BORDER GHOST STORIES

 _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

 _Tales of Northumbria_ _Magnus Sinclair_ _The Lord Wardens of the Marches_, _etc. _

 BORDER GHOST STORIES

 BY

 HOWARD PEASE

 AUTHOR OF 'TALES OF NORTHUMBRIA, ' 'MAGNUS SINCLAIR' 'THE LORD WARDENS OF THE MARCHES OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND, ' ETC. 

 ERSKINE MACDONALD LTD. LONDON, W. C. 1

 _First published 1919_

 TO

 THE MEMORY OF

 SIR WALTER SCOTT

 THE TUTELARY GENIUS OF THE BORDERLAND

 THESE TALES ARE INSCRIBED BY A

 LATTER DAY BORDERER

PREFACE

Certain places, said Stevenson, cry out for a story, and Scott, in anynew surroundings, straightway invented an appropriate tale, if therewere not already a story or tradition in existence. One might evenbelieve that the place itself tells its own tale to the sympatheticimagination. 

Thus Mr. Bligh Bond in his book, _The Gate of Remembrance_, implies thatthe whisperings of the _genius loci_ enabled him to make his astonishingdiscovery of the lost Edgar Chapel at Glastonbury Abbey. 

 'Multa modis simulacra videt volitantia miris, Et varias audit voces, fruiturque Deorum Colloquio, atque imis Acheronta affatur Avernis. '

The scene of the following ghost stories usually becomes manifest in thetext, but it might be mentioned that 'Castle Ichabod' stands for SeatonDelaval, that the 'Lord Warden's Tomb' is a reminiscence of KirkbyStephen, and that 'The Cry of the Peacock' is a suggestion from the Valeof Mallerstang. 

If the ghost is not always visible in the tale, it is at least born ofit. 

Thus if there be no actual ghost in 'Ill-Steekit Ephraim' or in 'TheBlackfriars Wynd' there are at least sufficiently 'ghostly' occurrences. 

Again, in 'Apud Corstopitum' Penchrysa is held to haunt the Roman Wallbeside the limestone crags; Tynemouth Priory is thought to be revisitedby Prior Olaf whenever the wind stays long in the eastern airt, and the'outbye' moors beside 'The Bower' may now be haunted by the spirit of'Muckle-Mouthed Meg. '

The stories marked by an asterisk have already been published in the_Border Magazine_; 'In the Cliff Land of the Danes' appeared originallyin the _Northern Counties Magazine_ under the title of 'An Antiquary'sLetter' (supposed to have been dictated by John Hall Stevenson ofSkelton Castle, author of _Crazy Tales_, to his friend the ReverendLaurence Sterne at Coxwold), and has been slightly altered, as has also'The Muniment Room, ' which appeared in the _Queen_ and the _NewcastleWeekly Chronicle_. He desires to thank the various editors concerned andthe Northern Newspaper Syndicate for their courtesy in permittingrepublication. 

In his _Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft_, written nearly onehundred years ago, Sir Walter Scott says apologetically at the close ofthe book: 'Even the present fashion of the world seems to be ill-suitedfor studies of this fantastic nature; and the most ordinary mechanic haslearning sufficient to laugh at the figments which in former times werebelieved by persons far advanced in the deepest knowledge of the age. '

But surely the belief in, and love of ghosts will persist 'as long asthe moon endureth, ' for fancy, imagination, and conscience combineagainst materialism, be it never so scientific, and even if the visionof the affrighted criminal be subjective it is a terrible reality tohimself. 

'_What! not see that little boy with the bloody pantaloons?_' exclaimedthe secret murderer, so much to the horror of his comrade that herequested him, if he had anything on his mind, to make a clearconscience as far as confession could do it. [1] And, further, it is butsome seventeen years since the present writer was taken to see a certainnonagenarian--one Bobby Dawson--for some fifty years, if memory serve, whipper-in to the Bilsdale hounds, who related in all good faith how hewith his hounds had once hunted a witch in the shape of a hare thatescaped by a cundy, or underground drain, into a barn. When Dawsonentered, there was the witch in the form of an old woman lying pantingon the hay. 

Again, the writer has in his possession the copy of an '_Old Charm tomake Brave_, ' which was transcribed by Mr. R. Blakeborough, author of_Yorkshire Wit, Character, Folklore, and Customs_, from the MS. Book ofone David Naitby, a Bedale schoolmaster, during the early days of 1800. It may interest the reader to quote a few lines therefrom:

 '_We hid there (on the mountain top) in the shadow of the moon. We left there an acorn yet green in its cup, We left also a firchatt upon the great stone hurled by Thor; To a fir branch we tied with a fine whang drawn from a bear we slew The wing feather of an eagle which span towards us, Yet it fell not to the earth, we twain caught it, The one by the quill, the other by the feather part. _'

After this the tale of 'In the Cliff Land of the Dane' may appear to benot so very improbable. 

Once more, the uprising of the thrawn corpse from the coffin in'Ill-Steekit Ephraim' was narrated to the writer and his companion by abed-ridden but very intelligent moorland 'wife' some years ago whenwalking along the Roman Wall beside Hot Bank farm or cottage. Finally, he can still remember his early thrills over strawberries and cream whentold of the appearances of 'the Silky' or 'little grey lady' at DentonHall, which suggested the harsher variant of 'In my Lady's Bedchamber. '

In conclusion, it might perhaps be mentioned that the altar to Sylvanusalluded to in 'Apud Corstopitum' is preserved at Stanhope Rectory on theWear, and that the writer possesses an altar dedicated--Deo (Mithras), by L. Sentius Castus of the 6th Legion, which was formerly excavated atRutchester Camp, North Wylam, and is now at Otterburn. 

 * * * * *

Sir Walter Scott once said that no one had made more use of ghosts thanhimself, but that he did not believe in them. Another authorityexpressed his disbelief in them, 'because he had seen too many of them. '

Professor George Sinclair wrote his book, _Satan's Invisible WorldDiscovered_, to prove 'against the Saducees and Atheists of the presentage, that there are Devils, Spirits, Witches, and Apparitions, fromAuthentic Records, Attestation of Famous Witnesses, and undoubtedVerity, ' but as, _inter alia_, he includes in them an account of the'Strange Pranks plaid by the Devil at Woodstock in England, anno 1649, 'it is evident that he simply accepted without any investigation thecommon hearsay, for it is well known that the Woodstock Devil was noneother than the Commissioners' clerk, Giles Sharp, [2] who played thesetricks upon his masters. 

Modern investigation proceeding on scientific lines and by means ofactual experience and experiment, seems to provide an explanation--mentaland moral--for manifestations which our ancestors regarded as physicaland material. 

One need only mention in this connection the writings of William James, the psychologist, the proceedings of the Psychical Research Society, thewonderful results of psycho-therapeusis dealing with the unconsciousself, the subliminal 'consciousness, ' or as Captain Hadfield prefers tocall it, 'heightened personality' in his paper on this subject 'The Mindand the Brain' in _Immortality_, to realise not only the greatness ofthe advance in psychical knowledge, but also the vast new field ofinvestigation thus opened out to the student. 

 OTTERBURN TOWER NORTHUMBERLAND _April 1919_

[Footnote 1: _Demonology and Witchcraft. _ Letter x. ]

[Footnote 2: Readers of _Woodstock_ will remember Sir Walter Scott'saccount of 'Joseph Collins, commonly called Funny Joe--who, under thefeigned name of Giles Sharp, hired himself as a servant to theCommissioners. '

'The account of this by the Commissioners themselves, or under theirauthority, was repeatedly published. .. . '

It is amusing to note that 'this narrative gave equal satisfaction tothe Cavaliers and Roundheads: the former conceiving that the licencegiven to the demons was in consequence of this impious desecration ofthe King's furniture and apartments, so that the citizens of Woodstock, almost adored the supposed spirits, as avengers of the cause of royalty;while the friends of the Parliament, on the other hand, imputed to themalice of the Fiend the obstruction of the pious work, as they judgedthat which they had in hand. ']

CONTENTS

 PAGE

 IN THE BLACKFRIARS WYND 1

 BY PEDEN'S CLEUCH 23

 'ILL-STEEKIT' EPHRAIM 31

 THE COCK-CROW 49

 BY THE SHRINE OF SAINT CUTHBERT 59

 *'MEENISTER' MACHIAVELLI 67

 ELDER 'MACHIAVELLI-ER' 83

 REPENTANCE TOWER 99

 *THE LORD WARDEN'S TOMB 109

 CASTLE ICHABOD 121

 THE MUNIMENT ROOM 137

 IN THE CLIFF LAND OF THE DANE 153

 *THE DOPPEL-GANGER 171

 *IN MY LADY'S BEDCHAMBER 179

 *THE WARLOCK OF GLORORUM 189

 'MUCKLE-MOUTHED MEG' 203

 *THE PRIOR OF TYNEMOUTH 223

 THE HAUNTED ALE-HOUSE 233

 THE CRY OF THE PEACOCK 245

 KITTY'S BOWER 255

 THE TALE OF THE THREE ANTIQUARIES 271

 APUD CORSTOPITUM 283

IN THE BLACKFRIARS WYND

'_'Twill be a black day for auld Scotland when she ceases to believe inthe muckle Deil_, ' commented 'the Meenister' of the Tron Kirk, when Ihad explained to him my troubles and sought his 'ghostly counsel andadvice, ' as the English service has it, 'to the quieting of myconscience, and avoiding of all scruple and doubtfulness. ' My father hadbeen English, but my mother was Scotch, and she had sent me to my uncle, Deacon Abercrombie, to be entered as apprentice to his craft of thegoldsmiths. He was a widower, lived alone, and was reputed to beeccentric, but as far as worldly gear was concerned the Deacon was ahighly responsible citizen; as burgess, guild brother, and deacon of hiscraft he could hold his head as high on the causeway as any other, be hewho he might, in the city. 

Not even the 'stairhead critics, ' who, as Auld Reekie's poet writes, '_wi' glowering eye Their neighbours' sma'est faults descry_, '

could point at any speck in his general repute. 

The Reverend Andrew Geddes was somewhat stricken in years; his beard waswhite as snow, his thrapple loose below his chin, and the flesh hadebbed from his bones, but his mind was as alert as ever, and hisgoodness stood manifest in his face. 

We were sitting in his lodging, situate in a high 'timberland' in theCanongate, just without the Nether Bow, on the same side as the TronKirk, and from his little _tourelle_ we could survey as from an eyriethe coming and going of the citizens upon the street. 

'Ay, ' said he again, 'it will be a gey evil day for Scotland when sheceases to believe i' the muckle black Deil. Whatten temptations he canoffer is oft forgot. Ye'll hae heard tell o' Major Weir--the whilom"Bowhead Saint, " as they callit him--ye'll hae heard tell o' him, laddie? I mind my father talkin' o' his ain greetin' sair for bein' oweryoung to gang to his hangin'. '

Had I no? Ay, and of his staff that went before him like a link boy, andof the coach with six black horses that carried him and his sisterbackwards and forwards from hell!

'Eh, laddie, what a sermon I could preach to ye on this tremendousproblem!' he said regretfully, bethinking him of my youthful years. 

'Aweel, ' he added discreetly, 'I dinna ken your uncle--the responsibleDeacon--save by sight and repute, as ane that disna spend, an' isnaverra sociable; yet he attends the Great Kirk, "comes forrit, " does henot, to the Holy Table?' I nodded assent. 

'Is as reputable a citizen as any that treads on the High Street, andyet for a' that he may hae a canker o' the soul. Aiblins Davie Hume hassappit his belief, and the muckle Deil, kennin' that, is thrawin' a fleeower him as for a saumon the noo. '

As I sat there shivering all down my spine, my companion looked upon mevery kindly from his thoughtful, gentle eyes of blue that faded to greyat the marge, and said, 'Stop up your ears, laddie, like the adder, toany temptin' o' your uncle. Keep watch and ward, and, if need arise, runfor me instantly, for, though I'm auld the noo, I'm aye ready for awarsil wi' auld Hornie. '

Heartened by the minister's sympathy and courage I returned to myuncle's lodging in Blackfriars Wynd, and continued to devote myself tohis craft in the back of his booth in the High Street, which appealed tome greatly for ingenuity and skill. 

In accord with my mother's advice I had endeavoured to cherish anaffection for my uncle, yet withal there was something about the manthat misliked me much, and, to speak straight to the point, thatactually 'fley'd' me, for he would gloat o' night over his glass oftoddy on any scandal afloat concerning the 'unco guid, ' and would speakwith tongue i' the cheek of virtue in general, as if indeed hypocrisywere the true king of this world. I thought at first his purpose was totease me and draw me out, but I soon came to believe it was all a partof the horrid nature of the man himself. 

Further again than this, he seemed to exercise a dreadful and secretpower over 'Brownie'--his pathetic little serving boy, orphan and mute. 

I had realised that 'Brownie' lived in terror of his employer, though Inever saw him the victim of any physical ill-treatment; one night indeedhe came shivering and terrified into my bedroom, and by signs gave me tounderstand that my uncle was hunting for him, and it was not till I hadbolted my door that he grew somewhat calmer. 

He would not leave me, but insisted on lying down at the foot of my bedthroughout the night. 

I thought possibly the poor lad might labour under some hallucination, but I felt fear myself, for I distinctly heard some one attempt to openmy door very stealthily a short time after 'Brownie' had taken refuge inmy room. 

No, it was not surprising, I reflected, that 'Brownie' should be'feared' of my uncle when I was myself in the like case, for there was'no milk of human kindness' in him. His eyes were shielded by a _chevauxde frise_ of bristles, and when one caught a glint from them 'twas as ifone had encountered the malevolent gleam of a ferret intent upon his ownruthless schemes. 

He was short of stature, possessed abnormally long arms, had a heavymoustache, and very hairy, flexible fingers, with which he performedwondrous feats of craftsmanship, but to my fearful imagination he seemedto resemble at times a tarantula spider of alarming proportions. 

There had been of late an epidemic of crime in the city, which hadseriously perturbed the good burgesses; various shops had been brokeninto, and cash and valuables had been 'lifted, ' but as no arrests hadbeen effected a general feeling of insecurity was rife in Auld Reekie;all which was a constant theme of merriment on my uncle's sardoniclips. 

What had led me to approach 'the Meenister' and confide my apprehensionto him, as I have shown above, was the mute, appealing look in poor'Brownie's' eyes. But as 'Brownie' looked much brighter and happierduring the next few weeks I regained my own equanimity, and grewsomewhat shamed of my first nervous fears. This being so I thought itonly right that I should visit 'Meenister Geddes' once more and reportto him my belief in the groundless nature of my vague imaginations. Ihad found him at home, and stayed 'cracking' on with him till past tenof the clock. 

Then as I returned somewhat in haste and doubtful how to effect my entryinto my uncle's lodging undiscovered, or how, if discovered, to explainmy absence, I brushed against a wayfarer at the corner of theBlackfriars Wynd. 

''Tis a footpad, ' I thought, for he was velvet-footed, and I heard notread on the pavement. I glanced narrowly at the swift-passing stranger, and beneath the smouldering 'bowet' I had borrowed from the 'Meenister'I recognised with a start the slight, shrunken figure of 'Brownie' withhis white, pathetic face. It was the swiftest of visions, yet I had seenenough to give me a 'gliff, ' _for the eyes were not those of 'Brownie, 'but of my uncle_. 

This chance encounter reawoke all my previous apprehensions. The veryfact that I had only an eerie suspicion on which to build increased mymental discomfort. There was something behind to which my watch and wardhad afforded me no clue. 

Nothing more transpired for another few weeks when one night as I layawake meditating I heard a footstep on the stair without. It was late, for my uncle had been out, and I had sat up reading, and had forgottenhow time was passing. As I continued to listen I heard a strange moaningproceeding, I felt sure, from 'Brownie's' attic, which was situate afoot or two above my chamber on the top turn of the newel stairway. Ihad recognised, I thought, the tread on the stairs, for my uncle'sfootstep was peculiar, since he had a slight limp; it was this that hadaroused my attention and reawakened my apprehension. 

The moaning had been that of a dumb animal, and I had heard it once ortwice before when poor 'Brownie' had been in pain. 

Stealing out of my room a-tiptoe I very gently laid my hand on the'sneck' of 'Brownie's' den and tried to lift it without noise. 

But, though it lifted, the door was 'steekit' from within. 

There was no sound to be heard therein; I stood there with pricked ear, but could learn nothing by listening. Perhaps I might be able to discernsomewhat through the aperture above the pin of the 'sneck. ' 'Brownie's'den had, as I knew, a window in its _tourelle_, and as the night wasmoonlit though stormy, I might in a flitting moonbeam perhaps espysomewhat. 

Stooping, I placed my eye to the tiny slit, and waited impatiently for agleam of white light that might penetrate from the westward airt whichit faced. 

A quarter of an hour, perhaps, elapsed; I could see nothing, and mypatience was almost exhausted, when on a sudden the beam of moonlight soearnestly expected filtered fitfully into the den, and there, thoughfaintly, was revealed to me the form of my uncle lying motionless uponthe truckle bed--apparently in deep slumber. 

Where then was 'Brownie?' I searched the small den for him, but nowherecould I discover him. The window was open. Just as I made this discoverythe moonlight faded away and left me in darkness, filled with a horridsuspicion. I waited on in hope of the moonlight returning, but rain setin, and I returned to my own chamber much perplexed as to what to do. Leaving the door ajar I determined to sit up and listen for any furthersound, or the creak of a footstep on the stair, but though I listenedtill grey dawn came I heard no sound at all. 

Then once again I stole a-tiptoe to 'Brownie's' door, and peeped throughthe aperture. Once again I was astounded, for I could now discern that'Brownie's' figure lay upon the truckle bed instead of that of my uncle, which I had seen before. 

Could I have been mistaken previously? No, I was certain my eyesight hadnot deceived me. How could it have? What I had descried had quite beliedmy expectation, and had been totally unforeseen. 

I returned to my bed determined to investigate the open window at thefirst opportunity. 

I slept ill, and when I rose I found the door of 'Brownie's' den open. Entering in, I saw that 'Brownie' had got up and the window was closed. Investigating further, I opened it cautiously and looked forth to see ifthere were any exit either to the ground or on to the roof. 

Evidently there could be none to the ground, for the room was situate atthe height of the tall 'land. ' Nor was there any opening on to the roof, so far as I could discover, for the little _tourelle_ overhung the wall, and no foothold was possible. 

Yet there was one way out. The 'land' stood in the narrowest part ofthe wynd; right opposite, and not more than five feet away rose theopposite wall, finishing off into a gable end with corbie-stepsaffording easy access to the further roof. 

Could 'Brownie' have leaped across? It was not impossible, as the spacewas so narrow, and though the window was small there was room to passthrough. Then as I thus measured the spaces I caught sight of a plankbelow the window resting on the floor. 'Twas perhaps a foot and a halfbroad, in length about six feet--sufficient to act as a bridge acrossthe wynd. I had discovered enough to excite my most vivid apprehensionsas to its use, but nothing else in the little den gave any clue to themystery. 

Descending the stairs I found my uncle already engaged upon breakfast. He seemed in high good-humour, and roasted me heartily upon myunpunctuality. 'Brownie' came in at that moment carrying some scones, and I noted out of the tail of my eye that he looked extremely haggardand miserable. 

Assuming a woebegone air I told my uncle that 'Auld Reekie' suited mepoorly, and that the climate was too 'snell' for my southernconstitution. 

'Hae ye heard the sad bruit?' he asked suddenly, 'the causeway's fairringin' wi't. Puir Tom Macalister, the rich shipper o' Leith, has beenfound wi' his throat cut lyin' ahint the dyke by the Leith walk. There'san unco scandal afoot anent it--some says a merry-begot o' his ain hasdone it oot o' revenge for bein' kep' short o' siller by his father. ' Hepaused a moment, then added significantly, 'Ay, ay, Macalister was ayeverra generous to the Foundlings' Hospital. Wha kens?' He heaved a sigh, but his eye twinkled satirically, 'The hairt o' man is deceitfu' an'daisperitly wicked, ' and he lifted the whites of his eyes heavenwardlike a hound mourning. 

'Was the poor man robbed?' I inquired shortly. 

'Ay, was he, ' returned my uncle; 'he was seemingly stuffed wi'bank-notes for payin' his men the day. He was gangin' hame aftersupper--gey fou, maist like. Eh, laddie!' he continued, 'sic an end toane wha was regairded as belongin' to the Saints! Wae's me for thegodly, ' and again he lifted his eyes upward as a hound crying u-lu-lufor his lost master. Then he gave me a sharp look, somewhat askance, ashe asked me swiftly, 'Whatten a discourse, think ye, will ye get fraeyour meenister o' the Tron Kirk the morn?'

I blenched, I felt, at this sudden thrust. Had his familiar informed himof my interview?

'It will be a sair blow to him, ' I said, with apparent unconcern, 'butit cannot affect him directly. '

'No affect him?' returned my uncle, seemingly shocked at myindifference, 'not when he was aye hand an' glove wi' him?'

'He was no his bairn, ' I retorted, hastily finishing off my "parritch"with a gulp. 'I'm late, as ye said, ' I added, rising, 'I must be off tomy work at the booth. '

'Ay, ay, ' returned my uncle, 'wark's aye best in an evil day. '

As soon as my work was finished for the day I hastened to call upon 'theMeenister, ' and, finding him at home, at once informed him of mydiscovery of the night, and of my uncle's satirical mention of poor Mr. Macalister's fate. 

'Laddie, ' he exclaimed earnestly as I concluded 'ye hae dune well tocome to me. Puir Tom Macalister was just as decent, straight-leevin' aChristian man as could be found i' braid Scotland. There's somethin' geywrang wi' your uncle, I'm fearin' sadly. I'll no let any one blacken thememory o' Thomas Macalister. Noo, laddie, keep ye a quiet watch--sayin'naethin'; but aye wait on wi' eye an' ear for onything furthersuspeecious at hame, an' if ye hear puir "Brownie" skreighin' come yourways straucht here for me--an' we'll see if we canna tackle theevil--an' with the help o' Heaven, scotch it. ' His eye lit, his mouthtightened; he clenched his fist, ready for immediate 'warsil wi' auldHornie. '

I promised faithfully, and withdrew with a heart somewhat relieved, though not relishing the thought of being alone with my uncle in thelonely house wherein either suspected the other. 

My uncle that evening scarcely alluded to the murder again save to askif I had had any news, and to mention that the funeral was to be thenext day. Then he laughed uncannily, leering upon me over hisspectacles. 

'I'm tell't that he's left a muckle legacy to the Foundlings. What thinkye o' that, laddie?'

'He might have done worse, ' I replied, almost angrily, though inwardly Ishivered. 'He might have left it to the cadies of the toon for drink. '

A fortnight perhaps passed without event; the City Guards were said tohave found a clue, and the Town Council had offered a large reward forany information that might lead to the apprehension of the murderer, butnothing definite had been discovered. 

Gossip was rife, and in the taverns 'twas bruited that my uncle'sconjecture had come nighest to the bull's-eye. For my own part I hadquietly made what arrangements I thought feasible in case of any furthersuspicious act of my uncle. I kept watch and ward with eye and ear, asMinister Geddes had directed, but not till another fortnight had elapseddid I hear his footstep on the stair, by 'Brownie's' den. Then one nightas I lay half-dozing I was certain I did hear the lame footfall. Instantly I was broad awake, and waited in alarmed expectancy. Ha! thereit was again--the low skreigh o' pain I had heard before. I was'gliffed' indeed, horribly afeared, yet I must act, so a-tiptoe I stoleout, and like a cat stealthily approached 'Brownie's' door. The hour wassomewhat after eleven, for I had heard the Tron Kirk chap recently; themoon in her last quarter had risen, and I could dimly descry theinterior of the den. 

I shrank back after peering through the small aperture, for there was myuncle stretched out on 'Brownie's' truckle bed. The window was opened, and I could see that the board or plank I had previously measured lay onthe sill. 

Of 'Brownie' I could not see a sign. 

I turned away on the instant. Now was the time to go fetch 'theMeenister. '

Noiselessly I descended the stairs, let myself out by a low side windowin the cellar, and made straight for the lodging of 'the Meenister. ' Idared not rouse the porter of the Nether Bow Port, but climbed the wallbeyond even as Bothwell had done after the explosion at Kirk o' Field, and made my way down the Canongate. Minister Geddes was within, andfortunately had not yet gone to bed. He was ready in a moment to comewith me. With a Bible under his oxter, and a 'bowet' new lit in hisright hand, he accompanied me swiftly up the street. His courage waswonderful; he seemed like 'Greatheart'--valiant to meet Apollyon inbattle. I caught hold of the end of his plaid, and followed him _nonpassibus æquis_ like the _parvus Iulus_, for he hastened onward with hisloins girded up. I do not know that more than twenty minutes had elapsedwhen we arrived at the cellar window and I had helped him through. Together we noiselessly mounted the stairs; then when we arrived at'Brownie's' den he reached me the 'bowet' to hold while he peeredthrough the aperture. 

Then he turned to me and said in a whisper:

'Laddie, we mun just break doon the door. If it is as I'm thinkin' hewinna hear us. His evil spirit is awa i' puir 'Brownie's' body, bent onDeevil's wark. Here's for it!' and as he spake he thrust swiftly withhis foot and broke down the wooden bolt that fastened the door. 

In we went--I holding the little 'bowet' on high to give us light. 'Ay, 'whispered my companion in my ear, 'I'm richt. He's in a swoond; he disnasee or hear us. ' I gazed in horror on my uncle's face. His eyes were notclosed, but were as unseeing as a blind man's. There was, I thought, ahateful look as of triumphant evil on his lips, but his breath cameregularly as of one in deep sleep. 

'Noo, laddie, ' said the good minister, 'we mun act. "Brownie" will bereturnin' before daybreak, an' we hae to keep the twa o' them apairt. _His_ evil spirit is awa wi' the puir laddie, and we mun prevent bodyan' spirit comin' thegither again. It is like to be a fearfu' warsil, but wi' the help o' the Bible an' our God we'll triumph. ' I could seehis eye glow and his brow light with inspiration, and I drew in courageas I looked upon him in his intrepidity. 

'Gang ye oot ower by the bit plankin', laddie, ' he commanded me, pointing to the window. 'Gang, an' wait for "Brownie, " then when hecomes back grup him fast and pray tae Heaven. I'll shut tae the windieand grup the figure here on the bed. '

I could not disobey, but I trembled horribly as I crawled slowly forthupon the plank. The minister had sat himself down by the bedside, andwas reading aloud by the light of the 'bowet' from out of Genesis ofJacob's wrestling all night long with the angel of God. I could hear hisvoice as I slithered slowly across my plank of dread. 

 '_And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh . .. _'

The faith of the old man alone in the den with the fearsome figure onthe bed heartened me greatly. I reached the end of the plank, graspedfirmly the coping of the corbie-step, pulled myself up and felt for firmfooting in the lead gutter of the roof below. 

There for a few minutes I lay still, my heart palpitating, and reflectedon what was next to be attempted. 

All was still about me. Save for a belated roysterer singing on his wayhomeward, and one or two nightbirds on the street below whose footfallssounded fitfully, no whisper broke on the eerie night. 

I looked around and about in the moonlight, and noted a passage behindme between the roofs of the 'lands. ' Here surely would be the way bywhich 'Brownie' would return from his nocturnal excursion. I satcrouched beside the gable end and waited fearfully for any sound of hisreturning. The Minister's 'bowet' had now gone out; the window wasclosed. I felt tremors assail me in my loneliness. Then I caught sightof Orion above the further roofs--advancing with glittering sword--as achampion to challenge of combat--and at once a great composure stolewithin my heart, for I too was engaged in a great combat against evil. 

The good Minister had assuredly probed the problem to the quick; even asElijah had breathed life into the body of the son of the Shulamite widowso had my uncle like a fiend from the pit breathed an evil spirit intopoor 'Brownie's' body, and through him executed horrid deeds. 

Our great task was to prevent body and spirit from coming togetheragain. 'Twas certain that the Minister trusted to be able to preventthis re-union by prayer and exorcism, and I was his assistant therein. 

I trembled at the struggle so imminent upon me, and prayed God forassistance in my hour of need. 

Crouching quietly there, I noticed that the wind had now arisen fromthe west and was driving heavy spume of cloud across the moon so thatshe was overwhelmed and sank from sight. Soon again, however, sheemerged from her labours, and, clothed in white, paced serene as aMadonna faring to her churching. 

Just then I heard a furtive sound behind me, and gazing swiftly backwardI caught sight of a slight form in grey creeping prone upon the gutter. 

The moment of trial had come. Drawing in my breath I crouched lowerstill and moved not till the grey form rose up as if to lay hold of thecoping-stone. Then swiftly I turned and seized him by the waist, pullinghim down backward. 

Like a ferret--sudden as a flash--he bit my hand, and we were down inthe gutter together. 

'Brownie' was of frail build, but he now seemed to be possessed of ademoniac's strength, and my arms failed to hold him. I felt his handsupon my neck and grew dizzy. 

I prayed then as I had never prayed before, and on the sudden a thoughtlit in my brain. I remembered one of 'Brownie's' infirmities--hisbreathing through his mouth. I had strength to pluck at my bonnet, thrust it into his mouth, and leaned my chin upon the cloth with all myforce. 

I was still uppermost, and though he twined and twisted like a serpent, I held on while my head seemed almost bursting. The thought of Jacobwrestling through the night sustained me, and now at last 'Brownie's'clutch upon my throat relaxed. 

I shook my head free. I breathed again in the cold air--I felt all theenergy ebb from the body beneath me. I had conquered at last. 'Brownie'lay quietly in the gutter, breathing gently as a babe. 

I rose to my feet and peered across the chasm. There in the chamberopposite was the Minister wrestling on his knees with the figure on thebed. Just at that moment a cock crew from far below in the purple depthof the city. The silence seemed to shiver about me. 

Thank God! Daybreak at last after the horror of darkness. 

As I watched I saw the struggling figure fall suddenly backward on thebed. The Minister rose from his knees and came towards the window. 

He opened it, and I saw his face shining in the moonlight--like asaint's--haggard yet triumphant. 

'Gie thanks to God, laddie, ' he cried to me, as he bent his headreverently, 'we hae striven like Jacob an' hae prevailed. _There's adeid man lies upon the bedstraw. _'

 BY PEDEN'S CLEUCH

 INSCRIBED TO

 WILSON PEASE

 TO WHOSE SUGGESTION THE TALE IS OWING

BY PEDEN'S CLEUCH

The Border hounds had gone right away up Redewater after an old dog foxthey had picked up on the rocks beside the Doure; twice had he circledthe Doure, then setting his mask westwards had crossed the Rede, and, turning right-handed, made straight for Carter Fell. 

My mare had gone splendidly for the first hour, but by the time wepassed the cairn on the Carter she had lost a shoe, and in addition hadsustained a bad 'over-reach, ' so I was fain to pull up and dismount, while I watched the Master and whip, and one other intrepid horseman, struggling gamely on towards Carlin's Tooth on the Scottish side of theBorder after the tail of the vanished hounds. 

I determined to descend to the grass-grown Hawick road which leads intothe Jedburgh-Newcastle road half a mile from the ancient Border boundaryline. The early morning that particular April day had been lovely;curlews newly returned had luted their love-song overhead; goldenplovers had piped upon the bents; there was a scent of heather-burningin the snell air, but suddenly the weather had changed, and with an idlemotion snowflakes now drifted down the wind. Cheviot was fastdisappearing behind a white shroud; the triple Eildons showed likebreaking billows; Ruberslaw alone was black against the sky. 

I stayed a minute or two more to give my mare a mouthful of water at thesprings of Jed, but whereas I had intended an inch she insisted upon anell. 

As I tried to drag her head out of the little pool of water, astranger--evidently an old shepherd--accompanied by a frail old colliebitch came up beside me. 

'Hae ye had guid huntin'?' he inquired, 'Hae ye killed the fox? They'remischievous beasts at the best, but worst o' a' at this season--ayeseekin' for the puir lambs. '

I said I thought the fox had got right away, and would probably save hisbrush by taking refuge in some stronghold by Carlin's Tooth. 

'Ay, ' he replied absently, then added, 'D' ye ken the name o' thiscleuch?'

'No, ' I replied; 'I come from the wrong side of the Border, ' finallysucceeding, as I spoke, in drawing my mare's head out of the water. 

''Tis Peden's Cleuch, '[1] he said with animation; ''tis the place whereblessed Master Peden was preachin' when the bloody "Clavers" was huntin'him like a fox on the fells; ay, and would hae worrited him wi' hishounds had na the Lord sent down His mist and wrapped him awa frae thehunters. '

He paused a moment, then continued slowly:

'They still hunt for him--"Clavers" and Grierson o' Lag; 'tis the weirdthey hae to dree till the Day o' Doom for their wickedness i' pursuin'the Saints o' God. '

'Have you ever seen them?' I asked lightly. 

'Ay, I hae, ' came the unexpected response, 'whiles i' the "oncome" or"haar, " or by the moonlicht. 

'D' ye no ken the bit ballant?

