A THIN GHOST AND OTHERS

by

MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES, LITT. D. 

Provost Of Eton CollegeAuthor of "Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, " "More Ghost Stories, " etc. 

Third Impression

New YorkLongmans, Green & Co. London: Edward Arnold1920(All rights reserved)

PREFACE

Two of these stories, the third and fourth, have appeared in print inthe _Cambridge Review_, and I wish to thank the proprietor forpermitting me to republish them here. 

I have had my doubts about the wisdom of publishing a third set oftales; sequels are, not only proverbially but actually, very hazardousthings. However, the tales make no pretence but to amuse, and myfriends have not seldom asked for the publication. So not a great dealis risked, perhaps, and perhaps also some one's Christmas may be thecheerfuller for a storybook which, I think, only once mentions thewar. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE

THE RESIDENCE AT WHITMINSTER 1

THE DIARY OF MR. POYNTER 49

AN EPISODE OF CATHEDRAL HISTORY 73

THE STORY OF A DISAPPEARANCE AND AN APPEARANCE 107

TWO DOCTORS 135

THE RESIDENCE AT WHITMINSTER

A Thin Ghost and Others

THE RESIDENCE AT WHITMINSTER

Dr. Ashton--Thomas Ashton, Doctor of Divinity--sat in his study, habited in a dressing-gown, and with a silk cap on his shavenhead--his wig being for the time taken off and placed on its block ona side table. He was a man of some fifty-five years, strongly made, ofa sanguine complexion, an angry eye, and a long upper lip. Face andeye were lighted up at the moment when I picture him by the level rayof an afternoon sun that shone in upon him through a tall sash window, giving on the west. The room into which it shone was also tall, linedwith book-cases, and, where the wall showed between them, panelled. Onthe table near the doctor's elbow was a green cloth, and upon it whathe would have called a silver standish--a tray with inkstands--quillpens, a calf-bound book or two, some papers, a churchwarden pipe andbrass tobacco-box, a flask cased in plaited straw, and a liqueurglass. The year was 1730, the month December, the hour somewhat pastthree in the afternoon. 

I have described in these lines pretty much all that a superficialobserver would have noted when he looked into the room. What met Dr. Ashton's eye when he looked out of it, sitting in his leatherarm-chair? Little more than the tops of the shrubs and fruit-trees ofhis garden could be seen from that point, but the red brick wall of itwas visible in almost all the length of its western side. In themiddle of that was a gate--a double gate of rather elaborate ironscroll-work, which allowed something of a view beyond. Through it hecould see that the ground sloped away almost at once to a bottom, along which a stream must run, and rose steeply from it on the otherside, up to a field that was park-like in character, and thicklystudded with oaks, now, of course, leafless. They did not stand sothick together but that some glimpse of sky and horizon could be seenbetween their stems. The sky was now golden and the horizon, a horizonof distant woods, it seemed, was purple. 

But all that Dr. Ashton could find to say, after contemplating thisprospect for many minutes, was: "Abominable!"

A listener would have been aware, immediately upon this, of the soundof footsteps coming somewhat hurriedly in the direction of the study:by the resonance he could have told that they were traversing a muchlarger room. Dr. Ashton turned round in his chair as the door opened, and looked expectant. The incomer was a lady--a stout lady in thedress of the time: though I have made some attempt at indicating thedoctor's costume, I will not enterprise that of his wife--for it wasMrs. Ashton who now entered. She had an anxious, even a sorelydistracted, look, and it was in a very disturbed voice that she almostwhispered to Dr. Ashton, putting her head close to his, "He's in avery sad way, love, worse, I'm afraid. " "Tt--tt, is he really?" and heleaned back and looked in her face. She nodded. Two solemn bells, highup, and not far away, rang out the half-hour at this moment. Mrs. Ashton started. "Oh, do you think you can give order that the minsterclock be stopped chiming to-night? 'Tis just over his chamber, andwill keep him from sleeping, and to sleep is the only chance for him, that's certain. " "Why, to be sure, if there were need, real need, itcould be done, but not upon any light occasion. This Frank, now, doyou assure me that his recovery stands upon it?" said Dr. Ashton: hisvoice was loud and rather hard. "I do verily believe it, " said hiswife. "Then, if it must be, bid Molly run across to Simpkins and sayon my authority that he is to stop the clock chimes at sunset:and--yes--she is after that to say to my lord Saul that I wish to seehim presently in this room. " Mrs. Ashton hurried off. 

Before any other visitor enters, it will be well to explain thesituation. 

Dr. Ashton was the holder, among other preferments, of a prebend inthe rich collegiate church of Whitminster, one of the foundationswhich, though not a cathedral, survived dissolution and reformation, and retained its constitution and endowments for a hundred years afterthe time of which I write. The great church, the residences of thedean and the two prebendaries, the choir and its appurtenances, wereall intact and in working order. A dean who flourished soon after 1500had been a great builder, and had erected a spacious quadrangle of redbrick adjoining the church for the residence of the officials. Some ofthese persons were no longer required: their offices had dwindleddown to mere titles, borne by clergy or lawyers in the town andneighbourhood; and so the houses that had been meant to accommodateeight or ten people were now shared among three, the dean and the twoprebendaries. Dr. Ashton's included what had been the common parlourand the dining-hall of the whole body. It occupied a whole side of thecourt, and at one end had a private door into the minster. The otherend, as we have seen, looked out over the country. 

So much for the house. As for the inmates, Dr. Ashton was a wealthyman and childless, and he had adopted, or rather undertaken to bringup, the orphan son of his wife's sister. Frank Sydall was the lad'sname: he had been a good many months in the house. Then one day came aletter from an Irish peer, the Earl of Kildonan (who had known Dr. Ashton at college), putting it to the doctor whether he would considertaking into his family the Viscount Saul, the Earl's heir, and actingin some sort as his tutor. Lord Kildonan was shortly to take up a postin the Lisbon Embassy, and the boy was unfit to make the voyage: "notthat he is sickly, " the Earl wrote, "though you'll find him whimsical, or of late I've thought him so, and to confirm this, 'twas onlyto-day his old nurse came expressly to tell me he was possess'd: butlet that pass; I'll warrant you can find a spell to make all straight. Your arm was stout enough in old days, and I give you plenaryauthority to use it as you see fit. The truth is, he has here no boysof his age or quality to consort with, and is given to moping about inour raths and graveyards: and he brings home romances that fright myservants out of their wits. So there are you and your ladyforewarned. " It was perhaps with half an eye open to the possibilityof an Irish bishopric (at which another sentence in the Earl's letterseemed to hint) that Dr. Ashton accepted the charge of my LordViscount Saul and of the 200 guineas a year that were to come withhim. 

So he came, one night in September. When he got out of the chaise thatbrought him, he went first and spoke to the postboy and gave him somemoney, and patted the neck of his horse. Whether he made some movementthat scared it or not, there was very nearly a nasty accident, for thebeast started violently, and the postilion being unready was thrownand lost his fee, as he found afterwards, and the chaise lost somepaint on the gateposts, and the wheel went over the man's foot who wastaking out the baggage. When Lord Saul came up the steps into thelight of the lamp in the porch to be greeted by Dr. Ashton, he wasseen to be a thin youth of, say, sixteen years old, with straightblack hair and the pale colouring that is common to such a figure. Hetook the accident and commotion calmly enough, and expressed a properanxiety for the people who had been, or might have been, hurt: hisvoice was smooth and pleasant, and without any trace, curiously, of anIrish brogue. 

Frank Sydall was a younger boy, perhaps of eleven or twelve, but LordSaul did not for that reject his company. Frank was able to teach himvarious games he had not known in Ireland, and he was apt at learningthem; apt, too, at his books, though he had had little or no regularteaching at home. It was not long before he was making a shift topuzzle out the inscriptions on the tombs in the minster, and he wouldoften put a question to the doctor about the old books in the librarythat required some thought to answer. It is to be supposed that hemade himself very agreeable to the servants, for within ten days ofhis coming they were almost falling over each other in their effortsto oblige him. At the same time, Mrs. Ashton was rather put to it tofind new maidservants; for there were several changes, and some of thefamilies in the town from which she had been accustomed to draw seemedto have no one available. She was forced to go further afield than wasusual. 

These generalities I gather from the doctor's notes in his diary andfrom letters. They are generalities, and we should like, in view ofwhat has to be told, something sharper and more detailed. We get it inentries which begin late in the year, and, I think, were posted up alltogether after the final incident; but they cover so few days in allthat there is no need to doubt that the writer could remember thecourse of things accurately. 

On a Friday morning it was that a fox, or perhaps a cat, made awaywith Mrs. Ashton's most prized black cockerel, a bird without a singlewhite feather on its body. Her husband had told her often enough thatit would make a suitable sacrifice to Æsculapius; that had discomfitedher much, and now she would hardly be consoled. The boys lookedeverywhere for traces of it: Lord Saul brought in a few feathers, which seemed to have been partially burnt on the garden rubbish-heap. It was on the same day that Dr. Ashton, looking out of an upperwindow, saw the two boys playing in the corner of the garden at a gamehe did not understand. Frank was looking earnestly at something in thepalm of his hand. Saul stood behind him and seemed to be listening. After some minutes he very gently laid his hand on Frank's head, andalmost instantly thereupon, Frank suddenly dropped whatever it wasthat he was holding, clapped his hands to his eyes, and sank down onthe grass. Saul, whose face expressed great anger, hastily picked theobject up, of which it could only be seen that it was glittering, putit in his pocket, and turned away, leaving Frank huddled up on thegrass. Dr. Ashton rapped on the window to attract their attention, andSaul looked up as if in alarm, and then springing to Frank, pulled himup by the arm and led him away. When they came in to dinner, Saulexplained that they had been acting a part of the tragedy ofRadamistus, in which the heroine reads the future fate of her father'skingdom by means of a glass ball held in her hand, and is overcome bythe terrible events she has seen. During this explanation Frank saidnothing, only looked rather bewilderedly at Saul. He must, Mrs. Ashtonthought, have contracted a chill from the wet of the grass, for thatevening he was certainly feverish and disordered; and the disorder wasof the mind as well as the body, for he seemed to have something hewished to say to Mrs. Ashton, only a press of household affairsprevented her from paying attention to him; and when she went, according to her habit, to see that the light in the boys' chamber hadbeen taken away, and to bid them good-night, he seemed to be sleeping, though his face was unnaturally flushed, to her thinking: Lord Saul, however, was pale and quiet, and smiling in his slumber. 

Next morning it happened that Dr. Ashton was occupied in church andother business, and unable to take the boys' lessons. He therefore setthem tasks to be written and brought to him. Three times, if notoftener, Frank knocked at the study door, and each time the doctorchanced to be engaged with some visitor, and sent the boy off ratherroughly, which he later regretted. Two clergymen were at dinner thisday, and both remarked--being fathers of families--that the lad seemedsickening for a fever, in which they were too near the truth, and ithad been better if he had been put to bed forthwith: for a couple ofhours later in the afternoon he came running into the house, cryingout in a way that was really terrifying, and rushing to Mrs. Ashton, clung about her, begging her to protect him, and saying, "Keep themoff! keep them off!" without intermission. And it was now evident thatsome sickness had taken strong hold of him. He was therefore got tobed in another chamber from that in which he commonly lay, and thephysician brought to him: who pronounced the disorder to be grave andaffecting the lad's brain, and prognosticated a fatal end to it ifstrict quiet were not observed, and those sedative remedies used whichhe should prescribe. 

We are now come by another way to the point we had reached before. Theminster clock has been stopped from striking, and Lord Saul is on thethreshold of the study. 

"What account can you give of this poor lad's state?" was Dr. Ashton'sfirst question. "Why, sir, little more than you know already, I fancy. I must blame myself, though, for giving him a fright yesterday when wewere acting that foolish play you saw. I fear I made him take it moreto heart than I meant. " "How so?" "Well, by telling him foolish talesI had picked up in Ireland of what we call the second sight. ""_Second_ sight! What kind of sight might that be?" "Why, you know ourignorant people pretend that some are able to foresee what is tocome--sometimes in a glass, or in the air, maybe, and at Kildonan wehad an old woman that pretended to such a power. And I daresay Icoloured the matter more highly than I should: but I never dreamedFrank would take it so near as he did. " "You were wrong, my lord, verywrong, in meddling with such superstitious matters at all, and youshould have considered whose house you were in, and how littlebecoming such actions are to my character and person or to your own:but pray how came it that you, acting, as you say, a play, should fallupon anything that could so alarm Frank?" "That is what I can hardlytell, sir: he passed all in a moment from rant about battles andlovers and Cleodora and Antigenes to something I could not follow atall, and then dropped down as you saw. " "Yes: was that at the momentwhen you laid your hand on the top of his head?" Lord Saul gave aquick look at his questioner--quick and spiteful--and for the firsttime seemed unready with an answer. "About that time it may havebeen, " he said. "I have tried to recollect myself, but I am not sure. There was, at any rate, no significance in what I did then. " "Ah!"said Dr. Ashton, "well, my lord, I should do wrong were I not to tellyou that this fright of my poor nephew may have very ill consequencesto him. The doctor speaks very despondingly of his state. " Lord Saulpressed his hands together and looked earnestly upon Dr. Ashton. "I amwilling to believe you had no bad intention, as assuredly you couldhave no reason to bear the poor boy malice: but I cannot wholly freeyou from blame in the affair. " As he spoke, the hurrying steps wereheard again, and Mrs. Ashton came quickly into the room, carrying acandle, for the evening had by this time closed in. She was greatlyagitated. "O come!" she cried, "come directly. I'm sure he is going. ""Going? Frank? Is it possible? Already?" With some such incoherentwords the doctor caught up a book of prayers from the table and ranout after his wife. Lord Saul stopped for a moment where he was. Molly, the maid, saw him bend over and put both hands to his face. Ifit were the last words she had to speak, she said afterwards, he wasstriving to keep back a fit of laughing. Then he went out softly, following the others. 

Mrs. Ashton was sadly right in her forecast. I have no inclination toimagine the last scene in detail. What Dr. Ashton records is, or maybe taken to be, important to the story. They asked Frank if he wouldlike to see his companion, Lord Saul, once again. The boy was quitecollected, it appears, in these moments. "No, " he said, "I do not wantto see him; but you should tell him I am afraid he will be very cold. ""What do you mean, my dear?" said Mrs. Ashton. "Only that;" saidFrank, "but say to him besides that I am free of them now, but heshould take care. And I am sorry about your black cockerel, AuntAshton; but he said we must use it so, if we were to see all thatcould be seen. "

Not many minutes after, he was gone. Both the Ashtons were grieved, she naturally most; but the doctor, though not an emotional man, feltthe pathos of the early death: and, besides, there was the growingsuspicion that all had not been told him by Saul, and that there wassomething here which was out of his beaten track. When he left thechamber of death, it was to walk across the quadrangle of theresidence to the sexton's house. A passing bell, the greatest of theminster bells, must be rung, a grave must be dug in the minster yard, and there was now no need to silence the chiming of the minster clock. As he came slowly back in the dark, he thought he must see Lord Saulagain. That matter of the black cockerel--trifling as it mightseem--would have to be cleared up. It might be merely a fancy of thesick boy, but if not, was there not a witch-trial he had read, inwhich some grim little rite of sacrifice had played a part? Yes, hemust see Saul. 

I rather guess these thoughts of his than find written authority forthem. That there was another interview is certain: certain also thatSaul would (or, as he said, could) throw no light on Frank's words:though the message, or some part of it, appeared to affect himhorribly. But there is no record of the talk in detail. It is onlysaid that Saul sat all that evening in the study, and when he bidgood-night, which he did most reluctantly, asked for the doctor'sprayers. 

The month of January was near its end when Lord Kildonan, in theEmbassy at Lisbon, received a letter that for once gravely disturbedthat vain man and neglectful father. Saul was dead. The scene atFrank's burial had been very distressing. The day was awful inblackness and wind: the bearers, staggering blindly along under theflapping black pall, found it a hard job, when they emerged from theporch of the minster, to make their way to the grave. Mrs. Ashton wasin her room--women did not then go to their kinsfolk's funerals--butSaul was there, draped in the mourning cloak of the time, and his facewas white and fixed as that of one dead, except when, as was noticedthree or four times, he suddenly turned his head to the left andlooked over his shoulder. It was then alive with a terrible expressionof listening fear. No one saw him go away: and no one could find himthat evening. All night the gale buffeted the high windows of thechurch, and howled over the upland and roared through the woodland. Itwas useless to search in the open: no voice of shouting or cry forhelp could possibly be heard. All that Dr. Ashton could do was to warnthe people about the college, and the town constables, and to sit up, on the alert for any news, and this he did. News came early nextmorning, brought by the sexton, whose business it was to open thechurch for early prayers at seven, and who sent the maid rushingupstairs with wild eyes and flying hair to summon her master. The twomen dashed across to the south door of the minster, there to find LordSaul clinging desperately to the great ring of the door, his head sunkbetween his shoulders, his stockings in rags, his shoes gone, his legstorn and bloody. 

This was what had to be told to Lord Kildonan, and this really endsthe first part of the story. The tomb of Frank Sydall and of the LordViscount Saul, only child and heir to William Earl of Kildonan, isone: a stone altar tomb in Whitminster churchyard. 

