192 AN ANGLER'S HOURS xi 



house which is capable of losing half a dozen 

 people all at once in different directions, you 

 may confidently expect now and then to 

 meet persons in strange garb who do not 

 really exist. 



There is somebody who walks past some 

 of the ground-floor windows just about tea- 

 time. You hear a rustling through the open 

 window, and you glance hurriedly out just 

 in time to see a misty figure go by. There 

 is somebody who sits in the entrance hall 

 in the morning, a boy of about fifteen, some 

 say. There is a restless lady who patrols 

 the stairs and passages. These are harmless 

 enough, but there is another whom I would 

 not meet for worlds. A delightful sitting- 

 room looks away over the lawns and river 

 to the west. This was once a bedroom, but 

 one night, or rather one early morning, the 

 sleeper was awakened by a clutch on his 

 throat, and to his alarm saw in the half 

 light a dark figure stooping over him. As 

 he became wider awake it drew itself up, 

 passed through bed and wall and disappeared. 

 Since I heard this tale I do not sleep so well, 

 more especially as I am informed that neither 

 this sitting-room nor the rest of the house 



