UC-NRLF 
 
 B M 1D3 D7M 
 
 
■>• vc'it3roK.g.y 
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
jitetbucn's Otoloitial yibrarji 
 
 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF THE C^SARS 
 
 THE DESERT OF SOUTHERN FRANCE 
 
 STRANGE SURVIVALS 
 
 SONGS OF THE WEST 
 
 A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG 
 
 OLD COUNTRY LIFE 
 
 YORKSHIRE ODDITIES 
 
 HISTORIC ODDITIES 
 
 OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES 
 
 AN OLD ENGLISH HOME 
 
 THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW 
 
 FREAKS OF FANATICISM 
 
 A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES 
 
 A BOOK OF BRITTANY 
 
 A BOOK OF DARTMOOR 
 
 A BOOK OF THE WEST 
 
 A BOOK OF NORTH WALES 
 
"who are you? 
 
A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 BY 
 
 S. BARING-GOULD, M.A. 
 
 WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY D. MURRAY SMITH 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 Colonial Library 
 
First Published . . October igo4 
 Second Edition , . December igo4 
 

 3V 
 /9o- 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 SOME of the stories in this volume have already 
 appeared in print. " The Red-haired Girl " in The 
 Windsor Magazine ; "Colonel Halifax's Ghost Story" 
 in The Illustrated English Magazine ; " Glamr " I told 
 in my Iceland: Its Scenes and Sagas ^ published in 1863, 
 and long ago out of print. "The Bold Venture" ap- 
 peared in The Graphic; "The 9.30 Up-train " as long 
 ago as 1853 in Once a Week, 
 
 337 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Jean Bouchon . 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 Pomps and Vanities 
 
 
 
 
 14 
 
 McAlister 
 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 The Leaden Ring 
 
 
 
 
 . 58 
 
 The Mother of Pansies 
 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 The Red-haired Girl 
 
 
 
 
 91 
 
 A Professional Secret . 
 
 
 
 
 106 
 
 H. P. . 
 
 
 
 
 143 
 
 Glamr . 
 
 
 
 
 160 
 
 Colonel Halifax's Ghost Story 
 
 
 
 
 175 
 
 The Merewigs . 
 
 
 
 
 189 
 
 The "Bold Venture'' . 
 
 
 
 
 215 
 
 MUSTAPHA 
 
 
 
 
 226 
 
 Little Joe Gander 
 
 
 
 
 245 
 
 A Dead Finger . 
 
 
 
 
 274 
 
 Black Ram 
 
 
 
 
 296 
 
 A Happy Release 
 
 
 
 
 314 
 
 The 9.30 Up-train 
 
 
 
 
 327 
 
 On the Leads 
 
 
 
 
 341 
 
 Aunt Joanna 
 
 
 
 
 353 
 
 The White Flag 
 
 
 
 
 367 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " Who are you ? " . . ... Frontispiece 
 
 " Then the bride put back her veil, and Betty, studying the 
 white face, saw that this actually was not herself; it 
 was her dead sister Letice " . ... To face page 41 
 
 " Her hat was blown off, and next instant a detonation rang 
 through her head as though a gun had been fired into 
 her ear" . . . • • • „ » 65 
 
 " If he went out for a walk they trotted forth with him, 
 
 some before, some following " . . . . „ ,,126 
 
 " You let that Mustapha come in, and try and stick his 
 
 knife into me " . . . ..,,,, 244 
 
 " * Mammy ! ' said he ; ' Mammy ! my violin cost me three 
 shillings and sixpence, and I can't make it play no- 
 ways'" . . . . . . „ „ 270 
 
 " I believe that they are talking goody-goody " . . ,, ,, 325 
 
 " She thrust her hand into the teapot and drew forth the 
 
 coins, one by one, and rolled them along the table" . ,, ,, 362 
 

 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 JEAN BOUCHON 
 
 I WAS in Orleans a good many years ago. At the 
 time it was my purpose to write a life of Joan of Arc, 
 and I considered it advisable to visit the scenes of her 
 exploits, so as to be able to give to my narrative some 
 local colour. 
 
 But I did not find Orleans answer to my expecta- 
 tions. It is a dull town, very modern in appearance, but 
 with that measly and decrepit look which is so general in 
 French towns. There was a Place Jeanne d'Arc, with an 
 equestrian statue of her in the midst, flourishing a banner. 
 There was the house that the Maid had occupied after the 
 taking of the city, but, with the exception of the walls and 
 rafters, it had undergone so much alteration and modernisa- 
 tion as to have lost its interest. A museum of memorials 
 of la Pucelle had been formed, but possessed no genuine 
 relics, only arms and tapestries of a later date. 
 
 The city walls she had besieged, the gate through which 
 she had burst, had been levelled, and their places taken by 
 boulevards. The very cathedral in which she had knelt to 
 return thanks for her victory was not the same. That 
 had been blown up by the Huguenots, and the cathedral 
 that now stands was erected on its ruins in 1601. 
 
 There was an ormolu figure of Jeanne on the clock — 
 never wound up — upon the mantelshelf in my room at 
 the hotel, and there were chocolate figures of her in the 
 
 B 
 
2 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 confectioners' shop-windows for children to suck. When 
 I sat down at 7 p,m. to table d'hote, at my inn, I was out 
 of heart. The rer^ult of niy exploration of sites had been 
 unsatisfactory; but I trusted on the morrow to be able to 
 find material to serve my purpose in the municipal archives 
 of the town library. 
 
 My dinner ended, I sauntered to a cafe. 
 
 That I selected opened on to the Place, but there was a 
 back entrance near to my hotel, leading through a long, 
 stone-paved passage at the back of the houses in the street, 
 and by ascending three or four stone steps one entered the 
 long, well-lighted cafe. I came into it from the back by 
 this means, and not from the front. 
 
 I took my place and called for a cafe-cognac. Then I 
 picked up a French paper and proceeded to read it — all 
 but the feuilleton. In my experience I have never yet 
 come across anyone who reads the feuilletons in a French 
 paper ; and my impression is that these snippets of novel 
 are printed solely for the purpose of filling up space and 
 disguising the lack of news at the disposal of the editors. 
 The French papers borrow their information relative to 
 foreign affairs largely from the English journals, so that 
 they are a day behind ours in the foreign news that they 
 publish. 
 
 Whilst I was engaged in reading, something caused me 
 to look up, and I noticed standing by the white marble- 
 topped table, on which was my coffee, a waiter, with a pale 
 face and black whiskers, in an expectant attitude. 
 
 I was a little nettled at his precipitancy in applying for 
 payment, but I put it down to my being a total stranger 
 there ; and without a word I set down half a franc and a 
 ten centimes coin, the latter as his pourboire. Then I pro- 
 ceeded with my reading. 
 
 I think a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when I rose to 
 depart, and then, to my surprise, I noticed the half-franc 
 still on the table, but the sous piece was gone. 
 
JEAN BOUCHON 3 
 
 I beckoned to a waiter, and said : " One of you came 
 to me a little while ago demanding payment. I think he 
 was somewhat hasty in pressing for it ; however, I set the 
 money down, and the fellow has taken the tip, and has 
 neglected the charge for the coffee." 
 
 " Sapristi r' exclaimed th.Q gargon ; "Jean Bouchon has 
 been at his tricks again." 
 
 I said nothing further ; asked no questions. The matter 
 did not concern me, or indeed interest me in the smallest 
 degree ; and I left. 
 
 Next day I worked hard in the town library. I cannot 
 say that I lighted on any unpublished documents that 
 might serve my purpose. 
 
 I had to go through the controversial literature relative 
 to whether Jeanne d'Arc was burnt or not, for it has been 
 maintained that a person of the same name, and also of 
 Arques, died a natural death some time later, and who 
 postured as the original warrior-maid. I read a good 
 many monographs on the Pucelle, of various values ; some 
 real contributions to history, others mere second-hand 
 cookings-up of well-known and often-used material. The 
 sauce in these latter was all that was new. 
 
 In the evening, after dinner, I went back to the same 
 cafe and called for black coffee with a nip of brandy. I 
 drank it leisurely, and then retreated to the desk where 
 I could write some letters. 
 
 I had finished one, and was folding it, when I saw the 
 same pale-visaged waiter standing by with his hand ex- 
 tended for payment. I put my hand into my pocket, 
 pulled out a fifty centimes piece and a coin of two sous, 
 and placed both beside me, near the man, and proceeded 
 to put my letter in an envelope, which I then directed. 
 
 Next I wrote a second letter, and that concluded, I rose 
 to go to one of the tables and to call for stamps, when 
 I noticed that again the silver coin had been left un- 
 touched, but the copper piece had been taken away. 
 
4 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 I tapped for a waiter. 
 
 " Tiens," said I, " that fellow of yours has been bungling 
 again. He has taken the tip and has left the half-franc." 
 
 " Ah ! Jean Bouchon once more ! " 
 
 " But who is Jean Bouchon } " 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders, and, instead of answer- 
 ing my query, said : " I should recommend monsieur to 
 refuse to pay Jean Bouchon again — that is, supposing 
 monsieur intends revisiting this caf<6." 
 
 " I most assuredly will not pay such a noodle," I said ; 
 " and it passes my comprehension how you can keep such 
 a fellow on your staff." 
 
 I revisited the library next day, and then walked by the 
 Loire, that rolls in winter such a full and turbid stream, 
 and in summer, with a reduced flood, exposes gravel and 
 sand-banks. I wandered around the town, and endeavoured 
 vainly to picture it, enclosed by walls and drums of towers, 
 when on April 29th, 1429, Jeanne threw herself into the 
 town and forced the English to retire, discomfited and 
 perplexed. 
 
 In the evening I revisited the caf6 and made my wants 
 known as before. Then I looked at my notes, and began 
 to arrange them. 
 
 Whilst thus engaged I observed the waiter, named Jean 
 Bouchon, standing near the table in an expectant attitude 
 as before. I now looked him full in the face and observed 
 his countenance. He had puffy white cheeks, small black 
 eyes, thick dark mutton-chop whiskers, and a broken nose. 
 He was decidedly an ugly man, but not a man with a 
 repulsive expression of face. 
 
 " No," said I, " I will give you nothing. I will not pay 
 you. Send another gargon to me." 
 
 As I looked at him to see how he took this refusal, he 
 seemed to fall back out of my range, or, to be more exact, 
 the lines of his form and features became confused. It 
 was much as though I had been gazing on a reflection in 
 
JEAN BOUCHON 5 
 
 still water ; that something had ruffled the surface, and all 
 was broken up and obliterated. I could see him no more. 
 I was puzzled and a bit startled, and I rapped my coffee- 
 cup with the spoon to call the attention of a waiter. One 
 sprang to me immediately. 
 
 "See!" said I, "Jean Bouchon has been here again; I 
 told him that I would not pay him one sou, and he has 
 vanished in a most perplexing manner. I do not see him 
 in the room." 
 
 " No, he is not in the room." 
 
 " When he comes in again, send him to me. I want to 
 have a word with him." 
 
 The waiter looked confused, and replied : "I do not think 
 that Jean will return." 
 
 " How long has he been on your staff?" 
 
 " Oh ! he has not been on our staff for some years." 
 
 " Then why does he come here and ask for payment for 
 coffee and what else one may order?" 
 
 " He never takes payment for anything that has been 
 consumed. He takes only the tips." 
 
 " But why do you permit him to do that?" 
 
 " We cannot help ourselves." 
 
 "He should not be allowed to enter the cafe." 
 
 " No one can keep him out." 
 
 "This is surpassing strange. He has no right to the 
 tips. You should communicate with the police." 
 
 The waiter shook his head. "They can do nothing. 
 Jean Bouchon died in 1869." 
 
 "Died in 1869!" I repeated. 
 
