Throwing him a kiss she returned to the hall below and led her guests into the big double parlours which had been fitted up for dancing. The French windows, opening as doors on the porches, were raised, and the band stationed outside near one of them. When the dance had begun the Judge, dressed in his usual broadcloth frock coat which hung in slouching lines from his drooping shoulders, slowly descended the stairs and stood embarrassed and hesitating in the hall a moment, and sat down by the centre table. A masquerader came in from the ball room for the fan his partner had left, and so soft was his footfall the Judge did not hear or see him until the tall white figure suddenly loomed above him to pick up the fan. The apparition was so startling the Judge’s nerves collapsed. He leaped to his feet with an inarticulate cry of terror, overturning his chair and started to bolt for the door. The masquerader smothered a laugh and said: “I beg your pardon, I only wanted the fan.” Butler stammered: “Ah--I--must have been dreaming--you--startled me!” He watched the white figure disappear, mopped the perspiration from his brow, called Aunt Julie Ann and ordered her to bring him a drink of whiskey. She refused to stir at first, but he threatened to discharge her, and she obeyed. When the Judge raised the glass to his lips his hand trembled so violently that he spilled some of the liquor on his clothes. He gulped it down and glanced nervously about the hall. He placed the glass back on the tray and Aunt Julie Ann, watching the parlour-door like a hawk, started back to the kitchen on a run. “Wait a moment,” cried the Judge, shuffling to his feet. “I ain’t gwine stay in here wid dem things in de house,” she answered, halting timidly in the shadows of the door leading into the dining-room. Butler walked to her side and said: “Tell Miss Stella I’m not feeling well--I’m going to bed.” He hesitated a moment. “You’ve said nothing to any one about this ghost business?” “Hush, man, hush! Don’t talk about dat now!” she whispered. “I tole dat ole whiteheaded Larkin--dat’s all.” “Well, I want to warn you, don’t mention it to another living soul. I’m beginning to suspect that we’ve been seeing old Major Graham himself!” “De Lawd er mussy, man, how he bin gittin’ in de house wid all de doors and windows locked an’ bolted?” “That’s a mystery I can’t fathom.” “No, ner nobody else. Hit’s his sperit I tells ye.” While they were talking thus in the alcove the oak panel under the stairs was softly opened and closed; old Major Graham, dressed with scrupulous care, thin and pale as a corpse, yet erect and dignified, walked slowly across the hall to the foot of the stairs. His lips were muttering inarticulate sounds and his wide staring eyes had the far-off look of the dreamer who lives, breathes and moves, yet sees nothing.