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Updated: May 14, 2025
"You're nothing but wind, you know. Be calm and have a chair by the fire. Your wife says you have chills." "I do not require an invitation to sit down in my own house, sah. I am Godfrey Gloame, sah, of Gloaming, sah." "You mean you were you are now his shade," said Gates. "Ah, that's the word I've been trying to think of shade! You are shades that's it shades, not ghosts. Yes, Mr.
Godfrey Gloame arose grandly, holding his glass aloft. "Well, Mr. Garrison," he said, "I can only say to you that I am glad to have met you and that I am sincerely sorry we have not been friends before. You have given us a very pleasant evening, quite unexpectedly, and I drink to your very good health." "Hold, sir!" cried Gates. "I am sure you will allow me to suggest an amendment.
"We cannot stay out after twelve-fifteen, sah. We get an extra fifteen minutes on Christmas Eve, you know," explained Godfrey. "We are led to believe that you stay out till the cock crows," said Gates. "Oh, these absurd superstitions," cried Mrs. Gloame merrily. "How ignorant the people are. Are you going my way, Godfrey?" "Yes, dear, and I care not what the direction may be. Good-night, Mr.
"Who is this man, Beatrice?" he demanded, his hand going to his sword hilt. Mrs. Gloame caught the hand and there was passionate entreaty in her eyes. "Speak, woman! What are you doing here with him at this time of night?" "Now, don't he cross, Godfrey," she pleaded. "It's only Mr. Garrison." "And who the devil is Mr. Garrison?"
The first uncanny shock was wearing off and he was confessing to himself that there was nothing to fear in the spectral bit of loveliness. "I I'm sure I appreciate the honour," he said, bowing low. "Permit me to introduce myself," she went on, and he marvelled at her charm of manner. "I am the great-great-grandmother of Cassady Gloame, and the daughter of Van Rensselaer Brevoort, of New York.
"For my part, I stayed at home with the old complaint: nothing to wear," said Mrs. Gloame. "I am curious to know where my husband was, however." "Well, I didn't need anything to wear," said he, naively.
"Oh, dear me," she cried, in confusion. "The idea of my sitting here talking to a total stranger all this time. You must think me extremely bold." "I am the bold one, madam. It's my first experience, you know, and I think I'm doing pretty well, don't you? By the way, Mrs. Gloame, my name is Gates Garrison, of New York, and my sister is the present Mrs. Gloame."
Godfrey Gloame," she replied, a touch of resentment in her voice. "The the ghost?" "That's what they call me," she admitted sadly. "It's such a horrid thing to be called, too. In reality, I'm merely a visitor from another world. There are many more of my kind in this room at this instant, sir, but you cannot see them. They are visible to me, however.
Gates Garrison strolled leisurely into the room, coming from the dining-room where he had lingered with the apples and cider and doughnuts. He was a tall, fair young fellow of twenty-four, a year younger than his sister, the pretty Mrs. Gloame, and a senior in Columbia College.
I do not know what followed, for no one ever knew, but the next mornin' they found her dead on the bed, her throat cut from ear to ear in a most dreadful manner. He was dead on the floor, the same knife sticking in his breast. Their son, my great-grand-father, the famous General George W. Gloame, then a child of three, was lying on the bed with his mother, asleep."
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