nge near
Warwick. The hour was getting late; the very little ones had, after
dancing round the Christmas-tree, enjoying the snap-dragon, and playing
a variety of games, gone off to bed; and the elder boys and girls now
gathered round their uncle, Colonel Harley, and asked him for a
story--above all, a ghost story.

"But I have never seen any ghosts," the colonel said, laughing; "and,
moreover, I don't believe in them one bit. I have traveled pretty well
all over the world, I have slept in houses said to be haunted, but
nothing have I seen--no noises that could not be accounted for by rats
or the wind have I ever heard. I have never"--and here he paused--"never
but once met with any circumstances or occurrence that could not be
accounted for by the light of reason, and I know you prefer hearing
stories of my own adventures to mere invention."

"Yes, uncle. But what was the 'once' when circumstances happened that
you could not explain?"

"It's rather a long story," the colonel said, "and it's getting late."

"Oh! no, no, uncle; it does not matter a bit how late we sit up on
Christmas Eve, and the longer the story is, the better; and if you don't
believe in ghosts how can it be a story of something you could not
account for by the light of nature?"

"You will see when I have done," the colonel said. "It is rather a story
of what the Scotch call second sight, than one of ghosts. As to
accounting for it, you shall form your own opinion when you have heard
me to the end.

"I landed in India in '50, and after going through the regular drill
work marched with a detachment up country to join my regiment, which was
stationed at Jubbalpore, in the very heart of India. It has become an
important place since; the railroad across India passes through it and
no end of changes have taken place; but at that time it was one of the
most out-of-the-way stations in India, and, I may say, one of the most
pleasant. It lay high, there was capital boating on the Nerbudda, and,
above all, it was a grand place for sport, for it lay at the foot of the
hill country, an immense district, then but little known, covered with
forests and jungle, and abounding with big game of all kinds.

"My great friend there was a man named Simmonds. He was just of my own
standing; we had come out in the same ship, had marched up the country
together, and were almost like brothers. He was an old Etonian, I an old
Westminster, and we were both fond of boating,