Then the clock struck the quarter, and he felt the time was come. He chuckled to himself, and turned the corner; but no sooner had he done so, than, with a piteous wail of terror, he fell back, and hid his blanched face in his long, bony hands.

Right in front of him was standing a horrible spectre, motionless as a carved image, and monstrous as a madman's dream! Its head was bald and burnished; its face round, and fat, and white; and hideous laughter seemed to have writhed its features into an eternal grin.

From the eyes streamed rays of scarlet light, the mouth was a wide well of fire, and a garment, like his own, swathed with its silent snows the Titan shape.

On its chest was a placard with strange writing in antique characters, some scroll of shame it seemed, some record of wild sins, some awful calendar of crime, and, with its right hand, it held a dagger of gleaming steel.

Never having seen a ghost before, he naturally was terribly frightened, and, after a second hasty glance at the awful phantom, he fled back to his room, tripping up in his long winding sheet as he sped down the corridor, and finally dropping the rusty dagger into the Ambassador's boots, where it was found in the morning by the butler.

Once in the privacy of his own apartment, he flung himself down on a small pallet-bed, and hid his face under the bedclothes.