“Yes,” answered George doubtfully. Harold looking down could see that he was holding the lantern above his head and staring at something very hard.
Next moment a howl of terror echoed up from the pit, the lantern was dropped upon the ground and the rope began to be agitated with the utmost violence.
In another two seconds George’s red nightcap appeared followed by a face that was literally livid with terror.
“Let me up for Goad’s sake,” he gasped, “or he’ll hev me by the leg!”
“He! who?” asked the Colonel, not without a thrill of superstitious fear, as he dragged the panting man through the hole.
But George would give no answer until he was out of the grave. Indeed had it not been for the Colonel’s eager entreaties, backed to some extent by actual force, he would by this time have been out of the summer-house also, and half-way down the mount.
“What is it?” roared the Colonel in the pit to George, who shivering with terror was standing on its edge.
“It’s a blessed ghost, that’s what it is, Colonel,” answered George, keeping his eyes fixed upon the hole as though he momentarily expected to see the object of his fears emerge.
“Nonsense,” said Harold doubtfully. “What rubbish you talk. What sort of a ghost?”
“A white un,” said George, “all bones like.”