 " It is so. But he still comes here. He never pesters 
 the old customers, the inhabitants of the town— only 
 visitors, strangers." 
 
 " Tell me all about him." 
 
 "Monsieur must pardon me now. We have many in 
 the place, and I have my duties." 
 
 " In that case I will drop in here to-morrow morning 
 
6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 when you are disengaged, and I will ask you to inform 
 me about him. What is your name? " 
 
 " At monsieur's pleasure — Alphonse." 
 
 Next morning, in place of pursuing the traces of the 
 Maid of Orleans, I went to the cafe to hunt up Jean 
 Bouchon. I found Alphonse with a duster wiping down 
 the tables. I invited him to a table and made him sit 
 down opposite me. I will give his story in substance, only 
 where advisable recording his exact words. 
 
 Jean Bouchon had been a waiter at this particular cafe. 
 Now in some of these establishments the attendants are 
 wont to have a box, into which they drop all the tips that 
 are received ; and at the end of the week it is opened, and 
 the sum found in it is divided /;-<? rata among the waiters, 
 the head waiter receiving a larger portion than the others. 
 This is not customary in all such places of refreshment, 
 but it is in some, and it was so in this cafe. The average is 
 pretty constant, except on special occasions, as when a fete 
 occurs ; and the waiters know within a few francs what 
 their perquisites will be. 
 
 But in the caf6 where served Jean Bouchon the sum did 
 not reach the weekly total that might have been antici- 
 pated ; and after this deficit had been noted for a couple 
 of months the waiters were convinced that there was some- 
 thing v/rong, somewhere or somehow. Either the common 
 box was tampered with, or one of them did not put in his 
 tips received. A watch was set, and it was discovered that 
 Jean Bouchon was the defaulter. When he had received 
 a gratuity, he went to the box, and pretended to put in the 
 coin, but no sound followed, as would have been the case 
 had one been dropped in. 
 
 There ensued, of course, a great commotion among the 
 waiters when this was discovered. Jean Bouchon en- 
 deavoured to brave it out, but the patron was appealed to, 
 the case stated, and he was dismissed. As he left by the 
 back entrance, one of the younger garqons put out his leg 
 
JEAN BOUCHON 7 
 
 and tripped Bouchon up, so that he stumbled and fell 
 headlong down the steps with a crash on the stone floor 
 of the passage. He fell with such violence on his forehead 
 that he was taken up insensible. His bones were fractured, 
 there was concussion of the brain, and he died within a 
 few hours without recovering consciousness. 
 
 " We were all very sorry and greatly shocked," said 
 Alphonse ; " we did not like the man, he had dealt dis- 
 honourably by us, but we wished him no ill, and our re- 
 sentment was at an end when he was dead. The waiter 
 who had tripped him up was arrested, and was sent to 
 prison for some months, but the accident was due to une 
 viauvaise plaisanterie and no malice was in it, so that the 
 young fellow got off with a light sentence. He afterwards 
 married a widow with a cafe at Vierzon, and is there, I 
 believe, doing well. 
 
 " Jean Bouchon was buried," continued Alphonse ; " and 
 we waiters attended the funeral and held white kerchiefs 
 to our eyes. Our head waiter even put a lemon into his, 
 that by squeezing it he might draw tears from his eyes. 
 We all subscribed for the interment, that it should be 
 dignified — majestic as becomes a waiter." 
 
 " And do you mean to tell me that Jean Bouchon has 
 haunted this cafe ever since ? " 
 
 "Ever since 1869," replied Alphonse. 
 
 " And there is no way of getting rid of him ? " 
 
 " None at all, monsieur. One of the Canons of Bourges 
 came in here one evening. We did suppose that Jean 
 Bouchon would not approach, molest an ecclesiastic, but 
 he did. He took his pourboire and left the rest, just as he 
 treated monsieur. Ah ! monsieur ! but Jean Bouchon did 
 well in 1870 and 1871 when those pigs of Prussians were 
 here in occupation. The officers came nightly to our caf^, 
 and Jean Bouchon was greatly on the alert. He must 
 have carried away half of the gratuities they offered. It 
 was a sad loss to us." 
 
8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " This is a very extraordinary story," said I. 
 
 " But it is true," replied Alphonse. 
 
 Next day I left Orleans. I gave up the notion of writing 
 the life of Joan of Arc, as I found that there was absolutely 
 no new material to be gleaned on her history — in fact, she 
 had been thrashed out. 
 
 Years passed, and I had almost forgotten about Jean 
 Bouchon, when, the other day, I was in Orleans once more, 
 on my way south, and at once the whole story recurred to 
 me. 
 
 I went that evening to the same caf6. It had been 
 smartened up since I was there before. There was more 
 plate glass, more gilding ; electric light had been introduced, 
 there were more mirrors, and there were also ornaments 
 that had not been in the caf6 before. 
 
 I called for cafe-cognac and looked at a journal, but 
 turned my eyes on one side occasionally, on the look-out 
 for Jean Bouchon. But he did not put in an appearance. 
 I waited for a quarter of an hour in expectation, but saw 
 no sign of him. 
 
 Presently I summoned a waiter, and when he came up 
 I inquired : " But where is Jean Bouchon ?" 
 
 " Monsieur asks after Jean Bouchon ? " The man looked 
 surprised. 
 
 " Yes, I have seen him here previously. Where is he at 
 present?" 
 
 " Monsieur has seen Jean Bouchon ? Monsieur perhaps 
 knew him. He died in 1869." 
 
 " I know that he died in 1869, but I made his acquaint- 
 ance in 1874. I saw him then thrice, and he accepted 
 some small gratuities of me." 
 
 " Monsieur tipped Jean Bouchon } " 
 
 " Yes, and Jean Bouchon accepted my tips." 
 
 " Tzens, and Jean Bouchon died five years before." 
 
 " Yes, and what I want to know is how you have rid 
 yourselves of Jean Bouchon, for that you have cleared the 
 
JEAN BOUCHON 9 
 
 place of him is evident, or he would have been pestering me 
 this evening." The man looked disconcerted and irresolute. 
 
 " Hold," said I ; "is Alphonse here? " 
 
 " No, monsieur, Alphonse has left two or three years 
 ago. And monsieur saw Jean Bouchon in 1874. I was 
 not then here. I have been here only six years." 
 
 " But you can in all probability inform me of the manner 
 of getting quit of Jean." 
 
 " Monsieur ! I am very busy this evening, there are so 
 many gentlemen come in." 
 
 " I will give you five francs if you will tell me all — all — 
 succinctly about Jean Bouchon." 
 
 " Will monsieur be so good as to come here to-morrow 
 during the morning? and then I place myself at the dis- 
 position of monsieur." 
 
 " I shall be here at eleven o'clock." 
 
 At the appointed time I was at the cafe. If there is an 
 institution that looks ragged and dejected and dissipated, 
 it is a cafe in the morning, when the chairs are turned 
 upside-down, the waiters are in aprons and shirt-sleeves, 
 and a smell of stale tobacco lurks about the air, mixed 
 with various other unpleasant odours. 
 
 The waiter I had spoken to on the previous evening was 
 looking out for me. I made him seat himself at a table 
 with me. No one else was in the saloon except another 
 gargon, who was dusting with a long feather-brush. 
 
 " Monsieur," began the waiter, " I will tell you the whole 
 truth. The story is curious, and perhaps everyone would 
 not believe it, but it is well documentee, Jean Bouchon 
 was at one time in service here. We had a box. When I 
 say we, I do not mean myself included, for I was not here 
 at the time." 
 
 " I know about the common box. I know the story down 
 to my visit to Orleans in 1874, when I saw the man." 
 
 " Monsieur has perhaps been informed that he was 
 buried in the cemetery ? " 
 
lo A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " I do know that, at the cost of his fellow-waiters." 
 
 " Well, monsieur, he was poor, and his fellow-waiters, 
 though well-disposed, were not rich. So he did not have 
 a grave eit pei'petuite. Accordingly, after many years, when 
 the term of consignment was expired, and it might well 
 be supposed that Jean Bouchon had mouldered away, his 
 grave was cleared out to make room for a fresh occupant. 
 Then a very remarkable discovery was made. It was 
 found that his corroded coffin was crammed — literally 
 stuffed — with five and ten centimes pieces, and with them 
 were also some German coins, no doubt received from those 
 pigs of Prussians during the occupation of Orleans. This 
 discovery was much talked about. Our proprietor of the 
 cafe and the head waiter went to the mayor and represented 
 to him how matters stood — that all this money had been 
 filched during a series of years since 1869 from the waiters. 
 And our patron represented to him that it should in all 
 propriety and justice be restored to us. The mayor was a 
 man of intelligence and heart, and he quite accepted this 
 view of the matter, and ordered the surrender of the whole 
 coffin-load of coins to us, the waiters of the cafe." 
 
 " So you divided it amongst you." 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur ; we did not. It is true that the 
 money might legitimately be regarded as belonging to us. 
 But then those defrauded, or most of them, had left long 
 ago, and there were among us some who had not been in 
 service in the cafe more than a year or eighteen months. 
 We could not trace the old waiters. Some were dead, 
 some had married and left this part of the country. We 
 were not a corporation. £0 we held a meeting to discuss 
 what was to be done with the money. We feared, more- 
 over, that unless the spirit of Jean Bouchon were satisfied, 
 he might continue revisiting the cafe and go on sweeping 
 away the tips. It was of paramount importance to please 
 Jean Bouchon, to lay out the money in such a manner as 
 would commend itself to his feelings. One suggested one 
 
JEAN BOUCHON ii 
 
 thing, one another. One proposed that the sum should be 
 expended on masses for the repose of Jean's soul. But the 
 head waiter objected to that. He said that he thought he 
 knew the mind of Jean Bouchon, and that this would not 
 commend itself to it. He said, did our head waiter, that 
 he knew Jean Bouchon from head to heels. And he pro- 
 posed that all the coins should be melted up, and that out 
 of them should be cast a statue of Jean Bouchon in bronze, 
 to be set up here in the cafi^, as there were not enough 
 coins to make one large enough to be erected in a Place. 
 If monsieur will step with me he will see the statue ; it is 
 a superb work of art." 
 
 He led the way, and I followed. 
 
 In the midst of the cafe stood a pedestal, and on this 
 basis a bronze figure about four feet high. It represented 
 a man reeling backward, with a banner in his left hand, 
 and the right raised towards his brow, as though he had 
 been struck there by a bullet. A sabre, apparently fallen 
 from his grasp, lay at his feet. I studied the face, and it 
 most assuredly was utterly unlike Jean Bouchon with his 
 puffy cheeks, mutton-chop whiskers, and broken nose, as I 
 recalled him. 
 
 " But," said I, " the features do not — pardon me — at all 
 resemble those of Jean Bouchon. This might be the young 
 Augustus, or Napoleon I. The profile is quite Greek." 
 
 " It may be so," replied the waiter. " But we had no 
 photograph to go by. We had to allow the artist to 
 exercise his genius, and, above all, we had to gratify the 
 spirit of Jean Bouchon." 
 
 " I see. But the attitude is inexact. Jean Bouchon 
 fell down the steps headlong, and this represents a man 
 staggering backwards." 
 
 " It would have been inartistic to have shown him pre- 
 cipitated forwards ; besides, the spirit of Jean might not 
 have liked it." 
 
 " Quite so. I understand. But the flag ? " 
 
12 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " That was an idea of the artist. Jean could not be made 
 holding a coffee-cup. You will see the whole makes a 
 superb subject. Art has its exigencies. Monsieur will 
 see underneath is an inscription on the pedestal." 
 
 I stooped, and with some astonishment read — 
 
 "JEAN BOUCHON 
 
 MORT SUR LE CHAMP DE GLOIRE 
 
 1870 
 
 DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA MORI." 
 