 "_Soondless they ride--for aye i' search o' their boon--_ _They ha' died, but God's feud is for aye unstaunched, _ _And aye they mun ride by the licht o' the moon. _"'

'No, ' I replied, astonished, 'but how--supposing you have seenthem--could you know them to be "Clavers" and Grierson o' Lag?'

'Not only hae I seen them, but I aince heard them talking, ' my companionreplied quietly as before. 

'When was that?' I asked, still more astonished, as I looked more keenlyat the speaker. 

He was a man of middle stature, dressed in rough shepherd's costume, with a plaid about his shoulders; he had a gentle aspect, with tremulousmouth, and a far-away look in his eyes of speedwell blue. 

'I'll tell ye, ' he replied simply. 'Blessed Master Peden had been herei' the "killing times, " ye ken, preachin' till the puir hill folk, an'baptizin' their bairns--he baptized a forebear o' my ain--and it wouldlikely be the annivairsary o' the day when he escaped frae the hans o'the hunters through the "haar, " when I chanced to come by here an' saw abit tent pit up, an' heard folk carousin' within. 

'I creepit up, an' I keeked within the openin' o't, an' there I saw twahunters sittin' at board--eatin', and whiles drinkin' the blood-redwine--ane o' them was the bonniest man e'er I saw i' my life, but he hadthe sorrowfullest eyes e'er set i' a man's face. There was ne'er a bitcolour to his cheeks save where a trickle o' claret had stained thecorner o' his lip. 

'His comrade was juist the opposite till him; foul he was, an'discoloured wi' lust an' liquor--mair like a haggis nor a human faceava. 

'There was a wumman beside him--dootless his whure, that had ridden ootfrae Jedburgh to be wi' him--nestlin' in at his side like a ewe till herram i' the autumn; not that he was takin' muckle thocht o' her, though--an' then he cries oot loud:

'"'Tis a moonlicht nicht, my Lord Claverhouse, " he cries; "we'll huntoor quarry ower muir an' fell, an' aiblins hae mair luck than we had i'the day; we'll run the auld brock to ground before dawn, I'll hand ye ahandfu' o' Jacobuses. "

'"I'll hand ye, " replied Claverhouse, wi' a smile on his bonny, sadface, "_Ye'll tak the high road an' I'll tak the low road, _ _An' I'll be in North Tyne afore ye. _

"So up an' tak wing, my grey-lag goose, " he says, "an' wing your waystraight to the North Tyne water. "

'"Then here's a last toast, " cries Lag, holdin' up his bicker fu' o'wine. 

'Noo, what think ye was his toast?' my companion broke off to inquire ofme with eye agleam. 

I shook my head, and laid hold of my saddle to remount, for the eeriecommunication, the loneliness of the spot, and the isolation of thedrifting snowflakes had all combined to give me a 'scunner. '

'It was their ain damnation, ' my companion whispered in my ear; 'he wasproposin' the murder o' the Saints o' God--juist the "sin against theHoly Ghaist"--that was his fearsome health. '

I had climbed into my saddle, and at that moment an unseen plover wailedthrough the mist. 

'Hark!' cried my companion, lifting a finger. 

'Hark to his soul i' torment!'

My mare took fright, and made a great spring forward; I let her go, forI was 'gliffed' myself, and right glad was I to reach the road made byhuman hands that led homeward, for I feared if I stayed on that I toomight meet the wraiths of Claverhouse and Lag hunting the moorlands forblessed Master Peden. 

[Footnote 1: Peden, the Covenanter, was undoubtedly on the Border in the'killing times, ' and is said to have escaped from the hunters whenpreaching on Peden Pike by intervention of a mist, but as in old mapsthis rounded hill west of Otterburn is spelt Paden, the derivation seemsdoubtful. Peden's Cleuch on the north side of Carter seems undoubtedlyto have been his refuge. ]

'ILL-STEEKIT' EPHRAIM

 'About the middle of the night The cocks began to craw: And at the dead hour o' the night The corpse began to thraw. '

_Ballad of Young Benjie. _

We--that is, the four members of our Oxford reading party--were bathingin a deep pool in many-terraced Tees, and I was seated on a rock's edge, drying in the September sunshine, and quoting from Clough's 'Bothie ofTober-na-Vuolich':

 'How to the element offering their bodies, down shooting the fall, They mingled themselves with the flood and the force of imperious water, '

when from the central black cauldron immediately below me appeared theface of Sandie--our best diver--with a most curiously perturbedexpression on his countenance. I had been watching a little circlet offoam that eddied round on the outskirts of the current, and seemed towink at me with a hint of hidden and evasive mystery. 

Then it vanished, for Sandie's head had shattered it. 

'Hello, Sandie!' I cried to him, 'what's up? It's not cramp, is it?'

He climbed out and up to where I sat on the rock above, and shook thewater from his hair. 

'Ugh!' he said in disgust. 'I've just been to the bottom, and there Iswear I came across a drowned body; I felt a corpse and touched longhair. I believe it was a woman's. ' He looked at his hands in disgust, and perceptibly shivered. 

'Nonsense!' said I. 'It must have been a drowned cow or sheep, orpossibly a pony. '

'Go down and look, or rather feel for yourself, ' he retorted. 

'How deep down was it?' I inquired. 

'Twenty feet, perhaps, ' he said, 'for it's a deep pool, and I believethe poor thing's tethered--sunk with a stone tied to her feet. '

'Surely not, ' I exclaimed, 'for if it was a case of murder it would beknown. '

'Go down and see for yourself, ' cried Sandie testily. 'I've had enoughof it. ' Calling our other two companions I told them of Sandie'sdiscovery, and we came to the conclusion that it was our duty to try toverify or disprove Sandie's assertion. 

These two dived, but did not get down far enough in the water; it seemedto me as I watched their attempts that the stream carried them tooswiftly forward, so when my turn came I dived in somewhat higher up, andgot as far down as I could in my dive, and kept on striking downwardstill I calculated I was close to the spot Sandie had indicated. Treadingthe water I felt about in the amber swirl for Sandie's gruesome find, but the circling eddy swept me onward. 

Knowing my breath was all but exhausted I made a final effort, sank alittle deeper, striving against the current, and spread my hands abroad. I touched something--surely it was hair! Kicking against the stream Ifelt again. 

Yes, it was hair floating in the current--the hair of a woman. I touchedwith a shrinking hand a human head, then almost suffocated, I rose tothe surface and slowly regained the shore. 

'Well?' interrogated Sandie, watching my face closely. 

'I believe you're right, ' I said faintly, still short of breath. 'Yes, Ibelieve it's some poor woman, for I could just touch the skull, and thehair was long and floating in the current. '

'Good Lord!' exclaimed the two others. 'Can she have got wedged inbetween two rocks?'

'I think she's been thrown in, ' said Sandie gloomily. 'I felt her bodyswaying to the stream. Some ruffian's knocked her on the head, tied astone to her feet, and flung her in. '

'No more bathing for me, ' I said, shivering. 'We'll just have to dressand go back and report to "the Dean. "'

When we had returned to the inn where we were lodging we reported ourdiscovery to our tutor, 'the Dean, ' and asked his advice. 'Granted thatyou have "viewed the corpse, " as coroners insist, I suppose you shouldreport it to the Inspector of Police, ' said he thoughtfully, 'butperhaps I might find out first from our landlord if there has been anystory about of a woman being missed. Possibly a "village tragedy" maycome to light. When we've had tea I will have a pipe and a "crack, " asthey call it here, with our landlord. Perhaps at supper I may havesomething to report. '

We were well content to leave it in 'the Dean's' hands, for he was mostastute in management of men, and loved to fathom a mystery. 

At supper, which was an informal meal, whereat we waited on ourselves, he told us that he had found out nothing in course of his 'crack' withthe landlord, for the simple reason that he had only been a month inpossession, and nothing eventful had occurred in that time. 

'I think, ' suggested 'the Dean, ' 'that you two divers should run down onyour bikes to-morrow to the Inspector of Police at Middleton, and tellhim privately of your discovery. '

This Sandie and I willingly agreed to, and started off after breakfastdown the valley. We found on arrival that the Inspector was away at thecounty town attending the Assizes, and was not expected back till theend of the week. 

We got back just in time to escape a drenching, for a 'thunder plump'broke in the heaven above the moors as we ascended the last rise to theinn, which effectually prevented all thought of further investigation ofthe Black Lynn pool. 

The next morning was brilliant after the storm, and naturally suggestedan expedition. 

'Let's go for a walk right across the moors, ' said Sandie to me; 'theother two want to work, but I've turned restless. '

I agreed at once, for I was restless also in disappointment of ourerrand. We ordered sandwiches, obtained leave from 'the Dean, ' andprepared to start off at once. 

'Don't fret if we don't get back to-night, ' cried Sandie, the'second-sighted, ' to our tutor as we departed; 'we may get lost, Ted maybreak down under his weight of learning, or one of Saint Cuthbert'sCross Fell fiends may "lift" him. '

We wanted to get as far as Brough under Stanemoor, and back by the great'Nick, ' and then athwart Cross Fell's desolate moor, but we had nottaken the weather into our consideration, nor thought of possiblesopping peat-hags on our return journey. 

Thus when we had toiled up 'the Nick' by a narrow path from Brough tothe wild moorland we found our track across the waste very difficult tofollow. By six o'clock the clouds had gathered black above us, andanother thunderstorm grew imminent. 

Suddenly the lightning flared through the serrated gloom, and thunderreverberated over the heather. 

The rain descended javelin-like upon us as we struggled through theheavy peat-hags; we lost our bearings and determined to make for anylight that we might descry in lonely farm or shepherd's sheil on thisforsaken waste. We had almost given up hope when we saw a faint glimmerthrough the increasing gloom three-quarters of a mile away, perhaps, onour left hand. 

We made for our beacon as straightly as we could; then in a dip we lostsight of it, but eventually succeeded in discovering it again, andjudged the light to proceed from the window of a small farm, as indeedproved to be the case when we had traversed another mile of brokenmoorland. 

After knocking on the door repeatedly, we heard some one moving within. We went up to the window, and asked for shelter from the storm, as wewere strangers who had lost our way. 

The door slowly opened, and a man bearing a tallow dip in a batteredsconce showed himself in the entry. 

'We've little accommodation here the night, ' he said, as he looked at ussomewhat suspiciously; 'the goodman has died and lies steekit in hiscoffin, but ye can come in for shelter if ye have a mind. '

This did not sound very inviting, but any shelter was preferable to anight in a peat-hag; so we accepted his offer, and followed the manwithin. 

It was a strange scene that met our eyes in the little kitchen. Ontrestles in the middle of the room stood the coffin; in a box-bed toone side of the hearth an old woman in a white mutch or cap sat upagainst pillows; on the farther side of the hearth sat an untidy, foolish-faced girl who peeled potatoes with an uncanny disconcern. 

The old woman, on the contrary, had exceedingly bright eyes, and seemedto note everything with extraordinary interest. 'Wha's there?' sheasked, as we bowed in a hesitating manner to our hostess. 

Sandie explained who we were and how we had chanced to intrude upon herin such an untimely hour. 

'Ay, ' she replied, 'the goodman's dead, and is to be lifted the morn, but ye can bide the night; and if ye dinna mind such company, ' shepointed contemptuously at the man who had let us in, 'ye can sleep wi'him i' the room above. '

'Whisht, mother, whisht wi' yer talk afore strange gentlemen, ' said he, and he seemed to be very uneasy beneath her scorn. 

'Why should I whisht?' she said angrily. 'Why hae na ye brocht mydaughter Jean to her father's burying?'

The man turned to us eagerly, evidently anxious to divert ourattention. 

'Be seated, gentlemen, ' he said, drawing up two chairs to the fire;'ye'll be ready for something to eat belike. Mary can give ye some baconand eggs and potatoes for supper whilst ye dry your coats. '

'Ay, ' interrupted the old lady, 'ye shall have meat and drink. Naneshall come to a burying at my hoose and no have meat and drink beforethey gang awa. Set oot the bannocks and honey and milk, Mary, for thelads, then mak ready the bacon and eggs. '

Mary with a strange disordered giggle that brought a chill to my bones, looked up at this and half spoke, half sang, aloud to herself by way ofreply. 'Meat and drink for Dad's burying. But wherefore not for Jean's?Puir lassie, she was aye kind to me, was Jeannie. '

'Don't heed her, gentlemen, ' said the man in a husky voice, 'she's abit daft, poor girl, ' and as he spoke he trod noisily on the stonefloor, evidently trying to drown her voice, and forthwith dragged atable that stood in the window somewhat nearer the hearth. 

Mary had now finished with her potatoes, and was cutting rashers ofbacon which were soon sizzling delightfully in the pan. Meantime Sandiewas talking to our bedridden hostess, whom he had discovered to be ofScottish extraction, and I was conversing with the son-in-law about thedanger of being lost on Cross Fell. 

There was a lull in the storm at this time, but one could hear the longlances of rain striking on the stone tiles above; it was good to bewithin doors, and to dry one's coat by the peat embers. We insisted onour hostess partaking of supper, which we served up to her in bed; thenSandie and I, the girl and the man, set ourselves down by the table andstretched forth our hands, in the Homeric phrase, 'to the good thingsset before us. '

Sandie and I had our backs to the coffin, and had forgotten all about itand the 'goodman, ' its occupant; Mary and her brother-in-law sat at thecorners of the table, and their features were lit up by the flickeringpeats. The man had shifty, furtive eyes, set rather deep beneath anoverhanging forehead, lined cheeks, and a clean-shaven heavy jaw; Mary, with sallow face, light eyes, and disordered hair sat opposite him, evidently apprehensive. 

A strange party amid strange surroundings, thought I, for a moment, as Iframed an etching of the black coffin, the bright-eyed old woman in thenight mutch abed, the daft girl and dour man and two Oxfordundergraduates eating heartily amid the flickering light of the dip andthe peat flames. 

But what a splendid moorland supper it was! Bacon and eggs and friedpotatoes, bannocks with butter, heather honey and milk. 

'What luck!' I murmured in Sandie's ear, 'to be hopelessly lost, and tofind this!' and I stretched forth my legs at glorious ease. 'Shiftyeyes' now produced a 'cutty' and suggested a smoke, which Sandie and Iwere thinking was the one thing left to complete our satisfaction. Suddenly and without warning I heard a creak behind my chair, but I tookno heed. Then a further creaking and a grinding noise--and I lookedround. _I saw the coffin-lid lift upward and a white shroud show below. _Slowly the shrouded corpse rose with creaking bones before my staringeyes--rose to a sitting posture, and sat still. The coffin-lid clangedto the ground; then all was still, an awful silence filled the room. Amoment more, and a cry of terror rose to the roof, for the man beside mewas down on his knees before the corpse in an ecstasy of terror. 'Neveraccuse me, Ephraim! Dinnot terrify us that gate, feyther!' he cried inanguish. 'Poor Jean just happened an accident--fell and was drowned inthe river. ' The man's face held me rigid. Never had I seen mortal fearlike this. Suddenly I heard a louder voice beside me, for Sandie--movedby an uncontrollable impulse--shot forth an accusing arm, and criedaccusingly, '_She lies in the Black Linn pool--her head knocked in--astone fast to her feet. _' The man's face turned to ashes. Awfully hetwisted his head about to the voice. He could not remove his eyes fromSandie's accusing countenance, spittle dropped from his bloodless lips, his eyes were like to pillars. Then he began to shuffle off--still uponhis knees--away from Sandie and towards the door--with his face twistedover his shoulder as if it were made of stone. 

He shuffled a little faster--still upon his knees--his head stilltwisted over his shoulder 'thrawn' in terror of Sandie and the accusingcorpse. He reached the door, groped for the handle, opened it, thenshambled to his feet, passed through the outer door, and so into theblack night. 

I saw the lightning swoop down upon the moorland. I caught a glimpse ofa man running as one blinded--his hands above his head to protecthimself--vaguely through the inky peat-hags. Then I turned to look onSandie who was also gazing into the darkness--his face like thearchangel Michael's. I had not yet found my voice, and could not speakfor tension, when I heard a foolish titter from the girl beside me whowas suddenly overcome with laughter. 

'_Tee hee_, ' she went, '_tee hee! What a funny face Tom had on him. Teehee!_'

Then I heard a voice from the bed speaking composedly. 'Ay, I aye kennedhe'd murdered puir Jeannie. Whaur wast ye fund my puir lassie?' sheasked Sandie. 

As Sandie replied to her I looked at the fearful figure of the shroudedcorpse that sat upright facing the doorway, whence his son-in-law hadfled, and wondered if there could be any spark of life left within. As Ilooked the composed voice spoke again, 'Dinna be fieyed! Puir Ephraim'sbeen _ill-steekit_. It's twa-three days since the doctor certifiedsthim; noo his muscles hae stiffened and raxed him up. Ye mun lay him doonagain, Maisters, for I'll no can sleep wi' him glowering that gate. '

The speaker in the night mutch was the only one of us who seemedunaffected by the extraordinary events we had just witnessed. Her eyesgleamed a trifle more brightly than before. That was the onlydifference. 

I looked at Sandie in dismay at the task assigned to us, but he hadrisen, and now beckoned me to the coffin side. Handling the poor corpseas reverently as we could we found it very difficult to re-confine it toits resting-place, for the muscles had turned so stiff and rigid that wehad to exert force, and seek heavy stones from outside to keep the lidshut down securely. 

This done, and the door fastened against the return of the fugitive, atthe old woman's command, though I felt sure in my own mind that the manwould never come back again of his own accord, Sandie and I took thebattered sconce and dying wick and went up to the bedroom above. 

We sat upon the bed, smoked another pipe and conversed about thesoul-stirring incidents we had just been witnesses of. 

'Do you remember, ' asked Sandie, 'the mediæval legend of the dead man'swounds bleeding afresh in the presence of his murderer? I believe thatthe spirit of the dead man down below us must have been moved by thepresence of his daughter's murderer. '

'To think of our having come across in such a mysterious and fortuitousway the poor daughter--Jean!' I said, occupied by another aspect ofthese extraordinary occurrences. 

As we smoked and talked thus our dip went out, which was an intimationthat we had better try to sleep. 

We slept but fitfully, and rose early to help prepare our breakfast. Scarcely had we finished our repast when a neighbour arrived with a cartand horse wherewith he had promised to 'lift' the corpse and convey itover the rough track down the valley to the spot where the hearse fromMiddleton was to meet it. 

We found a rope and bound the coffin-lid lightly down, and having givenour promise to our hostess to recover, if we could, the body of herdaughter Jean and give it proper burial, we bade her good-bye for thepresent and set off to the inn where the 'Dean' would be anxiouslyexpecting us. 

We related our experiences to the 'Dean, ' we got the Inspector to comeup, but failed entirely to discover the body in the Linn. For my part Ithought the thunderstorm might be accountable for the disappearance, butSandie had his own opinion on this matter. As to the criminal, some sayhe escaped the country, but I firmly believe he perished in a peat-hag, and to this day haunts the bleak spaces of Cross Fell. 

THE COCK-CROW

A cloud hung over the bishopric--the ancient patrimony of SaintCuthbert. 

Bishop van Mildert had died and, _sede vacante_, great changes wereimpending, for Parliament was about to shear off a large portion of theprivileges of the ancient franchise, to reduce the endowments, and tohand over the mines to the Ecclesiastical Commission. 

 * * * * *

The Reverend Arthur Egglestone--the youngest of the 'Golden Canons' andLord of the Manor of Midhope, high up in Weardale--sat in his spacious, oak-panelled dining-room above the Wear, discussing the situation withhis two companions over a very _recherché_ supper prepared by the Frenchchef of the Dean and Chapter. 

The time was Lent, the eve of Good Friday, but the 'Golden Canon' hadforgotten the season in his perturbation and his desire to showhospitality to a distant cousin newly arrived from America, who was fullof curiosity and admiration of the city and cathedral of SaintCuthbert. 

His other guest was a Minor Canon who had just been appointed toinstruct and train the choir-boys of the cathedral. 

The 'Golden Canon' was of an imposing figure, a fine type of the Englishcountry gentleman of the old school--admirably fitted for the post ofChairman of Quarter Sessions. 

It was not that he had mistaken his vocation so much as that hisvocation had mistaken the canon, for owing to the death of his two elderbrothers--one by an accident out hunting, one by drowning at sea whenadmiral--he had unexpectedly succeeded to the family seat and richpossessions. 

On this very day he had driven himself into his prebend's house in theclose in his four-in-hand to welcome his young American cousin. 

The 'Golden Canon' was of a sturdy build, fair of complexion, a lover offield sports, and an excellent judge of a horse and good claret. 

An admirable host, he sat in his arm-chair looking after the comfort ofhis two companions, passing the _Château-Laffite_, and discoursinglearnedly of the ancient glory of the bishopric. 

His American cousin was an undergraduate of Harvard, eager as a hawk, keen-faced, avid of every form of life: he drank down his _Laffite_with evident enjoyment, listening to the music of the water on the weirbelow, and eagerly following the wisdom of the 'Golden Canon. '

The Minor Canon, on the other hand, was not entirely at his ease, for hewas divided between his reverence to his host and his consciousness thatit was Lent, for hitherto he had always prided himself upon mortifyingthe flesh during the Lenten fast. 

He was of a delicate and distinguished appearance; not much more than alad yet, --sensitive and impressionable--one whom the Jesuits of thesixteenth century would have trained to be a 'staff' in their hands tobe turned this way and that in the interests of the Church. 

Gradually, however, he forgot his scruples in the charm of hissurroundings, the good cheer, and his superior's conversation; he helpedhimself joyfully as the claret went swiftly about, and joined withdelight in converse about the great past of the cathedral. 

''Tis a thousand pities, ' said the 'Golden Canon, ' 'to diminish in anyway the dignity of the bishop and the dean and chapter, since reverencefor the established order of the State is fast dying out. 

'Now just as it is thought well to maintain the dignity of the judgeson assize by the attendance of the High Sheriff with his javelin men andtrumpeters, so it is needful to keep up the estates of the bishops andthe deans and chapters. 

'In the old days of the great prince bishops, ' continued the 'GoldenCanon, ' 'the successor of St. Cuthbert was in reality a greater powerthan the successor of St. Augustine. For myself I had rather havereigned and ruled between Tees and Tyne than have lived in LambethPalace. I should have had regal powers in regard to jurisdiction, coinage, Chancery, Admiralty dues, and so forth, and when I journeyed toLondon, on my way to my palace in the Strand, would have lain at myvarious palaces on my way up. 

'Then again as lord of many manors throughout the Palatinate I shouldhave had all the old feudal dues coming in to my treasury--waifs andstrays, treasure trove, deodands----'

'And merchet of women?' queried his cousin mischievously. 

'Ay, ' replied the 'Golden Canon' with a responsive twinkle in his eye, '"merchet of women" also, but as an antiquary I must tell ye that it'snot what you two young men would wish it to be----'

He glanced at the blushing face of the Minor Canon, and the eagervisage of the undergraduate, and bade them fill their glasses yet again, while they had the chance, for the Chapter's binn of _Laffite_ was nowrunning very low in its deep cellar. 

'No, ' he went on regretfully, ''twas not the _Droit de Seigneur_ whichwe have all read of, and perhaps envied, but a fine upon marriage--afeudal due exercised over women, as over all property on the feudallord's manor. Not but that I take it occasionally the Prince Bishop mayhave indulged himself in what Richelieu styled "the honest man'srecreation, " yet the _jus primae noctis_, of which also you will haveheard, was not the privilege of the seigneurial bishops, but the fine orcompensation paid to the Church by the impatient bridegroom, who inearly days of clerical discipline was enjoined to mortification of theflesh for the first three nights of marriage. 

'A lawsuit 'twixt the mayor and corporation of Amiens and the bishopbefore the Parliament of Paris in the fifteenth century is still onrecord, and proves this clearly. '

'St. Cuthbert, sir, ' interposed the blushing but now emboldened MinorCanon, 'would have severely reprehended Cardinal Richelieu in thatevent, for 'tis said that the saint had a perfect horror of women; weknow of the line drawn beside the cathedral beyond which no woman wasallowed to pass. '

'Ay, ' responded his host, 'St. Cuthbert was a great saint doubtless, butan extremely ungallant man. He would allow no cow upon Holy Island, forwhere there was a cow there was a woman, and where there was a womanthere was the Devil. '

'Luther and the Reformation changed all that, ' said the young American, with a laugh. 

 '"Who loves not woman, wine and song, He is a fool his whole life long. "

'Which of the two is in the right?'

'Luther!' replied the Minor Canon, somewhat unexpectedly, flushed with_vol-au-vent_ and generous claret, who was now beginning to look uponhimself as a gay Lothario. 'Asceticism for its own sake is mere vanity. '

'Here's then to Luther!' cried the 'Golden Canon, ' with enthusiasm. 'Fill and drink a bumper to his memory!'

'Not but what I regret the Reformation myself, since had it not been forAnne Boleyn, the bishopric might still be a Palatinate and the estatesof the canons inviolate. '

Curiously enough the Minor Canon had not on this especial occasionfilled up his glass; on the contrary he was now staring in dismaytowards the window recess opposite, which was suffused with a palelight. On the right hand there hung a crucifix, and the moonbeams gentlyilluminated the cross with its burden. 

The two cousins continued their gay converse, but the Minor Canon wascompletely absorbed in his contemplation of a vision which was beingunfolded before his affrighted eyes in the recess opposite. A figuretook shape in the misty light--the form of an old man rugged of aspect, with grizzled locks like a fisherman's, appeared before his eyes; heheld forth his hand and pointed menacingly to the crucifix with fiercelygleaming eyes. 

At that very moment there rose up from far away to the ears of thestricken gazer the sound of a cock-crow. The gazer wilted back in hisseat; turning white, he held his hands to his eyes, his whole frametrembling. His two companions, who had now been aroused by his movement, looked upon him with astonishment. 

'What's the matter, my dear fellow?' inquired the 'Golden Canon. ' 'Youlook as if you had seen a ghost. '

'I thought, ' stammered the gazer--'I thought I saw St. Cuthbert--I meansome apparition--in the recess there. '

'It's only the moon, ' the 'Golden Canon' replied, after a cursory glancein that direction. 'If you don't like it just draw the curtains. '

But the Minor Canon had already risen from his seat, and, with unsteadyfootsteps, passed to the door murmuring brokenly to himself, '_Peccavi, peccavi_' as he withdrew from the dining-room. 

'A nice fellow, ' commented the 'Golden Canon, ' 'but he has, I fear, arotten digestion. 

'Help yourself to that white port, cousin; then we'll finish our talkover a pipe of tobacco. '

BY THE SHRINE OF SAINT CUTHBERT

The bells were ringing to evensong in the great cathedral dedicated toSaint Cuthbert, that stands like a fortress on its rock above themurmuring Wear--

 _'Half house of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot'--_

in the windy dusk of a November evening. 

The people of the saint, however--the 'Haliwer folc, ' the 'folk of theHoly Man'--were few in attendance that afternoon, and the great naveseemed very empty as I sat down in a seat in front of the 'Galilee'beside the north door of entry. 

I looked about me and admired the mighty Norman pillars diapered andfluted with exceeding skill by the great master builders of old, whobuilt to, even as their great duke swore by, the 'Splendour of God. ' Myeye wandered upward and rested upon the great chevrons resemblingsword-cuts that seemed deep-hacked within the rounded arches of theTriforium. Thence onward my gaze fluttered like a butterfly, and restedupon a leering corbel, which seemed to scoff at priest and priest-craftwith protruding tongue. The mighty stone roof soaring aloft--a ship'skeel upturned--drew my eye eastward to the choir; there on the greateast window, rose-shaped and many-coloured, the invading dusk gatheredlike water-drops upon the panes, and wove its dun mantle over them. Theanthem now pealed along the roof, lapping capitals, corbels, and pillarsin a tide of sound that swept unresisted through the wide spaces of thecathedral. 

As the echoing song grew fainter, and ebbed away into the twilightshadows, my gaze returned to my immediate surroundings, and restedunconcernedly upon a man sitting a seat or two in front of me, besideone of the massive piers. He seemed to be in a most distressed andnervous condition, for he peered about him with an evident alarm, whichwas pitiful to witness. As he turned his face about I saw it was haggardwith fear and sorrow, or remorse; his hair was matted, and beads ofsweat were thick upon his brow. 

It was as if he were terrified of impending danger. Yet what could he beafraid of in the great calm of the solemn cathedral? The benediction hadbeen given, and the sparse congregation had now risen and was slowlydeparting, yet he rose not, but seemed to be hiding from view as hecrouched behind the form in front of him, and edged his way slowlywithin the shadow of the heavy pier to his left hand. 

I sat on listening to the voluntary, and it held me by its strangeness. I knew that the Dean and Chapter's organist was away on holiday, and Iwondered who the strange player might be who was setting forth his ownsoul in the notes of the pealing organ. He sang of fellowship, ofcomradeship in ancient days through stress of adventure and deadlycombat; then with organ sobs that shook the heart, of death and theinfinite loneliness of death, and of the inappeasable sorrow of thesurvivor lamenting his Jonathan. A pause of black silence. Then brokenlya little sough of life began to re-arise--a growth of hope--the fiercedetermination of revenge--quickening with flame--breaking into triumph. 

And now as the lights were being turned out, and gloom came rushing inupon the empty spaces of the cathedral I saw the unhappy figure shiftindecisively as he rose from his seat in front of me, glance hurriedlyabout as if for a way of escape, then moving unsteadily round the pier, to my surprise he shuffled off in the direction of the organ. The musicseemed to fascinate him, to paralyse his will, even as the sphexparalyses its victim with its sting. 

The organist was now engaged upon the coda of his fugue; the formermotifs were rehearsed--love, sorrow, and revenge. Triumph resounded fromthe loft when I heard above the quickening notes a sudden patter ofheels across the nave; then a pitiful drumming of fists upon the barreddoor that led into the east corner of the cloisters. Knowing that escapethat way was now impossible for the distracted man, and feeling pity forhim, I crossed the nave and followed after him in the gloom. As I drewnear I heard him flee again--down the south aisle to the other door ofthe cloisters. Here once more he shook unavailingly upon the latch, anddrummed pitifully with his fists. There was a scrabbling with nails onthe oaken door--then a cry of anguish smote on my ear. An awful terrorevidently had him in grip. 

He rushed wildly on again--on--on to the only remaining door of escapeinto the northern close. Suddenly the music stopped on a throb of joy. The shock caused me to halt. As I started again to walk towards the doorI heard no longer the miserable patter of feet in front of me. I wasjust about to reach out a hand to feel for the latch in the darknesswhen I stumbled over an obstacle on the pavement. I knelt down and feltabout with my hands: I found a man's body lying inert at my feet. 

God in Heaven! The darkness seemed to buffet me upon the ears. I heard avague cry escape my lips, for the fugitive's hand had dropped from minewith a thud upon the stone. _The man was dead. _

'MEENISTER' MACHIAVELLI

The soul of the Minister of Bleakhope was disquieted within him, for hehad just been 'up the water' and seen the new stained-glass windowswhich had recently been put in and dedicated to Saint Cuthbert in theEnglish church 'beside the Knowe. '

The Reverend Alexander Macgregor was tall and spare, oval-faced, eyedlike a hawk, yet with a humorous twinkle behind his keen glances thatwere equally alert whether for the rising of a 'troot' or a sinner. 

A bequest from a wealthy parishioner, who had died, as the result of amotor-car accident, had enabled his 'brother'--the Episcopalian'priest'--to decorate his church with three single lights, illustrativeof Saint Cuthbert's life, and the Minister grieved as he thought of hisown little grey kirk on the bare hill which badly wanted a 'bit colour'in its wee apsidal east window. 

He regarded his frayed sleeves and his wrinkled black trousersunhopefully. 

If he were to save every penny till the end of his days he could neverachieve his desire. He had no wealthy parishioner whom he might persuadeinto buying a motor-car after seeing that 'the Kirk' had been dulyremembered in his will. 

His flock consisted chiefly of small farmers and herd laddies, andunless one of them emigrated and made a fortune in Canada he saw noprospect of achievement in the parish itself. 

As he walked up the road towards the manse on this particular Octoberevening after his return from the Knowe he came nigh to breaking thetenth Commandment into pieces, for the three light windows seemed toflaunt themselves before his eyes in the gathering mist, and to asktauntingly, 'What wull ye gie for us? What wull ye gie for us?'

As he plodded onward he was suddenly hailed by a voice from behind. Turning about, he recognised one of his flock--a small fellsidefarmer--who, coming up with him, informed him that an old acquaintancewas staying at the little inn close by who had been inquiring about him. 

'Wha is 't?' inquired the Minister. 

