tiful as summer-roses, and as proud as Lucifer." That she had a history, I knew; but of what nature I had no idea; my father had never talked to us about his sister all we could gather from casual remarks was the fact that she was very wealthy, very handsome, and, in some way, unhappily married. Even my mother knew no more; and, indeed, I am not sure that my father himself was much better informed; for many years there had been but little intercourse between the brother and sister, whose dispositions were as uncongenial as their persons were dissimilar; my father had auburn hair, a ruddy complexion, and grey, humorous-looking eyes; and, for a man, his stature was not above the middle height. How strangely different, sometimes, are the children of one father and mother!

Ryland seemed inShe now questioned state of our affairs,

However, this evening, Mrs. clined to make up for lost time. me very closely respecting the and the appearance and characters of my sisters and brothers; and I underwent quite a cross-examination on educational matters. It was a long time before it occurred to her that I must be tired and ready for bed.

"It seems a very large house, aunt," I said, when, at last, she had rung the bell for chamber candles. "Yes," she replied, gravely, "I suppose it is immense, scarcely smaller than the Castle; but I have never been all over it."

"Never been all over it, Aunt Ryland!" I could scarcely believe the testimony of my own ears.

The idea of living in one house, however roomy, for so many years without going all over it!

"My dear Millicent, you should not repeat my words: it is ill-bred; did your governess never tell you so ? No; I meant what I said, I have never been all over the house. It is far larger even than it seems; what appears like next door, is really a part of this house. There was a separation made rather more than a hundred years ago; but in the time of the late Mr. Ryland's father the communication was restored. I know not why, for the

rooms in that quarter have never been used, that I am aware of; then there is the south wing, running out to the very brow of the hill, and communicating with the Priory Chapel, which is now in a state of ruin, and closed up. I would advise you never to go in that direction."

I could not help asking why.

"It is said to be haunted," was the exciting reply. "I do not of course mean to say that there are actual ghosts in the south wing; but the gallery and the rooms are in such a state of dilapidation, and the associations of the place are so gloomy, that it is better left to the rats that overrun it, and are, doubtless, the authors of certain noises, that from time to time scare my servants out of their senses."

"Did anything happen there?" I asked, timidly. "Yes, there was great wickedness committed there. This house has only belonged to the Ryland family for the last century; in old times it used to

be called 'The Castle House,' and, indeed, is so still, in some instances; and there used to be a subterranean passage, leading from the south wing into the Castle itself; this, of course, is blocked up at both ends, and where the entrance on our side is, I really am not certain. Well, this old mansion, which for a long time was the Dower House of the noble family of Lunechester, passed at last into the female line. There was a certain Lady Alice married to the brave Baron of Hilbree, and the earl, her father, unwilling to lose the society of his only daughter, gave her the Castle House as a part of her marriage portion, and she and her husband were to spend some months of every year within its ancient walls. The Lady Alice was a spoilt child, and she possessed extraordinary beauty and great talent. All went on well for several years, and a fair son was born to the brave Baron of Hilbree; then came trouble-there was war in Germany, and the Baron took leave of his lady, and rode away down the Castle Hill at the head of his retainers, to go and fight in the cause of the Prince Palatine, the husband of the gentle and unfortunate Elizabeth Stuart. In his absence came the wicked Lord of Arnsyde, from his stronghold on the estuary of the Ken, and he poured his honied flatteries into the too-willing ear of the beautiful Lady Alice; and she forgot her wifely truth, and sinned against God and against her husband."

"How could she ?" I interrupted, warmly.

Mrs. Ryland did not notice the interruption, and

F

she went on-"In process of time, the Baron of Hilbree came back again, and clasped in his arms his child and his traitorous wife; and she pretended to rejoice at his return, and when she wept, she said it was with gladness at her dear lord's safe restoration to his own home. But all the while she was plotting treachery; she knew of a subtle poison -it was a day of poisons, you know-that gradually took away life. Very soon the baron's health began to decline; he grew fretful and feverish, and people shook their heads, and said he was in a galloping consumption; and one day, when his faithful esquire went to seek him, he found him lying dead in the room that had been his bridal chamber. The bed is there now, with its mouldering hangings, and its tattered embroidered coverlet; and the black carved cabinet, in which Alice kept the deadly poison, is there too; but no one ever goes near the place."

"And what became of the wicked woman?" I asked. "Was her crime discovered?"

"She lived a long life of the most terrible remorse, and she practised the severest penances. She lived shut up in the very rooms that had been the scene of her guilt, and she slept nightly on the very same bed where her murdered husband had breathed his last. At length she poisoned herself, and her attendants found her in the identical spot where, nearly thirty years before, the baron's old servant had made the sad discovery of his master's death. She left behind her a written confession of her crime; but things were hushed up, that the honour

of a noble, nay, a royally-descended house might not be tarnished in the eyes of the world. Her son had grown up a sad and moody man; he never married, and when he died the Castle House passed to a distant branch of the family, and the south wing was deserted, and the Priory Chapel suffered to fall into decay. Other troubles came upon the devoted house; and, in process of time, it was first mortgaged, and then sold, to the grandfather of my late husband, who chose to inhabit it himself, and lived here, I believe, in great state; the most hospitable old gentleman for many miles round. And so it has come down to the present generation, and the south wing is closed to this day, and, as the servants say, haunted."

Soon afterwards, I took my candle, and bidding my aunt good night, crossed the gloomy hall, ascended the broad staircase, and made the best of my way to my room. I contrived, however, to take the wrong turning, and presently I found myself in a long, arched passage, that looked ghostly enough. On the present occasion it was haunted by a large mangle. I knew then I was quite wrong; I had seen no mangle on my first visit to my chamber. I stood still, thinking what I had better do, when a door opened, and a very pretty neat housemaid came out. To her I explained my difficulty, and she respectfully guided me back, showing me one or two landmarks that I might not wander again. Not far from my own room, I noticed a small, ponderous door, clenched with iron nails, and set deep in the