"Ay!—a lodger who never pays his rent, and who drives me to my wit's end by shying my crockery at my head. Look here, what a cut he gave my wrist once in one of his pranks. I shall bear this mark to my grave." So saying, he bared his wrist and displayed a deep, livid wound, long since healed, but which left behind a scar which nothing could efface.
"An ugly cut, to be sure," remarked the Englishman. "But why on earth do you not get rid of so playful a lodger?"
"Get rid of him! I only wish the devil I could. He comes here uninvited and—— But let us not talk of him, or he may pay us another of his pleasant visits, when you will be able to make his acquaintance. He never stands upon ceremony, but comes just whenever he likes. He may be in the room now, for what I know. I shall be off to bed."
My ancestor gazed round the room, vainly endeavouring to discover in some hidden nook the object of his host's terror, when, marvellous to relate! a dish on the top shelf was pitched, as if by some invisible hand, from its post, and shattered into pieces against the opposite wall, nearly hitting him on the head as it passed.
The traveller stared first at the shelf, then at his host, and turned pale.
"Good Heavens!" he cried. "What was that?"
"What was it? Ay! You may well ask what it is," answered his host, peevishly. "What in the devil's name should it be but that pest of a 'Poltergeist' again. I told you you would make his acquaintance ere long."
"A what?—a 'Poltergeist'?"
"Ay, Poltergeist—a malignant spirit, whose chief delight seems to be to strike terror into the house of a poor honest headsman, and smash all his crockery that he has to pay for out of his hard-earned wages."
"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated my ancestor, crossing himself (for he was a good Catholic). "A malignant spirit! Saints protect us!"