 " Why ! " objected I, " he died from falling a cropper in 
 the back passage, not on the field of glory." 
 
 " Monsieur ! all Orleans is a field of glory. Under 
 S. Aignan did we not repel Attila and his Huns in 451 ? 
 Under Jeanne d'Arc did we not repulse the English — 
 monsieur will excuse the allusion — in 1429. Did we not 
 recapture Orleans from the Germans in November, 1870?" 
 
 " That is all very true," I broke in. " But Jean Bouchon 
 neither fought against Attila nor with la Pucelle, nor 
 against the Prussians. Then ^ Duke et decorum est pro 
 patria mori^ is rather strong, considering the facts." 
 
 " How ? Does not monsieur see that the sentiment is 
 patriotic and magnificent?" 
 
 " I admit that, but dispute the application." 
 
 " Then why apply it ? The sentiment is all right." 
 
 " But by implication it refers to Jean Bouchon, who died, 
 not for his country, but in a sordid coffee-house brawl. 
 Then, again, the date is wrong. Jean Bouchon died in 
 1869, not in 1870." 
 
 " That is only out by a year." 
 
 "Yes, but with this mistake of a year, and with the 
 quotation from Horace, and with the attitude given to the 
 figure, anyone would suppose that Jean Bouchon had 
 fallen in the retaking of Orleans from the Prussians." 
 
 "Ah! monsieur, who looks on a monument and expects 
 to find thereon the literal truth relative to the deceased 
 
JEAN BOUCHON 13 
 
 " This IS something of a sacrifice to truth," I demurred. 
 
 " Sacrifice is superb!" said the waiter. "There is nothing 
 more noble, more heroic than sacrifice." 
 
 '* But not the sacrifice of truth." 
 
 " Sacrifice is always sacrifice." 
 
 " Well," said I, unwilling further to dispute, " this is cer- 
 tainly a great creation out of nothing." 
 
 " Not out of nothing ; out of the coppers that Jean 
 Bouchon had filched from us, and which choked up his 
 coffin." 
 
 " Jean Bouchon has been seen no more ? " 
 
 "No, monsieur. And yet — yes, once, when the statue 
 was unveiled. Our patron did that. The cafe was crowded. 
 All our habitues were there. The patron made a magnifi- 
 cent oration ; he drew a superb picture of the moral, intel- 
 lectual, social, and political merits of Jean Bouchon. There 
 was not a dry eye among the audience, and the speaker 
 choked with emotion. Then, as we stood in a ring, not too 
 near, we saw — I was there and I distinctly saw, so did the 
 others — Jean Bouchon standing with his back to us, looking 
 intently at the statue of himself Monsieur, as he thus 
 stood I could discern his black mutton-chop whiskers 
 projecting upon each side of his head. Well, sir, not one 
 word was spoken. A dead silence fell upon all. Our 
 patron ceased to speak, and wiped his eyes and blew his 
 nose. A sort of holy awe possessed us all. Then, after 
 the lapse of some minutes, Jean Bouchon turned himself 
 about, and we all saw his puffy pale cheeks, his thick 
 sensual lips, his broken nose, his little pig's eyes. He was 
 very unlike his idealised portrait in the statue ; but what 
 matters that? It gratified the deceased, and it injured no 
 one. Well, monsieur, Jean Bouchon stood facing us, and 
 he turned his head from one side to another, and gave us 
 all what I may term a greasy smile. Then he lifted up his 
 hands as though invoking a blessing on us all, and vanished. 
 Since then he has not been seen." 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 
 
 COLONEL MOUNTJOY had an appointment in 
 India that kept him there permanently. Conse- 
 quently he was constrained to send his two daughters to 
 England when they were quite children. His wife had 
 died of cholera at Madras. The girls were Letice and 
 Betty. There was a year's difference in their ages, but 
 they were extraordinarily alike, so much so that they 
 might have been supposed to be twins. 
 
 Letice was given up to the charge of Miss Mountjoy. 
 her father's sister, and Betty to that of Lady Lacy, her 
 maternal aunt. Their father would have preferred that 
 his daughters should have been together, but there were 
 difficulties in the way ; neither of the ladies was inclined 
 to be burdened with both, and if both had been placed 
 with one the other might have regarded and resented this 
 as a slight. 
 
 As the children grew up their likeness in feature became 
 more close, but they diverged exceedingly in expression. 
 A sullenness, an unhappy look, a towering fire of resent- 
 ment characterised that of Letice, whereas the face of 
 Betty was open and gay. 
 
 This difference was due to the difference in their bring- 
 ing up. 
 
 Lady Lacy, who had a small house in North Devon, 
 was a kindly, intellectual, and broad-minded old lady, 
 of sweet disposition but a decided will. She saw a good 
 deal of society, and did her best to train Betty to be an, 
 educated and liberal-minded woman of culture and grace- 
 
 14 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 15 
 
 ful manners. She did not send her to school, but had her 
 taught at home; and on the excuse that her eyes were 
 weak by artificial light she made the girl read to her in 
 the evenings, and always read books that were standard 
 and calculated to increase her knowledge and to develop 
 her understanding. Lady Lacy detested all shams, and 
 under her influence Betty grew up to be thoroughly 
 straightforward, healthy-minded, and true. 
 
 On the other hand. Miss Mountjoy was, as Letice called 
 her, a Killjoy. She had herself been reared in the midst 
 of the Clapham sect ; had become rigid in all her ideas, 
 narrow in all her sympathies, and a bundle of prejudices. 
 
 The present generation of young people know nothing 
 of the system of repression that was exercised in that of 
 their fathers and mothers. Now the tendency is wholly in 
 the other direction, and too greatly so. It is possibly due 
 to a revulsion of feeling against a training that is looked 
 back upon with a shudder. 
 
 To that narrow school there existed but two categories 
 of men and women, the Christians and the Worldlings, and 
 those who pertained to it arrogated to themselves the 
 former title. The Judgment had already begun with the 
 severance of the sheep from the goats, and the saints who 
 judged the world had their Jerusalem at Clapham. 
 
 In that school the works of the great masters of English 
 literature, Shakespeare, Pope, Scott, Byron, were taboo ; 
 no work of imagination was tolerated save the Apocalypse, 
 and that was degraded into a polemic by such scribblers 
 as Elliot and Cumming. 
 
 No entertainments, not even the oratorios of Handel, 
 were tolerated ; they savoured of the world. The nearest 
 approach to excitement was found in a missionary meet- 
 ing. The Chinese contract the feet of their daughters, 
 but those English Claphamites cramped the minds of their 
 children. The Venetians made use of an iron prison, with 
 gradually contracting walls, that finally crushed the life 
 
i6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 out of the captive. But these elect Christians put their 
 sons and daughters into a school that squeezed their 
 energies and their intelligences to death. 
 
 Dickens caricatured such people in Mrs. Jellyby and 
 Mr. Chadband ; but he sketched them only in their external 
 aspect, and left untouched their private action in distorting 
 young minds, maiming their wills, damping down all 
 youthful buoyancy. 
 
 But the result did not answer the expectations of those 
 who adopted this system with the young. Some daughters, 
 indeed, of weaker wills were permanently stunted and 
 shaped on the approved model, but nearly all the sons, 
 and most of the daughters, on obtaining their freedom, 
 broke away into utter frivolity and dissipation, or, if they 
 retained any religious impressions, galloped through the 
 Church of England, performing strange antics on the way, 
 and plunged into the arms of Rome. 
 
 Such was the system to which the high-spirited, strong- 
 willed Letice was subjected, and from which was no 
 escape. The consequence was that Letice tossed and bit 
 at her chains, and that there ensued frequent outbreaks of 
 resentment against her aunt. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Hannah ! I want something to read." 
 
 After some demur, and disdainful rejection of more 
 serious works, she was allowed Milton. 
 
 Then she said, " Oh ! I do love Comus." 
 
 ^^CojHus!" gasped Miss Mountjoy. 
 
 " And L' Allegro and // Penseroso, they are not bad." 
 
 " My child. These were the compositions of the im- 
 mortal bard before his eyes were opened." 
 
 " I thought, aunt, that he had dictated the Paradise 
 Lost and Regained after he was blind." 
 
 " I refer to the eyes of his soul," said the old lady sternly. 
 
 " I want a story-book." 
 
 " There is the Dairyman's Daughter^ 
 
 " I have read it, and hate it" 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 17 
 
 " I fear, Leticia, that you are in the gall of bitterness 
 and the bond of iniquity." 
 
 Unhappily the sisters very rarely met one another. It 
 was but occasionally that Lady Lacy and Betty came to 
 town, and when they did. Miss Mountjoy put as many 
 difficulties as she could in the way of their associating 
 together. 
 
 On one such visit to London, Lady Lacy called and 
 asked if she might take Letice with herself to the theatre. 
 Miss Mountjoy shivered with horror, reared herself, and 
 expressed her opinion of stage-plays and those who went 
 to see them in strong and uncomplimentary terms. As 
 she had the custody of Letice, she would by no persuasion 
 be induced to allow her to imperil her soul by going to such 
 a wicked place. Lady Lacy was fain to withdraw in some 
 dismay and much regret. 
 
 Poor Letice, who had heard this offer made, had flashed 
 into sudden brightness and a tremor of joy ; when it was 
 refused, she burst into a flood of tears and an ecstasy of 
 rage. She ran up to her room, and took and tore to pieces 
 a volume of Clayton's Sermons ^ scattered the leaves over 
 the floor, and stamped upon them. 
 
 " Letice," said Miss Mountjoy, when she saw the devasta- 
 tion, " you are a child of wrath." 
 
 " Why mayn't I go where there is something pretty to 
 see ? Why may I not hear good music ? Why must I be 
 kept forever in the Doleful Dumps ? " 
 
 " Because all these things are of the world, worldly." 
 
 " If God hates all that is fair and beautiful, why did He 
 create the peacock, the humming-bird, and the bird of 
 paradise, instead of filling the world with barn-door fowls?" 
 
 " You have a carnal mind. You will never go to heaven." 
 
 " Lucky I — if the saints there do nothing but hold 
 missionary meetings to convert one another. Pray what 
 else can they do ? " 
 
 " They are engaged in the worship of God." 
 c 
 
i8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " I don't know what that means. All I am acquainted 
 with is the worship of the congregation. At Salem Chapel 
 the minister faces it, mouths at it, gesticulates to it, 
 harangues, flatters, fawns at it, and, indeed, prays at it. If 
 that be all, heaven must be a deadly dull hole." 
 
 Miss Mountjoy reared herself, she became livid with 
 wrath. " You wicked girl." 
 
 "Aunt," said Letice, intent on further incensing her, "I 
 do wish you would let me go — ^just for once — to a Catholic 
 church to see what the worship of God is." 
 
 " I would rather see you dead at my feet!" exclaimed the 
 incensed lady, and stalked, rigid as a poker, out of the 
 room. 
 
 Thus the unhappy girl grew up to woman's estate, her 
 heart seething with rebellion. 
 
 And then a terrible thing occurred. She caught scarlet 
 fever, which took an unfavourable turn, and her life was 
 despaired of Miss Mountjoy was not one to conceal from 
 the girl that her days were few, and her future condition 
 hopeless. 
 
 Letice fought against the idea of dying so young. 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! I won't die ! I can't die ! I have seen 
 nothing of the pomps and vanities. I want to just taste 
 them, and know what they are like. Oh ! save me, make 
 the doctor give me something to revive me. I want the 
 pomps and vanities, oh ! so much. I will not, I cannot 
 die ! " But her will, her struggle, availed nothing, and she 
 passed away into the Great Unseen. 
 