'Ye'll mind Tam Elliot, ' replied the elder, 'him that was nevvy to auldSandy o' the Ratten Raa farm that died and left him part money. Aff hewent when he got the siller, and a bit later an auld great-aunt lefthim a bit mair, sae he took a muckle big farm doon sooth, and noo he'sat the inn cracking crouse aboot his pedigree beasts and sheep, andswankin' awa as to what he's done syne he left these parts, just as ifwe didna ken the sort o' man he was, and aye will be. Howsoever, he'saskin' after ye, and maybe ye'd like a crack wi' him. '

The Minister was on his way home, but he liked his 'crack' as well asanother, so he turned eastwards to the little wayside hostelry somequarter of a mile back to forgather with Elliot, who used to attend thekirk 'whiles' in company with his deceased uncle. The 'Sign of the WoolPack' was a very quiet country inn; in the little 'snug' there would notbe above half a dozen customers--the landlord, probably, presiding overthem--so the Minister thought no harm in joining them for a glass, apipe, and a 'crack. '

'Hoo's aal wi' ye?' he inquired, as he entered the door of the 'snug, 'and, having nodded to the company, held out his hand to Tam Elliot. 'Wehae heard that ye are increasing your flocks like Abraham, doon sooth i'the land o' Canaan!'

'You are welcome, Minister, ' cried Tam in reply, as he rose up and tookhim by the hand; '"wag a paw, " as we used to say, and take something fora sore throat. Yes, ' he continued, as he sat himself down again andtook a pull at his own long glass, 'I'm building up a pedigree stock atmy new place--gave £500 for a bull t' other day, and that's a fact. '

'Dod, man!' said the Minister, bethinking him of the stained-glasswindow, 'why, that's a small fortune. '

''Tis that, ' replied Tam complacently, stretching a leg to the hearth, 'but pedigree blood's worth the money. ' He caressed a little imperial hehad grown since he left the north, stretched out his other leg to thefire, and with a smile of satisfaction that seemed to ooze from hisvintage cheeks, continued to talk of his own pedigree. 

'Yes, blood's the thing, ' he said, 'for beasts and humans alike. Why, take my family--every one knows the clan of Elliot's been on the Borderfor centuries, and one of my forebears was married on a Stuart lass, solikely enough I may have a bit royal blood i' my veins, even though itcomes from the wrong side o' the blanket. '

Here an ancient, bearded shepherd--an elder of the kirk--with a tongueof caustic, Ringan by name, who was sitting behind the Minister, winkedderisively at the company and muttered _sotto voce_, 'He's forgot aalthe little yins. I mind fine his granddam--the merry-begot of apitman's lass doon the water. ' The Minister himself could not resist asmile at this, and the visitor added somewhat hastily, 'Yet I say wi'Robbie Burns--"_a man's a man for a' that_. " Have another touch o' thismountain dew, ' he cried magnanimously to the scornful herd. 

'Na, na, I'm awa, ' replied the ancient herd, rising as he spoke; 'it'sgettin' late, an' I dinna want to run the risk o' meetin' wi' "Parcy" onmy way hame. '[1]

'Parcy!' exclaimed the visitor, raising himself in surprise from hisarm-chair. 'Parcy, the ghost o' the murdered mosstrooper, d' ye mean, that the old wives talked of? D' ye mean to tell me ye still believe inghosts up here?'

'Why not?' said the Minister. ''Tis good Christian doctrine to believein departed spirits. '

'We don't believe in 'em in the towns, ' retorted Elliot scornfully, 'sowhy should we in the country?'

'Will ye put your faith, or lack o't, tae the proof?' here inquired thecaustic ancient herd. 'I'se haud ye a wager ye winna walk doon the burnthe morrow nicht at the deid hour, past the stane where "Parcy" wasslain, and up on beyond the kirkyaird, and on tae the manse. Maybe it'sa mile, an' to-morrow's the nicht o' Hallow E'en when the deid walk. Here's my shilling against whatever ye like to lay doon, ' and as theancient spoke he drew a long, thin leathern purse from his trouserpocket, plucked forth a shilling, and set it down with a bang on thetable. 

'And there's my sovereign alongside it, ' cried the visitorvaingloriously. 

'Aweel, ' the ancient continued, 'the Meenister can be the stake-holder, an' the landlord can set ye awa as the clock strikes twalve the morrownicht. If ye win through to the manse your lane ye'll hae won myshillin'; if no', the Meenister will hae a sovereign i' the ladle nextSawbath. '

The landlord assented, the others all approved the suggestion, theMinister placed the stakes carefully into his waistcoat pocket, and theaged shepherd departed, chuckling to himself over his wager. 

The Minister continued to converse about ghosts for a minute or more, then he too rose, saying that 'the wife' would be getting nervous if she'wanted' him much longer. 

As soon as he was out upon the road he sped on after the retreatingfootsteps of the shepherd, and he hailed him through the gloom. As hecame up with him he said quietly, 'Come awa to the manse and we'll hae abit crack. '

 * * * * *

Hallow E'en drew on stormy and dark, and Elliot at the inn began toregret that he had ever accepted the wager, though for very shame hecould not now withdraw from his forbidding task. At a quarter to twelvethen precisely, having fortified himself with a final dram and lighted acigar, he set forth upon his mission. He knew the path quite well, andcould make no pretence at missing his way, but when he had crossed theburn by the shaking little wire suspension bridge sudden fear assailedhim. There was a gusty wind sweeping drumly clouds athwart thesky--faintly illuminated by the dying moon; now a few stars appearedmomentarily, then a swathe of darkness enveloped all. The old kirkyard, with its tottering headstones grouped around the black kirk, had aneldritch look in the murky night, and Elliot's heart sank into his bootsas he drew nigh. 

The clouds had lifted as he walked swiftly but unsteadily onward. Whatwas that? He heard something move, and looked about him fearfully. Suddenly from beside the little kirkyard gate a monstrous form roseup--soot-black, horned, and threatening. It advanced upon him, tossingits horrid horns, but without speaking. _Could it be 'Auld Clootie'himself?_

Elliot's knees became as water; he staggered on, but at that very momenta terrible bray resounded from the hollow on his left, and Elliot, overcome with terror, fell to the earth. 'Minister Macgregor, ' heyelled; 'O Minister, come help me! All the devils i' Hell are loosedabout me. ' The horned figure drew closer, brandishing his horns, andElliot believing his last hour was come wailed forth his confession ofsin. 

'I hae done wrang, ' he moaned aloud; 'I promised Jeannie to mak her anhonest woman, but I haena done it. But I will, I swear it, by Heavenabove. Minister Macgregor, ' he yelled again, 'come, help me, or I'llgang clean daft. ' Shaking like an aspen leaf he lay upon the ground andcovered his eyes with his hands, whilst he endeavoured to say a prayer. 

Then he felt something touch him on the shoulder, and he broke into anagonised yell. 

'Whisht, then, whisht!' said a kindly voice in his ear. A friendly handgripped him below the oxter, and, peering up, he discerned the Minister. 

'Eh, Minister, ' cried Elliot in a paroxysm of joy, 'ye hae savedme--saved me, ' then he burst into tears. 

'Come awa, come awa, ' said the Reverend Alexander Macgregor gently, 'come awa up wi' me to the manse. '

Clinging to his benefactor, Elliot rose to his feet and stumbled forwardas swiftly as his shaking limbs permitted. 

'Whaur is he?' he inquired tremulously, keeking about fearfully. 

'Wha d' ye mean?' replied the Minister. 'Is 't "Parcy" ye hae seen?'

'Waur nor that; waur nor that, ' replied the other. 'I believe 'twas_him_. '

'Anither fifty yards an' we'll be hame, ' said the Minister. 'See, there's the licht i' the windie showing fine. '

As soon as they were within doors the Minister placed his tremblingcompanion in the old leathern chair in his little sanctum, made up thefire, and poured him out a glass of whisky with hot water from thekettle that was opportunely ready on the hob. 

'And now, Minister, ' said the rescued one, after imbibing the goodlycontents of his glass, 'what can I do for ye by way o' recompense forsaving me the night?'

'Did I hear ye confessin' that ye had wranged a lass--by name Jeannie?'asked the minister, seriously, by way of answer. 

'Ay, ye did that, ' replied the penitent fervently, 'and I swore to righther. I'll mak her my wife at aince; I swear it again--before ye. '

'I'll haud ye to it, mind, ' said the Minister gravely; then he inquiredthoughtfully, 'What wull ye do by way o' further recompense for beingsaved the nicht?' He paused. 'Weel, ' he continued, 'there's some thathad sinned like ye i' the auld times that desired to prove theirrepentance and their gratitude to Heaven for timeous rescue by someoutward an' visible symbol, sic, for example, as building a kirk orfoundin' an orphanage. '

'Eh, but, Minister, ' ejaculated the penitent, turning white again, 'yon's a work for kings and suchlike, no' for a poor farmer like me. '

'A puir farmer, ' commented his mentor, 'is no' ane that gives £500 for apedigree bull. ' There was silence for a while. The penitent groanedwithin himself as he regarded the implacable face in front of him. Thenhe said suddenly, 'No a _kirk_, Minister, ' and further venturedwheedlingly, ''tis impossible, but somethin' _for_ the kirk--a newpulpit, for instance, or a bit organ, or some heating for the winter. 'The Minister shook his head. 

'The kirk disna care aboot organs, and the folk hereawa are hardy andwinna want ony heatin', ' he replied slowly; then with the twinkle in hiseye he explained further, 'No, that is for _pleesure purposes_. ' Hereflected a moment or two profoundly, then with a happy inspirationsuggested an alternative. 'A stained-glass windie micht be a guid an'righteous gift, I'm thinkin'. '

'That's mair like it, ' responded the penitent, almost with joy, finishing off his glass and holding it out suggestively forreplenishment. 

'Hoo muckle would it come to, think ye--£100 belike?'

The Minister replenished his guest's glass hospitably before replying. 

'We'd best mak it guineas, ' he said thoughtfully. 

'Right!' cried the other, his spirits visibly rising. 'I've got acheque-book on me, an' I'll write it out for ye this instant moment. '

The Minister took the cheque silently, dried it carefully on hisblotting-pad, then tucked it safely away in his Bible. 

'An' noo, ' he said to his penitent, 'noo I'll set ye awa for the inn. '

'Ye'll never be for turning me out into the darkness again?' wailedElliot, his face paling perceptibly. 

'I'll gang wi' ye, ' replied the Minister, 'I'll guide ye; and wi'this, ' he took up his heavy 'crook, ' 'I'll fettle "Auld Hornie. "'

'I don't care about the wager, ' continued the other, desirous of puttingoff the evil moment; 'here's the sovereign--for yourself or the oldshepherd. '

Serious as before, the Minister took the sovereign and laid it on theBible as he said:

'If ye dinna gang back to the inn the landlord an' his lassies will beup a' nicht seekin' ye, an' ye'll be the talk o' the hail countryside. '

His visitor sighed heavily and looked wistfully at the whisky bottle, but the Minister was adamant. 'No' anither sup till the windie's in, ' hethought to himself. 

'Well, Minister, ' said his guest with resignation, as he rose slowly upfrom his chair, 'I'll go back, but keep a close tongue, ye ken. '

'I'm used to daein' that, ' replied the other, as he ushered his guestout into the darkness, and led him back to the 'Wool Pack' withoutmishap. 

On his return the Minister paused by the kirk yett, and thussoliloquised:

'I never cared muckle for that camsterie goat o' Ringan's, but he wisgey useful the nicht there's no denyin', whilst as for auld cuddy, dod!but he was in fell voice, an' cam in punctual as the precentor. ' TheReverend Alexander Macgregor thrust out an arm on high, turned about onheel and toe, as though to secret piping. Then he resumed his way to themanse, pondering now what should be the subject of the stained-glasswindow. Suddenly he stood stock still. He had it! 'It wull representPalm Sunday--the entry of our Lord intil the Holy Ceety--_ridin' in onan ass_. '

[Footnote: 1 'Parcy Reed, ' the hero of the well-known ballad, was foullyslain in Bakinghope above Catcleugh Lough, but his wraith is said tohaunt the Rede and to be visible about Rochester. ]

ELDER 'MACHIAVELLI-ER'

I

On the evening after the stained-glass 'windie' had been set up in thenew kirk and dedicated to the memory of Saint Cuthbert, the ReverendAlexander Macgregor and his elder, Ringan Telfer, the ancient 'herd, 'sat together in the manse's little 'sanctum' or library, enjoying a'crack, ' a glass of whisky, and a pipe of tobacco. 

'It's a gey an' useful thing a ghaist, ' said Ringan meditatively. 'Itfleys folk fine an' stirs up their conscience graund. I aince thocht Icaught a keek o' "Parcy" mysel', but I wasna muckle gliffed, for thoughI ken fine I'm a sinner, I've naethin' particular on my conscience. 

'Mind ye, I dinna ken whether 'twas a wraith I saw or no--for I'd beenfirst footin', ye ken, an' maybe I had a wee drappie i' my e'e. '

'Gey an' likely, ' assented the Minister, nodding his headsympathetically, and drawing deep upon his pipe. 

'Onnyway, naethin' came o't, ' continued Ringan, imbibing thoughtfullyfrom his glass, 'but what I'm thinkin' the noo is that aiblins anitherghaist-gliff micht do a body I ken o' a guid turn. '

'There's many a body that micht be the better of a bit "gliff, " but itdisna always last, and it's a daungerous game to play at. But wha is thebody?' inquired the Minister. 

'It's a lang story, ' replied the other, as he extracted a document fromhis pocket, 'but gey easy to understand. Weel, this document is a bitcodicil to the will of a far-off cousin o' mine, but it wasna signed, asye'll note, and i' the eye o' the law, as they call it, o' nae value. Noo the testator, Mistress Wallace, was a widow wi' a bit heritableproperty the whilk she'd but a life interest in, but she had a bitsiller i' the bank, an' 'twas this she was leavin' awa different fraeher will by this bit codicil. 

'The siller was twa hundred pounds, an' it was lyin' at the bank, andthe bank manager got it for various advice--ceevility an' attention paidto Mistress Wallace. 

'Weel, there was anither puir widdie--a far-off cousin o' hers, that hada bairn born till her after her man died, and the puir widdie juistaskit Mistress Wallace to be its godmither. 

'Noo Mistress Wallace had nae bairns o' her ain, ye ken, an' itpleasured her fine to be a godmither to the fatherless bairn, but bein'verra frail i' body, she didna get the codicil signed an' witnessedbefore her "stroke. "

'Weel, the doctor, he kenned aal about the hail matter, an' he gied thepuir widdie the bit paper, since he was managin' her bit affairs. Hethocht aiblins if the bank manager saw it he micht "pairt"--but deevila bodle wull he hand ower, though the doctor saw him himsel'. '

The Minister nodded his apprehension, then taking the pipe out of hismouth, inquired, 'Wha was the puir widdie woman?'

'Ye'll ken my sister?' replied Ringan, gazing fixedly at the fire, 'Effie that was marrit on puir Jock Ord--a fine laddie he was--verraknowledgeable wi' sheep, wha perished in a snowstorm, mindin' hishirsel. 

'She was left gey ill aff, an' noo wi' a bairn to provide for, hard pittill 't. Twa hundred punds wull provide for his upbringin', an' aiblinsturn him into a meenister at the finish. '

'Ay, ' replied the Minister, ' I mind Effie well, puir decent body, fordidna I marry them? An' I heard tell o' her man's death, but I hadnaseen nither since they went herdin' ower the Carter Bar. But whaur doesthe "ghaist" come intil the story?' inquired the speaker in conclusion. 

Ringan continued to contemplate the fire with fixed attention, thenslowly delivered himself as follows:

'I'm hearin' that the Burnside Field Club wull be comin' up the water tohold their meetin' here shortly, an' to view the Roman Camp. I mind theywere here ten years before, an' this year the president is the bankmanager doon at the auld toon, wha has gruppit the siller I've tell't yeaboot. Weel, ye'll ken him, an' aiblins, ' here the speaker took up thebellows and thoughtfully assisted the fire's respiration, 'aiblins itwud be a ceevil matter to offer to gie him a night's lodgin', for it's agey lang way up frae the auld toon, an' the manager's gettin' gey whiteaboot the pow. '

Here the speaker laid down the bellows, then took up his glassthoughtfully, drained it off slowly, and resumed his contemplation ofthe fire. 

The Minister also refreshed himself, then, keenly watching his companionfrom the tail of his eye, admitted an acquaintanceship with the bankmanager. 

'Ay, I ken him. He's a verra decent body--a bit near maybe, an' terriblysuperfeecial i' antiquarian knowledge. I mind I had a bit differ wi' himthe time he was last up at the Camp. 

'But supposin' I was inclined to be ceevil till him--what then?'

'Then aiblins, ' replied the elder, stooping and knocking the ashes fromhis pipe against the fender, 'there micht be a bit gliff, an' this bitpaper micht come in gey useful by way o' stirrin' up his conscience thewhilk, I'm thinkin', has been growin' stiff i' his auld age. If it disnathere's nae harm dune. '

The Minister thrust out his legs, and gazed up at the ceiling. 

'Was it Dr. Thomson that tended Effie, an' that saw the manager?'

'Ay, 'twas him, ' replied his companion. 

There was a pause of silence after this response, the elder gazingabstractedly into the fire, the Minister surveying his ceiling, yet allthe while out of the tail of his eye keeping watch on his elder. 

Ultra sardonic he was, reflected the watcher affectionately, intolerant, _plus Calviniste que Calvin même_--sceptical of the world, withup-twisted eyebrows that seemed to signify a perpetual interrogation, yet faithful unto death to his duty and his own ideals. He minded wellassisting to dig Ringan out of a snowdrift wherein he was seated, calmlytending a ewe and her two tiny lambs. 

'Aweel, ' said the Minister, breaking the silence, 'I micht--be offerin'hospitality to Macmanus, the banker; 'twould be the ceevil thing to do, but if he comes he's my guest, ye ken--I maunna hae ony "frightfulness";an' the cuddy wull be locked up. '

'Ay, ' responded the other, 'an' sae wull the goat be. '

'I ken naethin' aboot that, ' retorted the other, bringing his gaze downfrom the ceiling to rest upon the swag-bellied green bottle on the tablebeside him. 

'It's gettin' on intil the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal, "' he added;'ye mun hae a "deoch-an-doruis" afore startin' "aff. "'

'Deed, an' I wull, ' replied Ringan, as he rose up and held out hisglass, whilst wrapping his plaid about his shoulders. 

II

Fergus Macmanus, bank manager, amateur antiquary, and President of theBurnside Field Club, accepted the invitation from the Reverend AlexanderMacgregor, and returned with him from the Roman Camp to the manse forthe night after a successful meeting, whereat he had given an address onCastrametation and the Roman Wall, which had abundantly satisfiedhimself, if not his host. 

Macmanus was a short, thick-set, well-preserved man of some seventyyears of age, with a complexion reminiscent of Harvest Festival. HisPauline motto of 'All things to all men' was a little impeded by anassurance of infallibility which he founded upon his 'common-sense viewof things. ' Hence after supper he proceeded to demonstrate to his hostthat all the theorists were wrong; that he had walked along the line ofthe wall and satisfied himself that wall and vallum were notcontemporaneous, and that if Hadrian had made any use of the vallum--anearly dyke or _limes_--it was merely for the screening of his troopswhilst the wall was building. 

'Common sense, ' retorted the Minister, 'willna tak ye verra far. Commonsense assures me the world is flat, an' stands stock still in the centreo' things. '

'Common sense, ' echoed his companion; 'man alive! why it includes theuse of all the rational faculties. What I mean is that folk get weddedto a theory and disregard the practical side o' things. Noo the Romanswere first and foremost a practical people, as a'body kens. They madesure o' their conquest, an' then built their wall, sae that the populartheory that the vallum was a protection against the south is a' stuffan' nonsense. '

'Isna the result, ' queried the Minister, 'that ye haud ane theory, itherfolks anither?'

'If a thorough excavation were carried out many secrets micht bediscovered, but noo folks prefer to travel an' dig i' the remotestpairts o' the earth, an' no' at home. '

'Aweel, ' the Minister continued, with a sudden deft twist to theconversation, 'it's no excavation o' the earth that's interestin' me thenoo--it's _the excavation o' the mind_. I have been readin' o' what aclever doctor chield has accomplished i' Edinbro' by the pooer o' mindupon mind----'

'Ye mean Christian Science--Faith-Healing?' queried his companionscornfully. 

'Na, na, ' returned the Minister, 'he ca's it Psycho-therapeutics--an'has worked miracles by it. For an instance, he actually operated wi' theknife on a puir body withoot any chloroform, ether, or anæstheticwhatever--an' the patient ne'er had a wink o' pain under it. Hisconsciousness was under control, ye ken, directed clean awa from thochto' pain----'

'I'd like to see the man that could mak me believe he'd gien me securityfor his overdraft when he hadna, ' interrupted his companionsatirically. 

'I think I hae heard o' the thing haein' been accomplished, natheless, 'returned the Minister with a twinkle in his eye. 

'Man!' acknowledged the banker with a smile, 'but ye're gleg. '

The two men surveyed each other silently, like fencers awaiting feint orlunge, when suddenly a peal of thunder echoed on the air and shook thewindows of the sanctum. 

'A thunderstorm, ' said the banker, 'i' the distance. Well, there's anething I'd be glad to hear o' frae your new doctor, an' that is no' to begliffed by thunner an' lightin'. I was verra nigh struck by a flash whenI was a bairn oot fishin' for troots--an' I canna get the better o't. '

''Tis a lang way off, ' replied the Minister, rising and looking out o'window; 'weel, it's bedtime, I'm thinkin'. Ye mun juist have a night-capbefore retiring. '

Nothing loath, his guest fortified himself handsomely, and was escortedto his bedroom by his host. 

Entering his own room, which was opposite the other, the Ministerproceeded to undress, leaving the door ajar advisedly, in the event ofany strategy of Ringan's contriving. 

He lay awake some while in watchful expectation, but as thethunderstorm had passed over and no other sound was audible, he shortlyfell sound asleep. 

Suddenly he was roused by the most extraordinary noise. The manse seemedto be shaken to its foundation. 

He started up in bed. Could a flash of lightning have hit the chimney?

Then he saw a light without on the landing, heard footsteps, and a voicecalling him by name. 

'Minister Macgregor, ' it called. 'The house has been struck wi'lightnin', I'm certain. '

The Minister hurried out on to the landing, and seeing his guest, by thelight of the candle which he held in his shaking hand, to be muchperturbed, endeavoured to comfort him. 

'It was a fearfu' noise yon; it wakened me up oot o' the sleep o' thejust, ' he said. 'I thocht the chimney mun have been stricken, but ifsae, stanes wud hae come through the roof. Maist likely the auldash-tree by the door has been stricken. Hark!' he added, 'I think thestorm's past, for it's rainin' hard enoo. '

Somewhat reassured, his guest was induced to return to bed, and afterthe Minister left him he heard the door bolted behind him. 

The Minister went back to his own bed, but this time he refused to liedown, for he felt assured that Ringan was up to some fresh cantrip orother, and he wished to forestall him. 

The rain shortly ceased, and a faint moonlight showed itself through thewindow. Almost at the same time the Minister was aware of stealthy softfootings on the stairs without. Noiselessly he approached his open door, and there he saw by the dim skylight a tall figure moving on stockingedfeet at the stair-head. Was it a burglar? he thought fearfully. 'No, itwas Ringan. But what on earth was he carrying?

Before he could interfere the tall figure set a dark object rolling downthe stairs with infernal reverberation, then sat himself down on whatseemed a tea-tray, and shot clattering into the gloomy deep. 

The Minister turned and leaped into his bed, annoyed, yet shaken withlaughter. 

Another moment and he heard the door opposite unbolted, and a perturbedbut angry voice rose outside his door:

'What the devil are ye up to? Are ye playing a trick on me, Minister?What was that fearfu' noise?'

'I'm playin' nae tricks on ye, ' replied the Minister, as he opened thedoor and stood face to face with his guest, whose face was plainlyagitated by fear and anger. 'It's either the storm, or aiblins a ghaist, or else some one's playin' tricks on baith o' us. '

'Did ye no place this bit paper i' my room?' inquired his guestwrathfully, holding up a document with his hand accusingly. 

'What bit paper is 't?' inquired the Minister. 'I hae pit nae bit paperi' your room. '

'Did Dr. Thomson o' the auld toon no' send ye this bitwaste-paper--codicil he called it, or come to see ye aboot it?'

'No, he didna, ' replied the Minister, 'neither he nor any ither doctorhas been i' my manse yet, an' I hope never wull. '

'On your hon----' began the other. Then catching his host's gleamingeye, said brokenly, 'It's the ---- Well--it's the most extraordinarything that ever happened to me i' my life. The ghastly noise--then tofind this bit paper lyin' i' my room. '

'What is the paper?' inquired the Minister. 'Can ye no hae brocht it wi'ye yoursel'?'

Macmanus looked about him stricken and unnerved, the anger had died downin his face, and he seemed to be seeking consolation. 

'I'll tell ye the hail matter, ' he decided impulsively, 'and what'smair, I'll abide by your advice. '

Thereon very briefly he set forth the tale of the codicil, justifiedhimself on all legal grounds, and awaited the Minister's decision. 

'Aweel, Macmanus, ' replied the Minister slowly but decisively, 'as yeask my opeenion, aal I can say is that if I was i' your shoes I'd juistforego my legal rights an' let the puir woman hae the twa hundredpunds. '

'I believe you're richt, ' replied the other; 'but if that ghastly noisehappens again I'll come and spend the rest o' the night i' yourbedchamber. '

'Come your ways in noo, ' responded his host, 'and I'll get ye a dropwhisky. '

'Aweel, ' murmured the listener with pricked ears, who sat beside gongand tea-tray at the stair-foot, '_I'm thinkin if the Meenister'sMacchiavelli, the elder's Machiavelli-er. _'

REPENTANCE TOWER

SCENE I. TEMPTATION

Late one spring evening not long after the disaster of Solway Moss, SirRobert Maxwell was walking to and fro within the Tower of Lochmaben--aheavy frown upon his brow--cogitating his reply to a letter from my LordArran--now governor of Scotland under the regency of the widowed Queen, Mary of Lorraine. 

Amongst other matters touched upon Arran made mention of his purpose tofind the right suitor for the hand of Agnes Herries--daughter andheiress of the Lord Herries of Hoddam Castle. A hint was delicatelyconveyed that possibly Maxwell himself might be eligible--if he gave uphis 'assurance with England. '

Now Sir Robert's late father--the Lord Maxwell--had been made prisonerat Solway Moss, but had been set free on 'taking assurance' with Englandand giving twelve hostages of his own name to the opposite warden--LordWharton at Carlisle. 

In addition there was a suggestive allusion to the Scots Wardenry ofthe Western march, which was vacant at the moment. 

The offer was most tempting, but--_there were the twelve Maxwellhostages, his cousins, in Wharton's hands_. 

Sir Robert grew wroth as he read and re-read the letter. '_Is thyservant a dog that he should do this thing?_' he questioned angrily, ashe sat down to indite a peremptory refusal. 

He found his task very difficult, for he had little skill in writing. Shortly, he determined to send over to Dumfries first thing in themorning for the notary public to come and write the letter for him, andbe a witness to his signature. 

This he did, but the messenger brought word back that the notary was illwith the spotted fever and could not come. 

Sir Robert's anger increased, for the temptation beckoned insistently. He had already had thoughts of the fair and well-dowered Agnes, but heknew 'twas hopeless unless he was reconciled to Arran. 

He determined to ride out and rid himself of black care by a gallop. Mounting, he let the horse choose his ain gait, and shortly foundhimself in the airt of Hoddam, whence he rode up to the grassy fellsabove Solway. Then he let his horse out on a gallop, and away he spedlike a curlew--sweeping over the short grass, and drinking in the breezelike wine. 

Maxwell rode till his horse was white with sweat, and the rubies in hisnostrils red as fire. 

Then he turned and came back at a slow trot to the point of starting. Pausing here, Maxwell gazed down on the one hand to the rich fields andwell-timbered lands of Hoddam; on the other hand across Solway to wherebelow the deep-piled, purple masses of Helvellyn and Skiddaw lay 'merryCarlisle'--the abode of my Lord Wharton. 

Maxwell shook his fist across Solway, as though in defiance. Then heturned about and rode slowly home. 

SCENE II. THE RAID

As soon as he was back again at Lochmaben he dispatched a specialmessenger to Arran in Edinburgh with the brief assurance that he himselfwould follow on the morrow and explain in person the difficulty ofaccepting the Governor's proposals. 

On the evening of the day that Sir Robert Maxwell arrived in Edinburgh aball was held in Holyrood--the first ball since Solway Moss hadoverwhelmed Scotland with gloom. The Queen-Dowager was to be present, and Arran insisted on Maxwell's attendance, though against his will. Agay and brilliant assembly filled the great galleries of Holyrood thatnight. 

After a minuet had been paced to the gentle music of the lute andclavichord, a schottische succeeded to the martial skirl of the pipes. 

For this dance Arran had craftily arranged that Maxwell should have aspartner the fair Agnes Herries, and as he watched them his brow relaxedits tension. His policy was to strengthen and consolidate Scotland, andto this end he would break Maxwell's assurance with England. 'The lustof the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, ' he mutteredto himself as he watched the couple dancing with animation, 'are geyguid baits. ' As the company departed in the early dawn Arran took theopportunity of walking back with Maxwell to his lodging. 'Ye partneredilk ither fine, ' said the Governor; 'time and step suited ye bonny. Weel, ' he added slowly, 'ye hae to decide. Wull ye tak her?' Maxwellhesitated a moment, then impulsively, 'I will. Here's my hand on 't. '

'Dune!' cried the Governor triumphantly. Then he added by way of anevasion from any difficulty with Wharton. 'I'm thinking ye michtemulate Douglas in his raid on the eastern march:

 "_And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne, And part of Bambroughshire; And three good towers on Reidswire fells, He left them all on fire_. "

That is, if ye hae any fash wi' Wharton, ' said Arran in conclusion. 'Juist pit the fear o' auld Scotland intil him, for I'll uphaud ye. '

No sooner had Maxwell returned home than he found a menacing letter fromWharton, who had evidently heard of the reconciliation. Maxwell's darkface glowed hotly as he made a vow to terrify Wharton into inaction. Hewould instantly give him a 'handsel' of harrying to stay his proudstomach. So he caused warn the waters far and wide. Nith he summoned, and Annan, and then with his whole 'name' rode through the debatableland, and crossing the Eden by the ford above Rockliff proceeded toharry and burn through the English march. He drave his foray throughoutthe day; horses and nowt, sheep, goats, and swine he collected, and madethe 'red cock crow' on many a peel and bastlehouse. 

Then as evening drew on and his messengers announced the approach ofWharton's men-at-arms he withdrew with his spoil, repulsed withslaughter his opponent's forces, and safely guarded his spoil, till allthe 'gear' was across the Eden water. 

Then Maxwell himself and his bailiff--Sandie Irvine--rode down to Solwaywhere his lugger was awaiting by his orders the chance of their returnby water. 

Maxwell himself was 'forefaughten, ' his horse was foundered; he sankgratefully into the stern of the boat, and Sandie took the tiller. 

SCENE III. THE STORM ON SOLWAY

The lugger shot ahead for Scotland, the swift wind upon her beam. Suddenly its strength increased, and a storm swept down upon Solway. Clouds gathered above, and on the incoming 'bore' Maxwell saw withdismay the 'white horses of Solway' shaking their manes. 

Darkness lowered about them; then a jagged flash of lightning rent themurky air, and Sandie as he wrestled with the tiller saw a face white asfoam and 'unco ghash' beside him. 

'Hae ye onything on your conscience, Laird?' cried Sandie in his ear, 'ony bit adultery or murder? If ye hae, mak a vow instantly to St. Nicholas, or we're lost. '

Maxwell made no reply, but groaned as he looked wildly through thestorm. 

Twelve forms--well kent to him--did he not see them pointing theiraccusing fingers against him? There was Ian--there Alastair, nextHamilton--he could look no further. _God in Heaven! Wharton had hung hispledges. _

Maxwell sank backwards, his hands to his eyes. 

'Mak the vow, Laird, ' yelled Sandie again in his ear, desperately. 

'I'll mak a vow to Saint Nicholas, ' murmured the other brokenly, 'tobuild a tower to his honour, and put a light into it nightly for allpoor sailors on Solway. '

Heartened by this, Sandie thrust all his strength upon the tiller andkept the lugger straight 'twixt Scylla and Charybdis. 

But 'the white horses' were now upon them, their streaming manesenveloping the gunwale, and Maxwell gave himself up for lost. The luggershivered, then grated violently. 'What's yon?' he cried in terror. 

'Yon's the first stone o' Repentance Tower, '[1] cried Sandietriumphantly, as he drave the lugger high upon the beach. 

[Footnote 1: Tradition commonly holds that the builder of the tower hadthrown his captives overboard to lighten the boat, when returning from araid into England; but if the writer remembers aright, Dr. Nielson inone of his erudite articles, seemed able to prove that Sir RobertMaxwell--who married the Herries heiress and became Lord Herries--wasthe builder. In this case the above tale gives the truer version of thetower's origin. ]

THE LORD WARDEN'S TOMB

My companion had surprised me by a sudden change of demeanour, for whichI could not account, and I was watching him out of the tail of my eyefrom behind a pillar in the nave of the church which we were exploring. We had just been viewing the recumbent figure of a famous Lord Warden ofthe western English march, that lay on a raised tomb in the northtransept, and after I had blazoned the coat of arms and admired thedignity of the carving, I passed on into the nave, but my companion hadnot followed me. 

