it would probably onlywhet the interest and curiosity he deprecated. Better tell simply, andas it were unconsciously, what there was to tell.
"My dears, indeed there is nothing to interest you," he said. "You knowthe legend--I told it to you the other day--that a long-ago Osbert hadbehaved very unjustly and cruelly, and that his spirit is supposed to beunable to rest on that account. Well--"
"But, papa," said Arthur, "excuse me for interrupting you, but I wasthinking over the story. I don't see that it was so very wrong of himto wish the place to remain in the family--I mean to be owned by_Osberts_. It is the feeling everybody has."
Mr Waldron smiled. It amused him to see the eldest son sentiment inArthur, though he was heir to nothing.
"I quite agree with you," he said. "But you forget--he was reallycruel, for he left his poor daughter utterly penniless, in reality togratify the spite he had always had against her. He carried his familypride a little too far, surely? Besides, he was a hard and unfeelinglandlord."
"Oh, yes," said Arthur, "I forgot. Of course he might have looked afterhis daughter without letting the place go out of the family. And whatdid you say was the prophecy, papa?--that he should be punished bySilverthorns going in the female line after all, isn't it? That hasnever come to pass yet--there have always been Osberts there?"
"Yes; the legend is, that the unhappy ghost shall never rest till thedescendants of a daughter of the house own the place. It came near itonce many years ago. The then squire had only a sister, and though theplace had always been left in the male line, her grandson--her son wasdead--would have succeeded, failing male Osberts, had not a cousin whohad not been heard of for many years turned up. He was an old man, whohad been most of his life in Australia, and he never came home to enjoyhis inheritance. But he had two sons: one became the squire, and didvery well for himself, by marrying Lady Mildred Meredon, for she is aclever and capable woman, and he would never have left things in as goodorder as he did but for her. The other son is now General Osbert."
"But, papa," said Charlotte, whose quick wits had taken in all he said,"if the place always goes to Osberts, it must be all nonsense about LadyMildred's intending to leave it to this Miss Meredon, as everybody willsay."
"I don't know," said her father. "There have been rumours that LadyMildred is perfectly free to do as she likes with it, others that she isbound by some arrangement to leave it to the Osberts, and that inreality she only has it for her life. Either may be true. Mr Osbertand his brother were not very friendly, and General Osbert needed money.Perhaps he was satisfied with some help from his brother during hislife. And the squire was much attached to his wife, and owed much toher. She may be able to leave it to her own people. But even if not,it doesn't matter--General Osbert has sons," he added, as if thinkingaloud.
"Papa!" exclaimed Charlotte almost indignantly, "how can you say itdoesn't matter? I think it would be the most unfair, unnatural thing toleave an old, old place like that to people who have _nothing_ to dowith it."
"What does it matter to us?" said Ted, with a yawn. "How can you exciteyourself so about other people's affairs, Charlotte?"
But Mr Waldron stroked Charlotte's head as she sat near him.
"I think it is very unlikely," he said. "Mr Osbert had plenty offamily feeling."
"What would the poor ghost do if it were so?" said Jerry, so seriouslythat they all laughed. "Just fancy his feelings! He'd lose all chanceof ever resting in peace, poor thing--for if it once went away toanother family, it could never go to the descendants of a woman Osbert.Lady Mildred isn't an Osbert. No, you needn't laugh--I'm very sorry forthe ghost," he persisted with real concern. "It makes me feel quitefidgety. I'd like to know about how it really is."
"Perhaps Lady Mildred would `count' as a woman Osbert," said Noble. "Itwould seem fair, for the ghost would surely be punished enough by itsgoing quite away from his family."
"Nonsense, Noble," said Jerry irritably. "Those relations ofhers--_that_ girl," with an accent of bitter scorn, "is not even herdescendant, supposing Lady Mildred did count."
Charlotte glanced at him uneasily. It was so unlike Jerry to speak withsuch a tone of any one. And she knew whence came the prejudice heshowed.
