THE UPPER BERTH

BY

F. MARION CRAWFORD

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

NEW YORK

27 West Twenty-third St. 

LONDON

24 Bedford St. , Strand

The Knickerbocker Press

1894

COPYRIGHT, 1894BYG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 

The two stories by Mr. Crawford, presented in this volume, have been inprint before, having been originally written for two Christmas annualswhich were issued some years back. With the belief that the stories are, however, still unknown to the larger portion of Mr. Crawford's public, and in the opinion that they are well worthy of preservation in morepermanent form, the publishers have decided to reprint them as theinitial volume of the "Autonym" library. 

THE AUTONYM LIBRARY. 

Small works by representative writers, whose contributions will beartheir signatures. 

32mo, limp cloth, each 50 cents. 

The Autonym Library is published in co-operation with Mr. T. FisherUnwin, of London. 

I. THE UPPER BERTH, by F. Marion Crawford. 

II. BY REEF AND PALM, by Louis Becke. With Introduction by the Earl ofPembroke. 

This will be followed by volumes by S. R. Crockett, and others. 

THE UPPER BERTH

_The Upper Berth. _

Somebody asked for the cigars. We had talked long, and the conversationwas beginning to languish; the tobacco smoke had got into the heavycurtains, the wine had got into those brains which were liable to becomeheavy, and it was already perfectly evident that, unless somebody didsomething to rouse our oppressed spirits, the meeting would soon come toits natural conclusion, and we, the guests, would speedily go home tobed, and most certainly to sleep. No one had said anything veryremarkable; it may be that no one had anything very remarkable to say. Jones had given us every particular of his last hunting adventure inYorkshire. Mr. Tompkins, of Boston, had explained at elaborate lengththose working principles, by the due and careful maintenance of whichthe Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fé Railroad not only extended itsterritory, increased its departmental influence, and transported livestock without starving them to death before the day of actual delivery, but, also, had for years succeeded in deceiving those passengers whobought its tickets into the fallacious belief that the corporationaforesaid was really able to transport human life without destroying it. Signor Tombola had endeavoured to persuade us, by arguments which wetook no trouble to oppose, that the unity of his country in no wayresembled the average modern torpedo, carefully planned, constructedwith all the skill of the greatest European arsenals, but, whenconstructed, destined to be directed by feeble hands into a region whereit must undoubtedly explode, unseen, unfeared, and unheard, into theillimitable wastes of political chaos. 

It is unnecessary to go into further details. The conversation hadassumed proportions which would have bored Prometheus on his rock, whichwould have driven Tantalus to distraction, and which would have impelledIxion to seek relaxation in the simple but instructive dialogues of HerrOllendorff, rather than submit to the greater evil of listening to ourtalk. We had sat at table for hours; we were bored, we were tired, andnobody showed signs of moving. 

Somebody called for cigars. We all instinctively looked towards thespeaker. Brisbane was a man of five-and-thirty years of age, andremarkable for those gifts which chiefly attract the attention of men. He was a strong man. The external proportions of his figure presentednothing extraordinary to the common eye, though his size was above theaverage. He was a little over six feet in height, and moderately broadin the shoulder; he did not appear to be stout, but, on the other hand, he was certainly not thin; his small head was supported by a strong andsinewy neck; his broad muscular hands appeared to possess a peculiarskill in breaking walnuts without the assistance of the ordinarycracker, and, seeing him in profile, one could not help remarking theextraordinary breadth of his sleeves, and the unusual thickness of hischest. He was one of those men who are commonly spoken of among men asdeceptive; that is to say, that though he looked exceedingly strong hewas in reality very much stronger than he looked. Of his features I needsay little. His head is small, his hair is thin, his eyes are blue, hisnose is large, he has a small moustache, and a square jaw. Everybodyknows Brisbane, and when he asked for a cigar everybody looked at him. 

"It is a very singular thing, " said Brisbane. 

Everybody stopped talking. Brisbane's voice was not loud, but possesseda peculiar quality of penetrating general conversation, and cutting itlike a knife. Everybody listened. Brisbane, perceiving that he hadattracted their general attention, lit his cigar with great equanimity. 

"It is very singular, " he continued, "that thing about ghosts. Peopleare always asking whether anybody has seen a ghost. I have. "

"Bosh! What, you? You don't mean to say so, Brisbane? Well, for a man ofhis intelligence!"

A chorus of exclamations greeted Brisbane's remarkable statement. Everybody called for cigars, and Stubbs the butler suddenly appearedfrom the depths of nowhere with a fresh bottle of dry champagne. Thesituation was saved; Brisbane was going to tell a story. 

I am an old sailor, said Brisbane, and as I have to cross the Atlanticpretty often, I have my favourites. Most men have their favourites. Ihave seen a man wait in a Broadway bar for three-quarters of an hour fora particular car which he liked. I believe the bar-keeper made at leastone-third of his living by that man's preference. I have a habit ofwaiting for certain ships when I am obliged to cross that duck-pond. Itmay be a prejudice, but I was never cheated out of a good passage butonce in my life. I remember it very well; it was a warm morning in June, and the Custom House officials, who were hanging about waiting for asteamer already on her way up from the Quarantine, presented apeculiarly hazy and thoughtful appearance. I had not much luggage--Inever have. I mingled with the crowd of passengers, porters, andofficious individuals in blue coats and brass buttons, who seemed tospring up like mushrooms from the deck of a moored steamer to obtrudetheir unnecessary services upon the independent passenger. I have oftennoticed with a certain interest the spontaneous evolution of thesefellows. They are not there when you arrive; five minutes after thepilot has called "Go ahead!" they, or at least their blue coats andbrass buttons, have disappeared from deck and gangway as completely asthough they had been consigned to that locker which traditionunanimously ascribes to Davy Jones. But, at the moment of starting, they are there, clean-shaved, blue-coated, and ravenous for fees. Ihastened on board. The _Kamtschatka_ was one of my favourite ships. Isay was, because she emphatically no longer is. I cannot conceive of anyinducement which could entice me to make another voyage in her. Yes, Iknow what you are going to say. She is uncommonly clean in the run aft, she has enough bluffing off in the bows to keep her dry, and the lowerberths are most of them double. She has a lot of advantages, but I won'tcross in her again. Excuse the digression. I got on board. I hailed asteward, whose red nose and redder whiskers were equally familiar to me. 

"One hundred and five, lower berth, " said I, in the businesslike tonepeculiar to men who think no more of crossing the Atlantic than taking awhisky cocktail at downtown Delmonico's. 

The steward took my portmanteau, great coat, and rug. I shall neverforget the expression of his face. Not that he turned pale. It ismaintained by the most eminent divines that even miracles cannot changethe course of nature. I have no hesitation in saying that he did notturn pale; but, from his expression, I judged that he was either aboutto shed tears, to sneeze, or to drop my portmanteau. As the lattercontained two bottles of particularly fine old sherry presented to mefor my voyage by my old friend Snigginson van Pickyns, I felt extremelynervous. But the steward did none of these things. 

"Well, I'm d----d!" said he in a low voice, and led the way. 

I supposed my Hermes, as he led me to the lower regions, had had alittle grog, but I said nothing, and followed him. One hundred and fivewas on the port side, well aft. There was nothing remarkable about thestate-room. The lower berth, like most of those upon the _Kamtschatka_, was double. There was plenty of room; there was the usual washingapparatus, calculated to convey an idea of luxury to the mind of aNorth-American Indian; there were the usual inefficient racks of brownwood, in which it is more easy to hang a large-sized umbrella than thecommon tooth-brush of commerce. Upon the uninviting mattresses werecarefully folded together those blankets which a great modern humoristhas aptly compared to cold buckwheat cakes. The question of towels wasleft entirely to the imagination. The glass decanters were filled with atransparent liquid faintly tinged with brown, but from which an odorless faint, but not more pleasing, ascended to the nostrils, like afar-off sea-sick reminiscence of oily machinery. Sad-coloured curtainshalf-closed the upper berth. The hazy June daylight shed a faintillumination upon the desolate little scene. Ugh! how I hate thatstate-room!

The steward deposited my traps and looked at me, as though he wanted toget away--probably in search of more passengers and more fees. It isalways a good plan to start in favour with those functionaries, and Iaccordingly gave him certain coins there and then. 

"I'll try and make yer comfortable all I can, " he remarked, as he putthe coins in his pocket. Nevertheless, there was a doubtful intonationin his voice which surprised me. Possibly his scale of fees had gone up, and he was not satisfied; but on the whole I was inclined to think that, as he himself would have expressed it, he was "the better for a glass. "I was wrong, however, and did the man injustice. 

II. 

Nothing especially worthy of mention occurred during that day. We leftthe pier punctually, and it was very pleasant to be fairly under way, for the weather was warm and sultry, and the motion of the steamerproduced a refreshing breeze. Everybody knows what the first day at seais like. People pace the decks and stare at each other, and occasionallymeet acquaintances whom they did not know to be on board. There is theusual uncertainty as to whether the food will be good, bad, orindifferent, until the first two meals have put the matter beyond adoubt; there is the usual uncertainty about the weather, until the shipis fairly off Fire Island. The tables are crowded at first, and thensuddenly thinned. Pale-faced people spring from their seats andprecipitate themselves towards the door, and each old sailor breathesmore freely as his sea-sick neighbour rushes from his side, leaving himplenty of elbow room and an unlimited command over the mustard. 

One passage across the Atlantic is very much like another, and we whocross very often do not make the voyage for the sake of novelty. Whalesand icebergs are indeed always objects of interest, but, after all, onewhale is very much like another whale, and one rarely sees an iceberg atclose quarters. To the majority of us the most delightful moment of theday on board an ocean steamer is when we have taken our last turn ondeck, have smoked our last cigar, and having succeeded in tiringourselves, feel at liberty to turn in with a clear conscience. On thatfirst night of the voyage I felt particularly lazy, and went to bed inone hundred and five rather earlier than I usually do. As I turned in, Iwas amazed to see that I was to have a companion. A portmanteau, verylike my own, lay in the opposite corner, and in the upper berth had beendeposited a neatly folded rug with a stick and umbrella. I had hoped tobe alone, and I was disappointed; but I wondered who my room-mate was tobe, and I determined to have a look at him. 

