CHAPTER II.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVI, Issue 31, 8 December 1898, Page 60

CHAPTER 11.

There was such a rapid thaw tha J j next morning very little snow remained on Clonbane Moor. Only in the hollows and deep drifts were to be found traces of last night's storm. Christmas morning was bright and sunshiny, and with the first dawn Neil the pedlar's wife looked out anxiously for her husband, for she had passed a restless night, troubled with strange dreams. Three times she woke up under the impression that she heard her own name called — it was her husband's voice, and sounded close to her ear. At last she got up and opened the house-door, but no Neil was there. All day long she watched and waited, but her good man never came. Surely something must have happened to him, for never before had he been absent on a Christmas Day I Time went on. Neil the pedlar was never seen again in those parts. It was generally believed that he must have been lost in the snowstorm on Christmas Eve, wandered off the path, and probably perished in ' Dead Man's Hole.' There were whisperings, too, about ' the Grey House,' but very soon a report got about that it was deserted. Its inmates had gone, no one knew when, no one knew where. For a long time the place remained untenanted. At last it was advertised to be sold by auction, and was purchased by a retired naval officer, Admiral Hepworth, whose wife was sister to Sir Henry Filmer, nephew of the late Sir Thomas. When told that the place was haunted, the jovial old sailor rubbed his hands with delight. He had the house put into thorough repair, repainted and decorated. He bought a quantity of new furniture, and sold the old oak to his brother-in-law, telling him to send for it without any delay. The last piece removed was an old carved four-post bedstead. When the workmen were taking it down they saw something on the top of it. It proved to be a pedlar's pack, still containing some odds and ends — among them a brooch, a paltry thing, such as a cottager might wear. The finding of the pedlar's pack created a great sensation, for there was no doubt it belonged to poor Neil. One of the villagers at Knockree identified the brooch as one which had been offered to her by the pedlar, but she preferred another, which she produced. So it was generally believed that Neil had been murdered at the ' Grey House,' and his wife, who had been hoping against hope, at last put on mourning, and ceased to look for him night and day It was in the month of August that Admiral Hepworth took possession of the ' Grey House.' Fires had been lighted in all the rooms, but, notwithstanding the new furniture and decorations j there was an air of sadness about the old place. At night strange sounds were heard, and the servants declared strange sights were seen. Admiral Hepworth laughed at the ghost stories, but his wife took the matter more seriously, for the servants one by one gave warning, they ' were very sorry, but they could not stay in a haunted house.' It was towards the end of August when. Admiral Hepworth, not feeling well, his wife went downstairs to get some hot water from the kitchen. She was standing by the fireplace, when she suddenly felt a chill, as if a cold breath had blown upon her. Looking round, she saw to her horror that she was not alone. On a chair beside her sat an old man, with white hair, his body bent almost double, and a chain fastened to his wrist. He raised his head and looked at her wistfully, then rose and went towards the door. Mrs. Hepworth tried to follow, but her strength gave way, and her husband, wondering that she did not return, came down, and found her in a swoon on the floor. When she returned, she told him what she had seen, adding : • I am afraid something has happened to Henry ; the face was so like him, only older.' But nothing had happened to Sir Henry Filmer. So Admiral Hepworth spoke of his ' wife's nerves,' and cited the ghost story as another instance of her wonderful powers of imagination. However, even he looked serious when the head groom fell ill, from terror they said, at something he had seen ; and the coachman

declared that he had often heard the hprses stamping' about at midnight, but being the 'seventh son of a seventh son, of course lu> could not see v ghost.' » However, he knew for a fact that Mrs. Hepworth's collie, ' Loyal,' having once been put to sleep in the stable, obstinately re-~ fused to go there again, lying down and whining pitifully when they tried to force him in. 'Faith it's my belief, sir, that there's something buried in this stable. Some of the bricks in the floor have been moved, for the cement around them is newer than the rest. Sure it may be the pedlar that they do say was murdered here.' ' It is a strange thing altogether,' said the Admiral, ' but tomorrow we'll have the flooring taken up. Meanwhile, remove the horses to the other stable. There is something wrong here, Daisy especially looks out of condition.' ' Yes, sir, 'tis best to move 'em, for tjhe night Burke got the fright when he went into the stable, Daisy was in a sweat all over, and tremblin' as if in terror.'

Next day Admiral Hepworth and his brother-in-law were to be seen at an early hour superintending the operations of the workmen who were taking up the stable-floor. Near Daisy's stall they found a spot where the earth had been disturbed. In it they found a piece of rusty iron, evidently part of a chain. After this the men worked with renewed vigour, and soon they c.ime to a pit, about three feet deep. In it was a something— a skeleton — the skeleton of a man, evidently thrown in hastily with nothing round it save the clothes he had been wearing. A quantity of long- grey hair lay near the skull. Fragments of cloth, a chain, and some metal buttons were found among the bones. It was a ghastly sight. ' This is not the pedlar,' said Sir Henry, ' he was a hale, strong man, not more than eight-and-thirty or forty years of age.' He was interrupted by an exclamation from the workmen ; something else had been found in the grave. It was a small canister. In it was a written paper, and' a signet ring. Sir Henry examined the latter, and found that it' , was engraved with the Filmer arms, and recognised it as a ring constantly worn by his uncle, the late baronet. \ v The paper was a declaration to the effect that the writer. Giuseppe Marini, a Corsican by birth, had for years faithfully served his master, Sir Thomas Filmer ; ministered to his whims, and borne patiently with his furious tempera. As a reward, said master first robbed him of the savings of years, and then of his daughter* ' With the aid of his hired ruffians,' Marini wrote, • he abducted my beautiful daughter, my fair Santina, my little saint, the pearl of my life — that hated and spurned his very footsteps. Night and day I travelled till I discovered his retreat — an Alpina cottage far from any other dwelling. But my fair daughter, my lovely Santina, waa dead — dead, perhaps, at hia hands : I pray God, in her innocence, That morning they had placed the white pross over her grave on the slopes of the Schwartzberg, There was hot murder in my heart. But at first I could uot alay,,him. Then I would not. His mind, weakened by a life of dissipation — stunned, perhaps, by the blow of his victim's early death— completely gave way. He felf J into my power. A demon came into my heart. Since then,' he continued, ' I have enjoyed my yen letta in the dfrily, hourly contemplation of my enemy's misery and degradation. Yet I have not soiled my hands with Ms blood. I found him dea lin his chair. He lived the life of a brute, and I h^ve given him tho burial of a dog. The pedlar came to no h irra in this plage, he might have done so, but Lucia, my other daughter, and my good angel, saved his life. He is gone. The devil of hate has left my heart. Hia place is now filled with a great fear of the things that are to come. Sir Thomas took

the joy out of my life. I took it out of his. From mine it is gone /for ever. Revenge ie its own punishment. — Giuseppe Mabini.' The finding of the skeleton, with its ghastly record, created an immense excitement in all the oountry round. The remains of Sir Thomas Filmer were duly coffined and buried by torchlight in the family vault, and from that time no more ghostly sights or sounds disturbed the inmates of ' The Grey House.'