AS THE hour approached for the masqueraders to appear at the Judge’s John Graham was drawn to the spot by an irresistible impulse. He stood in the shadows of the trees on the sidewalk and watched the little squadron of white and scarlet horsemen wheel into the gate past Isaac’s cottage, and gallop swiftly up to the front door of the old mansion. They had scarcely passed when Isaac suddenly stepped from the shrubbery through the open gateway and ran into him. The Apostle gasped in terror: “De Lawd, marse John, I thought you wuz one er dem ghostes--‘scuse me, sah, I’se er gettin’ away from here!” John made no reply, merely watching him until he disappeared. Again he turned toward the house. Every window was gleaming with light. The subdued strains of a string band came stealing through the trailing roses on the porch, and he fancied he could catch the odour of the flowers in their sweet notes. Scarcely knowing what he did, he strolled into the lawn and sank on a rustic bench with a groan. He could hear the gay banter of the masqueraders and the peals of girlish laughter with which their tomfoolery was being received. A mocking bird began singing in the tree above him, roused by the music of the band. Far off in the corner of the lawn in the clump of holly and cedars at the entrance of the vault a whippoorwill was making the ravine ring with the weird notes of his ghost-like call. The moon flooded the scene with silvery splendour. Crushed with a sense of loneliness and failure, he felt to-night that he would give all the wealth and honours of the earth for one touch of the hand of the girl whose laughter lingered and echoed in his heart. And again the feeling of impending disaster overwhelmed him. “Of course it’s nonsense!” he kept repeating to himself. “The disaster is within. I’m merely a wounded animal caught in a trap, bleeding and dying of thirst, and no one knows or cares, and I can’t cry for help.” He tried to rise and go. But something held him in a silent spell to the spot. He sat dreaming out each movement of the gay drama in progress within. Stella had welcomed her white-robed guests without the aid of a servant. No Negro could be hired for love or money to approach one of these ghostly figures. Maggie had hidden in the closet in her mistress’ room and Aunt Julie Ann had barred herself inside the kitchen and refused to answer a call. In spite of these little annoyances the beautiful young mistress of the Graham house, resplendent in her ball dress costume, was in her gayest mood. When the shrill whistles rang their summons at the door, she hastened to greet her mysterious guests. “And your name, Sir Knight?” she asked the leader with bantering laughter. “We are Ghouls! And come from beyond the river Styx, my lady!” solemnly answered the tall white figure. “Welcome shades of Darkness, welcome back to the world of joy and light, song and dance, life and love!” Stella cried, extending her hand.