“I will do so, if you wish it,’ said Lilian. ‘But I do not think that will amuse me so much as dancing.’
*****
“Balls, in those times, began at a reasonable hour. Ladies who went to a ball early in November, began to dress by daylight.
“Lilian had been dressed by her maid. Owing to a certain sentimental secret between her and her husband, she wore her wedding-dress of white Indian muslin, instead of a rich brocaded silk petticoat, underneath the grand lace robe. The diamonds glittered gaily round her head and her softly-rounded throat and arms. She went to the old library, where Graham sat awaiting the ladies. She wanted his opinion concerning her appearance. The legend does not tell how he behaved on this occasion, but leaves it to young husbands to imagine.
“‘You must go to my mother, and let her see how lovely you look. Walk first, that I may see how you look behind.’ So she took from his hand a spray of roses he had gathered, and preceded him from the room, and up the staircase to his mother’s chamber. She was in the dressing-room above.
“‘Go up by yourself,’ said Graham; ‘I will remain on the stairs, and watch you both. I should like to hear what she says, when she does not think I hear; for she never praises you much to me, for fear of increasing my blind adoration, I suppose.’
“Lilian smiled at him, and disappeared up the stairs. It was now becoming dark, and as he approached the stairs, a few minutes afterwards, to hear what was said, his mother’s voice, in a strange, eager tone, called from above,
“‘Bring me a light! Bring me a light!’
“Then Graham saw his mother’s old servant run quickly from her seat by the window, and light a tall taper on the toilette. She carried this up to her mistress, and found Graham on the stair on her return. She grasped his arm, and whispered fearfully,
“‘Watch her! Watch her!’
“He did watch, and saw—”
“For God’s sake, Mr. Erle,” I interrupted, “don’t tell me what he saw—for I saw the same dreadful sight!”
“I have no doubt you did, since you say so; and because I have seen it myself.”
We were silent for some moments, and then I asked if he knew anything more of these people.
“Yes—the rest is well known to every one who lives within twenty miles. Graham Whinmore vowed not to remain under the same roof with his mother, after he had seen his wife’s blackened corpse. His grief and resentment were quiet and enduring. He would not leave the corpse in the house; but before midnight had it carried to a summer-house in the shrubbery, where he watched beside it, and allowed no one to approach, except the old servant who figures in this story. She brought him food, and carried his commands to the household. From the day of Lilian’s death till the day of her burial in the family vault at Whinmore Church, Graham guarded the summer-house where his wife lay, with his drawn sword as he walked by night round about. It was known that he would not allow the family jewels to be taken from the body, and that they were to be buried with it. Some say that he finally took them from the body himself, and buried them in the shrubbery, lest the undertakers, tempted by the sight of the jewels on the corpse, might desecrate her tomb afterwards for the sake of stealing them. This opinion is supported by the fact that a portion of the shrubbery is haunted by the apparition of Graham Whinmore, in mourning garments, and with a drawn sword in his hand.
“Would you advise me to institute a search for those old jewels?” I asked smiling.
“I would,” said he. “But take no one into your confidence, Tom Whinmore. You may raise a laugh against you, if you are unsuccessful. And if you find them, and take them away—”
“Which I certainly should do,” I interrupted.
“You will raise a popular outcry against you. The superstitious people will believe that you have outraged the ghost of your great-grandfather, who will become mischievous, in consequence.”
I saw the prudence of this remark; and it was agreed between us, that we should do all the digging ourselves, unknown to any one. I then asked how it was that I was descended from this unfortunate gentleman.
Mr. Erle’s story continued thus:—
“After his wife’s funeral, Graham Whinmore did not return to the Hall, but went away to the south, and never came here again, not even to visit his mother on her death-bed, a year after. In a few years he married again, and had sons and daughters. To an unmarried daughter, Jane Whinmore,—always called ‘Leddy Jane’ by our neighbours,—he left the house and lands. He did not care to keep it in the family, and she might leave it to a stranger, or sell it, if she pleased. It was but a small portion of Graham Whinmore’s property, as you must know. She, however—this ‘Leddy Jane’—took a great fancy to the old place. She is said to have lived on terms of familiarity with the ghost of her grandmother, and still more affectionately with her father’s first wife. She heard nothing of the buried jewels, and saw nothing of her own father’s ghost during his lifetime. That part of the story did not come to light until after the death of Graham Whinmore; when the ‘Leddy Jane’ herself was startled one evening in the shrubbery, by meeting the apparition of her father. It is said that she left her property to her youngest nephew’s youngest son, in obedience to his injunctions during that interview.”
“So that though unborn at the time, I may consider myself lord of Whinmore Hall, by the will of my great-grandfather!” I said.
“Precisely so. I think it an indication that the ghostly power is to die out in your time. The last year of the wicked Lady Henrietta’s life was very wretched, as you may suppose. Her besetting