 Miss Mountjoy wrote a formal letter to her brother, who 
 had now become a general, to inform him of the lamented 
 decease of his eldest daughter. It was not a comforting 
 letter. It dwelt unnecessarily on the faults of Letice, it 
 expressed no hopes as to her happiness in the world to 
 which she had passed. There had been no signs of resigna- 
 tion at the last ; no turning from the world with its pomps 
 and vanities to better things, only a vain longing after what 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 19 
 
 she could not have ; a bitter resentment against Providence 
 for having denied them to her ; and a steeling of her 
 heart against good and pious influences. 
 
 A year had passed. 
 
 Lady Lacy had come to town along with her niece. A 
 dear friend had placed her house at her disposal. She had 
 herself gone to Dresden with her daughters to finish them 
 off in music and German. Lady Lacy was very glad of 
 the occasion, for Betty was now of an age to be brought 
 out. There was to be a great ball at the house of the 
 Countess of Belgrove, unto whom Lady Lacy was related, 
 and at the ball Betty was to make her debut 
 
 The girl was in a condition of boundless excitement. 
 A beautiful ball-dress of white satin, trimmed with rich 
 Valenciennes lace, was laid over her chair for her to wear. 
 Neat little white satin shoes stood on the floor, quite new, 
 for her feet. In a flower-glass stood a red camellia that 
 was destined to adorn her hair, and on the dressing-table, 
 in a morocco case, was a pearl necklace that had belonged 
 to her mother. 
 
 The maid did her hair, but the camellia, which was to be 
 the only point of colour about her, except her rosy lips 
 and flushed cheeks — that camellia was not to be put into 
 her hair till the last minute. 
 
 The maid offered to help her to dress. 
 
 " No, thank you, Martha ; I can do that perfectly well 
 myself. I am accustomed to use my own hands, and I can 
 take my own time about it." 
 
 " But really, miss, I think you should allow me." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, no. There is plenty of time, and I 
 shall go leisurely to work. When the carriage comes just 
 tap at the door and tell me, and I will rejoin my aunt." 
 
 When the maid was gone, Betty locked her door. She 
 lighted the candles beside the cheval-glass, and looked at 
 herself in the mirror and laughed. For the first time, 
 with glad surprise and innocent pleasure, she realised 
 
20 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 how pretty she was. And pretty she was indeed, with her 
 pleasant face, honest eyes, finely arched brows, and 
 twinkling smile that produced dimples in her cheeks. 
 
 " There is plenty of time," she said. " I shan't take a 
 hundred years in dressing now that my hair is done." 
 
 She yawned. A great heaviness had come over her. 
 
 " I really think I shall have a nap first. I am dead 
 sleepy now, and forty winks will set me up for the night." 
 
 Then she laid herself upon the bed. A numbing, over- 
 powering lethargy weighed on her, and almost at once she 
 sank into a dreamless sleep. So unconscious was she that 
 she did not hear Martha's tap at the door nor the roll of 
 the carriage as it took her aunt away. 
 
 She woke with a start. It was full day. 
 
 For some moments she did not realise this fact, nor that 
 she was still dressed in the gown in which she had lain 
 down the previous evening. 
 
 She rose in dismay. She had slept so soundly that she 
 had missed the ball. 
 
 She rang her bell and unlocked the door. 
 
 " What, miss, up already ? " asked the maid, coming in 
 with a tray on which were tea and bread and butter. 
 
 " Yes, Martha. Oh ! what will aunt say ? I have slept 
 so long and like a log, and never went to the ball. Why 
 did you not call me ? " 
 
 " Please, miss, you have forgotten. You went to the 
 ball last night." 
 
 " No ; I did not. I overslept myself." 
 
 The maid smiled. " If I may be so bold as to say so, 
 I think. Miss Betty, you are dreaming still." 
 
 " No ; I did not go." 
 
 The maid took up the satin dress. It was crumpled, 
 the lace was a little torn, and the train showed unmistak- 
 able signs of having been drawn over a floor. 
 
 She then held up the shoes. They had been worn, and 
 well worn, as if danced in all night. 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 21 
 
 " Look here, miss ; here is your programme ! Why, 
 deary me ! you must have had a lot of dancing. It is 
 quite full." 
 
 Betty looked at the programme with dazed eyes ; then 
 at the camellia. It had lost some of its petals, and these 
 had not fallen on the toilet-cover. Where were they? 
 What was the meaning of this? 
 
 " Martha, bring me my hot water, and leave me alone." 
 
 Betty was sorely perplexed. There were evidences that 
 her dress had been worn. The pearl necklace was in the 
 case, but not as she had left it — outside. She bathed her 
 head in cold water. She racked her brain. She could not 
 recall the smallest particular of the ball. She perused the 
 programme. A light colour came into her cheek as she 
 recognised the initials " C. F.," those of Captain Charles 
 Fontanel, of whom of late she had seen a good deal. 
 Other characters expressed nothing to her mind. 
 
 " How very strange ! " she said ; *' and I was lying on 
 the bed in the dress I had on yesterday evening. I cannot 
 explain it." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, Betty went downstairs and entered 
 the breakfast-room. Lady Lacy was there. She went up 
 to her aunt and kissed her. 
 
 " I am so sorry that I overslept myself," she said. " I 
 was like one of the Seven Sleepers." 
 
 " My dear, I should not have minded if you had not 
 come down till midday. After a first ball you must be 
 tired." 
 
 " I meant — last night." 
 
 "How, last night?" 
 
 " I mean when I went to dress." 
 
 " Oh, you were punctual enough. When I was ready 
 you were already in the hall." 
 
 The bewilderment of the girl grew apace. 
 
 " I am sure," said her aunt, " you enjoyed yourself But 
 you gave the lion's share of the dances to Captain Fontanel. 
 
22 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 If this had been at Exeter, it would have caused talk ; but 
 here you are known only to a few ; however, Lady Belgrove 
 observed it." 
 
 " I hope you are not very tired, auntie darling," said 
 Betty, to change slightly the theme that perplexed her. 
 
 " Nothing to speak of I like to go to a ball ; it recalls 
 my old dancing days. But I thought you looked white 
 and fagged all the evening. Perhaps it was excitement." 
 
 As soon as breakfast was concluded, Betty escaped to 
 her room. A fear was oppressing her. The only ex- 
 planation of the mystery was that she had been to the 
 dance in her sleep. She was a somnambulist. What had 
 she said and done when unconscious? What a dread- 
 ful thing it would have been had she woke up in the 
 middle of a dance ! She must have dressed herself, gone 
 to Lady Belgrove's, danced all night, returned, taken off 
 her dress, put on her afternoon tea-gown, lain down and 
 concluded her sleep — all in one long tract of unconscious- 
 ness. 
 
 " By the way," said her aunt next day, " I have taken 
 tickets for Carmen, at Her Majesty's. You would like 
 to go?" 
 
 " Oh, delighted, aunt. I know some of the music — of 
 course, the Toreador song ; but I have never heard the 
 whole opera. It will be delightful." 
 
 " And you are not too tired to go ? " 
 
 " No — ten thousand times, no — I shall love to see it." 
 
 " What dress will you go in ? " 
 
 " I think my black, and put a rose in my hair." 
 
 " That will do very well. The black becomes you. I 
 think you could not do better." 
 
 Betty was highly delighted. She had been to plays, 
 never to a real opera. 
 
 In the evening, dinner was early, unnecessarily early, 
 and Betty knew that it would not take her long to dress, 
 so she went into the little conservatory and seated herself 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 23 
 
 there. The scent of the heh'otropes was strong. Betty 
 called them cherry-pie. She had got the libretto, and she 
 looked it over ; but as she looked, her eyes closed, and 
 without being aware that she was going to sleep, in a 
 moment she was completely unconscious. 
 
 She woke, feeling stiff and cold. 
 
 " Goodness ! " said she, " I hope I am not late. Why — 
 what is that light ? " 
 
 The glimmer of dawn shone in at the conservatory 
 windows. 
 
 Much astonished, she left it. The hall, the staircase 
 were dark. She groped her way to her room, and switched 
 on the electric light. 
 
 Before her lay her black-and-white muslin dress on the 
 bed ; on the table were her white twelve-button gloves 
 folded about her fan. She took them up, and below them, 
 somewhat crumpled, lay the play-bill, scented. 
 
 " How very unaccountable this is," she said ; and re- 
 moving the dress, seated herself on the bed and thought. 
 
 " Why did they turn out the lights ? " she asked herself, 
 then sprang to her feet, switched off the electric current, 
 and saw that actually the morning light was entering the 
 room. She resumed her seat ; put her hands to her brow. 
 
 " It cannot — it cannot be that this dreadful thing has 
 happened again." 
 
 Presently she heard the servants stirring. She hastily 
 undressed and retired between the sheets, but not to sleep. 
 Her mind worked. She was seriously alarmed. 
 
 At the usual time Martha arrived with tea. 
 
 " Awake, Miss Betty ! " she said. " I hope you had a 
 nice evening. I dare say it was beautiful." 
 
 " But," began the girl, then checked herself, and said — 
 
 " Is my aunt getting up ? Is she very tired ? " 
 
 " Oh, miss, my lady is a wonderful person ; she never 
 seems to tire. She is always down at the same time." 
 
 Betty dressed, but her mind was in a turmoil. On one 
 
24 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 thing she was resolved. She must see a doctor. But she 
 would not frighten her aunt, she would keep the matter 
 close from her. 
 
 When she came into the breakfast-room, Lady Lacy 
 said — 
 
 " I thought Maas's voice was superb, but I did not so 
 much care for the Carmen. What did you think, dear ? " 
 
 " Aunt," said Betty, anxious to change the topic, 
 "would you mind my seeing a doctor? I don't think 
 I am quite well." 
 
 '* Not well ! Why what is the matter with you ?'* 
 
 " I have such dead fits of drowsiness." 
 
 " My dearest, is that to be wondered at with this racket- 
 ing about ; balls and theatres — very other than the quiet 
 life at home? But I will admit that you struck me as 
 looking very pale last night. You shall certainly see 
 Dr. Groves." 
 
 When the medical man arrived, Betty intimated that 
 she wished to speak with him alone, and he was shown 
 with her into the morning-room. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Groves," she said nervously, " it is such a 
 strange thing I have to say. I believe I walk in my 
 sleep." 
 
 " You have eaten something that disagreed with you." 
 
 " But it lasted so long." 
 
 " How do you mean ? Have you long been subject to 
 it ? " 
 
 " Dear, no. I never had any signs of it before I came to 
 London this season." 
 
 " And how were you roused ? How did you become 
 aware of it ? " 
 
 " I was not roused at all ; the fact is I went asleep to 
 Lady Belgrove's ball, and danced there and came back, 
 and woke up in the morning without knowing I had been." 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 "And then, last night, I went in my sleep to Her 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 25 
 
 Majesty's and heard Carmen; but I woke up in the 
 conservatory here at early dawn, and I remember nothing 
 about it" 
 
 " This is a very extraordinary story. Are you sure you 
 went to the ball and to the opera ? " 
 
 " Quite sure. My dress had been used on both occasions, 
 and my shoes and fan and gloves as well." 
 
 " Did you go with Lady Lacy ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. I was with her all the time. But I remember 
 nothing about it." 
 
 " I must speak to her ladyship." 
 
 " Please, please do not. It would frighten her ; and I do 
 not wish her to suspect anything, except that I am a little 
 out of sorts. She gets nervous about me." 
 
 Dr. Groves mused for some while, then he said : " I 
 cannot see that this is at all a case of somnambulism." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 " Lapse of memory. Have you ever suffered from that 
 previously ? " 
 
 "Nothing to speak of. Of course I do not always 
 remember everything. I do not always recollect com- 
 missions given to me, unless I write them down. And 
 I cannot say that I remember all the novels I have read, 
 or what was the menu at dinner yesterday." 
 
