He was up late at night, wandering about the house from the cellar to the garret, so that, his light being seen flitting from window to window, the story got about that the old house was haunted.
One dreary, rainy Friday in November, Myrtle was left alone in the house.

Her uncle had been gone since the day before.

The two women were both away at the village.

At such times the child took a strange delight in exploring all the hiding-places of the old mansion.

She had the mysterious dwelling-place of so many of the dead and the living all to herself.