The night was Satan’s own: dark, wind-shrieking, and Polydorish. No one saw us leave the hotel when, at a late hour, we started on our little excursion. On account of the darkness and the poor landing near the haunted house, we decided to go by the overland route. I managed to purloin a lantern from the kitchen to light our path.

Rob and Beth kept behind Miss Frayne and myself, and in spite of the wildness of the weather, he was evidently pleading his 197 suit, for now and then above the roar of the wind, I heard his ardent voice. Apparently Beth had not yet given him any encouragement.

Going down the lane my lantern underwent a total eclipse, so we had a Jordan-like road to travel. Miss Frayne was quite impervious to unfavorable conditions, as it was a matter of bread and butter to her, she said, and she was accustomed to braving worse storms than this, and anyway she hadn’t come here for a summer picnic.

When we came into the grove it was so dark, I lost my bearings.

“Why didn’t we bring a flashlight?” asked Beth.

“There were none at the hotel,” I told her.

“I know some boys,” said Rob with a little laugh, “who would have lent us one––maybe.”

Fortunately we were well provided with safety matches and after striking a box or so, we gained the open. A rise of ground hid the house, but when we climbed to the top, the ghost loomed up ghastlier than ever.

I felt the business-like Miss Frayne start and shiver as a little scream escaped her. I didn’t wonder. Even I, knowing that it was an illusion and a snare, felt my flesh creeping as I looked at the ghastly thing in the window.

Every now and then according to schedule a light flashed from the windows below. And then came the blood-curdling sounds––whimpers and groans that were rivaling the whistling of the wind.

“This is awful!” said Miss Frayne in a hoarse whisper.

“Do you want to go inside the house?” I asked.

“No––o! I couldn’t. Not tonight.”

We were some little in advance of Rob and Beth. When one spectral sound came like a tense whisper, Miss Frayne turned and fled, and of course I followed her. We could not see our two companions, but suddenly in an interim of wind and ghost whispers, we heard Beth say:

“Yes, Rob. I think we should really be cosier in a story-and-a-half cottage than we should in a bungalow.”

“Ye Gods!” muttered Miss Frayne, “did he propose in the face of that awful Thing?”

“Ship ahoy!” I called.

“Oh, didn’t you go inside?” asked Rob.

“Go in! I wouldn’t go inside that place; not if I lose my job on the paper. What can it be? You don’t seem to mind it, Miss Wade.”

“Well, you know,” said Beth apologetically, “this is my third performance.”

We were now down the hill out of sight of the gruesome, ghastly window display, and Miss Frayne gained courage as we retreated.

“Of course I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, “but what do you suppose that is?”

“I had a theory,” I said, “that it is the work of a lunatic, but I’ve since concluded it is due to practical jokers. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you wait here, I’ll investigate and see what I can find out for you.”

“Oh, would you really dare, Mr. Wade? I don’t believe men ever have creepy nerves,” she exclaimed.

I began to feel ashamed of my deception.

“I wouldn’t go, Lucien,” warned Rob, coming to my rescue. “There may be a gang of desperadoes in there, or counterfeit money-makers, or something of that kind. Besides, I have a far more interesting piece 201 of news than anything the ghost could give you.”

“Rob!” protested Beth.

“We know it already,” I laughed. “It’s to be a story-and-a-half high.”

“I think I am getting material for quite a story,” declared Miss Frayne.

I knew Beth’s dislike of scenes and display of emotions––mock heroics––she called them, so I made no congratulatory speeches of the bless-you-my-children order, but presently under the cover of darkness, I felt a little hand slipped in mine, and my clasp was eloquent of what I felt.

“I hope,” said Miss Frayne, “that daylight will make me so ashamed of my cowardice that I can come down here and take some pictures and go inside the house.”

“We’ll all come with you,” promised Beth. “There’s safety in numbers.”

When we were back at the hotel I managed to have a few words with Rob before we went upstairs.

“Bless the ghost!” he said cheerily. “When Beth first glimpsed it, she just turned and fell into my arms. She was really frightened for the first time. I shall feel under obligations to Ptolemy for a lifetime.”

“Thank goodness!” I ejaculated fervently, “that I am under no obligations to a Polydore. Ptolemy certainly did put up the most ghastly thing in the way of ghosts. The lights in the eyes of the skeleton were frightful.”

“Did you see the ghost?” asked Silvia sleepily, when I came in.

“Yes; same old ghost, only more of him,” I assured her.

She was asleep before I had uttered this reply.

“Silvia,” I said, “I have a more startling piece of news for you than that.”

She sat bolt upright.

“Are they engaged, Lucien?”

“They are. They are building their castle––I mean their story-and-a-half cottage already.”

Alas for my own desire to sleep! I had so effectually awakened Silvia that she planned Beth’s trousseau, the wedding, honeymoon, and the furnishing of their house before she subsided.