I noted that he was extraordinarily interested in this figure of LordWharton, and I watched him, as I have said, with attention. 

Then, driven seemingly by sudden impulse, he lifted his right hand anddealt the stone figure a swift buffet with his fist. At once he glancedround hurriedly--ashamed, evidently, of his action--and rejoined me inthe nave without comment, trusting, doubtless, that I had not observedhim. 

I was infinitely astonished, for Maxwell, my companion on our bicyclingand walking tour, was a quiet, somewhat dour but devout Scot, a historyscholar of Balliol College, and usually most reticent of emotion. Italked of Border ballads and Lord Wardens of the marches, andendeavoured to draw him on the subject, but he made no response. 

Then I sang softly--

 '_As I went down the water side None but my foe to be my guide. _'

Hereat his eyes flashed, and he responded with extended fist:

 '_I lighted down, my sword did draw-- I hackit him in pieces sma'. _'

Then turning swiftly upon me he said sternly:

'_You mustn't quote the Border Ballads to me; I have them in my blood. _'

He looked so strange that at once I changed the conversation andsuggested that we should ascend Wild Boar's Fell that afternoon, andreturn for supper at the inn where we proposed stopping the night. 

He assented, and we had a fine climb and a glorious view over the WestBorderland; we could see Skiddaw and Helvellyn to the north-west, andeven thought we saw Criffel looming in the haze beyond Solway; to theeast the great hills beside Crossfell lifted their great rampire andgave a sense of security to the green vale below. 

Reinvigorated by our walk we returned in good heart to the inn. 

After supper I thought a pipe and Stevenson's essay on 'A Walking Tour'were appropriate to my mood, but Maxwell said he was for a stroll in themoonlight, and went out. 

As he had not returned by eleven I grew a little anxious, also a trifleannoyed at the thought that perhaps I ought to put on my boots again andgo in search of him. 

At 11. 15 I determined to sally forth, but when I was on the street andcould see nobody about I was perplexed as to where to look for him. 

I turned to the church, and without definite aim went through the gateand walked around the church through the numerous headstones. 

By the side of the north transept, wherein was the Wharton recumbentfigure, I noticed a new-made grave, and casually looking over it saw adark figure lying therein. The grave was half in the shadow of thechurch, half lit by the moon, so that I could not see very distinctly, but as I bent over it I thought I recognised--with a sudden start ofhorror--the knickerbockers of my friend Maxwell. 

I looked about in hope of seeing some one, but all was silent; not asound stirred in the village. 

I must make certain, I felt, for I could not leave the man there, whoever it might be, so gingerly enough I let myself down into thefurther end of the grave, and, taking a step forward, bent over thebody. 

Yes, it was Maxwell; he was lying in a huddled lump with his head bentforward on his breast. I felt for his pulse, and found it beatingregularly. Thank heaven, he was not dead! He must have fallen in bymisadventure in the darkness before the moon rose, I conjectured. 

I determined to run back to the inn for the 'boots, ' since with anotherman's help I could lift my friend out and carry him back, and get thedoctor to attend him. 

'Boots' was just going to bed, and while he was searching for a rope anda lantern I ran for the doctor, and thence back to the graveyard. 

'Boots' was there awaiting me, and between us we raised Maxwell's limpbody and then carried him slowly to the inn. 

As far as we could see he had sustained a severe concussion, but Inoticed he had a big bruise on his forehead as well as a swelling onthe back of his head. We had laid him on the sofa in the parlour, andhad just completed our investigation when the doctor arrived. I shookhands and explained how I had found my friend in the open grave by thenorth transept so unexpectedly. 

'He hadn't had--well, let us say, too much supper?' asked the physician, after he had felt the pulse and examined the limbs to see if anythingwas broken. 

'No, ' I replied. 'We had supper together; he had a lemon squash and acup of coffee only to drink. '

'He's been in for a fight then, ' said the doctor. 'Got one on the brow, then falling into the grave has bruised the back of the head. He'ssuffering from concussion, but nothing more, so far as I can see. Was hea quarrelsome fellow?' he inquired. 'Strange place in any event to cometo blows in--and with whom? for we're a peaceable folk here save perhapsat the annual horse fair when gipsies and others congregate in numbers, and whisky bottles are everywhere. '

I assured him that Maxwell was a quiet Oxford scholar, and incapable ofbrawling. 

The doctor drew a bottle of strong smelling salts from his pocket andapplied them to Maxwell's nostrils. 

'He's coming round, ' he said; 'we'll just give him some sal volatile, and then to bed and a long rest. In a day or two he should be all rightagain. '

Maxwell now opened his eyes, looked about him dizzily, then saidfaintly, 'Where am I?' Then still faintly, so low that only I caught thewords, '_I could swear it was Wharton himself_. '

Thereon we took him upstairs, undressed him and put him to bed, andafter he had had his dose of sal volatile the doctor departed, assuringme that my friend was 'all right, ' but that he would look in again aboutmidday. 

I saw him off at the front door, then I turned to the 'Boots, ' and saidin his ear, 'Look here, I'm going out to see if I can't find out who thefellow was who tackled my friend. If I want to be let in before daybreakI'll come and tap on your window in the yard. '

I slid a _pourboire_ into his hand and went off softly across the streetto the church once more, for I felt almost certain that thefellow--whoever he was--would come back some time or another to see howhis victim had fared, since conceivably the blow might have provedmortal. Once in the churchyard I made my way on tiptoe to thegraveside. There I waited in the re-entering angle of the transept, where the shadow of the church was darkest, in the hope of Maxwell'sassailant soon returning to the scene of the encounter. I did notventure to light my pipe, fearing the smell of tobacco might discoverme. 

I waited with infinite patience till the moon lost her radiance and apale light glimmered through the eastern trees. Nothing had stirred, nosound had I caught save that of an owl in the distance. 

I returned to the inn, knocked up 'Boots, ' went silently to bed, andslept late. 

As soon as I was up I went to see how Maxwell fared, and found himsitting up and drinking a cup of tea. 

He looked a little pale, but otherwise was not much worse for hismisadventure. 

'Now, ' I said, after, congratulating him on his recovery, 'if it doesn'texcite you too much tell me exactly what occurred in the churchyard lastnight, for 'tis an absolute mystery to me, besides having given me anawful "gliff, " old fellow, for I have been wondering what might havehappened if I hadn't by the merest chance discovered you in yourpremature grave. '

'I should probably have got an infernal chill, old chap, had it notbeen for your kindly foresight, ' he replied with a smile; then with achange of tone he went on, 'But it was the most extraordinary adventureconceivable--so extraordinary that you'll scarcely credit me in relatingit. 

'I felt curiously attracted by the old church and the tomb within, so Iwent across after leaving you and wandered about the churchyard. Closebeside the corner of the north transept was the empty grave, as youknow, and beside it a quaint old headstone with an interestingcoat-of-arms upon it. I knelt down and tried to decipher the blazon inthe moonlight. 

'Suddenly I felt as if some one were near me--some one with an illintent, and, turning, saw stepping out of the shadow a figure with itsface outlined against the moon, the exact image of the Lord Warden onthe tomb in the transept. I felt the same access of rage I hadexperienced in the church sweep over me. I clenched my fistsunconsciously. "You're one of the false Maxwells?" he saidthreateningly. "And you're a damned murderer, " I retorted, and let outat him with my fists. At that moment I felt a sharp, stinging blow on mytemple, and, reeling backward, tripped and fell--in a night of stars asit were--all of a huddle into the empty grave. '

Maxwell stopped, looked me directly in the face. 'That's all Iremember--and that's an exact description of my strange adventure. '

Whilst I was recovering from my astonishment at his weird story, thedoctor was announced, and came forward to shake hands with his patient. 

'Tell the doctor, ' said Maxwell to me, 'exactly what I have told you, and let us hear what he has to say. '

I obeyed, and when I had concluded I inquired if he felt able to put anyfaith in the relation. 

'Doctors are often a sceptical folk, ' he replied with a smile, 'but ifthey are wise they try to account for things. Once out of curiosity Istayed a night in a "haunted house, " as it was called, and I confess Idid not like the experience. I had that curious feeling as of a hostilepresence which your friend evidently had both in the church and in thechurchyard. I saw nothing, but I had strange impressions borne in on me, and I heard noises I could not account for. '

'Have you ever heard of any one having encountered the form or wraith ofthis Lord Warden of old?' I inquired. 

'I don't think any one in the village would wander in the churchyardafter dark, ' he replied, smiling. Then he rose up to go, saying he hadanother appointment, but promised to call again in the afternoon with asleeping draught, and hoped his patient would be quite well in themorning. 

I accompanied him to the inn door, and went down the street with him. 

'Tell me, ' I said, 'exactly what you do think, for if I mistake not youwere purposely reticent with my friend just now. '

'I was, ' he said, after a pause, 'because I had reasons. Promise not tomention to your friend either now or at any time later----' I gave therequired promise, and waited eagerly for his response. 

'Well, ' he said slowly, 'I once got a "gliff" myself in exactly the sameplace as I made a short cut through the churchyard one autumn evening. Iwas not thinking of the dead Warden or the tomb in the transept, and yet'twas none other that I saw. '

Then he added gravely, 'These things are not good for the nerves. Wherefore I would advise you to take your friend off as soon aspossible, and don't let him visit the churchyard again. '

CASTLE ICHABOD

'When you saw the dog, my dear, ' said my uncle, the Rector, to his wife, 'almost exactly, if I remember right, a year ago this month of November, what sort of size and colour was it, again? I remember it growledterribly on the top of the wall by the mausoleum, and I thought it musthave been a retriever, from your description of it, but it ought reallyas a wraith to have been a collie, ' and here my uncle slightlycontracted his left eye in my direction. 

'I think it must have been a retriever, John, ' replied my aunt gravely, yet I thought a waft from her eye stole towards me as she spoke, 'for"Geordie" swears it was a tarrible great savage durg; but it may be, ofcourse, that he had forgotten himself and your exhortations, at theKing's Head last night, and mistaken a collie for a retriever. ' I foundit difficult not to smile, for, if my uncle had been 'pulling my aunt'sleg' she was certainly twitching his cassock. This was a 'parlour game'at the Rectory, as I discovered later, and one in which my aunt alwayscame off the winner. 

My uncle now addressed himself to me. 'You must know, Charles, ' said he, 'that the northern part of the Castle Park, between the burn and thering wall, is supposed to be haunted by the wraiths of a shepherd andhis collie dog. He was taking a short cut home from our village to thebig moor farm beyond the common, and was probably suffering from the olddisease of the north; he tried to cross the swollen burn by thestepping-stones, it seems, fell in, and was drowned. The faithful colliehad tried to save him, for he was found with him, his teeth fast in hismaster's plaid. '

'I love that collie, ' said my aunt; 'he ought to have had a headstonewith "Faithful unto Death" engraved on it. '

'So he should have had, my dear, ' my uncle assented, 'had we been hereat the time. Well, Charles, the point is that several people havethought----' Here my aunt moved a little impatiently in her chair. 'Havebeen quite sure, ' corrected my uncle, 'that they have seen the dog orits wraith, but no one has yet seen the shepherd, I believe. Your auntlast autumn saw the dog on the top of the wall that surrounds themausoleum, jumping up and down and growling dreadfully, and last nightour stableman--"Geordie"--a disabled pitman, was chivvied by him acrossthe park from close beside the mausoleum. What can you make of that?'questioned my uncle, the humorous look again in his eye. 

'Did Geordie run away?' I inquired magisterially. 

'He ran, ' replied my uncle, smiling, 'as he expressed it himself, "likea whippet or a hunted hare. "'

'Did you run, Aunt Mary?' I inquired next. 

'I daren't, Charlie, to tell you the truth. If I had begun to run Ishould have screamed, so I just walked on as fast as ever I could. '

'Then it didn't follow you?' I inquired. 

'No, ' said my aunt, shaking her head; 'it seemed to me like one of thosesavage, tied-up mongrels that guard the carts of carriers in the town onmarket days. '

'The curious thing, ' interrupted my uncle, who was a keen antiquary, 'isthat the dog should haunt the mausoleum, since it contains not hismaster, but "Hell-fire Dick, " the last of the Norman Fitzalans--and sonamed not only because he belonged to the famous club, but also, as Igather from tradition, because of his language and complexion. 

'Had he been alive no shepherd had dared trespass in his park, and nodog would have come out alive. So it is curious they should forgatherafter death. '

My aunt here interposed. 

'Are you not afraid for your uncle's orthodoxy?' she asked of me, 'whenhe shows himself so sceptical?'

My uncle, discovering that he had put himself at a disadvantage, nowsuggested that I should--as a lawyer--investigate the matter and give myopinion upon it. 

'Willingly, ' I replied, laughing. 'The chief witness, I take it, will beyour henchman, the redoubtable "Geordie, " aunt being prosecutor, thewraith the defendant, and you, uncle, the sceptical public. '

This being arranged, the subject was dropped, and my uncle gave mefurther information about the Fitzalans. 

'Undoubtedly they were Normans, ' said he, 'but descent has been sofrequently in the female line that when my Lord Richard--"Hell-fireDick"--died, he had perhaps no more Norman blood in him than you have. There was this one virtue about him, that he loved the old abode andpossessions of his ancestors passionately, and when he died he leftdirections that he should be buried in the mausoleum on the knoll inthe park whence the sea stands out clearly behind the castle. 

He had daughters--wild and high-spirited like their father--who dividedup the property between them, and the present owner of the Castle--therepresentative of the eldest daughter--cares only for his rents androyalties, would sell if he could, and comes here about twice a year forwhat partridge and pheasant shooting there may be. The coal pits areextending their shafts and workings northward, his park will soon beundermined, and the "amenities"--to use the auctioneers' phrase--willsoon no longer exist. I think we may truthfully call the great pile ofbuilding _Castle Ichabod, for its glory has certainly departed_. '

My uncle thus concluded his tale, then knocked out the ashes of hispipe, and conducted me to my bedroom. 

The next morning after breakfast I went in search of 'Geordie, ' my chiefwitness, concerning whom my uncle had already given me a littleinformation. 

He had when working as a hewer down the pit been disabled by a fall ofstone; then as he had been a 'handy man' and used to both horses andflowers the Rector had taken him into his service as groom-gardener. 'Crammed with northern self-sufficiency and a sort of scornfulincivility, he has a keen sense of humour and a heart of gold, ' said myuncle, as he forewarned me as to the character of my witness. 

Thus fortified, I went in search of 'Geordie, ' and found him busy tyingup chrysanthemums. 

Pretending a deep interest in them and a profound admiration of hisskill, I soon found I had established friendly relations. Then I offeredhim a cigarette, and plunged boldly into my examination. 

'Tell me, ' I said, 'about your adventure with the dog or its ghost inthe park two nights ago. My aunt has told me something of her ownexperience a year ago, and advised me to compare her account with yours, for I am much interested in these occurrences. '

'Why, ' replied he, nothing loth to talk about himself, 'it happened thisfashion. Aa wes comin' back through the park cannily enough when closebeside the mussulyum oot spangs at us a great ugly brute of a durgwivoot a sound to his pads. Aa'd heard nowt, but there he was glarin' atus, an' showin' his great ugly fangs. "By gox, Geordie, " I says tomaaself, "it's a mad durg ye have to fettle. " Sae I lets oot wiv a kickthat would have shifted a bullock, but aal that happened was that heseemed to catch haud o' my trousers, for I felt them rip. Gox! Ithinks, 'tis an evil sperrit, sae I set awa like a hare--game leg an'aal--tearin' towards the park wall like a whippit, followed by the evilsperrit that made no sound wiv his pads, but was growlin' terrible aalthe time. '

'Then it wasn't a _real_ dog?' I interrupted here. 

'_Wasn't a real durg?_' replied Geordie indignantly, his eyebrowspuckering and his jowl coming forward aggressively. 

'It made no noise with its feet, and you called it a spirit, ' Iexplained hastily. 

'Aa's feared o' nowt, ' said Geordie, 'that's livin', but when it comesto evil sperrits 'tis the Priest should tackle them. Aa winnot. '

'So it was an evil spirit in the form of a dog, ' I suggested; 'but whatwas the precise form--mastiff, retriever, or collie perhaps, for theRector says there is a tale of a ghost of a drowned collie that hauntsthe Park?'

'Collie be damned!' cried he decisively. 'An' as for what specie o' durgit was hoo can Aa tell hoo many species there may be in Hell?'

'You had me there, ' I acknowledged, smiling. 'Well, tell me how youescaped from the brute. '

'He chivvied us aboot halfway te the wall, an' then I think he gied itup; leastways when Aa gied a keek ower my shoulder as Aa drew near it hewasn't there. '

'You didn't hear the dog dashing on you or galloping after you, and yetyou heard it growling, and felt it take a piece out of your trousers. Itseems half real, half Hell-hound!' I commented. 

'It's easy talkin', ' replied Geordie contemptuously, 'but if he had hada hand o' yor breeks ye'd have knawn he was _damned_ real, Aa's warrantye, ' and he spat on the ground with emphasis. 

'My aunt saw the hound a year ago, ' I continued, 'but it didn't chaseher; it only growled and frightened her. '

'Mevvies it kenned she was the Priest's wife, ' suggested my companion. Then with a grin, 'Noo, as thoo's his nephew thoo gan and see if it willchivvy thoo, and, if it does, Aa'l bet thoo thoo'll run from it fasterthan thoo's ever run i' your life afore. '

I turned away with a laugh, saying I was going to look about for thedog's tracks. 

'The beggar had ne tracks, Aa warrant thoo, ' shouted my informant afterme, but he was wrong, for I soon found tracks in the park here and therein the soft grass, and an impress of paws which evidently must havebeen bandaged--that is, there was a round slot only, no separate padswere showing. _The Hell-hound was evidently club-footed. _ As I looked atthe imprint a little closer I grew certain that the hound's paws hadbeen bound round with some soft material--linen, calico, or washleather, for one of the coverings had come unloosed and I saw a distinct mark ofclaws. 

I investigated the mausoleum next, and found that there was a wall somefour feet six inches high round about it for the evident purpose ofprotection against cattle. Between this and the circular tomb-containingtower were some yew trees which had thriven well, and now extended theirlong fingers above and beyond the encircling wall. 

The yew branches were so thick and the dews had been so heavy thatcertainty was out of the question, but I thought I had discovered thisat least, that the hound had been lying beneath the bushes, and hadgiven 'Geordie' his hunt from the mausoleum exactly as he had asserted. 

I returned to the Rectory, my mind made up. I would borrow a revolverfrom my uncle, and watch beside the mausoleum all that night. 

Fortified by tea, encouraged by my aunt, and chaffed by my uncle, I setoff for my sentry post carrying an electric torch, some sticks ofchocolate, and a revolver. I approached the mausoleum very warily; asoft west wind was blowing, the night was quiet with alternate swathesof darkness and light as billowy clouds took the moon by storm andpassed beyond her. I stayed in the shadow of the trees, beside theknoll, and spied out the landscape, and listened for any tell-talesound. Beyond the jet-black bastions of Castle Ichabod I could see thewhite turmoil of the waking sea half a mile to the eastward; I couldhear her ancient threnody, but saw no sign of life within the park. 

Waiting for the next spell of darkness I walked swiftly up to theprotecting wall of the mausoleum, climbed over, and with the torch's aidfound a yew branch on which I could sit and observe--whenever it wasmoonlight--the little dell that ran down to the burn wherein theshepherd and dog had been drowned. 

Silence reigned supreme. I could just hear the gentle brushings of theyew branches as they rose and fell upon the wind--the ghostly sighing ofa ghostly spirit that had once belonged, perhaps, to the former owner ofthe Castle. 

I was fairly comfortable with my back against the trunk of the yew, andate chocolate instead of smoking; hours passed, and I had fits ofdrowsiness, and began to think I was wasting my time. 

Then on a sudden I woke with a start; some nerve in my subconsciousnesshad warned me in time; I was certain some one or something was near thatwas uncanny. 

The moonlight flooded the little dell, I saw a black shadow advancingswiftly on all fours, not unlike a big baboon. What in Heaven's name wasit?

A touch of ice slid down my spine--the unknown with its terrors besiegedmy brain--the apparition was too big for a dog. I gazed, rooted to myperch, unable to move a hand or foot. 

The creature drew swiftly closer, then on the sudden rose up; I saw theglint of the moonlight touch on a gun barrel, and discovered that thebearer was a man. 

I breathed more freely, but--what was he doing with the gun? Then Icaught sight of a dog padding swiftly after the newcomer, who was nowclose beside the mausoleum, and stood erect beside the wall two yardsaway from me. I did not stir, but watched him in a fascinated attention. Just as the press of cloud again obscured the moon I saw him take a bagfrom his back out of which pheasants' tails were distinctly protruding. I almost laughed aloud, for I recognised that it was only a poacher Ihad to deal with. In one hand I held my torch, in the other my revolver. 

'Have you had good sport?' I asked, as I covered him with both myweapons simultaneously. He jumped back in alarm, then, 'Who the devilare you?' he inquired hoarsely, and in another second recoveringhimself, cried to the dog, '_Sick him, Tyke_. '

'Call off your damned dog, ' I retorted, pulling up my feet, 'or Ishoot. '

He hesitated a moment, pulling his gun round. 

'Quick, ' I shouted. 

'Down, Tyke, ' he said sulkily to his dog, that was already growling andjumping at my trousers. 'What d' ye want, damn ye?' he inquired surlily. 

'I wanted to find out about the dog that frightened my aunt up at theRectory last year and the gardener two nights ago, ' I replied, feeling Ihad the upper hand in the encounter. 'There was a tale of a ghost in thepark, and I thought I would investigate it. ' The moon had emerged again, and I could see that my poacher was a strong, burly fellow, with arough, resolute face, who was surveying me as thoroughly as I surveyedhim. 

'Would you like a brace of pheasants?' he inquired abruptly. 

'No, thanks, ' I said; 'I'm only here for a day or two. '

'Well, ' he continued with a touch of defiance, 'if every yen had theirright I'd mevvies be shuttin' pheasants all day long like aad "Hell-FireDick" i' the monument here, for he was a tarrible favouryte wi' thewomen, ye must ken. Why, my grandfether was the very spit image o' theaad Lord, for I've seen his picture up at the Castle. Ay, an' my name'sAllan as well. '

The man interested me considerably, for he was a splendidfigure--compact, alert, with hair cropped like a _poilu_, vivid withlife as a sporting terrier--so I inquired what he did for a living whenhe wasn't covert shooting. 

'I work doon the pit, ' he replied, 'an' earns a good wage, but whiles Itires ov it an' longs for a walk up the hedgerows, to hear the partridgecall and the pheasant shoutin' as he gans up to roost, an' to say tomyself, "Aha, my fine fellow, but thoo'll be i' my bag to-morrow night, an' in my kite the night after that. "' He paused a moment, then askedsuspiciously, 'Thoo'll not blab--thoo'll not tell the police?'

'No, ' I replied readily, 'that's no concern of mine, but I shall have totell my aunt at the Rectory, for you gave her with your dog a greatfright that night she crossed the park a year ago. 

'If it had been aad "Oleomargarine, " commented my companion, 'it wud ha'done him good, for he's sairly wantin' a bit exercise. '

Smothering a smile at his irreverent description of my uncle, I asked mypoacher a final question. 

'Have you ever seen the ghost of the man or the collie dog they talkabout here in the park?'

'Not I, ' said he, fondling the ears of his savage mongrel retriever, 'Ireckon they're gliffed o' my aad Tyke. '

 NOTE. --The individuals described above, and the episode are imaginary, but a ghost is said to haunt the hall, in the form of a lady with a child in her arms, who watches from one of the high windows in 'lofty Seaton Delaval, ' for the return of a Delaval lover. 

 It has been suggested that the apparition is due to an optical illusion of light upon the window panes. 

THE MUNIMENT ROOM

My uncle had succeeded late in life to the family estate in the north ofEngland, which was situated on the wild moorland of north-westYorkshire. 

With him the entail would end, and though it was known that the estatehad been much impoverished and was heavily mortgaged, still thesuccession was not a thing 'to be sneezed at. ' So my mother, his sister, herself a practical Yorkshire woman, phrased it, and consequently I wasbid to accept with gratitude an invitation to visit my uncle in the homeof his fathers. 

Thither, therefore, I went, yet reluctantly, for my uncle was reputedsomewhat eccentric, and a great antiquary, and as he had been earlyreconciled to Rome and ordained a priest, whereas I came of a soundProtestant stock, I feared we might not find each other's companyentirely sympathetic. 'I shall only find in him, ' I thought, 'a "snuffypriest, " and he in me only an Oxford cub. '

A long drive over the moorland in a pelting storm of sleet and rain wasnot encouraging, nor was the companionship of the old, deaf Scotsgroom, who drove me, exhilarating, for he persisted, as the ancient deafnot uncommonly do, in regarding a stranger as a personal grievancegratuitously thrust upon him. 

Thus if I blamed the weather he transferred the fault upon myself forhaving chosen to come upon such a stormy day; and when I inquired aftermy uncle's health he replied that he was 'well enough so long as folkdidn't come hindering him from his studies. '

To this I replied humbly that I had heard he was writing a book upon hisfamily, which was one of the most ancient in the county, and that it wasa pity he should be the last of so old and formerly so famous a stock. 

'Ay, ' retorted my driver, with a glance of scorn out of the tail of hiseye, as he flicked upon his white steed, 'ay, there'll maybe be a sairdown-come when he's depairted. '

After this shaft I sank into silence, and was relieved when I saw thegrey, buttressed gables of Startington Hall appear below us grouped amidits trees. 

'It certainly looks like a haunted house, ' I remarked aloud, though Iwas merely speaking to myself, 'even though the tradition has nofoundation of fact. '

'How do ye ken it's haunted?' retorted my companion, whose hearingseemed to vary with his mood. 'And even if 'tis, there's naething cansteer the maister, for tak awa Papistry, he has a hairt o' gold--thebairns aboot here juist love him. '

'So you're not a Papist?' I inquired, smiling. 

'No' me, ' responded he grimly. 'I come o' the reet auld Presbyterianstock, and I keep off the maister some o' thae hairpies that are ayeafter him and his gear. '

He pulled up as he spoke at the porch of the Hall, and as I descended Inoted a stooping figure clad in a black soutane coming round the cornerof the house evidently to greet me. 

As I shook hands with him I could see in a glance that though he mightbe a recluse and an antiquary he had a lively and gentle heart; for ifhis face was yellow and his pupils sere there was a wonderfully shy andsympathetic mobility about his lips and face. 

'You have had a long, wet drive, I fear, ' he said, 'and these wildYorkshire moorlands are often inhospitable to strangers, yet in time onegets to love them for this, their very bold and uncompromisingcharacter. Also, they make one rejoice the more in a warm fireside. '

So speaking he led the way through a rounded hall, very poorlyfurnished, but hung with family portraits interspersed with heads ofdeer, and many masks of foxes, badgers, and hares. 

Turning to the left he opened a door into a small library, which waslined with books from skirting-board to cornice; a ripe fire glowed uponthe hearth, and two easy full-bottomed leathern chairs stood on eitherside. 

'The rougher the weather without, ' said my uncle genially, 'the warmerthe welcome within, and here one may warm both body and soul, ' hepointed to the fire and the well-filled bookshelves. 

'Most of them are my own treasures, ' he added, 'for the Startingtonfamily was given to keep up cellar and stable, rather than the library, as probably you know. Most of my time now, however, ' he said inconclusion, 'is spent in the muniment room upstairs, so that you maycount this room as your own, and may smoke as much as you please. Sinceyou are an Oxford man, and all Oxford men smoke, you are bound, syllogistically, to be a smoker. For myself, ' he added, his hand uponthe door-handle, 'I--like most priests--do not smoke, yet tobacco is notin the index, and we usually take a little snuff occasionally, ' and hetapped upon a small box hidden within his waistband. 

Therewith he was gone, and left me to my own devices till dinner-time, or supper rather, for he did not dress. 

The next few days passed very enjoyably for me, since the weather wasfine, and after studying in my Aristotle all morning, I took long walksover the breezy moorland, and then in the evening after supper mademyself very much at home amid my uncle's books and the burnt sacrificeof tobacco. I was not, however, very long in the house before I foundthat my uncle was uncommonly preoccupied; something seemed to beweighing upon his mind, for though he unbent at supper-time, and talkedby starts excellently over the port wine at dessert, he frequently fellinto an abstraction from which only with a mighty effort could he pluckhimself and resume his speech. 

As I knew him to be engaged upon his family history I thought that hisgentle mind must be exercised upon some uncomfortable episode in thelife story of an ancestor, and I hit upon the notion that a certain SirHumphrey Startington--a notable merchant adventurer, who was said tohave largely increased the family estate by his traffic in slaves in theseventeenth century--was the family skeleton that was haunting him. Ithought perhaps that my uncle's conscience was whispering in his earthat he should make restitution, and as I knew that he was most eager tofind funds to rebuild and redecorate the chapel--now much dilapidated--Iassumed that a battle was being waged within his soul between these twoopposing claims. 

Having arrived at this solution I led up to the subject of familyhistories in general one evening over the supper-table when he was morethan usually inclined to talk and linger over our dessert. 

'Families, I suppose, like nations, wax and wane, ' I said, 'they becomeatrophied, if not extinct. ' The port was magnificent--of the year'64--and I felt oracular. 'Hence the use of bastards. Robert the Devilfrom the top of his tower falls in love with the laundrywoman bleachinglinen on the green, and in natural course William the Conqueror sees thelight of day. '

My uncle interrupted my eloquence. 

'Far more often than people think the fall of a family, ay, or even of anation, is due to some crime or other which--unrepented andunpurged--has festered in the body and brought corruption with it. 

'I have deeply studied this profound problem, and I might tell you talesof how son has never succeeded father, how gradually a house has sunkinto physical decay, and ended in abortion and an idiot. '

Falling into dejection he paused a moment, then with great emotion herepeated the magnificent lines of Hector prophesying the fall of Priam, and his house, and his great town of Troy. His voice trembled and shooksadly as he concluded, 'My house too has fallen and nears its end, and Ialone am left to tell the tale--the tale of a most foul--as I amconvinced--and unnatural murder. '

With this he clasped his hands together and looked darkly into thefuture; then as he rose to bid me farewell and turned towards the door, I heard him murmur to himself: '_Illa culpa, illa culpa, illa maximaculpa_. '

The door closed; I was left to my pipe and my reverie. 'It must havebeen the Buccaneer who "wrought this deed of shame, "' I reflected, butthen I understood that he had been 'reconciled' to Rome before he died, had given gifts to the Church, built the chapel here, and so 'made agood end. ' On the other hand I remembered that he had died childless. 

The past was dead and gone, however, and did not much interest me, butmy uncle's emotion and distress touched me to the quick, and Idetermined to avoid the subject henceforth in our conversation. 

I went to bed early that night, for I had been a longer walk than usualthat afternoon, but whether it was that I was overtired, or could notrid my mind of my uncle's suffering I know not. The one thing certainwas that after a slight doze I became extraordinarily wide-awake. 

I was convinced that I heard footsteps somewhere or other in the house, and as I listened with the greatest intentness I distinctly caught thesound of some one treading upon the staircase that led into the hall. 

It must be either my uncle--walking perhaps in his sleep--or else theghost. I sat up in bed to listen the better, and without a doubt caughtthe sound of a footfall treading on the stone floor, apparently down inthe hall below. Curiosity prevailed over alarm; I got up, put on adressing-gown and socks, and proceeded cautiously without along thecorridor. 

The footsteps had come to a halt seemingly, for now I heard nothing; andthen on a sudden by the light of the waning moon that showed in a faintmilk-white aureole through the high window emblazoned with the buglesand caltrops of the Startingtons, that lit the hall below, I saw a dimfigure coming up the stairway towards me upon soundless feet; I drewback in utmost astonishment, and shrank away beside a massive oakcupboard on the landing. 

The figure mounted the steps slowly, and as though in pain, passedgently by me with just such a movement of the air as a moth might makein its flight, and with a tiny sound as of a sigh turned to the left andretreated along the passage. 

''Tis a lady!' I murmured to myself, overcome with astonishment. 

Almost at once I heard a firm tread of feet upon the stairs below, andthere mounting quickly another figure now showed at the head of thestairs, and I recognised in the half light that it was my uncle. 

He did not pause, but turned at once to the left, and incontinentlyfollowed after the fragile figure of the lady, who had disappeared fromview into the misty depth of the corridor. 

I stood dumbfounded. Here was a double mystery which I felt bound, though a little shaken in my nerves, to unravel. 

A-tiptoe I followed after my uncle along the dark passage, feeling myway lest I should knock against the pictures or the various bronze caststhat stood on pedestals beside the wall. 

The passage turned shortly again to the left and led, as I knew, past myuncle's bedroom to the muniment room situate at the end of the wing. 

