He tried to speak, but could not. Tim’s eyes rolled in wild excitement, while the footman fell upon his knees, and began to mumble out his prayers in a very rapid manner, for he had come to the humble conclusion, in his own mind, that for once in his life he had been in company with some demon of darkness. He groaned aloud, and pulled very comical faces, while others made a sudden rush towards the door! Among them all there was one who looked on the matter with lightness and good humour. That one was Wildfire Ned. Pistol in hand he dashed towards the window as bold and fearless as a young lion. “If ye be mortal, die!” he said, firing his weapon after the retiring skeleton figure. With the agility of a cat he jumped on to the window-sill, and looked out into the darkness. The ghastly apparition had vanished! Whither or how had it gone? “Strange,” muttered Ned, angrily, as he returned to his seat. “Where’s the cripple?” All looked around. He also had vanished. “There is some strange horrible mystery in all this,” said Ned, “and I will perish before I give up the search without unravelling it.” “It all seems to me like a dream,” the knight said at last, with a great effort. “Some strange and horrible nightmare.” “I wasn’t frightened, sir,” said Tim, plucking up his courage. “Nothing could frighten me now, seeing as how I rode home with one on ’em.” “It’s all a trick, I know,” said the footman. “Some of the villagers have got it up for a lark, seeing as how it’s Christmas time.” “Perhaps so, Roger,” the knight replied, with a smile; “but I noticed you soon fell on your knees, and began to say your prayers.” “And so did Tim,” Ned laughed; “but now it’s all over, you may retire,” he said to the servants who were there, “you may retire. Uncle and I wish to be alone.” Tim was the first to go to the door, and he opened it with a shaking hand. In order to reach the servants’ hall, they had to traverse several long dark galleries, and descend the main staircase. Tim wanted his fellow servants to look upon him as a very bold youth, but he took great care not to be the first to go out into the dark gallery. In this way, also, the chief footman thought, but didn’t like to say so. “Why don’t you go on?” said he to Tim. “Why don’t _you_?” “You were the first at the door.” “Suppose I was, that don’t matter.” “You’re afraid?” “No I ain’t.” “Yes you are, Tim.” “If you think so, then follow me,” said the young groom, plucking up all his spare courage, and flourishing his riding-whip. The domestics left the room, and proceeded cautiously and slowly down the stairs towards the servants’ hall, creeping along, one after the other, in the dark. They had all got as far as the large, old oak baronial dining-room, on the ground floor, and were creeping along through the spacious entrance hall, towards the head of the kitchen stairs, when every one stopped.