"I'm glad," Mr. Terwilliger murmured to himself, "that I ain't one of
those delicately reared nobles. If I had anything less than a right-down
regular republican constitution I'd die of fright."
And then his natural grit came to his rescue, and it was well it did, for
the presence had assumed shape, and now sat on the window-ledge in the
form of a hag, glaring at him from out of the depths of her unfathomable
eyes, in which, despite their deadly greenness, there lurked a tinge of
red caused by small specks of that hue semioccasionally seen floating
across her dilated pupils.
"You are the Bangletop ghost, I presume?" said Terwilliger, rising and
standing near the fire to thaw out his system.
The spectre made no reply, but pointed to the door.
"Yes," Terwilliger said, as if answering a question. "That's the way out,
madame. It's a beautiful exit, too. Just try it."
"H'I knows the wi out," returned the spectre, rising and approaching the
tenant of Bangletop, whose solitary lock also rose, being too polite to
remain seated while the ghost walked.
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