“Really, madam, I will confess it, if the roads are only as impassable for ghosts as for men of mortal mould, I 'm not surprised at it. I left Coleraine at three o'clock to-day, where I was obliged to exchange my travelling carriage for a car, and I have been travelling ever since, sometimes on what seemed a highway, far oftener, however, across fields with now and then an intervening wall to throw down,--which we did, I own, unceremoniously; while lifting the horse twice out of deep holes, mending a shaft, and splicing the traces, lost some time. The driver, too, was once missing,--a fact I only discovered after leaving him half a mile behind. In fact, the whole journey was full of small adventures up to the moment when we came to a dead stand at the foot of a high cliff, where the driver told me the road stopped, and that the rest of my way must be accomplished on foot; and on my asking what direction to take, he brought me some distance off to the top of a rock, whence I could perceive the twinkling of a light, and said, 'That's the Corvy.' I did my best to secure his services as a guide, but no offer of money nor persuasions could induce him to leave his horse and come any further; and now, perhaps, I can guess the reason,--there is some superstition about the place at nightfall.” “No, no, you 're mistaken there, sir; few of these people, however they may credit such tales, are terrified by them. It was the northern spirit dictated the refusal: his contract was to go so far, it would have 'put him out of his way' to go further, and his calculation was that all the profit he could fairly derive--and he never speculated on anything unfair--would not repay him. Such are the people of this province.” “The trait is honest, I 've no doubt, but it can scarcely be the source of many amiable ones,” said Forester, smarting under the recent inconvenience. “We 'll talk of that after supper,” said Miss Daly, rising, “and I leave you to make a good fire while I go to give some orders.” “May I not have the honor to present my credentials first?” said Forester, handing Bagenal Daly's letter to her. “My brother is quite well, is he not?” “In excellent health; I left him but two days since.” “The despatch will keep, then,” said she, thrusting it into a letter-rack over the chimney-piece, while she left the room to make the arrangement she spoke of. Miss Daly's absence was not of long duration, but, brief as it was, it afforded Forester time enough to look around at the many strange and incongruous decorations of the apartment, nor had he ceased his wonderment when Dan, pale and trembling in every limb, entered, tray in hand, to lay the supper-table. With many a sidelong, stealthy look, Dan performed his duties, as it was easy to see that however disposed to regard the individual before him as of this world's company, “the thing that jumped out of the sky,” as he called it, was yet an unexplained phenomenon.