[Illustration: "So we went down our stairs. "--Chap. II. ]

_Cecilia de Noël_

BY

LANOE FALCONER

MACMILLAN & CO. , LIMITEDST. MARTINS ST. , LONDON1910

[Illustration: Title Page]

CECILIA DE NOËL

CHAPTER I

ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL

"There is no revelation but that of science, " said Atherley. 

It was after dinner in the drawing-room. From the cold of the earlyspring night, closed shutters and drawn curtains carefully protected us;shaded lamps and a wood fire diffused an exquisite twilight; we breatheda mild and even balmy atmosphere scented with hothouse flowers. 

"And this revelation completely satisfies all reasonable desires, " hecontinued, surveying his small audience from the hearthrug where hestood; "mind, I say all reasonable desires. If you have a healthyappetite for bread, you will get it and plenty of it, but if you have asickly craving for manna, why then you will come badly off, that is all. This is the gospel of fact, not of fancy: of things as they actuallyare, you know, instead of as A dreamt they were, or B decided they oughtto be, or C would like to have them. So this gospel is apt to look alittle dull beside the highly coloured romances the churches haveaccustomed us to--as a modern plate-glass window might, compared with astained-glass oriel in a mediæval cathedral. There is no doubt which isthe prettier of the two. The question is, do you want pretty colour ordo you want clear daylight?" He paused, but neither of his listenersspoke. Lady Atherley was counting the stitches of her knitting; I wastoo tired; so he resumed: "For my part, I prefer the daylight and theglass, without any daubing. What does science discover in the universe?Precision, accuracy, reliability--any amount of it; but as to pity, mercy, love! The fact is, that famous simile of the angel playing atchess was a mistake. Very smart, I grant you, but altogether misleading. Why! the orthodox quote it as much as the others--always a bad sign. Ittickles these anthropomorphic fancies, which are at the bottom of alltheir creeds. Imagine yourself playing at chess, not with an angel, butwith an automaton, an admirably constructed automaton whose mechanismcan outwit your brains any day: calm and strong, if you like, but nomore playing for love than the clock behind me is ticking for love;there you have a much clearer notion of existence. A much clearernotion, and a much more satisfactory notion too, I say. Fair play and nofavour! What more can you ask, if you are fit to live?"

His kindling glance sought the farther end of the long drawing-room; hadit fallen upon me instead, perhaps that last challenge might have beenless assured; and yet how bravely it became the speaker, whosewide-browed head a no less admirable frame supported. Even the stiffevening uniform of his class could not conceal the grace of form whichhealth and activity had moulded, working through highly favouredgenerations. There was latent force implied in every line of it, and, in the steady poise of look and mien, that perfect nervous balancewhich is the crown of strength. 

"And with our creed, of course, we shift our moral code as well. The tencommandments, or at least the second table, we retain for obviousreasons, but the theological virtues must be got rid of as quickly aspossible. Charity, for instance, is a mischievous quality--it is tooindulgent to weakness, which is not to be indulged or encouraged, butstamped out. Hope is another pernicious quality leading to all kinds ofpreposterous expectations which never are, or can be, fulfilled; and asto faith, it is simply a vice. So far from taking anything on trust, youmust refuse to accept any statement whatsoever till it is proved soplainly you can't help believing it whether you like it or not; just asa theorem in--"

"George, " said Lady Atherley, "what is that noise?"

The question, timed as Lady Atherley's remarks so often were, came withsomething of a shock. Her husband, thus checked in full flight, seemedto reel for a moment, but quickly recovering himself, asked resignedly:"What noise?"

"Such a strange noise, like the howling of a dog. "

"Probably it is the howling of a dog. "

"No, for it came from inside the house, and Tip sleeps outside now, inthe saddle-room, I believe. It sounded in the servants' wing. Did youhear it, Mr. Lyndsay?"

I confessed that I had not. 

"Well, as I can offer no explanation, " said Atherley, "perhaps I may beallowed to go on with what I was saying. Doubt, obstinate and almostinvincible doubt, is the virtue we must now cultivate, just as--"

"Why, there it is again, " cried Lady Atherley. 

Atherley instantly rang the bell near him, and while Lady Atherleycontinued to repeat that it was very strange, and that she could notimagine what it could be, he waited silently till his summons wasanswered by a footman. 

"Charles, what is the meaning of that crying or howling which seems tocome from your end of the house?"

"I think, Sir George, " said Charles, with the coldly impassive manner ofa highly-trained servant--"I think, Sir George, it must be Ann, thekitchen-maid, that you hear. "

"Indeed! and may I ask what Ann, the kitchen-maid, is supposed to bedoing?"

"If you please, Sir George, she is in hysterics. "

"Oh! why?" exclaimed Lady Atherley plaintively. 

"Because, my lady, Mrs. Mallet has seen the ghost!"

"Because Mrs. Mallet has seen the ghost!" repeated Atherley. "Pray, whatis Mrs. Mallet herself doing under the circumstances?"

"She is having some brandy-and-water, Sir George. "

"Mrs. Mallet is a sensible woman, " said Atherley heartily; "Ann, thekitchen-maid, had better follow her example. "

"You may go, Charles, " said Lady Atherley; and, as the door closedbehind him, exclaimed, "I wish that horrid woman had never entered thehouse!"

"What horrid woman? Your too sympathetic kitchen-maid?"

"No, that--that Mrs. Mallet. "

"Why are you angry with her? Because she has seen the ghost?"

"Yes, for I told her most particularly the very day I engaged her, afterMrs. Webb left us in that sudden way--I told her I never allowed theghost to be mentioned. "

"And why, my dear, did you break your own excellent rule by mentioningit to her?"

"Because she had the impertinence to tell me, almost directly she cameinto the morning-room, that she knew all about the ghost; but I stoppedher at once, and said that if ever she spoke of such a thing especiallyto the other servants, I should be very much displeased; and now shegoes and behaves in this way. "

"Where did you pick up this viper?"

"She comes from Quarley Beacon. There was no one in this stupid villagewho could cook at all, and Cecilia de Noël, who recommended her--"

"Cecilia de Noël!" repeated Atherley, with that long-drawn emphasiswhich suggests so much. "My dear Jane, I must say that in taking aservant on Cissy's recommendation you did not display your usual soundcommon sense. I should as soon have thought of asking her to buy me agun, knowing that she would carefully pick out the one least likely toshoot anything. Cissy is accustomed to look upon a servant as somethingto be waited on and taken care of. Her own household, as we all know, is composed chiefly of chronic invalids. "

"But I explained to Cecilia that I wanted somebody who was strong aswell as a good cook; and I am sure there is nothing the matter with Mrs. Mallet. She is as fat as possible, and as red! Besides, she has neverbeen one of Cecilia's servants; she only goes there to help sometimes;and she says she is perfectly respectable. "

"Mrs. Mallet says that Cissy is perfectly respectable?"

"No, George; it is not likely that I should allow a person in Mrs. Mallet's position to speak disrespectfully to me about Cecilia. Ceciliasaid Mrs. Mallet was perfectly respectable. "

"I should not think dear old Ciss exactly knew the meaning of the word. "

"Cecilia may be peculiar in many ways, but she is too much of a lady tosend me any one who was not quite nice. I don't believe there isanything against Mrs. Mallet's character. She cooks very well, you mustallow that; you said only two days ago you never had tasted an omeletteso nicely made in England. "

"Did she cook that omelette? Then I am sure she is perfectlyrespectable; and pray let her see as many ghosts as she cares to, especially if it leads to nothing worse than her taking a moderatequantity of brandy. Time to smoke, Lindy. I am off. "

I dragged myself up after my usual fashion, and was preparing to followhim, when Lady Atherley, directly he was gone, began:

"It is such a pity that clever people can never see things as others do. George always goes on in this way as if the ghost were of noconsequence, but I always knew how it would be. Of course it is nicethat George should come in for the place, as he might not have done ifhis uncle had married, and people said it would be delightful to live insuch an old house, but there are a good many drawbacks, I can assureyou. Sir Marmaduke lived abroad for years before he died, and everythinghas got into such a state. We have had to nearly refurnish the house;the bedrooms are not done yet. The servants' accommodation is very badtoo, and there was no proper cooking-range in the kitchen. But the worstof all is the ghost. Directly I heard of it I knew we should havetrouble with the servants; and we had not been here a month when ourcook, who had lived with us for years, gave warning because the placewas damp. At first she said it was the ghost, but when I told her not totalk such nonsense she said it was the damp. And then it is so awkwardabout visitors. What are we to do when the fishing season begins? Icannot get George to understand that some people have a great objectionto anything of the kind, and are quite angry if you put them into ahaunted room. And it is much worse than having only one haunted room, because we could make that into a bachelor's bedroom--I don't think theymind; or a linen cupboard, as they do at Wimbourne Castle; but thisghost seems to appear in all the rooms, and even in the halls andpassages, so I cannot think what we are to do. "

I said it was extraordinary, and I meant it. That a ghost should ventureinto Atherley's neighbourhood was less amazing than that it shouldcontinue to exist in his wife's presence, so much more fatal than hiseloquence to all but the tangible and the solid. Her orthodoxy is abovesuspicion, but after some hours of her society I am unable tocontemplate any aspects of life save the comfortable and theuncomfortable: while the Universe itself appears to me only a giganticapparatus especially designed to provide Lady Atherley and her classwith cans of hot water at stated intervals, costly repasts elaboratelyserved, and all other requisites of irreproachable civilisation. 

But before I had time to say more, Atherley in his smoking-coat lookedin to see if I was coming or not. 

"Don't keep Mr. Lyndsay up late, George, " said my kind hostess; "helooks so tired. "

"You look dead beat, " he said later on, in his own particular and untidyden, as he carefully stuffed the bowl of his pipe. "I think it would gobetter with you, old chap, if you did not hold yourself in quite sotight. I don't want you to rave or commit suicide in some untidyfashion, as the hero of a French novel does; but you are as well-behavedas a woman, without a woman's grand resources of hysterics and generalunreasonableness all round. You always were a little too good for humannature's daily food. Your notions on some points are quite unwholesomelysuperfine. It would be a comfort to see you let out in some way. I wishyou would have a real good fling for once. "

"I should have to pay too dear for it afterwards. My superfine habitsare not a matter of choice only, you must remember. "

"Oh!--the women! Not the best of them is worth bothering about, letalone a shameless jilt. "

"You were always hard upon her, George. She jilted a cripple for a veryfine specimen of the race. Some of your favourite physiologists wouldsay she was quite right. "

"You never understood her, Lindy. It was not a case of jilting a crippleat all. She jilted three thousand a year and a small place for tenthousand a year and a big one. "

After all, it did hurt a little, which Atherley must have divined, forcrossing the room on some pretext or another he let his strong handrest, just for an instant, gently upon my shoulder, thus, after themanner of his race, mutely and concisely expressing affection andsympathy that might have swelled a canto. 

"I shall be sorry, " he said presently, lying rather than sitting in thedeep chair beside the fire, "very sorry, if the ghost is going to makeitself a nuisance. "

"What is the story of the ghost?"

"Story! God bless you, it has none to tell, sir; at least it never hastold it, and no one else rightly knows it. It--I mean the ghost--isolder than the family. We found it here when we came into the placeabout two hundred years ago, and it refused to be dislodged. It israther uncertain in its habits. Sometimes it is not heard of for years;then all at once it reappears, generally, I may observe, when someimaginative female in the house is in love, or out of spirits, or boredin any other way. She sees it, and then, of course--the complaint beinghighly infectious--so do a lot more. One of the family started thetheory it was the ghost of the portrait, or rather the unknownindividual whose portrait hangs high up over the sideboard in thedining-room. "

"You don't mean the lady in green velvet with the snuff-box?"

"Certainly not; that is my own great-grand-aunt. I mean a square ofblack canvas with one round yellow spot in the middle and a dirty whitesmudge under the spot. There are members of this family--Aunt Eleanour, for instance--who tell me the yellow spot is a man's face and the dirtywhite smudge is an Elizabethan ruff. Then there is a picture of a man inarmour in the oak room, which I don't believe is a portrait at all; butAunt Henrietta swears it is, and of the ghost, too--as he was before hedied, of course. And very interesting details both my aunts are ready tofurnish concerning the two originals. It is extraordinary what an amountof information is always forthcoming about things of which nobody canknow anything--as about the next world, for instance. The, last time Iwent to church the preacher gave as minute an account of what ourpost-mortem experiences were to be as if he had gone through it allhimself several times. "

"Well, does the ghost usually appear in a ruff or in armour?"

"It depends entirely upon who sees it--a ghost always does. Last night, for instance, I lay you odds it wore neither ruff nor armour, becauseMrs. Mallet is not likely to have heard of either the one or the other. Not that she saw the ghost--not she. What she saw was a bogie, not aghost. "

"Why, what is the difference?"

"Immense! As big as that which separates the objective from thesubjective. Any one can see a bogie. It is a real thing belonging to theexternal world. It may be a bright light, a white sheet, or a blackshadow--always at night, you know, or at least in the dusk, when you areapt to be a little mixed in your observations. The best example of abogie was Sir Walter Scott's. It looked--in the twilightremember--exactly like Lord Byron, who had not long departed this lifeat the time Sir Walter saw it. Nine men out of ten would have gone offand sworn they had seen a ghost; why, religions have been founded onjust such stuff: but Sir Walter, as sane a man as ever lived--though hedid write poetry--kept his head clear and went up closer to his ghost, which proved on examination to be a waterproof. "

"A waterproof?"

"Or a railway rug--I forget which: the moral is the same. "

"Well, what is a ghost?"

"A ghost is nothing--an airy nothing manufactured by your own disorderedsenses of your own over-excited brain. "

"I beg to observe that I never saw a ghost in my life. "

"I am glad to hear it. It does you credit. If ever any one had an excusefor seeing a ghost it would be a man whose spine was jarred. But I meantnothing personal by the pronoun--only to give greater force to myremarks. The first person singular will do instead. The ghost belongs tothe same lot, as the faces that make mouths at me when I havebrain-fever, the reptiles that crawl about when I have an attack of theD. T. , or--to take a more familiar example--the spots I see floatingbefore my eyes when my liver is out of order. You will allow there isnothing supernatural in all that?"

"Certainly. Though, did not that pretty niece of Mrs. Molyneux's say sheused to see those spots floating before her eyes when a misfortune wasimpending?"

"I fancy she did, and true enough too, as such spots would very likelyprecede a bilious attack, which is misfortune enough while it lasts. Butstill, even Mrs. Molyneux's niece, even Mrs. Molyneux herself, wouldnot say the fever faces, or the reptiles, or the spots, weresupernatural. And in fact the ghost is, so far, more--more _recherché_, let us say, than the other things. It takes more than a bilious attackor a fever, or even D. T. , to produce a ghost. It takes nothing less thana pretty high degree of nervous sensibility and excitable imagination. Now these two disorders have not been much developed yet by the masses, in spite of the school-boards: ergo, any apparition which leads tohysterics or brandy-and-water in the servants' hall is a bogie, not aghost. "

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and added:

"And now, Lindy, as we don't want another ghost haunting the house. Iwill conduct you to by-by. "

It was a strange house, Weald Manor, designed, one might suppose, bysome inveterate enemy of light. It lay at the foot of a steep hill whichscreened it from the morning sun, and the few windows which lookedtowards the rising day were so shaped as to admit but little of itsbrightness. At night it was even worse, at least in the halls andpassages, for there, owing probably to the dark oak which lined bothwalls and floor, a generous supply of lamps did little more thanillumine the surface of the darkness, leaving unfathomed and unexplainedmysterious shadows that brooded in distant corners, or, toweringgiant-wise to the ceiling, loomed ominously overhead. Will-o'-the-wisp-like reflections from our lighted candles danced in thepolished surface of panel and balustrade, as from the hall we wentupstairs, I helping myself from step to step by Atherley's arm, asinstinctively, as unconsciously almost, as he offered it. We stopped onthe first landing. Before us rose the stairs leading to the gallerywhere Atherley's bedroom was: to our left ran "the bachelor's passage, "where I was lodged. 

"Night, night, " were Atherley's parting words. "Don't dream of flirts orghosts, but sleep sound. "

Sleep sound! the kind words sounded like mockery. Sleep to me, alwayschary of her presence, was at best but a fair-weather friend, instantlydeserting me when pain or exhaustion made me crave the more for rest andforgetfulness; but I had something to do in the interim--a little_auto-da-fé_ to perform, by which, with that faith in ceremonial, sodeep laid in human nature, I meant once for all to lay the ghost thathaunted me--the ghost of a delightful but irrevocable past, with whichI had dallied too long. 

Sitting before the wood-fire I slowly unfolded them: the threefaintly-perfumed sheets with the gilt monogram above the pointedwriting:

 "Dear Mr. Lyndsay, " ran the first, "why did you not come over to-day? I was expecting you to appear all the afternoon. --Yours sincerely, G. E. L. "

The second was dated four weeks later--

 "You silly boy! I forbid you ever to write or talk of yourself in such a way again. You are not a cripple; and if you had ever had a mother or a sister, you would know how little women think of such things. How many more assurances do you expect from me? Do you wish me to propose to you again? No, if you won't have me, go. --Yours, in spite of yourself, GLADYS. "

The third--the third is too long to quote entire; besides, the substanceis contained in this last sentence--

 "So I think, my dear Mr. Lyndsay, for your sake more than my own, our engagement had better be broken off. "

In this letter, dated six weeks ago, she had charged me to burn all thatshe had written to me, and as yet I had not done so, shrinking from thesharp unreasonable pain with which we bury the beloved dead. But thetime of my mourning was accomplished. I tore the paper into fragmentsand dropped them into the flames. 

It must have been the pang with which I watched them darken and shrivelthat brought back the memory of another sharp stab. It was that day tenyears ago, when I walked for the first time after my accident. Supportedby a stick on one side, and by Atherley on the other, I crawled down thelong gallery at home and halted before a high wide-open window to seethe sunlit view of park and woods and distant downland. Then all atonce, ridden by my groom, Charming went past with feet that verilydanced upon the greensward, and quivering nostrils that rapturouslyinhaled the breath of spring and of morning. I said: "George, I want_you_ to have Charming. " And it made me smile, even in that bittermoment, to remember how indistinctly, how churlishly almost, Atherleyaccepted the gift, in his eager haste to get me out of sight and thoughtof it. 

It was long before the last fluttering rags had vanished, transmutedinto fiery dust. The clock on the landing had many times chanted itsdirge since I had heard below the footsteps of the servants carryingaway the lamps from the sitting-rooms and the hall. Later still came thefar-off sound of Atherley's door closing behind him, like the finalgood-night of the waking day. Over all the unconscious household hadstolen that silence which is more than silence, that hush which seems towait for something, that stillness of the night-watch which is keptalone. It was familiar enough to me, but to-night it had a new meaning;like the sunlight that shines when we are happy, or the rain that fallswhen we are weeping, it seemed, as if in sympathy, to be repeating andaccenting what I could not so vividly have told in words. In my life, and for the second time, there was the same desolate pause, as if thedreary tale were finished and only the drearier epilogue remained tolive through--the same sense of sad separation from the happy and thehealthful. 

