He immediately entered the door, which he found, somewhat to his surprise, was only laid to, and, after listening for a few moments, resolved to examine the premises closely.  In deference to the reader, whose nerves may not be so strong as those of Henry Woodward, and who consequently may entertain a very decided objection to enter a haunted house, especially one in such a lonely and remote situation, we will only say that he remained in it for at least an hour and a half; at the expiration of which time he left it, walked home in a silent and meditative mood, spoke little to his family, who were a good deal surprised at his abstracted manner, and, after sipping a tumbler of punch with his step-father, went rather gloomily to bed.

The next morning at breakfast he looked a good deal paler than they had yet seen him, and for some time his contribution to the family dialogue was rather scanty.

“Harry,” said his mother, “what is the matter with you?  You are silent, and look pale.  Are you unwell?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied, “I cannot say that I am.  But, by the way, have you not a haunted house in the neighborhood, and is there not an apparition called the Black Man, or the Black Spectre, seen occasionally about the premises?”

“So it is said,” replied Lindsay, “but none of this family has ever seen it, although I believe it has undoubtedly been seen by many persons in the neighborhood.”

“What is supposed to have been the cause of its appearance?” asked Harry.

“Faith, Harry,” replied his brother, “I fear there is nobody here can give you that information.  To speak for myself, I never heard its appearance accounted for at all.  Perhaps Barney Casey knows.  Do you, father?”

“Not I,” replied his father; “but as you say, Charley, we had better try Barney.  Call him up.”

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Lindsay, sharply and disdainfully, “it was the Black Spectre who produced the shower of blood last night?”

“Faith, it’s not unlikely,” replied her husband, “if he be, as the people think, connected with the devil.”

In a couple of minutes Barney entered to know what was wanted.

“Barney,” said his master, “can you inform us who or what the Shan-dhinne-dhuv is, or why he appears in this neighborhood?  Damn the fellow; he has that house of mine on my hands this many a long year, for I cannot get it set.  I’ve had priests and parsons to lay him, and for some time we thought the country was free of him; but it was all to no purpose; he was still sure to return, and no earthly habitation should serve him but that unlucky house of mine.  It is very odd that he never began to appear until after my second marriage.”

“Sir,” replied Barney, “I heard something about it; but I’m not clear on it.  To tell you the truth, there’s two or three accounts of him; but anyhow, sir, you’re in luck for the right one; for if livin’ man can give it to you, Bandy Brack, the peddler, is the man.  He’s now at his breakfast in the kitchen; but I’ll have him up.”