Before I had been long in bed he entered. He was, as far as I couldsee, a very tall man, very thin, very pale, with sandy hair and whiskersand colourless grey eyes. He had about him, I thought, an air of ratherdubious fashion; the sort of man you might see in Wall Street, withoutbeing able precisely to say what he was doing there--the sort of man whofrequents the Café Anglais, who always seems to be alone and who drinkschampagne; you might meet him on a race-course, but he would neverappear to be doing anything there either. A little over-dressed--alittle odd. There are three or four of his kind on every ocean steamer. I made up my mind that I did not care to make his acquaintance, and Iwent to sleep saying to myself that I would study his habits in orderto avoid him. If he rose early, I would rise late; if he went to bedlate, I would go to bed early. I did not care to know him. If you onceknow people of that kind they are always turning up. Poor fellow! I neednot have taken the trouble to come to so many decisions about him, for Inever saw him again after that first night in one hundred and five. 

I was sleeping soundly when I was suddenly waked by a loud noise. Tojudge from the sound, my room-mate must have sprung with a single leapfrom the upper berth to the floor. I heard him fumbling with the latchand bolt of the door, which opened almost immediately, and then I heardhis footsteps as he ran at full speed down the passage, leaving the dooropen behind him. The ship was rolling a little, and I expected to hearhim stumble or fall, but he ran as though he were running for his life. The door swung on its hinges with the motion of the vessel, and thesound annoyed me. I got up and shut it, and groped my way back to myberth in the darkness. I went to sleep again; but I have no idea howlong I slept. 

When I awoke it was still quite dark, but I felt a disagreeablesensation of cold, and it seemed to me that the air was damp. You knowthe peculiar smell of a cabin which has been wet with sea water. Icovered myself up as well as I could and dozed off again, framingcomplaints to be made the next day, and selecting the most powerfulepithets in the language. I could hear my room-mate turn over in theupper berth. He had probably returned while I was asleep. Once Ithought I heard him groan, and I argued that he was sea-sick. That isparticularly unpleasant when one is below. Nevertheless I dozed off andslept till early daylight. 

The ship was rolling heavily, much more than on the previous evening, and the grey light which came in through the porthole changed in tintwith every movement according as the angle of the vessel's side turnedthe glass seawards or skywards. It was very cold--unaccountably so forthe month of June. I turned my head and looked at the porthole, and sawto my surprise that it was wide open and hooked back. I believe I sworeaudibly. Then I got up and shut it. As I turned back I glanced at theupper berth. The curtains were drawn close together; my companion hadprobably felt cold as well as I. It struck me that I had slept enough. The state-room was uncomfortable, though, strange to say, I could notsmell the dampness which had annoyed me in the night. My room-mate wasstill asleep--excellent opportunity for avoiding him, so I dressed atonce and went on deck. The day was warm and cloudy, with an oily smellon the water. It was seven o'clock as I came out--much later than I hadimagined. I came across the doctor, who was taking his first sniff ofthe morning air. He was a young man from the West of Ireland--atremendous fellow, with black hair and blue eyes, already inclined to bestout; he had a happy-go-lucky, healthy look about him which was ratherattractive. 

"Fine morning, " I remarked, by way of introduction. 

"Well, " said he, eying me with an air of ready interest, "it's a finemorning and it's not a fine morning. I don't think it's much of amorning. "

"Well, no--it is not so very fine, " said I. 

"It's just what I call fuggly weather, " replied the doctor. 

"It was very cold last night, I thought, " I remarked. "However, when Ilooked about, I found that the porthole was wide open. I had not noticedit when I went to bed. And the state-room was damp, too. "

"Damp!" said he. "Whereabouts are you?"

"One hundred and five----"

To my surprise the doctor started visibly, and stared at me. 

"What is the matter?" I asked. 

"Oh--nothing, " he answered; "only everybody has complained of thatstate-room for the last three trips. "

"I shall complain too, " I said. "It has certainly not been properlyaired. It is a shame!"

"I don't believe it can be helped, " answered the doctor. "I believethere is something--well, it is not my business to frighten passengers. "

"You need not be afraid of frightening me, " I replied. "I can stand anyamount of damp. If I should get a bad cold I will come to you. "

I offered the doctor a cigar, which he took and examined verycritically. 

"It is not so much the damp, " he remarked. "However, I dare say you willget on very well. Have you a room-mate?"

"Yes; a deuce of a fellow, who bolts out in the middle of the night andleaves the door open. "

Again the doctor glanced curiously at me. Then he lit the cigar andlooked grave. 

"Did he come back?" he asked presently. 

"Yes. I was asleep, but I waked up and heard him moving. Then I feltcold and went to sleep again. This morning I found the porthole open. "

"Look here, " said the doctor, quietly, "I don't care much for this ship. I don't care a rap for her reputation. I tell you what I will do. I havea good-sized place up here. I will share it with you, though I don'tknow you from Adam. "

I was very much surprised at the proposition. I could not imagine why heshould take such a sudden interest in my welfare. However, his manner ashe spoke of the ship was peculiar. 

"You are very good, doctor, " I said. "But really, I believe even now thecabin could be aired, or cleaned out, or something. Why do you not carefor the ship?"

"We are not superstitious in our profession, sir, " replied the doctor. "But the sea makes people so. I don't want to prejudice you, and I don'twant to frighten you, but if you will take my advice you will move inhere. I would as soon see you overboard, " he added, "as know that you orany other man was to sleep in one hundred and five. "

"Good gracious! Why?" I asked. 

"Just because on the last three trips the people who have slept thereactually have gone overboard, " he answered, gravely. 

The intelligence was startling and exceedingly unpleasant, I confess. Ilooked hard at the doctor to see whether he was making game of me, buthe looked perfectly serious. I thanked him warmly for his offer, buttold him I intended to be the exception to the rule by which every onewho slept in that particular state-room went overboard. He did not saymuch, but looked as grave as ever, and hinted that before we got acrossI should probably reconsider his proposal. In the course of time we wentto breakfast, at which only an inconsiderable number of passengersassembled. I noticed that one or two of the officers who breakfastedwith us looked grave. After breakfast I went into my state-room in orderto get a book. The curtains of the upper berth were still closely drawn. Not a word was to be heard. My room-mate was probably still asleep. 

As I came out I met the steward whose business it was to look after me. He whispered that the captain wanted to see me, and then scuttled awaydown the passage as if very anxious to avoid any questions. I wenttoward the captain's cabin, and found him waiting for me. 

"Sir, " said he, "I want to ask a favour of you. "

I answered that I would do anything to oblige him. 

"Your room-mate has disappeared, " he said. "He is known to have turnedin early last night. Did you notice anything extraordinary in hismanner?"

The question coming, as it did, in exact confirmation of the fears thedoctor had expressed half an hour earlier, staggered me. 

"You don't mean to say he has gone overboard?" I asked. 

"I fear he has, " answered the captain. 

"This is the most extraordinary thing----" I began. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"He is the fourth, then?" I explained. In answer to another questionfrom the captain, I explained, without mentioning the doctor, that I hadheard the story concerning one hundred and five. He seemed very muchannoyed at hearing that I knew of it. I told him what had occurred inthe night. 

"What you say, " he replied, "coincides almost exactly with what was toldme by the room-mates of two of the other three. They bolt out of bed andrun down the passage. Two of them were seen to go overboard by thewatch; we stopped and lowered boats, but they were not found. Nobody, however, saw or heard the man who was lost last night--if he is reallylost. The steward, who is a superstitious fellow, perhaps, and expectedsomething to go wrong, went to look for him this morning, and found hisberth empty, but his clothes lying about, just as he had left them. Thesteward was the only man on board who knew him by sight, and he has beensearching everywhere for him. He has disappeared! Now, sir, I want tobeg you not to mention the circumstance to any of the passengers; Idon't want the ship to get a bad name, and nothing hangs about anocean-goer like stories of suicides. You shall have your choice of anyone of the officers' cabins you like, including my own, for the rest ofthe passage. Is that a fair bargain?"

"Very, " said I; "and I am much obliged to you. But since I am alone, andhave the state-room to myself, I would rather not move. If the stewardwill take out that unfortunate man's things, I would as leave stay whereI am. I will not say anything about the matter, and I think I canpromise you that I will not follow my room-mate. "

The captain tried to dissuade me from my intention, but I preferredhaving a state-room alone to being the chum of any officer on board. Ido not know whether I acted foolishly, but if I had taken his advice Ishould have had nothing more to tell. There would have remained thedisagreeable coincidence of several suicides occurring among men who hadslept in the same cabin, but that would have been all. 

That was not the end of the matter, however, by any means. I obstinatelymade up my mind that I would not be disturbed by such tales, and I evenwent so far as to argue the question with the captain. There wassomething wrong about the state-room, I said. It was rather damp. Theporthole had been left open last night. My room-mate might have been illwhen he came on board, and he might have become delirious after he wentto bed. He might even now be hiding somewhere on board, and might befound later. The place ought to be aired and the fastening of the portlooked to. If the captain would give me leave, I would see that what Ithought necessary were done immediately. 

"Of course you have a right to stay where you are if you please, " hereplied, rather petulantly; "but I wish you would turn out and let melock the place up, and be done with it. "

I did not see it in the same light, and left the captain, afterpromising to be silent concerning the disappearance of my companion. Thelatter had had no acquaintances on board, and was not missed in thecourse of the day. Towards evening I met the doctor again, and he askedme whether I had changed my mind. I told him I had not. 

"Then you will before long, " he said, very gravely. 

III. 

We played whist in the evening, and I went to bed late. I will confessnow that I felt a disagreeable sensation when I entered my state-room. Icould not help thinking of the tall man I had seen on the previousnight, who was now dead, drowned, tossing about in the long swell, twoor three hundred miles astern. His face rose very distinctly before meas I undressed, and I even went so far as to draw back the curtains ofthe upper berth, as though to persuade myself that he was actually gone. I also bolted the door of the state-room. Suddenly I became aware thatthe porthole was open, and fastened back. This was more than I couldstand. I hastily threw on my dressing-gown and went in search of Robert, the steward of my passage. I was very angry, I remember, and when Ifound him I dragged him roughly to the door of one hundred and five, andpushed him towards the open porthole. 

"What the deuce do you mean, you scoundrel, by leaving that port openevery night? Don't you know it is against the regulations? Don't youknow that if the ship heeled and the water began to come in, ten mencould not shut it? I will report you to the captain, you blackguard, forendangering the ship!"