I made a great effort to read, holding the book before me and compellingmyself to follow the sentences, but that power of abstraction which canconquer pain does not belong to temperaments like mine. If only I couldhave slept, as men have been able to do even upon the rack; but everyhour that passed left me more awake, more alive, more supersensitive tosuffering. 

Early in the morning, long before the dawn, I must have been feverish, Ithink. My head and hands burned, the air of the room stifled me, I waslosing my self-control. 

I opened the window and leant out. The cool air revived me bodily, butto the fever of the spirit it brought no relief. To my heart, if not tomy lips, sprang the old old cry for help which anguish has wrung fromgeneration after generation. The agony of mine, I felt wildly, mustpierce through sense, time, space, everything--even to the Living Heartof all, and bring thence some token of pity! For one instant my passionseemed to beat against the silent heavens, then to fall back bruised andbleeding. 

Out of the darkness came not so much as a wind whisper or the twinkle ofa star. 

Was Atherley right after all?

CHAPTER II

THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL

From the short unsatisfying slumber which sometimes follows a night ofinsomnia I was awakened by the laughter and shouts of children. When Ilooked out I saw brooding above the hollow a still gray day, in whoselight the woodlands of the park were all in sombre brown, and the troutstream between its sedgy banks glided dark and lustreless. 

On the lawn, still wet with dew, and crossed by the shadows of the bareelms, Atherley's little sons, Harold and Denis, were playing with a veryunlovely but much-beloved mongrel called Tip. They had bought him withtheir own pocket-money from a tinker who was ill-using him, and thenclaimed for him the hospitality of their parents; so, though Atherleyoften spoke of the dog as a disgrace to the household, he remained amember thereof, and received, from a family incapable of being uncivil, far less unkind, to an animal, as much attention as if he had beenhigh-bred and beautiful--which indeed he plainly supposed himself to be. 

When, about an hour later, after their daily custom, this almostinseparable trio fell into the breakfast-room as if the door hadsuddenly given way before them, the boys were able to revenge themselvesfor the rebuke this entrance provoked by the tidings they brought withthem. 

"I say, old Mallet is going, " cried Harold cheerfully, as he wriggledhimself on to his chair. "Denis, mind I want some of that egg-stuff. "

"Take your arms off the table, Harold, " said Lady Atherley. "Pray, howdo you know Mrs. Mallet is going?"

"She said so herself. She said, " he went on, screwing up his nose andspeaking in a falsetto to express the intensity of his scorn--"she saidshe was afraid of the ghost. "

"I told you I did not allow that word to be mentioned. "

"I did not; it was old Mallet. "

"But, pray, what were you doing in old Mallet's domain?" asked Atherley. 

"Cooking cabbage for Tip. "

"Hum! What with ghosts by night and boys by day, our cook seems to havea pleasant time of it; I shall be glad when Miss Jones's holidays areover. Castleman, is it true that Mrs. Mallet talks of leaving us becauseof the ghost?"

"I am sure I don't know, Sir George, " answered the old butler. "She wasgoing on about it very foolish this morning. "

"And how is the kitchen-maid?"

"Has not come down yet, Sir George; says her nerve is shook, " saidCastleman, retiring with a plate to the sideboard; then added, with thefreedom of an old servant, "Bile, _I_ should say. "

"Probably. We had better send for Doctor What's-his-name. "

"The usual doctor is away, " said Lady Atherley. "There is a Londondoctor in his place. He is clever, Lady Sylvia said, but he giveshimself airs. "

"Never mind what he gives himself if he gives his patients the rightthing. "

"And after all we can manage very well without Ann, but what are we todo about Mrs. Mallet? I always told you how it would be. "

"But, my dear, it is not my fault. You look as reproachfully at me as ifit were my ghost which was causing all this disturbance instead of theghost of a remote ancestor--predecessor, in fact. "

"No, but you will always talk just as if it was of no consequence. "

"I don't talk of the cook's going as being of no consequence. Far fromit. But you must not let her go, that is all. "

"How can I prevent her going? I think you had better talk to heryourself. "

"I should like to meet her very much; would not you, Lindy? I shouldlike to hear her story; it must be a blood-curdling one, to judge fromits effect upon Ann. The only person I have yet met who pretended tohave seen the ghost was Aunt Eleanour. "

"And what was it like, daddy?" asked Denis, much interested. 

"She did not say, Den. She would never tell me anything about it. "

"Would she tell me?"

"I am afraid not. I don't think she would tell any one, except perhapsMr. Lyndsay. He has a way of worming things out of people. "

"Mr. Lyndsay, how do you worm things out of people?"

"I don't know, Denis; you must ask your father. "

"First, by never asking any questions, " said Atherley promptly; "andthen by a curious way he has of looking as if he was listeningattentively to what was said to him, instead of thinking, as most peopledo, what he shall say himself when he gets a chance of putting a wordin. "

"But how could Aunt Eleanour see the ghost when there is not any suchthing?" cried Harold. 

"How indeed!" said his father, rising; "that is just the puzzle. It willtake you years to find it out. Lindy, look into the morning-room inabout half an hour, and you will hear a tale whose lightest word willharrow up thy soul, etc. , etc. "

As Lady Atherley kindly seconded this invitation I accepted it, thoughnot with the consequences predicted. Anything less suggestive of thesupernatural, or in every way less like the typical ghost-seer, wassurely never produced than the round and rubicund little person I foundin conversation with the Atherleys. Mrs. Mallet was a brunette who mightonce have considered herself a beauty, to judge by the self-consciousand self-satisfied simper which the ghastliest recollections were unableto banish. As I entered I caught only the last words of Atherley'sspeech--

"---- treating you well, Mrs. Mallet?"

"Oh no, Sir George, " answered Mrs. Mallet, standing very straight andstiff, with two plump red hands folded demurely before her; "which Ihave not a word to say against any one, but have met, ever since I comehere, with the greatest of kindness and respect. But the noises, sir, the noises of a night is more than I can abear. "

"Oh, they are only rats, Mrs. Mallet. "

"No rats in this world ever made sech a noise, Sir George; which thevery first night as I slep here, there come the most mysterioustestsounds as ever I hear, which I says to Hann, 'Whatever are you a-doing?'which she woke up all of a suddent, as young people will, and said shenever hear nor yet see nothing. "

"What was the noise like, Mrs. Mallet?"

"Well, Sir George, I can only compare it to the dragging of heavyfurniture, which I really thought at first it was her ladyship a-comingupstairs to waken me, took bad with burglars or a fire. "

"But, Mrs. Mallet, I am sure you are too brave a woman to mind a littlenoise. "

"It is not only noises, Sir George. Last night--"

Mrs. Mallet drew a long breath and closed her eyes. 

"Yes, Mrs. Mallet, pray go on; I am very curious to hear what did happenlast night. "

"It makes the cold chills run over me to think of it. We was all gone tobed--leastways the maids and me, and Hann and me was but just got to myroom when says she to me, 'Oh la! whatever do you think?' says she; 'Ipromised Ellen when she went out this afternoon as I would shut thewindows in the pink bedroom at four o'clock, and never come to think ofit till this minute, ' she says. 'Oh dear, ' I says, 'and them newchintzes will be entirely ruined with the damp. Why, what agood-for-nothing girl you are!' I says, 'and what you thinks on halfyour time is more than I can tell. ' 'Whatever shall I do?' she says, 'for go along there at this time of night all by myself I dare not, 'says she. 'Well, ' I says, 'rather than you should go alone, I'll goalong with you, ' I says, 'for stay here by myself I would not, ' I says, 'not if any one was to pay me hundreds. ' So we went down our stairs andalong our passage to the door which you go into the gallery, Hanna-clutching hold of me and starting, which when we come into thegallery I was all of a tremble, and she shook so I said, 'La! Hann, forgoodness' sake do carry that candle straight, or you will grease thecarpet shameful;' and come to the pink room I says, 'Open the door. ''La!' says she, 'what if we was to see the ghost?' 'Hold your sillynonsense this minute, ' I says, 'and open the door, ' which she do, butstand right back for to let me go first, when, true as ever I amstanding here, my lady, I see something white go by like a flash, andstruck me cold in the face, and blew the candle out, and then come thefearfullest noise, which thunderclaps is nothing to it. Hann begana-screaming, and we ran as fast as ever we could till we come to thepantry, where Mr. Castleman and the footman was. I thought I should ha'died: died I thought I should. My face was as white as thatantimacassar. "

"How could you see your face, Mrs. Mallet?" somewhat peevishly objectedLady Atherley. 

But Mrs. Mallet with great dignity retorted--

"Which I looked down my nose, and it were like a corpse's. "

"Very alarming, " said Atherley, "but easily explained. Directly youopened the door there was, of course, a draught from the open window. That draught blew the candle out and knocked something over, probably ascreen. "

"La' bless you, Sir George, it was more like paving-stones than screensa-falling. "

And indeed Mrs. Mallet was so far right, that when, to settle theweighty question once for all, we adjourned in a body to the pinkbedroom, we discovered that nothing less than the ceiling, or at least aportion of it, had fallen, and was lying in a heap of broken plasterupon the floor. However, the moral, as Atherley hastened to observe, wasthe same. 

"You see, Mrs. Mallet, this was what made the noise. "

Mrs. Mallet made no reply, but it was evident she neither saw norintended to see anything of the kind; and Atherley wisely substitutedbribery for reasoning. But even with this he made little way tillaccidentally he mentioned the name of Mrs. De Noël, when, as if it hadbeen a name to conjure by, Mrs. Mallet showed signs of softening. 

"Yes, think of Mrs. De Noël, Mrs. Mallet; what will she say if you leaveher cousin to starve?"

"I should not wish such a thing to happen for a moment, " said Mrs. Mallet, as if this had been no figure of speech but the actualalternative, "not to any relation of Mrs. De Noël. "

And shortly after the debate ended with a cheerful "Well, Mrs. Mallet, you will give us another trial, " from Atherley. 

"There, " he exclaimed, as we all three returned to themorning-room--"there is as splendid an example of the manufacture of abogie as you are ever likely to meet with. All the spiritual phenomenaare produced much in the same way. Work yourself up into a great stateof terror and excitement, in the first place; in the next, procure onecompanion, if not more, as credulous and excitable as yourself; go at alate hour and with a dim light to a place where you have been told youwill see something supernatural; steadfastly and determinedly look outfor it, and--you will have your reward. These are precisely the lines onwhich a spiritual séance is conducted, only instead of plaster, which isnot always so obliging as to fall in the nick of time, you have a paidmedium who supplies the material for your fancy to work upon. Mrs. Mallet, you see, has discovered all this for herself--that woman is aborn genius. Just think what she might have been and seen if she hadlived in a sphere where neither cooking nor any other rationaloccupation interfered with her pursuit of the supernatural. Mrs. Molyneux would be nowhere beside her. "

"I suppose she really does intend to stay, " said Lady Atherley. 

"Of course she does. I always told you my powers of persuasion wereirresistible. "

"But how annoying about the ceiling, " said Lady Atherley. "Over the newcarpet, too! What can make the plaster fall in this way?"

"It is the quality of the climate, " said Atherley. "It is horriblydestructive. If you would read the batch of letters now on mywriting-table from tenant-farmers you would see what I mean: barns, roofs, gates, everything is falling to pieces and must immediately berepaired--at the landlord's expense, of course. "

"We must send for a plasterer, " said Lady Atherley, "and then thedoctor. Perhaps you would have time to go round his way, George. "

"No, I have no time to go anywhere but to Northside farm. Hunt has beenwaiting nearly half an hour for me, as it is. Lindy, would you like tocome with me?"

"No, thank you, George; I too am a landowner, and I mean to look over myaudit accounts to-day. "

"Don't compare yourself to a poor overworked underpaid landowner likeme. You are one of the landlords they spout about in London parks onSundays. You have nothing to do but sign receipts for your rents, paidin full and up to date. "

"Mr. Lyndsay is an excellent landlord, " said Lady Atherley; "and theytell me the new church and the schools he has built are charming. "

"Very mischievous things both, " said Atherley. "Ta-ta. "

That afternoon, Atherley being still absent, and Lady Atherley havinggone forth to pay a round of calls, the little boys undertook myentertainment. They were in rather a sober mood for them, having justforfeited four weeks' pocket-money towards expenses incurred by Tip inthe dairy, where they had foolishly allowed him to enter; so theyaccepted very good-humouredly my objections to wading in the river orclimbing trees, and took me instead for a walk to Beggar's Stile. Weclimbed up the steep carriage-drive to the lodge, passed through the bigiron gates, turned sharply to the left, and went down the road which thepark palings border and the elms behind them shade, past the littlecopse beyond the park, till we came to a tumble-down gate with a stilebeside it in the hedgerow; and this was Beggar's Stile. It was just onthe brow of the little hill which sloped gradually downward to thevillage beneath, and commanded a wide view of the broad shallow valleyand of the rising ground beyond. 

I was glad to sit down on the step of the stile. 

"Are you tired already, Mr. Lyndsay?" inquired Harold incredulously. 

"Yes, a little. "

"I s'pose you are tired because you always have to pull your leg afteryou, " said Denis, turning upon me two large topaz-coloured eyes. "Doesit hurt you, Mr. Lyndsay?"

"Mother told you not to talk about Mr. Lyndsay's leg, " observed Haroldsharply. 

"No, she didn't; she said I was not to talk about the funny way hewalked. She said--"

"Well, never mind, little man, " I interrupted. "Is that Weald downthere?"

"Yes, " cried Denis, maintaining his balance on the topmost bar but oneof the gate with enviable ease. "All these cottages and houses belong toWeald, and it is all daddy's on this side of the river down to where yousee the white railings a long way down near the poplars, and that is theroad we go to tea with Aunt Eleanour; and do you see a little bluespeck on the hill over there? You could see if you had a telescope. Daddy showed me once; but you must shut your eye. That is QuarleyBeacon, where Aunt Cissy lives. "

"No, she does not, stupid, " cried Harold, now suspended, head downwards, by one foot, from the topmost rail of the gate. "No one lives there. Shelives in Quarley Manor, just behind. "

Denis replied indirectly to the discourteous tone of this speech bytrying with the point of his own foot to dislodge that by which Haroldmaintained his remarkable position, and a scuffle ensued, wherein, though a non-combatant, I seemed likely to get the worst, when theirattention was fortunately diverted by the sight of Tip sneaking off, andevidently with the vilest motives, towards the covert. 

My memory was haunted that day by certain words spoken seven months agoby Atherley, and by me at the time very ungraciously received:

"Remember, if you do come a cropper, it will go hard with you, old man;you can't shoot or hunt or fish off the blues, like other men. "

No, nor could I work them off, as some might have done. I possessed nodistinct talents, no marked vocation. If there was nothing behind andbeyond all this, what an empty freak of destiny my life would havebeen--full, not even of sound and fury, but of dull common-placesuffering: a tale told by an idiot with a spice of malice in him. 

Then the view before me made itself felt, as a gentle persistent soundmight have done: a flat, almost featureless scene--a little villagechurch with cottages and gardens clustering about it, straggling awayfrom it, by copses and meadows in which winter had left only thetenderest shades of the saddest colours. The winding river brightenedthe dull picture with broken glints of silver, and the tawny hues of theforeground faded through soft gradations of violet and azure into a fardistance of pearly grey. It is not the scenery men cross continents andoceans to admire, and yet it has a message of its own. I felt it thatday when I was heart-weary, and was glad that in one corner of thisrestless world the little hills preach peace. 

Meantime Tip had been recaptured, and when he, or rather the groundclose beside him, had been beaten severely with sticks, and he himselfupbraided in terms which left the censors hoarse, we went down againinto the hollow. Then Lady Atherley returned and gave me tea; andafterwards, in the library, I worked at accounts till it was nearly toodark to write. No doubt on the high ground the sky was aflame withbrilliant colour, of which only a dim reflection tinged the dreary viewof sward and leafless trees, to which, for some mysterious reason, a gigcrawling down the carriage-drive gave the last touch of desolation. 

Just as I laid my pen aside the door opened, and Castleman introduced astranger. 

"If you will wait here, sir, I will find her ladyship. "

The new-comer was young and slight, with an erect carriage and a firmstep. He had the finely-cut features and dull colouring which Iassociate with the high-pressure life of a busy town, so that I guessedwho he was before his first words told me. 

"No, thank you, I will not sit down; I expect to be called to my patientimmediately. "

The thought of this said patient made me smile, and in explanation Itold him from what she was supposed to be suffering. 

"Well; it is less common than other forms of feverishness, but willprobably yield to the same remedies, " was his only comment. 

"You do not believe in ghosts?"

"Pardon me, I do, just as I believe in all symptoms. When my patienttells me he hears bells ringing in his ear, or feels the ground swayingunder his feet, I believe him implicitly, though I know nothing of thekind is actually taking place. The ghost, so far, belongs to the sameclass as the other experiences, that it is a symptom--it may be of avery trifling, it may be of a very serious, disorder. "

The voice, the keen flash of the eye, impressed me. I recognised one ofthose alert intelligences, beside whose vivid flame the mental life ofmost men seems to smoulder. I wished to hear him speak again. 

"Is this your view of all supernatural manifestations?"

"Of all so-called supernatural manifestations; I don't understand theword or the distinction. No event which has actually taken place can besupernatural. Since it belongs to the actual it must be governed by, itmust be the outcome of, laws which everywhere govern the actual--everywhereand at all times. In fact, it must be natural, whatever wemay think of it. "

"Then if a miracle could be proven, it would be no miracle to you?"

"Certainly not. "

"And it could convince you of nothing?"

"Neither me nor any one else who has outgrown his childhood, I shouldthink. I have never been able to understand the outcry of the orthodoxover their lost miracles. It makes their position neither better norworse. The miracles could never prove their creeds. How am I torecognise a divine messenger? He makes the furniture float about theroom; he changes that coal into gold; he projects himself or his imagehere when he is a thousand miles away. Why, an emissary from the devilmight do as much! It only proves--always supposing he really doesthese things instead of merely appearing to do so--it proves that he isbetter acquainted with natural laws than I am. What if he could kill meby an effort of the will? What if he could bring me to life again? It isalways the same; he might still be morally my inferior; he might be afalse prophet after all. "

He took out his watch and looked at it, by this simple actionillustrating and reminding me of the difference between us--he talkingto pass away the time, I thinking aloud the gnawing question at myheart. 

"And you have no hope for anything beyond this?"

Something in my voice must have struck his ear, trained like every otherorgan of observation to quick and fine perception, for he looked at memore attentively, and it was in a gentler tone that he said--

"Surely, you do not mean for a life beyond this? One's best hope must bethat the whole miserable business ends with death. "

"Have you found life so wretched?"