Dr. Ashton lived on for over thirty years in his prebendal house, I donot know how quietly, but without visible disturbance. His successorpreferred a house he already owned in the town, and left that of thesenior prebendary vacant. Between them these two men saw theeighteenth century out and the nineteenth in; for Mr. Hindes, thesuccessor of Ashton, became prebendary at nine-and-twenty and died atnine-and-eighty. So that it was not till 1823 or 1824 that any onesucceeded to the post who intended to make the house his home. The manwho did was Dr. Henry Oldys, whose name may be known to some of myreaders as that of the author of a row of volumes labelled _Oldys'sWorks_, which occupy a place that must be honoured, since it is sorarely touched, upon the shelves of many a substantial library. 

Dr. Oldys, his niece, and his servants took some months to transferfurniture and books from his Dorsetshire parsonage to the quadrangleof Whitminster, and to get everything into place. But eventually thework was done, and the house (which, though untenanted, had alwaysbeen kept sound and weather-tight) woke up, and like Monte Cristo'smansion at Auteuil, lived, sang, and bloomed once more. On a certainmorning in June it looked especially fair, as Dr. Oldys strolled inhis garden before breakfast and gazed over the red roof at the minstertower with its four gold vanes, backed by a very blue sky, and verywhite little clouds. 

"Mary, " he said, as he seated himself at the breakfast table and laiddown something hard and shiny on the cloth, "here's a find which theboy made just now. You'll be sharper than I if you can guess what it'smeant for. " It was a round and perfectly smooth tablet--as much as aninch thick--of what seemed clear glass. "It is rather attractive atall events, " said Mary: she was a fair woman, with light hair andlarge eyes, rather a devotee of literature. "Yes, " said her uncle, "Ithought you'd be pleased with it. I presume it came from the house: itturned up in the rubbish-heap in the corner. " "I'm not sure that I dolike it, after all, " said Mary, some minutes later. "Why in the worldnot, my dear?" "I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps it's only fancy. ""Yes, only fancy and romance, of course. What's that book, now--thename of that book, I mean, that you had your head in all yesterday?""_The Talisman_, Uncle. Oh, if this should turn out to be a talisman, how enchanting it would be!" "Yes, _The Talisman_: ah, well, you'rewelcome to it, whatever it is: I must be off about my business. Is allwell in the house? Does it suit you? Any complaints from the servants'hall?" "No, indeed, nothing could be more charming. The only _soupçon_of a complaint besides the lock of the linen closet, which I told youof, is that Mrs. Maple says she cannot get rid of the sawflies out ofthat room you pass through at the other end of the hall. By the way, are you sure you like your bedroom? It is a long way off from any oneelse, you know. " "Like it? To be sure I do; the further off from you, my dear, the better. There, don't think it necessary to beat me:accept my apologies. But what are sawflies? will they eat my coats? Ifnot, they may have the room to themselves for what I care. We are notlikely to be using it. " "No, of course not. Well, what she callssawflies are those reddish things like a daddy-longlegs, butsmaller, [1] and there are a great many of them perching about thatroom, certainly. I don't like them, but I don't fancy they aremischievous. " "There seem to be several things you don't like thisfine morning, " said her uncle, as he closed the door. Miss Oldysremained in her chair looking at the tablet, which she was holding inthe palm of her hand. The smile that had been on her face faded slowlyfrom it and gave place to an expression of curiosity and almoststrained attention. Her reverie was broken by the entrance of Mrs. Maple, and her invariable opening, "Oh, Miss, could I speak to you aminute?"

A letter from Miss Oldys to a friend in Lichfield, begun a day or twobefore, is the next source for this story. It is not devoid of tracesof the influence of that leader of female thought in her day, MissAnna Seward, known to some as the Swan of Lichfield. 

"My sweetest Emily will be rejoiced to hear that we are at length--mybeloved uncle and myself--settled in the house that now calls usmaster--nay, master and mistress--as in past ages it has called somany others. Here we taste a mingling of modern elegance and hoaryantiquity, such as has never ere now graced life for either of us. Thetown, small as it is, affords us some reflection, pale indeed, butveritable, of the sweets of polite intercourse: the adjacent countrynumbers amid the occupants of its scattered mansions some whose polishis annually refreshed by contact with metropolitan splendour, andothers whose robust and homely geniality is, at times, and by way ofcontrast, not less cheering and acceptable. Tired of the parlours anddrawing-rooms of our friends, we have ready to hand a refuge from theclash of wits or the small talk of the day amid the solemn beauties ofour venerable minster, whose silvern chimes daily 'knoll us toprayer, ' and in the shady walks of whose tranquil graveyard we musewith softened heart, and ever and anon with moistened eye, upon thememorials of the young, the beautiful, the aged, the wise, and thegood. "

Here there is an abrupt break both in the writing and the style. 

"But my dearest Emily, I can no longer write with the care which youdeserve, and in which we both take pleasure. What I have to tell youis wholly foreign to what has gone before. This morning my unclebrought in to breakfast an object which had been found in the garden;it was a glass or crystal tablet of this shape (a little sketch isgiven), which he handed to me, and which, after he left the room, remained on the table by me. I gazed at it, I know not why, for someminutes, till called away by the day's duties; and you will smileincredulously when I say that I seemed to myself to begin to descryreflected in it objects and scenes which were not in the room where Iwas. You will not, however, be surprised that after such an experienceI took the first opportunity to seclude myself in my room with what Inow half believed to be a talisman of mickle might. I was notdisappointed. I assure you, Emily, by that memory which is dearest toboth of us, that what I went through this afternoon transcends thelimits of what I had before deemed credible. In brief, what I saw, seated in my bedroom, in the broad daylight of summer, and lookinginto the crystal depth of that small round tablet, was this. First, aprospect, strange to me, of an enclosure of rough and hillocky grass, with a grey stone ruin in the midst, and a wall of rough stones aboutit. In this stood an old, and very ugly, woman in a red cloak andragged skirt, talking to a boy dressed in the fashion of maybe ahundred years ago. She put something which glittered into his hand, and he something into hers, which I saw to be money, for a single coinfell from her trembling hand into the grass. The scene passed--Ishould have remarked, by the way, that on the rough walls of theenclosure I could distinguish bones, and even a skull, lying in adisorderly fashion. Next, I was looking upon two boys; one the figureof the former vision, the other younger. They were in a plot ofgarden, walled round, and this garden, in spite of the difference inarrangement, and the small size of the trees, I could clearlyrecognize as being that upon which I now look from my window. The boyswere engaged in some curious play, it seemed. Something wassmouldering on the ground. The elder placed his hands upon it, andthen raised them in what I took to be an attitude of prayer: and Isaw, and started at seeing, that on them were deep stains of blood. The sky above was overcast. The same boy now turned his face towardsthe wall of the garden, and beckoned with both his raised hands, andas he did so I was conscious that some moving objects were becomingvisible over the top of the wall--whether heads or other parts of someanimal or human forms I could not tell. Upon the instant the elder boyturned sharply, seized the arm of the younger (who all this time hadbeen poring over what lay on the ground), and both hurried off. I thensaw blood upon the grass, a little pile of bricks, and what I thoughtwere black feathers scattered about. That scene closed, and the nextwas so dark that perhaps the full meaning of it escaped me. But what Iseemed to see was a form, at first crouching low among trees or bushesthat were being threshed by a violent wind, then running very swiftly, and constantly turning a pale face to look behind him, as if he feareda pursuer: and, indeed, pursuers were following hard after him. Theirshapes were but dimly seen, their number--three or four, perhaps, only guessed. I suppose they were on the whole more like dogs thananything else, but dogs such as we have seen they assuredly were not. Could I have closed my eyes to this horror, I would have done so atonce, but I was helpless. The last I saw was the victim dartingbeneath an arch and clutching at some object to which he clung: andthose that were pursuing him overtook him, and I seemed to hear theecho of a cry of despair. It may be that I became unconscious:certainly I had the sensation of awaking to the light of day after aninterval of darkness. Such, in literal truth, Emily, was my vision--Ican call it by no other name--of this afternoon. Tell me, have I notbeen the unwilling witness of some episode of a tragedy connected withthis very house?"

The letter is continued next day. "The tale of yesterday was notcompleted when I laid down my pen. I said nothing of my experiences tomy uncle--you know, yourself, how little his robust common-sense wouldbe prepared to allow of them, and how in his eyes the specific remedywould be a black draught or a glass of port. After a silent evening, then--silent, not sullen--I retired to rest. Judge of my terror, when, not yet in bed, I heard what I can only describe as a distantbellow, and knew it for my uncle's voice, though never in my hearingso exerted before. His sleeping-room is at the further extremity ofthis large house, and to gain access to it one must traverse anantique hall some eighty feet long and a lofty panelled chamber, andtwo unoccupied bedrooms. In the second of these--a room almost devoidof furniture--I found him, in the dark, his candle lying smashed onthe floor. As I ran in, bearing a light, he clasped me in arms thattrembled for the first time since I have known him, thanked God, andhurried me out of the room. He would say nothing of what had alarmedhim. 'To-morrow, to-morrow, ' was all I could get from him. A bed washastily improvised for him in the room next to my own. I doubt if hisnight was more restful than mine. I could only get to sleep in thesmall hours, when daylight was already strong, and then my dreams wereof the grimmest--particularly one which stamped itself on my brain, and which I must set down on the chance of dispersing the impressionit has made. It was that I came up to my room with a heavy forebodingof evil oppressing me, and went with a hesitation and reluctance Icould not explain to my chest of drawers. I opened the top drawer, inwhich was nothing but ribbons and handkerchiefs, and then the second, where was as little to alarm, and then, O heavens, the third and last:and there was a mass of linen neatly folded: upon which, as I lookedwith curiosity that began to be tinged with horror, I perceived amovement in it, and a pink hand was thrust out of the folds and beganto grope feebly in the air. I could bear it no more, and rushed fromthe room, clapping the door after me, and strove with all my force tolock it. But the key would not turn in the wards, and from within theroom came a sound of rustling and bumping, drawing nearer and nearerto the door. Why I did not flee down the stairs I know not. Icontinued grasping the handle, and mercifully, as the door was pluckedfrom my hand with an irresistible force, I awoke. You may not thinkthis very alarming, but I assure you it was so to me. 

"At breakfast to-day my uncle was very uncommunicative, and I thinkashamed of the fright he had given us; but afterwards he inquired ofme whether Mr. Spearman was still in town, adding that he thought thatwas a young man who had some sense left in his head. I think youknow, my dear Emily, that I am not inclined to disagree with himthere, and also that I was not unlikely to be able to answer hisquestion. To Mr. Spearman he accordingly went, and I have not seen himsince. I must send this strange budget of news to you now, or it mayhave to wait over more than one post. "

The reader will not be far out if he guesses that Miss Mary and Mr. Spearman made a match of it not very long after this month of June. Mr. Spearman was a young spark, who had a good property in theneighbourhood of Whitminster, and not unfrequently about this timespent a few days at the "King's Head, " ostensibly on business. But hemust have had some leisure, for his diary is copious, especially forthe days of which I am telling the story. It is probable to me that hewrote this episode as fully as he could at the bidding of Miss Mary. 

"Uncle Oldys (how I hope I may have the right to call him so beforelong!) called this morning. After throwing out a good many shortremarks on indifferent topics, he said 'I wish, Spearman, you'd listento an odd story and keep a close tongue about it just for a bit, tillI get more light on it. ' 'To be sure, ' said I, 'you may count on me. ''I don't know what to make of it, ' he said. 'You know my bedroom. Itis well away from every one else's, and I pass through the great halland two or three other rooms to get to it. ' 'Is it at the end next theminster, then?' I asked. 'Yes, it is: well, now, yesterday morning myMary told me that the room next before it was infested with some sortof fly that the housekeeper couldn't get rid of. That may be theexplanation, or it may not. What do you think?' 'Why, ' said I, 'you'venot yet told me what has to be explained. ' 'True enough, I don'tbelieve I have; but by-the-by, what are these sawflies? What's thesize of them?' I began to wonder if he was touched in the head. 'WhatI call a sawfly, ' I said very patiently, 'is a red animal, like adaddy-longlegs, but not so big, perhaps an inch long, perhaps less. Itis very hard in the body, and to me'--I was going to say 'particularlyoffensive, ' but he broke in, 'Come, come; an inch or less. That won'tdo. ' 'I can only tell you, ' I said, 'what I know. Would it not bebetter if you told me from first to last what it is that has puzzledyou, and then I may be able to give you some kind of an opinion. ' Hegazed at me meditatively. 'Perhaps it would, ' he said. 'I told Maryonly to-day that I thought you had some vestiges of sense in yourhead. ' (I bowed my acknowledgements. ) 'The thing is, I've an odd kindof shyness about talking of it. Nothing of the sort has happened to mebefore. Well, about eleven o'clock last night, or after, I took mycandle and set out for my room. I had a book in my other hand--Ialways read something for a few minutes before I drop off to sleep. Adangerous habit: I don't recommend it: but I know how to manage mylight and my bed curtains. Now then, first, as I stepped out of mystudy into the great half that's next to it, and shut the door, mycandle went out. I supposed I had clapped the door behind me tooquick, and made a draught, and I was annoyed, for I'd no tinder-boxnearer than my bedroom. But I knew my way well enough, and went on. The next thing was that my book was struck out of my hand in the dark:if I said twitched out of my hand it would better express thesensation. It fell on the floor. I picked it up, and went on, moreannoyed than before, and a little startled. But as you know, that hallhas many windows without curtains, and in summer nights like these itis easy to see not only where the furniture is, but whether there'sany one or anything moving, and there was no one--nothing of the kind. So on I went through the hall and through the audit chamber next toit, which also has big windows, and then into the bedrooms which leadto my own, where the curtains were drawn, and I had to go slowerbecause of steps here and there. It was in the second of those roomsthat I nearly got my _quietus_. The moment I opened the door of it Ifelt there was something wrong. I thought twice, I confess, whether Ishouldn't turn back and find another way there is to my room ratherthan go through that one. Then I was ashamed of myself, and thoughtwhat people call better of it, though I don't know about "better" inthis case. If I was to describe my experience exactly, I should saythis: there was a dry, light, rustling sound all over the room as Iwent in, and then (you remember it was perfectly dark) somethingseemed to rush at me, and there was--I don't know how to put it--asensation of long thin arms, or legs, or feelers, all about my face, and neck, and body. Very little strength in them, there seemed to be, but Spearman, I don't think I was ever more horrified or disgusted inall my life, that I remember: and it does take something to put meout. I roared out as loud as I could, and flung away my candle atrandom, and, knowing I was near the window, I tore at the curtain andsomehow let in enough light to be able to see something waving which Iknew was an insect's leg, by the shape of it: but, Lord, what a size!Why the beast must have been as tall as I am. And now you tell mesawflies are an inch long or less. What do you make of it, Spearman?'

"'For goodness sake finish your story first, ' I said. 'I never heardanything like it. ' 'Oh, ' said he, 'there's no more to tell. Mary ranin with a light, and there was nothing there. I didn't tell her whatwas the matter. I changed my room for last night, and I expect forgood. ' 'Have you searched this odd room of yours?' I said. 'What doyou keep in it?' 'We don't use it, ' he answered. 'There's an old pressthere, and some little other furniture. ' 'And in the press?' said I. 'I don't know; I never saw it opened, but I do know that it's locked. ''Well, I should have it looked into, and, if you had time, I own tohaving some curiosity to see the place myself. ' 'I didn't exactly liketo ask you, but that's rather what I hoped you'd say. Name your timeand I'll take you there. ' 'No time like the present, ' I said at once, for I saw he would never settle down to anything while this affair wasin suspense. He got up with great alacrity, and looked at me, I amtempted to think, with marked approval. 'Come along, ' was all he said, however; and was pretty silent all the way to his house. My Mary (ashe calls her in public, and I in private) was summoned, and weproceeded to the room. The Doctor had gone so far as to tell her thathe had had something of a fright there last night, of what nature hehad not yet divulged; but now he pointed out and described, verybriefly, the incidents of his progress. When we were near theimportant spot, he pulled up, and allowed me to pass on. 'There's theroom, ' he said. 'Go in, Spearman, and tell us what you find. ' WhateverI might have felt at midnight, noonday I was sure would keep backanything sinister, and I flung the door open with an air and steppedin. It was a well-lighted room, with its large window on the right, though not, I thought, a very airy one. The principal piece offurniture was the gaunt old press of dark wood. There was, too, afour-post bedstead, a mere skeleton which could hide nothing, andthere was a chest of drawers. On the window-sill and the floor near itwere the dead bodies of many hundred sawflies, and one torpid onewhich I had some satisfaction in killing. I tried the door of thepress, but could not open it: the drawers, too, were locked. Somewhere, I was conscious, there was a faint rustling sound, but Icould not locate it, and when I made my report to those outside, Isaid nothing of it. But, I said, clearly the next thing was to seewhat was in those locked receptacles. Uncle Oldys turned to Mary. 'Mrs. Maple, ' he said, and Mary ran off--no one, I am sure, steps likeher--and soon came back at a soberer pace, with an elderly lady ofdiscreet aspect. 