I was exceedingly wroth. The man trembled and turned pale, and thenbegan to shut the round glass plate with the heavy brass fittings. 

"Why don't you answer me?" I said, roughly. 

"If you please, sir, " faltered Robert, "there's nobody on board as cankeep this 'ere port shut at night. You can try it yourself, sir. I ain'ta-going to stop hany longer on board o' this vessel, sir; I ain't, indeed. But if I was you, sir, I'd just clear out and go and sleep withthe surgeon, or something, I would. Look 'ere, sir, is that fastenedwhat you may call securely, or not, sir? Try it, sir, see if it willmove a hinch. "

I tried the port, and found it perfectly tight. 

"Well, sir, " continued Robert, triumphantly, "I wager my reputation as aA1 steward, that in 'arf an hour it will be open again; fastened back, too, sir, that's the horful thing--fastened back!"

I examined the great screw and the looped nut that ran on it. 

"If I find it open in the night, Robert, I will give you a sovereign. Itis not possible. You may go. "

"Soverin' did you say, sir? Very good, sir. Thank ye, sir. Good night, sir. Pleasant reepose, sir, and all manner of hinchantin' dreams, sir. "

Robert scuttled away, delighted at being released. Of course, I thoughthe was trying to account for his negligence by a silly story, intendedto frighten me, and I disbelieved him. The consequence was that he gothis sovereign, and I spent a very peculiarly unpleasant night. 

I went to bed, and five minutes after I had rolled myself up in myblankets the inexorable Robert extinguished the light that burnedsteadily behind the ground-glass pane near the door. I lay quite stillin the dark trying to go to sleep, but I soon found that impossible. Ithad been some satisfaction to be angry with the steward, and thediversion had banished that unpleasant sensation I had at firstexperienced when I thought of the drowned man who had been my chum; butI was no longer sleepy, and I lay awake for some time, occasionallyglancing at the porthole, which I could just see from where I lay, andwhich, in the darkness, looked like a faintly-luminous soup-platesuspended in blackness. I believe I must have lain there for an hour, and, as I remember, I was just dozing into sleep when I was roused by adraught of cold air and by distinctly feeling the spray of the sea blownupon my face. I started to my feet, and not having allowed in the darkfor the motion of the ship, I was instantly thrown violently across thestate-room upon the couch which was placed beneath the porthole. Irecovered myself immediately, however, and climbed upon my knees. Theporthole was again wide open and fastened back!

Now these things are facts. I was wide awake when I got up, and I shouldcertainly have been waked by the fall had I still been dozing. Moreover, I bruised my elbows and knees badly, and the bruises were there on thefollowing morning to testify to the fact, if I myself had doubted it. The porthole was wide open and fastened back--a thing so unaccountablethat I remember very well feeling astonishment rather than fear when Idiscovered it. I at once closed the plate again and screwed down theloop nut with all my strength. It was very dark in the state-room. Ireflected that the port had certainly been opened within an hour afterRobert had at first shut it in my presence, and I determined to watch itand see whether it would open again. Those brass fittings are very heavyand by no means easy to move; I could not believe that the clump hadbeen turned by the shaking of the screw. I stood peering out through thethick glass at the alternate white and grey streaks of the sea thatfoamed beneath the ship's side. I must have remained there a quarter ofan hour. 

Suddenly, as I stood, I distinctly heard something moving behind me inone of the berths, and a moment afterwards, just as I turnedinstinctively to look--though I could, of course, see nothing in thedarkness--I heard a very faint groan. I sprang across the state-room, and tore the curtains of the upper berth aside, thrusting in my hands todiscover if there were any one there. There was some one. 

I remember that the sensation as I put my hands forward was as though Iwere plunging them into the air of a damp cellar, and from behind thecurtain came a gust of wind that smelled horribly of stagnant sea-water. I laid hold of something that had the shape of a man's arm, but wassmooth, and wet, and icy cold. But suddenly, as I pulled, the creaturesprang violently forward against me, a clammy, oozy mass, as it seemedto me, heavy and wet, yet endowed with a sort of supernatural strength. I reeled across the state-room, and in an instant the door opened andthe thing rushed out. I had not had time to be frightened, and quicklyrecovering myself, I sprang through the door and gave chase at the topof my speed, but I was too late. Ten yards before me I could see--I amsure I saw it--a dark shadow moving in the dimly lighted passage, quickly as the shadow of a fast horse thrown before a dog-cart by thelamp on a dark night. But in a moment it had disappeared, and I foundmyself holding on to the polished rail that ran along the bulkheadwhere the passage turned towards the companion. My hair stood on end, and the cold perspiration rolled down my face. I am not ashamed of it inthe least: I was very badly frightened. 

Still I doubted my senses, and pulled myself together. It was absurd, Ithought. The Welsh rare-bit I had eaten had disagreed with me. I hadbeen in a nightmare. I made my way back to my state-room, and entered itwith an effort. The whole place smelled of stagnant sea-water, as it hadwhen I had waked on the previous evening. It required my utmost strengthto go in and grope among my things for a box of wax lights. As I lighteda railway reading lantern which I always carry in case I want to readafter the lamps are out, I perceived that the porthole was again open, and a sort of creeping horror began to take possession of me which Inever felt before, nor wish to feel again. But I got a light andproceeded to examine the upper berth, expecting to find it drenched withsea-water. 

But I was disappointed. The bed had been slept in, and the smell of thesea was strong; but the bedding was as dry as a bone. I fancied thatRobert had not had the courage to make the bed after the accident of theprevious night--it had all been a hideous dream. I drew the curtainsback as far as I could and examined the place very carefully. It wasperfectly dry. But the porthole was open again. With a sort of dullbewilderment of horror, I closed it and screwed it down, and thrustingmy heavy stick through the brass loop, wrenched it with all my might, till the thick metal began to bend under the pressure. Then I hooked myreading lantern into the red velvet at the head of the couch, and satdown to recover my senses if I could. I sat there all night, unable tothink of rest--hardly able to think at all. But the porthole remainedclosed, and I did not believe it would now open again without theapplication of a considerable force. 

The morning dawned at last, and I dressed myself slowly, thinking overall that had happened in the night. It was a beautiful day and I went ondeck, glad to get out in the early, pure sunshine, and to smell thebreeze from the blue water, so different from the noisome, stagnantodour from my state-room. Instinctively I turned aft, towards thesurgeon's cabin. There he stood, with a pipe in his mouth, taking hismorning airing precisely as on the preceding day. 

"Good-morning, " said he, quietly, but looking at me with evidentcuriosity. 

"Doctor, you were quite right, " said I. "There is something wrong aboutthat place. "

"I thought you would change your mind, " he answered, rathertriumphantly. "You have had a bad night, eh? Shall I make you apick-me-up? I have a capital recipe. "

"No, thanks, " I cried. "But I would like to tell you what happened. "

I then tried to explain as clearly as possible precisely what hadoccurred, not omitting to state that I had been scared as I had neverbeen scared in my whole life before. I dwelt particularly on thephenomenon of the porthole, which was a fact to which I could testify, even if the rest had been an illusion. I had closed it twice in thenight, and the second time I had actually bent the brass in wrenching itwith my stick. I believe I insisted a good deal on this point. 

"You seem to think I am likely to doubt the story, " said the doctor, smiling at the detailed account of the state of the porthole. "I do notdoubt it in the least. I renew my invitation to you. Bring your trapshere, and take half my cabin. "

"Come and take half of mine for one night, " I said. "Help me to get atthe bottom of this thing. "

"You will get to the bottom of something else if you try, " answered thedoctor. 

"What?" I asked. 

"The bottom of the sea. I am going to leave the ship. It is not canny. "

"Then you will not help me to find out----"

"Not I, " said the doctor, quickly. "It is my business to keep my witsabout me--not to go fiddling about with ghosts and things. "

"Do you really believe it is a ghost?" I inquired, rathercontemptuously. But as I spoke I remembered very well the horriblesensation of the supernatural which had got possession of me during thenight. The doctor turned sharply on me----

"Have you any reasonable explanation of these things to offer?" heasked. "No; you have not. Well, you say you will find an explanation. Isay that you won't, sir, simply because there is not any. "

"But, my dear sir, " I retorted, "do you, a man of science, mean to tellme that such things cannot be explained?"

"I do, " he answered, stoutly. "And, if they could, I would not beconcerned in the explanation. "

I did not care to spend another night alone in the state-room, and yet Iwas obstinately determined to get at the root of the disturbances. I donot believe there are many men who would have slept there alone, afterpassing two such nights. But I made up my mind to try it, if I could notget any one to share a watch with me. The doctor was evidently notinclined for such an experiment. He said he was a surgeon, and that incase any accident occurred on board he must always be in readiness. Hecould not afford to have his nerves unsettled. Perhaps he was quiteright, but I am inclined to think that his precaution was prompted byhis inclination. On inquiry, he informed me that there was no one onboard who would be likely to join me in my investigations, and after alittle more conversation I left him. A little later I met the captain, and told him my story. I said that if no one would spend the night withme I would ask leave to have the light burning all night, and would tryit alone. 

"Look here, " said he, "I will tell you what I will do. I will share yourwatch myself, and we will see what happens. It is my belief that we canfind out between us. There may be some fellow skulking on board, whosteals a passage by frightening the passengers. It is just possible thatthere may be something queer in the carpentering of that berth. "

I suggested taking the ship's carpenter below and examining the place;but I was overjoyed at the captain's offer to spend the night with me. He accordingly sent for the workman and ordered him to do anything Irequired. We went below at once. I had all the bedding cleared out ofthe upper berth, and we examined the place thoroughly to see if therewas a board loose anywhere, or a panel which could be opened or pushedaside. We tried the planks everywhere, tapped the flooring, unscrewedthe fittings of the lower berth and took it to pieces--in short, therewas not a square inch of the state-room which was not searched andtested. Everything was in perfect order, and we put everything back inits place. As we were finishing our work, Robert came to the door andlooked in. 

"Well, sir--find anything, sir?" he asked with a ghastly grin. 

"You were right about the porthole, Robert, " I said, and I gave him thepromised sovereign. The carpenter did his work silently and skilfully, following my directions. When he had done he spoke. 

