shadows—­the strange, enigmatical shadows I had seen in the hall and passages, and the figure of the walker.  Dare I take a house that knew such visitors?  At first I said no, and then yes.  Something, I could not tell what, urged me to say yes.  I felt that a very grave issue was at stake—­that a great wrong connected in some manner with the mysterious figure awaited righting, and that the hand of Fate pointed at me as the one and only person who could do it.

“Are you sure the house isn’t haunted?” I demanded, as we slowly rolled away from the iron gate, and I leaned back in my seat to light my pipe.

“Haunted!” Mr. Baldwin scoffed, “why, I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts—­laughed at them.”

“No more I do believe in them,” I retorted, “but I have children, and we know how imaginative children are.”

“I can’t undertake to stop their imaginations.”

“No, but you can tell me whether anyone else has imagined anything there.  Imagination is sometimes very infectious.”

“As far as I know, then, no; leastways, I have not heard tell of it.”

“Who was the last tenant?”

“Mr. Jeremiah Dance.”

“Why did he leave?”

“How do I know?  Got tired of being there, I suppose.”

“How long was he there?”

“Nearly three years.”

“Where is he now?”

“That’s more than I can say.  Why do you wish to know?”

“Why!” I repeated.  “Because it is more satisfactory to me to hear about the house from someone who has lived in it.  Has he left no address?”

“Not that I know of, and it’s more than two years since he was here.”

“What!  The house has been empty all that time?”

“Two years is not very long.  Houses—­even town houses—­are frequently unoccupied for longer than that.  I think you’ll like it.”

I did not speak again till the drive was over, and we drew up outside the landlord’s house.  I then said, “Let me have an agreement.  I’ve made up my mind to take it.  Three years and the option to stay on.”

That was just like me.  Whatever I did, I did on the spur of the moment, a mode of procedure that often led me into difficulties.

A month later and my wife, children, servants, and I were all ensconced in the Crow’s Nest.

That was in the beginning of October.  Well, the month passed by, and November was fairly in before anything remarkable happened.  It then came about in this fashion.

Jennie, my eldest child, a self-willed and rather bad-tempered girl of about twelve, evading the vigilance of her mother, who had forbidden her to go out as she had a cold, ran to the gate one evening to see if I was anywhere in sight.  Though barely five o’clock, the moon was high in the sky, and the shadows of the big trees had already commenced their gambols along the roadside.

Jennie clambered up the gate as children do, and peering over, suddenly espied what she took to be me, striding towards the house, at a swinging pace, and followed by two poodles.