Hannah was engaged in raking out the kitchen fire.
“Sure it's Tim come back,” thought she, as she went to the door. “Perhaps he's forgotten something.”
She opened the door unsuspiciously, fully expecting to see her Irish cousin standing before her.
What was her terror on beholding a white-robed figure, with extended arms.
“Howly virgin, defend me!” she exclaimed, in paralyzing terror, which was increased by a guttural sound which proceeded from the throat of the ghost, who at the same time waved his arms aloft, and made a step towards Hannah.
Hannah, with a wild howl dropped the lamp and fed towards the sitting-room, where 'Squire Newcome was still sitting.
Ben sped upstairs at the top of his speed, dashed into his own chamber, spread the sheet on the bed, and undressed so rapidly that he seemed only to shake his clothes off, and jumped into bed. He closed his eyes and appeared to be in a profound slumber.
Hannah's sudden appearance in the sitting-room in such a state naturally astonished the 'Squire.
“What's the matter?” he demanded of the affrighted servant.
“Oh, sir,” she gasped, “I'm almost kilt entirely.”