As they came up the cellar steps they both, it was afterwards ascertained, fancied they heard the front door open and shut, but seeing it closed and nothing there, neither said a word to the other about it at the time.  Mrs. Hall passed her husband in the passage and ran on first upstairs.  Someone sneezed on the staircase.  Hall, following six steps behind, thought that he heard her sneeze.  She, going on first, was under the impression that Hall was sneezing.  She flung open the door and stood regarding the room.  “Of all the curious!” she said.

She heard a sniff close behind her head as it seemed, and turning, was surprised to see Hall a dozen feet off on the topmost stair.  But in another moment he was beside her.  She bent forward and put her hand on the pillow and then under the clothes.

“Cold,” she said.  “He’s been up this hour or more.”

As she did so, a most extraordinary thing happened.  The bed-clothes gathered themselves together, leapt up suddenly into a sort of peak, and then jumped headlong over the bottom rail.  It was exactly as if a hand had clutched them in the centre and flung them aside.  Immediately after, the stranger’s hat hopped off the bed-post, described a whirling flight in the air through the better part of a circle, and then dashed straight at Mrs. Hall’s face.  Then as swiftly came the sponge from the washstand; and then the chair, flinging the stranger’s coat and trousers carelessly aside, and laughing drily in a voice singularly like the stranger’s, turned itself up with its four legs at Mrs. Hall, seemed to take aim at her for a moment, and charged at her.  She screamed and turned, and then the chair legs came gently but firmly against her back and impelled her and Hall out of the room.  The door slammed violently and was locked.  The chair and bed seemed to be executing a dance of triumph for a moment, and then abruptly everything was still.

Mrs. Hall was left almost in a fainting condition in Mr. Hall’s arms on the landing.  It was with the greatest difficulty that Mr. Hall and Millie, who had been roused by her scream of alarm, succeeded in getting her downstairs, and applying the restoratives customary in such cases.

“’Tas sperits,” said Mrs. Hall.  “I know ’tas sperits.  I’ve read in papers of en.  Tables and chairs leaping and dancing...”

“Take a drop more, Janny,” said Hall. “’Twill steady ye.”

“Lock him out,” said Mrs. Hall.  “Don’t let him come in again.  I half guessed—­I might ha’ known.  With them goggling eyes and bandaged head, and never going to church of a Sunday.  And all they bottles—­more’n it’s right for any one to have.  He’s put the sperits into the furniture....  My good old furniture!  ’Twas in that very chair my poor dear mother used to sit when I was a little girl.  To think it should rise up against me now!”

“Just a drop more, Janny,” said Hall.  “Your nerves is all upset.”