"I'm a plain man, sir, " he said. "But it's my belief you had better justturn out your things and let me run half a dozen four inch screwsthrough the door of this cabin. There's no good never came o' this cabinyet, sir, and that's all about it. There's been four lives lost out o'here to my own remembrance, and that in four trips. Better give it up, sir--better give it up!"

"I will try it for one night more, " I said. 

"Better give it up, sir--better give it up! It's a precious bad job, "repeated the workman, putting his tools in his bag and leaving thecabin. 

But my spirits had risen considerably at the prospect of having thecaptain's company, and I made up my mind not to be prevented from goingto the end of the strange business. I abstained from Welsh rare-bits andgrog that evening, and did not even join in the customary game of whist. I wanted to be quite sure of my nerves, and my vanity made me anxious tomake a good figure in the captain's eyes. 

IV. 

The captain was one of those splendidly tough and cheerful specimens ofseafaring humanity whose combined courage, hardihood, and calmness indifficulty leads them naturally into high positions of trust. He was notthe man to be led away by an idle tale, and the mere fact that he waswilling to join me in the investigation was proof that he thought therewas something seriously wrong, which could not be accounted for onordinary theories, nor laughed down as a common superstition. To someextent, too, his reputation was at stake, as well as the reputation ofthe ship. It is no light thing to lose passengers overboard, and he knewit. 

About ten o'clock that evening, as I was smoking a last cigar, he cameup to me and drew me aside from the beat of the other passengers whowere patrolling the deck in the warm darkness. 

"This is a serious matter, Mr. Brisbane, " he said. "We must make up ourminds either way--to be disappointed or to have a pretty rough time ofit. You see, I cannot afford to laugh at the affair, and I will ask youto sign your name to a statement of whatever occurs. If nothing happensto-night we will try it again to-morrow and next day. Are you ready?"

So we went below, and entered the state-room. As we went in I could seeRobert the steward, who stood a little further down the passage, watching us, with his usual grin, as though certain that somethingdreadful was about to happen. The captain closed the door behind us andbolted it. 

"Supposing we put your portmanteau before the door, " he suggested. "Oneof us can sit on it. Nothing can get out then. Is the port screweddown?"

I found it as I had left it in the morning. Indeed, without using alever, as I had done, no one could have opened it. I drew back thecurtains of the upper berth so that I could see well into it. By thecaptain's advice I lighted my reading-lantern, and placed it so that itshone upon the white sheets above. He insisted upon sitting on theportmanteau, declaring that he wished to be able to swear that he hadsat before the door. 

Then he requested me to search the state-room thoroughly, an operationvery soon accomplished, as it consisted merely in looking beneath thelower berth and under the couch below the porthole. The spaces werequite empty. 

"It is impossible for any human being to get in, " I said, "or for anyhuman being to open the port. "

"Very good, " said the captain, calmly. "If we see anything now, it mustbe either imagination or something supernatural. "

I sat down on the edge of the lower berth. 

"The first time it happened, " said the captain, crossing his legs andleaning back against the door, "was in March. The passenger who slepthere, in the upper berth, turned out to have been a lunatic--at allevents, he was known to have been a little touched, and he had taken hispassage without the knowledge of his friends. He rushed out in themiddle of the night, and threw himself overboard, before the officer whohad the watch could stop him. We stopped and lowered a boat; it was aquiet night, just before that heavy weather came on; but we could notfind him. Of course his suicide was afterwards accounted for on theground of his insanity. "

"I suppose that often happens?" I remarked, rather absently. 

"Not often--no, " said the captain; "never before in my experience, though I have heard of it happening on board of other ships. Well, as Iwas saying, that occurred in March. On the very next trip--What are youlooking at?" he asked, stopping suddenly in his narration. 

I believe I gave no answer. My eyes were riveted upon the porthole. Itseemed to me that the brass loop-nut was beginning to turn very slowlyupon the screw--so slowly, however, that I was not sure it moved at all. I watched it intently, fixing its position in my mind, and trying toascertain whether it changed. Seeing where I was looking, the captainlooked too. 

"It moves!" he exclaimed, in a tone of conviction. "No, it does not, " headded, after a minute. 

"If it were the jarring of the screw, " said I, "it would have openedduring the day; but I found it this evening jammed tight as I left itthis morning. "

I rose and tried the nut. It was certainly loosened, for by an effort Icould move it with my hands. 

"The queer thing, " said the captain, "is that the second man who waslost is supposed to have got through that very port. We had a terribletime over it. It was in the middle of the night, and the weather wasvery heavy; there was an alarm that one of the ports was open and thesea running in. I came below and found everything flooded, the waterpouring in every time she rolled, and the whole port swinging from thetop bolts--not the porthole in the middle. Well, we managed to shut it, but the water did some damage. Ever since that the place smells ofsea-water from time to time. We supposed the passenger had thrownhimself out, though the Lord only knows how he did it. The steward kepttelling me that he could not keep anything shut here. Upon my word--Ican smell it now, cannot you?" he inquired, sniffing the airsuspiciously. 

"Yes--distinctly, " I said, and I shuddered as that same odour ofstagnant sea-water grew stronger in the cabin. "Now, to smell like this, the place must be damp, " I continued, "and yet when I examined it withthe carpenter this morning everything was perfectly dry. It is mostextraordinary--hallo!"

My reading-lantern, which had been placed in the upper berth, wassuddenly extinguished. There was still a good deal of light from thepane of ground glass near the door, behind which loomed the regulationlamp. The ship rolled heavily, and the curtain of the upper berth swungfar out into the state-room and back again. I rose quickly from my seaton the edge of the bed, and the captain at the same moment started tohis feet with a loud cry of surprise. I had turned with the intention oftaking down the lantern to examine it, when I heard his exclamation, andimmediately afterwards his call for help. I sprang towards him. He waswrestling with all his might, with the brass loop of the port. It seemedto turn against his hands in spite of all his efforts. I caught up mycane, a heavy oak stick I always used to carry, and thrust it throughthe ring and bore on it with all my strength. But the strong woodsnapped suddenly, and I fell upon the couch. When I rose again the portwas wide open, and the captain was standing with his back against thedoor, pale to the lips. 

"There is something in that berth!" he cried, in a strange voice, hiseyes almost starting from his head. "Hold the door, while I look--itshall not escape us, whatever it is!"

But instead of taking his place, I sprang upon the lower bed, and seizedsomething which lay in the upper berth. 

It was something ghostly, horrible beyond words, and it moved in mygrip. It was like the body of a man long drowned, and yet it moved, andhad the strength of ten men living; but I gripped it with all mymight--the slippery, oozy, horrible thing. The dead white eyes seemed tostare at me out of the dusk; the putrid odour of rank sea-water wasabout it, and its shiny hair hung in foul wet curls over its dead face. I wrestled with the dead thing; it thrust itself upon me and forced meback and nearly broke my arms; it wound its corpse's arms about my neck, the living death, and overpowered me, so that I, at last, cried aloudand fell, and left my hold. 

As I fell the thing sprang across me, and seemed to throw itself uponthe captain. When I last saw him on his feet his face was white and hislips set. It seemed to me that he struck a violent blow at the deadbeing, and then he, too, fell forward upon his face, with aninarticulate cry of horror. 

The thing paused an instant, seeming to hover over his prostrate body, and I could have screamed again for very fright, but I had no voiceleft. The thing vanished suddenly, and it seemed to my disturbed sensesthat it made its exit through the open port, though how that waspossible, considering the smallness of the aperture, is more than anyone can tell. I lay a long time upon the floor, and the captain laybeside me. At last I partially recovered my senses and moved, and Iinstantly knew that my arm was broken--the small bone of the leftforearm near the wrist. 

I got upon my feet somehow, and with my remaining hand I tried to raisethe captain. He groaned and moved, and at last came to himself. He wasnot hurt, but he seemed badly stunned. 

 * * * * *

Well, do you want to hear any more? There is nothing more. That is theend of my story. The carpenter carried out his scheme of running half adozen four-inch screws through the door of one hundred and five; and ifever you take a passage in the _Kamtschatka_, you may ask for a berth inthat state-room. You will be told that it is engaged--yes--it is engagedby that dead thing. 

I finished the trip in the surgeon's cabin. He doctored my broken arm, and advised me not to "fiddle about with ghosts and things" any more. The captain was very silent, and never sailed again in that ship, thoughit is still running. And I will not sail in her either. It was a verydisagreeable experience, and I was very badly frightened, which is athing I do not like. That is all. That is how I saw a ghost--if it was aghost. It was dead, anyhow. 

BY THE WATERS OF PARADISE

_By the Waters of Paradise. _

I remember my childhood very distinctly. I do not think that the factargues a good memory, for I have never been clever at learning words byheart, in prose or rhyme; so that I believe my remembrance of eventsdepends much more upon the events themselves than upon my possessing anyspecial facility for recalling them. Perhaps I am too imaginative, andthe earliest impressions I received were of a kind to stimulate theimagination abnormally. A long series of little misfortunes, connectedwith each other as to suggest a sort of weird fatality, so worked uponmy melancholy temperament when I was a boy that, before I was of age, Isincerely believed myself to be under a curse, and not only myself, butmy whole family, and every individual who bore my name. 

I was born in the old place where my father, and his father, and all hispredecessors had been born, beyond the memory of man. It is a very oldhouse, and the greater part of it was originally a castle, stronglyfortified, and surrounded by a deep moat supplied with abundant waterfrom the hills by a hidden aqueduct. Many of the fortifications havebeen destroyed, and the moat has been filled up. The water from theaqueduct supplies great fountains, and runs down into huge oblong basinsin the terraced gardens, one below the other, each surrounded by a broadpavement of marble between the water and the flower-beds. The wastesurplus finally escapes through an artificial grotto, some thirty yardslong, into a stream, flowing down through the park to the meadowsbeyond, and thence to the distant river. The buildings were extended alittle and greatly altered more than two hundred years ago, in the timeof Charles II. , but since then little has been done to improve them, though they have been kept in fairly good repair, according to ourfortunes. 

In the gardens there are terraces and huge hedges of box and evergreen, some of which used to be clipped into shapes of animals, in the Italianstyle. I can remember when I was a lad how I used to try to make outwhat the trees were cut to represent, and how I used to appeal forexplanations to Judith, my Welsh nurse. She dealt in a strange mythologyof her own, and peopled the gardens with griffins, dragons, good geniiand bad, and filled my mind with them at the same time. My nurserywindow afforded a view of the great fountains at the head of the upperbasin, and on moonlight nights the Welshwoman would hold me up to theglass and bid me look at the mist and spray rising into mysteriousshapes, moving mystically in the white light like living things. 