When I turned the corner there was just sufficient moonlight from thesouth window to show me the dim figure of my uncle standing within themuniment room, apparently feeling with his hands upon the wall. 

As I stood irresolute, but keenly watchful, I saw the sudden purpleflame of a match leap up in the darkling room. My uncle had lit a match, and with trembling, excited fingers was applying the flame to a candlethat stood on the table. 

He held the candle up towards the wall, peering intently upon it, and asI drew nearer on tiptoe I could hear him exclaiming in disjointedutterance. 

'She vanished here. Just here. At last, then, I have discovered hergrave. Yet the cruelty of it! for I know she was innocent. '

He drew something from his pocket and marked upon the wall therewith;then tapped with his knuckles, and, finding it to resound hollow, criedjoyfully, 'Ay, it is as I suspected, quite resonant. Yes! she shall havea Christian burial. ' He drew his hand across his forehead, signed withthe Cross, louted low before an ikon of the Madonna, and I heard him sayfervently:

'Ago tibi gratias, Immaculata. '

Seemingly satisfied, he turned again and narrowly scrutinised the wallonce more, then slowly, and as though very tired, withdrew from the roomand came back along the passage, and passed within his own chamber. 

As he came on I stepped velvet-footed backwards, waited a few minutes atthe corner to see if he would come out once more, but as he almostimmediately extinguished the light I concluded that his quest wascompleted for the night, and made my way back to my bedroom. 

In the morning I was surprised to find my uncle already in the parlourwhere usually I breakfasted by myself, for he was used to take his _caféau lait_ in his own room. 

Bidding him good morning I had scarcely taken my seat when he produced aminiature from his pocket, and earnestly gazing upon me inquired what Ithought of the character of the individual depicted in it. 

I looked upon the medallion with great intentness, for I felt convincedthe mystery of the night was connected inseparably with it. 

What I saw was a portrait--artistically executed in pastel--of adelicate lady in eighteenth-century costume, with a strangely patheticexpression in her dark brown eyes as of one perpetually striving tounderstand and to be understood by others. Her mouth also showed thesame fragile tenderness of feeling, and altogether she seemed intendedto be--if not herself a musician or a poetess--at least the wife of amusician or poet or sculptor. 

'Not a strong character, ' I replied musingly, 'but a most sweet anddelicate lady--one who should pass her time in playing upon theclavichord or the viol d'amore. In sympathy of temperament I think shewould be more Italian than English. '

'You are right, ' said my companion eagerly, 'she was Italian on hermother's side. But what of her moral character?--that is what I want toknow from you--what think you of her constancy?'

I looked again into the deep brown eyes and pondered before I replied. 'I think, ' I said slowly, 'I think that where she had once loved shewould love ever. '

My uncle's intensity became instantly relaxed, and a joyous lookoverspread his face. 

'I am sure of it, ' he said with conviction, 'but I rejoice, nephew, thatyour sound judgment bears out my intuition; but though you make mehappy the thought of the outrageous cruelty of her death makes memiserable, for there is but one poor thing we now can do for her, thatis, to find her bones, and lay them to rest in the graveyard. 

'As for the jealous and inhuman pride of the husband that could thusimmure in the walls of his house the tender, loving, fragile bride I canfind no adequate words. 

'I cannot rest till I know this for a certainty, or till I have giventhe poor bones their proper service and burial. I have sent for thevillage mason--a discreet man enough--and should you care to assist mein my task, nephew, I shall be greatly indebted to you. '

I very readily volunteered my services, for I had been profoundlyinterested in the cause of my uncle's abstraction from the first, andthe mysterious apparition had enhanced my curiosity. 

So the three of us set to work with hammers and chisels, and in thecourse of a few hours' work we had proved to my uncle's satisfactionthat his intuition had been correct in that we found the remains of ahuman body interred within the hollow of the walls; _yet 'twas not thecorpse of a woman, as he had surmised, but that of a young man_. 

IN THE CLIFF LAND OF THE DANE

A LETTER TO THE REVEREND LAURENCE STERNE AT COXWOLD FROM JOHN HALLSTEVENSON AT SKELTON CASTLE, AS SET DOWN BY HIS NEPHEW FREDDY HALL. 

The truth is, reverend sir, that being eventually designed for the Bar, I had taken up this quest with an additional vigour, for here was amystery wherein my Lord Chief-Justice himself would have had adifficulty in seeing the proper clue on 't. 

For some months previous to my sojourn at Skelton Castle there had beenmysterious midnight thefts of sheep, heifers, and suchlike cattle on thehills about here, Redcar, and Danby-way, and even on occasion a murderadded, as in the case of poor Jack Moscrop, the shepherd, who was foundin the early morning with his head cut in twain, as though by somemighty cleaver, stark dead and cold on the low-lying ground beyondKirkleatham. 

Much disquietude had been caused thereby amongst the farmer folk, andthe whole countryside was agape with excitement and conjecture, butnothing had been discovered as to the malefactor, though many tales weretold, more especially by the womenfolk, who put down all mishaps to thesame unknown agent. 

Some said 'twas a black man who had escaped off a foreign ship that hadbeen stranded by Teesmouth, but in that case one would imagine that suchan one would have eaten his victim raw, whereas the sheep and heifersthat were killed had always been 'gralloched, ' as the Scotch term it, that is, had been cut open with a knife and disembowelled, and thecarcases removed. 

Some again avowed 'twas an agent of the Prince of Darkness, for therewere hoofmarks of an unshod horse discovered on one or two occasionsleading up and away from the scene of the slaughter, and blood dropsalongside, as though the booty had been slung from the horse's quarters, and there dripped down as he sped along. 

Now as you may imagine, I too had battered my brain with variousconjectures, but without practical result till one night after huntingall day, and having lamed my mare badly with an overreach, I wasreturning slowly homeward by a short cut across Eston Nab, so as tostrike the Guisboro' Road, and thence straight to Skelton. 

'Twas a stormy November night, time about nine o'clock, for I had stayedsupper with a friendly yeoman, one Petch, of a noted family hereabout, and was trudging a-foot, so as to ease the mare, along the desolatehill-top, where in a kind of basin there lies a lonely pool of water, set round in the farther side by a few draggled, wind-torn firs. 

There was a swamped moon overhead, shining now and again as wreckageshows amongst billows, the gleam but momentary, so that when I caughtsight of a kneeling figure across t' other side of the mere I couldscarce distinguish anything at all, whether 'twere a boggart, as theysay here, or some solitary shepherd seeking his sheep. 

However, at that moment there was a break overhead, and the moon, rheumy-eyed, shook her head clear of cloud, whereby I saw plain enough'twas a tall, burly man kneeling beside some object or other, and amighty big horse standing a bit to the rearward of him. 

I drew nigher without being perceived, and the light still holding, sawthat 'twas a young stirk or heifer the man was disembowelling. 

'Ha, ha!' shouts I, without a further thought than that here was themidnight miscreant and cattle-stealer, and that I had caught himred-handed. 

With that he lifts his head and gazes across the pool at me fixedly foran instant of time, then with a whistle to his horse, leaps to his feet, vaults to the saddle, and swings away at a hard gallop round the mere'sedge, the moonlight flashing back from some big axe he was carrying inhis right hand. 

'Tally ho!' shouted I, commencing to run after him, bethinking me he wasfor escaping, but no sooner had he rounded the edge some hundred andfifty yards away than I saw 'twas he who was chasing me. 

Another look at him tearing towards me was sufficient to change myresolution, and hot foot I tore round to t' other end, trusting to winto the wood's edge before he could catch me up. 

I heard the hard breathing of the horse close behind me, the crunch ofhis hoofs coming quicker and quicker; one fleeting glimpse I threwbackward, and saw a bright axe gleam above me, then my foot catching ina tussock, I sank headlong, the horse's hoofs striking me as I fell. 

I must suppose--for at that moment the moon was swallowed again by aswirl of cloud--that in the changing light he had missed his blow, andfinding myself unhurt, I was able to gain my feet, make a double andgain the wall's edge by the plantation before he had caught me up oncemore. Just as I vaulted over a crash of stones sounded, some loose onesat top grazing my foot as I touched the ground on the far side. 

The wood, however, was pitch black, thick with unpruned trees; I bentdouble and dived deeper into its gloomy belly. 

'Safe now, ' thinks I, as utterly outdone I sank on a noiseless bed ofpine-needles; and by the Lord Harry 'twas none too soon, for if ithadn't been for the kindly moon dipping I'd have been in two pieces bynow. 'To Jupiter Optimus Maximus I owe an altar, ' says I, in my firstrecovered breath, and, 'curse that infernal reiver, ' says I in mysecond, 'but I'll be up ends with him yet. '

No sound came from without; all was still, save for the soughing in thepines overhead. 

A quarter of an hour passed perhaps, and I determined to creep to thewall and see if my assailant were anywhere visible. 

The wind had freshened; the clouds were unravelling to its touch, and Icould see clearly enough now across the desolate hill-top. Nothingliving showed save my mare, who was cropping the coarse grass tufts justwhere I had left her. 

Surmounting the wall, I approached the spot where I had seen the reiverfirst. There lay red remnants that clearly told a tale. The carcase, however, had been 'lifted, ' and I could trace the direction in which myraider had gone by the drops of blood that lay here and there by theside of the horse's track. 

As the ground in places was soft with peat or bog, by a carefulexamination of the hoof marks of his horse, I was able to ascertain thedirection in which he had gone, which seemed to be nearly duenorth-east, or at least east by north. The marks proved another thing, moreover, and that is, that here was the same miscreant who had killedthe shepherd and carried off the cattle elsewhere, for 'twas an unshodhorse that had galloped over Eston Nab top that night. 

'Twas sore-footed that I gained home at last, but all the way Idiscussed a many plans for the discovery and punishment of mymoss-trooper. 

'Tis an unpleasant remembrance to have fled; next time we met I swore tobe in a better preparation for the encounter. 

Next morning I started to explore, for I knew something of thedirection. I knew also that my man was a tall, well-built, burly fellowwith a big ruddy beard, and the horse a fine seventeen hands roan thatwould be known far and wide in the district. 

Determining to stay out till I had discovered somewhat, I rode down tothe low-lying ground between Boulby and Redcar, as being the likeliestregion to get news of horse or man and, sure enough, at the second timeof inquiry, I was informed at a farmhouse that some six months agoFarmer Allison, away over by Stokesly, had lost a fine, big, upstandingroan stallion, of which he had been inordinately proud. 

Of the man, though, I could glean nothing, till finally, a goodhousewife, overhearing her man and myself conversing, cried out, 'Eh!but by my surely, there's that Red Tom o' the "Fisherman's Rest, " nighto Saltburn, that's new come there, who features him you speak of; buthe's nowt but a "fondy, " oaf-rocked, they say he is; why, Moll who hawkst' fish about says his wife beats him an' maks him wash up t'dishes--the man being a soart o' cholterhead by all accounts. '

However, 'fondy' or no, I was sworn to go and see for myself, though thethought that 'twas perhaps a disguise the reiver had worn gave mediscomfort, and made my quest seem foolish enough. 

As I drew close to the little tavern above the cliff, I could hear adispute going on inside; then a crash as of some crockery falling, andshortly a big, burly man with an auburn beard came tumbling forth in anawkward haste, pursued by the high tone of a woman's voice within. 

Shaking his sleeve free of some water-drops, he sat down on a low rocknear hand, and fell knitting at a stocking he proceeded to draw from hisjacket. 

''Tis surely the man, ' says I to myself, for in height, build, andcolour of hair, he seemed the fellow of the midnight raider, but yet itseemed impossible; there might be a brother, however. 

I rode up to him, and asked if I could bait my horse and seekrefreshment within. 

'Ay, sir, surely ye can; if ye'll dismount I'll tak your horse, sir, an'give him a feed o' corn, ' and shambling away he touched a greasy lock atme as he led my horse to the stable behind. 

I turned to the inn, and encountered mine hostess, fuming within thebar. 

'Please draw me a pot of ale, ma'am, ' says I, 'while my horse gets afeed. Your good man, I suppose 'tis, who took him away outside?'

'Ay, he's mine, so says t' Church an' t' law, Aah b'lieve, but 'odrabbit him, Aah says, who knaws the clumsiness o' the creature. Just fitfor nowt else but cuttin' up t' bait for t' harrin' fishin'. '

'Been here long?' says I further, carelessly. 

'Six months mair or less, ' says she with a snap, eyeing me suspiciously. 

'Well, here's for luck and a smarter man at the next time of asking, 'and with that I tossed down the ale, paid the reckoning, and strode outto the stable, for nothing further was to be got out of the vinegar lipsof Mrs. Boniface. 

I looked narrowly round the low-roofed and ill-lit stable, but no signof a big roan horse anywhere did I see, only a jack-spavined cob, suchas a fishwife might hawk her fish about with. 

'Ever seen or heard tell of that big roan of Farmer Allison's, strayed, stolen, or lost, about six months since?' so I accosted Boniface anew, on finding him rubbing down my horse's hocks with a bit of straw. 

'Noah, sir, not Aah; Aah nevver seen 'im, sir. What soart o' a mak o'horse was 'e, sir?'

I looked him full in the face as question and answer passed, and not ashred of intelligence could I detect in his opaque, fish-like eyes. 

'Oaf-rocked, ' truly enough; he seemed as incapable of dissimulation as astalled ox, and with a heavy feeling of disappointment I inquired whatwas to pay, and rode away down the slope. 

'Curious, ' I mused, 'how imagination plays one tricks at times! Once getthe idea of a red beard into your mind, and Barbarossa is as often metwith as the robin redbreast. '

Then all in a moment my eye caught in the spongy bottom a thin mark cutclearly crescent-wise upon the turf. There was something strangelyfamiliar about the horseshoe curve. Then I remembered the unshod roan ofthe night before. 

'Twas the same impress, for in neither case was there any trace of theiron rim. 'Where the horse is the rider will not be far away, ' thinks I, and hope kindled afresh in my heart, as I rode slowly on, resolvingvarious conjectures. 

I determined finally to go call upon the farmer at Kirkleatham, whoseheifer it was, as I had learnt, that had been killed and carried off thenight before. 

He was said to be tightfisted, so probably would be in a mood forrevenge, and ready enough to join in any scheme for discovery of thereiver. 

As luck had it, Farmer Johnson was within doors, and in a fine takingabout the loss of his beast: he was ready to swear an oath that hewouldn't rest till he had caught the malefactor, and agreed upon theinstant to watch out every night in the week with me round about 'TheFisherman's Rest' on chance of coming across the suspect either going orreturning. 

'Ay, Aah'll gan mahself, an' Aah'll tak feyther's owd gun wi' me there, for Aah'll stan' none o' his reiver tricks, an' Tom and Jack, they'llcome along too, an' 'od burn him, but we'll nab him betwixt us, theimpudent scoundrel, if it's a leevin' man he is. '

By eight o'clock we four had ensconced ourselves in hiding-places on allsides of the little inn, having tethered our horses within a small butthick-grown covert above the rise that led to the inn door. Here Istationed myself and for better vision climbed a tree wherefrom Icommanded the whole situation. The others hid themselves as they foundshelter convenient, one below the cliff's edge some two hundred yards tothe east, another amongst broken boulders to the southward, while FarmerJohnson crouched behind the wall that girt the road leading past theale-house from the north. 

'Twas weary work watching, more by token that that night nothingappeared save a thirsty fisherman or two, and a stray, shuffle-footedvagrant or the like. 

Next night the same, and I for one was growing somewhat cold, but FarmerJohnson, bull-like in his obstinacy, swore he wouldn't shave his chintill he had 'caught summat, ' so off we started on the third night to ourrendezvous. 

'The third time brings luck, ' thought I, as I squatted down in the forkof the same old twisted elm; 'and 'tis something stormy this evening, which might suit our reiver's tastes. '

It would then be about eight of the clock, as I may suppose, the windfrom the seaward, the clouds lowering, fringed with a moonlight borderlike broidery on a cloak, and that raw, cold touch in the air thatchills worse than the hardest winter's frost. 

The night grew stormier; vapour lifted upward, and assumed strange andthreatening shape. The cloud forms might be the giants rising up out ofJotunheim, and advancing to attack Odin and the Aesir--the evil wolfFenrir in the van--his bristles silvered by the moon. 

An hour passed, and I began to wish I had never undertaken the quest, ormentioned the matter to Farmer Johnson, when I heard, as if some wayoff, not exactly a neigh, but a sort of defiant snorting, such as astallion breathes forth when he wishes to be free. Then a sound as of aheavy stone falling succeeded, mingled with a scraping and a tramplingnoise. 

Craning my neck forward, I saw under a broadened fringe of moonlight theroan horse with the ruddy-bearded reiver beside him. They had evidentlycrept through some secret passage that issued into the bottom below me. 

I was just upon the point of raising the hue and cry on him when anaction of his took me by surprise. 

Holding up his battle-axe--for such was his weapon--he raised it aloft, then thrust its handle deep into the soft moss of the hollow. Next, hethrew the horse's reins over the head of it, and sinking down upon hisknees, appeared to be pouring forth a prayer to Heaven, expressed in oldDanish, which I have set down in English as nearly as I can:

 'Vafoder, the swiftness of Sleipnir Breathe Thou into my roan. Let him fly like Thy ravens Black Munin and Hugi. May my axe be as Thor's, When he wieldeth Miolnir. Winged Thor's mighty weapon. The pride of Valhalla. This grant me, O Odin, Grim, Ygg and All Father. '

He then drew forth from his breast a small phial, and having set up asquare stone beside him poured forth into the cup or hollow at the top, liquid of a dark colour, which I imagined must be either blood or wine. This done, he seemed to fall to prayer afresh, but in so low a tonethat I could not catch the words of his utterance with any distinctness. 

Then he leapt to his feet, lifted the axe, tossed it into the air, caught it as it fell, and had vaulted upon the stallion's back before Ihad even recovered from my first astonishment. 

'Tally-ho!' shouts I, 'yonder he goes; forrard Mr. Johnson! forrard Tomand Jack!' and, scrambling down my tree, I made for my horse. 

The next thing I heard was a 'pang, ' evidently the discharge of FarmerJohnson's musket, and thereat a weird, smothered, savage note of painand rage broke out upon the night. 

Seizing my horse I mounted, and out of the covert across a gap in thewall. Dimly I could see a centaur-like figure plunging and snorting uponthe short turf by the cliff's edge, then three figures running from thenorth, south, and east towards it. 

The roan horse plunged and reared like one demented; the rider sittingthe while firm and supple as an Indian; then, seizing on a sudden thebit 'twixt his teeth, off set the stallion at a tearing gallopsouthward. 

Away I followed hotly, the others giving chase and halloaing in thebackground. 

Dyke after dyke we flew headlong in the grey-white mist--the space stilleven betwixt us--then, at a sudden high dry-stone wall, which loomed upas a wave of darkness seaward, my horse jumped short, and down we felltogether, on the turf beyond. 

As I lay there for a moment or two, I was certain I heard a heavyrumbling of rock or stone by the cliff edge hard by, followed by a deepplunge far below into the sea. 

I rose to my feet and looked around me. There was no sign of horse orrider; both had disappeared. 

The cliff here made a sudden bend inland, so that I could even catch thecome and go of the waves in the far void below, and I felt 'twas luckyfor me that I had been riding the nethermost line of the twain of us. 

Cautiously approaching the edge, I noticed it had been just broken awayunder the tramplings of a horse, and as I peeped over I caught sight ofan indistinct figure lying on a broad slab of rock below that jutted outsome way from the cliff. 

Feeling carefully around for support of root or stone, I made my waydown, and discovered, as I had already conjectured, 'twas the reiverthat lay there. 

He was lying motionless, spread on his back, and was murmuring tohimself as I drew close. 

I knelt beside him to lift him up, and could catch, as I tried to raisehim, what he was saying. 

'Whisht ye, then, whisht, Effie, Aah never meant to break t' dish, Aahtell thee. Leave us aloan, then, lass, doan't plague t' life oot of aman. Ay, Aah'll fetch t' coo in i' guid time, there's no call t' bangus that gait. '

Then he babbled indistinctly; his lips grew whiter and ceased frommoving; and when the others had come up I think he was already dead. 

As I rode off for the physician in Redcar, I minded me I had once readin a book, Reverend Sir, that this same Cleveland was once 'theCliff-land of the Danes, ' and that the older name of RoseberryTopping--the famous hill of these parts--was Othenesberg, or Odin'sHill, together with much else of an antiquarian interest and variedconjecture, which I must even leave to wiser heads than mine todetermine the true issues of, as well as their bearing upon the eventsjust narrated, but this I may say, that here is the same 'crazy tale' mycousin mentioned to you, set down in all true verisimilitude by, reverend sir, your very faithful and humble servant to command, FREDDY HALL. 

THE DOPPEL-GANGER

So this was the old home--the cradle of his race!

Percy Osbaldistone of Osbaldistone Tower gazed curiously about him inwhat had formerly been the library, and espied a capacious Queen Annechair by the fireside which looked inviting. 

Having ensconced himself therein he put up his feet against themantelpiece, lit a long cigar, and drew in the smoke slowly andmeditatively. 

The old housekeeper and her pretty niece had given him a good supper, and he himself, foreseeing empty cellars, had brought with him an amplefreight, so now at the long last he had arrived in harbour. 

After all his vicissitudes and being for years the black sheep of theancient family, that he should come into possession of OsbaldistoneTower and Manor touched his vein of humour. 

He laughed grimly, rubbed one hand upon the other, and lookedcontemptuously up at the portrait of an ancestor who seemed to bescowling at the last representative of his race. It was true that therewas not much of the old family estate left, and what was left wasmortgaged, but still it was good for a few thousands, and the familylawyer had to find them or go. The heir of the Osbaldistones continuedhis reflections. He didn't 'give a damn' for his ancestors, for what hadthey done save bring him into the world--a doubtful blessing?

'_Après moi le Déluge_, ' murmured he to himself with a cynical smile, ashe ensconced himself deeper in the recesses of his armchair and drankdeep from the glass by his side. His hand shook badly, and he spilledsome drops of whisky and soda upon his trousers. 

'Damn!' cried he in annoyance. Then to himself _sotto voce_, 'Now thatI've got back to this old quiet place I'll soon have my rotten nervesright again. '

Looking up after wiping his trousers he suddenly perceived to his greatastonishment, for he had heard no sound of entrance, a fellow seated inthe chair opposite which nestled under the Spanish leather screen thatkept off the draught from the door behind. 

'Who the devil are you?' inquired the Lord of the Manor angrily, 'andwhat d' ye want?'

'I am an Osbaldistone like yourself, ' replied the stranger suavely; 'weare the last of the ancient house that bears upon its chevron the spearand spurs (mullets), so when I heard of your good fortune I thought itbut polite to call and gratulate you on your succession. '

Percy Osbaldistone looked across upon his unwelcome visitor withnarrowed eyes. The room was dark in its old oak panelling; there was butthe one lamp on the table behind him, and it was by the light of thefire that he had to scrutinise the newcomer. So far as he could see thefellow was not unlike himself: he seemed to have the high-ridged nose ofthe family, which had become almost a birthmark in course of years. Yetthe sardonic hardness of chin and jaw was very different to his ownflabbiness; and as he watched his opposite Osbaldistone felt hatredsurge up within his soul. 

He had heard of men having their 'double. ' Perhaps this was his own. Heshivered at the thought. 

Then he recollected that a branch of the family had long years agomigrated to Virginia. Possibly the fellow was one of their descendants. 

'Are you from America?' he inquired. Then he went on in haste, notwaiting for reply, 'For myself, I've only just arrived here. The onlyservants are an ancient housekeeper and her little niece, and I can't dowith visitors--you'll understand me. Take a whisky and soda and thengo, ' and the speaker ended with a snarl and suggestive stretch of legand boot. 

'You are not very hospitable, ' replied his opposite, suavely as before, 'but it matters little, nor do I require a whisky and soda. I simplycalled in for a "crack, " as you say up here, and to congratulate you onsucceeding. '

'A crack!' echoed his host surlily. 'What about?'

'Oh, about our family and yourself, ' returned the other caressingly. 'Iam something of a genealogist, love family histories and dote onskeletons in the cupboard. As a matter of fact, ours is a singularlydull chronicle: except that the head of the family was an unsuccessfulrebel in the "15, " we never travelled beyond our Anglo-Saxonfatherdom--deep drinking, gambling, hard riding--and the _droit deSeigneur_'--here the speaker paused a moment--'this little niece, forexample?' he hinted delicately. 

'How the devil has the fellow guessed that?' thought Osbaldistone, whitewith anger and touched by secret fear. 

'Get out!' he cried hoarsely, and felt if his revolver lay handy in hispocket, ready for use if needful. 

His guest, however, took no notice of the command. Indeed, he went onmore coolly than before. 'I mention it, ' said he, 'because there was anugly story about in British East Africa when you were farming out in thewilds beyond Simba, of the rape of a native girl, who was eventuallyturned out of doors at night and never reached her home again. Hyæna orlion? Which d' ye think?'

Osbaldistone's hand dropped feebly back from his revolver. His face wasashen-coloured. Good God! Who was this visitor? The episode of thisblack girl was the one thing he had never been able to forget. Shrinkingback into his chair, he gazed as a rabbit may gaze upon the approachingpython. 

'Damn the fellow!' He plucked forth his revolver with quivering fingers, levelled it at his guest, and pulled upon the trigger. The bullet sangacross the room, passed through armchair and screen into the wainscotbeyond. 

The smoke cleared; Osbaldistone could still see the unmoved and mockingeye of his enemy that filled him with a nameless horror. He lifted hispistol to take a better aim, then--on a strange misgiving--turned thebarrel round upon himself. 'You fool!' muttered the strange visitorsardonically, and as he spake he vanished as silently as he had come. 

IN MY LADY'S BEDCHAMBER

'Well, ' said Harry laughingly, as he showed me the family portraits, andmore especially the ladies, on the wall of the panelled dining-room, 'which of them would you choose if you were, like Henry VIII. , on thelook-out for a fresh wife?'

'This one, I think, ' I replied, as I gazed at a charming fragile beautyin a big bonnet, beneath which shy eyes looked bewitchingly; 'surely shewas a Frenchwoman and painted by Fragonard?'

'Aha!' cried he, 'you are a bold man, for there are tales told ofher--strange tales of feminine and deadly jealousy for all her softdemureness. She was French, as you say, and a devoted wife, I believe, but probably her _mari_ was not as faithful as he should have been. Sheis said to haunt the house, but I haven't come across her yet myself. You are to sleep in her bedchamber, ' he added with a smile, 'so perhapsyou may be favoured with the sight of your charmer. '

I pressed naturally for further information, but he put me off by sayingit was too long a story, and that he had many other things to show meon this my first evening in the manor house. 

I had only just arrived by motor. We had dined, and my friend wasshowing me round his possessions with all the pride of new and suddeninheritance. Harry had always been lucky; he had a talent for 'droppingin' for things unexpectedly. Thus at Eton, though really only thirteenthman, he had played against Harrow; and now owing to unexpected deaths hehad become the possessor of a charming seventeenth-century manor houseon the northern Border--a house that, lying in a deep crook of the Tweedand hidden by trees, had marvellously escaped the hand and torch of theraider. 

He had succeeded to his great-uncle--an antiquary and recluse--adisappointed bachelor, and latterly, 'twas said, somewhat of a miser, which was fortunate for my friend, who had very little of his own. 

Harry was soon to be married, and I was to be best man. He had come downto interview the agent and see what alterations and new furniture wouldbe required, and had insisted on my joining him for a few days' fishingin the Tweed, while he was being inducted by agent and bailiff into hisestate and introduced to the tenantry. After surveying his ancestors'portraits we adjourned to the hall, which was furnished withbattle-axes, Jethart spears, basket-hilted swords, maces, salmonleisters, masks of otters and foumarts, foxes and badgers, and all thevarious trophies of Border sport and warfare of old time. This was theoldest part of the house, and proved by its stone-vaulted roof that ithad belonged to the old peel tower on to which the manor had beenengrafted; a fire of pine logs flamed in an open fireplace, gleaming andglancing on the copper drums that held relays of firewood on eitherhand. 

Skins of red deer and the tufted pelts of kyloe cattle lay on the stonefloor: there were massive black oak coffers and a great wardrobe likesome huge safe for coats behind us, but two broad ancient leathernarmchairs stood by the hearth invitingly, suggestive of unperturbedeighteenth-century ease, wherein we at once settled ourselves. 

It was perhaps the absence of feminine taste and adornment that made thehouse seem older than it really was; apart from the charming portraitsof the ladies in the dining-room the house resembled rather a Borderstrength than a Jacobean manor house. 

However, the atmosphere was rendered all the more romantic thereby, andI lay back in my chair making believe to myself that I was staying witha Lord Warden of the Marches in the days of the ancient feud betweenEngland and Scotland. 

We smoked and talked, however, not of the far, but of the immediate, past, of Eton and Oxford, and of mutual friends till twelve o'clockstruck on the brazen rim of a Cromwellian clock, and we agreed that itwas bedtime. 

I had clean forgotten all about the reputed ghost till my host said'good-night' at the door of my bedroom and bade me call him if I got a'gliff' in the night from the apparition of 'Silkie'--so he informed methe lady was called locally. 'You've got your retriever with you, ' hesaid, 'so no doubt you will feel protected. '

'Brenda, ' I replied, 'is Scotch by birth, so possibly she may besuperstitious. The event will determine. So long, ' I said, as Harry wentoff to the room of his late bachelor great-uncle. 

Though very sleepy after a long motor ride I could not 'turn in' till Ihad explored my bedroom, which was indeed a fascinating and enchantingchamber. It seemed to be a coign plucked out of an old French château, and inset here like a rare plant in an old stone wall. The panelling wasof Italian intarsia work inlaid with a renaissance design portrayingthe tale of Cupid and Psyche; on the final panel Jupiter was handing thecup of ambrosia to Psyche with the words, '_Sume, Psyche, et immortalisesto, nec unquam digridietur a tuo nexu Cupido, sed istae vobis eruntperpetuae nuptiae_'; the floor was formed of parquetry, and the rugsabove were of fine Persian workmanship. The curtains of the window wereof purple silk, embroidered, I imagined, by the fair Frenchwomanherself, and the great four-poster bed was of fine walnut with deepmouldings, and adorned with the fleur-de-lys of France. The whole roomseemed to be redolent of the grace of a charming _grande dame_ of oldFrance. I made up the fire with fresh pine logs upon the tiled hearth, settled Brenda upon a rug by the side of it, undressed and went to bed, enchanted by my surroundings, and very much inclined to envy my friendhis good fortune. 

I fell asleep at once, for the bed was luxuriously comfortable, and Iwas extraordinarily sleepy. 

How long I slept I did not know, but when I awoke I had an immediate andmost lively intimation that some one was in the room. I drew myselfnoiselessly upward, and at once my eyes rested upon a dainty figuresitting in the chair by the dying fire, evidently engaged upon someabsorbing occupation. It was a woman clad in a sprigged silk gown, theimage of my lady of the dining-room portrait. What was she doing?Seemingly pounding some substance in a small mortar. As I gazedastounded a slight knock sounded on the door. My Lady seemedextraordinarily perturbed; she started violently, seemed to shakesomething white from the mortar as she gathered it hastily to her, movedswiftly with the slightest rustle as of a scurrying mouse and vanishedthrough the door that led into the dressing-room. 

I waited a few minutes to see if she would return, or perhaps some oneelse enter by the other door, but no sound greeted my ear, and my eyescould discover nothing unusual about the room. 

I rose, and, moving on tiptoe, opened both doors, and with the light ofan electric torch I always carried with me, investigated the corridorand dressing-room, but could make no discovery of any kind, nor perceivewhere my fair visitant had vanished. 

When I returned to my room I found Brenda had been disturbed by myperambulation, for she was up and moving about restlessly. Giving her apat I bade her lie down again, and went back to bed determined to stayawake for the chance of my Lady reappearing. 

A few minutes after this Brenda seemed to be taken with a fit, for shegot up suddenly, made a bolt, as it were, for the door, shook with someconvulsive movements of her jaw, gave a horrible sort of strangled sob, and fell with a heavy thud on the floor. 

I leapt out of bed, got some water in a basin and knelt down beside her, but she was already stiff, her teeth were clenched, and she showed ahorribly distorted mask. 

A horrid suspicion awoke in my mind. I searched with my torch on thefloor where my Lady had dropped the powder, and I could plainly see thewet edge of Brenda's tongue and the smudge of the white powder which shehad licked up. 

I went back to where Brenda lay stiff and stark, and felt with atrembling hand for her heart. 

It beat no more; my Brenda was dead--poisoned by the beautiful Lady. 

