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314 that," I say; and indeed, as we ascend, a succession of wails, sighs, and squeaks float out to meet us, that could not reasonably be supposed to proceed from the throat of that uncanny, fleshless, bony, counterfeit of a human being, that we call a ghost. The mysterious sounds issue from the yellow room, and Milly pushes the door open, and stands on the threshold. No poor daylight spirit is answerable for the hullabaloo; but on a stool, before an open harmonium, sits a real tangible human being, who is rolling from side to side, in an ecstasy of delight at the hideous discord he is evoking. He wears a smart grey and scarlet livery, his silk calves are en evidence; he is, in short, one of the footmen, who has apparently a taste for music, and who believes Milly to be miles away at the present moment.

Some terrible instinct makes him turn his head, and standing behind him, he sees—his mistress.

"May I ask," inquires Mrs. Luttrell, "if I hired you to act as my servant or to play on my harmonium?"

The man gazes wildly at the ceiling and the floor alternately, as though he prays Heaven to either draw him up by the hair of his head, or pull him down out of sight by his heels.

"I thought you were out, madam," he stutters, casting his eyes wildly to and fro.

"Another time," says Milly; "will you make sure? Go."

He vanishes like a stone shot from a catapult.

I look at Milly in amazement at her moderation, but suddenly recollect that the detected performer is devotedly attached to the small heir of the house, and carries him about by the hour: a royal road, that, to his mistress's favour.

"That man is a character," she says, as we go away.

"He certainly has a soul above his station," I answer laughing, as I turn into my room to lay aside my hat. Shall I lay it aside, though? It is only five o'clock. I can do without my tea, and