"'Have you the keys of these things, Mrs. Maple?' said Uncle Oldys. His simple words let loose a torrent (not violent, but copious) ofspeech: had she been a shade or two higher in the social scale, Mrs. Maple might have stood as the model for Miss Bates. 

"'Oh, Doctor, and Miss, and you too, sir, ' she said, acknowledging mypresence with a bend, 'them keys! who was that again that come whenfirst we took over things in this house--a gentleman in business itwas, and I gave him his luncheon in the small parlour on account of usnot having everything as we should like to see it in the largeone--chicken, and apple-pie, and a glass of madeira--dear, dear, you'll say I'm running on, Miss Mary; but I only mention it to bringback my recollection; and there it comes--Gardner, just the same as itdid last week with the artichokes and the text of the sermon. Now thatMr. Gardner, every key I got from him were labelled to itself, andeach and every one was a key of some door or another in this house, and sometimes two; and when I say door, my meaning is door of a room, not like such a press as this is. Yes, Miss Mary, I know full well, and I'm just making it clear to your uncle and you too, sir. But nowthere _was_ a box which this same gentleman he give over into mycharge, and thinking no harm after he was gone I took the liberty, knowing it was your uncle's property, to rattle it: and unless I'mmost surprisingly deceived, in that box there was keys, but what keys, that, Doctor, is known Elsewhere, for open the box, no that I wouldnot do. '

"I wondered that Uncle Oldys remained as quiet as he did under thisaddress. Mary, I knew, was amused by it, and he probably had beentaught by experience that it was useless to break in upon it. At anyrate he did not, but merely said at the end, 'Have you that box handy, Mrs. Maple? If so, you might bring it here. ' Mrs. Maple pointed herfinger at him, either in accusation or in gloomy triumph. 'There, ' shesaid, 'was I to choose out the very words out of your mouth, Doctor, them would be the ones. And if I've took it to my own rebuke onehalf-a-dozen times, it's been nearer fifty. Laid awake I have in mybed, sat down in my chair I have, the same you and Miss Mary gave methe day I was twenty year in your service, and no person could desirea better--yes, Miss Mary, but it _is_ the truth, and well we know whoit is would have it different if he could. "All very well, " says I tomyself, "but pray, when the Doctor calls you to account for that box, what are you going to say?" No, Doctor, if you was some masters I'veheard of and I was some servants I could name, I should have an easytask before me, but things being, humanly speaking, what they are, theone course open to me is just to say to you that without Miss Marycomes to my room and helps me to my recollection, which her wits_may_ manage what's slipped beyond mine, no such box as that, smallthough it be, will cross your eyes this many a day to come. '

"'Why, dear Mrs. Maple, why didn't you tell me before that you wantedme to help you to find it?' said my Mary. 'No, never mind telling mewhy it was: let us come at once and look for it. ' They hastened offtogether. I could hear Mrs. Maple beginning an explanation which, Idoubt not, lasted into the furthest recesses of the housekeeper'sdepartment. Uncle Oldys and I were left alone. 'A valuable servant, 'he said, nodding towards the door. 'Nothing goes wrong under her: thespeeches are seldom over three minutes. ' 'How will Miss Oldys manageto make her remember about the box?' I asked. 

"'Mary? Oh, she'll make her sit down and ask her about her aunt's lastillness, or who gave her the china dog on the mantel-piece--somethingquite off the point. Then, as Maple says, one thing brings up another, and the right one will come round sooner than you could suppose. There! I believe I hear them coming back already. '

"It was indeed so, and Mrs. Maple was hurrying on ahead of Mary withthe box in her outstretched hand, and a beaming face. 'What was it, 'she cried as she drew near, 'what was it as I said, before ever I comeout of Dorsetshire to this place? Not that I'm a Dorset woman myself, nor had need to be. "Safe bind, safe find, " and there it was in theplace where I'd put it--what?--two months back, I daresay. ' She handedit to Uncle Oldys, and he and I examined it with some interest, sothat I ceased to pay attention to Mrs. Ann Maple for the moment, though I know that she went on to expound exactly where the box hadbeen, and in what way Mary had helped to refresh her memory on thesubject. 

"It was an oldish box, tied with pink tape and sealed, and on the lidwas pasted a label inscribed in old ink, 'The Senior Prebendary'sHouse, Whitminster. ' On being opened it was found to contain two keysof moderate size, and a paper, on which, in the same hand as thelabel, was 'Keys of the Press and Box of Drawers standing in thedisused Chamber. ' Also this: 'The Effects in this Press and Box areheld by me, and to be held by my successors in the Residence, in trustfor the noble Family of Kildonan, if claim be made by any survivor ofit. I having made all the Enquiry possible to myself am of theopinion that that noble House is wholly extinct: the last Earl havingbeen, as is notorious, cast away at sea, and his only Child and Heiredeceas'd in my House (the Papers as to which melancholy Casualty wereby me repos'd in the same Press in this year of our Lord 1753, 21March). I am further of opinion that unless grave discomfort arise, such persons, not being of the Family of Kildonan, as shall becomepossess'd of these keys, will be well advised to leave matters as theyare: which opinion I do not express without weighty and sufficientreason; and am Happy to have my Judgment confirm'd by the otherMembers of this College and Church who are conversant with the Eventsreferr'd to in this Paper. Tho. Ashton, _S. T. P. _, _Præb. Senr. _ Will. Blake, _S. T. P. _, _Decanus_. Hen. Goodman, _S. T. B. _, _Præb. Junr. _'

"'Ah!' said Uncle Oldys, 'grave discomfort! So he thought there mightbe something. I suspect it was that young man, ' he went on, pointingwith the key to the line about the 'only Child and Heire. ' 'Eh, Mary?The viscounty of Kildonan was Saul. ' 'How _do_ you know that, Uncle?'said Mary. 'Oh, why not? it's all in Debrett--two little fat books. But I meant the tomb by the lime walk. He's there. What's the story, Iwonder? Do you know it, Mrs. Maple? and, by the way, look at yoursawflies by the window there. '

"Mrs. Maple, thus confronted with two subjects at once, was a littleput to it to do justice to both. It was no doubt rash in Uncle Oldysto give her the opportunity. I could only guess that he had someslight hesitation about using the key he held in his hand. 

"'Oh them flies, how bad they was, Doctor and Miss, this three or fourdays: and you, too, sir, you wouldn't guess, none of you! And how theycome, too! First we took the room in hand, the shutters was up, andhad been, I daresay, years upon years, and not a fly to be seen. Thenwe got the shutter bars down with a deal of trouble and left it so forthe day, and next day I sent Susan in with the broom to sweep about, and not two minutes hadn't passed when out she come into the hall likea blind thing, and we had regular to beat them off her. Why her capand her hair, you couldn't see the colour of it, I do assure you, andall clustering round her eyes, too. Fortunate enough she's not a girlwith fancies, else if it had been me, why only the tickling of thenasty things would have drove me out of my wits. And now there theylay like so many dead things. Well, they was lively enough on theMonday, and now here's Thursday, is it, or no, Friday. Only to comenear the door and you'd hear them pattering up against it, and onceyou opened it, dash at you, they would, as if they'd eat you. Icouldn't help thinking to myself, "If you was bats, where should we bethis night?" Nor you can't cresh 'em, not like a usual kind of a fly. Well, there's something to be thankful for, if we could but learn byit. And then this tomb, too, ' she said, hastening on to her secondpoint to elude any chance of interruption, 'of them two poor younglads. I say poor, and yet when I recollect myself, I was at tea withMrs. Simpkins, the sexton's wife, before you come, Doctor and MissMary, and that's a family has been in the place, what? I daresay ahundred years in that very house, and could put their hand on any tombor yet grave in all the yard and give you name and age. And hisaccount of that young man, Mr. Simpkins's I mean to say--_well_!' Shecompressed her lips and nodded several times. 'Tell us, Mrs. Maple, 'said Mary. 'Go on, ' said Uncle Oldys. 'What about him?' said I. 'Never was such a thing seen in this place, not since Queen Mary'stimes and the Pope and all, ' said Mrs. Maple. 'Why, do you know helived in this very house, him and them that was with him, and for allI can tell in this identical room' (she shifted her feet uneasily onthe floor). 'Who was with him? Do you mean the people of the house?'said Uncle Oldys suspiciously. 'Not to call people, Doctor, dear no, 'was the answer; 'more what he brought with him from Ireland, I believeit was. No, the people in the house was the last to hear anything ofhis goings-on. But in the town not a family but knew how he stoppedout at night: and them that was with him, why they were such as wouldstrip the skin from the child in its grave; and a withered heart makesan ugly thin ghost, says Mr. Simpkins. But they turned on him at thelast, he says, and there's the mark still to be seen on the minsterdoor where they run him down. And that's no more than the truth, for Igot him to show it to myself, and that's what he said. A lord he was, with a Bible name of a wicked king, whatever his godfathers could havebeen thinking of. ' 'Saul was the name, ' said Uncle Oldys. 'To be sureit was Saul, Doctor, and thank you; and now isn't it King Saul that weread of raising up the dead ghost that was slumbering in its tomb tillhe disturbed it, and isn't that a strange thing, this young lord tohave such a name, and Mr. Simpkins's grandfather to see him out of hiswindow of a dark night going about from one grave to another in theyard with a candle, and them that was with him following through thegrass at his heels: and one night him to come right up to old Mr. Simpkins's window that gives on the yard and press his face up againstit to find out if there was any one in the room that could see him:and only just time there was for old Mr. Simpkins to drop down like, quiet, just under the window and hold his breath, and not stir till heheard him stepping away again, and this rustling-like in the grassafter him as he went, and then when he looked out of his window in themorning there was treadings in the grass and a dead man's bone. Oh, hewas a cruel child for certain, but he had to pay in the end, andafter. ' 'After?' said Uncle Oldys, with a frown. 'Oh yes, Doctor, night after night in old Mr. Simpkins's time, and his son, that's ourMr. Simpkins's father, yes, and our own Mr. Simpkins too. Up againstthat same window, particular when they've had a fire of a chillyevening, with his face right on the panes, and his hands flutteringout, and his mouth open and shut, open and shut, for a minute or more, and then gone off in the dark yard. But open the window at such times, no, that they dare not do, though they could find it in their heart topity the poor thing, that pinched up with the cold, and seeminglyfading away to a nothink as the years passed on. Well, indeed, Ibelieve it is no more than the truth what our Mr. Simpkins says on hisown grandfather's word, "A withered heart makes an ugly thin ghost. "''I daresay, ' said Uncle Oldys suddenly: so suddenly that Mrs. Maplestopped short. 'Thank you. Come away, all of you. ' 'Why, _Uncle_, 'said Mary, 'are you not going to open the press after all?' UncleOldys blushed, actually blushed. 'My dear, ' he said, 'you are atliberty to call me a coward, or applaud me as a prudent man, whicheveryou please. But I am neither going to open that press nor that chestof drawers myself, nor am I going to hand over the keys to you or toany other person. Mrs. Maple, will you kindly see about getting a manor two to move those pieces of furniture into the garret?' 'And whenthey do it, Mrs. Maple, ' said Mary, who seemed to me--I did not thenknow why--more relieved than disappointed by her uncle's decision, 'Ihave something that I want put with the rest; only quite a smallpacket. '

"We left that curious room not unwillingly, I think. Uncle Oldys'sorders were carried out that same day. And so, " concludes Mr. Spearman, "Whitminster has a Bluebeard's chamber, and, I am ratherinclined to suspect, a Jack-in-the-box, awaiting some future occupantof the residence of the senior prebendary. "

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Apparently the ichneumon fly (_Ophion obscurum_), and notthe true sawfly, is meant. ]

THE DIARY OF MR. POYNTER

THE DIARY OF MR. POYNTER

The sale-room of an old and famous firm of book auctioneers in Londonis, of course, a great meeting-place for collectors, librarians, dealers: not only when an auction is in progress, but perhaps evenmore notably when books that are coming on for sale are upon view. Itwas in such a sale-room that the remarkable series of events beganwhich were detailed to me not many months ago by the person whom theyprincipally affected, namely, Mr. James Denton, M. A. , F. S. A. , etc. , etc. , some time of Trinity Hall, now, or lately, of Rendcomb Manor inthe county of Warwick. 

He, on a certain spring day not many years since, was in London for afew days upon business connected principally with the furnishing ofthe house which he had just finished building at Rendcomb. It may be adisappointment to you to learn that Rendcomb Manor was new; that Icannot help. There had, no doubt, been an old house; but it was notremarkable for beauty or interest. Even had it been, neither beautynor interest would have enabled it to resist the disastrous fire whichabout a couple of years before the date of my story had razed it tothe ground. I am glad to say that all that was most valuable in it hadbeen saved, and that it was fully insured. So that it was with acomparatively light heart that Mr. Denton was able to face the task ofbuilding a new and considerably more convenient dwelling for himselfand his aunt who constituted his whole _ménage_. 

Being in London, with time on his hands, and not far from thesale-room at which I have obscurely hinted, Mr. Denton thought that hewould spend an hour there upon the chance of finding, among thatportion of the famous Thomas collection of MSS. , which he knew to bethen on view, something bearing upon the history or topography of hispart of Warwickshire. 

He turned in accordingly, purchased a catalogue and ascended to thesale-room, where, as usual, the books were disposed in cases and somelaid out upon the long tables. At the shelves, or sitting about at thetables, were figures, many of whom were familiar to him. He exchangednods and greetings with several, and then settled down to examine hiscatalogue and note likely items. He had made good progress throughabout two hundred of the five hundred lots--every now and then risingto take a volume from the shelf and give it a cursory glance--when ahand was laid on his shoulder, and he looked up. His interrupter wasone of those intelligent men with a pointed beard and a flannel shirt, of whom the last quarter of the nineteenth century was, it seems tome, very prolific. 

It is no part of my plan to repeat the whole conversation which ensuedbetween the two. I must content myself with stating that it largelyreferred to common acquaintances, e. G. , to the nephew of Mr. Denton'sfriend who had recently married and settled in Chelsea, to thesister-in-law of Mr. Denton's friend who had been seriouslyindisposed, but was now better, and to a piece of china which Mr. Denton's friend had purchased some months before at a price much belowits true value. From which you will rightly infer that theconversation was rather in the nature of a monologue. In due time, however, the friend bethought himself that Mr. Denton was there for apurpose, and said he, "What are you looking out for in particular? Idon't think there's much in this lot. " "Why, I thought there might besome Warwickshire collections, but I don't see anything under Warwickin the catalogue. " "No, apparently not, " said the friend. "All thesame, I believe I noticed something like a Warwickshire diary. Whatwas the name again? Drayton? Potter? Painter--either a P or a D, Ifeel sure. " He turned over the leaves quickly. "Yes, here it is. Poynter. Lot 486. That might interest you. There are the books, Ithink: out on the table. Some one has been looking at them. Well, Imust be getting on. Good-bye, you'll look us up, won't you? Couldn'tyou come this afternoon? We've got a little music about four. Well, then, when you're next in town. " He went off. Mr. Denton looked at hiswatch and found to his confusion that he could spare no more than amoment before retrieving his luggage and going for the train. Themoment was just enough to show him that there were four largishvolumes of the diary--that it concerned the years about 1710, and thatthere seemed to be a good many insertions in it of various kinds. Itseemed quite worth while to leave a commission of five and twentypounds for it, and this he was able to do, for his usual agent enteredthe room as he was on the point of leaving it. 

That evening he rejoined his aunt at their temporary abode, which wasa small dower-house not many hundred yards from the Manor. On thefollowing morning the two resumed a discussion that had now lasted forsome weeks as to the equipment of the new house. Mr. Denton laidbefore his relative a statement of the results of his visit totown--particulars of carpets, of chairs, of wardrobes, and of bedroomchina. "Yes, dear, " said his aunt, "but I don't see any chintzes here. Did you go to ----?" Mr. Denton stamped on the floor (where else, indeed, could he have stamped?). "Oh dear, oh dear, " he said, "the onething I missed. I _am_ sorry. The fact is I was on my way there and Ihappened to be passing Robins's. " His aunt threw up her hands. "Robins's! Then the next thing will be another parcel of horrible oldbooks at some outrageous price. I do think, James, when I am takingall this trouble for you, you might contrive to remember the one ortwo things which I specially begged you to see after. It's not as if Iwas asking it for myself. I don't know whether you think I get anypleasure out of it, but if so I can assure you it's very much thereverse. The thought and worry and trouble I have over it you have noidea of, and _you_ have simply to go to the shops and order thethings. " Mr. Denton interposed a moan of penitence. "Oh, aunt----""Yes, that's all very well, dear, and I don't want to speak sharply, but you _must_ know how very annoying it is: particularly as it delaysthe whole of our business for I can't tell how long: here isWednesday--the Simpsons come to-morrow, and you can't leave them. Thenon Saturday we have friends, as you know, coming for tennis. Yes, indeed, you spoke of asking them yourself, but, of course, I had towrite the notes, and it is ridiculous, James, to look like that. Wemust occasionally be civil to our neighbours: you wouldn't like tohave it said we were perfect bears. What was I saying? Well, anyhow itcomes to this, that it must be Thursday in next week at least, beforeyou can go to town again, and until we have decided upon the chintzesit is impossible to settle upon one single other thing. "

Mr. Denton ventured to suggest that as the paint and wallpapers hadbeen dealt with, this was too severe a view: but this his aunt wasnot prepared to admit at the moment. Nor, indeed, was there anyproposition he could have advanced which she would have found herselfable to accept. However, as the day went on, she receded a little fromthis position: examined with lessening disfavour the samples and pricelists submitted by her nephew, and even in some cases gave a qualifiedapproval to his choice. 

