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Aunt Eleanor—notwithstanding her apparent tranquillity while speaking to Legge and his friend-no sooner returned to her chamber alone than she burst into tears, for the recollection of her brother's death came again full upon her, and all her former painful apprehensions were renewed. She felt that his spirit still hovered around her—that it had something dreadful to communicate, and that it could not rest until that communication had been made. She wished it would appear to her then: she absolutely prayed that it might then appear; and, while contemplating with feelings of dread the possibility of its appearance, her imagination, being excited strongly at the time, at once created a figure—the very figure of her brother—which stood with an expression of sorrow before her.

She started—and for a time ceased to breathe—and while she glared at the spectre, she became cold as death. There it stood, perfectly motionless and silent, and there it continued to stand, until, inspiring sufficient courage, she exclaimed, in a thrilling whisper, "Dear brother, why are you here?"

This broke the charm. The spectre instantly vanished. But it came again when all was still, and she then saw it even more distinctly than before.

She rose to approach it with feelings of awe, but, as she advanced, it receded, until it completely disappeared beneath the bed-clothes. This was strange, certainly—very strange indeed. She couldn't at all understand it. Could it be possible that she had been deceived? Could she have beheld it in imagination merely? She passed her hands over her eyes, and then, in order to be sure that she was perfectly conscious, proceeded to bathe them.

Again she looked round. The spirit had fled. She turned down the bed-clothes. No spectre was there. But the idea of getting into a bed in which she conceived that a spirit had taken refuge, appeared to her to be monstrous. She, therefore, resumed her seat in her easy chair, and, having looked in vain for the spirit's reappearance for nearly an hour, she involuntarily dropped off to sleep, and slept soundly, until Mary at the usual time came to the door.

The reverend gentleman, soon after this, heard that the ghost had revisited the Grange, and, having made minute inquiries, of which the result was the startling information that it had again entered the cottage, he proceeded to call on his dearest friend in a state of intense anxiety.

As he passed through the gate, she descended the stairs, and when they met, he pressed her hand with affectionate warmth, but her pale face inspired him with fearful apprehensions.