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 honour. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining,
read, as is my habit. The volume I selected was one 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 favourite
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.

I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful
smile.

"All right, sir, and very comfortable."