As for him, he was naturally somewhat dashed by the consciousness ofduty unfulfilled, but more so by the prospect of a lawn-tennis party, which, though an inevitable evil in August, he had thought there wasno occasion to fear in May. But he was to some extent cheered by thearrival on the Friday morning of an intimation that he had secured atthe price of £12 10s. The four volumes of Poynter's manuscript diary, and still more by the arrival on the next morning of the diary itself. 

The necessity of taking Mr. And Mrs. Simpson for a drive in the car onSaturday morning and of attending to his neighbours and guests thatafternoon prevented him from doing more than open the parcel until theparty had retired to bed on the Saturday night. It was then that hemade certain of the fact, which he had before only suspected, that hehad indeed acquired the diary of Mr. William Poynter, Squire ofAcrington (about four miles from his own parish)--that same Poynterwho was for a time a member of the circle of Oxford antiquaries, thecentre of which was Thomas Hearne, and with whom Hearne seemsultimately to have quarrelled--a not uncommon episode in the career ofthat excellent man. As is the case with Hearne's own collections, thediary of Poynter contained a good many notes from printed books, descriptions of coins and other antiquities that had been brought tohis notice, and drafts of letters on these subjects, besides thechronicle of everyday events. The description in the sale-cataloguehad given Mr. Denton no idea of the amount of interest which seemed tolie in the book, and he sat up reading in the first of the fourvolumes until a reprehensibly late hour. 

On the Sunday morning, after church, his aunt came into the study andwas diverted from what she had been going to say to him by the sightof the four brown leather quartos on the table. "What are these?" shesaid suspiciously. "New, aren't they? Oh! are these the things thatmade you forget my chintzes? I thought so. Disgusting. What did yougive for them, I should like to know? Over Ten Pounds? James, it isreally sinful. Well, if you have money to throw away on this kind ofthing, there _can_ be no reason why you should not subscribe--andsubscribe handsomely--to my anti-Vivisection League. There is not, indeed, James, and I shall be very seriously annoyed if----. Who didyou say wrote them? Old Mr. Poynter, of Acrington? Well, of course, there is some interest in getting together old papers about thisneighbourhood. But Ten Pounds!" She picked up one of the volumes--notthat which her nephew had been reading--and opened it at random, dashing it to the floor the next instant with a cry of disgust as aearwig fell from between the pages. Mr. Denton picked it up with asmothered expletive and said, "Poor book! I think you're rather hardon Mr. Poynter. " "Was I, my dear? I beg his pardon, but you know Icannot abide those horrid creatures. Let me see if I've done anymischief. " "No, I think all's well: but look here what you've openedhim on. " "Dear me, yes, to be sure! how very interesting. Do unpin it, James, and let me look at it. "

It was a piece of patterned stuff about the size of the quarto page, to which it was fastened by an old-fashioned pin. James detached itand handed it to his aunt, carefully replacing the pin in the paper. 

Now, I do not know exactly what the fabric was; but it had a designprinted upon it, which completely fascinated Miss Denton. She wentinto raptures over it, held it against the wall, made James do thesame, that she might retire to contemplate it from a distance: thenpored over it at close quarters, and ended her examination byexpressing in the warmest terms her appreciation of the taste of theancient Mr. Poynter who had had the happy idea of preserving thissample in his diary. "It is a most charming pattern, " she said, "andremarkable too. Look, James, how delightfully the lines ripple. Itreminds one of hair, very much, doesn't it. And then these knots ofribbon at intervals. They give just the relief of colour that iswanted. I wonder----" "I was going to say, " said James with deference, "I wonder if it would cost much to have it copied for our curtains. ""Copied? how could you have it copied, James?" "Well, I don't know thedetails, but I suppose that is a printed pattern, and that you couldhave a block cut from it in wood or metal. " "Now, really, that is acapital idea, James. I am almost inclined to be glad that you wereso--that you forgot the chintzes on Monday. At any rate, I'll promiseto forgive and forget if you get this _lovely_ old thing copied. Noone will have anything in the least like it, and mind, James, we won'tallow it to be sold. Now I _must_ go, and I've totally forgotten whatit was I came in to say: never mind, it'll keep. "

After his aunt had gone James Denton devoted a few minutes toexamining the pattern more closely than he had yet had a chance ofdoing. He was puzzled to think why it should have struck Miss Bentonso forcibly. It seemed to him not specially remarkable or pretty. Nodoubt it was suitable enough for a curtain pattern: it ran in verticalbands, and there was some indication that these were intended toconverge at the top. She was right, too, in thinking that these mainbands resembled rippling--almost curling--tresses of hair. Well, themain thing was to find out by means of trade directories, orotherwise, what firm would undertake the reproduction of an oldpattern of this kind. Not to delay the reader over this portion ofthe story, a list of likely names was made out, and Mr. Denton fixed aday for calling on them, or some of them, with his sample. 

The first two visits which he paid were unsuccessful: but there isluck in odd numbers. The firm in Bermondsey which was third on hislist was accustomed to handling this line. The evidence they were ableto produce justified their being entrusted with the job. "Our Mr. Cattell" took a fervent personal interest in it. "It's 'eartrending, isn't it, sir, " he said, "to picture the quantity of reelly lovelymedeevial stuff of this kind that lays well-nigh unnoticed in many ofour residential country 'ouses: much of it in peril, I take it, ofbeing cast aside as so much rubbish. What is it Shakespearesays--unconsidered trifles. Ah, I often say he 'as a word for us all, sir. I say Shakespeare, but I'm well aware all don't 'old with methere--I 'ad something of an upset the other day when a gentleman camein--a titled man, too, he was, and I think he told me he'd wrote onthe topic, and I 'appened to cite out something about 'Ercules and thepainted cloth. Dear me, you never see such a pother. But as to this, what you've kindly confided to us, it's a piece of work we shall takea reel enthusiasm in achieving it out to the very best of our ability. What man 'as done, as I was observing only a few weeks back to anotheresteemed client, man can do, and in three to four weeks' time, allbeing well, we shall 'ope to lay before you evidence to that effect, sir. Take the address, Mr. 'Iggins, if you please. "

Such was the general drift of Mr. Cattell's observations on theoccasion of his first interview with Mr. Denton. About a month later, being advised that some samples were ready for his inspection, Mr. Denton met him again, and had, it seems, reason to be satisfied withthe faithfulness of the reproduction of the design. It had beenfinished off at the top in accordance with the indication I mentioned, so that the vertical bands joined. But something still needed to bedone in the way of matching the colour of the original. Mr. Cattellhad suggestions of a technical kind to offer, with which I need nottrouble you. He had also views as to the general desirability of thepattern which were vaguely adverse. "You say you don't wish this to besupplied excepting to personal friends equipped with a authorizationfrom yourself, sir. It shall be done. I quite understand your wish tokeep it exclusive: lends it a catchit, does it not, to the suite?What's every man's, it's been said, is no man's. "

"Do you think it would be popular if it were generally obtainable?"asked Mr. Denton. 

"I 'ardly think it, sir, " said Cattell, pensively clasping his beard. "I 'ardly think it. Not popular: it wasn't popular with the man thatcut the block, was it, Mr. 'Iggins?"

"Did he find it a difficult job?"

"He'd no call to do so, sir; but the fact is that the artistictemperament--and our men are artists, sir, every man of them--trueartists as much as many that the world styles by that term--it's aptto take some strange 'ardly accountable likes or dislikes, and herewas an example. The twice or thrice that I went to inspect hisprogress: language I could understand, for that's 'abitual to him, butreel distaste for what I should call a dainty enough thing, I did not, nor am I now able to fathom. It seemed, " said Mr. Cattell, lookingnarrowly upon Mr. Denton, "as if the man scented something almostHevil in the design. "

"Indeed? did he tell you so? I can't say I see anything sinister in itmyself. "

"Neether can I, sir. In fact I said as much. 'Come, Gatwick, ' I said, 'what's to do here? What's the reason of your prejudice--for I cancall it no more than that?' But, no! no explanation was forthcoming. And I was merely reduced, as I am now, to a shrug of the shoulders, and a _cui bono_. However, here it is, " and with that the technicalside of the question came to the front again. 

The matching of the colours for the background, the hem, and the knotsof ribbon was by far the longest part of the business, andnecessitated many sendings to and fro of the original pattern and ofnew samples. During part of August and September, too, the Dentonswere away from the Manor. So that it was not until October was well inthat a sufficient quantity of the stuff had been manufactured tofurnish curtains for the three or four bedrooms which were to befitted up with it. 

On the feast of Simon and Jude the aunt and nephew returned from ashort visit to find all completed, and their satisfaction at thegeneral effect was great. The new curtains, in particular, agreed toadmiration with their surroundings. When Mr. Denton was dressing fordinner, and took stock of his room, in which there was a large amountof the chintz displayed, he congratulated himself over and over againon the luck which had first made him forget his aunt's commission andhad then put into his hands this extremely effective means ofremedying his mistake. The pattern was, as he said at dinner, sorestful and yet so far from being dull. And Miss Denton--who, by theway, had none of the stuff in her own room--was much disposed to agreewith him. 

At breakfast next morning he was induced to qualify his satisfactionto some extent--but very slightly. "There is one thing I ratherregret, " he said, "that we allowed them to join up the vertical bandsof the pattern at the top. I think it would have been better to leavethat alone. "

"Oh?" said his aunt interrogatively. 

"Yes: as I was reading in bed last night they kept catching my eyerather. That is, I found myself looking across at them every now andthen. There was an effect as if some one kept peeping out between thecurtains in one place or another, where there was no edge, and I thinkthat was due to the joining up of the bands at the top. The only otherthing that troubled me was the wind. "

"Why, I thought it was a perfectly still night. "

"Perhaps it was only on my side of the house, but there was enough tosway my curtains and rustle them more than I wanted. "

That night a bachelor friend of James Denton's came to stay, and waslodged in a room on the same floor as his host, but at the end of along passage, halfway down which was a red baize door, put there tocut off the draught and intercept noise. 

The party of three had separated. Miss Denton a good first, the twomen at about eleven. James Denton, not yet inclined for bed, sat himdown in an arm-chair and read for a time. Then he dozed, and then hewoke, and bethought himself that his brown spaniel, which ordinarilyslept in his room, had not come upstairs with him. Then he thought hewas mistaken: for happening to move his hand which hung down over thearm of the chair within a few inches of the floor, he felt on the backof it just the slightest touch of a surface of hair, and stretching itout in that direction he stroked and patted a rounded something. Butthe feel of it, and still more the fact that instead of a responsivemovement, absolute stillness greeted his touch, made him look overthe arm. What he had been touching rose to meet him. It was in theattitude of one that had crept along the floor on its belly, and itwas, so far as could be collected, a human figure. But of the facewhich was now rising to within a few inches of his own no feature wasdiscernible, only hair. Shapeless as it was, there was about it sohorrible an air of menace that as he bounded from his chair and rushedfrom the room he heard himself moaning with fear: and doubtless he didright to fly. As he dashed into the baize door that cut the passage intwo, and--forgetting that it opened towards him--beat against it withall the force in him, he felt a soft ineffectual tearing at his backwhich, all the same, seemed to be growing in power, as if the hand, orwhatever worse than a hand was there, were becoming more material asthe pursuer's rage was more concentrated. Then he remembered the trickof the door--he got it open--he shut it behind him--he gained hisfriend's room, and that is all we need know. 

It seems curious that, during all the time that had elapsed since thepurchase of Poynter's diary, James Denton should not have sought anexplanation of the presence of the pattern that had been pinned intoit. Well, he had read the diary through without finding it mentioned, and had concluded that there was nothing to be said. But, on leavingRendcomb Manor (he did not know whether for good), as he naturallyinsisted upon doing on the day after experiencing the horror I havetried to put into words, he took the diary with him. And at hisseaside lodgings he examined more narrowly the portion whence thepattern had been taken. What he remembered having suspected about itturned out to be correct. Two or three leaves were pasted together, but written upon, as was patent when they were held up to the light. They yielded easily to steaming, for the paste had lost much of itsstrength, and they contained something relevant to the pattern. 

The entry was made in 1707. 

 "Old Mr. Casbury, of Acrington, told me this day much of young Sir Everard Charlett, whom he remember'd Commoner of University College, and thought was of the same Family as Dr. Arthur Charlett, now master of ye Coll. This Charlett was a personable young gent. , but a loose atheistical companion, and a great Lifter, as they then call'd the hard drinkers, and for what I know do so now. He was noted, and subject to severall censures at different times for his extravagancies: and if the full history of his debaucheries had bin known, no doubt would have been expell'd ye Coll. , supposing that no interest had been imploy'd on his behalf, of which Mr. Casbury had some suspicion. He was a very beautiful person, and constantly wore his own Hair, which was very abundant, from which, and his loose way of living, the cant name for him was Absalom, and he was accustom'd to say that indeed he believ'd he had shortened old David's days, meaning his father, Sir Job Charlett, an old worthy cavalier. 

 "Note that Mr. Casbury said that he remembers not the year of Sir Everard Charlett's death, but it was 1692 or 3. He died suddenly in October. [Several lines describing his unpleasant habits and reputed delinquencies are omitted. ] Having seen him in such topping spirits the night before, Mr. Casbury was amaz'd when he learn'd the death. He was found in the town ditch, the hair as was said pluck'd clean off his head. Most bells in Oxford rung out for him, being a nobleman, and he was buried next night in St. Peter's in the East. But two years after, being to be moved to his country estate by his successor, it was said the coffin, breaking by mischance, proved quite full of Hair: which sounds fabulous, but yet I believe precedents are upon record, as in Dr. Plot's _History of Staffordshire_. 

 "His chambers being afterwards stripp'd, Mr. Casbury came by part of the hangings of it, which 'twas said this Charlett had design'd expressly for a memorial of his Hair, giving the Fellow that drew it a lock to work by, and the piece which I have fasten'd in here was parcel of the same, which Mr. Casbury gave to me. He said he believ'd there was a subtlety in the drawing, but had never discover'd it himself, nor much liked to pore upon it. "

 * * * * *

The money spent upon the curtains might as well have been thrown intothe fire, as they were. Mr. Cattell's comment upon what he heard ofthe story took the form of a quotation from Shakespeare. You may guessit without difficulty. It began with the words "There are morethings. "

AN EPISODE OF CATHEDRAL HISTORY

AN EPISODE OF CATHEDRAL HISTORY

There was once a learned gentleman who was deputed to examine andreport upon the archives of the Cathedral of Southminster. Theexamination of these records demanded a very considerable expenditureof time: hence it became advisable for him to engage lodgings in thecity: for though the Cathedral body were profuse in their offers ofhospitality, Mr. Lake felt that he would prefer to be master of hisday. This was recognized as reasonable. The Dean eventually wroteadvising Mr. Lake, if he were not already suited, to communicate withMr. Worby, the principal Verger, who occupied a house convenient tothe church and was prepared to take in a quiet lodger for three orfour weeks. Such an arrangement was precisely what Mr. Lake desired. Terms were easily agreed upon, and early in December, like another Mr. Datchery (as he remarked to himself), the investigator found himselfin the occupation of a very comfortable room in an ancient and"cathedraly" house. 

One so familiar with the customs of Cathedral churches, and treatedwith such obvious consideration by the Dean and Chapter of thisCathedral in particular, could not fail to command the respect of theHead Verger. Mr. Worby even acquiesced in certain modifications ofstatements he had been accustomed to offer for years to parties ofvisitors. Mr. Lake, on his part, found the Verger a very cheerycompanion, and took advantage of any occasion that presented itselffor enjoying his conversation when the day's work was over. 

One evening, about nine o'clock, Mr. Worby knocked at his lodger'sdoor. "I've occasion, " he said, "to go across to the Cathedral, Mr. Lake, and I think I made you a promise when I did so next I would giveyou the opportunity to see what it looks like at night time. It isquite fine and dry outside, if you care to come. "

"To be sure I will; very much obliged to you, Mr. Worby, for thinkingof it, but let me get my coat. "

"Here it is, sir, and I've another lantern here that you'll findadvisable for the steps, as there's no moon. "

"Any one might think we were Jasper and Durdles, over again, mightn'tthey, " said Lake, as they crossed the close, for he had ascertainedthat the Verger had read _Edwin Drood_. 

"Well, so they might, " said Mr. Worby, with a short laugh, "though Idon't know whether we ought to take it as a compliment. Odd ways, Ioften think, they had at that Cathedral, don't it seem so to you, sir?Full choral matins at seven o'clock in the morning all the year round. Wouldn't suit our boys' voices nowadays, and I think there's one ortwo of the men would be applying for a rise if the Chapter was tobring it in--particular the alltoes. "

They were now at the south-west door. As Mr. Worby was unlocking it, Lake said, "Did you ever find anybody locked in here by accident?"

