On the appointed
night, hundreds of lights illumined the house and gleamed in the
crystal, like so many colors of the rainbow. They were reflected from
the mirrors and shone upon the highly polished silver.
All the heirs of the departed Mr. Acton had responded to the invitation,
and were dressed to honor the occasion. Especially happy were the wives
and daughters, whose elaborate gowns were works of art. Mr. Bond's
daughter resembled a princess in the elegance of her attire, and
strutted about, in order to display her beautiful diamonds.
After supper had been served, the guests retired to the grand salon. The
entrancing tones of the music soon led couple after couple to dance to
its rhythm, and the revelry ran high.
It struck twelve by the big church clock. Suddenly there flashed over
the faces of the assembled guests, consternation and horror. The music
stopped--the dancers seemed rooted to the floor. A sudden stillness,
broken only by the echoing tones of the clock, or here and there a gasp
of fear or an exclamation of surprise, hovered over all. In one instant
the doors had been thrown open, and there on the threshold, clad in
black, and with a countenance pale as death, stood George Acton.
If he had really returned from the grave, the fear and shock that his
appearance caused could not have been greater.
All present felt a shudder pass over them, as they realized the
certainty of his return. However courteous it would have been for them
to have hidden their displeasure and to have extended their greetings to
him, not one came forward.
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