w, mother, that, as respects my granduncle, I have
confided that secret to you already?"

"I know no such thing, you fool," she replied, looking at him with
an expression in her odious eyes which could not be described; "I am
altogether ignorant of that fact; but is there not the twelve hundred
per annum which reverts to you on the demise of that dying girl?"

"True, my dear mother, true; you are right, I am a fool. Of course I
never told you the secret of my disinheritance by the old scoundrel."

"Ah, Harry, I fear you played your cards badly there. You knew he was
religious, and yet you should become a seducer; but why make free with
his money?"

"Why? Why, because he kept me upon the tight curb; but, as these matters
are known only to ourselves, I see you are right. I am still to be
considered his favorite--his heir--and am here only on, a visit."

"Well, but, Harry, he must have dealt liberally with you on your
departure from him?"

"He! Don't you know I was obliged to fly?--to take French leave, I
assure you. I reached Rathfillan House with not more than twenty pounds
in my pocket."

"But how does it happen that you always appear to have plenty of money?"

"My dear mother, there is a secret there; but it is one which even you
shall not know,--or come, you shall know it. Did you ever hear of a
certain supernatural being which follows your family, which supernatural
being is known by the name of the Black Spectre, or some such
denomination which I cannot remember?"

"I don't wish to hear it named," replied his mother, deeply agitated.
"It resembles the Banshee, and never appears to any one of our family
except as a precursor of his death by violence."

Woodward started for a moment, and could not avoid being struck at the
coincidence of the same mission having been assigned to the two spirits,
and he reflected, with an impression that was anything but agreeable,
upon his damnable suggestion of having had recourse to the vile agency
of Caterine Collins in enacting the said Banshee, for the purpose of
giving the last fatal blow to the almost dying Alice Goodwin. He felt,
and he had reason to feel, that there was a mystery about the Black
Spectre, which, for the life of him, he could not fathom. He was,
however, a firm and resolute man, and after a moment or two's thought he
declined to make any further disclosure on the subject, but reverted to
the general topic of their conversation.

"Well, mother," said