"It's the Woman of the Water, " she used to say; and sometimes she wouldthreaten that if I did not go to sleep the Woman of the Water wouldsteal up to the high window and carry me away in her wet arms. 

The place was gloomy. The broad basins of water and the tallevergreen hedges gave it a funereal look, and the damp-stainedmarble causeways by the pools might have been made of tombstones. The gray and weather-beaten walls and towers without, the dark andmassively-furnished rooms within, the deep, mysterious recesses and theheavy curtains, all affected my spirits. I was silent and sad from mychildhood. There was a great clock tower above, from which the hoursrang dismally during the day, and tolled like a knell in the dead ofnight. There was no light nor life in the house, for my mother was ahelpless invalid, and my father had grown melancholy in his long task ofcaring for her. He was a thin, dark man, with sad eyes; kind, I think, but silent and unhappy. Next to my mother, I believe he loved me betterthan anything on earth, for he took immense pains and trouble inteaching me, and what he taught me I have never forgotten. Perhaps itwas his only amusement, and that may be the reason why I had no nurserygoverness or teacher of any kind while he lived. 

I used to be taken to see my mother every day, and sometimes twice aday, for an hour at a time. Then I sat upon a little stool near herfeet, and she would ask me what I had been doing, and what I wanted todo. I daresay she saw already the seeds of a profound melancholy in mynature, for she looked at me always with a sad smile, and kissed me witha sigh when I was taken away. 

One night, when I was just six years old, I lay awake in the nursery. The door was not quite shut, and the Welsh nurse was sitting sewing inthe next room. Suddenly I heard her groan, and say in a strange voice, "One--two--one--two!" I was frightened, and I jumped up and ran to thedoor, barefooted as I was. 

"What is it, Judith?" I cried, clinging to her skirts. I can rememberthe look in her strange dark eyes as she answered. 

"One--two leaden coffins, fallen from the ceiling!" she crooned, workingherself in her chair. "One--two--a light coffin and a heavy coffin, falling to the floor!"

Then she seemed to notice me, and she took me back to bed and sang me tosleep with a queer old Welsh song. 

I do not know how it was, but the impression got hold of me that she hadmeant that my father and mother were going to die very soon. They diedin the very room where she had been sitting that night. It was a greatroom, my day nursery, full of sun when there was any: and when the dayswere dark it was the most cheerful place in the house. My mother grewrapidly worse, and I was transferred to another part of the building tomake place for her. They thought my nursery was gayer for her, Isuppose; but she could not live. She was beautiful when she was dead, and I cried bitterly. 

"The light one, the light one--the heavy one to come, " crooned theWelshwoman. And she was right. My father took the room after my motherwas gone, and day by day he grew thinner and paler and sadder. 

"The heavy one, the heavy one--all of lead, " moaned my nurse, one nightin December, standing still, just as she was going to take away thelight after putting me to bed. Then she took me up again and wrapped mein a little gown, and led me away to my father's room. She knocked, butno one answered. She opened the door, and we found him in his easy-chairbefore the fire, very white, quite dead. 

So I was alone with the Welshwoman till strange people came, andrelations whom I had never seen; and then I heard them saying that Imust be taken away to some more cheerful place. They were kind people, and I will not believe that they were kind only because I was to be veryrich when I grew to be a man. The world never seemed to be a very badplace to me, nor all the people to be miserable sinners, even when I wasmost melancholy. I do not remember that any one ever did me any greatinjustice, nor that I was ever oppressed or ill-treated in any way, evenby the boys at school. I was sad, I suppose, because my childhood was sogloomy, and, later, because I was unlucky in everything I undertook, till I finally believed I was pursued by fate, and I used to dream thatthe old Welsh nurse and the Woman of the Water between them had vowedto pursue me to my end. But my natural disposition should have beencheerful, as I have often thought. 

Among lads of my age I was never last, or even among the last, inanything; but I was never first. If I trained for a race, I was sure tosprain my ankle on the day when I was to run. If I pulled an oar withothers, my oar was sure to break. If I competed for a prize, someunforeseen accident prevented my winning it at the last moment. Nothingto which I put my hand succeeded, and I got the reputation of beingunlucky, until my companions felt it was always safe to bet against me, no matter what the appearances might be. I became discouraged andlistless in everything. I gave up the idea of competing for anydistinction at the University, comforting myself with the thought thatI could not fail in the examination for the ordinary degree. The daybefore the examination began I fell ill; and when at last I recovered, after a narrow escape from death, I turned my back upon Oxford, and wentdown alone to visit the old place where I had been born, feeble inhealth and profoundly disgusted and discouraged. I was twenty-one yearsof age, master of myself and of my fortune; but so deeply had the longchain of small unlucky circumstances affected me that I thoughtseriously of shutting myself up from the world to live the life of ahermit, and to die as soon as possible. Death seemed the only cheerfulpossibility in my existence, and my thoughts soon dwelt upon italtogether. 

I had never shown any wish to return to my own home since I had beentaken away as a little boy, and no one had ever pressed me to do so. Theplace had been kept in order after a fashion, and did not seem to havesuffered during the fifteen years or more of my absence. Nothing earthlycould affect those old grey walls that had fought the elements for somany centuries. The garden was more wild than I remembered it; themarble causeways about the pools looked more yellow and damp than ofold, and the whole place at first looked smaller. It was not until I hadwandered about the house and grounds for many hours that I realised thehuge size of the home where I was to live in solitude. Then I began todelight in it, and my resolution to live alone grew stronger. 

The people had turned out to welcome me, of course, and I tried torecognise the changed faces of the old gardener and the old housekeeper, and to call them by name. My old nurse I knew at once. She had grownvery grey since she heard the coffins fall in the nursery fifteen yearsbefore, but her strange eyes were the same, and the look in them wokeall my old memories. She went over the house with me. 

"And how is the Woman of the Water?" I asked, trying to laugh a little. "Does she still play in the moonlight?"

"She is hungry, " answered the Welshwoman, in a low voice. 

"Hungry? Then we will feed her. " I laughed. But old Judith turned verypale, and looked at me strangely. 

"Feed her? Ay--you will feed her well, " she muttered, glancing behindher at the ancient housekeeper, who tottered after us with feeble stepsthrough the halls and passages. 

I did not think much of her words. She had always talked oddly, asWelshwomen will, and though I was very melancholy I am sure I was notsuperstitious, and I was certainly not timid. Only, as in a far-offdream, I seemed to see her standing with the light in her hand andmuttering, "The heavy one--all of lead, " and then leading a little boythrough the long corridors to see his father lying dead in a greateasy-chair before a smouldering fire. So we went over the house, and Ichose the rooms where I would live; and the servants I had brought withme ordered and arranged everything, and I had no more trouble. I did notcare what they did provided I was left in peace, and was not expected togive directions; for I was more listless than ever, owing to the effectsof my illness at college. 

I dined in solitary state, and the melancholy grandeur of the vast olddining-room pleased me. Then I went to the room I had selected for mystudy, and sat down in a deep chair, under a bright light, to think, orto let my thoughts meander through labyrinths of their own choosing, utterly indifferent to the course they might take. 

The tall windows of the room opened to the level of the ground upon theterrace at the head of the garden. It was in the end of July, andeverything was open, for the weather was warm. As I sat alone I heardthe unceasing plash of the great fountains, and I fell to thinking ofthe Woman of the Water. I rose, and went out into the still night, andsat down upon a seat on the terrace, between two gigantic Italianflower-pots. The air was deliciously soft and sweet with the smell ofthe flowers, and the garden was more congenial to me than the house. Sadpeople always like running water and the sound of it at night, though Icannot tell why. I sat and listened in the gloom, for it was dark below, and the pale moon had not yet climbed over the hills in front of me, though all the air above was light with her rising beams. Slowly thewhite halo in the eastern sky ascended in an arch above the woodedcrests, making the outlines of the mountains more intensely black bycontrast, as though the head of some great white saint were rising frombehind a screen in a vast cathedral, throwing misty glories from below. I longed to see the moon herself, and I tried to reckon the secondsbefore she must appear. Then she sprang up quickly, and in a moment morehung round and perfect in the sky. I gazed at her, and then at thefloating spray of the tall fountains, and down at the pools, where thewater-lilies were rocking softly in their sleep on the velvet surface ofthe moon-lit water. Just then a great swan floated out silently intothe midst of the basin, and wreathed his long neck, catching the waterin his broad bill, and scattering showers of diamonds around him. 

Suddenly, as I gazed, something came between me and the light. I lookedup instantly. Between me and the round disk of the moon rose a luminousface of a woman, with great strange eyes, and a woman's mouth, full andsoft, but not smiling, hooded in black, staring at me as I sat stillupon my bench. She was close to me--so close that I could have touchedher with my hand. But I was transfixed and helpless. She stood still fora moment, but her expression did not change. Then she passed swiftlyaway, and my hair stood up on my head, while the cold breeze from herwhite dress was wafted to my temples as she moved. The moonlight, shining through the tossing spray of the fountain, made traceries ofshadow on the gleaming folds of her garments. In an instant she was goneand I was alone. 

I was strangely shaken by the vision, and some time passed before Icould rise to my feet, for I was still weak from my illness, and thesight I had seen would have startled any one. I did not reason withmyself, for I was certain that I had looked on the unearthly, and noargument could have destroyed that belief. At last I got up and stoodunsteadily, gazing in the direction in which I thought the face hadgone; but there was nothing to be seen--nothing but the broad paths, thetall, dark evergreen hedges, the tossing water of the fountains and thesmooth pool below. I fell back upon the seat and recalled the face I hadseen. Strange to say, now that the first impression had passed, therewas nothing startling in the recollection; on the contrary, I felt thatI was fascinated by the face, and would give anything to see it again. Icould retrace the beautiful straight features, the long dark eyes, andthe wonderful mouth most exactly in my mind, and when I hadreconstructed every detail from memory I knew that the whole wasbeautiful, and that I should love a woman with such a face. 

