The one exception was in the home of Charlie Vance, or “Adonis,” as he was called by his familiars. The Vance estate was a spacious house with rambling ells, tortuous chimney-stacks, and corners, eaves and ledges; the grounds were extensive and well kept telling silently of the opulence of its owner. Its windows sent forth a cheering light. Dinner was just over.

Within, on an old-fashioned hearth, blazed a glorious wood fire, which gave a rich coloring to the oak-paneled walls, and fell warmly on a group of young people seated and standing, chatting about the fire. At one side of it, in a chair of the Elizabethan period, sat the hostess, Molly Vance, only daughter of James Vance, Esq., and sister of “Adonis,” a beautiful girl of eighteen.

At the opposite side, leaning with folded arms against the high carved mantel, stood Aubrey Livingston; the beauty of his fair hair and blue eyes was never more marked as he stood there in the gleam of the fire and the soft candle light. He was talking vivaciously, his eyes turning from speaker to speaker, as he ran on, but resting chiefly with pride on his beautiful betrothed, Molly Vance.

The group was completed by two or three other men, among them Reuel Briggs, and three pretty girls. Suddenly a clock struck the hour.

“Only nine,” exclaimed Molly. “Good people, what shall we do to wile the tedium of waiting for the witching hour? Have any one of you enough wisdom to make a suggestion?”

“Music,” said Livingston.

“We don’t want anything so commonplace.”

“Blind Man’s Buff,” suggested “Adonis.”

“Oh! Please not that, the men are so rough!”

“Let us,” broke in Cora Scott, “tell ghost stories.”

“Good, Cora! Yes, yes, yes.”

“No, no!” exclaimed a chorus of voices.

“Yes, yes,” laughed Molly, gaily, clapping her hands. “It is the very thing. Cora, you are the wise woman of the party. It is the very time, tonight is the new moon,6 and we can try our projects in the Hyde house.”

“The moon should be full to account for such madness,” said Livingston.

“Don’t be disagreeable, Aubrey,” replied Molly. “The ‘ayes’ have it. You’re with me, Mr. Briggs?”

“Of course, Miss Vance,” answered Reuel, “to go to the North Pole or Hades—only please tell us where is ‘Hyde house.’”

“Have you never heard? Why it’s the adjoining estate. It is reputed to be haunted, and a lady in white haunts the avenue in the most approved ghostly style.”

“Bosh!” said Livingston.

“Possibly,” remarked the laughing Molly, “but it is the ‘bosh’ of a century.”

“Go on, Miss Vance; don’t mind Aubrey. Who has seen the lady?”