“Yes, tell it,” said Mrs. Chester. “They have the right to know.”
“Well, then,” went on Mr. Chester, “I was detained in the city very late one night some four or five months ago, and it was after midnight when I reached Fanwood. Mrs. Chester was not expecting me, and there was no carriage at the station. I knew she was in bed, and rather than disturb her, I decided to walk over. It took me about an hour—it was a bright moonlight night, I remember, a good deal like this one, and I took my time. When I turned in at our gate, I fancied I saw a light in our stable, and I walked back to investigate, but found it was only the reflection of the moonlight on a window. I was coming back to the house, by the path which runs along the wall, when I fancied I heard voices on the other side. I stopped to listen, and sure enough, there were two persons talking together on your aunt’s side. I could not make out either voice clearly, one was so low and broken, and the other so high and whining. You can imagine how puzzled I was, and a little frightened, too, I confess, for my first thought was naturally of burglars. But I knew I couldn’t go to bed and to sleep until I had found out what was happening over there, so I went softly back to the stable, got a short ladder, and placed it noiselessly against the wall. Then I climbed up and looked over.”
We were all listening breathlessly; I, at least, with a delicious creepy sensation at the roots of my hair.
“Well,” continued Mr. Chester, “I confess that I was startled for a moment by what I saw—a white and diaphanous-looking figure standing before an old bench, on which there was a dark, huddled shape, which I couldn’t make out clearly. Indeed, I couldn’t make out anything very clearly, for both figures were in the shadow of the wall, and besides I had only a moment to look at them, for I suppose I must have made some sound—an exclamation of surprise, perhaps—for suddenly the white figure vanished among the trees, and the figure on the bench sprang to its feet and I saw it was Mrs. Nelson.
“‘What is it?’ she cried, and then she looked up and saw my white face peering down at her.
“I felt rather foolish, as one will when he is caught eavesdropping, no matter how good his motives may have been.
“‘I beg your pardon,’ I said, ‘if I’m intruding; but I happened to hear voices—’
“She didn’t seem to understand very clearly, but stared about her in a dazed way, and just then who should come forward from among the trees but Silas Tunstall. Then I understood. He had been up to some of his mummeries, imposing upon that old woman. He glared up at me for a moment; but without saying a word, laid his hand upon Mrs. Nelson’s arm and led her off toward the house. I confess that it was with no very pleasant feeling I looked after them. I thought it all over next day, but I didn’t see how I could interfere. After all, it was none of my business, and so I decided to do nothing, and told no one of the incident except my wife.”
Then I recalled that half-forgotten adventure, which I have already recorded—my starting to get a drink one night, and meeting grandaunt in the hall. And for the first time, I understood her terror. She believed in ghosts—and the little white figure she had seen disappear into the gloomy doorway had looked ghostly enough! Poor grandaunt! How she had screamed! Mr. Tunstall had no doubt found it easy enough to make a disciple of her, since she was ready to come more than half-way to meet him.
“Horrible!” breathed mother at last. “Did he—did he have any other victims?”