"I am not speaking from my own particular point of view. I amsingularly, exceptionally, fortunate, I am healthy; I have tastes whichI can gratify, work which I keenly enjoy. Whether the tastes are worthgratifying or the work worth doing I cannot say. At least they act as ananodyne to self-consciousness; they help me to forget the farce inwhich I play my part. Like Solomon, and all who have had the best oflife, I call it vanity. What do you suppose it is to those--by far thelargest number, remember--who have had the worst of it? To them it isnot vanity, it is misery. "

"But they suffer under the invariable laws you speak of--laws workingtowards deliverance and happiness in the future. "

"The future? Yes, I know that form of consolation which seems to satisfyso many. To me it seems a hollow one. I have never yet been able tounderstand how any amount of ecstasy enjoyed by B a million years hencecan make up for the torture A is suffering to-day. I suppose, dealing somuch with individuals as I do, I am inclined to individualise like awoman. I think of units rather than of the mass. At this moment I havebefore me a patient now left suffering pain as acute as any the rackever inflicted. How does it affect his case that centuries later suchpain may be unknown?"

"Of course, the individual's one and only hope is a future existence. Then it may be all made up to him. "

"I see no reason to hope so. Either there is no God, and we shall stillbe at the mercy of the blind destiny we suffer under here; or there is aGod, the God who looks on at this world and makes no sign! The sooner weescape from Him by annihilation the better. "

"Christians would tell you He had given a sign. "

"Yes; so they do in words and deny it in deeds. Nothing is sadder inthe whole tragedy, or comedy, than these pitiable efforts to hide thetruth, to gloss it over with fables which nobody in his heart of heartsbelieves--at least in these days. Why not face the worst like men? If wecan't help being unhappy we can help being dishonest and cowardly. Existence is a misfortune. Let us frankly confess that it is, and makethe best of it. "

He was not looking at his watch now; he was pacing the room. At last, hewas in earnest, and had forgotten all accidents of time and place beforethe same enigma which perplexed myself. 

"The best of it!" I re-echoed. "Surely, under these circumstances, thebest thing would be to commit suicide?"

"No, " he cried, stopping and turning sharply upon me. "The worst, because the most cowardly; so long as you have strength, brains, money--anything with which you can do good. "

He looked past me through the window into the outer air, no longerfaintly tinged, but dyed deep red by the light of the unseen butresplendent sunset, and added slowly, dejectedly, as if speaking tohimself as much as to me--

"Yes, there is one thing worth living for--to help to make it all alittle more bearable for the others. "

And then all at once, his face, so virile yet so delicate, so young andyet so sad, reminded me of one I had seen in an old picture--the face ofan angel watching beside the dead Christ; and I cried--

"But are you certain He has made no sign; not hundreds of years ago, but in your own lifetime? not to saint or apostle, but to you, yourself?Has nothing which has happened to you, nothing you have ever seen orread or heard, tempted you to hope in something better?"

"Yes, " he said deliberately; "I have had my weak moments. My convictionhas wavered, not before religious teaching of any kind, however, norbefore Nature, in which some people seem to find such promise; but Ihave met one or two women, and one man--all of them unknown, unremarkable people--whom the world never heard of, nor is likely tohear of, living uneventful obscure lives in out-of-the-way corners. Forinstance, there is a lady in this very neighbourhood, a relation of SirGeorge Atherley, I believe, Mrs. De No--"

"Her ladyship would like to see you in the drawing-room, sir, " saidCastleman, suddenly coming in. 

The doctor bowed to me and immediately left the room. 

CHAPTER III

MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL

"No, they have not seen any more ghosts, sir, " replied Castlemanscornfully next day, "and never need have seen any. It is all along ofthis tea-drinking. We did not have this bother when the women took theirbeer regular. These teetotallers have done a lot of harm. They ought tobe put down by Act of Parliament. "

And the kitchen-maid was better. Mrs. Mallet, indeed, assured LadyAtherley that Hann was not long for this world, having turned just thesame colour as the late Mr. Mallet did on the eve of his death; butfortunately the patient herself, as well as the doctor, took a morehopeful view of the case. 

"I can see Mrs. Mallet is a horrible old croaker, " said Lady Atherley. 

"Let her croak, " said Atherley, "so long as she cooks as she did lastnight. That curry would have got her absolution for anything if youruncle had been here. "

"That reminds me, George, the ceiling of the spare room is not mendedyet. "

"Why, I thought you sent to Whitford for a plasterer yesterday?"

"Yes, and he came; but Mrs. Mallet has some extraordinary story abouthis falling into his bucket and spoiling his Sunday coat, and going homeat once to change it. I can't make it out, but nothing is done to theceiling. "

"I make it out, " said Atherley; "I make out that he was a little theworse for drink. Have we not a plasterer in the village?"

"I think there is one. I fancy the Jacksons did not wish us to employhim, because he is a dissenter; but after all, giving him work is notthe same as giving him presents. "

"No, indeed; nor do I see why, because he is a dissenter, I, who am onlyan infidel, am to put up with a hole in my ceiling. "

"Only, I don't know what his name is. "

"His name is Smart. Everybody in our village is called Smart--mostinappropriately too. "

"No, George, the man the doctor told us about who is so dangerouslyill is called Monk. "

"I am glad to hear it; but he doesn't belong to our parish, though helives so close. He is actually in Rood Warren. His cottage is at theother side of the Common. "

"Then we can leave the wine and things as we go. And, George, while theboys are having tea with Aunt Eleanour, I think I shall drive on toQuarley Beacon and try and persuade Cecilia to come back and spend thenight with us. I think we could manage to put her up in the little bluedressing-room. She is so good-natured; she won't mind its being sosmall. "

"Yes, do; I want Lyndsay to see her. And give my best love to AuntEleanour, and say that if she is going to send me any more tractsagainst Popery, I should be extremely obliged if she would prepay thepostage sufficiently. "

"Oh no, George, I could not. It was only threepence. "

"Well, then, tell her it is no good sending any at all, because I havemade up my mind to go over to Rome next July. "

"No, George; she might not like it, and I don't believe you are going todo anything of the kind. Oh, are you off already? I thought you wouldsettle something about the plasterer. "

"No, no; I can't think of plasterers and repairs to-day. Even thegalley-slave has his holiday--this is mine. I am going to see the houndsthrow off at Rood Acre, and forget for one day that I have an inch oflanded property in the world. "

"But, George, if the pink-room ceiling is not put right by Saturday, where shall we put Uncle Augustus?"

"Into the room just opposite to Lindy's. "

"What! that little room? In the bachelor's passage? A man of his age, and of his position!"

"I am sure it is large enough for any one under a bishop. Besides, Idon't think he is fussy about anything except his dinner. "

"It is not the way he is accustomed to be treated when he is on a visit, I can assure you. He is a person who is generally considered a greatdeal. "

"Well, I consider him a great deal. I consider him one of the finest oldheathen I ever knew. "

Fortunately for their domestic peace, Lady Atherley usually misses thepoints of her husband's speeches, but there are some which jar upon hersense of the becoming, and this was one of them. 

"I don't think, " she observed to me, the offender himself havingescaped, "that even if Uncle Augustus were not my uncle, a heathen is aproper name to call a clergyman, especially a canon--and one who is solooked up to in the Church. Have you ever heard him preach? But you musthave heard about him, and about his sermons? I thought so. They arebeautiful. When he preaches the church is crammed, and with the bestpeople--in the season, when they are in town. And he has written a greatmany religious books too--sermons and hymns and manuals. There is alittle book in red morocco you may have seen in my sitting-room--I knowit was there a week ago--which he gave me, _The Life of Prayer_, with ashort meditation and a hymn for every hour of the day--all composed byhim. We don't see so much of him as I could wish. He is so grieved aboutGeorge's views. He gave him some of his own sermons, but of courseGeorge would not look at them; and--so annoying--the last time he came Iput the sermons, two beautiful large volumes of them, on thedrawing-room table, and when we were all there after dinner George askedme quite loud what these smart books were, and where they came from. Soaltogether he has not come to see us for a long time; but as he happenedto be staying with the Mountshires, I begged him to come over for anight or two; so you will hear him preach on Sunday. "

At lunch that day Lady Atherley proposed that I should accompany them toWoodcote. "Do come, Mr. Lyndsay, " said Denis. "We shall have cakes fortea, and jam-sandwiches as well. "

"And there is an awfully jolly banister for sliding down, " added Harold, "without any turns or landing, you know. "

I professed myself unable to resist such inducements. Indeed, I wasalmost glad to go. The recollection of Mrs. Mostyn's cheerful face was asalluring to me that day as the thought of a glowing hearth might be tothe beggar on the door-step. Here, at least, was one to whom life was ablessing; who partook of all it could bestow with an appetite ashealthfully keen as her nephew's, but without his disinclination ordisregard for anything besides. 

The mild March day felt milder, the rooks cawed more cheerfully, and thespring flowers shone out more fearlessly around us when we had passedthrough the white gates of Woodcote--a favoured spot gently declining tothe sunniest quarter, and sheltered from the north and north-east bybarricades of elm-woods. The tiny domain was exquisitely ordered, as Ilove to see everything which appertains to women; and within the lowwhite house, furnished after the simple and stiff fashion of a pastgeneration, reigned the same dainty neatness, the same sunnycheerfulness, the native atmosphere of its chatelaine Mrs. Mostyn--awhite-haired old lady long past seventy, with the bloom of youth on hercheek, its vivacity in her step, and its sparkle in her eyes. 

Hardly were the first greetings exchanged when the children opened theball of conversation by inquiring eagerly when tea would be ready. 

"How can you be so greedy?" said their mother. "Why, you have only justfinished your dinner. "

"We dined at half-past one, and it is nearly half-past three. "

"Poor darlings!" cried Mrs. Mostyn, regarding them with the enrapturedgaze of the true child-lover; "their drive has made them hungry; and wecannot have tea very well before half-past four, because some old womenfrom the village have come up to have tea, and the servants are busyattending to them. But I can tell you what you could do, dears. You knowthe way to the dairy; one of the maids is sure to be there; tell her togive you some cream. You will like that, won't you? Yes, you can go outby this door. "

"And remember to--"

Lady Atherley's exhortation remained unfinished, her sons having dartedthrough the door-window like arrows from the bow. 

"Since Miss Jones has been gone for her holiday the children are quiteunmanageable, " she observed. 

"Oh, it is such a good sign!" cried Mrs. Mostyn heartily; "it shows theyare so thoroughly well. Mr. Lyndsay, why have you chosen thatuncomfortable chair? Come and sit over beside me, if you are not afraidof the fire. And now, Jane, my love, tell me how you are getting on atWeald. "

Then followed a long catalogue of accidents and disappointments, offaithlessness and incapacity, to which Mrs. Mostyn supplied a runningcommentary of interjections sympathetic and consoling. There were, moreover, many changes for the worse since Sir Marmaduke had residedthere: the shooting and the fishing had been alike neglected; thefarmers were impoverished; the old places had changed hands. 

"And a good many quite new people have come to live in small housesround Weald, " said Lady Atherley. "They have left cards on us. Do youknow what they are like?"

"Quite ladies and gentlemen, I believe, and nice enough as long as youdon't get to know them too intimately; but they are alwaysquarrelling. "

"About what?"

"About everything; but especially about church matters--decorations andanthems and other rubbish. What they want is less of the church and moreof the Bible. "

"I believe Mr. Jackson has a Bible-class every week. "

"But is it a Bible-class, or is it only called so? There is Mr. Austinat Rood Warren, a Romanist in disguise if ever there was one: he is byway of having a Bible-class, and one of our farmers' daughters attendedit. 'And what part of the Bible are you studying now?' I asked her. 'Weare studying early church history. ' 'I don't know any such chapter inthe Bible as that, ' I said, and yet I know my Bible pretty well. Sheexplained it was a continuation of the Acts of the Apostles. I said:'My dear child, don't you be misled by any jugglery of that kind; thereis no continuation of the Bible; and as to what people call the earlychurch, its doings and sayings are of no consequence at all. The onequestion we have to ask ourselves is this: '"What does the Book say?"'What is in the Book is God's word: what is not in the Book is onlyman's. "

The effect of this exposition on Lady Atherley was to make her askeagerly whether the curate in charge at Rood Warren was one of theAustyns of Temple Leigh. 

"I believe he is a nephew, " Mrs. Mostyn admitted, quite gloomily forher. "It is painful to see people of good standing going astray in thismanner. "

"I was thinking it would be so convenient to get a young man over todinner sometimes; and Rood Warren cannot be very far from us, for one ofMr. Austyn's parishioners lives just at the end of Weald. "

"If you take my advice, my dearest Jane, you will not have anything todo with him. He is certain to be attractive--men of that sort alwaysare; and there is no saying what he might do: perhaps gain an influenceover George himself. "

"I don't think there need be any fear of that, for at dinner, you know, we need not have any religious discussions; I never will have them; theyare almost as bad as politics, they make people so cross. "

Then she rose and explained her visit to Mrs. De Noël. 

"But, Mr. Lyndsay, " said Mrs. Mostyn, "are you going to desert the oldwoman for the young one, or are you going to stay and see my gardens andhave tea? That is right. Good-bye, my dearest Jane. Give my dear love toCissy, and tell her to come over and see me--but I shall have a glimpseof her on your way back. "

"I hope Mrs. De Noël may be persuaded to come back, " I said, as thecarriage drove off, and we walked along a gravel path by lawns of velvetsmoothness; "I would so much like to meet her. "

"Have you never met her? Dear Cecilia! She is a sweet creature--thesweetest, I think, I ever met, though perhaps I ought not to say so ofmy own niece. She wants but one thing--the grace of God. "

We passed into a little wood, tapestried with ivy, carpeted withclustering primroses, and she continued--

"It is most mysterious. Both Cecilia and George, being left orphans soearly, were brought up by my dear sister Henrietta. She was a believingChristian, and no children ever had greater religious advantages thanthese two. As soon as they could speak they learnt hymns or texts ofScripture, and before they could read they knew whole chapters of theBible by heart. George even now, I will say that for him, knows hisBible better than a good many clergymen. And the Sabbath, too. They weretaught to reverence the Lord's day in a way children never are nowadays. All games and picture-books put away on Saturday night; regularly tochurch morning and afternoon, and in the evening Henrietta would talk tothem and question them about the sermon. And after all, here is Georgewho says he believes in nothing; and as to Cecilia, I never can make outwhat she does or does not believe. However, I am quite happy in my mindabout them. I feel they are of the elect. I am as certain of theirsalvation as I am of my own. "

A sudden scampering of feet upon the gravel was followed by theappearance of the boys, rosy with exercise and excitement. 

"Well, my darling boys, have you had your cream?"

"Oh yes, Aunt Eleanour, " cried Harold, "and we have been into thefarm-yard and seen the little pigs. Such jolly little beasts, Mr. Lyndsay, and squeak so funnily when you pull their tails. "

"Oh, but I can't have my pigs unkindly treated. "

"Not unkindly, auntie, " cried Denis, swinging affectionately upon myarm; "we only just tried to make their tails go straight, you know. And, Mr. Lyndsay, there is such a dear little baby calf. "

"But I want to give apples to the horses, " cried Harold. 

So we went to the fruit-house for apples, which Mrs. Mostyn herselfselected from an upper shelf, mounting a ladder with equal agility andgrace; then to the stables, where these dainties were crunched by twovery fat carriage-horses; then to the miniature farm-yard, and the tinyivy-covered dairy beyond; and just as I was beginning to feel the firstqualms of my besetting humiliation, fatigue, Mrs. Mostyn led us round tothe garden--a garden with high red walls, and a dial in themeeting-place of the flower-bordered paths; and we sat down in a rusticseat cosily fitted into one sunny corner, just behind a great bed ofhyacinths in flower. 

The children had but one regret: Tip had been left behind. 

"But mamma would not let us bring him, " cried Harold in an aggrievedtone, "because he will roll in the flower-beds. "

"Do you think it is nearly half-past four, Aunt Eleanour?" asked Denis. 

"Very nearly, I should think. Suppose you were to go and see if theyhave brought the tea-kettle in; and if they have, call to me from thedrawing-room window, and I will come. "

The tempered sunlight fell full upon the delicate hyacinthclusters--coral, snow-white, and faintest lilac--exhaling theirexquisite odour, and the warm sweet air seemed to enwrap us tenderly. Myspirits, heavy as lead, began to rise--strangely, irrationally. Sunlighthas always for me a supersensuous beauty, while the colour and perfumeof flowers move me as sound vibrations move the musician. Just then itwas to me as if through Nature, from that which is behind Nature, therereached me a pitying, a comforting caress. 

And in the same key were Mrs. Mostyn's words when she next spoke. 

"Mr. Lyndsay, I am an old woman and you are very young, and my heartgoes out to all young creatures in sorrow, especially to one who has nomother of his own, no, nor father even, to comfort him. I know whattrouble you have had. Would you be offended if I said how deeply I feltfor you?"

"Offended, Mrs. Mostyn!"

"No. I see you understand me; you will not think me obtrusive when I saythat I pray this great trial may be for your lasting good; may lead youto seek and to find salvation. The truth is brought home to us in manydifferent ways, by many different instruments. My own eyes were openedby very extraordinary means. "

She was silent for a few instants, and then went on--

"When I was young, Mr. Lyndsay, I lived for the world only. I went tochurch, of course, like other people, and said my prayers and calledmyself a Christian, but I did not know what the word meant. My sisterHenrietta would often talk seriously to me, but it had no effect, andshe was quite grieved over my hardened state; but my dear mother, a truesaint, used to tell her to have no fear, that some day I should besharply awakened to my soul's danger. But it was not till years aftershe was in heaven that her words came true. "

I looked at her and waited. 

"We were still living at Weald Manor with my brother Marmaduke, and wehad young people staying with us. They were all going--all butmyself--to a ball at Carchester. I stayed at home because I had a slightcold, which made me feel tired and feverish, and disinclined to bedancing till early next morning. I went to bed early, and when I hadsent away my maid I sat beside the fire for a little, thinking. You knowthe long gallery?"

"Yes. "

"My room was there; so I was quite alone, for the servants slept, justas they do now, in the opposite end of the house. But I had my dog withme, such a dear little thing, a black-and-tan terrier. He was lyingasleep on the rug beside me. Well, all at once he got up and put hishead on one side as if he heard something, and he began barking. I onlysaid 'Nonsense, Totty, lie down, ' and paid no more attention to him, till some moments afterwards he made a strange kind of noise as if hewere trying to bark and was choked in some way. This made me look athim, and then I observed that he was trembling from head to foot, andstaring in the strangest way at something behind me. I will honestlytell you he made me feel so uncomfortable I was afraid to look round;and still it was almost as bad to sit there and not look round, so atlast I summoned up courage and turned my head. Then I saw it. "

"The ghost?"

"Yes. "

"What was it like?"

