"Poor boy! It's a pity some old ghost of a monk could not interest
himself in your education; but, as I said before, ghosts are absurdly
useless, except to scare people whose consciences are bad, and nothing
more is needed to make me doubt their existence than the fact of your
living here in what should be their stronghold, and they never raise
hand or foot to help you. It's quite in keeping with their ridiculous
pretensions. Believe in ghosts? No, I never did, and I never will."

The voice, small and weak though it was, grew quite angry in tone, and
it seemed to Leo as if it were accompanied by the stamp of a foot; but
he saw nothing, not so much as a spider crawling over the stone
corridor.

It was very peculiar. He pinched himself to see if he was awake. Yes,
wide-awake, no doubt of that; besides, he seldom dreamed--indeed, never,
unless his foot had slipped in climbing a crag to peep into a nest, when
the fall was sometimes repeated in his sleep. Who was this speaking to
him? As if in answer to his thoughts, the voice went on:

"So far from being a good-for-nothing old ghost, I am one of the
founders of the S.P.C.C., a very old society--much older than people of
the present day imagine."

Leo was quite ashamed to be so ignorant, but he ventured to ask,

"What is the S.P.C.C.?"

"Is it possible you have never heard of it?"

"Never," replied Leo, still feeling as if he were talking to the walls.