“If such be the case, he must be crazed indeed to venture here,” observed Nicholas; “and yet I am half inclined to credit the report.  Look at him, Dick.  He is the very image of the old abbot.”

“Yon portrait might have been painted for him,” said Richard, gazing at the picture on the wall, and from it to the monk as he spoke; “the very same garb, too.”

“There is an old monastic robe up-stairs, in the closet adjoining the room occupied by Mistress Nutter,” observed the steward, “said to be the garment in which Abbot Paslew suffered death.  Some stains are upon it, supposed to be the blood of the wizard Demdike, who perished in an extraordinary manner on the same day.”

“I have seen it,” cried Nicholas, “and the monk’s habit looks precisely like it, and, if my eyes deceive me not, is stained in the same manner.”

“I see the spots plainly on the breast,” cried Richard.  “How can he have procured the robe?”

“Heaven only knows,” replied the old steward.  “It is a very strange occurrence.”

“I will go question him,” said Richard.

So saying, he proceeded to the upper table, accompanied by Nicholas.  As they drew near, the stranger arose, and fixed a grim look upon Richard, who was a little in advance.

“It is the abbot’s ghost!” cried Nicholas, stopping, and detaining his cousin.  “You shall not address it.”

During the contention that ensued, the monk glided towards a side-door at the upper end of the hall, and passed through it.  So general was the consternation, that no one attempted to stay him, nor would any one follow to see whither he went.  Released, at length, from the strong grasp of the squire, Richard rushed forth, and not returning, Nicholas, after the lapse of a few minutes, went in search of him, but came back presently, and told the old steward he could neither find him nor the monk.

“Master Richard will be back anon, I dare say, Adam,” he remarked; “if not, I will make further search for him; but you had better not mention this mysterious occurrence to Sir Ralph, at all events not until the festivities are over, and the ladies have retired.  It might disturb them.  I fear the appearance of this monk bodes no good to our family; and what makes it worse is, it is not the first ill omen that has befallen us to-day, Master Richard was unlucky enough to stand on Abbot Paslew’s grave!”

“Mercy on us! that was unlucky indeed!” cried Adam, in great trepidation.  “Poor dear young gentleman!  Bid him take especial care of himself, good Master Nicholas.  I noticed just now, that yon fearsome monk regarded him more attentively than you.  Bid him be careful, I conjure you, sir.  But here comes my honoured master and his guests.  Here, Gregory, Dickon, bestir yourselves, knaves; and serve supper at the upper table in a trice.”

Any apprehensions Nicholas might entertain for Richard were at this moment relieved, for as Sir Ralph and his guests came in at one door, the young man entered by another.  He looked deathly pale.  Nicholas put his finger to his lips in token of silence—­a gesture which the other signified that he understood.