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204 to be haunted, and henceforth only to be entered in couples. A ghost-story is an avalanche, increasing in horror as it goes; and, like an avalanche, one often brings on another. It was remembered, that Emily was the last of a house which had for years and years been connected with every tradition in the county: the grandfathers of the parish could recollect when the old hall had rung with the cheerful song and shout of a gallant band of relatives, all bearing the name of Arundel, and when the echoes of the morning were awakened by baying hounds and the ringing horns of the young hunters: but one grave had been filled after another—one name after another crowded the funeral tablets of the church: and the once flourishing race had dwindled down to one slight girl. Omens, predictions, and legends now multiplied around every fireside; one, in particular, was revived. The lands of the Arundel estate had belonged to a monastery; but when the crosier bowed down before King Henry's anger, these domains were assigned to one of his favourite followers, Sir John Arundel. But the abbess, descended from an old Norman family, and inheriting all the spirit of her