"It was like a shadow, only darker, and not lying against the wall as ashadow would do, but standing out from it in the air. It stood a littleway from me in a corner of the room. It was in the shape of a man, witha ruff round his neck, and sleeves puffed out at the shoulders, as youoften see in old pictures; but I don't remember much about that, for atthe time I could think of nothing but the face. "

"And that--?"

"That was simply dreadful. I can't tell you what it was like. I couldnot have imagined it, if I had not seen it. It was the look--the lookin its eyes. After all these years it makes me tremble when I think ofit. But what I felt was not the same nervous feeling which made meafraid to turn round. It went much deeper--indeed it went deeper thananything in my life had ever gone before; it went right down to my soul, in fact, and made me feel I had a soul. "

She had turned quite pale. 

"Yes, Mr. Lyndsay, strange as it sounds, the mere sight of that facemade me realise in an instant what I had read and heard thousands oftimes, and what my mother and Henrietta had told me over and over againabout the utter nothingness of earthly aims and comforts--of what in anordinary way is called life. I had heard very fine sermons preachedabout the same thing: 'What is our life, it is even a vapour, ' and the'vain shadow' in which we walk. Have you ever thought how we can go onhearing and even repeating true and wise words without getting at theirreal sense, and, what is worse, without suspecting our own ignorance?"

"I know it well. "

"When Henrietta used to say that the whirl of worldly occupations andinterests and amusements in which I was so engrossed did not deserve tobe called life, and could never satisfy the eternal soul within me, itused to seem to me an exaggerated way of saying that the next worldwould be better than this one; but I saw the meaning of her words, I sawthe truth of them, as I see these flowers before me, and feel the gravelunder my feet: it came to me in a moment, the night these terrible eyeslooked into mine. The feeling did not last, but I have never forgottenit, and never shall. It was as if a veil were lifted for an instant, andI was standing outside of my life and looking back at it; and it seemedso poor and worthless and unreal--I can't explain myself properly. "

"And did the figure remain for any time?"

"I do not know. I think I must have fainted. They found me lying in ahalf-unconscious state in my chair when they came home. I was ill in bedfor weeks with what the doctors call low fever. But neither the fevernor anything else could remove the impression that had been made. Thatterrible thing was a blessed messenger to me. My real conversion wasnot till years later, but the way was prepared by the great shock I thenreceived, and which roused me to a sense of my danger. "

"What do you think the thing you saw Was, Mrs. Mostyn?"

"The ghost?"

"Yes. "

Slowly, thoughtfully, she answered me--

"I am certain it was a lost soul: nothing else could have worn thatdreadful look. "

She paused for a few moments and then continued--

"Perhaps you are one of those who do not believe in the punishment ofsin?"

"Who can disbelieve it, Mrs. Mostyn? Call it what we like, it is a fact. It confronts us on every side. We might as well refuse to believe indeath. "

"It is not that I meant! I was talking of punishment in the next world, Mr. Lyndsay. "

"Well, there, too, no doubt it must continue, until the uttermostfarthing is paid. I believe--at least I hope--that. "

She shook her head with a troubled expression. 

"There is no paying that debt in the next world. It can only be paidhere. Here, a free pardon is offered to us, and if we do not accept it, then---- It is the fashion, even among believers, nowadays to avoid thisawful subject. Preachers of the Gospel do not speak of it in the pulpitas they once did. It is considered too shocking for our modern notions. I have no patience with such weakness, such folly--worse than folly. Itseems to me even more wrong to try and hide this terrible danger fromourselves and from others than to deny it altogether, as some poordeluded souls do. Mr. Lyndsay, have you ever realised what the place oftorment will be like?"

"Yes; once, Mrs. Mostyn. "

"You were in pain?"

"I suppose it was pain, " I said. 

For always, when anything revives this recollection, seared into mymemory, the question rises: was it merely pain, physical pain, of whichwe all speak so easily and lightly? It lasted only ten minutes; tenminutes by the clock, that is. For me time was annihilated. There was nopast or future, but only an intolerable present, in which mind and soulwere blotted out, and all of sentient existence that remained was theanimal consciousness of agony. I cannot share men's stoical contemptfor a Gehenna, which is nothing worse. 

"Mr. Lyndsay, imagine pain, worse than any ever endured on earth goingon and on, for ever!"

A bird, not a thrush, but one of the minor singers, lighting on a boughnear us, trilled one simple but ecstatic phrase. 

"Do you really and truly believe, Mrs. Mostyn, that this will be thefate of any single being?"

"Of any single being? Do we not know that it is what will happen to thegreatest number? For what does the Book say? 'Many are called but feware chosen. '"

Through the still, mild air, across the sun-steeped gardens, came thevoices of the children--

"Aunt Eleanour! Aunt Eleanour!"

"Many are called, " she repeated, "but few are chosen; and those who arenot chosen shall be cast into everlasting fire. "

There was a pause. She turned to look at me, and, as if struck bysomething in my face, said gently, soothingly:

"Yes, it is a terrible thought, but only for the unregenerate. It has noterror for me. I trust it need have no terror for you. After all, howsimple, how easy is the way of escape! You have only to believe. "

"And then?"

"And then you are safe, safe for evermore. Think of that. The foolishpeople who wish to explain away eternal punishment, forget that at thesame time they explain away eternal happiness! You will be safe now, and after death you will be in heaven for evermore. "

"I shall be in heaven for evermore, and always there will be hell. "

"Yes. "

"Where the others will be?"

"What others? Only the wicked!"

"Aunt Eleanour! Aunt Eleanour!" called the children once more. 

"I must go to them! But, Mr. Lyndsay, think over what I have said. "

And I remained and obeyed her, and beheld, entire, distinct, the spectrethat drives men to madness or despair--illimitable omnipotent Malice. Inits shadow the colour of the flowers was quenched, and the music of thebirds rang false. Yet it wore the consecration of time and authority!What if it were true?

"Mr. Lyndsay, " said Denis at my elbow, "Aunt Eleanour has sent me tofetch you to tea. Mr. Lyndsay, do you hear? Why do you look so strange?"

He caught my hand anxiously as he spoke, and by that little human touchthe spell was broken. The phantom vanished; and, looking into thechild's eyes, I felt it was a lie. 

CHAPTER IV

CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL

There was no Mrs. De Noël in the carriage when it returned; she had goneto London to stay with Mrs. Donnithorne, whom Atherley spoke of as AuntHenrietta, and was not expected home till Wednesday. 

"I am sorry, " Lady Atherley observed, as we drove home through the dusk;"I should like to have had her here when Uncle Augustus was with us. Iwould have asked Mrs. Mostyn to dine with us, but I am not sure she andUncle Augustus would get on. When her sister, Mrs. Donnithorne, metUncle Augustus and his wife at lunch at our house once, she said shethought no minister of the Gospel ought to allow his child to take partin worldly amusements or ceremonials. It was very awkward, because UncleAugustus's eldest girl had been presented only the day before. And AuntClara, Uncle Augustus's wife, you know, who is rather quick, said itdepended whether the minister of the Gospel was a gentleman or ashoe-black, because Mrs. Donnithorne was attending a dissenting chapelthen where the preacher was quite a common uneducated sort of person. And after that they would not talk to each other, and, altogether, Iremember, it was very unpleasant. I do think it is such a pity, " criedLady Atherley with real feeling, "when people will take up these extremereligious views, as all the Atherleys do. I am sure it is quite acomfort to have someone like you in the house, Mr. Lyndsay, who is notparticular about religion. "

 * * * * *

"If this is the best Aunt Eleanour has to show in the way of a ghost, she does well to keep so quiet about it, " was Atherley's comment on thatpart of the story which, by special permission, I repeated to him nextday. "I never heard a weaker ghost story. She explains the whole thingaway as she tells it. She was, as she candidly admits, ill andfeverish--sickening for a fever, in fact, when the most rationalperson's senses are apt to play them strange tricks. She is alone at thedead of night in a house she believes to be haunted; and then herdog--an odious little beast, I remember him well, always barking atsomething or nothing;--the dog suggests there is somebody near. Shelooks round into a dark part of the room, and naturally, inevitably--allthings considered--sees a ghost. Did you say it wore a ruff and puffedsleeves?"

"So Mrs. Mostyn said. "

"Of course, because, as I told you, Aunt Eleanour believed in theElizabethan portrait theory. If it had been Aunt Henrietta, the ghostwould have been in armour. Ghosts and all visitors from the other worldobligingly correspond with the preconceived notions of the visionary. When a white robe and a halo were considered the proper celestialoutfit, saints and angels always appeared with white robes and halos. Inthe same way, the African savage, who believes in a god with a crookedleg, always sees him in dreams, waking or asleep, with a crooked leg;and--"

Here we were interrupted by a great stir in the hall outside, and LadyAtherley looked in to explain that the carriage with Uncle Augustus wasjust coming down the drive. 

Her manner reminded me of the full importance of this arrival, as wellas of the unfortunate circumstance that, owing to the ill-timed absenceof the dissenting plasterer, the Canon must be lodged in the little roomopposite to my own. 

However, when I went into the drawing-room, I found him accepting hisniece's apologies and explanations with great good-humour. To me also hewas especially gracious. 

"I had the pleasure of dining at Lindesford, Mr. Lyndsay, when you musthave been in long clothes. I remember we had some of the finest trout Iever tasted. Are they still as good in your river?"

His voice, like himself, was massive and impressive; his bearing andmanner inspired me with wistful admiration: what must life be to a manso self-confident, and so rightly self-confident?

"Is not Uncle Augustus a fine-looking man?" asked Lady Atherley, when hehad left the room with Atherley. "I cannot think why they do not makehim a bishop; he would look so well in the robes. He ought to have hadsomething when the last ministry was in, for Aunt Clara and LordLingford are cousins; but, unfortunately, the families were on bad termsbecause of a lawsuit. "

The morning after was bright and fair, so thatsunlight mingled with the drowsy calm--Sunday in the country as weremember it, looking lovingly back from lands that are not English tothe tenderer side of the Puritan Sabbath. But I missed my little_aubade_ from the lawn, and not till breakfast-time did I behold mysmall friends, who then came into the breakfast-room, one on either sideof their mother--two miniature sailors, exquisitely neat but visiblydejected. Behind walked Tip, demurely recognising the change in theatmosphere, but, undisturbed thereby, he at once, with his usual air ofself-satisfied dignity, assumed his place in the largest arm-chair. 

"The landau could take us all to church except you, George, " said LadyAtherley, looking thoughtfully into the fire as we waited for breakfastand the Canon. "But I suppose you would prefer to walk?"

"Why should you suppose I am going to church, either walking ordriving?"

"Well, I certainly hoped you would have gone to-day; as Uncle Augustusis going to preach it seems only polite to do so. "

"Well, I don't mind; I daresay it will do me no harm; and if it isunderstood I attend only out of consideration for my wife's uncle, then--"

He was interrupted by the entrance of the person in question. 

Many times during breakfast Denis looked thoughtfully at hisgreat-uncle, and at last inquired--

"Do you preach very long sermons, Uncle Augustus?"

"They are not generally considered so, " replied the Canon with somedignity. 

"Denis, I have often told you not to ask questions, " said Lady Atherley. 

"When I am grown up, " remarked Harold, "I will be an atheist. "

"Do you know what an atheist is?" inquired his father. 

"Yes, it is people who never go to church. "

"But they go to lecture-rooms, which you would find worse. "

"But they don't have sermons. "

"Don't they? Hours long, especially when they bury each other. "

"Oh!" said Harold, evidently taken aback, and somewhat reconciled to thechurch. 

"When I am grown up, " said Denis, "I mean to be the same church as AuntCissy. "

"And what may that be?" inquired the Canon. 

Denis was silent and looked perplexed; but some time afterwards, when wewere talking of other things, he called out, with the joy of one who hascaptured that elusive thing, a definition:

"In Aunt Cissy's church they climb trees and make toffee on Sundays. "

After which Lady Atherley seemed glad to take them both away with her. 

It was perhaps this remark that led the Canon to ask, on the way tochurch--

"Is it true that Mrs. De Noël attends a dissenting chapel?"

"No, " said Lady Atherley. "But I know why people say so. She lent afield last year to the Methodists to have their camp-meeting in. "

"Oh! but that is a pity, " said the Canon. "A very great pity--a personin her position encouraging dissent, especially when there is no realoccasion for it. Clara's nephew, young Littlemore, did something of thekind last year, but then he was standing for the county; and though thathardly justifies, it excuses, a little pandering to the multitude. "

"Cissy only let them have it once, " said Lady Atherley, as if making thebest of it. "And, indeed, I believe it rained so hard that day they werenot able to have the meeting after all. "

Then the carriage stopped before the lych-gate, through which thefresh-faced school children were trooping; and while the bell clangedits last monotonous summons, we walked up between the village graves tothe old church porch that older yews overshadow, where the village ladswere loitering, as Sunday after Sunday their sleeping forefathers hadloitered before them. 

We worshipped that morning in a magnificent pew to one side of thechancel, and quite as large, from which we enjoyed a full view of clergyand congregation. The former consisted of the Canon, Mr. Jackson, clergyman of the parish, and a young man I had not seen before. Not alarge number had mustered to hear the Canon; the front seats were wellfilled by men and women in goodly apparel, but in the pews behind and inthe side aisles there was a mere sprinkling of worshippers in the Sundaydress of country labourers. Our supplicaitions were offered with aslittle ritualistic pageantry as Mrs. Mostyn herself could have desired, though the choir probably sang oftener and better than she would haveapproved. In spite of their efforts it was as uninspiring a service as Ihave ever taken part in. This was not due, as might be suspected, toAtherley's presence, for his demeanour was irreproachable. His littlesons, delighted at having him with them, carefully found his places forhim in prayer and hymnbook, and kept watch that he did not lose themafterwards, so that he perforce assumed a really edifying degree ofattention. Nor, indeed, did the rest of the congregation err in thedirection of restlessness or wandering looks, but rather in the oppositeextreme, insomuch that during the litany, when we were no longersupported by music, and had, most of us, assumed attitudes favourableto repose, we appeared one and all to succumb to it, especially towardsthe close, when, from the body of the church at least, only the agedclerk was heard to cry for mercy. But with the third service, there camea change, which reminded me of how once in a foreign cathedral, when theprocession filed by--the singing-men nudging each other, thestandard-bearers giggling, and the English tourists craning to see thesight--the face of one white-haired old bishop beneath his canopytransformed for me a foolish piece of mummery into a prayer in action. So it was again, when the young stranger turned to us his pale clear-cutface, solemn with an awe as rapt as if he verily stood before the throneof Him he called upon, and felt Its glory beating on his face; then, bythat one earnest and believing presence, all was transformed andredeemed; the old emblems recovered their first significance, thetime-worn phrases glowed with life again, and we ourselves werealtered--our very heaviness was pathetic: it was the lethargy of deathitself, and our poor sleepy prayers the strain of manacled captivesstriving to be free. 

The Canon's sermon did not maintain this high-strung mood, though whynot it would be difficult to say. Like all his, it was eloquent, brilliant even, declaimed by a fine voice of wide compass, whose varyingtones he used with the skill of a practised orator. The text was "Ourconversation is in Heaven, " its theme the contrast between the man ofthis world, with his heart fixed upon its pomps, its vanities, itshonours, and the believer indifferent to all these, esteeming them asdross merely compared to the heavenly treasure, the one thing needful. Certainly the utter worthlessness of the prizes for which men labour andso late take rest, barter their happiness, their peace, their honour, was never more scathingly depicted. I remember the organ-like bass ofhis note in passages which denounced the grovelling worship of earthlypre-eminence and riches, the clarion-like cry with which he concluded astirring eulogy of the Christian's nobler service of things unseen. 

"Brethren, as His kingdom is not of this world, so too our kingdom isnot of this world. "

"I think you will admit, George, " said Lady Atherley, as we left thechurch, "that you have had a good sermon to-day. "

"Yes, indeed, " heartily assented Atherley. "It was excellent. Your unclecertainly knows his business, which is more than can be said of mostpreachers. It was a really splendid performance. But who on earth was hetalking about--those wonderful people who don't care for money orsuccess, or the best of everything generally? I never met any likethem. "

"My dear George! How extraordinary you are! Any one could see, I shouldhave thought, that he meant Christians. "

Atherley and the children walked home while we waited for the Canon, whostayed behind to exchange a few words in the vestry with his oldschoolfellow, Mr. Jackson. 

As we drove home he made, aloud, some reflections, probably suggested bythe difference between their positions. 

"It really grieves me to see Jackson where he is at his age. He deservesa better living. He is an excellent fellow, and not without ability, butwanting, unfortunately, in tact and _savoir-faire_. He always had anunhappy knack of blurting out the truth in season and out of season. Idid my best to get him a good living once--a first-rate living--in SirJohn Marsh's gift; and I warned him before he went to lunch with SirJohn to be careful what he said. 'Sir John, ' I said, 'is one of the oldschool; he thinks the Squire is pope of the parish, and you will have tohumour him a little. He will talk a great deal of nonsense in thisstrain, and be careful not to contradict him, for he can't bear it. 'But Jackson did contradict him--flatly; he told me so himself, and, ofcourse, Sir John would have nothing to say to him. 'But he made suchextravagant statements, ' said Jackson. 'If I had kept quiet he wouldhave thought I agreed with him. '--'What did that matter?' I said. 'Onceyou were vicar you could have shown him you didn't. '--'The truth is, 'said Jackson, 'I cannot sit by and hear black called white withoutprotesting. ' That is Jackson all over! A man of that kind will never geton. And then, such an imprudent marriage--a woman without a penny!"

"I have never seen any one who wore such extraordinary bonnets, " saidLady Atherley. 

"Who was that young man who bowed to the altar and crossed himself?"asked the Canon. 

"I suppose that must be Mr. Austyn, curate in charge at Rood Warren. Hecomes over to help Mr. Jackson sometimes, I believe. George has met him;I have not. I want to get him over to dinner. He is a nephew of Mr. Austyn of Temple Leigh. "

"Oh, that family!" said the Canon. "I am sorry he has taken up such anextreme line. It is a great mistake. In the Church, preferment in thesedays always goes to the moderate men. "

"Rood Warren is not far from here, " said Lady Atherley, "and he has aparishioner--Oh, that reminds me. Mr. Lyndsay, would you be so kind asto look out and tell the coachman to drive round by Monk's? I want toleave some soup. "

"Monk, I presume, is a sick labourer?" said the Canon. "I hope you arenot as indiscriminate in your charities as most Ladies Bountiful. "

"Mr. Jackson says this is a really deserving case. He knows all abouthim, though he really is in Mr. Austyn's parish. Monk has never hadanything from the parish, and been working hard all his life, and he ispast seventy. He was breaking stones on the road a few weeks ago; but hecaught a chill or something one very cold day, and has been laid up eversince. This is the house. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, you should not trouble to getout. As you are so kind, will you carry this in?"