"Twice I did. One was a drunk sailor; however he got in I don't know. I s'pose he went to sleep in the service, but by the time I got to himhe was praying fit to bring the roof in. Lor'! what a noise that mandid make! said it was the first time he'd been inside a church for tenyears, and blest if ever he'd try it again. The other was an oldsheep: them boys it was, up to their games. That was the last timethey tried it on, though. There, sir, now you see what we look like;our late Dean used now and again to bring parties in, but he preferreda moonlight night, and there was a piece of verse he'd coat to 'em, relating to a Scotch cathedral, I understand; but I don't know; Ialmost think the effect's better when it's all dark-like. Seems to addto the size and heighth. Now if you won't mind stopping somewhere inthe nave while I go up into the choir where my business lays, you'llsee what I mean. "

Accordingly Lake waited, leaning against a pillar, and watched thelight wavering along the length of the church, and up the steps intothe choir, until it was intercepted by some screen or other furniture, which only allowed the reflection to be seen on the piers and roof. Not many minutes had passed before Worby reappeared at the door of thechoir and by waving his lantern signalled to Lake to rejoin him. 

"I suppose it _is_ Worby, and not a substitute, " thought Lake tohimself, as he walked up the nave. There was, in fact, nothinguntoward. Worby showed him the papers which he had come to fetch outof the Dean's stall, and asked him what he thought of the spectacle:Lake agreed that it was well worth seeing. "I suppose, " he said, asthey walked towards the altar-steps together, "that you're too muchused to going about here at night to feel nervous--but you must get astart every now and then, don't you, when a book falls down or a doorswings to. "

"No, Mr. Lake, I can't say I think much about noises, not nowadays:I'm much more afraid of finding an escape of gas or a burst in thestove pipes than anything else. Still there have been times, yearsago. Did you notice that plain altar-tomb there--fifteenth century wesay it is, I don't know if you agree to that? Well, if you didn't lookat it, just come back and give it a glance, if you'd be so good. " Itwas on the north side of the choir, and rather awkwardly placed: onlyabout three feet from the enclosing stone screen. Quite plain, as theVerger had said, but for some ordinary stone panelling. A metal crossof some size on the northern side (that next to the screen) was thesolitary feature of any interest. 

Lake agreed that it was not earlier than the Perpendicular period:"but, " he said, "unless it's the tomb of some remarkable person, you'll forgive me for saying that I don't think it's particularlynoteworthy. "

"Well, I can't say as it is the tomb of anybody noted in 'istory, "said Worby, who had a dry smile on his face, "for we don't own anyrecord whatsoever of who it was put up to. For all that, if you'vehalf an hour to spare, sir, when we get back to the house, Mr. Lake, Icould tell you a tale about that tomb. I won't begin on it now; itstrikes cold here, and we don't want to be dawdling about all night. "

"Of course I should like to hear it immensely. "

"Very well, sir, you shall. Now if I might put a question to you, " hewent on, as they passed down the choir aisle, "in our little localguide--and not only there, but in the little book on our Cathedral inthe series--you'll find it stated that this portion of the buildingwas erected previous to the twelfth century. Now of course I should beglad enough to take that view, but--mind the step, sir--but, I put itto you--does the lay of the stone 'ere in this portion of the wall(which he tapped with his key) does it to your eye carry the flavourof what you might call Saxon masonry? No? I thought not; no more itdoes to me: now, if you'll believe me, I've said as much to thosemen--one's the librarian of our Free Libry here, and the other camedown from London on purpose--fifty times, if I have once, but I mightjust as well have talked to that bit of stonework. But there it is, Isuppose every one's got their opinions. "

The discussion of this peculiar trait of human nature occupied Mr. Worby almost up to the moment when he and Lake re-entered the former'shouse. The condition of the fire in Lake's sitting-room led to asuggestion from Mr. Worby that they should finish the evening in hisown parlour. We find them accordingly settled there some short timeafterwards. 

Mr. Worby made his story a long one, and I will not undertake to tellit wholly in his own words, or in his own order. Lake committed thesubstance of it to paper immediately after hearing it, together withsome few passages of the narrative which had fixed themselves_verbatim_ in his mind; I shall probably find it expedient to condenseLake's record to some extent. 

Mr. Worby was born, it appeared, about the year 1828. His fatherbefore him had been connected with the Cathedral, and likewise hisgrandfather. One or both had been choristers, and in later life bothhad done work as mason and carpenter respectively about the fabric. Worby himself, though possessed, as he frankly acknowledged, of anindifferent voice, had been drafted into the choir at about ten yearsof age. 

It was in 1840 that the wave of the Gothic revival smote the Cathedralof Southminster. "There was a lot of lovely stuff went then, sir, "said Worby, with a sigh. "My father couldn't hardly believe it when hegot his orders to clear out the choir. There was a new dean just comein--Dean Burscough it was--and my father had been 'prenticed to a goodfirm of joiners in the city, and knew what good work was when he sawit. Crool it was, he used to say: all that beautiful wainscot oak, asgood as the day it was put up, and garlands-like of foliage and fruit, and lovely old gilding work on the coats of arms and the organ pipes. All went to the timber yard--every bit except some little piecesworked up in the Lady Chapel, and 'ere in this overmantel. Well--I maybe mistook, but I say our choir never looked as well since. Stillthere was a lot found out about the history of the church, and nodoubt but what it did stand in need of repair. There were very fewwinters passed but what we'd lose a pinnicle. " Mr. Lake expressed hisconcurrence with Worby's views of restoration, but owns to a fearabout this point lest the story proper should never be reached. Possibly this was perceptible in his manner. 

Worby hastened to reassure him, "Not but what I could carry on aboutthat topic for hours at a time, and do do when I see my opportunity. But Dean Burscough he was very set on the Gothic period, and nothingwould serve him but everything must be made agreeable to that. And onemorning after service he appointed for my father to meet him in thechoir, and he came back after he'd taken off his robes in the vestry, and he'd got a roll of paper with him, and the verger that was thenbrought in a table, and they begun spreading it out on the table withprayer books to keep it down, and my father helped 'em, and he saw itwas a picture of the inside of a choir in a Cathedral; and theDean--he was a quick spoken gentleman--he says, 'Well, Worby, what doyou think of that?' 'Why', says my father, 'I don't think I 'ave thepleasure of knowing that view. Would that be Hereford Cathedral, Mr. Dean?' 'No, Worby, ' says the Dean, 'that's Southminster Cathedral aswe hope to see it before many years. ' 'In-deed, sir, ' says my father, and that was all he did say--leastways to the Dean--but he used totell me he felt really faint in himself when he looked round ourchoir as I can remember it, all comfortable and furnished-like, andthen see this nasty little dry picter, as he called it, drawn out bysome London architect. Well, there I am again. But you'll see what Imean if you look at this old view. "

Worby reached down a framed print from the wall. "Well, the long andthe short of it was that the Dean he handed over to my father a copyof an order of the Chapter that he was to clear out every bit of thechoir--make a clean sweep--ready for the new work that was beingdesigned up in town, and he was to put it in hand as soon as ever hecould get the breakers together. Now then, sir, if you look at thatview, you'll see where the pulpit used to stand: that's what I wantyou to notice, if you please. " It was, indeed, easily seen; anunusually large structure of timber with a domed sounding-board, standing at the east end of the stalls on the north side of the choir, facing the bishop's throne. Worby proceeded to explain that during thealterations, services were held in the nave, the members of the choirbeing thereby disappointed of an anticipated holiday, and the organistin particular incurring the suspicion of having wilfully damaged themechanism of the temporary organ that was hired at considerableexpense from London. 

The work of demolition began with the choir screen and organ loft, andproceeded gradually eastwards, disclosing, as Worby said, manyinteresting features of older work. While this was going on, themembers of the Chapter were, naturally, in and about the choir a greatdeal, and it soon became apparent to the elder Worby--who could nothelp overhearing some of their talk--that, on the part of the seniorCanons especially, there must have been a good deal of disagreementbefore the policy now being carried out had been adopted. Some were ofopinion that they should catch their deaths of cold in thereturn-stalls, unprotected by a screen from the draughts in the nave:others objected to being exposed to the view of persons in the choiraisles, especially, they said, during the sermons, when they found ithelpful to listen in a posture which was liable to misconstruction. The strongest opposition, however, came from the oldest of the body, who up to the last moment objected to the removal of the pulpit. "Youought not to touch it, Mr. Dean, " he said with great emphasis onemorning, when the two were standing before it: "you don't know whatmischief you may do. " "Mischief? it's not a work of any particularmerit, Canon. " "Don't call me Canon, " said the old man with greatasperity, "that is, for thirty years I've been known as Dr. Ayloff, and I shall be obliged, Mr. Dean, if you would kindly humour me inthat matter. And as to the pulpit (which I've preached from for thirtyyears, though I don't insist on that) all I'll say is, I _know_ you'redoing wrong in moving it. " "But what sense could there be, my dearDoctor, in leaving it where it is, when we're fitting up the rest ofthe choir in a totally different _style_? What reason could begiven--apart from the look of the thing?" "Reason! reason!" said oldDr. Ayloff; "if you young men--if I may say so without any disrespect, Mr. Dean--if you'd only listen to reason a little, and not be alwaysasking for it, we should get on better. But there, I've said my say. "The old gentleman hobbled off, and as it proved, never entered theCathedral again. The season--it was a hot summer--turned sickly on asudden. Dr. Ayloff was one of the first to go, with some affection ofthe muscles of the thorax, which took him painfully at night. And atmany services the number of choirmen and boys was very thin. 

Meanwhile the pulpit had been done away with. In fact, thesounding-board (part of which still exists as a table in asummer-house in the palace garden) was taken down within an hour ortwo of Dr. Ayloff's protest. The removal of the base--not effectedwithout considerable trouble--disclosed to view, greatly to theexultation of the restoring party, an altar-tomb--the tomb, of course, to which Worby had attracted Lake's attention that same evening. Muchfruitless research was expended in attempts to identify the occupant;from that day to this he has never had a name put to him. Thestructure had been most carefully boxed in under the pulpit-base, sothat such slight ornament as it possessed was not defaced; only on thenorth side of it there was what looked like an injury; a gap betweentwo of the slabs composing the side. It might be two or three inchesacross. Palmer, the mason, was directed to fill it up in a week'stime, when he came to do some other small jobs near that part of thechoir. 

The season was undoubtedly a very trying one. Whether the church wasbuilt on a site that had once been a marsh, as was suggested, or forwhatever reason, the residents in its immediate neighbourhood had, many of them, but little enjoyment of the exquisite sunny days andthe calm nights of August and September. To several of the olderpeople--Dr. Ayloff, among others, as we have seen--the summer proveddownright fatal, but even among the younger, few escaped either asojourn in bed for a matter of weeks, or at the least, a broodingsense of oppression, accompanied by hateful nightmares. Graduallythere formulated itself a suspicion--which grew into a conviction--thatthe alterations in the Cathedral had something to say in the matter. The widow of a former old verger, a pensioner of the Chapter ofSouthminster, was visited by dreams, which she retailed to herfriends, of a shape that slipped out of the little door of the southtransept as the dark fell in, and flitted--taking a fresh directionevery night--about the close, disappearing for a while in house afterhouse, and finally emerging again when the night sky was paling. Shecould see nothing of it, she said, but that it was a moving form: onlyshe had an impression that when it returned to the church, as itseemed to do in the end of the dream, it turned its head: and then, she could not tell why, but she thought it had red eyes. Worbyremembered hearing the old lady tell this dream at a tea-party in thehouse of the chapter clerk. Its recurrence might, perhaps, he said, betaken as a symptom of approaching illness; at any rate before the endof September the old lady was in her grave. 

The interest excited by the restoration of this great church was notconfined to its own county. One day that summer an F. S. A. , of somecelebrity, visited the place. His business was to write an account ofthe discoveries that had been made, for the Society of Antiquaries, and his wife, who accompanied him, was to make a series ofillustrative drawings for his report. In the morning she employedherself in making a general sketch of the choir; in the afternoon shedevoted herself to details. She first drew the newly exposedaltar-tomb, and when that was finished, she called her husband'sattention to a beautiful piece of diaper-ornament on the screen justbehind it, which had, like the tomb itself, been completely concealedby the pulpit. Of course, he said, an illustration of that must bemade; so she seated herself on the tomb and began a careful drawingwhich occupied her till dusk. 

Her husband had by this time finished his work of measuring anddescription, and they agreed that it was time to be getting back totheir hotel. "You may as well brush my skirt, Frank, " said the lady, "it must have got covered with dust, I'm sure. " He obeyed dutifully;but, after a moment, he said, "I don't know whether you value thisdress particularly, my dear, but I'm inclined to think it's seen itsbest days. There's a great bit of it gone. " "Gone? Where?" said she. "I don't know where it's gone, but it's off at the bottom edge behindhere. " She pulled it hastily into sight, and was horrified to find ajagged tear extending some way into the substance of the stuff; verymuch, she said, as if a dog had rent it away. The dress was, in anycase, hopelessly spoilt, to her great vexation, and though they lookedeverywhere, the missing piece could not be found. There were manyways, they concluded, in which the injury might have come about, forthe choir was full of old bits of woodwork with nails sticking out ofthem. Finally, they could only suppose that one of these had causedthe mischief, and that the workmen, who had been about all day, hadcarried off the particular piece with the fragment of dress stillattached to it. 

It was about this time, Worby thought, that his little dog began towear an anxious expression when the hour for it to be put into theshed in the back yard approached. (For his mother had ordained that itmust not sleep in the house. ) One evening, he said, when he was justgoing to pick it up and carry it out, it looked at him "like aChristian, and waved its 'and, I was going to say--well, you know 'owthey do carry on sometimes, and the end of it was I put it under mycoat, and 'uddled it upstairs--and I'm afraid I as good as deceived mypoor mother on the subject. After that the dog acted very artful with'iding itself under the bed for half-an-hour or more before bed-timecame, and we worked it so as my mother never found out what we'ddone. " Of course Worby was glad of its company anyhow, but moreparticularly when the nuisance that is still remembered inSouthminster as "the crying" set in. 

"Night after night, " said Worby, "that dog seemed to know it wascoming; he'd creep out, he would, and snuggle into the bed and cuddleright up to me shivering, and when the crying come he'd be like a wildthing, shoving his head under my arm, and I was fully near as bad. Sixor seven times we'd hear it, not more, and when he'd dror out his 'edagain I'd know it was over for that night. What was it like, sir?Well, I never heard but one thing that seemed to hit it off. Ihappened to be playing about in the Close, and there was two of theCanons met and said 'Good morning' one to another. 'Sleep well lastnight?' says one--it was Mr. Henslow that one, and Mr. Lyall was theother--'Can't say I did, ' says Mr. Lyall, 'rather too much of Isaiah34. 14 for me. ' '34. 14, ' says Mr. Henslow, 'what's that?' 'You callyourself a Bible reader!' says Mr. Lyall. (Mr. Henslow, you must know, he was one of what used to be termed Simeon's lot--pretty much what weshould call the Evangelical party. ) 'You go and look it up. ' I wantedto know what he was getting at myself, and so off I ran home and gotout my own Bible, and there it was: 'the satyr shall cry to hisfellow. ' Well, I thought, is that what we've been listening to thesepast nights? and I tell you it made me look over my shoulder a time ortwo. Of course I'd asked my father and mother about what it could bebefore that, but they both said it was most likely cats: but theyspoke very short, and I could see they was troubled. My word! that wasa noise--'ungry-like, as if it was calling after some one thatwouldn't come. If ever you felt you wanted company, it would be whenyou was waiting for it to begin again. I believe two or three nightsthere was men put on to watch in different parts of the Close; butthey all used to get together in one corner, the nearest they could tothe High Street, and nothing came of it. 

"Well, the next thing was this. Me and another of the boys--he's inbusiness in the city now as a grocer, like his father before him--we'dgone up in the Close after morning service was over, and we heard oldPalmer the mason bellowing to some of his men. So we went up nearer, because we knew he was a rusty old chap and there might be some fungoing. It appears Palmer'd told this man to stop up the chink in thatold tomb. Well, there was this man keeping on saying he'd done it thebest he could, and there was Palmer carrying on like all possessedabout it. 'Call that making a job of it?' he says. 'If you had yourrights you'd get the sack for this. What do you suppose I pay you yourwages for? What do you suppose I'm going to say to the Dean andChapter when they come round, as come they may do any time, and seewhere you've been bungling about covering the 'ole place with messand plaster and Lord knows what?' 'Well, master, I done the best Icould, ' says the man; 'I don't know no more than what you do 'ow itcome to fall out this way. I tamped it right in the 'ole, ' he says, 'and now it's fell out, ' he says, 'I never see. '

"'Fell out?' says old Palmer, 'why it's nowhere near the place. Blowedout, you mean, ' and he picked up a bit of plaster, and so did I, thatwas laying up against the screen, three or four feet off, and not dryyet; and old Palmer he looked at it curious-like, and then he turnedround on me and he says, 'Now then, you boys, have you been up to someof your games here?' 'No, ' I says, 'I haven't, Mr. Palmer; there'snone of us been about here till just this minute, ' and while I wastalking the other boy, Evans, he got looking in through the chink, andI heard him draw in his breath, and he came away sharp and up to us, and says he, 'I believe there's something in there. I saw somethingshiny. ' 'What! I daresay, ' says old Palmer; 'Well, I ain't got time tostop about there. You, William, you go off and get some more stuff andmake a job of it this time; if not, there'll be trouble in my yard, 'he says. 

