The latter observation was occasioned by the entrance of a tall personage, in the garb of a Cistertian monk, who issued from one of the doorways in the screen, and glided towards the upper table, attracting general attention and misgiving as he proceeded. His countenance was cadaverous, his lips livid, and his eyes black and deep sunken in their sockets, with a bistre-coloured circle around them. His frame was meagre and bony. What remained of hair on his head was raven black, but either he was bald on the crown, or carried his attention to costume so far as to adopt the priestly tonsure. His forehead was lofty and sallow, and seemed stamped, like his features, with profound gloom. His garments were faded and mouldering, and materially contributed to his ghostly appearance. "Who is it?" cried Sukey and Nance together. But no one could answer the question. "He dusna look loike a bein' o' this warld," observed Blackrod, gaping with alarm, for the stout keeper was easily assailable on the side of superstition; "an there is a mowdy air about him, that gies one the shivers to see. Ey've often heer'd say the Abbey is haanted; an that pale-feaced chap looks like one o' th' owd monks risen fro' his grave to join our revel." "An see, he looks this way," cried Phil Rawson. "What flaming een! they mey the very flesh crawl o' one's booans." "Is it a ghost, Lorry?" said Sukey, drawing nearer to the stalwart keeper. "By th' maskins, lass, ey conna tell," replied Blackrod; "boh whotever it be, ey'll protect ye." "Tak care o' me, Phil," ejaculated Nancy Holt, pressing close to her lover's side. "Eigh, that I win," rejoined the forester. "Ey dunna care for ghosts so long as yo are near me, Phil," said Nancy, tenderly. "Then ey'n never leave ye, Nance," replied Phil. "Ghost or not," said Jennet, who had been occupied in regarding the new-comer attentively, "ey'n go an speak to it. Ey'm nah afeerd, if yo are." "Eigh do, Jennet, that's a brave little lass," said Blackrod, glad to be rid of her in any way. "Stay!" cried Adam Whitworth, coming up at the moment, and overhearing what was said--"you must not go near the gentleman. I will not have him molested, or even spoken with, till Sir Ralph appears." Meanwhile, the stranger, without returning the glances fixed upon him, or deigning to notice any of the company, pursued his way, and sat down in a chair at the upper table. But his entrance had been witnessed by others besides the rustic guests and servitors. Nicholas and Richard Assheton chanced to be in the gallery at the time, and, greatly struck by the singularity of his appearance, immediately descended to make inquiries respecting him. As they appeared below, the old steward advanced to meet them. "Who the devil have you got there, Adam?" asked the squire.