THE WARLOCK OF GLORORUM

'But are you sure your father wouldn't object?' I asked of mycompanion--a most bright and amusing Eton boy--to whom I was playingbear leader. 'Not a bit, ' replied he; 'my father is a naturalist andDarwinian; not a sceptic, but _Agnosticus suavis_ or _Verecundus, ordocompositae_, you know. "Hunt the ghost by all means, " said he, when Isuggested a ghost "worry, " and then as he does sometimes over coffee anda cigarette after dinner he talked with a real keen interest on thewhole subject. He talked so long that old Mac (the butler) got quiteshirty, and finally--after putting his head round the door two or threetimes--came in like the Lord Mayor and bore off the whisky decanter tothe smoking-room. Now, the pater said that the love of the marvellouswas native to mankind, and Tertullian had acquired a false credit forhis motto, _Credo quia impossible_, since that was the natural failingof the untrained intellect, and, scientifically speaking, he ought tohave been shot sitting. 

'Then he went on to tell a jolly story which some great educationalisthad told him of the little girl playing in the garden, who saw Fifine, the poodle, unexpectedly appear, and at once rushed in crying to hermother, "Mummy, mummy, there's a bear in the garden!" Her mother, beinga wholly unimaginative creature, promptly put Maggie into the corner, and told her to beg God's pardon for having told a lie. Presently Maggiecomes out of her corner radiant, "It's all right, mummy, " she cried, "God tells me He has often mistaken Fifine for a bear Himself. " Nodoubt, as he said, Maggie had had a momentary fright, and for half asecond had thought of a bear, but she knew, too, that if she stayed toinvestigate she would find out it was Fifine, so preferring the luxuryof the marvellous, she fled crying in to her mother. Sometimes, ofcourse, he added, the ghost is the resultant of some horrible cruelty ormurder, mankind, from various motives, refusing to let the memory of thecrime die out, but more usually the ghost is born of the earlymythopoeic imagination of man that cherishes the marvellous. One neverhears of a new ghost nowadays. Science, no doubt, is an iconoclast inthe matter. '

'Well, ' said I, 'how do you propose to proceed? I have gathered thatthere was once a warlock or wizard here in the sixteenth century--oneof your forebears--who bore a most unhallowed reputation. Is he yourghost, or is the ghost the result of his "goings on"?'

'Both, ' replied Dick, smiling. 'At least there are a number of talesabout him and his misdeeds; one version has it that he built himself asecret chamber wherein he conferred with the "Auld Enemy" in person, andno one has yet discovered his "dug-out. " Here's a quaint woodcut of theold warlock, ' he continued, taking down as he spoke a foxed print fromthe wall and holding it out for my inspection. 

'Ain't he a fearsome figure? Looks as if his liver were cayenne pepper. Astrologer, botanist, poisoner, he is said to have been, and I don'twonder. '

The ancient warlock possessed indeed a most mischancy visage: hard, curious, inhuman eyes he had, thin, sunken cheeks, and a blackstraggling moustache, the whole surmounted by a great bald dome of brow. 'By Alchemist out of Misanthropos, ' I suggested, after a lengthyscrutiny, 'and perhaps Misogynist as well. ' My companion laughedappreciatively. 'That's about it, ' he said; 'yet there _is_ a tale of afisherman's daughter, the belle of the village below. 

'Well, ' he continued with animation, 'our job is now to discover hissecret chamber. 'Tis as good as a treasure hunt with the supernaturalthrown in. By the way, ' he went on, 'it's the first time I've ever beenin Glororum Castle, as it is called, for the old place has only justcome back to us, that is, to my father as representative of the seniorbranch of the Macellars, by the death of a cousin who died S. P. Whatnerves they had, these old chieftains! Fancy, like the Maclean, settingout your wife--even if a trifle _passée_--on the Skerry to drown beforeyour dining-room window, or, like the Macleod, lowering her into thedungeon beneath the drawing-room that you might the better enjoy thecharms of Amaryllis--your gardener's daughter--above. Well, it's toolate this afternoon to begin our "worry, " but to-morrow morning we muststart by flagging all the windows with towels, as the inquisitive ladyis said to have done at Glamis Castle. '

I willingly agreed to his proposal, which jumped well enough with my ownhumour, and then as Dick went off to unpack I determined to go withoutand view the castle from every side. 

Dusk was now closing in on the dark and frowning tower that was perchedlike an osprey upon the basalt cliffs that overlooked the sea. Thebuilding was really rather a peel tower than a castle, for it was of nogreat extent, consisting merely of the tall, gaunt tower with a wingadded on to its western side. Situated on the edge of the bare sea, likea lighthouse abandoned, scarred by the fierce nor'-easters, with themutter of the waves about it below and the scream of sea-fowl above, onecould scarce imagine a more desolate or forbidding human abode thanfitly-named 'Glower-o'er-'em' Tower. 

The neck of land by which it was approached from the west had beenprotected by a wall, within which a garden had sheltered, wherein thewarlock had grown his herbs and poisons, but all was now ruinous andweed-grown, and gave only an added touch to the general forlornness. Theplace had been let as a shooting-box in recent years, but neitherlandlord nor tenant had thought it worth while to spend any money onreparation or embellishment. 'Twas indeed a fitting retreat for awarlock or wizard, I thought, as with a final regard I turned to gowithin doors. 

Just at that moment I caught a glimpse of a fisher lass with a pannierrounding the corner. She looked back, and I saw a roguish Romney eyelighting a charming profile. 'Too pretty, ' I thought, remembering Dick, as she tripped onward into the shadow of the Tower. 

The sea was moaning under a heavy cloud-wrack; away to the west abovethe Lammermoors the sunset flared like a bale-fire, scattering sparks onthe windows of the Tower. 'Twas cheerier within than without, for thewalls were thick and kept the wind at bay, the wood fires were livelywith hissing logs, and scarce heeded a chance buffet from the downdraught lying in ambush within the open chimney-stack. We slept in thewing without any dread of the warlock, for it had been added on to thetower long after his time, and save for the sound of the sea far below, resembling the dim 'mutter of the Mass, ' or the spell of a necromancer, I heard nothing throughout the night. 

Next morning after breakfast was over Dick produced a pile of towels, which we divided up between us for our voyage of discovery. 'After all, 'I said, 'we shan't want many, for bows and arrows in the far past, andlater, the window tax, kept the number of openings down. '

We ascended by the ancient stone newel stair that circled up from theold iron 'yett' of the entry to the battlements above, and laid a towelbelow the sash of every window. In the topmost storey in some servants'rooms that had been long disused we discovered certain windows withbroken cords that entirely refused to open. 

Dick's way here was of the 'Jethart' kind. He simply knocked a pane outwith the poker, and thrust the towel through. 

When we had finished we descended in haste and perambulated the towerwithout, counting up our tale of towels in some excitement. 

'As many windows, so many towels, ' I said with disappointment, as Ichecked them off carefully. 

'Damn!' said Dick meditatively. Then after a moment or two's thought, 'The old boy's cell must have been on the roof; he was sure to have beenan astrologer. Let's go up again and start afresh. ' So saying he led theway up to the parapet of the battlements, and there we surveyed theroof. The main part of the roof consisted of a gable covered with heavystone tiles, but the further part that lay between the north-east andnorth-west bartizans was flat and covered with lead, and at the verge ofthis were iron steps that led down to the roof of the new wing below. This latter we did not concern ourselves with, as we knew it dated sincethe wizard's day, but carefully examined the stone tiles and the furtherleads without, however, any discovery resulting. 

We were just about to give up our quest when Dick's quick eyes noticed achink in the lead that formed the channel or gutter for the rain waterleading either way to the gargoyles beneath the bartizans outside. 

'Look here!' he cried. 'See the dim light showing! I swear it's aglimmer of glass. Evidently this particular lead was meant to be drawnaside and admit the light. ' I hastened to the side and peered with himinto the dirt-laden crack. 

Opening my pen-knife I scraped away the dirt and soon verified hisconjecture that there was glass below. 'You're right!' I cried in myexcitement. 'It is glass. Now let's search and see if we can findanything like a hinge, or at least some indication that the lead couldbe withdrawn at will. ' We sought all along by the containing wall andfound that the lead did not end in a flat sheet, as is usual, againstthe wall, but was turned over, and evidently continued below. 

'It looks very much as if it was meant to roll up and be turned overlike a blind on a roller below, ' I said to my companion. 

'I'm sure of it, ' Dick replied with conviction. 'I'll tell you what wemust do. We'll pull up the lead, make sure of the extent of the glass, then go below and search for the wizard's cell from the exact indicationwe shall then have of its whereabouts. '

'Right!' said I, 'that's the method. '

We set to work, and soon had doubled back a strip of lead a foot broadfrom the centre till the glass ended by the bartizan on either side. Wecould not pull the lead right back because of the iron steps, which hadevidently been inserted when the new wing was built, and now interferedwith our further action. 

The glass was set in heavy leaded panes, which were so engrained withthe grime of centuries that we could discern nothing through them. 

'We must search for the wizard's cell from below, ' I said. 'If we cannotdiscover it there we must return and break in from above. '

'Yes, ' agreed Dick, 'it would be a pity to smash the roof in if we canfind an entry below without causing damage. '

The orientation was now easy, and as we studied the position from theparapet we could select the towelled window below which fitted best withthe position of the glass roof. 

The curious thing was that the window was not situated in the centre, but at the side of the torn up lead. 

'We'll find out the reason below, ' I said, as we descended in greatexcitement, hastening on our quest. 

The room we made for was one of the disused chambers on the top storey, which we had remarked for its narrowness when we broke the window andthrust a towel through. 

'There must be a secret passage, ' cried Dick, as he flashed his torchupon the walls; 'we're not below the glass; we're to the right hand ofit. Wherefore search the left wall. '

Dick's inference seemed excellent, and full of eagerness I tapped withmy knife, he with his poker, all along the western wall. 

'There's a hollow here, ' cried Dick, overjoyed, as his poker rang with astrange lightness. 'Let's hunt for an opening or crack, or somebetraying sign. '

'Here! Look here!' he shouted. 'I believe this stone pulls out. '

Hastening to his side and applying my knife to the thin ragged crevicehe had discovered, I found the stone was loose. I worked feverishlywhile Dick held the torch. 'Now it's coming!' I cried, and even as Ispoke it fell forward and crashed on to the floor. To us scrutinisingthe aperture, there seemed evidently a spring or catch concealed behindit. 

Thrusting in my arm I pressed it home. A creak sounded; there was arusty wheeze, and a portion of the wall seemed to shake and move slowlyinwards. 

'We've got it!' yelled Dick, as he pressed his shoulder against thereceding portion, 'it's a wooden door covered over with thin slabs ofstone. '

'Forrard!' cried Dick. 'Forrard on!' and as he shouted he pressedforward down a narrow, dusty aperture towards a chamber beyond where adim light showed through the begrimed roof above. 

I pressed on hotly at his heels through the six feet of passage. We werenow within the threshold of the secret cell. But what was that horriblething beneath the dim sky-light? Dick's electric torch was failing, andwe could not see distinctly, and a very oppression of fear seized uponus both. What was the gruesome object in front that resembled a deadoctopus with decayed black arms?

There was a sickly taint in the air, and as I stood there fascinated byfear Dick took a step forward and threw the faint light of his torchupon the atrocious figure. 

Surely it was a gorilla grasping its victim, and bending it in to itselfas in some horrid act of rape!

Dick advanced yet another foot. Then I perceived that it was worse eventhan I suspected, for I now distinguished a giant species of_Nepenthes_ (_Nepenthes Ferocissimus_) most monstrously developed, clutching in its long arms and horrid ascidiums the remains of a humanvictim--apparently a woman--for a gleam of yellow satin showed beneaththe black embrace. Good God! I thought of the 'fisherman's daughter'with a shudder. 

I heard the torch drop. Then came a rustling shiver. The monstrousgrowth had sunk to the floor under pressure of the fresh air!

I thought I had fainted, but the next moment I felt Dick's hand shakingupon my sleeve, and heard a voice quaver in my ear:

_'Let's get out of this! It's altogether too damned beastly. _'

'MUCKLE-MOUTHED MEG'

'Hang him, Provost!'[1] cried the Town Clerk; 'he was caught red-handed;i' the verra manner, makin' awa aff wi' a quey o' your ain frae oorCommon. '

'Fear God, Provost, ' exhorted the Burgh Chamberlain, astonished at theProvost's hesitancy, 'but ne'er a North Tyne Robson. '

'Ay, ' rang out a dozen voices from the crowd assembled in front of theProvost's house in Hawick, 'mak him "kiss the woodie"; let the proodNorthumbrian thief cool his heels i' the wind!'

'Up wi' him!' cried Madge wi' the Fiery Face, who had just been loosedfrom the 'jougs, ' wherein she had been confined for 'kenspeckleincontinence. ' 'Up wi' the clarty callant! Let him swing like a corbycraa i' a taty patch!'

But the canny wife of the Provost, douce man, plucked him by the sleeve. 'Dod! man, ' she whispered him in the ear, 'he's a braw chield for a'that. Bethink you o' oor "Muckle-Mouthed Meg, " that ne'er a Tery[2]will wed wi' withoot a handsome tocher! Aweel, let him wed wi' her thenoo "ower the tangs" an' ride awa wi' her on his saddle-bow. 'Twere pityto hang sic a handsome chield as he is an' no mak use o' him as ason-in-law, even if he be ane o' the "auld enemy. "'

The Provost looked anew upon the careless, intrepid young Northumbrian, who seemed not to care a bodle for his imminent fate. He regarded hisproposed son-in-law approvingly, for he was the pure type of North TyneBorderer--of medium stature, but finely formed, with tanned complexion, tawny moustache and ruddy hair, keen blue eye and oval face--mostpleasant to look upon. 'Aweel, ' concluded the Provost, 'we wull gie himthe chance. '

'Look ye, ' he addressed himself to the captive, 'the guidwife is verratender hairted: she disna care to see ye trail i' the wind, but willoffer ye Meg, oor daughter, instead o' the halter ye hae truly earned. Ye can tak Meg--an' your life as her tocher. '

Robson's proud determination to accept his fate and suffer silently asbecame a hardy Northumbrian wavered a little. 

He was but twenty-five years of age, and life was very sweet to him. Hethought of the merry moonlight, of the joys of riding, and the fierceexcitements of the foray with passionate desire. The old song of theBorderers was ringing in his ears:

 'Sweet is the sound o' the driven steers And sweet the gleam o' the moonlit spears, When the red cock crows o'er byre and store And the Borderer rides on his foraying splore. '

He looked from the tail of his eye upon 'Meg wi' the muckle mouth. ' Nobeauty certainly, but 'twas fighting he craved, not women. Yet she wasnot ill-natured, he surmised--the 'muckle mouth' signified good temper;'twas far better than a 'muckle tongue'--she would do at a pinch as hishousekeeper. 

Meg meanwhile on her part was also eyeing him askance. He was a handsomegallant surely! Her heart longed for the canty fellow. Yet if he showedthe least sign of disdain he should go hang for her. 

Robson now looked directly upon her. 'Well, Meg, ' he decided swiftly, 'I'll take ye'; then he added in a flash of understanding, 'if ye'lltake me. ' His tact triumphed. With a ready smile that stretched almostfrom ear to ear Meg surrendered herself joyfully. 

'Ay, my lad, I'll tak ye, ' she replied on the instant. 

The crowd now broke into a boisterous 'hooray, ' as keen for the weddingas a moment before they had been eident for the funeral. 'Bring oot thetangs!' they vociferated loudly. A pair of tongs were at once produced, and under the direction of the blacksmith the captive and the woman heldhands, and took each other for man and wife. 

The 'handfasting' thus concluded, 'Ye hae forgot the bride ale!' criedmany voices. 'We mun drink their health, Provost, ye ken. Bring oot theale, canny man!' 'Ay, or clairt, ' suggested a thin-faced scrivener. 'Amutchkin o' usquebaugh for ilka man, ' shouted a burly flesher, ''tismair heartenin'. '

The Provost turned a little pale at their unforeseen demand: he almostregretted his consent to the wedding. Then he recollected that there wasa firkin of home-brewed in the cellar that a recent thunderstorm hadturned sour, and his brow grew clear. 'Bring oot the pickle firkin, ' hebade his man, 'an' serve it around. '

So with a taste of sour ale in their mouths man and wife rode forth fromHawick the airt of Peel Fell. 

Robson's good mare--her head turned homeward--went forward at a goodtrot and recked little of her double burden. 

'What ails ye?' inquired Robson shortly, feeling that his bride wasshaking in curious fashion behind him on her pillion. 

'I was juist laughin', ' responded Meg, 'at oor venture, for here we arenewly marrit an' I dinna even ken your name richtly; ye are a Robson, Iken, an' "Wudspurs" is your toname, but whatten's your hame name?'

'My father and mother aye called me Si, ' responded Robson. 'Ye can callme that, an' ye like. '

Meg kept silence a while, then she said coaxingly, 'Si is a pretty nameeneuch; 'tis short an' sweet; gie me a kiss, Si, ' she wheedled, with agentle clasp about his waist. 

'I'll kiss ye when we win home, ' replied her husband cautiously. 

'But just ae kiss--to gang on wi', ' coaxed Meg further. 

Si turned half about and smacked his wife upon her rosy cheek, whichseemingly he found satisfactory. 

'Plenty more for ye when we sit i' the ingle neuk together the night, 'he said. 

Meg, enchanted at this prospect, said no more, but looked about her asthey rode up the Slitrig water. 

They could see the twisted horn of Pencrist and the round Maiden Paps ontheir right hand, and on their left bare Carlin Tooth on the outermostedge of Carter Bar; they were soon out upon the bare moorlands thatstretch away to the water of Tyne on the one side and to the waters ofLiddle on the other. 

As they slowly ascended by the skirts of Peel Fell Meg broke the silenceagain. 

'Ye arena marrit a'ready?' she inquired, as a sudden suspicion assailedher. 

'No fears, ' retorted Si with conviction. 

'Weel, ye are the noo, ' said Meg to herself, slightly increasing herhold on her man. 

'Then wha is 't that fends for ye?' she asked further. 

'I hae an old wife--the shepherd's--that bides with me, ' replied Si. 

'She'll no' fend for ye the way I can, ' returned Meg, 'for I can bakean' mak ye sowans, scones, brose, kail o' all kinds, an' parritch. '

'I'd be fain o' some here and now, ' replied Si, [3] 'for ye are not veryhospitable in Hawick. A sup sour ale's all I've had since I took thefell yestreen. '

'Puir laddie!' said Meg sympathetically. 'There was sic an uncocarfuffle that I had clean forgot the vivers. ' Then, preparing todescend from the pillion, she proposed that they should get down andwalk so as to ease the mare up the fell. 

Si, highly approving her thoughtfulness, jumped down and led the marewith bridle drawn over her head through the flows and mosses above theDeadwater of Tyne. 

'Ye can almost see my bit biggin', ' said Si, as he halted and pointedeastward of Larriston Fell to a patch of black peat and heather high onthe rolling moorland. 

''Tis gey ootbye, ' said Meg; 'clean aff the map a'thegither. '

'It's caad whiles outside i' the wunter, ' admitted Si, 'yet i' the butwi' aad Maud the collie an' her litter, Dand the shepherd, an' Sall hiswife about the blazing peats on the hearth ye'll be warmer an' cosierthan the Queen of Scotland. '

'There wull be a muckle ghaists aboot?' inquired Meg, as she gazedanxiously upon the wild expanse of moor, grasslands, and bog thatstretched away, boundless as the sea, to an infinite horizon. 

'There's nowt but the "wee grey man" o' the moor, ' replied Siunconcernedly; 'there's no harm in him; he will whiles even help up a"cassen" yowe (ewe). Not but what there's the "Bargeist"--he'smestitched, yet red thread i' your mutch and a branch o' the rowan treewill keep him awa nicelies. And Dand kens fine how to fettle him whetherby day or night--

 "Rowan tree and red thread gar the witches come ill speed. "

'Mount again now, my lass, ' he added, 'for we ha' crossed the water o'North Tyne, and will win home to the "Bower" cheeks by the gloaming. '

As the good mare pressed on unweariedly bridegroom and bride rode up tothe 'yett' of 'the Bower' in the late twilight. On hearing the mare'sshoes ring on the cobbles beside the gate the old shepherd, who hadevidently been waiting, expectant of his master's return, came hirplingout in haste. Then seeing the strange figure seated behind his master hestood stock still in astonishment. 

'Whatten's this gear ye ha' lifted the noo?' he finally inquired, whenhe had found his voice. 

''Tis a wife I ha' lifted from Hawick town, ' cried Si gaily, as he leaptfrom his mare, overjoyed to be at home again. 

''Twould be i' the dark then?' suggested Dand, his eye fascinated by the'muckle mouth, ' 'or belike in an ower great haste ye lifted the first"yowe" (ewe) ye cam' across?'

''Twas in broad daylight, ' retorted Si, catching him a friendly buffeton the shoulder. 'Ye would ne'er ha' seen your master again had it no'been for Meg, ' and as he helped her down he briefly narrated hisadventure. 

'Aweel, ' commented Dand to himself, shaking his head the while, as heled the mare to the byre, 'I'm nane so sure but I would ha' juist pit upwi' the hangin'. ' Then he added aloud, 'The wife will be sair vext whenshe sees the Scots heifer ye ha' ridden back wi'. '

Meg's good-nature, however, her willingness to help, and her skill incooking soon triumphed over Sall's ill-humour, and peace reigned withinthe 'but' as supper was being made ready that evening. 

Afterwards within the 'ben, ' sitting cheek by jowl upon a rough benchbeside the peats the Northumbrian bridegroom, and the Scots bride foundmuch to content them, either with the other, whilst Maud the collie, whohad stolen in with them, looked with resentment in her soft brown liquideyes upon the strange woman who had so unexpectedly taken her place withthe master, and might have been seen to frown when Si redeemed hispromise of 'plenty mair' to 'Meg' on their ride home to 'the Bower. '

'The Bower, ' as Si had christened his dwelling--originally a shepherd'ssheiling--had recently been enlarged by the addition of the 'ben' and aroom above the 'but, ' so that the building had the look of a lop-sided, rough peel tower. 

With help of his brothers down the water and a mason from Falstone Sihad run a dry-stone dyke--strengthened with fir tree trunks--round aboutfor the protection of his sheep and nowt in the event of a foray, andwas as pleased with 'the Bower' as Lord William Howard with Naworth. 'Twas a quaint name enough, for 'the Bower' stood on the true march lineof the naked Border, and in the very haunt and playground of the winds. Not only was it obnoxious to the winds, but equally exposed to raidingfrom Scotland, as also to the 'broken men' of 'the Waste, ' for it stooderect above the Lewis Burn where it flows forth from Hells-bottom onthe edge of Coplestone, where the Liddesdale fells join hands with thoseof Cumbrian Bewcastle. 

Yet Si had prospered, for his 'grayne' befriended him, and as for thefierce reivers from Liddesdale, why, he would ride with them so long asthey ran their forays into Cumberland or Scotland and not within NorthTyne. 

And now the 'Hunters' Moon' was up, waxing nightly, and proclaiming toall about the Borderland that the customary truce of summer was over, and the time of the crowing of the 'Red Cock' was at hand. 

Danger, however, came not from Scotland in the first instance, but fromEngland, as it happened. 

The tale of Si's marriage had soon got wind upon the Border, and provedoccasion for many a jest and gibe far and wide, and when it came to theears of the Land Sergeant of Gilsland he scented opportunity of revengefor a 'lick' on the head he had received in a fray with the Robsons whenthey drove a foray into South Tyne a few months bygone. 

''Tis matter of march treason, ' he said, when he heard of Si's means ofescape from the Hawick halter. 'Whether he be married or no signifiethnot, for all intercommuning with the Scots is clean against Border law. 'Tis a matter for the Lord Warden's court, and a hanging matter at that. Ay, "Merry Carlisle" will fit him fine. '

Thus devising his revenge he determined to act at once. Taking two ofhis men with him he rode up by the edge of 'the Waste' towardsCoplestone Fell, with intent to capture Si, or, should he evade capture, to leave a citation at 'the Bower' for his appearance at the nextmeeting of the Lord Wardens on account of notorious breakage of theBorder law. 

But Si had already been made aware of his enemy's intention, and hadinstructed Meg how to act in such an emergency, for it might well bethat trouble would come when he was out looking after a 'hogging' he hadof 'blackfaces' that were pasturing above the Forks, where the LewisBurn and Oakenshaw Burn mate. The season of the foray had opened andflocks must be guarded by day and night. One afternoon when Si hadridden down to the Forks to relieve Dand, Meg stood by the 'yett, 'expectant of the old shepherd's return, and watchful of enemies. As sheturned her gaze southward she was suddenly aware of three figuresclearly tricked out against the grey sky above the further fell: theirsilhouettes showed like midges dapped against the window by a boy, andMeg could see that the centaurs were coming forward on a fair round trotin Indian file. She could not distinguish at the distance horse fromrider, but she could note the pose of the horse's head, and the movementagainst the sky-line. 'Three-quarters of an hour, ' commented the gazer. 'Good going on the fell top, evil wi' peat hags, flows, an' gairsbelow. '

She looked eastward, and there saw to her infinite relief old Dandcoming slowly up the track on the ancient pony. Then, after having gonewithin to make certain preparations, she set out on a brisk step to meetDand. Dand had quickened his pace when he too saw the three blacksilhouettes above, and met his mistress within two yards of thedry-stone walling. 

A very animated conversation took place between the two, and by the timethey reached the door cheeks of 'the Bower' they seemed to have settledtheir scheme of strategy satisfactorily, for either turned away fromother with a wink o' the eye. 

The strange riders had dismounted and walked their horses through thepeat hags and mosses, but now were up again, and pressing on to the'yett. ' The foremost rider--the Land Sergeant--knocked heavily on thedoor with the butt of his lance and demanded to see 'Robson o' theBower i' the name o' my Lord Warden. '

'He's no' within, ' cried Meg in return. 'Whatten want ye at him?'

Then she slowly slid back the bar, and, opening the door partly, stoodin the space thus afforded, her hands upon her hip bones. 

'So you're the Scots lass he brought back with him from Hawick, ' saidthe Land Sergeant, after a cool survey of Meg's features. 'Doubtlessthere was great provocation, ' he added with a grin, 'but he broke theBorder laws, my lass, and must answer for 't. Intercommuning with theScots is absolutely forbidden, and is punishable with death. So, mylass, I advise ye to slip away home as fast as Robson's mare or shanks'snag will carry ye. Meantime I must search the house for your man, and ifI cannot find him I'll leave a citation for the Lord Wardens' meetingwith ye for Robson. '

'When Si, ' retorted Meg very deliberately, 'intercommunes wi' me, as yeca' it, ' here the 'muckle-mouth' expanded east and west, 'heintercommunes wi' me i' Scotland, an' there ye haena ony power ower himor me. The Bower is biggit on the verra march line, ' she explained, 'an'the ben is ower on the Scots side whaur we intercommune, ' and Meg, withher arms akimbo and her mouth on the grin, contemplated her enemy inscornful triumph. 

'Here! take ye this citation, ' cried the Land Sergeant in his wrath, forhe heard an echo of Meg's laughter proceed from his men behind him, handing the parchment slip to her as he spoke. 

Meg, however, instead of taking it, shouted a loud and mysterioussummons to assistance. 'Oot an' at 'im; oot an' at 'im, Bargeist! Hoop, holla, Bargeist!' then slammed to the door. 

A few seconds only elapsed when there came round the corner a strangemischancy creature, with loose hide and hanging horns, long tail andclattering hoofs. Scrambling very swiftly forward it shook its shaggyhead in an angry roar, and edged its horns sharply against the LandSergeant's nearest man. 

'Come awa, Sergeant; come awa, ' cried the fellow in terror. ''Tis theBargeist, the Bargeist! Ye can fight against thae devils if ye like, butI'll no', ' and therewith clapping in his spurs he turned his horse'shead and fled down the path without ever a glance behind him. 

His fellow--a trifle braver--stood his ground a few seconds longer, butwhen his horse caught sight of the fearsome threatening horns beneathhis belly he shied violently, then bolted after his companion. 

At this moment out came Meg with a glowing poker. 

'This wull shift ye, if the Bargeist disna, ' she cried, as she lunged atthe Land Sergeant's mare and caught her fair upon the near buttock. 

With a muffled skreigh the mare leapt forward, seized the bit 'twixt herteeth, and _ventre à terre_ pursued the others in spite of her rider'sremonstrances. 

Some half a mile away the three men succeeded in pulling up theirhorses, and debated with some heat what had best be done. The LandSergeant was for going back to the Bower to search for Robson, but histwo men were for going home with all speed. As they were hotly debatingthis the Land Sergeant descried a solitary horseman coming up the trackfrom the eastward, and a sudden light gleamed in his eye. 

'Hi!' he cried sharply. 'Here's "Wudspurs" for a ducat! Take cover, and, when I whistle, on to him like a brock!'

'Twas Si himself that was riding gaily up the water, for he had disposedof his 'hogging' to a grazier from Hexham at a good price, and was nowbethinking him whence he had best re-stock his farm--whether fromCumberland or Scotland. 

He was just fixing upon Cumberland when a sharp whistle smote on hisear, and three figures rising forth of some brackens were instantly uponhim. The foremost figure was afoot, with dag in his hand readypresented; the other two were mounting their horses, their lances intheir hands. Si's mind cleared in a flash. Shouting aloud, 'Dand! to me!Help!' he charged the footman fiercely. 'Pouff!' said the dag feebly, and a bullet grazed the horse's withers. The horse, rearing up, struckout and caught the fellow on the forehead with his iron-shod hoof, driving him to earth, where Si pierced him through with his lance. Theother two men now circled warily round him--the one barring escapeeastward, the other keeping him from his home. Either was 'waiting on'like a hawk before a favouring chance. But now two further figuresappeared upon the scene. Dand with a whinger and Meg with her glowingbrand came speeding to their master's rescue. The Land Sergeant and hisman bore down upon Si with lances levelled in haste, hoping to dispatchhim out of hand. 

Si wheeled and turned his horse so swiftly that he surprised his nearestfoe, and 'instantly stooped' upon him. He caught him, turned halfabout, and ran him through the hip, and dragged him from his saddle. Buthis lance's head was twisted, he could not free it, and the LandSergeant bore down on him with gleaming spear. Just as Si thought he wastransfixed something interposed, a sigh or groan was heard; then Si wason the ground, kneeling beside his wife whose life-blood a spear headwas drinking. 

'Oh, Meg, ' he cried; 'my Meg! Twice ye ha' saved my life, and now Icanna save yours, ' and he supported his wife in his arms with infinitetenderness. Meg lay quietly against his bosom, her eyes fixed upon his, then she murmured softly with 'ane little laughter, ' 'Kiss me good-bye, Si, an'--on the "muckle moo. "' Even as their lips met a mist stolegently over Meg's eyes, and she saw Si no more. 

[Footnote 1: Provost is really an anachronism, Hawick having been contentwith Bailies till the nineteenth century. ]

[Footnote 2: Tery, an inhabitant of Hawick, derived from their slogan'Teribus and Tery Odin. ']

[Footnote 3: Hawick hospitality and 'Hawick gills' are proverbial: anyone who has been fortunate, like the author, in having been a guest atthe Common Riding will have realised this. ]

THE PRIOR OF TYNEMOUTH

Prior Olaf stood on the central merlon of the gate tower that protectedthe little cell of Tynemouth from assault on the landward side, andgazed intently over the sea below him to the eastward haze wherein hefeared to descry the red-brown sails of the serpent ships. 

He was himself by birth a Dane: had even in his ardent youth been afollower of the Raven sign and the banner of the Landwaster, but havingbeen wounded and left behind in a raid into England had been nursed bymonks, and eventually had taken the robe and cowl. 

The wind had been continuously for a week in the eastern airt, and araid from his heathen fellow-countrymen seemed inevitable, sinceProvidence appeared to be tempting them with opportunity. 

The good Prior could discern nothing alarming, yet he had a forebodingthat even now the heathen were approaching on the favouring wind, andwould thunder on the gate that very day. 

Descending, he proceeded slowly to the chapel built by Oswald--saintand king--in honour of the mother of our Lord, and there before theshrine of Saint Oswyn prostrated himself in prayer. Long and earnestlyhe prayed, for it seemed to the Prior that the test of his acceptancewas to be found in the continued absence of the Danes. The sin that hehad committed in his youth had, he trusted, been washed away by hisfastings and mortifications. In that event surely his prayers to theVirgin, Saint Cuthbert, and Saint Oswyn, would prevail, and the Daneswould come not with fire and sword against his beloved cell. 

The Prior's heart glowed in hope renewed. 

'_Sursum corda_, ' he murmured, then recommenced his litany. 

'_De Saevitia Teutonorum qui veniunt in pandis myoparonibus, libera nos, Domine!_'

Scarce had he finished, when a startled brother approached rapidlya-tiptoe and touched the Prior gently on the shoulder. 

'They come, Holy Prior! They come! the cruel heathen can be seen swiftlyapproaching in their long ships. '

Prior Olaf turned ashen pale. He could not prevent a groan escaping him, for now he knew that his penances had not yet proved effectual. 

'_Mea culpa, mea culpa_, ' he murmured wearily, then as he rose up withpale cheek a gleam of fire lit in his eye, for he would die rather thanpermit Saint Oswyn's shrine to be pillaged by the heathen. He called forthe sub-Prior and entrusted the defence to him. 

