The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1872-12-27

looked absolutely lovely. took an op.
portunity to ask Lady Treherne, half
jocularly, whether "the ghost" was
efiectually exercised, and sleep. walking
a thing OF the past. With perfect con
fidence my aunt replied in the affirm
alive. Care, and change of air and of
scene, amusement and study, had, she
said, done wonders for Blanche's health;
and whereas the extreme delicacy OF
her constitution had formerly caused
much anxiety to her parents, they now
considered her 10 be quite we'll and
strong. 1t was on her account, dear
GIRL" said Lady Treherne, "that we
quiet old folks have run about the world
AS we have done, travelling and pleasure
hunting; for you must know, Talbot,
this is the first Christmas we have spent
at the Hall since-since you were with
u.s."
A curious coincidence. 1t was wild,
snowy weather again, and with few ex.
ceptlons the same company that | had
formerly met had reassembled under
Sir Charles hospitable roof. AS before,
l had arrived on Christmas.eve and as
the dinner in its old style, and the
dance, and the songs and music, and
the games for the children, succeeded
In precisely the same fashion, could
have imagined that the four last years
were the baseless vision of dream, and
that this was my first and only Christmas
at Bramshaw Hall. One change there
certainly was. Blanche. no longer
child, was taken in 10 diuner by me,
and she did not avoid me in the point
ed, almost petulant, manner in which
! she had turned from me when she was
but twelve years old but | could make
no way with her in conversation, nor
did she meet my eyes frankly, but
allowed hers to rest anywhere but on
my face when addressed her, answered
my best things with monosyllables,
blushed when spoke carelessly of our
former meeting, and altogether discop-
certed me, who was perhaps a little vain
of my powers of pleasing. | soon gave
her up as hopeless, and directed my at
tentions elsewhere.
Never in my life had | felt myself
less digpo: ed for sleep than when, late
on tho night of Christmas-eve, | sat be-
fore the cracking wood fire in my bed
room-they had given me the Tapestry
Room, as beforehand meditated on all
that had occurred, for good or i'll, since
last | was the tenant of that ancient
chamber. -Four years ago poor Tom,
my elder brother, was hale and strong,
and | younger son, with no prospects
but such as my profession might, in
! these, from Il mihtarI point of view,
hard times, open out before me. Four
years ago | was setting out for India.
| 81 al, e., Il
lar scenes and associdting with old
! friends, until absence should nave weak.
ened the memories of the first, and
thinned the numbers of the latter. Yes,
four years ago; how strange was the
adventure Of that other Chrlstmas-eve,
TO which my thoughts fl wv back, no
matter on what subject | might be pom
dering
could not go to bed. Somehow, do
what | would, remained wakeful and
watchful, with an undetinable impress
sion upon me that | was wanted, that |
had duty to perform, and that | must
not sleep. | listened intently Cor the
slightest sound, and even the moan OF
the wind without seemed to me like a
human voice complaining. Again and
! t
until my supply Of fuel waned to such
an extent that It was plain that | must
soon retire to rest, or SIT up freless.
=" This will never do" said " fancy is
making fool of me /; and because some
thing queer happened when | was last
here, | cannot accept the prosiac view
of life which is of course the true one.
I'll just slip out and take a glance at
the scene Of my former adventure, and
then come back and 90 to sleep for the
rest of the dark hours
So saying, took my candle, and
emerged into the Gothic Gallery. In.
stinctively turned to the point where,
four years since, had espied the CLEAN
of the light in Blanche's hand. All
was darkness now. Here, too, was the
doorway into which had retired 10
allow the appsrition, as | had deemed
it, TO pass. Smiling at the recollection
of my own irrational alarm, | went on,
walking softly, to the corner of the
Oaken Gallery. 50 vivid is the i'm.
agination," said |, THAT ] almost ex-
pect TO see the glimmer of the light,
and the childish figure gliding on before
me, as when
ilt WINS NltNA away vi NY lll'o, iOl
what beheld was a sight that curded
my very lIfe.blood with horror.
At the other end Of the Oaken Gal
lery, receding from me, and within
few feet of the great west window, was
a female figure draped in white, dis.
tinctly visible, and carrying lighted
candle with the same impassive mechar.
ical steadness that ! had noticed four
years since; advancing slowly too, and
noselessly, with the same air of oeing
beckoned forward by vewless hand
that hal shocked me in a child so mar
rowly rescued from cruel death. 1t
was no dream-no creation of distenl-
pered brain. No. 1t was Blanche her.
self; her bright hair floating like pale
gold over her shoulders, and wearing a
loose peigHoir of white cashmere. While
| stood speechless, she advanced, and
with a slow but certain movement of
the hand which was free, she began to
unclaSp the fastenings of the great
French window.
For a moment stood, as if rooted to
the ground by horror. | tried to rush
forward, but my feet seemed nailed TO