"It may be; I shouldn't be surprised. I'm more inclined to believe you since I've been inside." "I thought as how you would. Seeing's believing," said Tom. "But I tell you I did not see anything. I heard sounds." "Ah!" exclaimed Tom. "What like were they?" "Groans!" "It's them ye heard, the spirits of the dead; the poor devils never rest in peace," said Tom. They were going across the moat. There was a splash and both started; Tom almost dropped the oar. "What's that?" he said. "Look!" and he pointed to the ripples in the dark water circling. "A fish rising," said Carl with a queer little laugh. "There's no fish in here, don't believe there's even a carp in." "Why not?" "What 'ud fish be doing in this beastly hole?" "Feeding." "Nothing to feed on." "You don't know what's at the bottom of that," said Carl, pointing downward. "And I don't want to. If it's fish, I'd not eat them," said Tom. They walked back to the keeper's cottage. Jane met them at the door, surprised to see the state of Carl's clothes. She asked where he had been. "Exploring the moat and the keep," he replied, thinking her pretty face was a great help to banish phantoms. Jane laughed as she said: "You've had a fright. Keep away from the place, it's haunted; there's danger when you meddle with 'em." "I saw nothing in the keep. I told your father so." Jane shook her head as she replied: "Best say nothing about it; keep those things to yourself." "Have you ever seen things there?" asked Carl. "Telling's knowing," said Jane, but without smiling. CHAPTER XV A SUDDEN PROPOSAL War was declared against Germany on that fateful day in August; the blow had fallen at last, the nations of the earth were about to measure their millions, and England was unprepared. There was no doubt about the strength of feeling in Britain; every man was for war, with the exception of a few cranks and peacemongers, many of them little better than traitors to their country. There was a call to arms; it echoed, reverberated, throughout the land; and never was such a voluntary response by any nation. There is little need to write about it; everybody knows how "Kitchener's chaps" rolled up in thousands, to their everlasting honor. By their response they showed the spirit of the nation, roused at last to a sense of horrible danger. Throughout the land there were martial sounds--the hum of camps, the tramp of men, the clang of horses' hoofs, the rattle of war department wagons. Before people had time to rub their eyes and become wide awake, an army had landed in France, eager to help gallant little Belgium, and stop the rush of the enemy's vast hordes.