“Yes,” answered Phœbe, strangely excited. “Gran’ma Eliot and my father and mother occupy graves just beside it, for gran’pa built the big tomb just for himself.”
“Not a very generous thing to do,” added Janet; “but Mr. Eliot has always been a queer man, and done queer things.”
“Well,” continued Marion, “I sat facing the tomb, as I said, when slowly and without sound the marble door opened and a ghostly figure emerged. I won’t assert it was a spirit from the other world, nor will I claim it was some person dressed in a sheet; but I am positive it was no vision of my imagination. So let us call it the Ghostly Mystery.”
“Was it a man or a woman?” asked Phœbe, breathlessly.
“It failed to disclose its sex, my dear. The door seemed to swing shut behind it; but the ghostly one was obliged to put out an arm to raise the latch of the iron gate. It passed through and I heard the click of the latch as it again fell into place. Then the apparition—”
“The Ghostly Mystery, Marion!”
“Oh, yes; the Ghostly Mystery glided out of sight while I sat listlessly wondering what it could be. I was not frightened, but I failed to act promptly; so, when I arose to follow it, the thing or person—or whatever it was—had disappeared for good and all.”
The three strolled on in silence for a while. Then Phœbe asked:
“What time was it?”
“Perhaps one o’clock. It was nearly two when I got home; but I had walked quite a way before I decided to enter the house.”