The Ghost of Guir House

It was past midnight, and the house quiet, when Paul determined to

have another look at the mysterious door at the foot of his closet

stairs. He had sat for more than an hour before his bedroom fire,

after bidding Ah Ben good-night, to make sure that the inmates of

Guir House had retired; and as not a sound had been heard since

locking his door, he sincerely hoped they were asleep. Before

descending into the noisome depths, however, he concluded to climb up

into his window, and have another look at the beautiful panorama of

mountain and woodland shimmering in the meagre light of a hazy sky

and a moon past full. The uncertain outline of a distant horizon; the

interminable stretch of forest, which bore away upon every hand; the

rugged heights, now soft and colorless; the aromatic smell of pine

and fir; the distant murmur of falling water; and the assonant

whispering of wind in the tree tops, had all become strangely

fascinating to him, more so than such things had ever been before.

"Never was a house so situated, so lost to the world, so tightly held

in the lap of unregenerate nature," thought Paul; "no laugh of child,

no shout of man, no bark of dog, nor bellowing beast to break the

stillness of the midnight air; an impenetrable, imperturbable, and

silent wilderness shuts out the busy world, as we know it, forever

and forever. It is a fitting place for such witchery as the old man

seems master of, and I do not wonder that he has chosen it for his

home; but the girl--the poor girl!--she must get away!" He closed the

window, and prepared for his descent into the well.

Removing his shoes, he put on a pair of soft felt slippers, and then,

with candle in his hand, a box of matches and a revolver in his

pocket, entered the closet, and opened the scuttle in the floor. A

mouldy smell rose upon the air, and Henley recoiled at the thought of

what might be in waiting below. He had not the slightest idea of how

he should open the door at the bottom, but would make a careful study

of the situation, hoping that a solution of the difficulty would

present itself. The steps creaked dismally as he placed his weight

upon them, and it was necessary to use extreme caution to avoid

breaking through the more rotten ones. He had not descended more than

a dozen, when there was a terrible crash above his head, and he found

himself in absolute darkness. The trap had fallen as upon the

previous night, he having forgotten to fasten it back, and the wind

had blown out his candle. Henley hastened back up the stairs, fearful

lest the noise had waked some one in the house, and without

relighting his candle threw himself upon the bed to await

developments. After listening for some minutes, and hearing nothing,

he became convinced that no one had been disturbed; and so, creeping

out of bed, and lighting his candle by the dying embers in the

fireplace, started in afresh. This time he was careful to fasten back

the scuttle door, and in doing so discovered that one of the great

iron hinges was loose. It was more than two feet long, and with very

little difficulty he managed to wrench it off, thinking it might

possibly be of service in forcing the door at the bottom. He was

careful this time to let the scuttle down quietly after him, thinking

it safer to do this than to prop it open.