by misty black barges, the more misty and indistinct seen through
its mysterious veil, the river fog was slowly rising. So rolled
away and rose from the heart of the Haunted Man, etc., etc.

They stopped before a quaint mansion of red brick. The Goblin
waved his hand without speaking.

"I see," said the Haunted Man, "a gay drawing-room. I see my old
friends of the club, of the college, of society, even as they lived
and moved. I see the gallant and unselfish men, whom I have loved,
and the snobs whom I have hated. I see strangely mingling with
them, and now and then blending with their forms, our old friends
Dick Steele, Addison, and Congreve. I observe, though, that these
gentlemen have a habit of getting too much in the way. The royal
standard of Queen Anne, not in itself a beautiful ornament, is
rather too prominent in the picture. The long galleries of black
oak, the formal furniture, the old portraits, are picturesque, but
depressing. The house is damp. I enjoy myself better here on the
lawn, where they are getting up a Vanity Fair. See, the bell
rings, the curtain is rising, the puppets are brought out for a new
play. Let me see."

The Haunted Man was pressing forward in his eagerness, but the hand
of the Goblin stayed him, and pointing to his feet he saw, between
him and the rising curtain, a new-made grave. And bending above
the grave in passionate grief, the Haunted Man beheld the phantom
of the previous night.

* * * * *