The interior of the tiny thatched cottage was scrupulously clean andneat, as they nearly all are in the valley, but barer and more scantilyfurnished than most of them. No photographs or pictures decorated thewhite-washed walls, no scraps of carpet or matting hid the red-brickfloor. The Monks were evidently of the poorest. An old piece of fadedcurtain had been hung from a rope between the chimney-piece and the doorto shield the patient from the draught. He sat in a stiff woodenarm-chair near the fire, drawing his breath laboriously. "He was betternow, " said his wife, a nurse as old and as frail-looking as himself. "Nights was the worst. " His shoulders were bent, his hair white withage, his withered features almost as coarse and as unshapely as the poorclothes he wore. The mask had been rough-hewn, to begin with; time andexposure had further defaced it. No gleam of intellectual lifetranspierced and illumined all. It was the face of an animal--ugly, ignorant, honest, patient. As I looked at it there came over me a rushof the pity I have so often felt for this suffering of age inpoverty--so unpicturesque, so unwinning, to shallow sight sounpathetic--and I put out my hand and let it rest for a moment on hisown, knotted with rheumatism, stained and seamed with toil. Then helooked up at me from under his shaggy brows with haggard, wistful eyes, and gasped: "It's hard work, sir; it's hard work. " And I went out intothe sunshine, feeling that I had heard the epitome of his life. 

That night Mrs. Mallet surpassed herself by her rendering of a menu, especially composed by Atherley for the delectation of their guest. Their pains were not wasted. The Canon's commendation of eachcourse--and we talked of little else, I remember, from soup todessert--was as discriminating as it was warm. 

"I am glad you approve of our cook, Uncle, " said Lady Atherley in thedrawing-room afterwards, "for she is only a stop-gap. Our own cook leftus quite suddenly the other day, and we had such difficulty in findingthis one to take her place. No one can imagine how inconvenient it is tohave a haunted house. "

"My dear Jane, you don't mean to tell me you are afraid of ghosts?"

"Oh no, Uncle. "

"And I am sure your husband is not?"

"No; but unfortunately cooks are. "

"Eh! what?"

Then Lady Atherley willingly repeated the story of her troubles. 

"Preposterous! perfectly preposterous!" cried the Canon. "The EducationAct in operation for all these years, and our lower orders still believein bogies and hobgoblins! And yet it is hardly to be wondered at; theirsocial superiors are not much wiser. The nonsense which is talked insociety at present is perfectly incredible. Persons who are supposed tobe in their right mind gravely relate to me such incidents that I couldimagine myself transported to the Middle Ages. I hear of miraculouscures, of spirits summoned from the dead, of men and women floating inthe air; and as to diabolic possession, it seems to have become ascommon as colds in the head. "

He had risen, and now addressed us from the hearthrug. 

"Then Mrs. Molyneux and others come and tell me about personal friendsof their own who can foretell everything that is going to happen; whocan read your inmost thoughts; who can compel others to do this and todo that, whether they like it or no; who, being themselves in onequarter of the globe, constantly appear to their acquaintances inanother. 'What!' I say. 'They can be in two places at once, then!Certainly no conjurer can equal that!'"

"And what do they say to that?" asked Atherley. 

"Oh, they assure me the extraordinary beings who perform these marvelsare not impostors, but very superior and religious characters. 'If theyare not impostors, ' I say, 'then their right place is the lunaticasylum. ' 'Oh but, Canon Vernade, you don't understand; it is only ourWestern ignorance which makes such things seem astonishing! Far moremarvellous things are going on, and have been going on for centuries, inthe East; for instance, in the Brotherhoods of--I forget--someunpronounceable name. ' 'And how do you know they have?' I ask. 'Oh, bytheir traditions, which have been handed on for generations. ' 'That isvery reliable information indeed, ' I say. 'Pray, have you ever played agame of Russian scandal?' 'Well; but, then, there are the sacred books. There can be no mistake about them, for they have been translated bylearned European professors, who say the religious sentiments areperfectly beautiful. ' 'Very possibly, ' I say. 'But it does not followthat the historical statements are correct. '"

"I gave my ladies' Bible-class a serious lecture about it all the otherday. I said: 'Do, my dear ladies, get rid of these childish notions, these uncivilised hankerings after marvels and magic, which make you thedupe of one charlatan after another. Take up science, for a change;study natural philosophy; try and acquire accurate notions of the systemunder which we live; realise that we are not moving on the stage of aChristmas pantomime, but in a universe governed by fixed laws, in whichthe miraculous performances you describe to me never can, and nevercould, have taken place. And be sure of this, that any book and anyteacher, however admirable their moral teaching, who tell you that twoand two make anything but four, are not inspired, so far as arithmeticand common sense are concerned. '"

"Hear, hear!" cried Atherley heartily. 

The Canon's brow contracted a little. 

"I need hardly explain, " he said, "that what I said did not apply torevealed truth. Jane, my dear, as I must leave by an early trainto-morrow, I think I shall say good-night. "

I fell asleep that night early, and dreamt that I was sitting withGladys in the frescoed dining-room of an old Italian palace. It wasnight, and through the open window came one long shaft of moonlight, that vanished in the aureole of the shaded lamp standing with wine andfruit upon the table between us. And I said in my dream--

"Oh, Gladys, will it be always like this, or must we part again?"

And she, smiling her slow soft smile, said: "You may stay with me tillthe knock comes. "

"What knock, my darling?"

But even as I spoke I heard it, low and penetrating, and I stretched outmy arms imploringly towards Gladys; but she only smiled, and the knockwas repeated, and the whole scene dissolved around me, and I was sittingup in bed in semi-darkness, while somebody was tapping with a quickagitated touch at my door. I remembered then that I had forgotten tounlock it before I went to bed, and I rose at once and made haste toopen it, not without a passing thrill of unpleasant conjecture as towhat might be behind it. It was a tall figure in a long grey garment, who carried a lighted candle in his hand. For a moment, startled andstupefied as I was, I failed to recognise the livid face. 

"Canon Vernade! You are ill?"

Too ill to speak, it would seem, for without a word he staggered forwardand sank into a chair, letting the candle almost drop from his hand onto the table beside him; but when I put out my hand to ring the bell, hestayed me by a gesture. I looked at him, deadly pale, with blue shadowsabout the mouth and eyes, his head thrown helplessly back, and then Iremembered some brandy I had in my dressing-bag. He took the glass fromme and raised it to his lips with a trembling hand. I stood watchinghim, debating within myself whether I should disobey him by calling forhelp or not; but presently, to my great relief, I saw the stimulant takeeffect, and life come slowly surging back in colour to his cheeks, instrength to his whole prostrate frame. He straightened himself a little, and turned upon me a less distracted gaze than before. 

"Mr. Lyndsay, there is something horrible in this house. "

"Have you seen it?"

He shook his head. 

"I saw nothing; it is what I felt. "

He shuddered. 

I looked towards the grate. The fire had long been out, but the wood wasstill unconsumed, and I managed, inexpertly enough, to relight it. Whena long blue flame sprang up, he drew his chair near the hearth andstretched towards the blaze his still tremulous hands. 

"Mr. Lyndsay, " he said, in a voice as strangely altered as his wholeappearance, "may I sit here a little--till it is light? I dread to goback to that room. But don't let me keep you up. "

I said, and in all honesty, that I had no inclination to sleep. I put onmy dressing-gown, threw a rug over his knees, and took my place oppositeto him on the other side of the fire; and thus we kept our strangevigil, while slowly above us broke the grim, cold dawn of earlyspring-time, which even the birds do not brighten with their babble. 

Silently staring into the fire, he vouchsafed no further explanations, and I did not venture to ask for any; but I doubt if even such languageas he could command would have been so full of horrible suggestion asthat grey set face, and the terror-stricken gaze, which the growinglight made every minute more distinct, more weird. What had so suddenlyand so completely overthrown, not his own strength merely, but thedefences of his faith? He groped amongst them still, for, from time totime, I heard him murmuring to himself familiar verses of prayer andpsalm and gospel, as if he sought therewith to banish some hauntingfear, to quiet some torturing suspicion. And at last, when the dull greyday had fully broken, he turned towards me, and cried in tones moreheart-piercing than ever startled the great congregations in church orcathedral--

"What if it were all a delusion, and there be no Father, no Saviour?"

And the horror of that abyss into which he looked, flashing from hismind to my own, left me silent and helpless before him. Yet I longed togive him comfort; for, with the regal self-possession which had fallenfrom him, there had slipped from me too some undefined instinct ofdistrust and disapproval. All that I felt now was the sad tie ofbrotherhood which united us, poor human atoms, strong only in ourcapacity to suffer, tossed and driven, whitherward we knew not, in thepurposeless play of soulless and unpitying forces. 

CHAPTER V

AUSTYN'S GOSPEL

"He did not see the ghost, you say; he only felt it? I should think hedid--on his chest. I never heard of a clearer case of nightmare. Youmust be careful whom you tell the story to, old chap; for at the firstgo-off it sounds as if it was not merely eating too much that was thematter. It was, however, indigestion sure enough. No wonder! If a man ofhis age who takes no exercise will eat three square meals a day, whatelse can he expect? And Mallet is rather liberal with her cream. "

Atherley it was, of course, who propounded this simple interpretation ofthe night's alarms, as he sat in his smoking-room reviewing histrout-flies after an early breakfast we had taken with the Canon. 

"You always account for the mechanism, but not for the effect. Whyshould indigestion take that mental form?"

"Why, because indigestion constantly does in sleep, and out of it aswell, for that matter. A nightmare is not always a sense of oppressionon the chest only; it may be an overpowering dread of something youdream you see. Indigestion can produce, waking or asleep, a very goodimitation of what is experienced in a blue funk. And there is anotherkind of dream which is produced by fasting--that, I need hardly say, Ihave never experienced. Indeed, I don't dream. "

"But the ghost--the ghost he almost saw. "

"The sinking horror produced the ghost, instead of _vice versa_, as youmight suppose. It is like a dream. In unpleasant dreams we fancy it isthe dream itself which makes us feel uncomfortable. It is just the otherway round. It is the discomfort that produces the dream. Have you everdreamt you were tramping through snow, and felt cold in consequence? Idid the other night. But I did not feel cold because I dreamt I waswalking through snow, but because I had not enough blankets on my bed;and because I felt cold I dreamt about the snow. Don't you know thedream you make up in a few moments about the knocking at the door whenthey call you in the morning? And ghosts are only waking dreams. "

"I wonder if you ever had an illusion yourself--gave way to it, I mean. You were in love once--twice, " I added hastily, in deference to LadyAtherley. 

"Only once, " said Atherley, calmly. "Do you ever see her now, Lindy? Shehas grown enormously fat. Certainly I have had my illusions, and I don'tobject to them when they are pleasant and harmless--on the contrary. Now, falling in love, if you don't fall too deep, is pleasant, and itnever lasts long enough to do much mischief. Marriage, of course, youwill say, may be mischievous--only for the individual, it is useful forthe race. What I object to is the deliberate culture of illusions whichare not pleasant but distinctly depressing, like half your religiousbeliefs. "

"George, " said Lady Atherley, coming into the room at this instant;"have you--oh, dear! what a state this room is in!"

"It is the housemaids. They never will leave things as I put them. "

"And it was only dusted and tidied an hour ago. Mr. Lyndsay, did youever see anything like it?"

I said "Never. "

"If Lindy has a fault in this world, it is that he is as pernickety, asmy old nurse used to say--as pernickety as an old maid. The stiffformality of his room would give me the creeps, if anything could. Thefirst thing I always want to do when I see it is to make hay in it. "

"It is what you always do do, before you have been an hour there, " Iobserved. 

"Jane, in Heaven's name leave those things alone! Is this sort of thingall you came in for?"

"No; I really came in to ask if you had read Lucinda Molyneux's letter. "

"No, I have not; her writing is too bad for anything. Besides, I knowexactly what she has got to say. She has at last found the religionwhich she has been looking for all her life, and she intends to bewhatever it is for evermore. "

"That is not all. She wants to come and stay here for a few days. "

"What! Here? Now? Why, what--oh, I forgot the ghost! By Jove! You see, Jane, there are some advantages in having one on the premises when itprocures you a visit from a social star like Mrs. Molyneux. But whereare you going to put her? Not in the bachelor's room, where your pooruncle made such a night of it? It wouldn't hold her dressing bag, letalone herself. "

"Oh, but I hope the pink room will be ready. The plasterer from Whitfordcame out yesterday to apologise, and said he had been keeping hisbirthday. "

"Indeed! and how many times a year does he have a birthday?"

"I don't know, but he was quite sober; and he did the most of ityesterday and will finish it to-day, so it will be all right. "

"When is she coming, then?"

"To-morrow. You would have seen that if you had read the letter. Andthere is a message for you in it, too. "

"Then find me the place, like an angel; I cannot wade through all thesesheets of hieroglyphics. In the postscript? Let me see: 'Tell Sir GeorgeI look forward to explaining to him the religious teaching which I havebeen studying for months. ' Months! Come; there must be something in areligion which Mrs. Molyneux sticks to for months at a time--'studyingfor months under the guidance of its great apostle Baron Zinkersen--'What is this name? 'The deeper I go into it all the more I feel in itthat faith, satisfying to the reason as well as to the emotions, forwhich I have been searching all my life. It is certainly the religion ofthe future'--future underlined--'and I believe it will please even SirGeorge, for it so distinctly coincides with his own favourite theories. 'Favourite theories, indeed! I haven't any. My mind is as open as day totruth from any quarter. Only I distrust apostles with no vowels in theirnames ever since that one, two years ago, made off with the spoons. "

"No, George, he did not take any plate. It was money, and money Lucindagave him herself for bringing her letters from her father. "

"Where was her father, then?" I inquired, much interested. 

"Well, he was--a--he was dead, " answered Lady Atherley; "and after sometime, a very low sort of person called upon Lucinda and said she wroteall the letters; but Lucinda could not get the money back without goingto law, as some people wished her to do; but I am glad she did not, as Ithink the papers would have said very unpleasant things about it. "

"The apostle I liked best, " said Atherley, "was the American one. Ireally admired old Stamps, and old Stamps admired me; for she knew Ithoroughly understood what an unmitigated humbug she was. She had a finesense of humour, too. How her eyes used to twinkle when I asked posersat her prayer-meetings!"

"Dreadful woman!" cried Lady Atherley. "Lucinda brought her to lunchonce. Such black nails, and she said she could make the plates anddishes fly about the room, but I said I would rather not. I am thankfulshe does not want to bring this baron with her. "

"I would not have him. I draw the line there, and also at spiritualseances. I am too old for them. Do you remember one I took you to atMrs. Molyneux's, Lindy, five years ago, when they raised poor oldProfessor Delaine, and he danced on the table and spelt bliss with one_s_? I was haunted for weeks afterwards by the dread that there might bea future life, in which we should make fools of ourselves in the sameway. What is this?"

"It is the carriage just come back from the station. Mr. Lyndsay and thelittle boys are going over to Rood Warren with a note for me. I hope youwill see Mr. Austyn, Mr. Lyndsay, and persuade him to come overto-morrow. "

"What! To dine?" said Atherley. "He won't come out to dinner in Lent. "

I thought so myself, but I was glad of the excuse to see again thedelicate, austere face. As we drove along, I tried to define to myselfthe quality which marked it out from others. Not sweetness, not markedbenevolence, but the repose of absolute spiritual conviction. Austyn'sGod can never be my God, and in his heaven I should find no rest; but, one among ten thousand, he believed in both, as the martyrs believed whoperished in the flames, with a faith which would have stood theatheist's test;--"We believe a thing, when we are prepared to act as ifit were true. "

Rood Warren lay in a little hollow beside an armlet of the stream thatwaters all the valley. The hamlet consisted of a tiny church and a groupof labourers' cottages, in one of which, presumably because there was noother habitation for him, the curate in charge made his home. Anapple-faced old woman received me at the door, and hospitably invited meto wait within for Mr. Austyn's return from morning service, which Idid, while the carriage, with the little boys and Tip in it, drove upand down before the door. The room in which I waited, evidently the onesitting-room, was destitute of luxury or comfort as a monk's cell. 

Profusion there was in one thing only--books. They indeed furnished theroom, clothing the walls and covering the table; but ornaments therewere none, not even sacred or symbolical, save, indeed, one large andbeautifully-carved crucifix over a mantelpiece covered with letters andmanuscripts. I have thought of this early home of Austyn's many a timeas dignities have been literally thrust upon him by a world which sincethen has discovered his intellectual rank. He will end his days in apalace, and, one may confidently predict of him, remain as absolutelyindifferent to his surroundings as in the little cottage at RoodWarren. 

But he did not come, and presently his housekeeper came in with manyapologies to explain he would not be back for hours, having startedafter service on a round of parish visiting instead of first returninghome, as she had expected. She herself was plainly depressed by thefact. "I did hope he would have come in for a bit of lunch first, " shesaid, sadly. 

All I could do was to leave the note, to which late in the day came ananswer, declining simply and directly on the ground that he did not dineout in Lent. 

"I cannot see why, " observed Lady Atherley, as we sat together over thedrawing-room fire after tea, "because it is possible to have a very nicedinner without meat. I remember one we had abroad once at an hotel onGood Friday. There were sixteen courses, chiefly fish, no meat even inthe soup, only cream and eggs and that sort of thing, all beautifullycooked with exquisite sauces. Even George said he would not mind fastingin that way. It would have been nice if he could have come to meet Mrs. Molyneux to-morrow. I am sure they must be connected in some way, because Lord--"

And then my mind wandered whilst Lady Atherley entered into somegenealogical calculations, for which she has nothing less than a genius. My attention was once again captured by the name de Noël, how introducedI know not, but it gave me an excuse for asking--

"Lady Atherley, what is Mrs. De Noël like?"

"Cecilia? She is rather tall and rather fair, with brown hair. Notexactly pretty, but very ladylike-looking. I think she would be verygood-looking if she thought more about her dress. "

"Is she clever?"

"No, not at all; and that is very strange, for the Atherleys are such aclever family, and she has quite the ways of a clever person, too; soodd, and so stupid about little things that anyone can remember. I don'tbelieve she could tell you, if you asked her, what relation her husbandwas to Lord Stowell. "

"She seems a great favourite. "

"Oh, no one could possibly help liking her. She is the most good-naturedperson; there is nothing she would not do to help one; she is a dearthing, but most odd, so very odd. I often think it is so fortunate thatshe married a sailor, because he is so much away from home. "

"Don't they get on, then?"

"Oh dear, yes; they are devoted to each other, and he thinks everythingshe does quite perfect. But then he is very different from most men; hethinks so little about eating, and he takes everything so easy; I don'tthink he cares what strange people Cecilia asks to the house. "

"Strange people!"

"Well; strange people to have on a visit. Invalids and--people that havenowhere else they could go to. "

"Do you mean poor people from the East End?"

