And again did the servants go to the door. They opened it, and looked out into the street. But no one was there. “This seems strange,” said one to another, in a whisper. “I have seen and heard stranger things than that in this house,” was the answer. “I believe the place is haunted.” While thus they conversed together with open door, The heavy sounds of footsteps were heard entering the hall. The two servants turned their heads. It was the gory legs of Farmer Bertrand they saw. With a loud shout, and looks of horror on their faces, the terrified domestics rushed upstairs in dread alarm. “What means this?” growled Phillip, as he seized one of them by the throat, and drew his sword. “What means this, knave, eh? Go forth into the passage again, and return with better news, or take the consequences.” The servant did as he was bidden, but had scarcely got into the passage when he rushed back again in increased terror, and upset a card table, money, and all upon the floor. Every one present were now alarmed. They heard the distant solemn tramp of heavy footsteps. When, lo! there entered the room, with horrible stride, the gory limbs. Phillip Redgill turned deadly pale. His eyes darted almost from their sockets. He gasped with terror, and his drawn sword trembled in his nerveless hand. “Phillip Redgill——” the spectre voice began. “No, no, no; mercy! ’twas not I!” gasped Phillip. “No, no! I see also the ghost of my father; but I did not do it! Away! away! Avaunt! gory, ghostly, damnable spectacle, avaunt!” “Phillip Redgill, my footsteps will follow you for ever!” said the voice, which died away in the distance. “Never! never!” said Phillip, staggering from horror. “Ever! ever!” repeated the spectre voice. With his heart bursting in fury Phillip tore his neck-cloth into ribbons. His breast heaved with remorse and passion. “Wine wine,” he said, with a fiendish laugh; “wine, wine, I say!” His wife handed him a goblet brim full. He gulped it down. He threw the goblet into a corner of the room, and in fury struck Fanny to the ground. The gallants present immediately stepped forward to protect the fallen woman. With bitter curses on their lips for his brutality they drew their swords. “Ha! ha! my braves!” said Phillip, pale as a ghost, and looking half idiotic and wild; “ha! ha! my braves! I see, my wife hath many ready to defend her. Come on, then, one and all.” “So be it,” said Augustus Fumbleton, drawing his “toasting fork,” and assailing Phillip. “The man who lays his hand upon a woman except in kindness, is a scoundrel,” he added. Phillip was more like a maniac than a man. But just as the husband and the lover were about to engage, Fanny threw herself in between the combatants. “Hold!” she cried, in a voice of pain, and with blood streaming down her features. “Hold!” she cried, “Phillip Redgill! husband! murderer! if you _will_ spill blood, shed mine!”