The cell was splendidly situated, being protected on the threesides--east, north, and west--by moat, steep cliffs, and the immediatesea. 

To the south or land side a strong wall with gate tower, furnished withparapet and brettices for casting down of stones and melted lead, stoodsentinel and protector. 

The sub-Prior--the light of battle in his eye--gave orders to hisaffrighted flock, and bade the _Conversi_ (lay brethren) heat the leadand carry up big stones to the brettices, where he himself took command. Thereupon he looked down upon the serpent ships sailing into the mouthof the Tyne, and on the sands below discharging their freight oflong-haired men with bucklers, swords, and torches in their hands. 

In a plump they swarmed up the cliffs and advanced--led by a young chiefknown to his followers as Eric the Red--to the monastery gate. 

There Eric demanded instant admittance for his men, the surrender of alltreasure, sacred and profane, as well as of food and stores. 

This the sub-Prior proudly refusing in honour of the Virgin, SaintCuthbert, and Saint Oswyn, a flight of arrows hissed over the parapet, torches were lit and flung against the gate; the fight became general. 

The sub-Prior had prepared a quantity of heavy stones upon the bretticeswhich he designed to use in the last resort, and now when the gate wasbeginning to burn he bade his men be ready with their levers. 

'_Down with the gate!_' cried Red Eric triumphantly. 'Down with it! See, it burns!' and as he shouted he led his followers on with a rush. Like aswarm of bees they clustered about their leader, and clambered up oneach other's shoulders. Fire was afoot below; battle-axes crashed above. 

'Now!' cried the sub-Prior, as he thrust his lever home, and each manupon the brettices echoed 'Now, ' and thrust the lever home at the word. 

The stones crashed down; the heaviest of all caught Eric himself anddrove him to the ground, where he lay unconscious, his ribs driven deepinto his lungs. 

'Open the gate and drag their leader in!' cried the sub-Priortriumphantly from above to his servants below. 

Obeying, they rushed forth upon the astounded Danes, seized the dyingchief, and bore him swiftly within the gate tower. 

The attackers, disconcerted by this sudden sortie, and disheartened bythe loss of their chief, withdrew from the wall, and shortly desistedfrom their assault, for the English saints, they muttered to themselves, were this day evidently fighting on behalf of their priests; 'twerewiser to meddle no further with them this day. 

Dispersing, therefore, they ravaged the hamlet of Shields and forayedthe country for cattle, then before the sun's setting embarked upontheir long ships, and sailed southward along the coast. 

Meantime the sub-Prior in the moment of his triumph had lookedexultingly upon his enemy, then more compassionately as became aChristian monk, and drew near as if to ease his suffering. 

But the young Dane was already dead. 

As he bent over the corpse the Prior himself approached, for he trustedto learn that in answer to his renewed prayers the Danes had been drivenoff. 

'We ha' prevailed, ' cried the sub-Prior triumphantly; 'see, theirleader, whom they called "Eric the Red, " will trouble us no more. _LausDeo et omnibus Sanctis!_'

'Eric!' echoed the Prior, as he stooped towards the young Dane lyingdead below him. 'Eric!' Then as he gazed he reeled backward, and onlyescaped falling by reaching forth his hand to the wall. 

Leaning back in the shadow of the gate-house he pressed his hand to hisheart and shrouded his face from oversight within his cowl. 

Then slowly recovering self-possession he gave orders that the young manshould be buried without the cemetery garth, and walked with unsteadyfootstep towards the chapel. 

'Our saintly Prior, ' said Brother Boniface, with awe, as he watched hisSuperior's tall, bowed figure enter within the chapel, 'even in hismoment of triumph thinks of Heaven. He has gone to render thanks for thedeath of this savage, red-haired Dane. '

Songs of thanksgiving were uplifted that night at Compline in the choir. 'Te Deum' was especially chanted with inspired ardour in honour ofvictory. 

'Look!' whispered the simple-hearted, tawny-faced, tousled-hairedBrother Boniface to his neighbour, a sharp-eyed Anglian Brother, theartist and illuminator of the little community, 'Look upon the ascetic, saintly face of our beloved Prior! what joy must be his in that hisprayers prevailed this day!'

'Thou jolter-head!' muttered the Anglian to himself; then with a jog toBoniface's ribs, 'Didst not mark the exact resemblance'--here hedelineated a contour with swift movement of finger--''twixt Red Eric andour Prior?' Then to himself again he muttered, 'I doubt he is not longfor this world, since I met his wraith as I entered into the choir. '

But Boniface heeded not his words: his eyes were still fixed upon hisbeloved Prior, who moved not, though the rest of the monks having sungthe '_Deo Patri sit gloria_' were leaving the choir. 

Boniface moved a-tiptoe and touched his Superior reverently on theshoulder. 'Beloved Prior, ' he said, 'thou art outworn with the care ofthy community. Arise and seek repose. '

He touched the Prior's hand, then started back, for it was quite cold;the Prior had already sought and gained eternal repose. 

THE HAUNTED ALE-HOUSE

'_An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth_, ' so Donald Macgregormuttered to himself as he strode cautiously down the water of Coquet, halting at the many crooks of that wayward water to spy out the land ashe went forward. 

He had already good suspicions of where his quarry was harboured, for hehad seen and interviewed drovers who had returned from the greatStagshawbank Fair, and had gleaned certain information of hisfoster-brother Alastair. 

But more than this he had to direct his feet; there was in his ears theecho of Alastair's pibroch--the _piobaireachd_--which he was to hearwhenever the Laird would be in trouble or wanting him. 

Onward the _piobaireachd_ led him--down the water of amber-colouredCoquet--and now round the last crook he had just turned he saw abuilding of dark grey stone upon the edge of the haugh below him. 

He halted at once, retraced his steps, and hid himself in the bracken, for he knew from the descriptions given him that the Slyme ale-house laythere below him--the last place on the English border at which Alastairhad been seen or heard of. The Slyme ale-house had an ill repute, andwas said to be haunted moreover; none would lie there the night who hadanything to lose--'twas the haunt of kites and 'corbie craws. ' As hewatched and waited there stole down from the fells above him 'oncome' ofmist or 'haar' from the eastward, which soon drew a plaid of hodden greyabove the shoulder of Shillmoor. On the lower level a ray of white lightstill showed like the gleam of a malevolent eye behind a mask. 

Meantime a cold mist came stealing up the valley. The eerie lonelyaspect of all about him made Donald shiver and earnestly debate hisintention. 

Spying about, he saw an outcrop of rock some two hundred yards furtheralong the fell side. Thither he crawled like a rogue collie, and watchedtherefrom, keen-eyed as a kestrel, the ale-house below. 

He had some strips of meat with him and oatmeal in a bag, and with thishe satisfied his hunger as he lay at watch. All the while the_piobaireachd_ was still sounding in his ears. 

Through the mist he could see two cows 'coming home' on the haugh belowslowly and sedately to their milking. 

Now three figures emerged from the inn; a tall, thin man came first--acollie at his heels--that was at once sent off to round up a hirsel ofewes on the hill. 

A woman followed, calling 'guss-guss' to the pig routing on the bank;finally a third figure--short, misshapen--a hunchback, as the watchernoted, who called 'coop-coop' to a rough pony cropping grass in theintake beyond the inn. 

Shortly this gear was rounded up and driven into the walled enclosure--ahalf pound attached to the western end of the buildings. 

The three figures followed their stock within, and the watcher surmisingthat all were housed for the night cautiously made his way down theslope, but on a sudden all three reappeared, and the watcher droppedlike a shot rabbit straight into a bed of thistles and nettles, fearfulof discovery. 

It seemed that they were about to secure themselves and their flocksagainst evil by way of charm and spell, for round about the ale-housethey bent their steps--the way of the sun--brandishing rowan boughs andchanting a fragment of ancient rhyme:

 '_By the rowan's power-- By the thorn's might Safe i' the bower Be all our insight!_'

Having perambulated round their buildings and wall three successivetimes they disappeared within, and the watcher heard to hisgratification the sound of bolt and bar being pushed home. 

The solitary watcher smiled to himself--the secret smile of theHighlander who has grasped the situation and knows how to make profitthereof unknown to others. 

The tall, thin man was the innkeeper--evidently a timorous fellow; thehunchback was his 'man'--malevolent probably, the doer of the other'sdark behests; whilst the woman was presumably his wife, the cook andhousekeeper of the ale-house. 

Well, while they slept he would investigate and complete his plans forthe early morn at the time when all three would reappear and drive forththeir flocks again. 

There was a small haystack at the west end of the inn, which Donaldmarked out as his resting-place for the night. Thither he made hiscautious way--the _piobaireachd_ sounding ever more clearly in his ears. 

When he reached the haystack the melody seemed to be intensified; thensuddenly he heard it no more. 

Ha! a flash of inspiration shook him. This must be the very spot whereAlastair was done to death--perhaps even buried here. He looked abouthim and noted that the wind was freshening and the mist was scurrying indense clouds above as if it might lift, and then the moon might lighthim to further discovery. 

Thus reflecting he sat down behind the stack, and waited patiently forthe moon to rise and shine above the mist. 

An hour passed, then a faint glimmer showed in the east aboveShillmoor's edge. 

He stood up and peeped round the stack; he could distinguish the roundedmoon--nearly at the full--beating with white wings like an owl throughthe tangled mist. 

In another quarter of an hour he could see sufficiently well to commenceinvestigation. He noted as he searched the ground about him that quiterecently the earth had been disturbed just beyond the verge of thehaystack. A space had evidently been roughly dug over--a space thatseemed the size of a grave. 

Hereupon he sought for some instrument wherewith to make furtherinvestigation, and by good luck soon hit upon an old, broken-shaftedspade that lay in a small potato croft adjoining. With this he set towork to howk the turf away, and found it light to work, for it had beenloosely shovelled in, and came away with ease. Working incessantly, atfour feet below the excavated turf, he saw an object lying loose, whichhe seized in excited, trembling hands, and surveyed in the moonlight. Ay, it was Alastair's bonnet, for there was the blackcock's tailfeathers which Alastair had always proudly worn in right of his birth. Stained with blood--the bonnet itself cloven in twain with a blow fromhatchet or axe. 'My bonny Alastair!' he groaned aloud. 'Dear laddie!But, by Gott--ye'll be avenged fine the morn's morning!' Reverently hewent on with his howking, and soon Alastair's pale face showed in themoonlight, stained with soil, and bloody under the gash above hisforehead. 

Donald kneeled down in the grave and kissed like a lover hisfoster-brother on the brow. 

Then pondering awhile he muttered brokenly, 'I'll hap ye in again, Alastair, beloved; when I've a sign to bury wi' ye that will prove to yemy troth. '

So saying he sat down beside the grave and cleaned Alastair's bonnet, then placed it on his own head in token of his vow, and waited for thedawn and his revenge. 

He did not sleep, but thought again of the past: how he had had the careof the young fatherless Laird, had learned him to stalk the red deer anddraw salmon from the river; how Alastair had even outstripped histeacher, and how each after Culloden's fight had saved the other's life. Then, finally, how he had counselled Alastair to turn drover with himtill the 'Redcoats' should depart, as the best method to avoid capture, and how constantly Alastair's high spirits led them into danger. And nowit was all over--all over save the final duty to his brother. As he thusmeditated long and deeply the hours went swiftly by, and it was with asudden shock that he heard the bolts and bars being withdrawn on thefurther side of the inn. Instantly he sprang to his feet, prepared foraction. He left his sword ready in the scabbard, and his dag primed foruse. Then he stole round the corner, and there saw the tall man and thehunchback before him. 

''Tis his wraith!' cried the tall man, noticing the bonnet, and swungback in his terror, as he tried to cross himself by way of charm. 

'I tell't ye, ' quoth the hunchback unperturbed, 'that we should ha'driven a stake through his inside to prevent him from walkin' thisgate. '

'Whisht ye, haud your damned whisht!' cried the other in a fury, hisknees shaking in terror. Then turning servilely towards Donald, whom henow perceived to be a stranger, 'Ye are welcome, sir, to any ale orRhenish my poor inn affords, for ye will be a Highland grazier--yen ofour best customers, ' he ended in an attempt at a bow. 

'Draw and defend your nainsel', ' was Donald's reply. 

The tall man laid his hand to his whinger at his side, and shouted tohis 'man, ' 'Draw, Jarret, and knife this murdering Scots villain. '

The hunchback, nothing loath, produced an evil-looking jockteleg, andhastened to his master's assistance. 

'Knife him i' the back, ' cried the former, 'whiles I haud him i' play i'front. '

The hunchback was so furious in his attack, which he pressed right homewithin Donald's guard, that Donald was unable to ward off the tall manin front of him. 

Then just as the innkeeper had Donald at his mercy, and was in the veryact of striking home, his arm was suddenly paralysed, a spasm of terrorshook him through and through, his eyes glazed over. '_There's twa o'them_, ' he muttered, and instead of striking he shrank his hand back asif to ward off a new assailant, and Donald had a momentary vision of hisbrother by his side. The innkeeper made a pass, then his whingerdropped; he turned to flee, tripped and fell upon his face, and laymotionless--his whinger by his side. At this the hunchback broke intorage, 'Ye're no worth fightin' for, ' he cried in his fury, gave a kickat his fallen master, and fled to the inn door. 

Donald fired his dag at his retreating foe, winged him in the shoulder, and hastened his retreat, but failed to bring him down. The door wasslammed to, the bolt was shot. The hunchback had gained his city ofrefuge. 

All was quiet; Donald was victorious; he looked upon the falleninnkeeper, turned him over, and saw that his eyes were fixed in death. 

'Ye hae helped fine to your ain vengeance, Alastair, ' he said quietly, as he picked up the fallen whinger. 'Ye niver failed me yet; and I haenafailed ye. '

Then Donald carried the whinger with him and went back to the graveside, still open to the sky. 

'I ha' paid the debt, Alastair, ' said Donald, taking off his bonnet andlaying the whinger in the grave as proof of his fealty, 'and it isfarewell, my brother. '

Kneeling down he reverently happed him in afresh, then rising with aheart contented, whistled triumphant as a pibroch, and took the airt ofScotland by way of Cocklawfoot, murmuring to himself, '_an eye for aneye, and a tooth for a tooth_. '

THE CRY OF THE PEACOCK

'Damn the dice!' cried the elder of the two players, in a spasm of rage;'damn my ill-luck--damn everything!' and as he shouted his imprecationshe regarded his opponent askance, as if including him in hismalediction. 

''Twas a thousand to one against you throwing two sixes, ' he cried. Thenhe flung his marker on the floor, pushed back his chair, and rising, walked moodily to the chimney-piece and gazed despairingly into thefire, for his estate had vanished--his last two farms had been lost tothe 'double six. ' Not only had he lost his estate, but he was hopelesslyindebted to his companion for many an I. O. U. And bill beyond hismortgage. He might be made bankrupt at any moment. 

The other kept silence a few moments before he said anything. A gleam oftriumph and delight had shown for a second in his eye, but outwardly hewas as cool as ever. 

''Tis a strange thing, ' he said soothingly; 'I too have had my turn ofill-luck before this. I remember well one evening at Oxford years agowhen I played high stakes with Lord Cantrip and others at "The House. "Hadn't a stiver left one night, but I pawned my grandfather's Louis xiv. Watch for the next evening's play. Luck turned, and I had my revenge. Had it not been for that last heirloom I should have enlisted, andprobably have met my fate at Badajoz. '

The speaker was a powerfully built man of thirty-five years of age; hewas broad rather than tall, underbred, coarse in complexion, and hisjaw, well developed, seemed to indicate will power. 

His companion was forty years of age, had a high, well-bred carriage, and a sensitive face that showed charm rather than strength. 

He made no reply to the other's sympathy or suggestion, but continued togaze moodily into the dying log fire on the hearth, and on thesmoke-begrimed Sussex 'back' which exhibited the 'Flight into Egypt. '

He groaned within himself; he too would have to make his 'flight intoEgypt, ' There was nothing left in the dear old beloved manor house thatwould furnish sufficient capital for another gamble. 

'The last family heirloom, ' he said finally, 'departed in my father'stime. The manor goes in mine. '

There was a space of silence. Then the elder threw out a freshsuggestion. 

'There's maybe something ye've left out of your calculation, ' he saidsuggestively, 'something that some might put as high as the estateitself. '

'What d' ye mean?' inquired the other, turning about so as fully to seethe other's face. 

'Well, as 'twixt friends and neighbours I'll speak out fairly, 'responded the man at the green table, 'and as I'm your guest you'llunderstand I'm perfectly straight in my proposition. The long and shorto't then is that I'm settled in this new place of mine next yours; thatit is time for me to "range myself, " and that if you'll give me yourdaughter's hand--give me leave, that is, to propose for her hand inmarriage, and she does me the honour of accepting--well then, I'llsettle your manor, or what's left of it, on her and her heirs for ever. Make a dower-house of it, in fact. And more than this, I'll burn allyour I. O. U. 's in addition. You'll be a free man once again. '

His host started violently, gave a sudden haughty and contemptuous lookat the speaker, made as if he would speak, then turned swiftly back tothe fire again. 

He had a fierce desire to kick this vile newcomer--this Mosenthal, 'theforeigner, ' or 'ootner'--the son of a rich Jewish Manchestertradesman--out of the house, but the fellow was his guest, and hechecked himself. Above all, he dreaded public bankruptcy; he, the lastmale descendant of the proud race of Heronsbeck. 

'Think it over, ' said the other quietly. 'I think 'tis a fairoffer--free to take or free to drop. '

Still his host made no reply. The other after a little pause proceededwith his tempting proposals. He had reached out his hand for thedice-box on the table; he took it up and rattled the dice in the box asif to throw on to the table. 

'Come, ' he cried vivaciously. 'Have a throw! Let luck decide. I'll backyour throw against mine. A hundred pounds to a penny. '

He rattled the dice noisily, and cast them on the table, still holdingthe box tight over the ivory cubes. 

The tempter prevailed; he had re-aroused the gambling fever in his host, who now advanced to the table and looked irresolutely on the upturnedbox. 

'Done!' he cried suddenly. The other's fist lifted up; the cubesnestled close together showing dots two and one. 

'Luck's turned, ' said his guest philosophically, as he laid down thenotes. 

The other flung the dice swiftly on to the green board; the cubes rolledapart, then as they settled they showed six and five. 

A spark of momentary fire flickered in the gambler's eye; he picked upthe notes; then the frown came back to his brow; he shivered, looked atthe clock, then, 'It's damned late, ' he said, 'and if you don't want anymore to drink we'd better go to bed. '

So saying Heronsbeck of Heronsbeck lit a candle for his guest, showedhim to his chamber, then went gloomily to his own. 

There was no sleep, however, for him that night, for he dreaded themorning and the astounded look of his darling Lily--his only child--whenhe had to tell her of Mosenthal's proposal. 

'Of course she won't do it--she couldn't. There'll be no harm done, forshe'd as soon accept a Hottentot as a rich Jew. ' So her father reflectedaloud. 

But she wouldn't like it. He hated to think of her expression when heconveyed Mosenthal's offer to her. 

The Jew's notes positively burned in his fingers as he had laid themdown on his dressing-table; the fellow's offer was extraordinarilytempting. Ah, welladay! This was the end, then, of Heronsbeck Hall, which he prized above every earthly possession after his daughter. Hisfather had lost the half of it over cards; now he himself had thrownaway the rest in like manner. There was the grouse moor; he counted upthe 'amenities' as he lay in bed, even as a lover enumerates the charmsof his mistress. 

The wine-dark moorland--how he loved it! And the great days in autumnafter grouse and blackcock. Then the fishing in the beck for trout as aboy, and the call of the sounding 'forces. ' Then the huntings afoot onthe high fells, and the reckless gallops on the haughs below. No wonderhe loved it, for he and his forefathers were part and parcel of theland. They had been there and owned it since the days of the Testa deNevil. He was 'hefted' to it, as the farmers said of their stock. 

Well, all was now over. The 'lament' must sound over Heronsbeck. Mosenthal must take the estate; he himself would take Lily abroad andlive forgotten, for he had rejected Mosenthal's proposal now, absolutely. 

Just at this decisive moment he distinctly heard the cry of a peacocksound--weird and discordant--without. 

'The peacock's cry!' It was as the wail of the banshee in his ear. 

Peacocks had long since disappeared from the Hall, yet their fatefulcry, which had sounded through the night of the strange death of hisancestor who first brought them there, had been wonderfully allied withthe fortunes of his house. 

He accepted the omen. 

Rising up with the first gleam of dawn, he went out into the park. 

He determined to appraise and make an inventory of all that remained onthe place that he could call his own still and sell. There was sometimber left. Then all the stock on the home farm would be disposed of. As he endeavoured to 'tot' this up he noticed a figure swinging alongacross the park at a great pace. Was a stranger already fearless abouttrespass?

Turning away from the approaching intruder, he commenced his calculationafresh. Suddenly a voice hailed him joyfully. 

'Back again! Back again, Pater, at long last! Yes, the rolling stone hasgathered some moss after all--honourably, if luckily, come by. So here Iam, Pater, like the Prodigal--to crave forgiveness, and--to repay you mydebts. '

Heronsbeck turned and stared upon the speaker. 'Joe!' he cried faintly, but with Joe, his only son, he had quarrelled. Joe had vanished on theKlondyke in a blizzard. This must be his ghost. 

'Come, Dad!' called the beloved figure in front of him beseechingly. 

'My boy, my boy!' cried his father, pressing his son to his bosom. 'Thank God for ye, my boy, my boy! But how can it be that you're alive?'he asked apprehensively, as though fearing his son might vanish againfrom his eyes. 

'A good Samaritan--this time disguised as a Jesuit Father, rescued me. Then I saved a pal myself eventually, who died of fever and left me allhis pile. '

'Yet I heard the peacock cry this morning, ' muttered Heronsbeck tohimself, still apprehensive of misfortune. 

'And did you also, Pater, hear the peacock shouting?' asked his son inastonishment. 

'Why, as I came over the fell by the Hanging Stone at break o' day--justabove the young larch plantation where we had the record woodcockshoot--I heard his rasping cry. 

"Hallo!" I called back to him. "Hallo, old bugler! You've got it allwrong this time. 'Tis not 'The Last Post, ' but 'Réveillé' that you mustsound over Heronsbeck Hall this day. "'

KITTY'S BOWER

When Eric Chesters of Chesters Castle married Miss Brocklebridge--thebold and handsome heiress of Sir William, ironmaster, baronet, andexpectant baron, all the world and his wife clapped hands and cried 'anideal arrangement, ' and foretold long years of success and happiness forthe happy pair. 

At the club after the wedding the 'best man, ' however, set forth adifferent view of the matter. 

'Of course on paper it's ideal, ' he said; 'Sir William is of the orderof Melchisedec--having neither father nor mother, while Eric's pedigreeis the joy of the Heralds' College. Edith's money will pay off themortgages on Chesters Castle, no doubt, but, as Stevenson shrewdly said, "_The Bohemian must not marry the Puritan. _" Now Eric is not naturally amarrying man; he yielded to his aged mother's solicitations and thewell-developed charms and black eyes of his wife. She sighs for acareer, and thinks Chesters Castle a fine foundation for it, but hercrest is a ladder; Eric's is a pierrot. In short, she is an Alpineclimber, and Eric a charming Prince Florizel of Bohemia. I give them ayear in which to find each other out--_après cela le déluge_. '

The 'best man' proved right in his casting of their horoscope, for aprolonged honeymoon spent in going round the world revealed a rift inthe lute which a season in town developed into an undoubted crack. 

Thus, when Mrs. Chesters pressed on her husband the desirability ofentering Parliament, he protested that he had only seven skins; and whenshe wished to pay a round of visits to distinguished people hemaintained that they ought to reside at Chesters Castle for a while. 

She yielded, but her husband's castle completed her disillusion. She hadthought of it as a social _point d'appui_--she found it in her own words'a gloomy shooting barrack. '

But her husband loved it, and rejoiced in the opportunity of renewinghis youth with the salmon-fishing, the grouse and blackcock driving, andthe great days of hunting on the wide moorlands of the Border, overwhich his ancestors in bygone centuries had ridden day and night on raidand foray. Mrs. Chesters could ride, had enjoyed the social advantagesof the Quorn and Pytchley, but she hated what she called disdainfully, 'bogtrotting with Picts and Scots. '

She had not yet become indifferent to her husband, but she was terriblydisappointed with his total lack of ambition. 

Now that the salmon-fishing was over and the covers shot, she pined fortown, but her husband begged for a few more weeks of hunting first. 

What joy could he find in the long days out on the barren fells? Sherealised that he had become indifferent to her, though his charm ofmanner to herself was externally the same. 

She grew suspicious, if not jealous. Then one day an anonymous lettercame to her--signed 'Your Well-Wisher, ' which corroborated her ownuneasy thoughts--suggesting coarsely that her husband was chasing a_vixen_--not a fox. 

No name was actually mentioned, but Mrs. Chesters realised at once who'the woman' was. 

She remembered noticing a young girl at an early meet held at thecastle, who had attracted her attention by her air of breeding, beauty, and faultless seat on her mare. She had learnt that the girl was thedaughter of an old yeoman farmer who lived on his farm, quaintly called'The Bower, ' far outbye on the moorland beside the Blackburn Lynn. 

She had mentioned the matter to her husband, and asked him where thegirl had acquired her good looks and her breeding. He had replied--andshe thought now--with a slight uneasiness of manner, that Miss Todd cameof a 'grayne' that had lived on the Border before ever the Normans cameinto the land, that by intermarrying with a few other ancient yeomenfamilies a distinct and natural aristocratic type had resulted. 'Cleanliving, fresh air, and as much hunting as possible, ' have all assisted. Nature also has assimilated the lines of her children's faces to theclassical lines wind-chiselled of her great fells. Their oval faces, blue eyes, fair hair, and clean-chiselled features are her endowment. 

'The Todds, ' he had concluded with a laugh, 'have a tradition that theydescend from Eylaf--one of the bodyguard of St. Cuthbert and hiscoffin--who, in a time of famine stole a cheese, and was for a timeturned into a tod. The tod, or fox, is their totem, and him theydiligently pursue. '

All that he had said then came back now with special meaning. Mrs. Chesters pondered deeply as to how she had best act in thisconjuncture, and had not yet determined, when on the next afternoon sheoverheard a scrap of conversation as she was passing beside the stables. 

She heard the head groom call to the stable lad to saddle a second horseand ride out to meet the Master on his way home from hunting thatafternoon. 

'Which way will I take?' asked the lad in reply. 

'The Master rode the airt o' Ladiesdale, ' the head groom had replied, for he was somewhat of a wag. _Ladiesdale_ for Liddesdale! Mrs. Chestersfled; her cheek was burning, but her mind was made up. 

She got out maps and discovered where 'The Bower'--ominous name--lay, and what tracks led thereto. Thither she would ride on the next huntingday and confront the girl, settle the matter with her husband, and putan end to his shameful intrigue at once. 

She had not very long to wait, for in the week after the Meet wasadvertised at the Craig, which was, she knew, some few miles west of TheBower, overlooking the Black Burn. 

Early in the afternoon she rode out 'to meet her husband, ' as she toldthe groom, when she mounted, but in reality to catch him, if she could, with the girl on his way back with her to her home. 

She mounted up the fell to the southward on whose crest the track showedlike a wisp of hay left by the reaper. Gaining the top she paused andlooked athwart the mighty view outstretched before her. To her husbandshe knew it was as Swinburne's 'great glad land that knows not bournenor bound, ' but to herself it was a desert. 

Below her the barren moorlands spread away--'harvestless as ocean'--tillthey met the whitelands of the further fells, where wandering sheepsought their living. On the sky's verge ran the line of Rome's greatbarrier of wall. This seemed to increase the sense of infinity alreadygiven by the landscape, for the mighty wall was now but a wreck uponTime's shore. 

In the mid way 'twixt moor and whiteland lay The Bower. Mrs. Chestersrode on down towards the farmhouse, where it stood eminent upon a knollbeyond the burn, covered with ivy, and sheltered by ash trees from theblasts of the west wind. 

She had marked a clump of rowans and geans a hundred yards or so fromthe burn where she determined to stop her horse and reconnoitre beforegoing up to the farm itself. 

Concealing herself as best she could within the small copse she noticedthat the track descended to where usually a ford was discoverable. Shecould note horses' hoofs on the bank top, but the cart road to the farmran on the farther side of the burn, winding in and out of the rollingpasture. To the right hand fifty yards away, a light wooden bridge withhand-rail leapt from rock to rock above the foaming water. 

Boiling amidst the rocky chasm it poured an amber flood across the fordbelow. 

A bold rider might have perhaps leaped his horse across; that mightpossibly have been safer than to walk a horse through where a stumblemight mean doom to both. 

No, Mrs. Chesters decided; if she went up to the farm she would have todismount and walk across the little bridge. As she reflected thus thefarm door opened, and a young girl came out and gazed steadily to thewest as though expecting some visitor. Then she moved onward, and cameslowly down towards the ford. 

Mrs. Chesters crouched lower upon her horse's shoulder, waited till themaiden had reached the water's edge, then turned her horse and trottedswiftly down to battle with her rival across the water. 

'And so it's you who dare to set your cap at my husband, Mr. Chesters ofCastle Chesters, is it? And you're waiting at the ford for hisreturning, like a sweet, innocent, rustic maiden?'

Kitty's cheek had blanched a little when she saw who the rider was, buther voice was unshaken as she replied quietly, 'I ne'er set my cap athim, not I. The Todds hae lived and owned land here years before ever aChesters came to Chesters Castle. '

Mrs. Chesters had scrutinised with harsh eyes every detail of herrival's face and figure. Those delicate lines of hip and waist weresurely no longer as fine as before. She felt her worst fears wererealised. Losing her temper she said roughly:

'You little fool! Don't you know you're making a scandal of yourself upand down the whole countryside? Have you no sense of shame?'

'I can fend for myself, ' said Kitty quietly, though a touch of colourhad showed on her cheeks. 

'There's but one way for you to avoid further trouble for every one andeventual ruin for yourself, and that is, to promise me never to see myhusband again. '

'I'll mak nae such promise, ' retorted the other hotly. 'Maybe, ' sheadded quietly, '_it's your ain blame that ye canna keep your man athame_. '

Mrs. Chesters flamed. She was furious with rage. She struck out with thethong of her hunting crop at her rival across the burn, but she was ayard or more short of the hateful, delicate form confronting her sosteadily. 

'Why don't ye ride through the ford?' asked Kitty unabashed, and evensmiling. She knew that her rival was afraid and despised her, while Mrs. Chesters knew that Kitty knew, and hated her all the more therefore. Shewould have cheerfully given a thousand pounds for one clean cut with thewhip across that oval cheek. 

As Mrs. Chesters was trying to choke her wrath down and regain herspeech, she saw Kitty's eye turn westward with a swift look of delight. 

Mrs. Chesters followed the line; she saw a black dot riding down the'Slack' of the fell, and guessed instantly it was her husband returningto The Bower after hunting. 

In an instant she had made up her mind. Evidently the girl was expectinghim to come by the ford. Well, she, Mrs. Chesters would ride out to meethim and intercept him before ever he won thither to his paramour. 

She turned the horse's head with never a word and rode quickly up theburn, keeping out of sight as far as possible. A few hundred yards onthere was an outcrop of rock with alder and scrub oak intermingling. Thetrack seemed to run through it, by the edge of the Blackburn Lynn. Pressing onward, Mrs. Chesters determined to ensconce herself therebehind the rocks, or in the trees, and surprise her husband as he rodethrough. On he came, gaily whistling, happy as a thrush in springrejoicing in his mate; on he came, his horse trotting swiftly, scentinga 'feed' at The Bower's stable. 

'So I've caught you, Eric!' cried his wife, as she thrust her horseacross his path from behind an adjacent rock. 

Eric's mare shied violently, missed her footing on the narrow rockypath, staggered, then rearing upward on a vain spring forward fellbackward over like some huge stone into the black belly of the lynn. 

Mrs. Chesters followed with her eyes--she felt herself turned to marble;then she was conscious that a horse had reappeared in the black eddiesbelow, but no rider was on its back. Was this some horrid nightmare shecould not awake from?

Then she saw the girl on the opposite bank who cried accusingly, 'Whathae ye done wi' him, ye wicked woman?'

Mrs. Chesters was now released from her spell. 

'His horse shied, ' she called across the waters, 'and fell into the lynnwith him. You search that side and I this. ' So saying she got down fromher horse, tied the bridle to a tree, and sought as best she could forany trace of her husband's body on her side of the black cauldron ofwaters. 

'Ye hae been his deid, ' Kitty had shouted above the tumult of the lynn. Not another word did the rival mourners address to each other. 

Kitty had helped to lead the fallen horse out of the channel on her sideof the burn, then smitten with a sudden thought she jumped into thesaddle and rode off down the water thinking the corpse must have beencarried down steam by the heavy current. 

Mrs. Chesters vainly wandered up and down the rocky edges of the lynn, peered into the black, circling cauldron in the centre, but seeingnothing emerge she made her way to the farm, promised a great reward toany one who could bring her news of her husband's body being found, thenrode wearily home across the weary moors. 

