trees, a figure looking at him. It was deliberately getting out of a sack, and shaking and wringing water out of its clothes. With a scream of terror Raynard plunged his spurs into the horse's flanks, and galloped past Cundall, home. As he crossed Thornton Bridge he closed his eyes, but when he opened them again he saw the well-known figure of the dead man walking before him so fast that his horse could not catch him up. The ghost trailed the sack after it, and left a luminous track on the road. When it reached a point at a little distance from the White House—the very spot where Raynard, Mrs. Fletcher, and Mark Dunn had turned aside with the body—the spectre strode across the heather, leaped the low hedge, and melted, apparently, into the ground, where now a rich, green crop of mustard was growing.
"You're back earlier than I thought," said the sister of Ralph Raynard. "I reckon thou'st not been stopping this time at Moor House?"
Raynard said nothing, except "I'm ill."
"Ah," said his sister, "I've gotten thee a nice bit o' supper ready, with a beautiful dish o' salad."
And she laid the cloth, and placed upon it a plate of fresh-cut mustard!
Raynard's face grew rigid and white.
"What is the matter?" asked his sister.
Opposite him, on the settle, sat the dead man, pointing to the salad.
Ralph sprang up, drew his sister away, and told her all.
She, poor woman, horror-struck, ran off at once to Sir William Sheffield, a justice of peace, residing at Raskelfe Park. The three guilty parties were apprehended and taken to York, where, on July 28th, 1623, all three were hung.
When they had been cut down, the bodies were removed
