There was silence for a time, and then Fruin, stepping forward and clearing his throat, said:
"Sir Hugh, I ought to have spoken before, perhaps, but knowing how much you hate ghost stories, I didn't like to speak."
"Well, speak now," said the Baronet impatiently—"that is," he added, "if your story is a fresh one, and not a mere repetition of last night's nonsense."
"My bedroom, as you know, Sir Hugh, is over one end of the gallery."
It was with this very sentence that Fruin had begun his story of the previous night. Evidently it was a stereotyped formula with him when recounting his ghostly experiences, not to be abandoned any more than the orthodox "Once upon a time" of the fairy stories.
"This morning about three o'clock I fancied I heard a noise as if some one were walking up and down here; I got up and looked out of the window, and I could see a light shining through the casements below on to the lawn. This light kept appearing and disappearing, as if the person in the gallery were walking to and fro with a lamp. I put on my things and came downstairs——"
"Didn't you wake some of the others?" interrupted the Baronet.
"No, Sir Hugh."
"Why not?"