He was silent for a moment after I ceased to speak, and I said—
“I am afraid that I have been too indiscreet; pray forget that I spoke on the subject at all.”
“No,” he replied, quietly; “no, but you are a man of the world, and as such inclined to be somewhat incredulous. So, you see, I am rather afraid you will treat as a superstition an old family tradition which has been handed down for centuries.”
“Listen,” I said. “I can declare one thing, and that is that no one is more easily convinced than I am on all questions of legendary or traditionary lore—and I am always ready to give credence to things regarded as impossible!”
“So you believe in ghosts?”
“Do you wish to hear me tell how I saw one?”
“Yes, that will encourage me.”
“My father died in 1807, when I was three and a-half years old. When the doctor announced his speedy death I was sent away to the house of an old cousin in the country.
“She had made up a bed for me opposite her own, to which I was sent at the usual time, and, notwithstanding the trouble hanging over me, I feel fast asleep.
“I was suddenly awakened by three violent blows upon the door of the chamber; I got out of bed and walked across the floor to open it.