 " That is quite a different matter. What I refer to is 
 spaces of blank in your memory. How often has this 
 occurred ? " 
 
 " Twice." 
 - " And quite recently ? " 
 
 " Yes, I never knew anything of the kind before." 
 
 " I think that the sooner you return to the country the 
 better. It is possible that the strain of coming out and 
 the change of entering into gay life in town has been too 
 much for you. Take care and economise your pleasures. 
 Do not attempt too much ; and if anything of the sort 
 happens again, send for me." 
 
26 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 '' Then you won't mention this to my aunt ? " 
 
 "No, not this time. I will say that you have been | 
 a little overwrought and must be spared too much 
 excitement." 
 
 " Thank you so much, Dr. Groves." 
 
 Now it was that a new mystery came to confound Betty. 
 She rang her bell. J 
 
 " Martha," said she, when her maid appeared, " where is * 
 that novel I had yesterday from the circulating library? 
 I put it on the boudoir table." 
 
 " I have not noticed it, miss." 
 
 " Please look for it. I have hunted everywhere for it, 
 and it cannot be found." 
 
 " I will look in the parlour, miss, and the schoolroom." 
 
 " I have not been into the schoolroom at all, and I know 
 that it is not in the drawing-room." 
 
 A search was instituted, but the book could not be 
 found. On the morrow it was in the boudoir, where Betty 
 had placed it on her return from Mudie's. 
 
 " One of the maids took it," was her explanation. She 
 did not much care for the book ; perhaps that was due to 
 her preoccupation, and not to any lack of stirring incident 
 in the story. She sent it back and took out another. 
 Next morning that also had disappeared. 
 
 It now became customary, as surely as she drew a novel 
 from the library, that it vanished clean away. Betty was 
 greatly amazed. She could not read a novel she had 
 brought home till a day or two later. She took to putting 
 the book, so soon as it was in the house, into one of her 
 drawers, or into a cupboard. But the result was the same. 
 Finally, when she had locked the newly acquired volume 
 in her desk, and it had disappeared thence also, her 
 patience gave way. There must be one of the domestics 
 with a ravenous appetite for fiction, which drove her to 
 carry off a book of the sort whenever it came into the 
 house, and even to tamper with a lock to obtain it. Betty 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 27 
 
 had been most reluctant to speak of the matter to her 
 aunt, but now she made to her a formal complaint. 
 
 The servants were all questioned, and strongly protested 
 their innocence. Not one of them had ventured to do 
 such a thing as that with which they were charged. 
 
 However, from this time forward the annoyance ceased, 
 and Betty and Lady Lacy naturally concluded that this 
 was the result of the stir that had been made. 
 
 " Betty," said Lady Lacy, " what do you say to going to 
 the new play at the Gaiety ? I hear it very highly spoken 
 of Mrs. Fontanel has a box and has asked if we will 
 join her." 
 
 "I should love it," replied the girl; "we have been rather 
 quiet of late." But her heart was oppressed with fear. 
 
 She said to her maid : " Martha, will you dress me this 
 evening — and — pray stay with me till my aunt is ready 
 and calls for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, miss, I shall be pleased to do so." But the girl 
 looked somewhat surprised at the latter part of the 
 request. 
 
 Betty thought well to explain : " I don't know what it 
 is, but I feel somewhat out of spirits and nervous, and am 
 afraid of being left alone, lest something should happen." 
 
 " Happen, miss ! If you are not feeling well, would it 
 not be as well to stay at home ? " 
 
 " Oh, not for the world ! I must go. I shall be all 
 right so soon as I am in the carriage. It will pass off 
 then." 
 
 " Shall I get you a glass of sherry, or anything ? '* 
 
 " No, no, it is not that. You remain with me and I 
 shall be myself again." 
 
 That evening Betty went to the theatre. There was 
 no recurrence of the sleeping fit with its concomitants. 
 Captain Fontanel was in the box, and made himself vastly 
 agreeable. He had his seat by Betty, and talked to her 
 not only between the acts, but also a good deal whilst the 
 
28 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 actors were on the stage. With this she could have dis- 
 pensed. She was not such an habituee of the theatre as 
 not to be intensely interested with what was enacted 
 before her. 
 
 Between two of the acts he said to her : " My mother is 
 engaging Lady Lacy. She has a scheme in her head, but 
 wants her consent to carry it out, to make it quite too 
 charming. And I am deputed to get you to acquiesce." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "We purpose having a boat and going to the Henley 
 Regatta. Will you come ? " 
 
 " I should enjoy it above everything. I have never seen 
 a regatta — that is to say, not one so famous, and not of 
 this kind. There were regattas at Ilfracombe, but they 
 were different." 
 
 " Very well, then ; the party shall consist only of my 
 mother and sister and your two selves, and young Fulwell, 
 who is dancing attendance on Jannet, and Putsey, who 
 is a tame cat. I am sure my mother will persuade your 
 aunt. What a lively old lady she is, and for her years 
 how she does enjoy life ! " 
 
 " It will be a most happy conclusion to our stay in | 
 town," said Betty. " We are going back to auntie's little 
 cottage in Devon in a few days ; she wants to be at home 
 for Good Friday and Easter Day." 
 
 So it was settled. Lady Lacy had raised no objection, 
 and now she and her niece had to consider what Betty | 
 should wear. Thin garments were out of the question ; ' 
 the weather was too cold, and it would be especially chilly 
 on the river. Betty was still in slight mourning, so she 
 chose a silver-grey cloth costume, with a black band about 
 her waist, and a white straw hat, with a ribbon to match 
 her gown. 
 
 On the day of the regatta Betty said to herself ; " How 
 ignorant I am! Fancy my not knowing where Henley is! 
 That it is on the Thames or Isis I really do not know, but 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 29 
 
 I fancy on the former — yes, I am almost positive it is on 
 the Thames. I have seen pictures in the Graphic and 
 Illustrated of the race last year, and I know the river was 
 represented as broad, and the Isis can only be an insignifi- 
 cant stream. I will run into the schoolroom and find a 
 map of the environs of London and post myself up in the 
 geography. One hates to look like a fool." 
 
 Without a word to anyone, Betty found her way to the 
 apartment given up to lessons when children were in the 
 house. It lay at the back, down a passage. Since Lady 
 Lacy had occupied the place, neither she nor Betty had 
 been in it more than casually and rarely ; and accord- 
 ingly the servants had neglected to keep it clean. A 
 good deal of dust lay about, and Betty, laughing, wrote 
 her name in the fine powder on the school-table, then 
 looked at her finger, found it black, and said, " Oh, bother ! 
 I forgot that the dust of London is smut" 
 
 She went to the bookcase, and groped for a map of the 
 Metropolis and the country round, but could not find one. 
 Nor could she lay her hand on a gazetteer. 
 
 " This must do," said she, drawing out a large, thick 
 Johnston^ s Atlas, "if the scale be not too small to give 
 Henley." 
 
 She put the heavy volume on the table and opened it. 
 England, she found, was in two parts, one map of the 
 Northern, the second of the Southern division. She spread 
 out the latter, placed her finger on the blue line of the 
 Thames, and began to trace it up. 
 
 Whilst her eyes were on it, searching the small print, 
 they closed, and without being conscious that she was 
 sleepy, her head bowed forward on the map, and she was 
 breathing evenly, steeped in the most profound slumber. 
 
 She woke slowly. Her consciousness returned to her 
 little by little. She saw the atlas without understanding 
 what it meant. She looked about her, and wondered how 
 she could be in the schoolroom, and she then observed that 
 
so A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 darkness was closing in. Only then, suddenly, did she 
 recall what had brought her where she was. 
 
 Next, with a rush, upon her came the remembrance that 
 she was due at the boat-race. 
 
 She must again have overslept herself, for the evening 
 had come on, and through the window she could see the 
 glimmer of gaslights in the street. Was this to be accom- 
 panied by her former experiences ? 
 
 With throbbing heart she went into the passage. Then 
 she noticed that the hall was lighted up, and she heard 
 her aunt speaking, and the slam of the front door, and the 
 maid say, " Shall I take off your wraps, my lady ? " 
 
 She stepped forth upon the landing and proceeded to 
 descend, when — with a shock that sent the blood coursing 
 to her heart, and that paralysed her movements — she saw 
 herself ascending the stair in her silver-grey costume and 
 straw hat. 
 
 She clung to the banister, with convulsive grip, lest she 
 should fall, and stared, without power to utter a sound, as 
 she saw herself quietly mount, step by step, pass her, go 
 beyond to her own room. 
 
 For fully ten minutes she remained rooted to the spot, 
 unable to stir even a finger. Her tongue was stiff, her 
 muscles set, her heart ceased to beat. 
 
 Then slowly her blood began again to circulate, her 
 nerves to relax, power of movement returned. With a 
 hoarse gasp she reeled from her place, and giddy, touching 
 the banister every moment to prevent herself from falling, 
 she crept downstairs. But when once in the hall, she had 
 recovered flexibility. She ran towards the morning-room, 
 whither Lady Lacy had gone to gather up the letters that 
 had arrived by post during her absence. 
 
 Betty stood looking at her, speechless. 
 
 Her aunt raised her face from an envelope she was 
 considering. "Why, Betty," said she, "how expedi- 
 tiously you have changed your dress ! " 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 31 
 
 The girl could not speak, but fell unconscious on the 
 floor. 
 
 When she came to herself, she was aware of a strong 
 smell of vinegar. She was lying on the sofa, and Martha 
 was applying a moistened kerchief to her brow. Lady 
 Lacy stood by, alarmed and anxious, with a bottle of 
 smelling-salts in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, aunt, I saw " then she ceased. It would not 
 
 do to tell of the apparition. She would not be believed. 
 
 " My darling," said Lady Lacy, " you are overdone, and 
 it was foolish of you tearing upstairs and scrambling into 
 your morning-gown. I have sent for Groves. Are you 
 able now to rise ? Can you manage to reach your room ? " 
 
 " My room ! " she shuddered. " Let me lie here a little 
 longer. I cannot walk. Let me be here till the doctor 
 comes." 
 
 " Certainly, dearest. I thought you looked very unlike 
 yourself all day at the regatta. If you had felt out of 
 sorts you ought not to have gone." 
 
 " Auntie ! I was quite well in the morning." 
 
 Presently the medical man arrived, and was shown in. 
 Betty saw that Lady Lacy purposed staying through the 
 interview. Accordingly she said nothing to Dr. Groves 
 about what she had seen. 
 
 " She is overdone," said he. " The sooner you move her 
 down to Devonshire the better. Someone had better be 
 in her room to-night. 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Lacy ; " I had thought of that and 
 have given orders. Martha can make up her bed on the 
 sofa in the adjoining dressing-room or boudoir." 
 
 This was a relief to Betty, who dreaded a return to her 
 room — her room into which her other self had gone. 
 
 " I will call again in the morning," said the medical 
 man ; " keep her in bed to-morrow, at all events till I have 
 seen her." 
 
 When he left, Betty found herself able to ascend the 
 
32 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 stairs. She cast a frightened glance about her room. 
 The straw hat, the grey dress were there. No one was 
 in it. 
 
 She was helped to bed, and although laid in it with her 
 head among the pillows, she could not sleep. Racking 
 thoughts tortured her. What was the signification of that 
 encounter ? What of her strange sleeps ? What of those 
 mysterious appearances of herself, where she had not 
 been ? The theory that she had walked in her sleep was 
 untenable. How was she to solve the riddle? That she 
 was going out of her mind was no explanation. 
 
 Only towards morning did she doze off. 
 
 When Dr. Groves came, about eleven o'clock, Betty 
 made a point of speaking to him alone, which was what 
 she greatly desired. 
 
 She said to him : " Oh ! it has been worse this last 
 occasion, far worse than before. I do not walk in my 
 sleep. Whilst I am buried in slumber, someone else takes 
 my place." 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? Surely not one of the maids ? " 
 
 "Oh, no. I met her on the stairs last night, that is 
 what made me faint." 
 