"Oh no; some of them are quite rich. She had an idiot there with hismother once who was heir to a very large fortune in the Coloniessomewhere; but of course nobody else would have had them, and I thinkit must have been very uncomfortable. And then once she actually had awoman who had taken to drinking. I did not see her, I am thankful tosay, but there was a deformed person once staying there, I saw him beingwheeled about the garden. It was very unpleasant. I think people likethat should always live shut up. "

There was a little pause, and then Lady Atherley added--

"Cecilia has never been the same since her baby died. She used to havesuch a bright colour before that. He was not quite two years old, butshe felt it dreadfully; and it was a great pity, for if he had lived hewould have come in for all the Stowell property. "

The door opened. 

"Why, George; how late you are, and--how wet! Is it raining?"

"Yes; hard. "

"Have you bought the ponies?"

"No; they won't do at all. But whom do you think I picked up on the wayhome? You will never guess. Your pet parson, Mr. Austyn. "

"Mr. Austyn!"

"Yes; I found him by the roadside not far from Monk's cottage, where hehad been visiting, looking sadly at a spring-cart, which the ownerthereof, one of the Rood Warren farmers, had managed to upset and damageconsiderably. He was giving Austyn a lift home when the spill tookplace. So, remembering your hankering and Lindy's for the society ofthis young Ritualist, I persuaded him that instead of tramping six milesthrough the wet he should come here and put up for the night with us;so, leaving the farmer free to get home on his pony, I clinched thematter by promising to send him back to-morrow in time for his eighto'clock service. "

"Oh dear! I wish I had known he was coming. I would have ordered adinner he would like. "

"Judging by his appearance, I should say the dinner he would like willbe easily provided. "

Atherley was right. Mr. Austyn's dinner consisted of soup, bread, andwater. He would not even touch the fish or the eggs elaborately preparedfor his especial benefit. Yet he was far from being a skeleton at thefeast, to whose immaterial side he contributed a good deal--not takingthe lead in conversation, but readily following whosoever did, givinghis opinions on one topic after another in the manner of a man wellinformed, cultured, thoughtful, original even, and at the same time withno warmer interest in all he spoke of than the inhabitant of anotherplanet might have shown. 

Atherley was impressed and even surprised to a degree unflattering tothe rural clergy. 

"This is indeed a _rara avis_ of a country curate, " he confided to meafter dinner, while Lady Atherley was unravelling with Austyn hisconnection with various families of her acquaintance. "We shall hear ofhim in time to come, if, in the meanwhile, he does not starve himself todeath. By the way, I lay you odds he sees the ghost. To begin with; hehas heard of it--everybody has in this neighbourhood; and then St. Anthony himself was never in a more favourable condition for spiritualvisitations. Look at him; he is blue with asceticism. But he won't turntail to the ghost; he'll hold his own. There's metal in him. "

This led me to ask Austyn, as we went down the bachelor's passage to ourrooms, if he were afraid of ghosts. 

"No; that is, I don't feel any fear now. Whether I should do so if faceto face with one, is another question. This house has the reputation ofbeing haunted, I believe. Have you seen the ghost yourself?"

"No, but I have seen others who did, or thought they did. Do you believein ghosts?"

"I do not know that I have considered the subject sufficiently to saywhether I do or not. I see no _primâ facie_ objection to theirappearance. That it would be supernatural offers no difficulty to aChristian whose religion is founded on, and bound up with, thesupernatural. "

"If you do see anything, I should like to know. "

I went away, wondering why he repelled as well as attracted me; what itwas behind the almost awe-inspiring purity and earnestness I felt in himthat left me with a chill sense of disappointment? The question was soperplexing and so interesting that I determined to follow it up nextday, and ordered my servant to call me as early as Mr. Austyn waswakened. 

In the morning I had just finished dressing, but had not put out mycandles, when a knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Austynhimself. 

"I did not expect to find you up, Mr. Lyndsay; I knocked gently, lestyou should be asleep. In case you were not, I intended to come and tellyou that I had seen the ghost. "

"Breakfast is ready, " said a servant at the door. 

"Let me come down with you and hear about it, " I said. 

We went down through staircase and hall, still plunged in darkness, tothe dining-room, where lamps and fire burned brightly. Their glowfalling on Austyn's face showed me how pale it was, and worn as if fromwatching. 

Breakfast was set ready for him, but he refused to touch it. 

"But tell me what you saw. "

"I must have slept two or three hours when I awoke with the feeling thatthere was someone besides myself in the room. I thought at first it wasthe remains of a dream and would quickly fade away; but it did not, itgrew stronger. Then I raised myself in bed and looked round. The spacebetween the sash of the window and the curtains--my shutters were notclosed--allowed one narrow stream of moonlight to enter and lie acrossthe floor. Near this, standing on the brink of it, as it were, andrising dark against it, was a shadowy figure. Nothing was clearlyoutlined but the face; _that_ I saw only too distinctly. I rose andremained up for at least an hour before it vanished. I heard the clockoutside strike the hour twice. I was not looking at it all this time--onthe contrary, my hands were clasped across my closed eyes; but when fromtime to time I turned to see if it was gone, it was reminded me of awild beast waiting to spring, and I seemed to myself to be holding it atbay all the time with a great strain of the will, and, of course"--hehesitated for an instant, and then added--"in virtue of a higher power. "

The reserve of all his school forbade him to say more, but I understoodas well as if he had told me that he had been on his knees, praying allthe time, and there rose before my mind a picture of thescene--moonlight, kneeling saint, and watching demon, which the leaf ofsome illustrated missal might have furnished. 

The bronze timepiece over the fireplace struck half-past six. 

"I wonder if the carriage is at the door, " said Austyn, ratheranxiously. He went into the hall and looked out through the narrowwindows. There was no carriage visible, and I deeply regretted thesecond interruption that must follow when it did come. 

"Let us walk up the hill and on a little way together. The carriage willovertake us. My curiosity is not yet satisfied. "

"Then first, Mr. Lyndsay, you must go back and drink some coffee; youare not strong as I am, or accustomed to go out fasting into the morningair. "

Outside in the shadow of the hill, where the fog lay thick and white, the gloom and the cold of the night still lingered, but as we climbedthe hill we climbed, too, into the brightness of a sunnymorning--brilliant, amber-tinted above the long blue shadows. 

 * * * * *

I had to speak first. 

"Now tell me what the face was like. "

"I do not think I can. To begin with, I have a very indistinctremembrance of either the form or the colouring. Even at the time myimpression of both was very vague; what so overwhelmed and transfixed myattention, to the exclusion of everything besides itself, was the lookupon the face. "

"And that?"

"And that I literally cannot describe. I know no words that could depictit, no images that could suggest it; you might as well ask me to tellyou what a new colour was like if I had seen it in my dreams, as somepeople declare they have done. I could convey some faint idea of it bydescribing its effect upon myself, but that, too, is verydifficult--that was like nothing I have ever felt before. It was therealisation of much which I have affirmed all my life, and steadfastlybelieved as well, but only with what might be called a notional assent, as the blind man might believe that light is sweet, or one who had neverexperienced pain might believe it was something from which the sensesshrink. Every day that I have recited the creed, and declared my beliefin the Life Everlasting, I have by implication confessed my entiredisbelief in any other. I knew that what seemed so solid is not solid, so real is not real; that the life of the flesh, of the senses, ofthings seen, is but the "stuff that dreams are made of"--"a dream withina dream, " as one modern writer has called it; "the shadow of a dream, "as another has it. But last night--"

He stood still, gazing straight before him, as if he saw something thatI could not see. 

"But last night, " I repeated, as we walked on again. 

"Last night? I not only believed, I saw, I felt it with a suddenintuition conveyed to me in some inexplicable manner by the vision ofthat face. I felt the utter insignificance of what we name existence, and I perceived too behind it that which it conceals from us--the realLife, illimitable, unfathomable, the element of our true being, with itseternal possibilities of misery or joy. "

"And all this came to you through something of an evil nature?"

"Yes; it was like the effect of lightning oh a pitch-dark night--thesame vivid and lurid illumination of things unperceived before. It mustbe like the revelation of death, I should think, without, thank God, that fearful sense of the irrevocable which death must bring with it. Will you not rest here?"

For we had reached Beggar's Stile. But I was not tired for once, sokeen, so life-giving was the air, sparkling with that fine elixirwhereby morning braces us for the day's conflict. Below, throughslowly-dissolving mists, the village showed as if it smiled, each littlecottage hearth lifting its soft spiral of smoke to a zenith immeasurablydeep, immaculately blue. 

"But the ghost itself?" I said, looking up at him as we both rested ourarms upon the gate. "What do you think of that?"

"I am afraid there is no possible doubt what that was. Its face, as Itell you, was a revelation of evil--evil and its punishment. It was alost soul. "

"Do you mean by a lost soul, a soul that is in never-ending torment?"

"Not in physical torment, certainly; that would be a very materialinterpretation of the doctrine. Besides, the Church has alwaysrecognised degree and difference in the punishment of the lost. This, however, they all have in common--eternal separation from the DivineBeing. "

"Even if they repent and desire to be reunited to Him?"

"Certainly; that must be part of their suffering. "

"And yet you believe in a good God?"

"In what else could I believe, even without revelation? But goodness, divine goodness, is far from excluding severity and wrath, and evenvengeance. Here the witness of science and of history are in accord withthat of the Christian Church; their first manifestation of God isalways of 'one that is angry with us and threatens evil. '"

The carriage had overtaken us and stopped now close to us. I rose to saygood-bye. Austyn shook me by the hand and moved towards the carriage;then, as if checked by a sudden thought, returned upon his steps andstood before me, his earnest eyes fixed upon me as if the wholeself-denying soul within him hungered to waken mine. 

"I feel I must speak one word before I leave you, even if it be out ofseason. With the recollection of last night still so fresh, even theserious things of life seem trifles, far more its smallconventionalities. Mr. Lyndsay, your friend has made his choice, but youare dallying between belief and unbelief. Oh, do not dally long! Weneed no spirit from the dead to tell us life is short. Do we not feel itpassing quicker and quicker every year? The one thing that is serious inall its shows and delusions is the question it puts to each one of us, and which we answer to our eternal loss or gain. Many different voicescall to us in this age of false prophets, but one only threatens as wellas invites. Would it not be only wise, prudent even, to give thepreference to that? Mr. Lyndsay, I beseech you, accept the teaching ofthe Church, which is one with that of conscience and of nature, andbelieve that there _is_ a God, a Sovereign, a Lawgiver, a Judge. "

He was gone, and I still stood thinking of his words, and of his gazewhile he spoke them. 

The mists were all gone, now, leaving behind them in shimmering dewdropsan iridescent veil on mead and copse and garden; the river gleamed indiamond curves and loops, while in the covert near me the birds weresinging as if from hearts that over-brimmed with joy. 

And slowly, sadly, I repeated to myself the words--Sovereign, Lawgiver, Judge. 

I was hungering for bread; I was given a stone. 

CHAPTER VI

MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL

"The room is all ready now, " said Lady Atherley, "but Lucinda has neverwritten to say what train she is coming by. "

"A good thing, too, " said Atherley; "we shall not have to send for her. Those unlucky horses are worked off their legs already. Is that thecarriage coming back from Rood Warren? Harold, run and stop it, and tellMarsh to drive round to the door before he goes to the stables. I may aswell have a lift down to the other end of the village. "

"What do you want to do at the other end of the village?"

"I don't want to do anything, but my unlucky fate as a landowner compelsme to go over and look at an eel-weir which has just burst. Lindy, comealong with me, and cheer me up with one of your ghost stories. You areas good as a Christmas annual. "

"And on your way back, " said Lady Atherley, "would you mind the carriagestopping to leave some brandy at Monk's? Mr. Austyn told me last nighthe was so weak, and the doctor has ordered him brandy every hour. "

Atherley was disappointed with what he called my last edition of theghost; he complained that it was little more definite than the Canon's. 

"Your last two stories are too highflown for my simple tastes. I want agood coherent description of the ghost himself, not the particularemotions he excited. I had expected better things from Austyn. Upon myword, as far as we have gone, old Aunt Eleanour's is the best. I thinkAustyn, with his mediæval turn of mind and his quite mediæval habit ofliving upon air, might have managed to raise something with horns andhoofs. It is a curious thing that in the dark ages the devil was alwaysappearing to somebody. He doesn't make himself so cheap now. He hasevidently more to do; but there is a fashion in ghosts as in otherthings, and that reminds me our ghost, from all we hear of it, isdecidedly rococo. If you study the reports of societies that hunt thesupernatural, you will find that the latest thing in ghosts is veryquiet and commonplace. Rattling chains and blue lights, and even fancydress, have quite gone out. And the people who see the ghosts are noteven startled at first sight; they think it is a visitor, or a man cometo wind the clocks. In fact, the chic thing for a ghost in these days isto be mistaken for a living person. "

"What puzzles me is that a sceptic like you can so easily swallow theastonishing coincidence of these different people all having imaginedthe ghost in the same house. "

"Why, the coincidence is not a bit more astonishing than several peoplein the same place having the same fever. Nothing in the world is soinfectious as ghost-seeing. The oftener a ghost is seen, the oftener itwill be seen. In this sort of thing particularly, one fool makes many. No, don't wait for me. Heaven only knows when I shall be released. "

The door of Monk's cottage was open, but no one was to be seen within, and no one answered to my knock, so, anxious to see him again, I gropedmy way up the dark ladder-like stairs to the room above. The first thingI saw was the bed where Monk himself was lying. They had drawn the sheetacross his face: I saw what had happened. His wife was standing near, looking not so much grieved as stunned and tired. "Would you like to seehim, sir?" she asked, stretching out her withered hand to draw the sheetaside. I was glad afterwards I had not refused, as, but for fear ofbeing ungracious, I would have done. 

Since then I have seen death--"in state" as it is called--invested withmore than royal pomp, but I have never felt his presence so majestic asin that poor little garret. I know his seal may be painful, grotesqueeven: here it was wholly benign and beautiful. All discolorations haddisappeared in an even pallor as of old ivory; all furrows of age andpain were smoothed away, and the rude peasant face was transfigured, glorified, by that smile of ineffable and triumphant repose. 

Many times that day it rose before me, never more vividly than when, atdinner, Mrs. Molyneux, in colours as brilliant as her complexion, andjewels as sparkling as her eyes, recounted in her silvery treble thelatest flowers of fashionable gossip. I am always glad to be one of anyaudience which Mrs. Molyneux addresses, not so much out of admirationfor the discourse itself, as for the charm of gesture and intonationwith which it is delivered. But the main question--the subject ofAtherley's conversion--she did not approach till we were in thedrawing-room, luxuriously established in deep and softly-cushionedchairs. Then, near the fire, but turned away from it so as to face usall, and in the prettiest of attitudes, she began, gracefullyemphasising her more important points by movements of her spangled fan. 

"I do not mention the name of the religion I wish to speak to you about, because--now I hope you won't be angry, but I am going to be quitehorribly rude--because Sir George is certain to be so prejudicedagainst--oh yes, Sir George, you are; everybody is at first. Even I was, because it has been so horribly misrepresented by people who really knownothing about it. For instance, I have myself heard it said that it wasonly a kind of spiritualism. On the contrary, it is very much opposed toit, and has quite convinced me for one of the wickedness and danger ofspiritualism. "

"Well, that is so much to its credit, " Atherley generously acknowledged. 

"And then, people said it was very immoral. Far from that; it has a veryhigh ethical standard indeed--a very moral aim. One of its chief objectsis to establish a universal brotherhood amongst men of all nations andsects. "

"A what?" asked Atherley. 

"A universal brotherhood. "

"My dear Mrs. Molyneux, you don't mean to seriously offer that as anovelty. I never heard anything so hackneyed in my life. Why, it hasbeen preached _ad nauseam_ for centuries!"

"By the Christian Church, I suppose you mean. And pray how have theypractised their preaching?"

"Oh, but excuse me; that is not the question. If your religion is asbrand-new as you gave me to understand, there has been no time forpractice. It must be all theory, and I hoped I was going to hearsomething original. "

"Oh really, Sir George, you are quite too naughty. How can I explainthings if you are so flippant and impatient? In one sense, it is a veryold religion; it is the truth which is in all religions, and some of itsinteresting doctrines were taught ages before Christianity was everheard of, and proved, too, by miracles far far more wonderful than anyin the New Testament. However, it is no good talking to you about that;what I really wanted you to understand is how infinitely superior it isto all other religions in its theological teaching. You know, SirGeorge, you are always finding fault with all the ChristianChurches--and even with the Mahommedans too, for that matter--becausethey are so anthropomorphic, because they imply that God is a personalbeing. Very well, then, you cannot say that about this religion, because--this is what is so remarkable and elevated about it--it hasnothing to do with God at all. "

"Nothing to do with what did you say?" asked Lady Atherley, diverted bythis last remark from a long row of loops upon an ivory needle which sheappeared to be counting. 

"Nothing to do with God. "

"Do you know, Lucinda, " said Lady Atherley, "if you would not mind, Ifancy the coffee is just coming in, and perhaps it would be as well justto wait for a little, you know--just till the servants are out of theroom? They might perhaps think it a little odd. "

"Yes, " said Atherley, "and even unorthodox. "

Mrs. Molyneux submitted to this interruption with the greatest sweetnessand composure, and dilated on the beauty of the new chair-covers tillCastleman and the footman had retired, when, with a coffee-cup insteadof a fan in her exquisite hand, she took up the thread of herexposition. 

"As I was saying, the distinction of this religion is that it hasnothing to do with God. Of course it has other great advantages, which Iwill explain later, like its cultivation of a sixth sense, forinstance--"

"Do you mean common sense?"

"Jane, what am I to do with Sir George? He is really incorrigible. Howcan I possibly explain things if you will not be serious?"

"I never was more serious in my life. Show me a religion whichcultivates common sense, and I will embrace it at once. "

"It is just because I knew you would go on in this way that I do notattempt to say anything about the supernatural side of this religion, though it is very important and most extraordinary. I assure you, mydear Jane, the powers that people develop under it are reallymarvellous. I have friends who can see into another world as plainly asyou can see this drawing-room, and talk as easily with spirits as I amtalking with you. "

"Indeed!" said Lady Atherley politely, with her eyes fixed anxiously onsomething which had gone wrong with her knitting. 

"Unfortunately, for that kind of thing you require to undergo suchsevere treatment; my health would not stand it; the London season itselfis almost too much for me. It is a pity, for they all say I have greatnatural gifts that way, and I should have so loved to have taken it up;but to begin with, one must have no animal food and no stimulants, andthe doctors always tell me I require a great deal of both. "

"Besides, _le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle_, " said Atherley, "if thespirits you are to converse with are anything like those we used to meetin your drawing-room. "

"That is not the same thing at all; these were only spooks. "

"Only what?"

