Trembling in every limb Mr. Simmonds turned to his daughter. But Julia was no more, _his arm encircled her lifeless clay_. * * * * * An old man and feeble was John Simmonds, when, two months after the above events, he left his bed, slowly recovering from brain fever; but although he was able occasionally to wander listlessly in his garden in the warm days of the summer, he lingered only till the first days of autumn tinged the foliage with gold and red, then drooped like the flowers, and like the flowers he died. By his daughter’s side, upon that hillside in the west, the old man sleeps, and to this day their tombs are pointed out; the one known as “the Good Squire’s Tomb,” and the other is called “Julia’s Grave.” * * * * * When the next Christmas Eve came round, bold Will Rayner organized a little party to watch the spot where the murder took place. They did not keep their dread vigil in vain, for a little after darkness set in they all saw the phantom horseman ride up, dismount to tighten his saddle-girth, and pat his tired horse on the neck. They saw the dastardly rush of his rival: they saw the deed enacted before their eyes, as Mr. Simmonds and Julia had seen it in a marvellous manner, and Will had difficulty in restraining his comrades from rushing upon the murderous Wynne, although they knew him to be but the phantasm of a man. Their purpose, however, in watching was to _follow_ the ghost, and as it mounted its shadowy horse they all gave chase. It was a wild sight to see these young men following the apparition, who pursued his course through the wild woods apparently unconscious that he was being followed. For three miles he rode, and then drew rein by a low cliff which overhung the stream. He dismounted, took the bundle of papers from under his cloak, and hid them beneath the stump of a tree, whose roots flung themselves in fantastic shapes from the side of the cliff. Then he mounted his horse again, with a smile of triumph on his ghastly face, rode up the precipitous bank, and had nearly gained the brink, when his horse missed its footing, rolled over backwards with its rider, and both disappeared into the turbid water below. The ghostly horse quickly emerged and galloped away, but the shade of Wynne Clarge, its rider, rose no more. A search was made in the low cliff for the missing documents relating to the Benwell estate, and they were easily found; but having lain in a damp cavity impregnated with lime for two years, they fell to pieces as Rayner grasped them, and all that remained in his hand was an undecipherable pulp. CONCLUSION.