 "Whom did you meet?" 
 
 " Myself — my double." 
 
 " Nonsense, Miss Mountjoy." 
 
 " But it is a fact. I saw myself as clearly as I see you 
 now. I was going down into the hall." 
 
 " You saw yourself! You saw your own pleasant, pretty 
 face in a looking-glass." 
 
 " There is no looking-glass on the staircase. Besides, I 
 was in my alpaca morning-gown, and my double had on 
 my pearl-grey cloth costume, with my straw hat. She 
 was mounting as I was descending." 
 
 " Tell me the story." 
 
 " I went yesterday — an hour or so before I had to 
 dress — into the schoolroom. I am awfully ignorant, and 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 33 
 
 I did want to see a map and find out where was Henley, 
 because, you know, I was going to the boat-race. And I 
 dropped off into one of those dreadful dead sleeps, with 
 my head on the atlas. When I awoke it was evening, and 
 the gas-lamps were lighted. I was frightened, and ran out 
 to the landing and I heard them arrive, just come back 
 from Henley, and as I was going down the stairs, I saw 
 my double coming up, and we met face to face. She 
 passed me by, and went on to my room — to this room. So 
 you see this is proof pos that I am not a somnambulist" 
 
 " I never said that you were. I never for a moment 
 admitted the supposition. That, if you remember, was 
 your own idea. What I said before is what I repeat now, 
 that you suffer from failure of memory." 
 
 " But that cannot be so. Dr. Groves." 
 
 " Pray, why not ? " 
 
 " Because I saw my double, wearing my regatta costume." 
 
 " I hold to my opinion, Miss Mountjoy. If you will 
 listen to me I shall be able to offer a satisfactory explana- 
 tion. Satisfactory, I mean, so far as to make your 
 experiences intelligible to you. I do not at all imply that 
 your condition is satisfactory." 
 
 " Well, tell me. I cannot make heads or tails of this 
 matter." 
 
 " It is this, young lady. On several recent occasions 
 you have suffered from lapses of memory. All recollec- 
 tion of what you did, where you went, what you said, has 
 been clean wiped out. But on this last — it was somewhat 
 different. The failure took place on your return, and you 
 forgot everything that had happened since you were 
 engaged in the schoolroom looking at the atlas." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then, on your arrival here, as Lady Lacy told me, you 
 ran upstairs, and in a prodigious hurry changed your 
 clothes and put on your " 
 
 " My alpaca." 
 
 D 
 
34 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 "Your alpaca, yes. Then, in descending to the hall, 
 your memory came back, but was still entangled with 
 flying reminiscences of what had taken place during the 
 intervening period. Amongst other things " 
 
 " I remember no other things." 
 
 " You recalled confusedly one thing only, that you had 
 mounted the stairs in your — your " 
 
 " My pearl-grey cloth, with the straw hat and satin 
 ribbon." 
 
 " Precisely. Whilst in your morning gown, into which 
 you had scrambled, you recalled yourself in your regatta 
 costume going upstairs to change. This fragmentary 
 reminiscence presented itself before you as a vision. 
 Actually you saw nothing. The impression on your 
 brain of a scrap recollected appeared to you as if it had 
 been an actual object depicted on the retina of your eye. 
 Such things happen, and happen not infrequently. In 
 cases of D. T. " 
 
 " But I haven't D. T. I don't drink." 
 
 " I do not say that. If you will allow me to proceed. 
 In cases of D. T. the patient fancies he sees rats, devils, all 
 sorts of objects. They appear to him as obvious realities, 
 he thinks that he sees them with his eyes. But he does not. 
 These are mere pictures formed on the brain." 
 
 " Then you hold that I really was at the boat-race ? " 
 
 " I am positive that you were." 
 
 " And that I danced at Lady Belgrove's ball ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly." 
 
 " And heard Carmen at Her Majesty's ? " 
 
 " I have not the remotest doubt that you did.' 
 
 Betty drew a long breath, and remained in consideration. 
 
 Then she said very gravely : " I want you to tell me, 
 Dr. Groves, quite truthfully, quite frankly — do not think 
 that I shall be frightened whatever you say ; I shall 
 merely prepare for what may be — do you consider that I 
 am going out of my mind ? " 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 35 
 
 " I have not the least occasion for supposing so." 
 
 " That," said Betty, " would be the most terrible thing of 
 all. If I thought that, I would say right out to my aunt 
 that I wished at once to be sent to an asylum." 
 
 " You may set your mind at rest on that score." 
 
 " But loss of memory is bad, but better than the other. 
 Will these fits of failure come on again ? " 
 
 " That is more than I can prognosticate ; let us hope for 
 the best. A complete change of scene, change of air, 
 change of association " 
 
 " Not to leave auntie ! " 
 
 " No. I do not mean that, but to get away from London 
 society. It may restore you to what you were. You 
 never had those fits before ? " 
 
 " Never, never, till I came to town." 
 
 " And when you have left town they may not recur." 
 
 " I shall take precious good care not to revisit London if 
 it is going to play these tricks with me." 
 
 That day Captain Fontanel called, and was vastly con- 
 cerned to hear that Betty was unwell. She was not looking 
 herself, he said, at the boat-race. He feared that the cold 
 on the river had been too much for her. But he did trust 
 that he might be allowed to have a word with her before 
 she returned to Devonshire. 
 
 Although he did not see Betty, he had an hour's con- 
 versation with Lady Lacy, and he departed with a smile 
 on his face. 
 
 On the morrow he called again. Betty had so com- 
 pletely recovered that she was cheerful, and the pleasant 
 colour had returned to her cheeks. She was in the draw- 
 ing-room along with her aunt when he arrived. 
 
 The captain offered his condolences, and expressed his 
 satisfaction that her indisposition had been so quickly got 
 over. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the girl, " I am as right as a trivet. It has 
 all passed off. I need not have soaked in bed all yester- 
 
36 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 day, but that aunt would have it so. We are going down 
 to our home to-morrow. Yesterday auntie was scared and 
 thought she would have to postpone our return." 
 
 Lady Lacy rose, made the excuse that she had the 
 packing to attend to, and left the young people alone 
 together. When the door was shut behind her, Captain 
 Fontanel drew his chair close to that of the girl and 
 said — 
 
 " Betty, you do not know how happy I have felt since 
 you accepted me. It was a hurried affair in the boat- 
 house, but really, time was running short ; as you were off 
 so soon to Devonshire, I had to snatch at the occasion 
 when there was no one by, so I seized old Time by the 
 forelock, and you were so good as to say ' Yes.' " 
 
 " I— I " stammered Betty. 
 
 " But as the thing was done in such haste, I came here 
 to-day to renew my offer of myself, and to make sure of 
 my happiness. You have had time to reflect, and I trust 
 you do not repent." 
 
 " Oh, you are so good and kind to me ! " 
 
 " Dearest Betty, what a thing to say ! It is I — poor, 
 wretched, good-for-naught — who have cause to speak such 
 words to you. Put your hand into mine ; it is a short 
 courtship of a soldier, like that of Harry V. and the fair 
 Maid of France. ' I love you : then if you urge me farther 
 than to say, " Do you in faith ? " I wear out my suit. Give 
 me your answer ; i' faith, do : and so clap hands and a 
 bargain.' Am I quoting aright?" 
 
 Shyly, hesitatingly, she extended her fingers, and he 
 clasped them. Then, shrinking back and looking down, 
 she said : " But I ought to tell you something first, some- 
 thing very serious, which may make you change your 
 mind. I do not, in conscience, feel it right that you 
 should commit yourself till you know." 
 
 " It must be something very dreadful to make me do 
 that." 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 37 
 
 " It is dreadful. I am apt to be terribly forgetful." 
 
 " Bless me ! So am I. I have passed several of my 
 acquaintances lately and have not recognised them, but that 
 was because I was thinking of you. And I fear I have 
 been very oblivious about my bills ; and as to answering 
 letters — good heavens ! I am a shocking defaulter." 
 
 " I do not mean that. I have lapses of memory. Why, 
 I do not even remember " 
 
 He sealed her lips with a kiss. " You will not forget this, 
 at any rate, Betty." 
 
 " Oh, Charlie, no ! " 
 
 " Then consider this, Betty. Our engagement cannot 
 be for long. I am ordered to Egypt, and I positively 
 must take my dear little wife with me and show her the 
 Pyramids. You would like to see them, would you not ? " 
 
 '• I should love to." 
 
 " And the Sphynx ? " 
 
 " Indeed I should." 
 
 " And Pompey's Pillar .? " 
 
 " Oh, Charlie ! I shall love above everything to see you 
 every day." 
 
 " That is prettily said. I see we understand one another. 
 Now, hearken to me, give me your close attention, and no 
 fits of lapse of memory over what I now say, please. We 
 must be married very shortly. I positively will not go out 
 without you. I would rather throw up my commission," 
 
 " But what about papa's consent ? " 
 
 " I shall wire to him full particulars as to my position, 
 income, and prospects, also how much I love you, and how 
 I will do my level best to make you happy. That is the 
 approved formula in addressing paterfamilias, I think. 
 Then he will telegraph back, ' Bless you, my boy * ; and all 
 is settled. I know that Lady Lacy approves." 
 
 " But dear, dear aunt. She will be so awfully lonely 
 without me." 
 
 " She shall not be. She has no ties to hold her to the 
 
38 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 little cottage in Devon. She shall come out to us in 
 Cairo, and we will bury the dear old girl up to her neck 
 in the sand of the desert, and make a second Sphynx of 
 her, and bake the rheumatism out of her bones. It will 
 cure her of all her aches, as sure as my name is Charlie, 
 and yours will be Fontanel." 
 ** Don't be too sure of that." 
 " But I am sure — you cannot forget." 
 " I will try not to do so. Oh, Charlie, don't ! " 
 
 Mrs. Thomas, the dressmaker, and Miss Crock, the 
 milliner, had their hands full. Betty's trousseau had to be 
 got ready expeditiously. Patterns of materials specially 
 adapted for a hot climate — light, beautiful, artistic, of 
 silks and muslins and prints — had to be commanded from 
 Liberty's. Then came the selection, then the ordering, 
 then the discussions with the dressmaker, and the 
 measurings. Next the fittings, for which repeated visits 
 had to be made to Mrs. Thomas. Adjustments, altera- 
 tions were made, easements under the arms, tightenings 
 about the waist. There were fulnesses to be taken in 
 and skimpiness to be redressed. The skirts had to be 
 sufficiently short in front and sufficiently long behind. 
 
 As for the wedding-dress, Mrs. Thomas was not regarded 
 as quite competent to execute such a masterpiece. For 
 that an expedition had to be made to Exeter. 
 
 The wedding-cake must be ordered from Murch, in the 
 cathedral city. Lady Lacy was particular that as much 
 as possible of the outfit should be given to county trades- 
 men. A riding habit, tailor-made, was ordered, to fit like 
 a glove, and a lady's saddle must be taken out to Egypt. 
 Boxes, basket-trunks were to be procured, and a corre- 
 spondence carried on as to the amount of personal luggage 
 allowed. 
 
 Lady Lacy and Betty were constantly running up by 
 express to Exeter about this, that, and everything. 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 39 
 
 Then ensued the sending out of the invitations, and the 
 arrival of wedding presents, that entailed the writing of 
 gushing letters of acknowledgment and thanks, by Betty 
 herself. But these were not allowed to interfere with the 
 scribbling of four pages every day to Captain Fontanel, 
 intended for his eyes alone. 
 