"I wonder whether she is the Woman of the Water!" I said to myself. Thenrising once more, I wandered down the garden, descending one shortflight of steps after another, from terrace to terrace by the edge ofthe marble basins, through the shadow and through the moonlight; and Icrossed the water by the rustic bridge above the artificial grotto, andclimbed slowly up again to the highest terrace by the other side. Theair seemed sweeter, and I was very calm, so that I think I smiled tomyself as I walked, as though a new happiness had come to me. Thewoman's face seemed always before me, and the thought of it gave me anunwonted thrill of pleasure, unlike anything I had ever felt before. 

I turned, as I reached the house, and looked back upon the scene. It hadcertainly changed in the short hour since I had come out, and my moodhad changed with it. Just like my luck, I thought, to fall in love witha ghost! But in old times I would have sighed, and gone to bed more sadthan ever, at such a melancholy conclusion. To-night I felt happy, almost for the first time in my life. The gloomy old study seemedcheerful when I went in. The old pictures on the walls smiled at me, andI sat down in my deep chair with a new and delightful sensation that Iwas not alone. The idea of having seen a ghost, and of feeling much thebetter for it, was so absurd that I laughed softly, as I took up one ofthe books I had brought with me and began to read. 

That impression did not wear off. I slept peacefully, and in the morningI threw open my windows to the summer air and looked down at the garden, at the stretches of green and at the coloured flower-beds, at thecircling swallows and at the bright water. 

"A man might make a paradise of this place, " I exclaimed. "A man and awoman together!"

From that day the old castle no longer seemed gloomy, and I think Iceased to be sad; for some time, too, I began to take an interest in theplace, and to try and make it more alive. I avoided my old Welsh nurse, lest she should damp my humour with some dismal prophecy, and recall myold self by bringing back memories of my dismal childhood. But what Ithought of most was the ghostly figure I had seen in the garden thatfirst night after my arrival. I went out every evening and wanderedthrough the walks and paths; but, try as I might, I did not see myvision again. At last, after many days, the memory grew more faint, andmy old moody nature gradually overcame the temporary sense of lightnessI had experienced. The summer turned to autumn, and I grew restless. Itbegan to rain. The dampness pervaded the gardens, and the outer hallssmelled musty, like tombs; the grey sky oppressed me intolerably. I leftthe place as it was and went abroad, determined to try anything whichmight possibly make a second break in the monotonous melancholy fromwhich I suffered. 

II. 

Most people would be struck by the utter insignificance of the smallevents which, after the death of my parents, influenced my life and mademe unhappy. The gruesome forebodings of a Welsh nurse, which chanced tobe realised by an odd coincidence of events, should not seem enough tochange the nature of a child, and to direct the bent of his character inafter years. The little disappointments of schoolboy life, and thesomewhat less childish ones of an uneventful and undistinguishedacademic career, should not have sufficed to turn me out atone-and-twenty years of age a melancholic, listless idler. Some weaknessof my own character may have contributed to the result, but in a greaterdegree it was due to my having a reputation for bad luck. However, Iwill not try to analyse the causes of my state, for I should satisfynobody, least of all myself. Still less will I attempt to explain why Ifelt a temporary revival of my spirits after my adventure in the garden. It is certain that I was in love with the face I had seen, and that Ilonged to see it again; that I gave up all hope of a second visitation, grew more sad than ever, packed up my traps, and finally went abroad. But in my dreams I went back to my home, and it always appeared to mesunny and bright, as it had looked on that summer's morning after I hadseen the woman by the fountain. 

I went to Paris. I went further, and wandered about Germany. I tried toamuse myself, and I failed miserably. With the aimless whims of an idleand useless man, come all sorts of suggestions for good resolutions. Oneday I made up my mind that I would go and bury myself in a Germanuniversity for a time, and live simply like a poor student. I startedwith the intention of going to Leipsic, determined to stay there untilsome event should direct my life or change my humour, or make an end ofme altogether. The express train stopped at some station of which I didnot know the name. It was dusk on a winter's afternoon, and I peeredthrough the thick glass from my seat. Suddenly another train camegliding in from the opposite direction, and stopped alongside of ours. Ilooked at the carriage which chanced to be abreast of mine, and idlyread the black letters painted on a white board swinging from the brasshandrail: BERLIN--COLOGNE--PARIS. Then I looked up at the window above. I started violently, and the cold perspiration broke out upon myforehead. In the dim light, not six feet from where I sat, I saw theface of a woman, the face I loved, the straight, fine features, thestrange eyes, the wonderful mouth, the pale skin. Her head-dress was adark veil, which seemed to be tied about her head and passed over theshoulders under her chin. As I threw down the window and knelt on thecushioned seat, leaning far out to get a better view, a long whistlescreamed through the station, followed by a quick series of dull, clanking sounds; then there was a slight jerk, and my train moved on. Luckily the window was narrow, being the one over the seat, beside thedoor, or I believe I would have jumped out of it then and there. In aninstant the speed increased, and I was being carried swiftly away in theopposite direction from the thing I loved. 

For a quarter of an hour I lay back in my place, stunned by thesuddenness of the apparition. At last one of the two other passengers, alarge and gorgeous captain of the White Konigsberg Cuirassiers, civillybut firmly suggested that I might shut my window, as the evening wascold. I did so, with an apology, and relapsed into silence. The trainran swiftly on, for a long time, and it was already beginning to slackenspeed before entering another station, when I roused myself and made asudden resolution. As the carriage stopped before the brilliantlylighted platform, I seized my belongings, saluted my fellow-passengers, and got out, determined to take the first express back to Paris. 

This time the circumstances of the vision had been so natural that itdid not strike me that there was anything unreal about the face, orabout the woman to whom it belonged. I did not try to explain to myselfhow the face, and the woman, could be travelling by a fast train fromBerlin to Paris on a winter's afternoon, when both were in my mindindelibly associated with the moonlight and the fountains in my ownEnglish home. I certainly would not have admitted that I had beenmistaken in the dusk, attributing to what I had seen a resemblance to myformer vision which did not really exist. There was not the slightestdoubt in my mind, and I was positively sure that I had again seen theface I loved. I did not hesitate, and in a few hours I was on my wayback to Paris. I could not help reflecting on my ill luck. Wandering asI had been for many months, it might as easily have chanced that Ishould be travelling in the same train with that woman, instead of goingthe other way. But my luck was destined to turn for a time. 

I searched Paris for several days. I dined at the principal hotels; Iwent to the theatres; I rode in the Bois de Boulogne in the morning, andpicked up an acquaintance, whom I forced to drive with me in theafternoon. I went to mass at the Madeleine, and I attended the servicesat the English Church. I hung about the Louvre and Notre Dame. I went toVersailles. I spent hours in parading the Rue de Rivoli, in theneighbourhood of Meurice's corner, where foreigners pass and repass frommorning till night. At last I received an invitation to a reception atthe English Embassy. I went, and I found what I had sought so long. 

There she was, sitting by an old lady in grey satin and diamonds, whohad a wrinkled but kindly face and keen grey eyes that seemed to takein everything they saw, with very little inclination to give much inreturn. But I did not notice the chaperon. I saw only the face that hadhaunted me for months, and in the excitement of the moment I walkedquickly towards the pair, forgetting such a trifle as the necessity foran introduction. 

She was far more beautiful than I had thought, but I never doubted thatit was she herself and no other. Vision or no vision before, this wasthe reality, and I knew it. Twice her hair had been covered, now at lastI saw it, and the added beauty of its magnificence glorified the wholewoman. It was rich hair, fine and abundant, golden, with deep ruddytints in it like red bronze spun fine. There was no ornament in it, nota rose, not a thread of gold, and I felt that it needed nothing toenhance its splendour; nothing but her pale face, her dark strange eyes, and her heavy eyebrows. I could see that she was slender too, but strongwithal, as she sat there quietly gazing at the moving scene in the midstof the brilliant lights and the hum of perpetual conversation. 

I recollected the detail of introduction in time, and turned aside tolook for my host. I found him at last. I begged him to present me to thetwo ladies, pointing them out to him at the same time. 

"Yes--uh--by all means--uh--" replied his Excellency with a pleasantsmile. He evidently had no idea of my name, which was not to be wonderedat. 

"I am Lord Cairngorm, " I observed. 

"Oh--by all means, " answered the Ambassador with the same hospitablesmile. "Yes--uh--the fact is, I must try and find out who they are; suchlots of people, you know. "

"Oh, if you will present me, I will try and find out for you, " said I, laughing. 

"Ah, yes--so kind of you--come along, " said my host. We threaded thecrowd, and in a few minutes we stood before the two ladies. 

"'Lowmintrduce L'd Cairngorm, " he said; then, adding quickly to me, "Come and dine to-morrow, won't you?" he glided away with his pleasantsmile and disappeared in the crowd. 

I sat down beside the beautiful girl, conscious that the eyes of theduenna were upon me. 

"I think we have been very near meeting before, " I remarked, by way ofopening the conversation. 

My companion turned her eyes full upon me with an air of inquiry. Sheevidently did not recall my face, if she had ever seen me. 

"Really--I cannot remember, " she observed, in a low and musical voice. "When?"

"In the first place, you came down from Berlin by the express, ten daysago. I was going the other way, and our carriages stopped opposite eachother. I saw you at the window. "

"Yes--we came that way, but I do not remember----" She hesitated. 

"Secondly, " I continued, "I was sitting alone in my garden lastsummer--near the end of July--do you remember? You must have wandered inthere through the park; you came up to the house and looked at me----"

"Was that you?" she asked, in evident surprise. Then she broke into alaugh. "I told everybody I had seen a ghost; there had never been anyCairngorms in the place since the memory of man. We left the next day, and never heard that you had come there; indeed, I did not know thecastle belonged to you. "

"Where were you staying?" I asked. 

"Where? Why, with my aunt, where I always stay. She is your neighbour, since it _is_ you. "

"I--beg your pardon--but then--is your aunt Lady Bluebell? I did notquite catch----"

"Don't be afraid. She is amazingly deaf. Yes. She is the relict of mybeloved uncle, the sixteenth or seventeenth Baron Bluebell--I forgetexactly how many of them there have been. And I--do you know who I am?"She laughed, well knowing that I did not. 

"No, " I answered frankly. "I have not the least idea. I asked to beintroduced because I recognised you. Perhaps--perhaps you are a MissBluebell?"

