II.  Steepside A Ghost Story

The strange things I am going to tell you, dear reader, did not occur, as such things generally do, to my great-uncle, or to my second cousin, or even to my grandfather, but to myself.  It happened that a few years ago I received an invitation from an old schoolfellow to spend Christmas week with him in his country house on the borders of North Wales, and, as I was then a happy bachelor, and had not seen my friend for a considerable time, I accepted the invitation, and turned my back upon London on the appointed day with a light heart and anticipations of the pleasantest description.

Leaving my City haunts by a morning train, I was landed early in the afternoon at the nearest station to my friend’s house, although in this case “nearest” was indeed, as it proved, by no means near.  When I reached the inn where I had fondly expected to find “flys, omnibuses, and other vehicles obtainable on the shortest notice,” I was met by the landlady of the establishment, who, with an apologetic curtsey and a deprecating smile, informed me that she was extremely sorry to say her last conveyance had just started with a party, and would not return until late at night.  I looked at my watch; it was nearing four.  Seven miles, and I had a large traveling-bag to carry.

“Is it a good road from here to—?” I asked the landlady.

“Oh yes, sir; very fair.”

“Well,” I said, “I think I’ll walk it.  The railway journey has rather numbed my feet, and a sharp walk will certainly improve their temperature.”

So I courageously lifted my bag and set out on the journey to my friend’s house.  Ah, how little I guessed what was destined to befall me before I reached that desired haven!  I had gone, I suppose, about two miles when I descried behind me a vast mass of dark, surging cloud driving up rapidly with the wind.  I was in open country, and there was evidently going to be a very heavy snowstorm.  Presently it began.  At first I made up my mind not to heed it; but in about twenty minutes after the commencement of the fall the snow became so thick and so blinding, that it was absolutely impossible for me to find my way along a road which was utterly new to me.  Moreover, with the cloud came the twilight, and a most disagreeably keen wind.  The traveling-bag became unbearably heavy.  I shifted it from one hand to the other; I hung it over my shoulder; I put it under my arm; I carried it in all sorts of ways, but none afforded me any permanent relief.  To add to my misfortune, I strongly suspected that I had mistaken my way, for by this time the snow was so deep that the footpath was altogether obliterated.  In this predicament I looked out wistfully across the whitened landscape for signs of an inn or habitation of some description where I might “put up” for the night, and