The storm raged fiercely all that night, but nothing of particular noteoccurred. The next morning, however, when they came down to breakfast,they found the terrible stain of blood once again on the floor. "I don'tthink it can be the fault of the Paragon Detergent," said Washington,"for I have tried it with everything. It must be the ghost." Heaccordingly rubbed out the stain a second time, but the second morningit appeared again. The third morning also it was there, though thelibrary had been locked up at night by Mr. Otis himself, and the keycarried up-stairs. The whole family were now quite interested; Mr. Otisbegan to suspect that he had been too dogmatic in his denial of theexistence of ghosts, Mrs. Otis expressed her intention of joining thePsychical Society, and Washington prepared a long letter to Messrs.Myers and Podmore on the subject of the Permanence of Sanguineous Stainswhen connected with Crime. That night all doubts about the objectiveexistence of phantasmata were removed for ever.

The day had been warm and sunny; and, in the cool of the evening, thewhole family went out to drive. They did not return home till nineo'clock, when they had a light supper. The conversation in no way turnedupon ghosts, so there were not even those primary conditions ofreceptive expectations which so often precede the presentation ofpsychical phenomena. The subjects discussed, as I have since learnedfrom Mr. Otis, were merely such as form the ordinary conversation ofcultured Americans of the better class, such as the immense superiorityof Miss Fanny Devonport over Sarah Bernhardt as an actress; thedifficulty of obtaining green corn, buckwheat cakes, and hominy, even inthe best English houses; the importance of Boston in the development ofthe world-soul; the advantages of the baggage-check system in railwaytravelling; and the sweetness of the New York accent as compared to theLondon drawl. No mention at all was made of the supernatural, nor wasSir Simon de Canterville alluded to in any way. At eleven o'clock thefamily retired, and by half-past all the lights were out. Some timeafter, Mr. Otis was awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, outsidehis room. It sounded like the clank of metal, and seemed to be comingnearer every moment. He got up at once, struck a match, and looked atthe time. It was exactly one o'clock. He was quite calm, and felt hispulse, which was not at all feverish. The strange noise still continued,and with it he heard distinctly the sound of footsteps. He put on hisslippers, took a small oblong phial out of his dressing-case, and openedthe door. Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old manof terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hairfell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were ofantique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hungheavy manacles and rusty gyves.

"My dear sir," said Mr. Otis, "I really must insist on your oiling thosechains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of theTammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficaciousupon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effecton the wrapper from some of our most eminent native divines. I shallleave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy tosupply you with more, should you require it." With these words theUnited States Minister laid the bottle down on a marble table, and,closing his door, retired to rest.

[Illustration: "I REALLY MUST INSIST ON YOUR OILING THOSE CHAINS"]

For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in naturalindignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor,he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting aghastly green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the greatoak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figuresappeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidentlyno time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth dimension of Spaceas a means of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, and the housebecame quite quiet.

On reaching a small secret chamber in the left wing, he leaned upagainst a moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realizehis position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of threehundred years, had he been so grossly insulted. He thought of theDowager Duchess, whom he had frightened into a fit as she stood beforethe glass in her lace and diamonds; of the four housemaids, who had goneinto hysterics when he merely grinned at them through the curtains onone of the spare bedrooms; of the rector of the parish, whose candle hehad blown out as he was coming late one night from the library, and whohad been under the care of Sir William Gull ever since, a perfect martyrto nervous disorders; and of old Madame de Tremouillac, who, havingwakened up one morning early and seen a skeleton seated in an armchairby the fire reading her diary, had been confined to her bed for sixweeks with an attack of brain fever, and, on her recovery, had becomereconciled to the Church, and broken off her connection with thatnotorious sceptic, Monsieur de Voltaire. He remembered the terriblenight when the wicked Lord Canterville was found choking in hisdressing-room, with the knave of diamonds half-way down his throat, andconfessed, just before he died, that he had cheated Charles James Foxout of £50,000 at Crockford's by means of that very card, and swore thatthe ghost had made him swallow it. All his great achievements came backto him again, from the butler who had shot himself in the pantry becausehe had seen a green hand tapping at the window-pane, to the beautifulLady Stutfield, who was always obliged to wear a black velvet band roundher throat to hide the mark of five fingers burnt upon her white skin,and who drowned herself at last in the carp-pond at the end of theKing's Walk. With the enthusiastic egotism of the true artist, he wentover his most celebrated performances, and smiled bitterly to himself ashe recalled to mind his last appearance as "Red Reuben, or the StrangledBabe," his _début_ as "Guant Gibeon, the Blood-sucker of Bexley Moor,"and the _furore_ he had excited one lovely June evening by merelyplaying ninepins with his own bones upon the lawn-tennis ground. Andafter all this some wretched modern Americans were to come and offer himthe Rising Sun Lubricator, and throw pillows at his head! It was quiteunbearable. Besides, no ghost in history had ever been treated in thismanner. Accordingly, he determined to have vengeance, and remained tilldaylight in an attitude of deep thought.