"No, I will not explain; you only mean to make fun of it, and there isnothing to laugh at. What I am trying to show you is that side of thereligion you will really approve--the unanthropomorphic side. It is notanything like atheism, you know, as some ill-natured people have said;it does not declare there is no God; it only declares that it is worsethan useless to try and think of Him, far less pray to Him--because itis simply impossible. And that is quite scientific and philosophical, isit not? For all the great men are agreed now that the conditioned canknow nothing of the unconditioned, and the finite can know nothing ofthe infinite. It is quite absurd to try, you know; and it is equallyabsurd to say anything about Him. You can't call Him Providence, because, as the universe is governed by fixed laws, there is nothing forhim to provide; and we have no business to call Him Creator, because wedon't really know that things were created. Besides, " said Mrs. Molyneux, resuming her fan, which she furled and unfurled as shecontinued, "I was reading in a delightful book the other day--I can'tremember the author's name, but I think it begins with K or P. Itexplained so clearly that if the universe was created at all, it wascreated by the human mind. Then you can't call Him Father--it is quiteblasphemous; and it is almost as bad to say He is merciful or loving, oranything of that kind, because mercy and love are only human attributes;and so is consciousness too, therefore we know He cannot be conscious;and I believe, according to the highest philosophical teaching, He hasnot any Being. So that altogether it is impossible, without beingirreverent, to think of Him, far less speak to Him or of Him, because wecannot do so without ascribing to Him some conceivable quality--and Hehas not any. Indeed, even to speak of Him as _He_ is not right; thepronoun is very anthropomorphic and misleading. So, when you come toconsider all this carefully, it is quite evident--though it soundsrather strange at first--that the only way you can really honour andreverence God is by forgetting Him altogether. "

Here Mrs. Molyneux paused, panting prettily for breath; but quicklyrecovering herself, proceeded: "So in fact, it is just the same, practically speaking--remember I say only practically speaking--as ifthere were no God; and this religion--"

"Excuse me, " said Atherley; "but if, as you have so forcibly explainedto us, there is, practically speaking, no God, why should we hamperourselves with any religion at all?"

"Why, to satisfy the universal craving after an ideal; the yearning forsomething beyond the sordid realities of animal existence and of dailylife; to comfort, to elevate--"

"No, no, my dear Mrs. Molyneux; pardon me, but the sooner we get rid ofall this sort of rubbish the better. It is the indulgence they havegiven to such feelings that has made all the religions such a curse tothe world. I don't believe, to begin with, that they are universal. Inever experienced any such cravings and yearnings except when I was outof sorts; and I never met a thoroughly happy or healthy person who did. If people keep their bodies in good order and their minds well employed, they have no time for yearnings. It was bad enough when there was somepretext for them; when we imagined there was a God and a world which wasbetter than this one. But now we know there is not the slightest groundfor supposing anything of the kind, we had better have the courage ofour opinions, and live up to them, or down to them. As to the word'ideal, ' it ought to be expunged from the vocabulary; I would like tomake it penal to pronounce, or write, or print the word for a century. Why, we have been surfeited with the ideal by the Christian Churches;that's why we find the real so little to our taste. We've been so longfed upon sweet trash, we can't relish wholesome food. The cure for thatis to take wholesome food or starve, not provide another sicklysubstitute. Pray, let us have no more religions. On the contrary, ourfirst duty is to be as irreligious as possible--to believe in as littleas we can, to trust in nobody but ourselves, to hope for nothing but theactual, to get rid of all high-flown notions of human beings and theirdestiny, and, above all, to avoid as poison the ideal, the sublime, the--"

His words were drowned at last in musical cries of indignation from Mrs. Molyneux. I remember no more of the discussion, except that Atherleycontinued to reiterate his doctrine in different words, and Mrs. Molyneux to denounce it with unabated fervour. 

My thoughts wandered--I heard no more. I was tired and depressed, andfelt grateful to Lady Atherley when, with invariable punctuality, at aquarter to eleven, she interrupted the symposium by rising and proposingthat we should all go to bed. 

My last distinct recollection of that evening is of Mrs. Molyneux, withthe folds of her gown in one hand, and a bedroom candlestick in theother, mounting the dark oak stairs, and calling out fervently as shewent--

"Oh, how I pray that I may see the ghost!"

The night was stormy, and I could not sleep. The wind wailed fitfullyoutside the house, while within doors and windows rattled, and on thestairs and in the passages wandered strange and unaccountable noises, like stealthy footsteps or stifled voices. To this dreary accompaniment, as I lay awake in the darkness, I heard the lessons of the last few daysrepeated: witness after witness rose and gave his varying testimony; andwhen, before the discord and irony of it all, I bitterly repeatedPilate's question, the smile on that dead face would rise before me, andthen I hoped again. 

Between three and four the wind fell during a short space, and allresponsive noises ceased. For a few minutes reigned absolute silence, then it was broken by two piercing cries--the cries of a woman in terroror in pain. 

They disturbed even the sleepers, it was evident; for when I reached theend of my passage I heard opening doors, hurrying footsteps, and bellsringing violently in the gallery. After a little the stir was increased, presumably by servants arriving from the farther wing; but no one camemy way till Atherley himself, in his dressing-gown, went hurriedlydownstairs. 

"Anything wrong?" I called as he passed me. 

"Only Mrs. Molyneux's prayer has been granted. "

"Of course she was bound to see it, " he said next day, as we sattogether over a late breakfast. "It would have been a miracle if she hadnot; but if I had known the interview was to be followed by suchunpleasant consequences I shouldn't have asked her down. I was wanderingabout for hours looking for an imaginary bottle of sal-volatile Janedescribed as being in her sitting-room: and Jane herself was up tilllate--or rather early--this morning, trying to soothe Mrs. Molyneux, whodoes not appear to have found the ghost quite such pleasant company asshe expected. Oh yes, Jane is down; she breakfasted in her own room. Ibelieve she is ordering dinner at this minute in the next room. "

Hardly had he said the words when outside, in the hall, resounded aprolonged and stentorian wail. 

"What on earth is the matter now?" said Atherley, rising and making forthe door. He opened it just in time for us to see Mrs. Mallet goby--Mrs. Mallet bathed in tears and weeping as I never have heard anadult weep before or since--in a manner which is graphically andliterally described by the phrase "roaring and crying. "

"Why, Mrs. Mallet! What on earth is the matter?"

"Send for Mrs. De Noël, " cried Mrs. Mallet in tones necessarily raisedto a high and piercing key by the sobs with which they were accompanied. "Send for Mrs. De Noël; send for that dear lady, and she will tell youwhether a word has been said against my character till I come here, which I never wish to do, being frightened pretty nigh to death withwhat one told me and the other; and if you don't believe me, ask Mrs. Stubbs as keeps the little sweet-shop near the church, if any one in thevillage will so much as come up the avenue after dark; and says to me, the very day I come here, 'You have a nerve, ' she says; 'I wouldn'tsleep there if you was to pay me, ' she says; and I says, not wishing tospeak against a family that was cousin to Mrs. De Noël, 'Noises isneither here nor there, ' I says, 'and ghostisses keeps mostly to thegentry's wing, ' I says. And then to say as I put about that they was allover the house, and frighten the London lady's maid, which all I saidwas--and Hann can tell you that I speak the truth, for she wasthere--'some says one thing, ' says I, 'and some says another, but Itakes no notice of nothink. ' But put up with a deal, I have--more thanever I told a soul since I come here, which I promised Mrs. De Noël whenshe asked me to oblige her; which the blue lights I have seen a manytimes, and tapping of coffin-nails on the wall, and never close my eyesfor nights sometimes, but am entirely wore away, and my nerve thatweak; and then to be so hurt in my feelings, and spoke to as I am notaccustomed, but always treated everywhere I goes with the greatest ofkindness and respect, which ask Mrs. De Noël she will tell you, sinceever I was a widow; but pack my things I will, and walk every step ofthe way, if it was pouring cats and dogs, I would, rather than stayanother minute here to be so put upon; and send for Mrs. De Noël if youdon't believe me, and she will tell you the many high families sherecommended me, and always give satisfaction. Send for Mrs. De Noël--"

The swing door closed behind her, and the sounds of her grief and herreiterated appeals to Mrs. De Noël died slowly away in the distance. 

"What on earth have you been saying to her?" said Atherley to his wife, who had come out into the hall. 

"Only that she behaved very badly indeed in speaking about the ghost toMrs. Molyneux's maid, who, of course, repeated it all directly and madeLucinda nervous. She is a most troublesome, mischievous old woman. "

"But she can cook. Pray what are we to do for dinner?"

"I am sure I don't know. I never knew anything so unlucky as it all is, and Lucinda looking so ill. "

"Well, you had better send for the doctor. "

"She won't hear of it. She says nobody could do her any good butCecilia. "

"What! 'Send for Mrs. De Noël?' Poor Cissy! What do these excitedfemales imagine she is going to do?"

"I don't know, but I do wish we could get her here. "

"But she is in London, is she not, with Aunt Henrietta?"

"Yes, and only comes home to-day. "

"Well, I will tell you what we might do if you want her badly. Telegraphto her to London and ask her to come straight on here. "

"I suppose she is sure to come?"

"Like a shot, if you say we are all ill. "

"No, that would frighten her. I will just say we want her particularly. "

"Yes, and say the carriage shall meet the 5. 15 at Whitford station, andthen she will feel bound to come. And as I shall not be back in time, send Lindy to meet her. It will do him good. He looks as if he had beensitting up all night with the ghost. "

It was a melancholy day. The wind was quieter, but the rain still fell. Indoors we were all in low spirits, not even excepting the little boys, much concerned about Tip, who was not his usual brisk and complacentself. His nose was hot, his little stump of a tail was limp, he hidhimself under chairs and tables, whence he turned upon us sorrowful andbeseeching eyes, and, most alarming symptom of all, refused sweetbiscuits. During the afternoon he was confided to me by his littlemasters while they made an expedition to the stables, and I was sittingreading by the library fire with the invalid beside me when LadyAtherley came in to propose I should go into the drawing-room and talkto Mrs. Molyneux, who had just come down. 

"Did she ask to see me?"

"No; but when I proposed your going in, she did not say no. "

I did as I was asked to do, but with some misgivings. It was one of thefew occasions when my misfortune became an advantage. No one, especiallyno woman, was likely to rebuff too sharply the intruder who draggedhimself into her presence. So far from that, Mrs. Molyneux, who wasleaning against the mantelpiece and looking down listlessly into thefire, moved to welcome me with a smile and to offer me a handstartlingly cold. But after that she resumed her first attitude and madeno attempt to converse--she, the most ready, the most voluble of women. Then followed an awkward pause, which I desperately broke by saying Iwas afraid she was not better. 

"Better! I was not ill, " she answered, almost impatiently, and walkedaway towards the other side of the room. I understood that she wished tobe alone, and was moving towards the door as quietly as possible when Iwas suddenly checked by her hand upon my elbow. 

"Mr. Lyndsay, why are you going? Was I rude? I did not mean to be. Forgive me; I am so miserable. "

"You could not be rude, I think, even if you wished to. It is I who aminconsiderate in intruding--"

"You are not intruding; please stay. "

"I would gladly stay if I could help you. "

"Can any one help me, I wonder?" She went slowly back to the fire andsat down upon the fender-stool, and resting her chin upon her hand, andlooking dreamily before her, repeated--

"Can any one help me, I wonder?"

I sat down on a chair near her and said--

"Do you think it would help you to talk of what has frightened you?"

"I don't think I can. I would tell you, Mr. Lyndsay, if I could tell anyone; for you know what it is to be weak and suffering; you are assympathetic as a woman, and more merciful than some women. But part ofthe horror of it all is that I cannot explain it. Words seem to be nogood, just because I have used them so easily and so meaninglessly allmy life--just as words and nothing more. "

"Can you tell me what you saw?"

"A face, only a face, when I woke up suddenly. It looked as if it werepainted on the darkness. But oh, the dreadfulness of it and what itbrought with it! Do you remember the line, 'Bring with you airs fromheaven or blasts from hell'? Yes, it was in hell, because hell is not agreat gulf, like Dante described, as I used to think; it is no place atall--it is something we make ourselves. I felt all this as I saw theface, for we ourselves are not what we think. Part of what I used toplay with was true enough; it is all Mâyâ, a delusion, thissense--life--it is no life at all. The actual life is behind, under itall; it goes deep deep down, it stretches on, on--and yet it has nothingto do with space or time. I feel as if I were beating myself against astone wall. My words can have no sense for you any more than they wouldhave had for me yesterday. "

"But tell me, why should this discovery of this other life make you somiserable?"

"Oh, because it brings such a want with it. How can I explain? It islike a poor wretch stupefied with drink. Don't you know the poorcreatures in the Eastend sometimes drink just that they may not feel howhungry and how cold they are? 'They remember their misery no more. ' Isthe life of the world and of outward things like that, if we live toomuch in it? I used to be so contented with it all--its pleasures, itslittle triumphs, even its gossip; and what I called my aspirations Isatisfied with what was nothing more than phrases. And now I have foundmy real self, now I am awake, I want much more, and there isnothing--only a great silence, a great loneliness like that in theface. And the theories I talked about are no comfort any more; they arejust what pretty speeches would be to a person in torture. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, I always feel that you are real, that you are good; tell mewhat you know. Is there nothing but this dark void beyond when lifefalls away from us?"

She lifted towards me a face quivering with excitement, and eyes thatwaited wild and famished for my answer--the answer I had not for her, and then indeed I tasted the full bitterness of the cup of unbelief. 

"No, " she said presently, "I knew it; no one can do me any good butCecilia de Noël. "

"And she believes?"

"It is not what she believes, it is what she is. "

She rested her head upon her hand and looked musingly towards thewindow, down which the drops were trickling, and said--

"Ever since I have known Cecilia I have always felt that if all theworld failed this would be left. Not that I really imagined the worldwould fail me, but you know how one imagines things, how one asksoneself questions. If I was like this, if I was like that, what should Ido? I used to say to myself, if the very worst happened to me, if I wasill of some loathsome disease from which everybody shrank away, or if mymind was unhinged and I was tempted with horrible temptations like Ihave read about, I would go to Cecilia. She would not turn from me; shewould run to meet me as the father in the parable did, not because I washer friend but because I was in trouble. All who are in trouble areCecilia's friends, and she feels to them just as other people feeltowards their own children. And I could tell her everything, show hereverything. Others feel the same; I have heard them say so--men as wellas women. I know why--Cecilia's pity is so reverent, so pure. A greatLondon doctor said to me once, 'Remember, nothing is shocking ordisgusting to a doctor. ' That is like Cecilia. No suffering could everbe disgusting or shocking to Cecilia, nor ridiculous, nor grotesque. Themore humiliating it was, the more pitiful it would be to her. Anythingthat suffers is sacred to Cecilia. She would comfort, as if she went onher knees to one; and her touch on one's wounds, one's ugliest wounds, would be like, "--she hesitated and looked about her in quest of acomparison, then, pointing to a picture over the door, a picture of theMagdalene, kissing the bleeding feet upon the Cross, ended, "like that. "

"Oh, Mrs. Molyneux, " I cried, "if there be love like that in the world, then--"

The door opened and Castleman entered. 

"If you please, sir, the carriage is at the door. "

CHAPTER VII

CECILIA'S GOSPEL

The rain gradually ceased falling as we drove onward and upward to thestation. It stood on high ground, overlooking a wide sweep of downlandand fallow, bordered towards the west by close-set woodlands, purplethat evening against a sky of limpid gold, which the storm-cloudsdiscovered as they lifted. 

I had not long to wait, for, punctual to its time, the train steamedinto the station. From that part of the train to which I first looked, four or five passengers stepped out; not one of them certainly the ladythat I waited for. Glancing from side to side I saw, standing at the farend of the platform, two women; one of them was tall; could this be Mrs. De Noël? And yet no, I reflected as I went towards them, for she held ababy in her arms--a baby moreover swathed, not in white and laces, butin a tattered and discoloured shawl: while her companion, lifting outbaskets and bundles from a third-class carriage, was poorly and evenlymiserably clad. But again, as I drew nearer, I observed that the longfine hand which supported the child was delicately gloved, and that thecloak which swung back from the encircling arm was lined and borderedwith very costly fur. This and something in the whole outline--

"Mrs. De Noël?" I murmured inquiringly. 

Then she turned towards me, and I saw her, as I often see her now indreams, against that sunset background of aerial gold which the artistof circumstance had painted behind her, like a new Madonna, holding thechild of poverty to her heart, pressing her cheek against its tiny headwith a gesture whose exquisite tenderness, for at least that fleetinginstant, seemed to bridge across the gulf which still yawns betweenDives and Lazarus. So standing, she looked at me with two soft browneyes, neither large nor beautiful, but in their outlook direct andsimple as a child's. Remembering as I met them what Mrs. Molyneux hadsaid, I saw and comprehended as well what she meant. Benevolence is butfaintly inscribed, on the faces of most men, even of the better sort. "I will love you, my neighbour, " we thereon decipher, "when I haveattended to my own business, in the first place; if you are lovable, orat least likeable, in the second. " But in the transparent gaze thatCecilia de Noël turned upon her fellows beamed love poured forth withoutstint and without condition. It was as if every man, woman, and childwho approached her became instantly to her more interesting thanherself, their defects more tolerable, their wants more imperative, their sorrows more moving than her own. In this lay the source of thatmysterious charm so many have felt, so few have understood, and yieldingto which even those least capable of appreciating her confessed that, whatever her conduct might be, she herself was irresistibly lovable. Akind of dream-like haze seemed to envelop us as I introduced myself, asshe smiled upon me, as she resigned the child to its mother and bid themtenderly farewell; but the clear air of the real became distinct againwhen there stood suddenly before us a fat elderly female, whosecountenance was flushed with mingled anxiety and displeasure. 

"Law bless me, mem!" said the newcomer, "I could not think wherever youcould be. I have been looking up and down for you, all through thefirst-class carriages. "

"I am so sorry, Parkins, " said Mrs. De Noël penitently; "I ought to havelet you know that I changed my carriage at Carchester. I wanted to nursea baby whose mother was looking ill and tired. I saw them on theplatform, and then they got into a third-class carriage, so I thoughtthe best way would be to get in with them. "

"And where, if you please, mem, " inquired Parkins, in an icy tone andwith a face stiffened by repressed displeasure--"where do you think youhave left your dressing-bag and humbrella?"

Mrs. De Noël fixed her sweet eyes upon the speaker, as if striving torecollect the answer to this question and then replied--

"She told me she lived quite near the station. I wish I had asked herhow far. She is much too weak to walk any distance. I might have found afly for her, might I not?"

Upon which Parkins gave a snort of irrepressible exasperation, and, evidently renouncing her mistress as beyond hope, forthwith departed insearch of the missing property. I accompanied her, and, with the aid ofthe guard, we speedily found and secured both bag and umbrella, and, asthe train steamed off, returned with these treasures to Mrs. De Noël, still on the same spot and in the same attitude as we had left her, andall that she said was--

"It was so stupid, so forgetful, so just like me not to have asked hermore about it. She had been ill; the journey itself was more than shecould stand; and then to have to carry the baby! She said it was notfar, but perhaps she only said that to please me. Poor people are soafraid of distressing one; they often make themselves out better offthan they really are, don't they?"

