“And if he comes with the authorities,—the sheriff and that sort of thing,—we must prepare for such an emergency,” interposed the chaplain. “So much the worse for the sheriff and the rest of them!” I declared. “Spoken like a man of spirit. And now we’d better stock up at once, in case we should be shut off from our source of supplies. This is a lonely place here; even the school is a remote neighbor. Better let Bates raid the village shops to-morrow. I’ve tried being hungry, and I don’t care to repeat the experience.” And Larry reached for the tobacco jar. “I can’t imagine, I really can’t believe,” began the chaplain, “that Miss Devereux will want to be brought into this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heard Sister Theresa say as much. I suppose there’s no way of preventing a man from leaving his property to a young woman, who has no claim on him,—who doesn’t want anything from him.” “Bah, these women! People don’t throw legacies to the birds these days. Of course she’ll take it.” Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze that reflected the mystification and wonder that struck both of us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly: “What’s that? There’s some one up stairs!” Larry was already running toward the hall, and I heard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddard and I followed. “Where’s Bates?” demanded the chaplain. “I’ll thank you for the answer,” I replied. Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding a candle at arm’s length in front of him, staring about. We could hear quite distinctly some one walking on a stairway; the sounds were unmistakable, just as I had heard them on several previous occasions, without ever being able to trace their source. The noise ceased suddenly, leaving us with no hint of its whereabouts. I went directly to the rear of the house and found Bates putting the dishes away in the pantry. “Where have you been?” I demanded. “Here, sir; I have been clearing up the dinner things, Mr. Glenarm. Is there anything the matter, sir?” “Nothing.” I joined the others in the library. “Why didn’t you tell me this feudal imitation was haunted?” asked Larry, in a grieved tone. “All it needed was a cheerful ghost, and now I believe it lacks absolutely nothing. I’m increasingly glad I came. How often does it walk?” “It’s not on a schedule. Just now it’s the wind in the tower probably; the wind plays queer pranks up there sometimes.” “You’ll have to do better than that, Glenarm,” said Stoddard. “It’s as still outside as a country graveyard.” “Only the slaugh sidhe, the people of the faery hills, the cheerfulest ghosts in the world,” said Larry. “You literal Saxons can’t grasp the idea, of course.”