In its lifetime the child
had, without doubt, been lovely; it was now horrible--horrible with
all the ghastly disfigurements, the repellent disfigurements, of a
long consignment to the grave. I fainted, and, on recovering, found my
ghostly visitor had vanished, and that my patient was dead. One of
her hands was thrown across her eyes, as if to shut out some object on
which she feared to look, whilst the other grasped the counterpane
convulsively. It fell to my duty to help pack up her belongings, and among her
letters was a large envelope bearing the postmark "Quetta." As we were
on the look-out for some clue as to the address of her relatives, I
opened it. It was merely the cabinet-size photograph of a Hindoo
child, but I recognised the dress immediately--it was that of my
ghostly visitor. On the back of it were these words: "Natalie. May God
forgive us both." Though we made careful inquiries for any information as to Natalie and
Miss Vining in Quetta, and advertised freely in the leading London
papers, we learned nothing, and in time we were forced to let the
matter drop. As far as I know, the ghost of the Hindoo child has never
been seen again, but I have heard that the hotel is still
haunted--haunted by a woman. CASE XVII

    GLAMIS CASTLE


Of all the hauntings in Scotland, none has gained such widespread
notoriety as the hauntings of Glamis Castle, the seat of the Earl of
Strathmore and Kinghorne in Forfarshire. Part of the castle--that part which is the more frequently haunted--is
of ancient though uncertain date, and if there is any truth in the
tradition that Duncan was murdered there by Macbeth, must, at any
rate, have been in existence at the commencement of the eleventh
century. Of course, extra buildings have, from time to time, been
added, and renovations made; but the original structure remains pretty
nearly the same as it always has been, and is included in a square
tower that occupies a central position, and commands a complete view
of the entire castle. Within this tower--the walls of which are fifteen feet thick--there
is a room, hidden in some unsuspected quarter, that contains a secret
(the keynote to one, at least, of the hauntings) which is known only
to the Earl, his heir (on the attainment of his twenty-first
birthday), and the factor of the estate. In all probability, the mystery attached to this room would challenge
but little attention, were it not for the fact that unearthly noises,
which at the time were supposed to proceed from this chamber, have
been heard by various visitors sleeping in the Square Tower. The following experience is said to have happened to a lady named
Bond. I append it more or less in her own words. *       *       *       *       *

It is a good many years since I stayed at Glamis. I was, in fact, but
little more than a child, and had only just gone through my first
season in town. But though young, I was neither nervous nor
imaginative; I was inclined to be what is termed stolid, that is to
say, extremely matter-of-fact and practical. Indeed, when my friends
exclaimed, "You don't mean to say you are going to stay at Glamis! Don't you know it's haunted?" I burst out laughing. "Haunted!" I said, "how ridiculous! There are no such things as
ghosts. One might as well believe in fairies." Of course I did not go to Glamis alone--my mother and sister were with
me; but whereas they slept in the more modern part of the castle, I
was, at my own request, apportioned a room in the Square Tower. I cannot say that my choice had anything to do with the secret
chamber. That, and the alleged mystery, had been dinned into my ears
so often that I had grown thoroughly sick of the whole thing. No, I
wanted to sleep in the Square Tower for quite a different reason, a
reason of my own. I kept an aviary; the tower was old; and I naturally
hoped its walls would be covered with ivy and teeming with birds'
nests, some of which I might be able to reach--and, I am ashamed to
say, plunder--from my window. Alas, for my expectations! Although the Square Tower was so ancient
that in some places it was actually crumbling away--not the sign of a
leaf, not the vestige of a bird's nest could I see anywhere; the
walls were abominably, brutally bare. However, it was not long before
my disappointment gave way to delight; for the air that blew in
through the open window was so sweet, so richly scented with heather
and honeysuckle, and the view of the broad, sweeping, thickly wooded
grounds so indescribably charming, that, despite my inartistic and
unpoetical nature, I was entranced--entranced as I had never been
before, and never have been since. "Ghosts!" I said to myself,
"ghosts! how absurd! how preposterously absurd! such an adorable spot
as this can only harbour sunshine and flowers." I well remember, too--for, as I have already said, I was not
poetical--how much I enjoyed my first dinner at Glamis. The long
journey and keen mountain air had made me hungry, and I thought I had
never tasted such delicious food--such ideal salmon (from the Esk) and
such heavenly fruit. But I must tell you that, although I ate
heartily, as a healthy girl should, by the time I went to bed I had
thoroughly digested my meal, and was, in fact, quite ready to partake
of a few oatmeal biscuits I found in my dressing-case, and remembered
having bought at Perth. It was about eleven o'clock when my maid left
me, and I sat for some minutes wrapped in my dressing gown, before the
open window. The night was very still, and save for an occasional
rustle of the wind in the distant tree-tops, the hooting of an owl,
the melancholy cry of a peewit and the hoarse barking of a dog, the
silence was undisturbed. The interior of my room was, in nearly every particular, modern. The furniture was not old; there were no grim carvings; no
grotesquely-fashioned tapestries on the walls; no dark cupboards; no
gloomy corners;--all was cosy and cheerful, and when I got into bed no
thought of bogle or mystery entered my mind. In a few minutes I was asleep, and for some time there was nothing but
a blank--a blank in which all identity was annihilated. Then suddenly
I found myself in an oddly-shaped room with a lofty ceiling, and a
window situated at so great a distance from the black oaken floor as
to be altogether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of
phosphorescent light made their way through the narrow panes, and
served to render distinct the more prominent objects around; but my
eyes struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of the wall, one of
which inspired me with terror such as I had never felt before. The
walls were covered with heavy draperies that were sufficient in
themselves to preclude the possibility of any save the loudest of
sounds penetrating without. The furniture, if such one could call it, puzzled me. It seemed more
fitted for the cell of a prison or lunatic asylum, or even for a
kennel, than for an ordinary dwelling-room.