"Considering that you are a neighbour, I will tell you who I am, " sheanswered. "No; I am of the tribe of Bluebells, but my name is Lammas, and I have been given to understand that I was christened Margaret. Being a floral family, they call me Daisy. A dreadful American man oncetold me that my aunt was a Bluebell and that I was a Harebell--with twol's and an e--because my hair is so thick. I warn you, so that you mayavoid making such a bad pun. "

"Do I look like a man who makes puns?" I asked, being very conscious ofmy melancholy face and sad looks. 

Miss Lammas eyed me critically. 

"No; you have a mournful temperament. I think I can trust you, " sheanswered. "Do you think you could communicate to my aunt the fact thatyou are a Cairngorm and a neighbour? I am sure she would like to know. "

I leaned towards the old lady, inflating my lungs for a yell. But MissLammas stopped me. 

"That is not of the slightest use, " she remarked. "You can write it ona bit of paper. She is utterly deaf. "

"I have a pencil, " I answered; "but I have no paper. Would my cuff do, do you think?"

"Oh, yes!" replied Miss Lammas, with alacrity; "men often do that. "

I wrote on my cuff: "Miss Lammas wishes me to explain that I am yourneighbour, Cairngorm. " Then I held out my arm before the old lady'snose. She seemed perfectly accustomed to the proceeding, put up herglasses, read the words, smiled, nodded, and addressed me in theunearthly voice peculiar to people who hear nothing. 

"I knew your grandfather very well, " she said. Then she smiled andnodded to me again, and to her niece, and relapsed into silence. 

"It is all right, " remarked Miss Lammas. "Aunt Bluebell knows she isdeaf, and does not say much, like the parrot. You see, she knew yourgrandfather. How odd, that we should be neighbours! Why have we nevermet before?"

"If you had told me you knew my grandfather when you appeared in thegarden, I should not have been in the least surprised, " I answeredrather irrelevantly. "I really thought you were the ghost of the oldfountain. How in the world did you come there at that hour?"

"We were a large party and we went out for a walk. Then we thought weshould like to see what your park was like in the moonlight, and so wetrespassed. I got separated from the rest, and came upon you byaccident, just as I was admiring the extremely ghostly look of yourhouse, and wondering whether anybody would ever come and live thereagain. It looks like the castle of Macbeth, or a scene from the opera. Do you know anybody here?"

"Hardly a soul! Do you?"

"No. Aunt Bluebell said it was our duty to come. It is easy for her togo out; she does not bear the burden of the conversation. "

"I am sorry you find it a burden, " said I. "Shall I go away?"

Miss Lammas looked at me with a sudden gravity in her beautiful eyes, and there was a sort of hesitation about the lines of her full, softmouth. 

"No, " she said at last, quite simply, "don't go away. We may like eachother, if you stay a little longer--and we ought to, because we areneighbours in the country. "

I suppose I ought to have thought Miss Lammas a very odd girl. There is, indeed, a sort of freemasonry between people who discover that they livenear each other, and that they ought to have known each other before. But there was a sort of unexpected frankness and simplicity in thegirl's amusing manner which would have struck any one else as beingsingular, to say the least of it. To me, however, it all seemed naturalenough. I had dreamed of her face too long not to be utterly happy whenI met her at last, and could talk to her as much as I pleased. To me, the man of ill luck in everything, the whole meeting seemed too good tobe true. I felt again that strange sensation of lightness which I hadexperienced after I had seen her face in the garden. The great roomsseemed brighter, life seemed worth living; my sluggish, melancholy bloodran faster, and filled me with a new sense of strength. I said to myselfthat without this woman I was but an imperfect being, but that with herI could accomplish everything to which I should set my hand. Like thegreat Doctor, when he thought he had cheated Mephistopheles at last, Icould have cried aloud to the fleeting moment, _Verweile doch, du bistso schön!_

"Are you always gay?" I asked, suddenly. "How happy you must be!"

"The days would sometimes seem very long if I were gloomy, " sheanswered, thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I find life very pleasant, and Itell it so. "

"How can you 'tell life' anything?" I inquired. "If I could catch mylife and talk to it, I would abuse it prodigiously, I assure you. "

"I daresay. You have a melancholy temper. You ought to live out ofdoors, dig potatoes, make hay, shoot, hunt, tumble into ditches, andcome home muddy and hungry for dinner. It would be much better for youthan moping in your rook tower, and hating everything. "

"It is rather lonely down there, " I murmured, apologetically, feelingthat Miss Lammas was quite right. 

"Then marry, and quarrel with your wife, " she laughed. "Anything isbetter than being alone. "

"I am a very peaceable person. I never quarrel with anybody. You can tryit. You will find it quite impossible. "

"Will you let me try?" she asked, still smiling. 

"By all means--especially if it is to be only a preliminary canter, " Ianswered, rashly. 

"What do you mean?" she inquired, turning quickly upon me. 

"Oh--nothing. You might try my paces with a view to quarrelling in thefuture. I cannot imagine how you are going to do it. You will have toresort to immediate and direct abuse. "

"No. I will only say that if you do not like your life, it is your ownfault. How can a man of your age talk of being melancholy, or of thehollowness of existence? Are you consumptive? Are you subject tohereditary insanity? Are you deaf, like Aunt Bluebell? Are you poor, like--lots of people? Have you been crossed in love? Have you lost theworld for a woman, or any particular woman for the sake of the world?Are you feeble-minded, a cripple, an outcast? Are you--repulsivelyugly?" She laughed again. "Is there any reason in the world why youshould not enjoy all you have got in life?"

"No. There is no reason whatever, except that I am dreadfully unlucky, especially in small things. "

"Then try big things, just for a change, " suggested Miss Lammas. "Tryand get married, for instance, and see how it turns out. "

"If it turned out badly it would be rather serious. "

"Not half so serious as it is to abuse everything unreasonably. If abuseis your particular talent, abuse something that ought to be abused. Abuse the Conservatives--or the Liberals--it does not matter which, since they are always abusing each other. Make yourself felt by otherpeople. You will like it, if they don't. It will make a man of you. Fillyour mouth with pebbles, and howl at the sea, if you cannot do anythingelse. It did Demosthenes no end of good you know. You will have thesatisfaction of imitating a great man. "

"Really, Miss Lammas, I think the list of innocent exercises youpropose----"

"Very well--if you don't care for that sort of thing, care for someother sort of thing. Care for something, or hate something. Don't beidle. Life is short, and though art may be long, plenty of noise answersnearly as well. "

"I do care for something--I mean, somebody, " I said. 

"A woman? Then marry her. Don't hesitate. "

"I do not know whether she would marry me, " I replied. "I have neverasked her. "

"Then ask her at once, " answered Miss Lammas. "I shall die happy if Ifeel I have persuaded a melancholy fellow-creature to rouse himself toaction. Ask her, by all means, and see what she says. If she does notaccept you at once, she may take you the next time. Meanwhile, you willhave entered for the race. If you lose, there are the 'All-aged TrialStakes, ' and the 'Consolation Race. '"

"And plenty of selling races into the bargain. Shall I take you at yourword, Miss Lammas?"

"I hope you will, " she answered. 

"Since you yourself advise me, I will. Miss Lammas, will you do me thehonour to marry me?"

For the first time in my life the blood rushed to my head and my sightswam. I cannot tell why I said it. It would be useless to try to explainthe extraordinary fascination the girl exercised over me, nor the stillmore extraordinary feeling of intimacy with her which had grown in meduring that half-hour. Lonely, sad, unlucky as I had been all my life, Iwas certainly not timid, nor even shy. But to propose to marry a womanafter half an hour's acquaintance was a piece of madness of which Inever believed myself capable, and of which I should never be capableagain, could I be placed in the same situation. It was as though mywhole being had been changed in a moment by magic--by the white magic ofher nature brought into contact with mine. The blood sank back to myheart, and a moment later I found myself staring at her with anxiouseyes. To my amazement she was as calm as ever, but her beautiful mouthsmiled, and there was a mischievous light in her dark-brown eyes. 

"Fairly caught, " she answered. "For an individual who pretends to belistless and sad you are not lacking in humour. I had really not theleast idea what you were going to say. Wouldn't it be singularlyawkward for you if I had said 'Yes'? I never saw anybody begin topractise so sharply what was preached to him--with so very little lossof time!"

"You probably never met a man who had dreamed of you for seven monthsbefore being introduced. "

"No, I never did, " she answered, gaily. "It smacks of the romantic. Perhaps you are a romantic character, after all. I should think you wereif I believed you. Very well; you have taken my advice, entered for aStranger's Race and lost it. Try the All-aged Trial Stakes. You haveanother cuff, and a pencil. Propose to Aunt Bluebell; she would dancewith astonishment, and she might recover her hearing. "

III. 

That was how I first asked Margaret Lammas to be my wife, and I willagree with any one who says I behaved very foolishly. But I have notrepented of it, and I never shall. I have long ago understood that I wasout of my mind that evening, but I think my temporary insanity on thatoccasion has had the effect of making me a saner man ever since. Hermanner turned my head, for it was so different from what I had expected. To hear this lovely creature, who, in my imagination, was a heroine ofromance, if not of tragedy, talking familiarly and laughing readily wasmore than my equanimity could bear, and I lost my head as well as myheart. But when I went back to England in the spring, I went to makecertain arrangements at the Castle--certain changes and improvementswhich would be absolutely necessary. I had won the race for which I hadentered myself so rashly, and we were to be married in June. 

Whether the change was due to the orders I had left with the gardenerand the rest of the servants, or to my own state of mind, I cannot tell. At all events, the old place did not look the same to me when I openedmy window on the morning after my arrival. There were the grey wallsbelow me, and the grey turrets flanking the huge building; there werethe fountains, the marble causeways, the smooth basins, the tall boxhedges, the water-lilies and the swans, just as of old. But there wassomething else there, too--something in the air, in the water, and inthe greenness that I did not recognise--a light over everything by whicheverything was transfigured. The clock in the tower struck seven, andthe strokes of the ancient bell sounded like a wedding chime. The airsang with the thrilling treble of the songbirds, with the silvery musicof the plashing water and the softer harmony of the leaves stirred bythe fresh morning wind. There was a smell of new-mown hay from thedistant meadows, and of blooming roses from the beds below, wafted uptogether to my window. I stood in the pure sunshine and drank the airand all the sounds and the odours that were in it; and I looked down atmy garden and said: "It is Paradise, after all. " I think the men of oldwere right when they called heaven a garden, and Eden, a gardeninhabited by one man and one woman, the Earthly Paradise. 