"So the man he went off, and Palmer too, and us boys stopped behind, and I says to Evans, 'Did you really see anything in there?' 'Yes, ' hesays, 'I did indeed. ' So then I says, 'Let's shove something in andstir it up. ' And we tried several of the bits of wood that was layingabout, but they were all too big. Then Evans he had a sheet of musiche'd brought with him, an anthem or a service, I forget which it wasnow, and he rolled it up small and shoved it in the chink; two orthree times he did it, and nothing happened. 'Give it me, boy, ' Isaid, and I had a try. No, nothing happened. Then, I don't know why Ithought of it, I'm sure, but I stooped down just opposite the chinkand put my two fingers in my mouth and whistled--you know the way--andat that I seemed to think I heard something stirring, and I says toEvans, 'Come away, ' I says; 'I don't like this. ' 'Oh, rot, ' he says, 'Give me that roll, ' and he took it and shoved it in. And I don'tthink ever I see any one go so pale as he did. 'I say, Worby, ' hesays, 'it's caught, or else some one's got hold of it. ' 'Pull it outor leave it, ' I says, 'Come and let's get off. ' So he gave a goodpull, and it came away. Leastways most of it did, but the end wasgone. Torn off it was, and Evans looked at it for a second and then hegave a sort of a croak and let it drop, and we both made off out ofthere as quick as ever we could. When we got outside Evans says to me, 'Did you see the end of that paper. ' 'No, ' I says, 'only it was torn. ''Yes, it was, ' he says, 'but it was wet too, and black!' Well, partlybecause of the fright we had, and partly because that music was wantedin a day or two, and we knew there'd be a set-out about it with theorganist, we didn't say nothing to any one else, and I suppose theworkmen they swept up the bit that was left along with the rest of therubbish. But Evans, if you were to ask him this very day about it, he'd stick to it he saw that paper wet and black at the end where itwas torn. "

After that the boys gave the choir a wide berth, so that Worby was notsure what was the result of the mason's renewed mending of the tomb. Only he made out from fragments of conversation dropped by the workmenpassing through the choir that some difficulty had been met with, andthat the governor--Mr. Palmer to wit--had tried his own hand at thejob. A little later, he happened to see Mr. Palmer himself knocking atthe door of the Deanery and being admitted by the butler. A day or soafter that, he gathered from a remark his father let fall at breakfastthat something a little out of the common was to be done in theCathedral after morning service on the morrow. "And I'd just as soonit was to-day, " his father added, "I don't see the use of runningrisks. " "'Father, ' I says, 'what are you going to do in the Cathedralto-morrow?' and he turned on me as savage as I ever see him--he was awonderful good-tempered man as a general thing, my poor father was. 'My lad, ' he says, 'I'll trouble you not to go picking up your elders'and betters' talk: it's not manners and it's not straight. What I'mgoing to do or not going to do in the Cathedral to-morrow is none ofyour business: and if I catch sight of you hanging about the placeto-morrow after your work's done, I'll send you home with a flea inyour ear. Now you mind that. ' Of course I said I was very sorry andthat, and equally of course I went off and laid my plans with Evans. We knew there was a stair up in the corner of the transept which youcan get up to the triforium, and in them days the door to it waspretty well always open, and even if it wasn't we knew the key usuallylaid under a bit of matting hard by. So we made up our minds we'd beputting away music and that, next morning while the rest of the boyswas clearing off, and then slip up the stairs and watch from thetriforium if there was any signs of work going on. 

"Well, that same night I dropped off asleep as sound as a boy does, and all of a sudden the dog woke me up, coming into the bed, andthought I, now we're going to get it sharp, for he seemed morefrightened than usual. After about five minutes sure enough came thiscry. I can't give you no idea what it was like; and so neartoo--nearer than I'd heard it yet--and a funny thing, Mr. Lake, youknow what a place this Close is for an echo, and particular if youstand this side of it. Well, this crying never made no sign of an echoat all. But, as I said, it was dreadful near this night; and on thetop of the start I got with hearing it, I got another fright; for Iheard something rustling outside in the passage. Now to be sure Ithought I was done; but I noticed the dog seemed to perk up a bit, andnext there was some one whispered outside the door, and I very nearlaughed out loud, for I knew it was my father and mother that had gotout of bed with the noise. 'Whatever is it?' says my mother. 'Hush! Idon't know, ' says my father, excited-like, 'don't disturb the boy. Ihope he didn't hear nothing. '

"So, me knowing they were just outside, it made me bolder, and Islipped out of bed across to my little window--giving on theClose--but the dog he bored right down to the bottom of the bed--and Ilooked out. First go off I couldn't see anything. Then right down inthe shadow under a buttress I made out what I shall always say was twospots of red--a dull red it was--nothing like a lamp or a fire, butjust so as you could pick 'em out of the black shadow. I hadn't butjust sighted 'em when it seemed we wasn't the only people that hadbeen disturbed, because I see a window in a house on the left-handside become lighted up, and the light moving. I just turned my head tomake sure of it, and then looked back into the shadow for those twored things, and they were gone, and for all I peered about and stared, there was not a sign more of them. Then come my last fright thatnight--something come against my bare leg--but that was all right:that was my little dog had come out of bed, and prancing about, makinga great to-do, only holding his tongue, and me seeing he was quite inspirits again, I took him back to bed and we slept the night out!

"Next morning I made out to tell my mother I'd had the dog in my room, and I was surprised, after all she'd said about it before, how quietshe took it. 'Did you?' she says. 'Well, by good rights you ought togo without your breakfast for doing such a thing behind my back: but Idon't know as there's any great harm done, only another time you askmy permission, do you hear?' A bit after that I said something to myfather about having heard the cats again. '_Cats_, ' he says, and helooked over at my poor mother, and she coughed and he says, 'Oh! ah!yes, cats. I believe I heard 'em myself. '

"That was a funny morning altogether: nothing seemed to go right. Theorganist he stopped in bed, and the minor Canon he forgot it was the19th day and waited for the _Venite_; and after a bit the deputy heset off playing the chant for evensong, which was a minor; and thenthe Decani boys were laughing so much they couldn't sing, and when itcame to the anthem the solo boy he got took with the giggles, and madeout his nose was bleeding, and shoved the book at me what hadn'tpractised the verse and wasn't much of a singer if I had known it. Well, things was rougher, you see, fifty years ago, and I got a nipfrom the counter-tenor behind me that I remembered. 

"So we got through somehow, and neither the men nor the boys weren'tby way of waiting to see whether the Canon in residence--Mr. Henslowit was--would come to the vestries and fine 'em, but I don't believehe did: for one thing I fancy he'd read the wrong lesson for the firsttime in his life, and knew it. Anyhow Evans and me didn't find nodifficulty in slipping up the stairs as I told you, and when we got upwe laid ourselves down flat on our stomachs where we could juststretch our heads out over the old tomb, and we hadn't but just doneso when we heard the verger that was then, first shutting the ironporch-gates and locking the south-west door, and then the transeptdoor, so we knew there was something up, and they meant to keep thepublic out for a bit. 

"Next thing was, the Dean and the Canon come in by their door on thenorth, and then I see my father, and old Palmer, and a couple of theirbest men, and Palmer stood a talking for a bit with the Dean in themiddle of the choir. He had a coil of rope and the men had crows. Allof 'em looked a bit nervous. So there they stood talking, and at lastI heard the Dean say, 'Well, I've no time to waste, Palmer. If youthink this'll satisfy Southminster people, I'll permit it to be done;but I must say this, that never in the whole course of my life have Iheard such arrant nonsense from a practical man as I have from you. Don't you agree with me, Henslow?' As far as I could hear Mr. Henslowsaid something like 'Oh! well we're told, aren't we, Mr. Dean, not tojudge others?' and the Dean he gave a kind of sniff, and walkedstraight up to the tomb, and took his stand behind it with his back tothe screen, and the others they come edging up rather gingerly. Henslow, he stopped on the south side and scratched on his chin, hedid. Then the Dean spoke up: 'Palmer, ' he says, 'which can you doeasiest, get the slab off the top, or shift one of the side slabs?'

"Old Palmer and his men they pottered about a bit looking round theedge of the top slab and sounding the sides on the south and east andwest and everywhere but the north. Henslow said something about itbeing better to have a try at the south side, because there was morelight and more room to move about in. Then my father, who'd beenwatching of them, went round to the north side, and knelt down andfelt of the slab by the chink, and he got up and dusted his knees andsays to the Dean: 'Beg pardon, Mr. Dean, but I think if Mr. Palmer'lltry this here slab he'll find it'll come out easy enough. Seems to meone of the men could prize it out with his crow by means of thischink. ' 'Ah! thank you, Worby, ' says the Dean; 'that's a goodsuggestion. Palmer, let one of your men do that, will you?'

"So the man come round, and put his bar in and bore on it, and justthat minute when they were all bending over, and we boys got our headswell out over the edge of the triforium, there come a most fearfulcrash down at the west end of the choir, as if a whole stack of bigtimber had fallen down a flight of stairs. Well, you can't expect meto tell you everything that happened all in a minute. Of course therewas a terrible commotion. I heard the slab fall out, and the crowbaron the floor, and I heard the Dean say 'Good God!'

"When I looked down again I saw the Dean tumbled over on the floor, the men was making off down the choir, Henslow was just going to helpthe Dean up, Palmer was going to stop the men, as he said afterwards, and my father was sitting on the altar step with his face in hishands. The Dean he was very cross. 'I wish to goodness you'd lookwhere you're coming to, Henslow, ' he says. 'Why you should all taketo your heels when a stick of wood tumbles down I cannot imagine, ' andall Henslow could do, explaining he was right away on the other sideof the tomb, would not satisfy him. 

"Then Palmer came back and reported there was nothing to account forthis noise and nothing seemingly fallen down, and when the Deanfinished feeling of himself they gathered round--except my father, hesat where he was--and some one lighted up a bit of candle and theylooked into the tomb. 'Nothing there, ' says the Dean, 'what did I tellyou? Stay! here's something. What's this: a bit of music paper, and apiece of torn stuff--part of a dress it looks like. Both quitemodern--no interest whatever. Another time perhaps you'll take theadvice of an educated man'--or something like that, and off he went, limping a bit, and out through the north door, only as he went hecalled back angry to Palmer for leaving the door standing open. Palmercalled out 'Very sorry, sir, ' but he shrugged his shoulders, andHenslow says, 'I fancy Mr. Dean's mistaken. I closed the door behindme, but he's a little upset. ' Then Palmer says, 'Why, where's Worby?'and they saw him sitting on the step and went up to him. He wasrecovering himself, it seemed, and wiping his forehead, and Palmerhelped him up on to his legs, as I was glad to see. 

"They were too far off for me to hear what they said, but my fatherpointed to the north door in the aisle, and Palmer and Henslow both ofthem looked very surprised and scared. After a bit, my father andHenslow went out of the church, and the others made what haste theycould to put the slab back and plaster it in. And about as the clockstruck twelve the Cathedral was opened again and us boys made the bestof our way home. 

"I was in a great taking to know what it was had given my poor fathersuch a turn, and when I got in and found him sitting in his chairtaking a glass of spirits, and my mother standing looking anxious athim, I couldn't keep from bursting out and making confession where I'dbeen. But he didn't seem to take on, not in the way of losing histemper. 'You was there, was you? Well did you see it?' 'I seeeverything, father, ' I said, 'except when the noise came. ' 'Did yousee what it was knocked the Dean over?' he says, 'that what come outof the monument? You didn't? Well, that's a mercy. ' 'Why, what was it, father?' I said. 'Come, you must have seen it, ' he says. '_Didn't_you see? A thing like a man, all over hair, and two great eyes to it?'

"Well, that was all I could get out of him that time, and later on heseemed as if he was ashamed of being so frightened, and he used to putme off when I asked him about it. But years after, when I was got tobe a grown man, we had more talk now and again on the matter, and healways said the same thing. 'Black it was, ' he'd say, 'and a mass ofhair, and two legs, and the light caught on its eyes. '

"Well, that's the tale of that tomb, Mr. Lake; it's one we don't tellto our visitors, and I should be obliged to you not to make any use ofit till I'm out of the way. I doubt Mr. Evans'll feel the same as Ido, if you ask him. "

This proved to be the case. But over twenty years have passed by, andthe grass is growing over both Worby and Evans; so Mr. Lake felt nodifficulty about communicating his notes--taken in 1890--to me. Heaccompanied them with a sketch of the tomb and a copy of the shortinscription on the metal cross which was affixed at the expense of Dr. Lyall to the centre of the northern side. It was from the Vulgate ofIsaiah xxxiv. , and consisted merely of the three words--

IBI CUBAVIT LAMIA. 

THE STORY OF A DISAPPEARANCEAND AN APPEARANCE

THE STORY OF A DISAPPEARANCEAND AN APPEARANCE

The letters which I now publish were sent to me recently by a personwho knows me to be interested in ghost stories. There is no doubtabout their authenticity. The paper on which they are written, theink, and the whole external aspect put their date beyond the reach ofquestion. 

The only point which they do not make clear is the identity of thewriter. He signs with initials only, and as none of the envelopes ofthe letters are preserved, the surname of his correspondent--obviouslya married brother--is as obscure as his own. No further preliminaryexplanation is needed, I think. Luckily the first letter supplies allthat could be expected. 

LETTER I

 GREAT CHRISHALL, _Dec. 22, 1837_. 

MY DEAR ROBERT, --It is with great regret for the enjoyment I amlosing, and for a reason which you will deplore equally with myself, that I write to inform you that I am unable to join your circle forthis Christmas: but you will agree with me that it is unavoidable whenI say that I have within these few hours received a letter from Mrs. Hunt at B----, to the effect that our Uncle Henry has suddenly andmysteriously disappeared, and begging me to go down there immediatelyand join the search that is being made for him. Little as I, or youeither, I think, have ever seen of Uncle, I naturally feel that thisis not a request that can be regarded lightly, and accordingly Ipropose to go to B---- by this afternoon's mail, reaching it late inthe evening. I shall not go to the Rectory, but put up at the King'sHead, and to which you may address letters. I enclose a small draft, which you will please make use of for the benefit of the young people. I shall write you daily (supposing me to be detained more than asingle day) what goes on, and you may be sure, should the business becleared up in time to permit of my coming to the Manor after all, Ishall present myself. I have but a few minutes at disposal. Withcordial greetings to you all, and many regrets, believe me, youraffectionate Bro. , W. R. 

LETTER II

 KING'S HEAD, _Dec. 23, '37_. 

MY DEAR ROBERT, --In the first place, there is as yet no news of UncleH. , and I think you may finally dismiss any idea--I won't sayhope--that I might after all "turn up" for Xmas. However, my thoughtswill be with you, and you have my best wishes for a really festiveday. Mind that none of my nephews or nieces expend any fraction oftheir guineas on presents for me. 

Since I got here I have been blaming myself for taking this affair ofUncle H. Too easily. From what people here say, I gather that there isvery little hope that he can still be alive; but whether it isaccident or design that carried him off I cannot judge. The facts arethese. On Friday the 19th, he went as usual shortly before fiveo'clock to read evening prayers at the Church; and when they were overthe clerk brought him a message, in response to which he set off topay a visit to a sick person at an outlying cottage the better part oftwo miles away. He paid the visit, and started on his return journeyat about half-past six. This is the last that is known of him. Thepeople here are very much grieved at his loss; he had been here manyyears, as you know, and though, as you also know, he was not the mostgenial of men, and had more than a little of the _martinet_ in hiscomposition, he seems to have been active in good works, and unsparingof trouble to himself. 

Poor Mrs. Hunt, who has been his housekeeper ever since she leftWoodley, is quite overcome: it seems like the end of the world to her. I am glad that I did not entertain the idea of taking quarters at theRectory; and I have declined several kindly offers of hospitality frompeople in the place, preferring as I do to be independent, and findingmyself very comfortable here. 

You will, of course, wish to know what has been done in the way ofinquiry and search. First, nothing was to be expected frominvestigation at the Rectory; and to be brief, nothing has transpired. I asked Mrs. Hunt--as others had done before--whether there was eitherany unfavourable symptom in her master such as might portend a suddenstroke, or attack of illness, or whether he had ever had reason toapprehend any such thing: but both she, and also his medical man, wereclear that this was not the case. He was quite in his usual health. In the second place, naturally, ponds and streams have been dragged, and fields in the neighbourhood which he is known to have visitedlast, have been searched--without result. I have myself talked to theparish clerk and--more important--have been to the house where he paidhis visit. 

There can be no question of any foul play on these people's part. Theone man in the house is ill in bed and very weak: the wife and thechildren of course could do nothing themselves, nor is there theshadow of a probability that they or any of them should have agreed todecoy poor Uncle H. Out in order that he might be attacked on the wayback. They had told what they knew to several other inquirers already, but the woman repeated it to me. The Rector was looking just as usual:he wasn't very long with the sick man--"He ain't, " she said, "likesome what has a gift in prayer; but there, if we was all that way, 'owever would the chapel people get their living?" He left some moneywhen he went away, and one of the children saw him cross the stileinto the next field. He was dressed as he always was: wore hisbands--I gather he is nearly the last man remaining who does so--atany rate in this district. 

