“Oh, sir! pray trust me,” answered F——­, grinning with delight.

“Very well—­then here are the keys of the house—­this is the address.  Go now—­select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has not been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire—­air the bed well—­see, of course, that there are candles as well as fuel.  Take with you my revolver and my dagger—­so much for my weapons—­arm yourself equally well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but a sorry couple of Englishmen.”

I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had plighted my honour.  I dined alone, and very late, and while dining, read, as is my habit.  The volume I selected was one of Macaulay’s Essays.  I thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there was so much of healthfulness in the style, and practical life in the subjects, that it would serve as an antidote against the influences of superstitious fancy.

Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and strolled leisurely towards the haunted house.  I took with me a favourite dog—­an exceedingly sharp, bold, and vigilant bull-terrier—­a dog fond of prowling about strange ghostly corners and passages at night in search of rats—­a dog of dogs for a ghost.

It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and overcast.  Still, there was a moon—­faint and sickly, but still a moon—­and if the clouds permitted, after midnight it would be brighter.

I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful smile.

“All right, sir, and very comfortable.”

“Oh!” said I, rather disappointed; “have you not seen nor heard anything remarkable?”

“Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer.”

“What?—­what?”

“The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once or twice small noises like whispers close at my ear—­nothing more.”

“You are not at all frightened?”

“I! not a bit of it, sir”; and the man’s bold look reassured me on one point—­viz. that, happen what might, he would not desert me.

We were in the hall, the street-door closed, and my attention was now drawn to my dog.  He had at first ran in eagerly enough, but had sneaked back to the door, and was scratching and whining to get out.  After patting him on the head, and encouraging him gently, the dog seemed to reconcile himself to the situation and followed me and F——­ through the house, but keeping close at my heels instead of hurrying inquisitively in advance, which was his usual and normal habit in all strange places.  We first visited the subterranean apartments, the kitchen and other offices, and especially the cellars, in which last there were two or three bottles of wine still left in a bin, covered with cobwebs, and evidently, by their appearance, undisturbed for many years.  It was clear that the ghosts were not wine-bibbers.