There was another room in which (also in broad daylight) I heard a strange crackling sound like the rustling of a large sheet of stiff paper or parchment turned slowly in the reader’s hands.  This noise also was one of frequent occurrence.  Among the things seen by other members of the family was a light that glided over walls and ceiling in points inaccessible to outside light or reflection.  Then there was a lady in black silk who had more than once been seen gliding about the house, but who always disappeared when accosted or followed.  Three slow, solemn raps sometimes sounded at dead of night at the door of one member of the family, a skeptical and irascible old gentleman.

But, strange to say, all these uncanny sights and sounds portended nothing, and seemed to be utterly without a purpose or a cause.  The house was a cheerful modern one, and the father of my friend was its first occupant; so there was nothing in the past to which these unearthly occurrences could refer.  Nor were they warnings of coming misfortune.  Neither death nor disaster ever followed in their train, and in due course of time the family ceased to trouble their heads about them—­were not at all frightened, and scarcely even annoyed.  There were other sounds which I did not myself hear, but of which I was told—­stealthy footsteps that paced a certain corridor at dead of night; a sharp, rattling noise like hail dashing against the window-panes, and one or two other trifling yet equally unaccountable occurrences.  Once, too, a young lady visiting the house heard in the next room to that in which she was loud and lamentable sounds, as of a woman weeping bitterly and in sore distress.  She listened in considerable perplexity for some time, fearing to intrude on the sorrows of some member of the family; but at last she resolved to go and proffer aid, if not consolation.  As he approached the door between the two rooms the sound suddenly ceased, and, to her amazement, she found the adjoining apartment not only empty, but with the door locked and bolted on the inside.

I once knew a young lady who, on going to pay a visit to a friend who had recently moved into a new house, was asked to walk up stairs, and on complying saw an old woman preceding her up the staircase.  Supposing her to be one of the servants, she took but little notice of her, though struck by the peculiarity of her gait, a sort of jerky limp, as though one leg was shorter than the other.  In the course of conversation with her friend she mentioned the old woman, and asked if she was the housekeeper.  “Housekeeper? no,” said the lady:  “we have no such person about our house.  You must have been mistaken.”  The visitor then described the person she had seen, and when she mentioned the peculiar limp her hostess seemed startled.  After a pause she said:  “No such person lives here now, but the woman who took care of this house before we rented it was exactly such a person as you describe, and was lame in just such a manner.  But she died here about six weeks ago—­I think in this very room—­so your eyes must certainly have deceived you.”  The lady still persisted that she had seen the old woman; so the servants were called and the house thoroughly searched, but no intruder was discovered.