Death-wing, among his mounted band, with torch and link in hand, all in a blaze of lurid light, in a hoarse voice, demanded admittance to the ball.
For a moment the young lord remained motionless.
He could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyesight.
He had often heard of the Skeleton Crew before, but had never seen anything of them.
Until that night he looked upon that band as a myth, believed in only by the dull and ignorant rustics around him.
Had not the story come from the lips of young Warbeck and Lieutenant Garnet, who had more than once encountered those grim creatures, he would have still believed that they were all imaginary creatures.
But here was proof positive of their existence.
The hair of the old servant who accompanied the young lord to the hall door stood up with fright as he looked out upon the ghastly gang before him, and his knees began to tremble.
“Who and what are ye?” asked the young lord, in firm and determined tones.
“Death-wing and his crew,” was the hoarse response.