on your presence of mind, whatever may happen?"

"Oh, sir, pray trust me," answered F----, grinning with delight.

"Very well; then here are the keys of the house,--this is the address.
Go now,--select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has
not been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire, air the bed
well,--see, of course, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take
with you my revolver and my dagger,--so much for my weapons; arm
yourself equally well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts,
we shall be but a sorry couple of Englishmen."

I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had
not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had
plighted my honor. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining,
read, as is my habit. I selected one of the volumes of Macaulay's
Essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there
was so much of healthfulness in the style, and practical life in the
subjects, that it would serve as an antidote against the influences of
superstitious fancy.

Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and
strolled leisurely towards the haunted house. I took with me a
favorite dog: an exceedingly sharp, bold, and vigilant
bull-terrier,--a dog fond of prowling about strange, ghostly corners
and passages at night in search of rats; a dog of dogs for a ghost.

It was a summer night but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and
overcast. Still there was a moon, faint and sickly but still a moon,
and if the clouds permitted, after midnight it would be brighter.