You see I am putting down everything. The fact is that I have nothingelse to do, having brought no business papers with me; and, moreover, it serves to clear my own mind, and may suggest points which have beenoverlooked. So I shall continue to write all that passes, even toconversations if need be--you may read or not as you please, but praykeep the letters. I have another reason for writing so fully, but itis not a very tangible one. 

You may ask if I have myself made any search in the fields near thecottage. Something--a good deal--has been done by others, as Imentioned; but I hope to go over the ground to-morrow. Bow Street hasnow been informed, and will send down by to-night's coach, but I donot think they will make much of the job. There is no snow, whichmight have helped us. The fields are all grass. Of course I was on the_qui vive_ for any indication to-day both going and returning; butthere was a thick mist on the way back, and I was not in trim forwandering about unknown pastures, especially on an evening when busheslooked like men, and a cow lowing in the distance might have been thelast trump. I assure you, if Uncle Henry had stepped out from amongthe trees in a little copse which borders the path at one place, carrying his head under his arm, I should have been very little moreuncomfortable than I was. To tell you the truth, I was ratherexpecting something of the kind. But I must drop my pen for themoment: Mr. Lucas, the curate, is announced. 

_Later. _ Mr. Lucas has been, and gone, and there is not much beyondthe decencies of ordinary sentiment to be got from him. I can see thathe has given up any idea that the Rector can be alive, and that, sofar as he can be, he is truly sorry. I can also discern that even in amore emotional person than Mr. Lucas, Uncle Henry was not likely toinspire strong attachment. 

Besides Mr. Lucas, I have had another visitor in the shape of myBoniface--mine host of the "King's Head"--who came to see whether Ihad everything I wished, and who really requires the pen of a Boz todo him justice. He was very solemn and weighty at first. "Well, sir, "he said, "I suppose we must bow our 'ead beneath the blow, as my poorwife had used to say. So far as I can gather there's been neitherhide nor yet hair of our late respected incumbent scented out as yet;not that he was what the Scripture terms a hairy man in any sense ofthe word. "

I said--as well as I could--that I supposed not, but could not helpadding that I had heard he was sometimes a little difficult to dealwith. Mr. Bowman looked at me sharply for a moment, and then passed ina flash from solemn sympathy to impassioned declamation. "When Ithink, " he said, "of the language that man see fit to employ to me inthis here parlour over no more a matter than a cask of beer--such athing as I told him might happen any day of the week to a man with afamily--though as it turned out he was quite under a mistake, and thatI knew at the time, only I was that shocked to hear him I couldn't laymy tongue to the right expression. "

He stopped abruptly and eyed me with some embarrassment. I only said, "Dear me, I'm sorry to hear you had any little differences; I supposemy uncle will be a good deal missed in the parish?" Mr. Bowman drew along breath. "Ah, yes!" he said; "your uncle! You'll understand mewhen I say that for the moment it had slipped my remembrance that hewas a relative; and natural enough, I must say, as it should, for asto you bearing any resemblance to--to him, the notion of any such athing is clean ridiculous. All the same, 'ad I 'ave bore it in mymind, you'll be among the first to feel, I'm sure, as I should haveabstained my lips, or rather I should _not_ have abstained my lipswith no such reflections. "

I assured him that I quite understood, and was going to have asked himsome further questions, but he was called away to see after somebusiness. By the way, you need not take it into your head that he hasanything to fear from the inquiry into poor Uncle Henry'sdisappearance--though, no doubt, in the watches of the night it willoccur to him that _I_ think he has, and I may expect explanationsto-morrow. 

I must close this letter: it has to go by the late coach. 

LETTER III

 _Dec. 25, '37_. 

MY DEAR ROBERT, --This is a curious letter to be writing on ChristmasDay, and yet after all there is nothing much in it. Or there maybe--you shall be the judge. At least, nothing decisive. The BowStreet men practically say that they have no clue. The length of timeand the weather conditions have made all tracks so faint as to bequite useless: nothing that belonged to the dead man--I'm afraid noother word will do--has been picked up. 

As I expected, Mr. Bowman was uneasy in his mind this morning; quiteearly I heard him holding forth in a very distinct voice--purposelyso, I thought--to the Bow Street officers in the bar, as to the lossthat the town had sustained in their Rector, and as to the necessityof leaving no stone unturned (he was very great on this phrase) inorder to come at the truth. I suspect him of being an orator of reputeat convivial meetings. 

When I was at breakfast he came to wait on me, and took an opportunitywhen handing a muffin to say in a low tone, "I 'ope, sir, you reconizeas my feelings towards your relative is not actuated by any taint ofwhat you may call melignity--you can leave the room, Eliza, I will seethe gentleman 'as all he requires with my own hands--I ask yourpardon, sir, but you must be well aware a man is not always master ofhimself: and when that man has been 'urt in his mind by theapplication of expressions which I will go so far as to say 'ad notought to have been made use of (his voice was rising all this time andhis face growing redder); no, sir; and 'ere, if you will permit of it, I should like to explain to you in a very few words the exact state ofthe bone of contention. This cask--I might more truly call it afirkin--of beer--"

I felt it was time to interpose, and said that I did not see that itwould help us very much to go into that matter in detail. Mr. Bowmanacquiesced, and resumed more calmly:

"Well, sir, I bow to your ruling, and as you say, be that here or beit there, it don't contribute a great deal, perhaps, to the presentquestion. All I wish you to understand is that I am prepared as youare yourself to lend every hand to the business we have afore us, and--as I took the opportunity to say as much to the Orficers notthree-quarters of an hour ago--to leave no stone unturned as may throweven a spark of light on this painful matter. "

In fact, Mr. Bowman did accompany us on our exploration, but though Iam sure his genuine wish was to be helpful, I am afraid he did notcontribute to the serious side of it. He appeared to be under theimpression that we were likely to meet either Uncle Henry or theperson responsible for his disappearance, walking about thefields--and did a great deal of shading his eyes with his hand andcalling our attention, by pointing with his stick, to distant cattleand labourers. He held several long conversations with old women whomwe met, and was very strict and severe in his manner--but on eachoccasion returned to our party saying, "Well, I find she don't seem to'ave no connexion with this sad affair. I think you may take it fromme, sir, as there's little or no light to be looked for from thatquarter; not without she's keeping somethink back intentional. "

We gained no appreciable result, as I told you at starting; the BowStreet men have left the town, whether for London or not, I am notsure. 

This evening I had company in the shape of a bagman, a smartishfellow. He knew what was going forward, but though he has been on theroads for some days about here, he had nothing to tell of suspiciouscharacters--tramps, wandering sailors or gipsies. He was very full ofa capital Punch and Judy Show he had seen this same day at W----, andasked if it had been here yet, and advised me by no means to miss itif it does come. The best Punch and the best Toby dog, he said, he hadever come across. Toby dogs, you know, are the last new thing in theshows. I have only seen one myself, but before long all the men willhave them. 

Now why, you will want to know, do I trouble to write all this to you?I am obliged to do it, because it has something to do with anotherabsurd trifle (as you will inevitably say), which in my present stateof rather unquiet fancy--nothing more, perhaps--I have to put down. Itis a dream, sir, which I am going to record, and I must say it is oneof the oddest I have had. Is there anything in it beyond what thebagman's talk and Uncle Henry's disappearance could have suggested?You, I repeat, shall judge: I am not in a sufficiently cool andjudicial frame to do so. 

It began with what I can only describe as a pulling aside of curtains:and I found myself seated in a place--I don't know whether in doors orout. There were people--only a few--on either side of me, but I didnot recognize them, or indeed think much about them. They never spoke, but, so far as I remember, were all grave and pale-faced and lookedfixedly before them. Facing me there was a Punch and Judy Show, perhaps rather larger than the ordinary ones, painted with blackfigures on a reddish-yellow ground. Behind it and on each side wasonly darkness, but in front there was a sufficiency of light. I was"strung up" to a high degree of expectation and listened every momentto hear the panpipes and the Roo-too-too-it. Instead of that therecame suddenly an enormous--I can use no other word--an enormous singletoll of a bell, I don't know from how far off--somewhere behind. Thelittle curtain flew up and the drama began. 

I believe someone once tried to re-write Punch as a serious tragedy;but whoever he may have been, this performance would have suited himexactly. There was something Satanic about the hero. He varied hismethods of attack: for some of his victims he lay in wait, and to seehis horrible face--it was yellowish white, I may remark--peering roundthe wings made me think of the Vampyre in Fuseli's foul sketch. Toothers he was polite and carneying--particularly to the unfortunatealien who can only say _Shallabalah_--though what Punch said I nevercould catch. But with all of them I came to dread the moment of death. The crack of the stick on their skulls, which in the ordinary waydelights me, had here a crushing sound as if the bone was giving way, and the victims quivered and kicked as they lay. The baby--it soundsmore ridiculous as I go on--the baby, I am sure, was alive. Punchwrung its neck, and if the choke or squeak which it gave were notreal, I know nothing of reality. 

The stage got perceptibly darker as each crime was consummated, and atlast there was one murder which was done quite in the dark, so that Icould see nothing of the victim, and took some time to effect. It wasaccompanied by hard breathing and horrid muffled sounds, and after itPunch came and sat on the foot-board and fanned himself and looked athis shoes, which were bloody, and hung his head on one side, andsniggered in so deadly a fashion that I saw some of those beside mecover their faces, and I would gladly have done the same. But in themeantime the scene behind Punch was clearing, and showed, not theusual house front, but something more ambitious--a grove of trees andthe gentle slope of a hill, with a very natural--in fact, I should saya real--moon shining on it. Over this there rose slowly an objectwhich I soon perceived to be a human figure with something peculiarabout the head--what, I was unable at first to see. It did not standon its feet, but began creeping or dragging itself across the middledistance towards Punch, who still sat back to it; and by this time, Imay remark (though it did not occur to me at the moment) that allpretence of this being a puppet show had vanished. Punch was stillPunch, it is true, but, like the others, was in some sense a livecreature, and both moved themselves at their own will. 

When I next glanced at him he was sitting in malignant reflection; butin another instant something seemed to attract his attention, and hefirst sat up sharply and then turned round, and evidently caught sightof the person that was approaching him and was in fact now very near. Then, indeed, did he show unmistakable signs of terror: catching uphis stick, he rushed towards the wood, only just eluding the arm ofhis pursuer, which was suddenly flung out to intercept him. It waswith a revulsion which I cannot easily express that I now saw more orless clearly what this pursuer was like. He was a sturdy figure cladin black, and, as I thought, wearing bands: his head was covered witha whitish bag. 

The chase which now began lasted I do not know how long, now among thetrees, now along the slope of the field, sometimes both figuresdisappearing wholly for a few seconds, and only some uncertain soundsletting one know that they were still afoot. At length there came amoment when Punch, evidently exhausted, staggered in from the left andthrew himself down among the trees. His pursuer was not long afterhim, and came looking uncertainly from side to side. Then, catchingsight of the figure on the ground, he too threw himself down--his backwas turned to the audience--with a swift motion twitched the coveringfrom his head, and thrust his face into that of Punch. Everything onthe instant grew dark. 

There was one long, loud, shuddering scream, and I awoke to findmyself looking straight into the face of--what in all the world do youthink?--but a large owl, which was seated on my window-sillimmediately opposite my bed-foot, holding up its wings like twoshrouded arms. I caught the fierce glance of its yellow eyes, and thenit was gone. I heard the single enormous bell again--very likely, asyou are saying to yourself, the church clock; but I do not thinkso--and then I was broad awake. 

All this, I may say, happened within the last half-hour. There was noprobability of my getting to sleep again, so I got up, put on clothesenough to keep me warm, and am writing this rigmarole in the firsthours of Christmas Day. Have I left out anything? Yes, there was noToby dog, and the names over the front of the Punch and Judy boothwere Kidman and Gallop, which were certainly not what the bagman toldme to look out for. 

By this time, I feel a little more as if I could sleep, so this shallbe sealed and wafered. 

LETTER IV

 _Dec. 26, '37. _

MY DEAR ROBERT, --All is over. The body has been found. I do not makeexcuses for not having sent off my news by last night's mail, for thesimple reason that I was incapable of putting pen to paper. The eventsthat attended the discovery bewildered me so completely that I neededwhat I could get of a night's rest to enable me to face the situationat all. Now I can give you my journal of the day, certainly thestrangest Christmas Day that ever I spent or am likely to spend. 

The first incident was not very serious. Mr. Bowman had, I think, beenkeeping Christmas Eve, and was a little inclined to be captious: atleast, he was not on foot very early, and to judge from what I couldhear, neither men or maids could do anything to please him. The latterwere certainly reduced to tears; nor am I sure that Mr. Bowmansucceeded in preserving a manly composure. At any rate, when I camedownstairs, it was in a broken voice that he wished me the complimentsof the season, and a little later on, when he paid his visit ofceremony at breakfast, he was far from cheerful: even Byronic, I mightalmost say, in his outlook on life. 

"I don't know, " he said, "if you think with me, sir; but everyChristmas as comes round the world seems a hollerer thing to me. Why, take an example now from what lays under my own eye. There's myservant Eliza--been with me now for going on fifteen years. I thoughtI could have placed my confidence in Elizar, and yet this verymorning--Christmas morning too, of all the blessed days in theyear--with the bells a ringing and--and--all like that--I say, thisvery morning, had it not have been for Providence watching over usall, that girl would have put--indeed I may go so far to say, 'ad putthe cheese on your breakfast table----" He saw I was about to speak, and waved his hand at me. "It's all very well for you to say, 'Yes, Mr. Bowman, but you took away the cheese and locked it up in thecupboard, ' which I did, and have the key here, or if not the actualkey one very much about the same size. That's true enough, sir, butwhat do you think is the effect of that action on me? Why it's noexaggeration for me to say that the ground is cut from under my feet. And yet when I said as much to Eliza, not nasty, mind you, but justfirm like, what was my return? 'Oh, ' she says: 'Well, ' she says, 'there wasn't no bones broke, I suppose. ' Well, sir, it 'urt me, that's all I can say: it 'urt me, and I don't like to think of itnow. "

There was an ominous pause here, in which I ventured to say somethinglike, "Yes, very trying, " and then asked at what hour the churchservice was to be. "Eleven o'clock, " Mr. Bowman said with a heavysigh. "Ah, you won't have no such discourse from poor Mr. Lucas aswhat you would have done from our late Rector. Him and me may havehad our little differences, and did do, more's the pity. "

I could see that a powerful effort was needed to keep him off thevexed question of the cask of beer, but he made it. "But I will saythis, that a better preacher, nor yet one to stand faster by hisrights, or what he considered to be his rights--however, that's notthe question now--I for one, never set under. Some might say, 'Was hea eloquent man?' and to that my answer would be: 'Well, there you've abetter right per'aps to speak of your own uncle than what I have. 'Others might ask, 'Did he keep a hold of his congregation?' and thereagain I should reply, 'That depends. ' But as I say--Yes, Eliza, mygirl, I'm coming--eleven o'clock, sir, and you inquire for the King'sHead pew. " I believe Eliza had been very near the door, and shallconsider it in my vail. 

The next episode was church: I felt Mr. Lucas had a difficult task indoing justice to Christmas sentiments, and also to the feeling ofdisquiet and regret which, whatever Mr. Bowman might say, was clearlyprevalent. I do not think he rose to the occasion. I wasuncomfortable. The organ wolved--you know what I mean: the winddied--twice in the Christmas Hymn, and the tenor bell, I suppose owingto some negligence on the part of the ringers, kept sounding faintlyabout once in a minute during the sermon. The clerk sent up a man tosee to it, but he seemed unable to do much. I was glad when it wasover. There was an odd incident, too, before the service. I went inrather early, and came upon two men carrying the parish bier back toits place under the tower. From what I overheard them saying, itappeared that it had been put out by mistake, by some one who was notthere. I also saw the clerk busy folding up a moth-eaten velvetpall--not a sight for Christmas Day. 

I dined soon after this, and then, feeling disinclined to go out, tookmy seat by the fire in the parlour, with the last number of_Pickwick_, which I had been saving up for some days. I thought Icould be sure of keeping awake over this, but I turned out as bad asour friend Smith. I suppose it was half-past two when I was roused bya piercing whistle and laughing and talking voices outside in themarket-place. It was a Punch and Judy--I had no doubt the one that mybagman had seen at W----. I was half delighted, half not--the latterbecause my unpleasant dream came back to me so vividly; but, anyhow, Idetermined to see it through, and I sent Eliza out with a crown-pieceto the performers and a request that they would face my window if theycould manage it. 

The show was a very smart new one; the names of the proprietors, Ineed hardly tell you, were Italian, Foresta and Calpigi. The Toby dogwas there, as I had been led to expect. All B---- turned out, but didnot obstruct my view, for I was at the large first-floor window andnot ten yards away. 

