Chapter 5

A few days after this, Virginia and her curly-haired cavalier went out
riding on Brockley meadows, where she tore her habit so badly in getting
through a hedge that, on their return home, she made up her mind to go
up by the back staircase so as not to be seen. As she was running past
the Tapestry Chamber, the door of which happened to be open, she fancied
she saw some one inside, and thinking it was her mother's maid, who
sometimes used to bring her work there, looked in to ask her to mend
her habit. To her immense surprise, however, it was the Canterville
Ghost himself! He was sitting by the window, watching the ruined gold of
the yellowing trees fly through the air, and the red leaves dancing
madly down the long avenue. His head was leaning on his hand, and his
whole attitude was one of extreme depression. Indeed, so forlorn, and so
much out of repair did he look, that little Virginia, whose first idea
had been to run away and lock herself in her room, was filled with pity,
and determined to try and comfort him. So light was her footfall, and so
deep his melancholy, that he was not aware of her presence till she
spoke to him.

"I am so sorry for you," she said, "but my brothers are going back to
Eton to-morrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy
you."

"It is absurd asking me to behave myself," he answered, looking round in
astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him,
"quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and
walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for
existing."

"It is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very
wicked. Mrs. Umney told us, the first day we arrived here, that you had
killed your wife."

"Well, I quite admit it," said the Ghost, petulantly, "but it was a
purely family matter, and concerned no one else."

"It is very wrong to kill any one," said Virginia, who at times had a
sweet puritan gravity, caught from some old New England ancestor.

"Oh, I hate the cheap severity of abstract ethics! My wife was very
plain, never had my ruffs properly starched, and knew nothing about
cookery. Why, there was a buck I had shot in Hogley Woods, a magnificent
pricket, and do you know how she had it sent to table? However, it is
no matter now, for it is all over, and I don't think it was very nice of
her brothers to starve me to death, though I did kill her."

"Starve you to death? Oh, Mr. Ghost--I mean Sir Simon, are you hungry? I
have a sandwich in my case. Would you like it?"

"No, thank you, I never eat anything now; but it is very kind of you,