Neither of us spoke till we reached
home,--I did not live here then, but in a house on the other side of
Pitlochry,--when my father, who was still as white as a sheet, took me
aside and whispered, 'Whatever you do, Flora, don't breathe a word of
what has happened to your mother, and never let her go along that road
at night. It was the death bogle. I shall die within twelve months.' And he did." Miss Macdonald paused. A brief silence ensued, and she then went on
with all her customary briskness: "I cannot describe the thing any
more than you can, except that it gave me the impression it had no
eyes. But what it was, whether the ghost of a man, woman, or some
peculiar beast, I could not, for the life of me, tell. Now, Mr.
O'Donnell, have you had enough horrors for one evening, or would you
like to hear just one more?" Knowing that sleep was utterly out of the question, and that one or
two more thrills would make very little difference to my already
shattered nerves, I replied that I would listen eagerly to anything
she could tell me, however horrible. My permission thus gained--and
gained so readily--Miss Macdonald, not without, I noticed, one or two
apprehensive glances at the slightly rustling curtains, began her
narrative, which ran, as nearly as I can remember, as follows:--

"After my father's death, I told my mother about our adventure the
night we drove home from Lady Colin Ferner's party, and asked her if
she remembered ever having heard anything that could possibly account
for the phenomenon. After a few moments' reflection, this is the story
she told me:--


THE INEXTINGUISHABLE CANDLE OF THE OLD WHITE HOUSE

There was once a house, known as "The Old White House," that used to
stand by the side of the road, close to where you say the horse first
took fright. Some people of the name of Holkitt, relations of dear old
Sir Arthur Holkitt, and great friends of ours, used to live there. The
house, it was popularly believed, had been built on the site of an
ancient burial-ground. Every one used to say it was haunted, and the
Holkitts had great trouble in getting servants. The appearance of the
haunted house did not belie its reputation, for its grey walls, sombre
garden, gloomy hall, dark passages and staircase, and sinister-looking
attics could not have been more thoroughly suggestive of all kinds of
ghostly phenomena. Moreover, the whole atmosphere of the place, no
matter how hot and bright the sun, was cold and dreary, and it was a
constant source of wonder to every one how Lady Holkitt could live
there. She was, however, always cheerful, and used to tell me that
nothing would induce her to leave a spot dear to so many generations
of her family, and associated with the happiest recollections in her
life. She was very fond of company, and there was scarcely a week in
the year in which she had not some one staying with her. I can only
remember her as widow, her husband, a major in the Gordon Highlanders,
having died in India before I was born. She had two daughters,
Margaret and Alice, both considered very handsome, but some years
older than I. This difference in age, however, did not prevent our
being on very friendly terms, and I was constantly invited to their
house--in the summer to croquet and archery, in the winter to balls. Like most elderly ladies of that period, Lady Holkitt was very fond of
cards, and she and my mother used frequently to play bezique and
cribbage, whilst the girls and I indulged in something rather more
frivolous. On those occasions the carriage always came for us at ten,
since my mother, for some reason or other--I had a shrewd suspicion it
was on account of the alleged haunting--would never return home after
that time. When she accepted an invitation to a ball, it was always
conditionally that Lady Holkitt would put us both up for the night,
and the carriage used, then, to come for us the following day, after
one o'clock luncheon. I shall never forget the last time I went to a
dance at "The Old White House," though it is now rather more than
fifty years ago. My mother had not been very well for some weeks,
having, so she thought, taken cold internally. She had not had a
doctor, partly because she did not feel ill enough, and partly because
the only medical man near us was an apothecary, of whose skill she had
a very poor opinion. My mother had quite made up her mind to accompany
me to the ball, but at the last moment, the weather being appalling,
she yielded to advice, and my aunt Norah, who happened to be staying
with us at the time, chaperoned me instead. It was snowing when we
set out, and as it snowed all through the night and most of the next
day, the roads were completely blocked, and we had to remain at "The
Old White House" from Monday evening till the following Thursday. Aunt
Norah and I occupied separate bedrooms, and mine was at the end of a
long passage away from everybody else's. Prior to this my mother and I
had always shared a room--the only really pleasant one, so I thought,
in the house--overlooking the front lawn. But on this occasion there
being a number of visitors, belated like ourselves, we had to squeeze
in wherever we could; and as my aunt and I were to have separate rooms
(my aunt liking a room to herself), it was natural that she should be
allotted the largest and most comfortable. Consequently, she was
domiciled in the wing where all the other visitors slept, whilst I was
forced to retreat to a passage on the other side of the house, where,
with the exception of my apartment, there were none other but
lumber-rooms. All went smoothly and happily, and nothing interrupted
the harmony of our visit, till the night before we returned home. We
had had supper--our meals were differently arranged in those days--and
Margaret and I were ascending the staircase on our way to bed, when
Alice, who had run upstairs ahead of us, met us with a scared face. "Oh, do come to my room!" she cried. "Something has happened to Mary." (Mary was one of the housemaids.) We both accompanied her, and, on entering her room, found Mary seated
on a chair, sobbing hysterically. One only had to glance at the girl
to see that she was suffering from some very severe shock. Though
normally red-cheeked and placid, in short, a very healthy, stolid
creature, and the last person to be easily perturbed, she was now
without a vestige of colour, whilst the pupils of her eyes were
dilated with terror, and her entire body, from the crown of her head
to the soles of her feet, shook as if with ague. I was immeasurably
shocked to see her. "Why, Mary," Margaret exclaimed, "whatever is the matter? What has
happened?" "It's the candle, miss," the girl gasped, "the candle in Miss Trevor's
room. I can't put it out." "You can't put it out, why, what nonsense!" Margaret said. "Are you
mad?" "It is as true as I sit here, miss," Mary panted. "I put the candle on
the mantelpiece while I set the room to rights, and when I had
finished and came to blow it out, I couldn't.