Roses of Yesterday 
477 
— she became rich as fast as her old lover became 
poor. But all this cast a shadow on the house. 
Sojourners would waken and hear throughout the 
night some steady sound, a scratching of the cards, 
a whirring of the spinning-wheel, the thump-thump 
of the loom. Some said she never slept, and could 
well grow rich when she worked all night. 
At last the woman who had stolen her lover — - the 
poor, sickly wife — died. The widower, burdened 
hopelessly with debts, of course put up in her mem- 
ory a fine headstone extolling her virtues. One 
wakeful night, with a sentiment often found in such 
natures, he went to the graveyard to view his proud 
but unpaid-for possession. The grass deadened his 
footsteps, and not till he reached the grave did there 
rise up from the ground a tall, ghostly figure dressed 
all in undyed gray wool of her own weaving. It was 
H annah Mason. “ Hannah/' whimpered the wid- 
ower, trying to take her hand, — with equal thought 
of her long bank account and his unpaid-for head- 
stone, — “ I never really loved any one but you." 
She broke away from him with an indescribable ges- 
ture of contempt and dignity, and went home. She 
died suddenly four days later of pneumonia, either 
from the shock or the damp midnight chill of the 
graveyard. 
As months passed on travellers still came to the 
tavern, and the story began to be whispered from 
one to another that the house was haunted by the 
ghost of Hannah Mason. Strange sounds were 
heard at night from the garret where she had always 
worked ; most plainly of all could be heard the 
