So the house being now open, and Mr. Melcombe observed by his servants (who alone were there to give him welcome), he entered, ordered breakfast, which was spread for him in the “great parlour,” and having now got into the habit of making investigations, had no sooner finished his meal than he began to look at the notes he had made from what Mrs. Melcombe had told him of the ghost story.

It was a story that she had not half finished when he recognised it—­he had read it with all its particulars in a book, only with the names and localities disguised.

“Oh, yes,” she answered, when he said so.  “It is very well known; it has always been considered one of the best authenticated stories of its kind on record, though it was not known beyond the family and the village for several years.  Augustus Melcombe, you know, was the name of the dear grandmother’s only brother, her father’s heir; he was her father’s only son, two daughters born between died in infancy.  That poor young fellow died at sea, and just at the time (as is supposed) that he expired, his wraith appeared to the old woman, Becky Maddison, then a very young girl.  I am sorry to say the old woman has made a gain of this story.  People often used to come to hear it, and she certainly does not always tell it exactly the same.  People’s inquiries, I suppose, and suggestions, have induced her to add to it; but the version I am giving you is what she first told.”

Mrs. Melcombe mentioned the book in which Valentine would find it, and repeated from memory the impressive conclusion, “And this story of the young man’s appearance to her had been repeatedly told by the girl before his family became alarmed at his protracted absence.  It was during the long war, and the worst they feared was that he might have been taken prisoner; but more than three years after a member of the family met by accident, when some hundreds of miles away from home, a naval officer who had sailed in the ship to which this young lieutenant belonged, and heard from him, not without deep emotion, that at that very time and at that very hour the youth had died at sea.”

“There is only one mistake in that version,” continued Mrs. Melcombe, “and that is, that we do not know the exact time when the young man died.  Cuthbert Melcombe was not told the month even, only the year.”

“But surely that is a very important mistake,” said Valentine.

“Yes, for those to consider who believe in supernatural stones.  It is certain, however, that the girl told this story within a day or two, and told it often, so that it was known in the village.  It is certain also that he was at sea, and that he never came home.  And it is undoubtedly true that Cuthbert, when in London, heard this account, for he wrote his mother home a description of the whole interview, with the officer’s name and ship.  I have seen the letter, and read it over several times.  The year of the death at sea is mentioned, but not the day.  Now the day of the ghost’s appearance we cannot be wrong about; it was that before the night of the great gale which did such damage in these parts, that for years it could not be forgotten.”