We have already described it, and that must suffice for our readers.

On entering a dark, but level moor, he was startled by the appearance of the Black Spectre, which, as on two occasions before, pointed its middogue three times at his heart.

He rushed towards it, but on arriving at the spot he could find nothing.

It had vanished, and he was left to meditate on it as best he might.
We now pass to the haunted cottage itself.

There lay Grace Davoren, after having given birth to a child; there she lay--the victim of the seducer, on the very eve of dissolution, and beside her, sitting on the bed, the unfortunate Nannie Morrissy, now a confirmed and dying maniac.
"Grace," said Nannie, "you, like me, were ruined." "I was," replied Grace, in a voice scarcely audible.
"Ay, but you didn't murder your father, though, as I did; that's one advantage I have over you--ha! ha! ha!" "I'm not so sure of that, Nannie," replied the dying girl; "but where's my baby ?" "O! yes, you have had a baby, but Caterine Collins took it away with her." "My child! my child! where is my child ?" she exclaimed in a low, but husky voice; "where's my child?
and besides, ever since I took that bottle she gave me I feel deadly sick." "Will I go for your father and mother--but above all things for your father?
But then if he punished the villain that ruined you and brought disgrace upon your name, he might be hanged as mine was." "Ah! Nannie," replied poor Grace; "my father won't die of the gallows; but he will of a broken heart." "Better to be hanged," said the maniac, whose reason, after a lapse of more than a year, was in some degree returning, precisely as life was ebbing out, "bekase, thank God, there's then an end to it." "I agree with you, Nannie, it might be only a long life of suffering; but I wouldn't wish to see my father hanged." "Do you know," said Nannie, relapsing into a deeper mood of her mania,--"do you know that when I saw my father last he wouldn't nor didn't spake to me?
The house was filled with people, and my little brother Frank--why now isn't it strange that I feel somehow as if I will never wash his face again nor comb his white head in order to prepare him for mass ?--but whisper, Grace, sure then I was innocent and had not met the destroyer." The two unhappy girls looked at each other, and if ever there was a gaze calculated to wring the human heart with anguish and with pity, it was that gaze.