Throstle Hall, up in Cumberland, still lies empty, waiting a tenant, for Sir Anthony’s heir, a distant cousin, has no fancy for the place.

And men walk at night on the Blencarn road in couples, if they have to walk there at all, for fear of the ghost of Sir Anthony Gyde, which waits, so the legend runs, at the gate of the field leading to the Cottage on the Fells.

The End.