The Ghost of Guir House

"I should like my luggage," said Paul, having left it below, with the

exception of a small satchel.

"It shall be sent to you at once," the old man answered, as he walked

slowly away.

Left to himself, Henley looked around with curiosity. Every comfort

had been provided, even to an arm-chair and writing-table by the

fire; but the room, as well as its furnishing, was old and quaint,

and rapidly going to decay. Everything he saw related to a past

period of existence. The window was high, and deep set in the wall.

There was a bench under it, upon which one was obliged to climb to

obtain a view of the country, and Henley pulled himself up into the

sill to look out.

The landscape presented an unbroken panorama of forest. No farming

land was visible, and the distant mountains closed in the sky-line,

and all bathed in the soft light of the moon, made a picture of

extreme beauty and loneliness--a solid wilderness, shut in from the

busy world without. There was a musty smell, as if the room had not

been used in years, and he lifted the sash. The rich perfume of fir

and balsam was wafted in, displacing the disagreeable odor.

The bed was a high four-poster, and there were steps for climbing

into it. On examination, it was discovered to be built into the room

with heavy timbers, and framed solidly with the house itself. A few

faded rugs were scattered about the worm-eaten floor, and in every

direction the wood-work was rough and unpainted, though massive

enough for a fortress. Above the wash-stand was a strange picture,

painted upon a fragment of coarse blanket, which had been stretched

upon the wall. It depicted the setting sun, with red and gold rays,

and a blue mountain in the distance. Around the entire scene, in a

semicircle, was the word "Illusion," singularly wrought into the

shafts of light, and undecipherable without the closest scrutiny. The

figure of an old man in the foreground was contemplating the scene.

It was a crude piece of work, but impressive. There was a large

mahogany cabinet, mounted with brass; but its double doors were

locked and its drawers immovable. Beside the bed was a worm-eaten

door, and in idle curiosity Paul tried the handle. It opened easily,

revealing a spacious closet, with hooks and shelves. Throwing the

small satchel he had brought up with him upon the floor within, it

struck something, but the closet was too dark for him to see what;

so, taking the candle, he made an examination. In the farthest corner

was a hand-rail, guarding a closed scuttle, in which was inserted a

heavy iron ring. Henley took hold of the ring, and with some effort

succeeded in opening the scuttle. Looking down, he found to his

surprise that it communicated with a rough stairway leading below. He

peered into the darkness, but could discern nothing save the steps,

which seemed to go all the way to the cellar, and were just wide

enough to admit of a human body. He then removed his belongings back

into the room, shut down the scuttle, and closed the door. As there

was no fastening, he wedged a chair between the knob and the floor,

in such a manner that it could not be opened from within. He then

threw himself upon the bed, wondering what would be the outcome of

his unlawful enterprise, and while inhaling the tonic air of hill and

forest, half wished he were well away from this uncanny house and its

eccentric inmates. And yet, despite the mystery which enshrouded it,

there was a charm, a fascination, he could not deny. It was the

dream-like unreality of his surroundings--unreal, because different

from all that he had ever known. Should he suddenly find himself a

dozen miles removed, he felt certain that he would straightway

return.