That night Kitty lay sleepless on her bed caught in a storm of sobbing;she recalled all the sweet details of her love episode, all the charmsof her lover--which were now buried for ever in the black lynn. Then shesang to herself softly, 'Nae living man I'll love again, Now that my lovely knight is slain. With ae lock of his gowden hair I'll bind my heart for evermair. '

She had scarcely finished her lament when she saw a faint light showbeside her window. Formless and nebulous at first it seemed to begrowing quickly into particular shape and cognisance. Kitty had watchedthe strange light, paralysed with terror, then, with a suddeninspiration:

'Eric!' cried she, starting up on her bed, 'Eric! Is it thou? I knewthou wouldest return to me. '

The apparition answered only by beckoning with a forefinger. 

'Lead me to him, ' she cried, as she rose and hastily flung on herclothes. 

The wraith led onward; Kitty let herself out of the window, and thenceto the ground by help of the ivy roots. 

The night was still and thronged with stars, that seemed to watch hertenderly and to be cognisant of her love. 'He is alive, he is alive, 'she cried to them, as she followed hot foot after the wraith that led tothe rocky lynn. 

Onward with steady foot and without a trace of fear she followed--inthrough a tangle of alder, thence through a cleft in a big rock, andthere below her, stretched on a ledge from which the ebbing waters hadjust receded, lay her 'Man. '

'My man!' she murmured with a little cry between a laugh and a sob, 'myman is alive. '

'Eric, ' and she bent down over him, lifted the wet hair from his browand kissed him on the forehead. 

'Kitty, ' he replied faintly, trying to lift his head to hers, 'I knewthou wouldst find me, beloved; my soul went forth to seek thee. 

'I was badly stunned, ' he went on presently, 'but it is nothing serious. The flood lifted me upon this ledge, and so saved me. 

'Well, there is but one thing now to do, my love. I am dead to my wife, and she is dead to me. Let the dead bury their dead, ' he added with asmile. 

'Now go fetch me dry clothes. I will change, and then we will ride awayto Heathdown junction, and thence away to a new life in a new land. '

Kitty drew in her breath. 'But are ye able? Are ye strong enough, Eric?Art sure thou canst give up all for a life with me?'

'Faith of a Borderer!' he answered gaily, as he kissed her hand. 'Now goand do as I bid. There's no time to be lost. See! I grow stronger everyminute, ' and he rose up on his knee and crawled forth from his refugeassisted by Kitty. Then she went swiftly back to the farm and broughtwith her dry clothes and a plaid, a second time she returned for meatand drink for her lover, and the third and last time for his horse, which she had already stabled in the byre. 

'And now, ' said Eric in her ear, as he lifted her into the saddle, 'we'll ride westward where we'll buy another "Bower" in another land. '

 * * * * *

Through the early mist that morning an old shepherd was making his wayhome from a late mart, when he encountered what he swore was 'the wraitho' a great muckle moss-trooper wi' his marrow ahint him ridin' the aeblack horse. '

Arrived at home, he roused his wife, and imparted his information. 

'Whisht, man, hand your whisht, ' retorted she. 'Noo get intil your ainbed. Ye aye see _double_ after a mart day. '

THE TALE OF THE THREE ANTIQUARIES

Thomas Turnbull stood beside his spade and gazed rapturously at a smallportable Roman altar which he had just unearthed. Owing to a fortunatelegacy he had recently been enabled to retire from his business as aship's broker, and had bought a farm not far from the line of the RomanWall in mid Northumberland. 

He prided himself on being a practical man in all he undertook--'PlainTom Turnbull' he styled himself, and in the pursuit of antiquities, which was now his hobby, he sneered at all theorists, and relied uponthe spade. '_Magister Palae_' was his motto, and now he had justifiedhis belief in his farm's occupying the site of an early out-lying Romancamp. 

Squat in build, sanguine in complexion, and auburn-haired, he stood'four-square to all the winds'; his bold, prominent eyes recalled themuzzle of an ancient blunderbuss ready to loose off at a moment'snotice. 

Now the Society of Antiquaries of Oldcastle, of which he was a member, were making a pilgrimage along the Wall on the next day, and he hadoffered to provide tea for their refreshment at the conclusion of theirexcursion. 

Thus his 'find' was twice fortunate. He would now be enabled to confoundTelfer, one of the most learned of the Society's members, by theevidence of his spade work. Telfer was an antiquary of the'well-documented' kind, an attorney by profession, thin and anæmic--'aparchment browser, ' Turnbull called him, as one founding himself uponreferences in all discussions on antiquity. He had been indeed verysceptical of the existence of Turnbull's 'early, out-lying camp' and hadannoyed 'Plain Tom' by his doubts. 

Turnbull laid aside his spade, wiped the perspiration from his brow, andtook up his altar again reverently. Then he drew from his pocket a smallflask, poured a few drops into the tiny _focus_ on the top as a libationto Bacchus, and himself toasted 'the spade. ' Carefully handling hisprecious possession he returned home with it in his arms and placed iton the drawing-room mantelpiece, to the dismay of his wife, whomisdoubted the religion of the Romans. 'That's a settler for Telfer, ' hesaid triumphantly; 'he'll be up to-morrow, and he'll have to swallowit. '

'Swallow it! Swallow it!' echoed his wife. 'My dear, what do you mean?'

'He'll have to swallow it first, then he can have his tea on the top ofit, ' replied her husband with a grin. 'But do you give a look to itbefore he goes, for he'd pinch it if he got the chance. '

'You don't mean to say that he would actually steal it?' queried hiswife, aghast. 

'Wouldn't he, though? He'd lift anything that was not too heavy or toohot, ' retorted her husband. 

The next day proved to be a lovely autumn morning, and the prospectalong the Wall perfect for the antiquary, who could see it crawling likesome great serpent on its belly, with many an undulation from east towest, over many a mile beneath the racing clouds and sunshine. 

Turnbull walked down to meet the party of excursionists beside a newlyexcavated mile-castle where they were to eat their sandwiches anddiscuss their theories. After that he was to conduct them to his house'The Crag, ' and show them his altar and give them refreshment. 

Turnbull took the very earliest opportunity of informing them of his'find, ' and while his friends congratulated him Mr. Telfer opined thatits discovery proved nothing as to a camp, for a portable altar mighteasily be discovered anywhere along the Wall, and there was no record ofany camp at that particular spot. 'The spade will show, ' cried 'PlainTom, ' triumphantly. 'It's just my first-fruits. Wait a few weeks and myspade will prove it. ' Almost at once the party moved onwards, for theyhad an early train to catch, and as soon as they reached the house teawas set before them, and their host handed round the altar forinspection. 'Pity there's no record on it to show to what God it wasdedicated, ' said one, 'and by whom. '

'It probably belonged to some pioneers along the Wall who builtthemselves a temporary camp whilst prospecting, ' said Turnbull. 

Telfer, on the other hand, was of opinion that the altar was not of thelocal freestone, had probably been brought from a neighbouring camp, andeventually thrown away when the Picts and Scots overran the Wall. 

'If you'll show me the place where you found it, ' he added, 'I can proveto you, I think, that the surrounding stone is different. '

'My pioneers probably imported it, ' said the other boldly, 'but the kindof stone is neither here nor there. However, I'll gladly show you theidentical spot where I howked it out. '

While the rest of the party made their way down the valley towards therailway station, 'Plain Tom' went off with his sceptic to the place ofexcavation. 

'There, ' said he, pointing to the spot, 'that's where it came from, ' andas he spoke he turned over with his spade some debris that had falleninto the hole. His companion took up a fragment of stone, examined it, shook his head, then proceeded to 'howk' out with his stick a stone ofsome size lying half-bedded in the earth at the bottom of the hole. Helevered it away, and it rolled over on its side; something glitteredbeneath. 'Ha! an aureus!' cried the attorney, and dashed upon it. 

'I told you so, I told you so, ' shouted his host in triumphant joy. 'This proves it!'

His joy was perhaps excessive; it seemed to eclipse at least hissurprise, but his companion paid no attention to him in his ownexcitement. 

'Ha! an aureus of Hadrian--and in excellent preservation, ' rejoined theother, after a careful examination. 'What an uncommonly lucky find!' andwithout more ado he slid it into the palm of his left hand. 

'A find!' echoed 'Plain Tom, ' choking upon astonishment and rage. 'Here, hand it over--I'm owner here, ' for his own particular pet coin wasdisappearing from his ken. 

'Even if you were the Lord of the Manor you could not make your claimgood, ' replied the attorney coolly. 'He who finds, keeps. Treasure troveto be claimed must be hidden--_lucri aut metus causâ_. This aureus wasevidently lost or cast away in flight. The finder retains it. '

'Cast away in flight' sounded ludicrously enough in the other's ears, but he was incapable of speech. Indeed, 'Plain Tom' with difficultycontrolled the fires that were scorching him within. His hands trembledconvulsively on the handle of the spade; his enemy had turned about andtaken a step down the hillside as if to follow his companions. Nowbeckoned Opportunity. 'Plain Tom' grasped his spade more tightly, liftedit in air, and brought it down with a thud on the top of his enemy'scloth cap. The attorney's knees gave way instantly; he sank in a heap, then slowly rolled forward and onward down the slope. The aureus haddropped from his limp hand. 'Plain Tom' was on to it like a knife--thesong of Deborah and Barak on his lips. Then he paused and looked uponthe motionless figure of the man below now lying half hidden amongstsome bracken. What was to be done? A shudder of dismay crept up theobserver's spine. Could he be dead? No, no, he was only stunned. 

Well, 'Plain Tom' swiftly determined on his line of action. There was ashepherd's cottage only a quarter of a mile away where he might get helpto lift and carry the fallen man; he would leave him there for the nightafter explaining that he had found him lying unconscious from a faint inthe bracken. That done, he would himself go for the local doctor andexplain how he had found the attorney's body. Then he examined the spadecarefully. There was no sign of blood upon it, fortunately. He hadcaught his enemy squarely with the flat of it; all was well, for nonehad seen him--not even his victim--lift it and strike. 

The shepherd was at home, and at once accompanied him to the spot. 'He'sdeid, ' said the herd, lifting up a limp arm. 'I'm doubtin' he's gotawa. '

'Nonsense, ' said his companion with affected assurance. 'He'd a weakheart, I know, and the long walk has been over much for him. His pulseis all right, ' he added, pretending to feel upon the wrist. 'Now we'llcarry him to your house, and I'll fetch the doctor. He'll be all rightin an hour or two, I'll bet a guinea. '

The attorney was of slim build, and the two men carried him easily tothe cottage. Leaving him there Turnbull strode off for the doctor, whomhe found at home. Explaining how he had found the body, he helped thedoctor saddle his pony and bade him ride with all speed, requesting himto bring him word to 'The Crag' when he had recalled his patient toconsciousness. 

Then 'Plain Tom' set off for his home, whistling to himself to keep uphis spirits, and ever and anon glancing at his recovered aureus withjoy. 'Magister Palae, ' he muttered to himself, ''tis a fine weapon. '

The doctor did not arrive at The Crag till some two hours later, andwhen he did he showed a long face. After he had seated himself inTurnbull's little sanctum, sacred to his antiquities, he deliveredhimself slowly of his professional opinion. 'He's bad, ' he saidmournfully, 'verra bad, ' for the doctor was Scotch; 'he's had an uncoshock'--he glanced keenly at his companion as he spoke--'and a verra badfall. His hairt is gey weak--and he says--if he disna recover he'llhaunt ye--for what ye've done. '

'For what I've done!' cried 'Plain Tom, ' aghast. 'The poor man's brain'saffected. What on earth can he mean?'

'And he said also that if the worst should happen, ' continued the otherwith unmoved visage, 'that he would bequeath me the aureus. He's awarrum-hearted body, an' he kens that I'm a bit of an antiquary mysel'. '

'_His_ aureus!' exclaimed 'Plain Tom' with re-aroused indignation, andforgetful of secrecy, 'why, the damned fellow--no, I don't mean that--Imean he's delirious; but he'll be all right again soon, doctor?' heappealed earnestly. 

'I'm nane so sure of that, ' replied the other, shaking his head. 'Ithought as I came alang I had a sort of a feeling as of a wraith nighabout me--a lang, eldritch sort o' a form i' the mist. '

His host shuddered, looked through the window apprehensively in thegloaming, saw some vague, misty wraith approaching. Then he felt for theaureus in his waistcoat pocket. 

'Oot wi' it, ' the doctor demanded, and 'oot' it came after a struggle. The doctor rose and held out his hand. 'Aweel, ' he said, 'it's safe wi'me. I'll awa noo--back to my patient, for I'll no' can leave him justyet. '

Then the door closed silently behind him. '_Vicisti, O Caledonia_, 'groaned 'Plain Tom, ' and as he spoke he rose up in search of the whiskybottle and consolation. 

APUD CORSTOPITUM

(_per lineam murus. _)

L. Sentius Castus--at one time an officer in the 'Domestici, ' orEmperor's Guards--had volunteered for active service, and was now a'Vexillarius, ' or Standard Bearer to the first squadron of horseattached to the Sixth Legion--'the Victorious and Faithful, ' that hadcome over to Britain with the Emperor Hadrian. He was sitting one Augustafternoon by the fountain in the Forum of Corstopitum, engaged uponimproving a system of fire signals for use on the great wall, whichHadrian was building from the Tyne estuary to the Solway Firth. 

As he reflected he glanced occasionally up at the tall figure of ayouthful Briton beside him--a noble of the tribe of the Brigantes--whomthe soldiers had nicknamed 'Rufus' on account of his auburn hair. 

These two had become such close friends that the prefect of the camp hadlikened them to Nisus and Euryalus, for they were inseparable. '_Hisamor unus erat pariterque in bella ruebant. _'

'Rufus' was employed as an 'explorator'--a pioneer, or scout, along thewall, as he had an exact knowledge of the country, but he was at themoment engaged upon a piece of sculpture--having a natural gift for thechisel--and was putting a final touch to the figure of a lion standingabove a dead stag. 

He stooped and drew a stopper of clay from the lion's mouth, and at oncea stream of water broke through and flashed into the trough. 

'_Euge! Macte virtute, puer!_' cried Castus in delight; ''tis a superbfountain head! And the carving is wondrous, for though thou hast seenthe stag thou hast not the lion; yet there he stands full of pride andchallenge on his kill, just as I have seen him in the Circus Maximus inRome. 

'By the way, ' he continued, 'I have ordered Scaevola, the camp's headmason, to cut that altar which we promised to set up to Sylvanus when webrought down the famous Grindon stag--that great hart o' grease--whichevery officer in Corstopitum had hunted in vain. '

As he spoke he rose up and laid his tablet and style aside. 

'How jealous they all were, ' he continued. 'How the Prefect doubted itsweight and sneered at its tynes and the bay and tray!'

'I think, ' replied his friend with a laugh, 'that he would willinglyhimself have set up an altar to every god from Jupiter Optimus Maximusto our local Mogon, had he had the luck to grass him. '

'The Forum would have been lined with them, ' assented his friend, smiling also. 'Well, this is the inscription I gave to Scaevola to cuton the one altar we promised--he was cheap at one. 

 'Silvano invicto sacrum L. Sentius Castus signifer Leg VI. Et Tetricus explorator murus Ob cervum eximiae formae captum Quem multi antecessores eorum Praedari non potuerunt. 

'That is work for a mason, not for an artist like yourself, who haveembellished Cæsar's town in Ultima Thule with a masterpiece. 

'Mark this day with white chalk, for thou shalt behold Cæsar himself, since he hath just ridden in from Pons Aelii, and will shortly inspecthis new town of Corstopitum. Think on the immensa Romanae Pacis Majestaswhen thou seest him here!'

'I wish greatly to see him, ' replied the young Briton, 'yet I dread theeagle eye of our Imperator. '

'Nay, ' said his friend, 'he will never affright thee, for though he isthe ruler of the broad universe he hath a human heart that takesinterest in all things under the sky, being soldier, traveller, administrator, builder, student, and poet at once. '

There came a sudden shrilling of the tuba at this moment. 

'See!' cried the Vexillarius. 'There he goeth into the Praetorium. '

The twain stood watchful as sentinels, and very shortly they saw Cæsarproceeding to the steps leading into the Forum, accompanied by the ComesBrittanorum and the Clarissimus and the Consularis, attended by hisguard, on whose shields were blazoned as insignia the forts upon themighty wall. 

Cæsar was clad, they noted, not in the long robe of Imperator, but inthe shorter tunic of the Consul, with heavy purple border. 

The two young men stood stiff at the salute as Hadrian drew near. Thenthe Emperor, recognising his former guardsman, spoke to him kindly byname. 

'Ha! Castus. Thou lookest right well. Art better employed here than intrailing thy toga and neighing after the beautiful ladies in Rome? Thouhast found soldiering on the confines of our Empire to thy liking?'

'Yes, indeed, sire, ' replied the standard-bearer, ''tis the soleprofession for a man. '

Hadrian looked upon the erect figure, keen eye, and sun-tanned face ofthe speaker with evident approval. Then as he was about to pass onwardhis eye was struck by the newly carved fountain-head. 

'Who hath carved this fountain?' he inquired. 'I did not know we had anartist in the camp. '

''Twould scarce disgrace the garden of the Palatine, ' replied Castus, overjoyed at the opportunity of praising his comrade in Cæsar'spresence; ''tis the handicraft of my friend here--a pioneer upon thywall--one who though born a Briton is now more Roman than myself, andhath expended all his skill upon the carving in the hope of pleasing theeye of Cæsar. '

Hadrian, ever a patron of the arts, glanced quickly at the reddeningcheeks of the young Briton, then stepped forward to the fountain-head, and scrutinised it with close attention. 'He hath the true eye of theartist, this friend of thine, ' he said, with evident appreciation, 'forthe stag is admirably depicted--the tongue hanging loose from the mouthas I have noted myself when a beast is slain, and as for the lion, though he can scarce ever have seen a lion in Britain, I suppose, 'tisadmirable in its decorative effect. ' He turned to the blushing artistand thanked him graciously for his accomplishment, adding that he wouldsend him a bronze ewer from his own table as a trifling recompense. 

So saying he passed on, and the two comrades looked at each otherjoyously. 

'Now!' cried the Roman standard-bearer, 'thou hast seen, and beenaddressed by, the Ruler of the world. 

'Art thou not proud this day? Art not at least an inch taller? Is Cæsarnot like to one of the immortal gods, thinkest thou?'

'He is, indeed, ' replied the young Briton. 'I knew not such majesty andkindness could dwell together in mortal man. To die for him would be novirtue but a pleasure. I have never seen so noble a face; strengththerein is sustained by intelligence as columns uphold a mighty roof. His mouth speaks even when he utters no words. He unites in himself thecharm of a woman to the power and dignity of a man. '

'Thou hast spoken it, ' replied his companion; 'thou hast hit off hisstrange and unique qualities. I had not thought of it before like that, but thy observation, as Cæsar himself said, is excellent, and thydescription is true. The one thing I like not, ' he added, 'is the beardhe hath grown; that is a new thing in a Roman Emperor and, as I judgeit, somewhat barbaric. '

The next day Hadrian set forth again to ride _per lineam murus_ acrossmoor and fell to Luguvallum and the western sea. 

Castus and Rufus accompanied him as guides, and the Prefect with hisguard escorted the Emperor to the wall that was being swiftly built onthe brow of the hill above Corstopitum. 

There Castus pointed out to Hadrian the track of Dere Street--the roadof Agricola--that seemed to flutter like some white butterfly up thedistant and opposite fell-side crowned by the Wannys' heights--birthplaceof the river Wansbeck. 

'That track, sire, leads to Habitancum, Bremenium, Ad Fines, andTrimontium beside Tweed, ' said Castus. 'I would it might be prolonged toMons Grampius, and even to the Cimmerian sea, where I would set up the_Arae finium Imperii Romani_ on the very edge o' the world. '

Hadrian smiled at his officer's enthusiasm, then he said gravely: 'TheEmpire's weight is heavy enough already--Atlas himself could scarcesustain it. Buttresses are needed, and my wall and camps will furnishthem on this furthest frontier. Beyond is but a waste given over towolves, wild boars, and painted savages. But what a prospect is here!'Tis like the sea stretching away for ever in harvestless waves. '

On and westward they rode and along the windy crest of the fell, thendipped down to the north Tyne river and the camp of Chesters setthereby, thence through the limestone crags to Boreovicus on themoorland--established on the edge of the basaltic outcrop that frownsupon Bromlea Lough. 

This great camp was already finished and garrisoned by Tungrianauxiliaries; the great wall that was to link together the various camps, trailed its length like a serpent till it mounted to Winshields height. Across the valley rose the purple fells of South Tyne, and in thedistant haze Skiddaw's crest soared like an eagle. 

On Winshields height Cæsar was met by the Prefect of Luguvallum and hisguard, and here Castus and Rufus bade him farewell, and turned backtowards Corstopitum. 

As they rode eastward, and had gained the edge of a fir wood beyondBoreovicus, a very beautiful girl stepped suddenly forward, and laid ahand on the rein of Rufus's pony. 

She is of an extraordinary beauty, thought Castus, as he noted thewealth of hair, blue eyes, clear skin, and finely chiselled features. Evidently of noble birth, for she wore a linen shirt under her robe offur, and carried a gold chain about her neck. There was a look ofarrogance about her--a disdain, as it were, that set off her beauty likea jewel, and as she conversed with Rufus she seemed, so Castus thought, to be eyeing himself not without interest. 

'What dost thou think of me, O Roman?' she seemed to ask through herdisdainful eyes. 'Am I not more beautiful than all the women of Rome?Wouldst like to possess me? I care for none that proves not himself tobe a conqueror. '

Castus moved his pony slowly onward, then pausing for his comrade lookedback upon this proud girl of the wood who had aroused sensations hethought he had left behind him in Rome. 

As she bade good-bye to Rufus she turned away, but her last glance wasnot upon Rufus but upon Castus, as the latter delighted to note. 

'Who is this moorland beauty?' he inquired of his comrade, as the tworode on again together. 

'She is a cousin of mine, ' Rufus replied carelessly. 'My mother and herfather and mother desire us to wed, but there is no hurry for that. Ilong for more hunting with thee, O Castus, and to be the completesoldier before I give myself to marriage. '

'How is she named?' inquired his friend further, unable to subdue hisinterest. 

'Penchrysa, ' said Rufus, 'but for short I call her Pen. '

'Penchrysa, ' repeated Castus to himself; ''tis a fit and most romanticname. ' Then aloud he asked, 'Did she look upon Cæsar as he passed bythis morning?'

'Yes, ' replied Rufus, 'she heard he was to pass along the wall, and shesaw him from the shelter of the wood. '

'Does she then love Rome like yourself?' pursued Castus. 

His companion hesitated a moment before he replied. 'She hath a proudsoul in her. She loves courage and prowess above all else, and so will, I believe, love Rome even as I, at the last. The great wall, ' continuedthe young Briton, 'will prove to her Rome's might, and Corstopitum withits stored granaries and streets of shops will show her itscivilisation. I have bid her come in to-morrow with her small brotherwhen the market is open and the country folk bring in their mead andhoney and fowls, and any grouse and salmon they may have netted. '

'Good, ' replied Castus, 'we will show her the sights of Rome's newestachievement. '

Then fearing he might be playing false with his friend he thrust awayall idea of this disdainful beauty of the moors from him and commencedto explain to his comrade his simplification of the then method ofsending five signals from turret to turret, from mile castle to milecastle along the length of the wall, so as to ensure greater accuracy. 

Yet ever the challenge of the arrogant moorland princess assailed hisheart. 

Proud as a stag she had stood regarding him; as graceful in all herlimbs--her breast curved like a breaking wave. She was infinitely morefascinating than Lalage of Corinth, who had lately devastated the youthsof Rome. Her clear oval face, the bluebells of her eyes, her auburn hairhaunted him. 

 '_Iam matura viro plenis jam nubilis annis. _'

He began to weave sophistries whereby he proved to his own satisfactionthat Rufus cared not for his cousin, that she disdained him, andconsequently was fair game for himself. By midday on the morrow theforum of Corstopitum was crowded; there was a throng of Britishcountry-folk come in to sell, and of Roman auxiliaries from diversecamps come in to purchase. 

Castus and Rufus were acting as interpreters between buyers and sellerswhen they saw their invited guest approaching in company with a handsomeboy of some fifteen years, whose hand she held in hers. 

'Welcome!' cried Rufus. 'Now what will you like best to see first? Thepottery shop with its wares--Samian and Castor and rustic, or the greatcorn granaries, or the metal-worker's booth where you can buy a fibulafor yourself, or a boss for your horse's bridle?'

His cousin hesitating, Castus suggested the metal-worker's booth asbeing closest, and thither they repaired. 

Rufus explained with evident delight the use of the various articles setforth, and Castus, discerning that the fair visitor had a little Latin, joined in the conversation. 

'Here is a fibula, ' he said, 'skilfully ornamented with the head ofMinerva. Take it, ' he said, as he gracefully presented it to her, 'as amemento of Rome's most northern town. '

Quietly she accepted the gift with a word of thanks, then added, 'butnot from Rome, ' with an enigmatic smile that strangely attracted theRoman soldier. '_Not from Rome!_' repeated Castus to himself, withthrobbing heart, 'then _from me_ she must mean, ' he conjectured, and thepassion in his breast flamed hotter than before. 

He watched her closely as they fared through the town, and though shewas quick to perceive, she did not seem surprised at the novelties shesaw, whereby Castus found himself more attracted by her than ever. Barbarian she might be held in Rome, but there was a beauty, pride, andstrength in her he had never met with on the Via Sacra. 

When the time came for her to depart Castus eagerly suggested that sheshould come again two days later when games for all comers were to beheld in the town. 

'Yes, ' added Rufus, 'you must come. The games will be superb. ' Then witha laugh, 'Castus and I are to box. '

Penchrysa's eye quickened; she shot one glance at Castus, then promisingto return she waved a hand and departed, leading her small brother withthe other. Castus waited long to see if she would not look back over hershoulder, but no, she went steadily forward, and this only whetted hisappetite the more. 

The afternoon set apart for the games was fair and gay with a west windthat speeded like a greyhound over the wide fells. 

The little arena--dug out in the hollow below the camp--was surroundedby a vast throng of eager spectators drawn from along the wall and themoor beyond. 

There was a holiday in camp; the rumour of a fighting with cocks hadbrought in the Britons; some Spaniards had come over from Chesters, sundry Gauls from Vindolana, and there were the Tungrian auxiliariesfrom Boreovicus itself. 

So it was amid a motley throng of spectators that Castus and Rufus stoodup to box together with the _caestus_ that afternoon, and a murmur ofadmiration rose up from the spectators as the two handsome, gracefulyoung men stepped lightly into the grassy arena. Their right arms andfists were bound about with thongs of bull's hide; the balls of lead andiron usually attached thereto in the case of professional _pugils_ wereabsent, as the encounter was a friendly one, and meant to amuse andinstruct the soldiers. So, stripped for the match and smiling upon eachother, they took their places in the green arena, and, facing north andsouth so as to avoid the sun, saluted the Prefect, after the manner ofgladiators, and at once began preluding to the attack. 

Rufus had been carefully instructed by Castus for some little time past, and was now almost as skilful as his instructor. In strength probablythe Roman was the superior, but the Briton was somewhat more alert andactive on his feet. 

The first round was devoted to a display of their art; the second grewsomewhat more intent in purpose, the applause of the spectatorsstimulating the two boxers to put forth their whole strength. 

Castus had seen Penchrysa sitting in the amphitheatre to his right hand, and had at once realised that she was really interested in the fight andwas applauding himself, not her cousin. 

Inspired by this to renewed effort he deceived his friend by a cleverfeint, then getting in a fine clean hit with his left on the forehead, followed it up with a right-hander on the jaw. Rufus staggered backward, swayed wildly on his feet, then fell unconscious to the ground. 

Applause broke out over the whole amphitheatre, and Castus was proudlyconscious that the white hands of Penchrysa were clapping himvigorously, even as he ran forward to raise his friend's head and assisthim to his feet as he recovered from his faint. 

After this some cock-fighting followed, and many of the spectators leftor changed their seats. Castus marked Penchrysa rise and walk away withher brother, and he followed them amid the crowd. 

'I am victorious, ' he said, as he came up with them, 'but the victory isyours, for had you not applauded I had not won. '

Penchrysa looked upon him with a glowing eye that seemed to Castus tohave lost its first hostility, as she said simply she was pleased thathe had been victorious. 

She said she must go, and bending down her head, added in a low, hurriedvoice, '_If thou wishest further converse with me meet me as the moonrises by the limestone crags above Chesters to-morrow night. _' She laidher finger on her lip, and moved away with her supple grace through thestraggling crowd. 

Castus, enraptured by the thought that he had captured this proudbeauty, could scarce contain himself for joy. He had no difficulty inkeeping his assignation, for he had a good pretext in an old promise toadvise with the Commander of the Chesters Camp. Thus he rode outjoyously next afternoon from Corstopitum, and as dusk drew on and thetime for the moon's rising came near, he dismounted below the limestonecrags and led his horse slowly up to the highest point of the limestoneoutcrop where a monolith stood dark and threatening. Tethering hishorse to a tree near by he advanced towards it, and the moon--nowrisen--faintly touched it with light. Two figures moved from it as hecame up. The first was Penchrysa, the second an old, grey-bearded man. 

'Welcome, O Roman!' said she gravely, then with more emotion, 'thy looksand actions tell me thou lovest me. If so I have a proposal to make tothee; and as I know your tongue but ill this old man, my friend, who hasserved with your armies, will set it before thee, for I have no skill inthe Roman language. '

Castus, carried away by his passion, seized her hand and kissed it, andwas about to put his arms about her, but she put up her hand and badehim wait for her proposal from the interpreter's lips. 

'Thou art strong, O Roman, ' said the old man earnestly, 'brave, andcanst command men, for my Princess has watched thee narrowly. She is ofroyal birth, and royal amongst womankind. None surpasses her. She willgive thee herself if thou wilt command our hosts. The Caledonii willavenge Mons Grampius and rise with the British race, fling off the hatedyoke of Rome, and make this island free as it was of old. There are tenthousand within call of us now!' He whistled thrice like a goldenplover, and on all sides dark forms showed themselves in response to hiscall. 'The rule of Rome approacheth its doom. This wall proves theirweakness. The Emperor is in the western land and can be dispatched withease. We want a leader, and our Princess chooseth thee. Take her and beEmperor of Britain. '

As he spake thus, Penchrysa leaned forward and whispered in the ear ofthe astounded Roman, 'Come, and we will rule together!' Her lovely faceshowing lovelier in the soft moonlight, her breath honey-sweet upon hischeek, the vision of rule together had almost intoxicated him. But thenthe shame of betrayal rose in him like a flood. Lust dropped from him asa garment. In one second he had drawn his sword and stabbed histemptress to the heart. 'So perish!' he cried aloud, 'all enemies ofRome!'

 * * * * *

He bounded to his horse, leapt on its back, and at breakneck speed theyhurtled down the fell. He was wounded by darts in shoulder and rightarm, and his horse's loins were gashed by a spear, yet the camp atChesters was but two miles away, and, setting his teeth together, hegave his horse the rein and leaned forward on its neck to take hisweight off the loins. 

The yells of the pursuers became fainter as he sped onward. Soon he sawthe dark outline of the camp on the haugh below, and in a few minutesarrived at the western port. 

'Who are ye?' inquired the sentry of the port. 

'Castus, Vexillarius of the first squadron, Sixth Legion, ' he shoutedhoarsely, 'the Britons have risen!'

The stone gate jarred on its hinge; Castus, thrusting through, dismounted and wiped the foam from his gallant steed. 

'What a fool I have been!' he murmured. 'Never again will I traffic witha woman. _Vale, O Femina--in eternum vale!_ Henceforth I dedicate mylife to Rome--

 "_Romae matri meae-- Orbis Imperatrici. _"'

And, ratifying his vow by the head of Cæsar, he fell to the ground, unconscious through loss of blood. 

 Printed by T. And A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press

Transcriber's Notes. 

Words have been hyphenated consistently within each story, andpunctuation has been corrected without notation. 

Spaces in common contractions (whether in dialect or not) e. G. "there's""Aah'll" and "ye'd" have been closed up. 

Dialect contractions, e. G. "o't" and "wi't", or "is 't" and "D' ye" aregiven as generally printed. 

Footnotes have been moved to the end of each story. 

The following obvious typographical errors in the original have beencorrected:

 On Page 158, "and swings away at a hand gallop" changed to "and swings away at a hard gallop". 

 On Page 181 "for Ah'll stan' none" changed to "for Aah'll stan' none" (consistent with spelling in same speech). 

 On Page 209, "went forward at a good trot an drecked" changed to "went forward at a good trot and recked. "

 In Footnote 1 to "Muckle-Mouthed Meg" (i. E. Footnote to Page 205) "Provost is really an anacronism" changed to "Provost is really an anachronism. "

The questionable spellings of "Château-Laffite" and "Vindolana" are as perthe original book.