, Time’s chastening fingers had mellowed them to a certain degree of beauty, so that in these latter days the general effect was that of a harmonious and homogeneous whole.