That had always been my opinion, but I only said, "Well, it is of no use
looking back now."

I glanced at Mr. Craven, and saw he was ill at ease. We had considerable
faith in ourselves, our case, and our counsel; but, then, we could not
be blind to the fact that Colonel Morris' counsel were men very much
better known than our men--that a cloud of witnesses, thirsting to
avenge themselves for the rent we had compelled them to pay for an
uninhabitable house, were hovering about the court--(had we not seen and
recognized them in the Hall?)--that, in fact, there were two very
distinct sides to the question, one represented by Colonel Morris and
his party, and the other by Miss Blake and ourselves.

Of course our case lay in a nutshell. We had let the place, and Colonel
Morris had agreed to take it. Colonel Morris now wanted to be rid of his
bargain, and we were determined to keep him to it. Colonel Morris said
the house was haunted, and that no one could live in it. We said the
house was not haunted, and that anybody could live in it; that River
Hall was "in every respect suited for the residence of a family of
position"--see advertisements in _Times_ and _Morning Post_.

Now, if the reader will kindly consider the matter, it must be an
extremely difficult thing to prove, in a court of law, that a house, by
reason solely of being haunted, is unsuitable for the residence of a
gentleman of position.

Smells, bad drainage, impure water, unhealthiness of situation,
dampness, the absence of advantages mentioned, the presence of small
game--more odious to tenants of furnished houses than ground game to