I was embarrassed by this question, to which my own experience did notauthorise me to answer yes; but I evaded the difficulty by consulting aporter, who fortunately knew the woman, and was able to assure us thather cottage was barely a stone's throw from the station. When I hadconveyed to Mrs. De Noël this information, which she received with aneager gratitude that the recovery of her bag and umbrella had failed torouse, we left the station to go to the carriage, and then it was that, pausing suddenly, she cried out in dismay--

"Ah, you are hurt! you--"

She stopped abruptly; she had divined the truth, and her eyes grewsofter with such tender pity as not yet had shone for me--motherless, sisterless--on any woman's face. As we drove home that evening she heardthe story that never had been told before. 

"You may have your faults, Cissy, " said Atherley, "but I will say thisfor you--for smoothing people down when they have been rubbed the wrongway, you never had your equal. "

He lay back in a comfortable chair looking at his cousin, who, sittingon a low seat opposite the drawing-room fire, shaded her eyes from theglare with a little hand-screen. 

"Mrs. Molyneux, I hear, has gone to sleep, " he went on; "and Mrs. Malletis unpacking her boxes. The only person who does not seem altogetherhappy is my old friend Parkins. When I inquired after her health a fewminutes ago her manner to me was barely civil. "

"Poor Parkins is rather put out, " said Mrs. De Noël in her slow gentleway. "It is all my fault. I forgot to pack up the bodice of my bestevening gown, and Parkins says it is the only one I look fit to be seenin. "

"But, my dear Cecilia, " said Lady Atherley, looking up from the workwhich she pursued beside a shaded lamp, "why did not Parkins pack it upherself?"

"Oh, because she had some shopping of her own to do this forenoon, soshe asked me to finish packing for her, and of course I said I would;and I promised to try and forget nothing; and then, after all, I wentand left the bodice in a drawer. It is provoking! The fact is, Jamesspoils me so when he is at home. He remembers everything for me, andwhen I do forget anything he never scolds me. "

"Ah, I expect he has a nice time of it, " said Atherley. "However, it isnot my fault. I warned him how it would be when he was engaged. I said:'I hope, for one thing, you can live on air, old chap for you will getnothing more for dinner if you trust to Cissy to order it. '"

"I don't believe you said anything of the kind, " observed Lady Atherley. 

"No, dear Jane; of course he did not. He was very much pleased with ourmarriage. He said James was the only man he ever knew who was fit tomarry me. "

"So he was, " agreed Atherley; "the only man whose temper could stand allhe would have to put up with. We had good proof of that even on thewedding-day, when you kept him kicking his heels for half an hour in thechurch while you were admiring the effect of your new finery in theglass. "

"What!" cried Lady Atherley incredulously. 

"What really did happen, Jane, " said Mrs. De Noël, "was that when EdithMolyneux was trying on my wreath before a looking-glass over thefireplace, she unfortunately dropped it into the grate, and got it insuch a mess. It took us a long time to get the black off, and some ofthe sprays were so spoiled, we had to take them out. And it was veryunpleasant for Edith, as Aunt Henrietta was extremely angry, because thewreath was her present, you know, and it was very expensive; and as toParkins, poor dear, she was so vexed she positively cried. She said Iwas the most trying lady she had ever waited upon. She often says so. Iam afraid it is true. "

"Not a doubt of it, " said Atherley. 

"Do not believe him, Cecilia, " said Lady Atherley: "he thinks there isno one in the world like you. "

"Fortunately for the world, " said Atherley; "any more of the sort wouldspoil it. But I am not going to stay here to be bullied by two women atonce. Rather than that, I will go and write letters. "

He went, and soon afterwards Lady Atherley followed him. 

Then the two little boys came in with Tip. 

"We are not allowed to take him upstairs, " explained Harold, "so wethought he might stay with you and Mr. Lyndsay for a little, tillCharles comes for him. "

"If you would let him lie upon your dress, Aunt Cissy, " suggestedDenis; "he would like that. "

Accordingly he was carefully settled on the outspread folds of the sergegown; and after the little boys had condoled with him in tones somelancholy that he was affected almost to tears, they went off to supperand to bed. 

Silence followed, broken only by the ticking of the clock and thewailing of the wind outside. Mrs. De Noël gazed into the fire withintent and unseeing eyes. Its warm red light softly illumined her wholeface and figure, for in her abstraction she had let the hand-screenfall, and was stroking mechanically the little sleek head that nestledagainst her. Meantime I stared attentively at her, thinking I might doso without offence, seeing she had forgotten me and all else around her. Once, indeed, as if rising for a minute to the surface, with eyes thatappeared to waken, she looked up and encountered my earnest gaze, butwithout shade of displeasure or discomfiture. She only smiled upon me, placidly as a sister might smile upon a brother, benignly as one mightsmile upon a child, and fell into her dream again. It was a wonderfullook, especially from a woman, as unique in its complete unconsciousnessas in its warm goodwill; it was as soothing as the touch of her finesoft fingers must have been on Tip's hot head. I felt I could havecurled myself up, as he did, at her feet and slept on--for ever. But, alas! the clock was checking the flying minutes and chanting thedeparting quarters, and presently the dressing-bell rang, Mrs. De Noëlstirred, gave a long sigh, and, plainly from the fulness of her heartand of the thoughts she had so long been following, said--

"Mr. Lyndsay, is it not strange? So many people from the great worldcome and ask me if there is any God. Really good people, you know, sohonourable, so generous, so self-sacrificing. It is just the same to meas if they should ask me whether the sun was shining, when all the timeI saw the sunshine on their faces. "

"By the way, " said Atherley that night after dinner, when Mrs. Molyneuxwas not present, "where are you going to put Cissy to-night? Are yougoing to make a bachelor of her too?"

"Oh, such an uncomfortable arrangement!" said Lady Atherley. "ButLucinda has set her heart on having Cecilia near her; so they have putup a little bed in the dressing-room for her. "

"Cissy is to keep the ghost at bay, is she?" said Atherley. "I hope shemay. I don't want another night as lively as the last. "

"Who else has seen the ghost?" asked Mrs. De Noël, thoughtfully. "HasMr. Lyndsay?"

"No, Lindy will never see the ghost; he is too much of a sceptic. Evenif he saw it he would not believe in it, and there is nothing a ghosthates like that. But he has seen the people who saw the ghost, and hetells their several stories very well. "

"Would you tell me, Mr. Lyndsay?" asked Mrs. De Noël. 

I could do nothing but obey her wish; still I secretly questioned thewisdom of doing so, especially when, as I went on, I observed stealingover her listening face the shadow of some disturbing thought. 

"Well now, Cissy is thoroughly well frightened, " observed Atherley. "Perhaps we had better go to bed. "

"It is no good saying so to Lucinda, " said Lady Atherley, as we allrose, "because it only puts her out; but I shall always feel certainmyself it was a mouse; because I remember in the house we had atBournemouth two years ago there was a mouse in my room which often madesuch a noise knocking down the plaster inside the wall, it used to quitestartle me. "

That night the storm finally subsided. When the morning came the rainfell no longer, the cry of the wind had ceased, and the cloud-curtainabove us was growing lighter and softer as if penetrated and suffused bythe growing sunshine behind it. 

I was late for breakfast that day. 

"Mr. Lyndsay, Tip is all right again, " cried Denis at sight of me. "Mrs. Mallet says it was chicken bones he stole from the cat's dish. "

"Is that all?" observed Atherley sardonically; "I thought he must haveseen the ghost. By the bye, Cissy, did you see it?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. De Noël simply, at which Atherley visibly started, andinstantly began talking of something else. 

Mrs. Molyneux was to leave by an afternoon train, but, to the relief ofeverybody, it was discovered that Mrs. Mallet had indefinitely postponedher departure. She remained in the mildest of humours and in the mostphilosophical of tempers, as I myself can testify; for, meeting her byaccident in the hall, I was encouraged by the amiability of her simperto say that I hoped we should have no more trouble with the ghost, whenshe answered in words I have often since admiringly quoted--

"Perhaps not, sir, but I don't seem to care even if we do; for I had adream last night, and a spirit seemed to whisper in my ear, 'Don't beafraid; it is only a token of death. '"

After Mrs. Molyneux had started, with Mrs. De Noël as her companion asfar as the station, and all the rest of the party had gone out to sunthemselves in the brightness of the afternoon, I worked through a longarrears of correspondence: and I was just finishing a letter, whenAtherley, whom I supposed to be far distant, came into the library. 

"I thought you had gone to pay calls with Lady Atherley?"

"Is it likely? Look here, Lindy, it is quite hot out of doors. Come, andlet me tug you up the hill to meet Cissy coming home from the station, and then I promise you a rare treat. "

Certainly to meet Mrs. De Noël anywhere might be so considered, but Idid not ask if that was what he meant. It was milder; one felt it moreat every step upward. The sun, low as it was, shone warmly as well asbrilliantly between the clouds that he had thrust asunder and scatteredin wild and beautiful disorder. It was one of those incredible days inearly spring, balmy, tender, which our island summer cannot alwaysmatch. 

We went on till we reached Beggar's Stile. 

"Sit down, " said Atherley, tossing on to the wet step a coat he carriedover his arm. "And there is a cigarette; you must smoke, if you please, or at least pretend to do so. "

"What does all this mean? What are you up to, George?"

"I am up to a delicate psychical investigation which requires thegreatest care. The medium is made of such uncommon stuff; she has not aparticle of brass in her composition. So she requires to be carefullyisolated from all disturbing influences. I allow you to be present atthe experiment, because discretion is one of your strongest points, andyou always know when to hold your tongue. Besides, it will improve yourmind. Cissy's story is certain to be odd, like herself, and willillustrate what I am always saying that--Here she is. "

He went forward to meet and to stop the carriage, out of which, at hissuggestion, Mrs. De Noël readily came down to join us. 

"Do not get up, Mr. Lyndsay, " she called out as she came towards us, "orI will go away. I don't want to sit down. "

"Sit down, Lindy, " said Atherley sharply, "Cissy likes tobacco in theopen air. "

She rested her arms upon the gate and looked downwards. 

"The dear dear old river! It makes me feel young again to look at it. "

"Cissy, " said Atherley, his arms on the gate, his eyes staring straighttowards the opposite horizon, "tell us about the ghost; were youfrightened?"

There was a certain tension in the pause which followed. Would she tellus or not? I almost felt Atherley's rebound of satisfaction as well asmy own at the sound of her voice. It was uncertain and faint at first, but by degrees grew firm again, as timidity was lost in the interest ofwhat she told:

"Last night I sat up with Mrs. Molyneux, holding her hand till she fellasleep, and that was very late, and then I went to the dressing-room, where I was to sleep; and as I undressed, I thought over what Mr. Lyndsay had told us about the ghost; and the more I thought, the moresad and strange it seemed that not one of those who saw it, not evenAunt Eleanour, who is so kind and thoughtful, had had one pityingthought for it. And we who heard about it were just the same, for itseemed to us quite natural and even right that everybody should shrinkaway from it because it was so horrible; though that should only makethem the more kind; just as we feel we must be more tender and loving toany one who is deformed, and the more shocking his deformity the moretender and loving. And what, I thought, if this poor spirit had come byany chance to ask for something; if it were in pain and longed forrelief, or sinful and longed for forgiveness? How dreadful then thatother beings should turn from it, instead of going to meet it andcomfort it--so dreadful that I almost wished that I might see it, andhave the strength to speak to it! And it came into my head that thismight happen, for often and often when I have been very anxious to servesome one, the wish has been granted in a quite wonderful way. So when Isaid my prayers, I asked especially that if it should appear to me, Imight have strength to forget all selfish fear and try only to knowwhat it wanted. And as I prayed the foolish shrinking dread we have ofsuch things seemed to fade away; just as when I have prayed for thosetowards whom I felt cold or unforgiving, the hardness has all meltedaway into love towards them. And after that came to me that lovelyfeeling which we all have sometimes--in church, or when we are prayingalone, or more often in the open air, on beautiful summer days when itis warm and still; as if one's heart were beating and overflowing withlove towards everything in this world and in all the worlds; as if thevery grasses and the stones were clear, but dearest of all, thecreatures that still suffer, so that to wipe away their tears forever, one feels that one would die--oh die so gladly! And always as if thiswere something not our own, but part of that wonderful great Love aboveus, about us, everywhere, clasping us all so tenderly and safely!"

Here her voice trembled and failed; she waited a little and then wenton, "Ah, I am too stupid to say rightly what I mean, but you who areclever will understand. 

"It was so sweet that I knelt on, drinking it in for a long time; notpraying, you know, but just resting, and feeling as if I were in heaven, till all at once, I cannot explain why, I moved and looked round. It wasthere at the other end of the room. It was . . . --much worse than I haddreaded it would be; as if it looked out of some great horror deeperthan I could understand. The loving feeling was gone, and I wasafraid--so much afraid, I only wanted to get out of sight of it. And Ithink I would have gone, but it stretched out its hands to me as if itwere asking for something, and then, of course, I could not go. So, though I was trembling a little, I went nearer and looked into its face. And after that I was not afraid any more, I was too sorry for it; itspoor poor eyes were so full of anguish. I cried: 'Oh, why do you look atme like that? Tell me what I shall do. '

"And directly I spoke I heard it moan. Oh, George, oh, Mr. Lyndsay, howcan I tell you what that moaning was like! Do you know how a littlechange in the face of some one you love, or a little tremble in hisvoice, can make you see quite clearly what nobody, not even the greatpoets, had been able to show you before?

"George, do you remember the day that grandmother died, when they allbroke down and cried a little at dinner, all except Uncle Marmaduke? Hesat up looking so white and stern at the end of the table. And I, foolish little child, thought he was not so grieved as the others--thathe did not love his mother so much. But next day, quite by chance, Iheard him, all alone, sobbing over her coffin. I remember standingoutside the door and listening, and each sob went through my heart witha little stab, and I knew for the first time what sorrow was. But evenhis sobs were not so pitiful as the moans of that poor spirit. While Ilistened I learnt that in another world there may be worse for us tobear than even here--sorrow more hopeless, more lonely. For the strangething was, the moaning seemed to come from so far far away; not onlyfrom somewhere millions and millions of miles away, but--this is thestrangest of all--as if it came to me from time long since past, agesand ages ago. I know this sounds like nonsense, but indeed I am tryingto put into words the weary long distance that seemed to stretch betweenus, like one I never should be able to cross. At last it spoke to me ina whisper which I could only just hear; at least it was more like awhisper than anything else I can think of, and it seemed to come likethe moaning from far far away. It thanked me so meekly for looking at itand speaking to it. It told me that by sins committed against otherswhen it was on earth it had broken the bond between itself and all othercreatures. While it was what we call alive, it did not feel this, forthe senses confuse us and hide many things from the good, and so stillmore from the wicked; but when it died and lost the body by which itseemed to be kept near to other beings, it found itself imprisoned inthe most dreadful loneliness--loneliness which no one in this world caneven imagine. Even the pain of solitary confinement, so it told me, which drives men mad, is only like a shadow or type of this lonelinessof spirits. Others there might be, but it knew nothing of them--nothingbesides this great empty darkness everywhere, except the place it hadonce lived in, and the people who were moving about it; and even thoseit could only perceive dimly as if looking through a mist, and always sounutterably away from them all. I am not giving its own words, you know, George, because I cannot remember them. I am not certain it did speakto me; the thoughts seemed to pass in some strange way into my mind; Icannot explain how, for the still far-away voice did not really speak. Sometimes, it told me, the loneliness became agony, and it longed for aword or a sign from some other being, just as Dives longed for the dropof cold water; and at such times it was able to make the living peoplesee it. But that, alas! was useless, for it only alarmed them so muchthat the bravest and most benevolent rushed away in terror or would notlet it come near them. But still it went on showing itself to one afteranother, always hoping that some one would take pity on it and speak toit, for it felt that if comfort ever came to it, it must be through aliving soul, and it knew of none save those in this world and in thisplace. And I said: 'Why did you not turn for help to God?'

"Then it gave a terrible answer: it said, 'What is God?'

"And when I heard these words there came over me a wild kind of pity, such as I used to feel when I saw my little child struggling for breathwhen he was ill, and I held out my arms to this poor lonely thing, butit shrank back, crying:

"'Speak to me, but do not touch me, brave human creature. I am alldeath, and if you come too near me the Death in me may kill the life inyou. '

"But I said: 'No Death can kill the life in me, even though it kill mybody. Dear fellow-spirit, I cannot tell you what I know; but let me takeyou in my arms; rest for an instant on my heart, and perhaps I may makeyou feel what I feel all around us. '

"And as I spoke I threw my arms around the shadowy form and strained itto my breast. And I felt as if I were pressing to me only air, but aircolder than any ice, so that my heart seemed to stop beating, and Icould hardly breathe. But I still clasped it closer and closer, and as Igrew colder it seemed to grow less chill. 

"And at last it spoke, and the whisper was not far away, but near. Itsaid:

"'It is enough; now I know what God is!'

"After that I remember nothing more, till I woke up and found myselflying on the floor beside the bed. It was morning, and the spirit wasnot there; but I have a strong feeling that I have been able to helpit, and that it will trouble you no more. 

"Surely it is late! I must go at once. I promised to have tea with thechildren. "

 * * * * *

Neither of us spoke; neither of us stirred; when the sound of her lightfootfall was heard no more, there was complete silence. Below, the mistshad gathered so thickly that now they spread across the valley one deadwhite sea of vapour in which village and woods and stream were allburied--all except the little church spire, that, still unsubmerged, pointed triumphantly to the sky; and what a sky! For that whichyesterday had steeped us in cold and darkness, now, piled even to thezenith in mountainous cloud-masses, was dyed, every crest and summit ofit, in crimson fire, pouring from a great fount of colour, where, to thewest, the heavens opened to show that wonder-world whence saints andsingers have drawn their loveliest images of the Rest to come. 

But perhaps I saw all things irradiated by the light which had risenupon my darkness--the light that never was on land or sea, but shinesreflected in the human face. 

 * * * * *

"George, I am waiting for your interpretation. "

"It is very simple, Lindy, " he said. 

But there was a tone in his voice I had heard once--and onlyonce--before, when, through the first terrible hours that followed myaccident, he sat patiently beside me in the darkened room, holding myhot hand in his broad cool palm. 

"It is very simple. It is the most easily explained of all the accounts. It was a dream from beginning to end. She fell asleep praying, thinking, as she says; what was more natural or inevitable than that she shoulddream of the ghost? And it all confirms what I say: that visions arecomposed by the person who sees them. Nothing could be morecharacteristic of Cissy than the story she has just told us. "

"And let it be a dream, " I said. "It is of no consequence, for thedreamer remains, breathing and walking on this solid earth. I havetouched her hand, I have looked into her face. Thank God! she is novision, the woman who could dream this dream! George, how do you explainthe miracle of her existence?"

But Atherley was silent. 

THE END

Transcriber's Note: Several spelling errors were corrected:childen/children, greal/great and spendid/splendid. 

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