 Interviews were sought by the editors or agents of local 
 newspapers to ascertain whether reporters were desired 
 to describe the wedding, and as to the length of the 
 notices that were to be inserted, whether all the names of 
 the donors of presents were to be included, and their gifts 
 registered. Verily Lady Lacy and Betty were kept in a 
 whirl of excitement, and their time occupied from morn- 
 ing till night, and their brains exercised from night to 
 morning. Glass and china and plate had to be hired for 
 the occasion, wine ordered. Fruit, cake, ices commanded. 
 But all things come to an end, even the preparations for 
 a wedding. 
 
 At last the eventful day arrived, bright and sunny, a 
 true May morning. 
 
 The bridesmaids arrived, each wearing the pretty brooch 
 presented by Captain Fontanel. Their costume was suit- 
 able to the season, of primrose-yellow, with hats turned 
 up, white, with primroses. The pages were in green velvet, 
 with knee-breeches and three-cornered hats, lace ruffles 
 and lace fronts. The butler had made the claret-cup and 
 the champagne-cup, and after a skirmish over the neigh- 
 bourhood some borage had been obtained to float on the 
 top. Lady Lacy was to hold a reception after the cere- 
 mony, and a marquee had been erected in the grounds, as 
 the cottage could not contain all the guests invited. The 
 dining-room was delivered over for the exposing of the 
 presents. A carriage had been commanded to convey the 
 happy couple to the station, horses and driver with white 
 favours. With a sigh of relief in the morning. Lady Lacy 
 declared that she believed that nothing had been forgotten. 
 
40 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 The trunks stood ready packed, all but one, and labelled 
 with the name of Mrs. Fontanel. 
 
 A flag flew on the church tower. The villagers had 
 constructed a triumphal arch at the entrance to the 
 grounds. The people from farms and cottages had all 
 turned out, and were already congregating about the 
 churchyard, with smiles and heartfelt wishes for the 
 happiness of the bride, who was a mighty favourite with 
 them, as indeed was also Lady Lacy. 
 
 The Sunday-school children had clubbed their pence, 
 and had presented Betty, who had taught them, with a 
 silver set of mustard-pot, pepper caster, and salt-cellar. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " said Betty, " what shall I do with all these 
 sets of mustard- and pepper-pots? I have now received 
 eight." 
 
 "A little later, dear," replied her aunt, "you can ex- 
 change those that you do not require." 
 
 " But never that set given me by my Sunday-school 
 pets," said Betty. 
 
 Then came in flights of telegrams of congratulation. 
 
 And at the last moment arrived some more wedding 
 presents. 
 
 " Good gracious me ! " exclaimed the girl, " I really must 
 manage to acknowledge these. There will be just time 
 before I begin to dress." 
 
 So she tripped upstairs to her boudoir, a little room 
 given over to herself in which to do her water-colour 
 painting, her reading, to practise her music. A bright 
 little room to which now, as she felt with an ache, she was 
 to bid an eternal good-bye ! 
 
 What happy hours had been spent in it ! What day- 
 dreams had been spun there ! 
 
 She opened her writing-case and wrote the required 
 letters of thanks. 
 
 " There," said she, when she had signed the fifth. " This 
 is the last time I shall subscribe myself Elizabeth Mount- 
 
 i 
 
THEN THE HK'IDE TUT BACK HER VEIL, AND BETTY, STUDYING THE WHITE FACE, 
 SAW THAT THIS ACTUALLY WAS NOT HERSELF ; IT WAS HER DEAD SISTER LETICE 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 41 
 
 joy, except when I sign my name in the church register. 
 Oh ! how my back is hurting me. I was not in bed till 
 two o'clock and was up again at seven, and I have been on 
 the tear for the whole week. There will be just time for 
 me to rest it before the business of the dressing begins." 
 
 She threw herself on the sofa and put up her feet. 
 Instantly she was asleep — in a sound, dreamless sleep. 
 
 When Betty opened her eyes she heard the church bells 
 ringing a merry peal. Then she raised her lids, and turn- 
 ing her head on the sofa cushion saw — a bride, herself in 
 full bridal dress, with the white veil and the orange- 
 blossoms, seated at her side. The gloves had been re- 
 moved and lay on the lap. 
 
 An indescribable terror held her fast. She could not 
 cry out. She could not stir. She could only look. 
 
 Then the bride put back the veil, and Betty, study- 
 ing the white face, saw that this actually was not herself; 
 it was her dead sister, Letice. 
 
 The apparition put forth a hand and laid it on her and 
 spoke : '' Do not be frightened. I will do you no harm. I 
 love you too dearly for that, Betty. I have been married 
 in your name ; I have exchanged vows in your 
 name ; I have received the ring for you ; put it on your 
 finger, it is not mine ; it in no way belongs to me. 
 In your name I signed the register. You are married to 
 Charles Fontanel and not I. Listen to me. I will tell 
 you all, and when I have told you everything you will see 
 me no more. I will trouble you no further ; I shall enter 
 into my rest. You will see before you only the wedding 
 garments remaining. I shall be gone. Hearken to me. 
 When I was dying, I died in frantic despair, because I had 
 never known what were the pleasures of life. My last 
 cries, my last regrets, my last longings were for the pomps 
 and vanities." 
 
 She paused, and slipped the gold hoop on to the fore- 
 finger of Betty's hand. 
 
42 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Then she proceeded — 
 
 " When my spirit parted from my body, it remained 
 a while irresolute whither to go. But then, remembering 
 that my aunt had declared that I never would go to 
 Heaven, I resolved on forcing my way in there out of 
 defiance ; and I soared till I reached the gates of Paradise. 
 At them stood an angel with a fiery sword drawn in his 
 hand, and he laid it athwart the entrance. I approached, 
 but he waved me off, and when the point of the flaming 
 blade touched my heart, there passed a pang through it, 
 I know not whether of joy or of sorrow. And he said : 
 ' Letice, you have not been a good girl ; you were sullen, 
 resentful, rebellious, and therefore are unfit to enter here. 
 Your longings through life, and to the moment of death, 
 were for the world and its pomps and vanities. The last 
 throb of your heart was given to repining for them. But your 
 faults were due largely to the mistakes of your rearing. 
 And now hear your judgment. You shall not pass within 
 these gates till you have returned to earth and partaken 
 of and had your fill of its pomps and vanities. As for that 
 old cat, your aunt ' — but no, Betty, he did not say quite 
 that ; I put it in, and I ought not to have done so. I bear 
 her no resentment ; I wish her no ill. She did by me 
 what she believed to be right. She acted towards me up 
 to her lights ; alas for me that the light which was in her 
 was darkness ! The angel said : ' As for your aunt, before 
 she can enter here, she will want illumining, enlarging, 
 and sweetening, and will have to pass through Purgatory.' 
 And oh, Betty, that will be gall and bitterness to her, for 
 she did not believe in Purgatory, and she wrote a contro- 
 versial pamphlet against it. Then said the angel : 
 ' Return, return to the pomps and vanities.' I fell on my 
 knees, and said : 'Oh, suffer me but to have one glimpse 
 of that which is within ! ' ' Be it so,' he replied. ' One 
 glimpse only whilst I cast my sword on high.' Thereat 
 he threw up the flaming brand, and it was as though a 
 
POMPS AND VANITIES 43 
 
 glorious flash of lightning filled all space. At the same 
 moment the gates swung apart, and I saw what was 
 beyond. It was but for one brief moment, for the sword 
 came down, and the angel caught it by the handle, and 
 instantly the gates were shut. Then, sorrowfully, I turned 
 myself about and went back to earth. And, Betty, it 
 was I who took and read your novels. It was I who went 
 to Lady Belgrove's ball in your place. It was I who sat 
 instead of you at Her Majesty's and heard Carmen. It 
 was I who took your place at Henley Regatta, and I — I, 
 instead of you, received the protestation of Charles 
 Fontanel's affection, and there in the boat-house I received 
 the first and last kiss of love. And it was I, Betty, as 
 I have told you, who took your place at the altar to-day. 
 I had the pleasures that were designed for you — the ball- 
 dress, the dances, the fair words, the music of the opera, 
 the courtship, the excitement of the regatta, the reading 
 of sensational novels. It was I who had what all girls 
 most long for, their most supreme bliss of wearing the 
 wedding - veil and the orange-blossoms. But I have 
 reached my limit. I am full of the pomps and vanities, 
 and I return on high. You will see me no more." 
 
 " Oh, Letice," said Betty, obtaining her speech, "you do 
 not grudge me the joys of life ? " 
 
 The fair white being at her side shook her head. 
 " And you desire no more of the pomps and vanities ? " 
 "No, Betty. I have looked through the gates." 
 Then Betty put forth her hands to clasp the waist of 
 her sister, as she said fervently — 
 
 " Tell me, Letice, what you saw beyond." 
 
 " Betty — everything the reverse of Salem Chapel." 
 
McALISTER 
 
 THE city of Bayonne, lying on the left bank of the 
 Adour, and serving as its port, is one that ought to 
 present much interest to the British tourist, on account of 
 its associations. For three hundred years, along with Bor- 
 deaux, it belonged to the English crown. The cathedral, 
 a noble structure of the fourteenth century, was reared by 
 the English, and on the bosses of its vaulting are carved 
 the arms of England, of the Talbots, and of other great 
 English noble families. It was probably designed by 
 English architects, for it possesses, in its vaulting, the long 
 central rib so characteristic of English architecture, and 
 wholly unlike what was the prevailing French fashion of 
 vaulting in compartments, and always without that con- 
 necting rib, like the inverted keel of a ship, with which we 
 are acquainted in our English minsters. Under some of 
 the modern houses in the town are cellars of far earlier 
 construction, also vaulted, and in them as well may be 
 seen the arms of the English noble families which had 
 their dwellings above. 
 
 But Bayonne has later associations with us. At the 
 close of the Peninsular War, when Wellington had driven 
 Marshal Soult and the French out of Spain, and had 
 crossed the Pyrenees, his forces, under Sir John Hope, 
 invested the citadel. In February, 1814, Sir John threw a 
 bridge of boats across the Adour, boats being provided 
 by the fleet of Admiral Penrose, in the teeth of a garrison of 
 15,000 men, and French gunboats which guarded the river 
 
 44 
 
McALTSTER 45 
 
 and raked the English whilst conducting this hazardous 
 and masterly achievement. This brilliant exploit was 
 effected whilst Wellington engaged the attention of Soult 
 about the Gaves, affluents of the Adour, near Orthez. It 
 is further interesting, with a tragic interest, on account of 
 an incident in that campaign which shall be referred to 
 presently. 
 
 The cathedral of Bayonne, some years ago, possessed 
 no towers — the English were driven out of Aquitaine before 
 these had been completed. The west front was mean to 
 the last degree, masked by a shabby penthouse, plastered 
 white, or rather dirty white, on which in large characters 
 was inscribed, " Liberte dgalite et fraternity." 
 
 This has now disappeared, and a modern west front and 
 twin towers and spires have been added, in passable archi- 
 tecture. When I was at Bayonne, more years ago than I 
 care to say, I paid a visit to the little cemetery on the 
 north bank of the river, in which were laid the English 
 officers who fell during the investment of Bayonne. 
 
 The north bank is in the Department of the Landes, 
 whereas that on the south is in the Department of the 
 Basses Pyrenees. 
 
 About the time when the English were expelled from 
 France, and lost Aquitaine, the Adour changed its course. 
 Formerly it had turned sharply round at the city, and had 
 flowed north and found an outlet some miles away at Cap 
 Breton, but the entrance was choked by the moving sand- 
 dunes, and the impatient river burst its way into the Bay 
 of Biscay by the mouth through which it still flows. But 
 the old course is marked by lagoons of still blue water in 
 the midst of a vast forest of pines and cork trees. I had 
 spent a day wandering among these tree-covered landes^ 
 seeking out the lonely lakes, and in the evening I returned 
 in the direction of Bayonne, diverging somewhat from my 
 course to visit the cemetery of the English. This was a 
 square walled enclosure with an iron gate, rank with weeds, 
 
46 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 utterly neglected, and with the tombstones, some leaning, 
 some prostrate, all covered with lichen and moss. I could 
 not get within to decipher the inscriptions, for the gate 
 was locked and I had not the key, and was quite ignorant 
 who was the custodian of the place. 
 