"We shall have to tell _you_ not to excite yourself next, Jerry, myboy," said his father. "I shall wish I had not told you anything aboutit."
"But you haven't, papa," said Charlotte. "That's to say, we have notheard a word about the ghost yet, I mean of what you `could personallyvouch for.' Do tell us."
Mr Waldron glanced at his wife. "How am I to get out of it?" his eyesseemed to ask.
"Yes," said Mrs Waldron calmly, chiming in with Charlotte; "do tellus."
"I had heard this old story as a child," he began. "You know I lived inthis neighbourhood as a little boy, but I don't think I ever told youthat in the old days I have stayed at Silverthorns."
"At Silverthorns itself!" repeated several voices. "No, indeed, papa,you never told us. How very funny it seems! Why didn't you ever tellus?"
"It is more or less painful to me to recall that time," Mr Waldronreplied quietly. "They are all dead, all those I loved and cared forthen. And it is so long ago now! But to go on with my story. Ihappened to be at Silverthorns one winter when the old squire was takenill. I was there because my guardian who took charge of me was a verydear and old friend of his, and I was a quiet sort of child that did notgive much trouble. I was left to run about the place as I liked, whilethe two old people were together. I slept in a little room in theoldest part of the house, which was the part the squire liked best, andhe and his guests--unless there happened to be a great many in thehouse--inhabited it much more than the modern part. Do you remember,Charlotte and Jerry, noticing a sort of square tower at the end?"
"With a pointed window high up, and a pointed roof, almost like a kindof great pigeon-house? Oh, yes, I remember it," said Charlotte.
"Well, that room, the room with that window, is the one that is said tobe haunted. It is quite a small room. I believe the story is that theghost frequents it because it was from that window that the unnaturalfather watched poor Bridget making her way down the avenue, when hiscruelty had made her at last determine to leave him. I had heardsomething of the story, as I told you, but in the vaguest way. I knewnothing of the particulars; I could scarcely have understood them. Ionly knew that a long-ago Osbert, who was said to have been a cruel, badman, was supposed to haunt the tower. But I had never heard that hecame more at one time than another; I never knew that his spirit wassupposed to be especially restless when any of the family were going todie; above all, when the place was going to change hands, I suppose.And I was not the least afraid of the tower--I often ran in and out ofit in the daytime, though there was nothing particularly interesting inthe little bare, deserted room. But one night, late evening rather,--Iremember it so well, it had been a bitterly cold day, and the ground wascovered with snow,--I was hanging about, rather at a loss what to dowith myself, for my gr--guardian had been all day shut up with thesquire, who was really very ill, when a sudden fancy seized me that Iwould like to go up to the tower room, as it is called, and look out onthe moonlight glittering on the frost-covered trees of the avenue,--Ihave often, by the bye, had a fancy that the great thorns at the end ofthe drive seen in a frost must have given their name to the place,--for,like most children brought up alone, I was fanciful and dreamy. My ownroom, where a nice fire was blazing, was only one flight of steps lowerthan the tower room, but it looked out to the other side. I ranup-stairs and opened the tower room door--it was perfectly flooded withclear cold moonlight, except in one corner, away from the window, whichstruck me, as is always the case in moonlight shadows, asextraordinarily black and dark. But I did not mind, I had no thought offear. I ran to the window and gazed out. It was as I expected--thetrees were glistening like silver and diamonds, it seems to me that Ihave never seen anything so beautiful since. I remember saying tomyself, `How I wish I could make so
me poetry about them to myself,' whensuddenly I was startled by the sound, or _feeling_--feeling as much assound perhaps--of something moving in the dark corner, and before I hadtime to look round I heard distinctly three deep sighs or groans. Evenhad it been the daytime, and had there been nothing eerie about theplace, the sound would have made me shiver--it seemed to tell of suchprofound, hopeless misery. Then in half a moment there rushed over methe remembrance of the story I had heard, and that I was here actuallyin the haunted room itself. I dashed through the doorway anddown-stairs, and never stopped till I got to the
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