The Gothic Room was the largest chamber in the castle wing. It derived its name from its curious old-fashioned furniture, and from a couple of mediæval niches in the Gothic style. The spacious fireplace in the centre of it was piled up with crackling logs, and close beside it were comfortable armchairs and sofas, in which we reclined at our ease and sipped our fragrant Pekoe.
The hearth was warm, the time was late, and the fatigues of travelling, I must confess, had made me so drowsy, that more than once during the cheerful conversation of my host, I caught myself in the act of resolutely inclining my head towards the cushion of the sofa.
Squire Gabriel observed my condition, and said, with a smile—
"You are very sleepy, I see."
I had no reason to be insincere, so I replied that it was the very place in which to go to sleep.
"I should not advise you to do so, however," remarked Squire Gabriel, gravely, "there is something queer about this room. I may tell you," he added, "it is not very friendly to strangers, who have even died in it now and then."
These words completely cleared slumber from my eyes.
"Ghosts visit it, perhaps?"
"It would be more correct to say they dwell in it, and they are visible day and night."
Curiosity made me quite awake now. I began to look about me.