As we stepped out into the gallery again, I glanced back at the dancing firelight, the weird cross shadows, and the circle of dusky faces, with, I confess, a somewhat creepy feeling.

I could see that in such an atmosphere, it would not take long for superstition to lay its hold on a man.
"What's the meaning of it ?" I asked as we strolled slowly toward the house.
"The meaning of it," Radnor shrugged, "is that some of them are lying.
The ha'nt, I could swear, has a good flesh and blood appetite.

Nancy has been frightened and she believes her own story.

There's never any use in trying to sift a negro's lies; they have so much imagination that after five minutes they believe themselves." "I think I could spot the ghost," I returned.

"And that's your precious Cat-Eye Mose." Radnor shook his head.
"Mose doesn't need to steal chickens.