ned
almost into pain, if not into awe, the dismal impression which the
aspect of the deserted home in its neighbourhood had made. I spurred my
horse, and soon arrived at the door of my patient, who lived in a fair
brick house at the other extremity of the park.

I found my patient, a man somewhat advanced in years, but of a robust
conformation, in bed: he had been seized with a fit, which was supposed
to be apoplectic, a few hours before; but was already sensible, and out
of immediate danger. After I had prescribed a few simple remedies, I
took aside the patient's wife, and went with her to the parlour below
stairs, to make some inquiry about her husband's ordinary regimen and
habits of life. These seemed sufficiently regular; I could discover no
apparent cause for the attack, which presented symptoms not familiar to
my experience. "Has your husband ever had such fits before?"

"Never!"

"Had he experienced any sudden emotion? Had he heard any unexpected
news; or had anything happened to put him out?"

The woman looked much disturbed at these inquiries. I pressed them more
urgently. At last she burst into tears, and clasping my hand, said, "Oh,
doctor, I ought to tell you--I sent for you on purpose--yet I fear you
will not believe me: my good man has seen a ghost!"

"A ghost!" said I, repressing a smile. "Well, tell me all, that I may
prevent the ghost coming again."

The woman's story was prolix. Its substance was this Her husband,
habitually an early riser, had left his bed that morning still earlier
than usual, to give directions about some cattle that were to be sent
for sale to a neighbouring fair. An hour afterwards he had been found by
a shepherd, near the mausoleum, apparently lifeless. On being removed to
his own house, he had recovered speech, and bidding all except his wife
leave the room, he then told her that on walking across the park towards
the cattle-sheds, he had seen what appeared to him at first a pale light
by the iron door of the mausoleum. On approaching nearer, this light
changed into the distinct and visible form of his master, Sir Philip
Derval, who was then abroad,--supposed to be in the East, where he had
resided for many years. The impression on the steward's mind was so
strong, that he called out, "Oh, Sir Philip!" when looking still
more intently, he perceived that the face was that of a corpse. As he
continued to gaze, the apparition seemed gradually to recede, as
if vanishing into