"I don't remember t' first, because I was nobbut a little 'un, but I've heerd my faither tell on 't. Some folk o' t' neam o' Faulkner lived there then, an' one o' their gells, who'd married a man called Ogilvey, I think, kem yam (came home) to have her first bairn where her mother could look after her. This Mrs. Ogilvey must h' known t' hoos an' its ways well enough, but yon spook gev her a bad start one evenin', for all that, an' her bairn was born afore time, and she nearly lost her life." "Are you sure the name was Ogilvey?" broke in Armathwaite. "Oh, ay! I mind it well, because I've got a dictionary in t' hoose by a man o't same neam." "What became of this Mrs. Ogilvey?" "By gum, she cleared off as soon as she and t' youngster could get into a carriage, an' never showed her nose i' Elmdale again. Owd Faulkner took te drink in his last years, an' had a notion that he and the Black Prince could finish a bottle of wine together. One night he was suppin' his share as usual on t' stairs, an' he fell backwards over, an' bruk his neck. Then there was poor Mr. Garth's case, which ye'll hae heerd aboot, mebbe?" "Yes, I've heard of it," said Armathwaite. "How did Mr. Garth come into the property?" "I don't rightly ken, but folk said it was through yan (one) o' Faulkner's married daughters. Gosh! He might ha' bin yon bairn. But, no! his neam 'ud be Ogilvey then." "Were you ever told why the window should be erected in memory of the Black Prince?" "Ay; the story is that the man who dug the first sod out o' the foundations broke ground on the fifteenth o' June, an' some larned owd codger said the fifteenth was t' Black Prince's birthday." "It seems to be rather a slight excuse for such an elaborate window." Burt looked around cautiously, lest he should be overheard. "There was queer folk livin' when that hoos was built," he muttered. "Happen there's more 'n one sort o' Black Prince. I'm thinking meself that mebbe some rascal of a pirate had Owd Nick in his mind when he planned yon article." Armathwaite laughed. He was aware that a belief in witchcraft still lingered in these remote Yorkshire dales, but he was not prepared to find traces of devil-worship so far afield. "It's a very interesting matter," he said, "and, when I've got the invalid off my hands, I'll inquire further into the historical side of it. You see, the style of coloring and craftsmanship should enable an expert to date the window within very few years of its actual period. Ah, here's your man! I hope he found the bicyclist at home?" Assurance on that head was soon forthcoming. Armathwaite returned to the Grange, and, while going to Whittaker's room, he glanced curiously at the wall near the clock. Though a sufficiency of light still came through the window, and the mellow colors in a vignette border were surprisingly bright, there was not the slightest semblance of an apparition in the hall.