The play began on the stroke of a quarter to three by the churchclock. Certainly it was very good; and I was soon relieved to findthat the disgust my dream had given me for Punch's onslaughts on hisill-starred visitors was only transient. I laughed at the demise ofthe Turncock, the Foreigner, the Beadle, and even the baby. The onlydrawback was the Toby dog's developing a tendency to howl in the wrongplace. Something had occurred, I suppose, to upset him, and somethingconsiderable: for, I forget exactly at what point, he gave a mostlamentable cry, leapt off the foot board, and shot away across themarket-place and down a side street. There was a stage-wait, but onlya brief one. I suppose the men decided that it was no good going afterhim, and that he was likely to turn up again at night. 

We went on. Punch dealt faithfully with Judy, and in fact with allcomers; and then came the moment when the gallows was erected, and thegreat scene with Mr. Ketch was to be enacted. It was now thatsomething happened of which I can certainly not yet see the importfully. You have witnessed an execution, and know what the criminal'shead looks like with the cap on. If you are like me, you never wish tothink of it again, and I do not willingly remind you of it. It wasjust such a head as that, that I, from my somewhat higher post, saw inthe inside of the show-box; but at first the audience did not see it. I expected it to emerge into their view, but instead of that thereslowly rose for a few seconds an uncovered face, with an expression ofterror upon it, of which I have never imagined the like. It seemed asif the man, whoever he was, was being forcibly lifted, with his armssomehow pinioned or held back, towards the little gibbet on thestage. I could just see the nightcapped head behind him. Then therewas a cry and a crash. The whole show-box fell over backwards; kickinglegs were seen among the ruins, and then two figures--as some said; Ican only answer for one--were visible running at top speed across thesquare and disappearing in a lane which leads to the fields. 

Of course everybody gave chase. I followed; but the pace was killing, and very few were in, literally, at the death. It happened in a chalkpit: the man went over the edge quite blindly and broke his neck. Theysearched everywhere for the other, until it occurred to me to askwhether he had ever left the market-place. At first everyone was surethat he had; but when we came to look, he was there, under theshow-box, dead too. 

But in the chalk pit it was that poor Uncle Henry's body was found, with a sack over the head, the throat horribly mangled. It was apeaked corner of the sack sticking out of the soil that attractedattention. I cannot bring myself to write in greater detail. 

I forgot to say the men's real names were Kidman and Gallop. I feelsure I have heard them, but no one here seems to know anything aboutthem. 

I am coming to you as soon as I can after the funeral. I must tell youwhen we meet what I think of it all. 

TWO DOCTORS

TWO DOCTORS

It is a very common thing, in my experience, to find papers shut up inold books; but one of the rarest things to come across any such thatare at all interesting. Still it does happen, and one should neverdestroy them unlooked at. Now it was a practice of mine before the waroccasionally to buy old ledgers of which the paper was good, and whichpossessed a good many blank leaves, and to extract these and use themfor my own notes and writings. One such I purchased for a small sum in1911. It was tightly clasped, and its boards were warped by having foryears been obliged to embrace a number of extraneous sheets. Three-quarters of this inserted matter had lost all vestige ofimportance for any living human being: one bundle had not. That itbelonged to a lawyer is certain, for it is endorsed: _The strangestcase I have yet met_, and bears initials, and an address in Gray'sInn. It is only materials for a case, and consists of statements bypossible witnesses. The man who would have been the defendant orprisoner seems never to have appeared. The _dossier_ is not complete, but, such as it is, it furnishes a riddle in which the supernaturalappears to play a part. You must see what you can make of it. 

The following is the setting and the tale as I elicit it. 

Dr. Abell was walking in his garden one afternoon waiting for hishorse to be brought round that he might set out on his visits for theday. As the place was Islington, the month June, and the year 1718, weconceive the surroundings as being countrified and pleasant. To himentered his confidential servant, Luke Jennett, who had been with himtwenty years. 

"I said I wished to speak to him, and what I had to say might takesome quarter of an hour. He accordingly bade me go into his study, which was a room opening on the terrace path where he was walking, andcame in himself and sat down. I told him that, much against my will, Imust look out for another place. He inquired what was my reason, inconsideration I had been so long with him. I said if he would excuseme he would do me a great kindness, because (this appears to havebeen common form even in 1718) I was one that always liked to haveeverything pleasant about me. As well as I can remember, he said thatwas his case likewise, but he would wish to know why I should changemy mind after so many years, and, says he, 'you know there can be notalk of a remembrance of you in my will if you leave my service now. 'I said I had made my reckoning of that. 

"'Then, ' says he, 'you must have some complaint to make, and if Icould I would willingly set it right. ' And at that I told him, notseeing how I could keep it back, the matter of my former affidavit andof the bedstaff in the dispensing-room, and said that a house wheresuch things happened was no place for me. At which he, looking veryblack upon me, said no more, but called me fool, and said he would paywhat was owing me in the morning; and so, his horse being waiting, went out. So for that night I lodged with my sister's husband nearBattle Bridge and came early next morning to my late master, who thenmade a great matter that I had not lain in his house and stopped acrown out of my wages owing. 

"After that I took service here and there, not for long at a time, and saw no more of him till I came to be Dr. Quinn's man at Dodds Hallin Islington. "

There is one very obscure part in this statement, namely, thereference to the former affidavit and the matter of the bedstaff. Theformer affidavit is not in the bundle of papers. It is to be fearedthat it was taken out to be read because of its special oddity, andnot put back. Of what nature the story was may be guessed later, butas yet no clue has been put into our hands. 

The Rector of Islington, Jonathan Pratt, is the next to step forward. He furnishes particulars of the standing and reputation of Dr. Abelland Dr. Quinn, both of whom lived and practised in his parish. 

"It is not to be supposed, " he says, "that a physician should be aregular attendant at morning and evening prayers, or at the Wednesdaylectures, but within the measure of their ability I would say thatboth these persons fulfilled their obligations as loyal members of theChurch of England. At the same time (as you desire my private mind) Imust say, in the language of the schools, _distinguo_. Dr. A. Was tome a source of perplexity, Dr. Q. To my eye a plain, honest believer, not inquiring over closely into points of belief, but squaring hispractice to what lights he had. The other interested himself inquestions to which Providence, as I hold, designs no answer to begiven us in this state: he would ask me, for example, what place Ibelieved those beings now to hold in the scheme of creation which bysome are thought neither to have stood fast when the rebel angelsfell, nor to have joined with them to the full pitch of theirtransgression. 

"As was suitable, my first answer to him was a question, What warranthe had for supposing any such beings to exist? for that there was nonein Scripture I took it he was aware. It appeared--for as I am on thesubject, the whole tale may be given--that he grounded himself on suchpassages as that of the satyr which Jerome tells us conversed withAntony; but thought too that some parts of Scripture might be cited insupport. 'And besides, ' said he, 'you know 'tis the universal beliefamong those that spend their days and nights abroad, and I would addthat if your calling took you so continuously as it does me about thecountry lanes by night, you might not be so surprised as I see you tobe by my suggestion. ' 'You are then of John Milton's mind, ' I said, 'and hold that

 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep. '

"'I do not know, ' he said, 'why Milton should take upon himself to say"unseen"; though to be sure he was blind when he wrote that. But forthe rest, why, yes, I think he was in the right. ' 'Well, ' I said, 'though not so often as you, I am not seldom called abroad prettylate; but I have no mind of meeting a satyr in our Islington lanes inall the years I have been here; and if you have had the better luck, Iam sure the Royal Society would be glad to know of it. '

"I am reminded of these trifling expressions because Dr. A. Took themso ill, stamping out of the room in a huff with some such word as thatthese high and dry parsons had no eyes but for a prayerbook or a pintof wine. 

"But this was not the only time that our conversation took aremarkable turn. There was an evening when he came in, at firstseeming gay and in good spirits, but afterwards as he sat and smokedby the fire falling into a musing way; out of which to rouse him Isaid pleasantly that I supposed he had had no meetings of late withhis odd friends. A question which did effectually arouse him, for helooked most wildly, and as if scared, upon me, and said, '_You_ werenever there? I did not see you. Who brought you?' And then in a morecollected tone, 'What was this about a meeting? I believe I must havebeen in a doze. ' To which I answered that I was thinking of fauns andcentaurs in the dark lane, and not of a witches' Sabbath; but itseemed he took it differently. 

"'Well, ' said he, 'I can plead guilty to neither; but I find you verymuch more of a sceptic than becomes your cloth. If you care to knowabout the dark lane you might do worse than ask my housekeeper thatlived at the other end of it when she was a child. ' 'Yes, ' said I, 'and the old women in the almshouse and the children in the kennel. IfI were you, I would send to your brother Quinn for a bolus to clearyour brain. ' 'Damn Quinn, ' says he; 'talk no more of him: he hasembezzled four of my best patients this month; I believe it is thatcursed man of his, Jennett, that used to be with me, his tongue isnever still; it should be nailed to the pillory if he had hisdeserts. ' This, I may say, was the only time of his showing me that hehad any grudge against either Dr. Quinn or Jennett, and as was mybusiness, I did my best to persuade him he was mistaken in them. Yetit could not be denied that some respectable families in the parishhad given him the cold shoulder, and for no reason that they werewilling to allege. The end was that he said he had not done so ill atIslington but that he could afford to live at ease elsewhere when hechose, and anyhow he bore Dr. Quinn no malice. I think I now rememberwhat observation of mine drew him into the train of thought which henext pursued. It was, I believe, my mentioning some juggling trickswhich my brother in the East Indies had seen at the court of the Rajahof Mysore. 'A convenient thing enough, ' said Dr. Abell to me, 'if bysome arrangement a man could get the power of communicating motion andenergy to inanimate objects. ' 'As if the axe should move itselfagainst him that lifts it; something of that kind?' 'Well, I don'tknow that that was in my mind so much; but if you could summon such avolume from your shelf or even order it to open at the right page. '

"He was sitting by the fire--it was a cold evening--and stretched outhis hand that way, and just then the fire-irons, or at least thepoker, fell over towards him with a great clatter, and I did not hearwhat else he said. But I told him that I could not easily conceive ofan arrangement, as he called it, of such a kind that would not includeas one of its conditions a heavier payment than any Christian wouldcare to make; to which he assented. 'But, ' he said, 'I have no doubtthese bargains can be made very tempting, very persuasive. Still, youwould not favour them, eh, Doctor? No, I suppose not. '

"This is as much as I know of Dr. Abell's mind, and the feelingbetween these men. Dr. Quinn, as I said, was a plain, honest creature, and a man to whom I would have gone--indeed I have before now gone tohim for advice on matters of business. He was, however, every now andagain, and particularly of late, not exempt from troublesome fancies. There was certainly a time when he was so much harassed by his dreamsthat he could not keep them to himself, but would tell them to hisacquaintances and among them to me. I was at supper at his house, andhe was not inclined to let me leave him at my usual time. 'If yougo, ' he said, 'there will be nothing for it but I must go to bed anddream of the chrysalis. ' 'You might be worse off, ' said I. 'I do notthink it, ' he said, and he shook himself like a man who is displeasedwith the complexion of his thoughts. 'I only meant, ' said I, 'that achrysalis is an innocent thing. ' 'This one is not, ' he said, 'and I donot care to think of it. '

"However, sooner than lose my company he was fain to tell me (for Ipressed him) that this was a dream which had come to him several timesof late, and even more than once in a night. It was to this effect, that he seemed to himself to wake under an extreme compulsion to riseand go out of doors. So he would dress himself and go down to hisgarden door. By the door there stood a spade which he must take, andgo out into the garden, and at a particular place in the shrubberysomewhat clear and upon which the moon shone, for there was always inhis dream a full moon, he would feel himself forced to dig. And aftersome time the spade would uncover something light-coloured, which hewould perceive to be a stuff, linen or woollen, and this he must clearwith his hands. It was always the same: of the size of a man andshaped like the chrysalis of a moth, with the folds showing a promiseof an opening at one end. 

"He could not describe how gladly he would have left all at this stageand run to the house, but he must not escape so easily. So with manygroans, and knowing only too well what to expect, he parted thesefolds of stuff, or, as it sometimes seemed to be, membrane, anddisclosed a head covered with a smooth pink skin, which breaking asthe creature stirred, showed him his own face in a state of death. Thetelling of this so much disturbed him that I was forced out of merecompassion to sit with him the greater part of the night and talk withhim upon indifferent subjects. He said that upon every recurrence ofthis dream he woke and found himself, as it were, fighting for hisbreath. "

Another extract from Luke Jennett's long continuous statement comes inat this point. 

"I never told tales of my master, Dr. Abell, to anybody in theneighbourhood. When I was in another service I remember to have spokento my fellow-servants about the matter of the bedstaff, but I am sureI never said either I or he were the persons concerned, and it metwith so little credit that I was affronted and thought best to keep itto myself. And when I came back to Islington and found Dr. Abell stillthere, who I was told had left the parish, I was clear that it behovedme to use great discretion, for indeed I was afraid of the man, and itis certain I was no party to spreading any ill report of him. Mymaster, Dr. Quinn, was a very just, honest man, and no maker ofmischief. I am sure he never stirred a finger nor said a word by wayof inducement to a soul to make them leave going to Dr. Abell and cometo him; nay, he would hardly be persuaded to attend them that came, until he was convinced that if he did not they would send into thetown for a physician rather than do as they had hitherto done. 

"I believe it may be proved that Dr. Abell came into my master's housemore than once. We had a new chambermaid out of Hertfordshire, and sheasked me who was the gentleman that was looking after the master, thatis Dr. Quinn, when he was out, and seemed so disappointed that he wasout. She said whoever he was he knew the way of the house well, running at once into the study and then into the dispensing-room, andlast into the bed-chamber. I made her tell me what he was like, andwhat she said was suitable enough to Dr. Abell; but besides she toldme she saw the same man at church and some one told her that was theDoctor. 

"It was just after this that my master began to have his bad nights, and complained to me and other persons, and in particular whatdiscomfort he suffered from his pillow and bedclothes. He said he mustbuy some to suit him, and should do his own marketing. And accordinglybrought home a parcel which he said was of the right quality, butwhere he bought it we had then no knowledge, only they were marked inthread with a coronet and a bird. The women said they were of a sortnot commonly met with and very fine, and my master said they were thecomfortablest he ever used, and he slept now both soft and deep. Alsothe feather pillows were the best sorted and his head would sink intothem as if they were a cloud: which I have myself remarked severaltimes when I came to wake him of a morning, his face being almost hidby the pillow closing over it. 

"I had never any communication with Dr. Abell after I came back toIslington, but one day when he passed me in the street and asked mewhether I was not looking for another service, to which I answered Iwas very well suited where I was, but he said I was a tickle-mindedfellow and he doubted not he should soon hear I was on the worldagain, which indeed proved true. "

Dr. Pratt is next taken up where he left off. 

"On the 16th I was called up out of my bed soon after it waslight--that is about five--with a message that Dr. Quinn was dead ordying. Making my way to his house I found there was no doubt which wasthe truth. All the persons in the house except the one that let me inwere already in his chamber and standing about his bed, but nonetouching him. He was stretched in the midst of the bed, on his back, without any disorder, and indeed had the appearance of one ready laidout for burial. His hands, I think, were even crossed on his breast. The only thing not usual was that nothing was to be seen of his face, the two ends of the pillow or bolster appearing to be closed quiteover it. These I immediately pulled apart, at the same time rebukingthose present, and especially the man, for not at once coming to theassistance of his master. He, however, only looked at me and shookhis head, having evidently no more hope than myself that there wasanything but a corpse before us. 

"Indeed it was plain to any one possessed of the least experience thathe was not only dead, but had died of suffocation. Nor could it beconceived that his death was accidentally caused by the mere foldingof the pillow over his face. How should he not, feeling theoppression, have lifted his hands to put it away? whereas not a foldof the sheet which was closely gathered about him, as I now observed, was disordered. The next thing was to procure a physician. I hadbethought me of this on leaving my house, and sent on the messengerwho had come to me to Dr. Abell; but I now heard that he was away fromhome, and the nearest surgeon was got, who however could tell no more, at least without opening the body, than we already knew. 

"As to any person entering the room with evil purpose (which was thenext point to be cleared), it was visible that the bolts of the doorwere burst from their stanchions, and the stanchions broken away fromthe door-post by main force; and there was a sufficient body ofwitness, the smith among them, to testify that this had been done buta few minutes before I came. The chamber being moreover at the top ofthe house, the window was neither easy of access nor did it show anysign of an exit made that way, either by marks upon the sill orfootprints below upon soft mould. "

The surgeon's evidence forms of course part of the report of theinquest, but since it has nothing but remarks upon the healthy stateof the larger organs and the coagulation of blood in various parts ofthe body, it need not be reproduced. The verdict was "Death by thevisitation of God. "

Annexed to the other papers is one which I was at first inclined tosuppose had made its way among them by mistake. Upon furtherconsideration I think I can divine a reason for its presence. 

It relates to the rifling of a mausoleum in Middlesex which stood in apark (now broken up), the property of a noble family which I will notname. The outrage was not that of an ordinary resurrection man. Theobject, it seemed likely, was theft. The account is blunt andterrible. I shall not quote it. A dealer in the North of Londonsuffered heavy penalties as a receiver of stolen goods in connexionwith the affair. 

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_Printed in Great Britain by_UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON