“‘At my table were two young men, one of them a Mr. Akroyd. He began to talk of a place he knew in one of the Midland counties, and how a particular adventure always befell him at a certain gate there.
“‘Yes,’ said the other young man, ‘your horse always shies and turns down a particular lane.’
“‘Yes,’ exclaimed Mr. Akroyd, ‘but how do you know anything about it?’
“‘Oh, because I know the place very well, and the same thing always happens to me.’
“‘And then I come to a gateway,’ said Mr. Akroyd.
“‘Yes, exactly so,” said the other young man.
“‘And then on one occasion I drove through it and came to a house.’
“‘Ah! well, there I do not follow you,’ said the other young man.
“‘It was very long ago,’ continued Mr. Akroyd, ‘and I was a boy with my father. When we drove down that lane it was very late, quite dark, and we lost our way. When we reached the gateway, we saw within a great house standing on one side of a courtyard, brilliantly lighted up. There was evidently a banquet inside, and through the large windows we saw figures moving to and fro, but all were in mediaeval dress: we thought it was a masquerade.
“‘We drove up to the house to inquire our way, and the owner came out to speak to us. He was in a mediaeval dress. He said he was entertaining his friends, and he entreated us, as chance had brought us there that night, to come in and partake of his hospitality. We pleaded that we were obliged to go on, and that to stay was impossible. He was excessively civil, and said that if we must really go on, we must allow him to send a footman to guide us back into the right road. My father gave the footman half-a-crown. When we had gone some distance I said, “Father, did you see what happened to that half-crown?”—“Yes, my boy, I did,” said my father. It had fallen through the footman’s hand on to the snow.’