well furnished; the drainage is perfect; so far as we are concerned, we
do not believe a fault can be found with the place. Still, it has been a
fact that tenants will not stay in it, and we were therefore glad to let
it to a gentleman like yourself, who would, we expected, prove above
subscribing to that which can only be a vulgar prejudice."

"What is a vulgar prejudice?" he asked.

"The idea that River Hall is haunted," I replied.

"River Hall is haunted, young man," he said, solemnly.

"By what?" I asked.

"By some one who cannot rest in his grave," was the answer.

"Colonel Morris," I said, "some one _must_ be playing tricks in
the house."

"If so, that some one does not belong to this world," he remarked.

"Do you mean really and seriously to tell me you believe in ghosts?" I
asked, perhaps a little scornfully.

"I do, and if you had lived in River Hall, you would believe in them
too," he replied. "I will tell you," he went on, "what I saw in the
house myself. You know the library?"

I nodded in assent. We did know the library. There our trouble seemed to
have taken up its abode.