But long after these solemn words were uttered, and before any one could recover from surprise, they heard the heavy, distant footfalls of the Spectre Knight. Darlington Hall was haunted! Cold perspiration oozed from their brows. They trembled with awe, as, turning to the window, they saw a strange-like Will-o’-the-Wisp light dancing in the distant gloom. Another moment, and the casement was dashed open. Then a sound as of the clanking of chains and bones was heard, and a hollow voice saying, “Behold, I am _the Red Man of the Gibbet_!” The Will-o’-the-Wisp light still danced round about, and in the centre stood the skeleton of the Red Man. “What art thou?” said Sir Richard, fear, like an electric shot, passing through his frame. The figure remained silent. “Speak,” said Wildfire Ned, “or my sword shall find out if you are man or devil!” Saying so, Ned advanced towards the horrid shape at the casement. “Back!” said the Skeleton form, stretching out his finger at Ned. “Your time has not yet come; but know, boy, I am your fate. Yes. Ha! ha! your fate!” Ned, for a moment, felt slightly awed at the strange words spoken by the mysterious figure, who, with the light still playing about his head, stood regarding all with a terrible look. “You lie!” replied Ned. “My fate is not in your hands, and I defy you. The Skeleton Crew shall find I have not gained my name of Wildfire Ned without being able to keep it.” “The Red Man,” said the voice, “in the name of the Skeleton Crew, accept your challenge, and I now throw down my gage in token of defiance.” So saying, the figure threw down a hard substance on the floor. Wildfire Ned picked it up. It was a glove, and inside a SKELETON HAND! “Ha! ha! now follow me if you dare!” shouted the Red Man, clanking his chains. “I do dare, and will,” said Ned, breaking from his uncle’s hold, and dashing through the window after the Skeleton. “Follow, follow quickly!” cried Sir Richard. At the same moment they all fell back in fear as a shriek of mortal agony was borne along the wind and resounded throughout the old building. “Oh, God!” cried the old man, “I fear the brave boy is slain.” NOTICE TO OUR READERS. REMEMBER!—a most valuable present is in preparation, and will be presented to all our regular Subscribers with an early Number. Full particulars will be announced in Number 6. [Illustration: “THE MIDNIGHT DANCE OF THE SKELETON CREW.”] Sword in hand Wildfire Ned dashed after the dreadful apparition, and well nigh overtook him as he ran along with wild fantastic leaps towards a densely-wooded copse. It was at this moment, when, finding himself pursued, that the Red Man of the Gibbet gave that wild cry which so much alarmed Sir Richard Warbeck and his servants. It was a terrible shriek, truly; more like that of a fiend than anything else. What now followed was more horrible still, and caused Wildfire Ned to pause from sheer astonishment.