I turned away, wondering what had become of the gloomy memories I hadalways associated with my home. I tried to recall the impression of mynurse's horrible prophecy before the death of my parents--an impressionwhich hitherto had been vivid enough. I tried to remember my old self, my dejection, my listlessness, my bad luck, and my pettydisappointments. I endeavoured to force myself to think as I used tothink, if only to satisfy myself that I had not lost my individuality. But I succeeded in none of these efforts. I was a different man, achanged being, incapable of sorrow, of ill luck, or of sadness. My lifehad been a dream, not evil, but infinitely gloomy and hopeless. It wasnow a reality, full of hope, gladness, and all manner of good. My homehad been like a tomb; to-day it was paradise. My heart had been asthough it had not existed; to-day it beat with strength and youth, andthe certainty of realised happiness. I revelled in the beauty of theworld, and called loveliness out of the future to enjoy it before timeshould bring it to me, as a traveller in the plains looks up to themountains, and already tastes the cool air through the dust of theroad. 

Here, I thought, we will live and live for years. There we will sit bythe fountain towards evening and in the deep moonlight. Down those pathswe will wander together. On those benches we will rest and talk. Amongthose eastern hills we will ride through the soft twilight, and in theold house we will tell tales on winter nights, when the logs burn high, and the holly berries are red, and the old clock tolls out the dyingyear. On these old steps, in these dark passages and stately rooms, there will one day be the sound of little pattering feet, and laughingchild-voices will ring up to the vaults of the ancient hall. Those tinyfootsteps shall not be slow and sad as mine were, nor shall thechildish words be spoken in an awed whisper. No gloomy Welshwoman shallpeople the dusky corners with weird horrors, nor utter horrid propheciesof death and ghastly things. All shall be young, and fresh, and joyful, and happy, and we will turn the old luck again, and forget that therewas ever any sadness. 

So I thought, as I looked out of my window that morning and for manymornings after that, and every day it all seemed more real than everbefore, and much nearer. But the old nurse looked at me askance, andmuttered odd sayings about the Woman of the Water. I cared little whatshe said, for I was far too happy. 

At last the time came near for the wedding. Lady Bluebell and all thetribe of Bluebells, as Margaret called them, were at Bluebell Grange, for we had determined to be married in the country, and to come straightto the Castle afterwards. We cared little for travelling, and not at allfor a crowded ceremony at St. George's in Hanover Square, with all thetiresome formalities afterwards. I used to ride over to the Grange everyday, and very often Margaret would come with her aunt and some of hercousins to the Castle. I was suspicious of my own taste, and was onlytoo glad to let her have her way about the alterations and improvementsin our home. 

We were to be married on the thirtieth of July, and on the evening ofthe twenty-eighth Margaret drove over with some of the Bluebell party. In the long summer twilight we all went out into the garden. Naturallyenough, Margaret and I were left to ourselves, and we wandered down bythe marble basins. 

"It is an odd coincidence, " I said; "it was on this very night last yearthat I first saw you. "

"Considering that it is the month of July, " answered Margaret with alaugh, "and that we have been here almost every day, I don't think thecoincidence is so extraordinary, after all. "

"No, dear, " said I, "I suppose not. I don't know why it struck me. Weshall very likely be here a year from to-day, and a year from that. Theodd thing, when I think of it, is that you should be here at all. But myluck has turned. I ought not to think anything odd that happens nowthat I have you. It is all sure to be good. "

"A slight change in your ideas since that remarkable performance ofyours in Paris, " said Margaret. "Do you know, I thought you were themost extraordinary man I had ever met. "

"I thought you were the most charming woman I had ever seen. I naturallydid not want to lose any time in frivolities. I took you at your word, Ifollowed your advice, I asked you to marry me, and this is thedelightful result--what's the matter?"

Margaret had started suddenly, and her hand tightened on my arm. An oldwoman was coming up the path, and was close to us before we saw her, forthe moon had risen, and was shining full in our faces. The woman turnedout to be my old nurse. 

"It's only old Judith, dear--don't be frightened, " I said. Then I spoketo the Welshwoman: "What are you about, Judith? Have you been feedingthe Woman of the Water?"

"Ay--when the clock strikes, Willie--my lord, I mean, " muttered the oldcreature, drawing aside to let us pass, and fixing her strange eyes onMargaret's face. 

"What does she mean?" asked Margaret, when we had gone by. 

"Nothing, darling. The old thing is mildly crazy, but she is a goodsoul. "

We went on in silence for a few moments, and came to the rustic bridgejust above the artificial grotto through which the water ran out intothe park, dark and swift in its narrow channel. We stopped, and leanedon the wooden rail. The moon was now behind us, and shone full upon thelong vista of basins and on the huge walls and towers of the Castleabove. 

"How proud you ought to be of such a grand old place!" said Margaret, softly. 

"It is yours now, darling, " I answered. "You have as good a right tolove it as I--but I only love it because you are to live in it, dear. "

Her hand stole out and lay on mine, and we were both silent. Just then the clock began to strike far off in the tower. I counted--eight--nine--ten--eleven--I looked at mywatch--twelve--thirteen--I laughed. The bell went on striking. 

"The old clock has gone crazy, like Judith, " I exclaimed. Still it wenton, note after note ringing out monotonously through the still air. Weleaned over the rail, instinctively looking in the direction whence thesound came. On and on it went. I counted nearly a hundred, out of sheercuriosity, for I understood that something had broken, and that thething was running itself down. 

Suddenly there was a crack as of breaking wood, a cry and a heavysplash, and I was alone, clinging to the broken end of the rail of therustic bridge. 

I do not think I hesitated while my pulse beat twice. I sprang clear ofthe bridge into the black rushing water, dived to the bottom, came upagain with empty hands, turned and swam downwards through the grotto inthe thick darkness, plunging and diving at every stroke, striking myhead and hands against jagged stones and sharp corners, clutching atlast something in my fingers, and dragging it up with all my might. Ispoke, I cried aloud, but there was no answer. I was alone in the pitchyblackness with my burden, and the house was five hundred yards away. Struggling still, I felt the ground beneath my feet, I saw a ray ofmoonlight--the grotto widened, and the deep water became a broad andshallow brook as I stumbled over the stones and at last laid Margaret'sbody on the bank in the park beyond. 

"Ay, Willie, as the clock struck!" said the voice of Judith, the Welshnurse, as she bent down and looked at the white face. The old womanmust have turned back and followed us, seen the accident, and slippedout by the lower gate of the garden. "Ay, " she groaned, "you have fedthe Woman of the Water this night, Willie, while the clock wasstriking. "

I scarcely heard her as I knelt beside the lifeless body of the woman Iloved, chafing the wet white temples, and gazing wildly into thewide-staring eyes. I remember only the first returning look ofconsciousness, the first heaving breath, the first movement of thosedear hands stretching out towards me. 

 * * * * *

That is not much of a story, you say. It is the story of my life. Thatis all. It does not pretend to be anything else. Old Judith says myluck turned on that summer's night, when I was struggling in the waterto save all that was worth living for. A month later there was a stonebridge above the grotto, and Margaret and I stood on it and looked up atthe moonlit Castle, as we had done once before, and as we have done manytimes since. For all those things happened ten years ago last summer, and this is the tenth Christmas Eve we have spent together by theroaring logs in the old hall, talking of old times; and every year thereare more old times to talk of. There are curly-headed boys, too, withred-gold hair and dark-brown eyes like their mother's, and a littleMargaret, with solemn black eyes like mine. Why could not she look likeher mother, too, as well as the rest of them?

The world is very bright at this glorious Christmas time, and perhapsthere is little use in calling up the sadness of long ago, unless it beto make the jolly firelight seem more cheerful, the good wife's facelook gladder, and to give the children's laughter a merrier ring, bycontrast with all that is gone. Perhaps, too, some sad-faced, listless, melancholy youth, who feels that the world is very hollow, and that lifeis like a perpetual funeral service, just as I used to feel myself, maytake courage from my example, and having found the woman of his heart, ask her to marry him after half an hour's acquaintance. But, on thewhole, I would not advise any man to marry, for the simple reason thatno man will ever find a wife like mine, and being obliged to go further, he will necessarily fare worse. My wife has done miracles, but I willnot assert that any other woman is able to follow her example. 

Margaret always said that the old place was beautiful, and that I oughtto be proud of it. I daresay she is right. She has even more imaginationthan I. But I have a good answer and a plain one, which is this--thatall the beauty of the Castle comes from her. She has breathed upon itall, as the children blow upon the cold glass window-panes in winter;and as their warm breath crystallises into landscapes from fairyland, full of exquisite shapes and traceries upon the blank surface, so herspirit has transformed every grey stone of the old towers, everyancient tree and hedge in the gardens, every thought in my oncemelancholy self. All that was old is young, and all that was sad isglad, and I am the gladdest of all. Whatever heaven may be, there is noearthly paradise without woman, nor is there anywhere a place sodesolate, so dreary, so unutterably miserable that a woman cannot makeit seem heaven to the man she loves and who loves her. 

I hear certain cynics laugh, and cry that all that has been said before. Do not laugh, my good cynic. You are too small a man to laugh at such agreat thing as love. Prayers have been said before now by many, andperhaps you say yours, too. I do not think they lose anything by beingrepeated, nor you by repeating them. You say that the world is bitter, and full of the Waters of Bitterness. Love, and so live that you may beloved--the world will turn sweet for you, and you shall rest like me bythe Waters of Paradise. 

THE INCOGNITO LIBRARY. 

A series of small books by representative writers, whose names will forthe present not be given. 

In this series will be included the authorized American editions of thefuture issues of Mr. Unwin's "PSEUDONYM LIBRARY, " which has won foritself a noteworthy prestige. 

I. THE SHEN'S PIGTAIL, and other cues of Anglo-China Life, by Mr. M----. 

II. YOUNG SAM AND SABINA, by the author of "Gentleman Upcott'sDaughter. "

These will be followed by

THE HON. STANBURY AND OTHERS, by Two. 

HELEN, by Vocs. 

LESSER'S DAUGHTER, etc. 

32mo, limp cloth, each 50 cents.