 Being tired with my trudge in the sand, I sat down 
 outside, with my back to the wall, and saw the setting sun 
 paint with saffron the boles of the pines. I took out my 
 Murray that I had in my knapsack, and read the following 
 passage : — 
 
 " To the N., rises the citadel, the most formidable of the works 
 laid out by Vauban, and greatly strengthened, especially since 
 1814, when it formed the key to an entrenched camp of Marshal 
 Soult, and was invested by a detachment of the army of the 
 Duke of Wellington, but not taken, the peace having put a stop 
 to the siege after some bloody encounters. The last of these, 
 a dreadful and useless expenditure of human life, took place 
 after peace was declared, and the British forces put off their 
 guard in consequence. They were thus entirely taken by sur- 
 prise by a sally of the garrison, made early on the morning of 
 April 14th; which, though repulsed, was attended with the loss 
 of 830 men of the British, and by the capture of their com- 
 mander. Sir John Hope, whose horse was shot under him, and 
 himself wounded. The French attack was supported by the fire 
 of their gunboats on the river, which opened indiscriminately on 
 friend and foe. Nine hundred and ten of the French were killed." 
 
 When I had concluded, the sun had set, and already a 
 grey mist began to form over the course of the Adour. I 
 thought that now it was high time for me to return to 
 Bayonne, and to table d'hote, which is at 7.30 p.m., but for 
 which I knew I should be late. However, before rising, I 
 pulled out my flask of Scotch whisky, and drained it to 
 the last drop. 
 
 I had scarcely finished, and was about to heave myself 
 to my feet, when I heard a voice from behind and above 
 me say — " It is grateful, varra grateful to a Scotchman." 
 
 I turned myself about, and drew back from the wall, 
 
McALISTER 47 
 
 for I saw a very remarkable object perched upon it. Ft 
 was the upper portion of a man in military accoutrements. 
 He was not sitting on the wall, for, if so, his legs would have 
 been dangling over on the outside. And yet he could not 
 have heaved himself up to the level of the parapet, with 
 the legs depending inside, for he appeared to be on the 
 wall itself down to the middle. 
 
 " Are you a Scotchman or an Englishman ? " he inquired. 
 
 " An Englishman," I replied, hardly knowing what to 
 make of the apparition. 
 
 " It's mabbe a bit airly in the nicht for me to be stirring," 
 he said ; " but the smell of the whisky drew me from my 
 grave." 
 
 " From your grave ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " And pray, what is the blend ? " he asked. 
 
 I answered. 
 
 "Weel," said he, "ye might do better, but it's guid 
 enough. I am Captain AHster McAlister of Auchimachie, 
 at your service, that is to say, his superior half I fell in 
 one of the attacks on the citadel. Those " — he employed 
 a strong qualification which need not be reproduced — 
 " those Johnny Crapauds used chain-shot ; and they cut 
 me in half at the waistbelt, and my legs are in Scotland." 
 
 Having somewhat recovered from my astonishment, I 
 was able to take a further look at him, and could not 
 restrain a laugh. He so much resembled Humpty Dumpty, 
 who, as I had learned in childhood, did sit on a wall. 
 
 "Is there anything so rideeculous about me?" asked 
 Captain McAlister in a tone of irritation. " You seem to 
 be in a jocular mood, sir." 
 
 " I assure you," I responded, " I was only laughing from 
 joy of heart at the happy chance of meeting you, Alister 
 McAlister." 
 
 "Of Auchimachie, and my title is Captain," he said. 
 "There is only half of me here — the etceteras are in the 
 family vault in Scotland." 
 
48 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 I expressed my genuine surprise at this announcement. 
 " You must understand, sir," continued he, " that I am but 
 the speeritual presentment of my buried trunk. The 
 speeritual presentment of my nether half is not here, and 
 I should scorn to use those of Captain O'Hooligan." 
 
 I pressed my hand to my brow. Was I in my right 
 senses? Had the hot sun during the day affected my 
 brain, or had the last drain of whisky upset my reason ? 
 
 " You may be pleased to know," said the half-captain, 
 "that my father, the Laird of Auchimachie, and Colonel 
 Graham of Ours, were on terms of the greatest intimacy. 
 Before I started for the war under Wellington — he was at 
 the time but Sir Arthur Wellesley — my father took Colonel 
 Graham apart and confided to him : * If anything should 
 happen to my son in the campaign, you'll obleege me 
 greatly if you will forward his remains to Auchimachie. 
 I am a staunch Presbyterian, and I shouldn't feel happy 
 that his poor body should lie in the land of idolaters, who 
 worship the Virgin Mary. And as to the expense, I will 
 manage to meet that; but be careful not to do the job in an 
 extravagant manner.' " 
 
 " And the untoward Fates cut you short ? " 
 
 "Yes, the chain-shot did, but not in the Peninsula. 
 I passed safely through that, but it was here. When we were 
 makin' the bridge, the enemy's ships were up the river, and 
 they fired on us with chain-shot, which ye ken are mainly 
 used for cutting the rigging of vessels. But they employed 
 them on us as we were engaged over the pontoons, and I 
 was just cut in half by a pair of these shot at the junction 
 of the tunic and the trews." 
 
 *' I cannot understand how that your legs should be in 
 Scotland and your trunk here." 
 
 " That's just what Fm aboot to tell you. There was 
 a Captain O'Hooligan and I used to meet; we were in the 
 same detachment. I need not inform you, if you're a man 
 of understanding, that O'Hooligan is an Irish name, and 
 
McALISTER 49 
 
 Captain Timothy O' Hooligan was a born Irishman and an 
 ignorant papist to boot. Now, I am by education and 
 conveection a staunch Presbyterian. I believe in John 
 Calvin, John Knox, and Jeannie Geddes. That's my creed ; 
 and if ye are disposed for an argument " 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " Weel, then, it was other with Captain O'Hooligan, and 
 we often had words ; but he hadn't any arguments at all, 
 only assertions, and he lost his temper accordingly, and I 
 was angry at the unreasonableness of the man. I had had an 
 ancestor in Derry at the siege and at the Battle of the 
 Boyne, and he spitted three Irish kerns on his sabre. 
 I glory in it, and I told O'Hooligan as much, and I drank 
 a glass of toddy to the memory of Williarri III., and 
 I shouted out Lillibulero ! I believe in the end we would 
 have fought a duel, after the siege was over, unless one of 
 us had thought better of it. But it was not to be. At the 
 same time that I was cut in half, so was he also by chain- 
 shot." 
 
 " And is he buried here ? " 
 
 " The half of him — his confounded legs, and the knees 
 that have bowed to the image of Baal." 
 
 " Then, what became of his body ? " 
 
 " If you'll pay me reasonable attention, and not in- 
 terrupt, I'll tell you the whole story. But — sure enough ! 
 Here come those legs ! " 
 
 Instantly the half-man rolled off the wall, on the outside, 
 and heaving himself along on his hands, scuttled behind 
 a tree-trunk. 
 
 Next moment I saw a pair of nimble lower limbs, in 
 white ducks and straps under the boots, leap the wall, and 
 run about, up and down, much like a setter after a partridge. 
 
 I did not know what to make of this. 
 
 Then the head of McAlister peered from behind the tree, 
 and screamed " Lillibulero ! God save King William ! " 
 Instantly the legs went after him, and catching him up 
 
 E 
 
50 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 kicked him like a football about the enclosure. I cannot 
 recall precisely how many times the circuit was made, 
 twice or thrice, but all the while the head of McAlister 
 kept screaming " Lillibulero ! " and " D the Pope ! " 
 
 Recovering myself from my astonishment, and desirous 
 of putting a term to this not very edifying scene, I picked 
 up a leaf of shamrock, that grew at my feet, and ran 
 between the legs and the trunk, and presented the symbol 
 of St. Patrick to the former. The legs at once desisted 
 from pursuit, and made a not ungraceful bow to the leaf, 
 and as I advanced they retired, still bowing reverentially, 
 till they reached the wall, which they stepped over with the 
 utmost ease. 
 
 The half-Scotchman now hobbled up to me on his 
 hands, and said : " I'm varra much obleeged to you for 
 your intervention, sir." Then he scrambled, by means of 
 the rails of the gate, to his former perch on the wall. 
 
 "You must understand, sir," said McAlister, settling 
 himself comfortably, " that this produces no pheesical in- 
 convenience to me at all. For O'Hooligan's boots are 
 speeritual, and so is my trunk speeritual. And at best 
 it only touches my speeritual feelings. Still, I thank you." 
 
 " You certainly administered to him some spiritual 
 aggravation," I observed. 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir, I did. And I glory in it." 
 
 " And now. Captain McAlister, if it is not troubling you 
 too greatly, after this interruption would you kindly explain 
 to me how it comes about that the nobler part of you is 
 here and the less noble in Scotland ? " 
 
 " I will do so with pleasure. Captain O'Hooligan's 
 upper story is at Auchimachie." 
 
 " How came that about ? " 
 
 " If you had a particle of patience, you would not 
 interrupt me in my narrative. I told you, did I not, that 
 my dear father had enjoined on Colonel Graham, should 
 anything untoward occur, that he should send my body 
 
McALISTER 51 
 
 home to be interred in the vault of my ancestors ? Well, 
 this is how it came about that the awkward mistake 
 was made. When it was reported that I had been killed, 
 Colonel Graham issued orders that my remains should 
 be carefully attended to and put aside to be sent home 
 to Scotland." 
 
 "By boat, I presume?" 
 
 "Certainly, by boat. But, unfortunately, he com- 
 missioned some Irishmen of his company to attend to 
 it. And whether it was that they wished to do honour 
 to their own countryman, or whether it was that, like most 
 Irishmen, they could not fail to blunder in the discharge 
 of their duty, I cannot say. They might have recognised 
 me, even if they hadn't known my face, by my goold 
 repeater watch; but some wretched camp-followers had 
 been before them. On the watch were engraved the 
 McAlister arms. But the watch had been stolen. So 
 they picked up — either out of purpose, or by mistake — 
 O'HooHgan's trunk, and my nether portion, and put them 
 together into one case. You see, a man's legs are not 
 so easily identified. So his body and my lower limbs 
 were made ready together to be forwarded to Scotland." 
 
 "But how — did not Colonel Graham see personally 
 to the matter?" 
 
 " He could not. He was so much engaged over 
 regimental duties. Still, he might have stretched a point, 
 I think." 
 
 " It must have been difficult to send the portions so far. 
 Was the body embalmed ? " 
 
 " Embalmed ! no. There was no one in Bayonne who 
 knew how to do it. There was a bird-stuffer in the 
 Rue Pannceau, but he had done nothing larger than a 
 seagull. So there could be no question of embalming. 
 We, that is, the bit of O'Hooligan and the bit of me, were 
 put into a cask of eau-de-vie, and so forwarded by a 
 sailing-vessel. And either on the way to Southampton, 
 
52 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 or on another boat from that port to Edinburgh, the 
 sailors ran a gimlet into the barrel, and inserted a straw, 
 and drank up all the spirits. It was all gone by the 
 time the hogshead reached Auchimachie. Whether 
 O'Hooligan gave a smack to the liquor I cannot say, but 
 I can answer for my legs, they would impart a grateful 
 flavour of whisky. I was always a drinker of whisky, and 
 when I had taken a considerable amount it always 
 went to my legs ; they swerved, and gave way under 
 me. That is proof certain that the liquor went to my 
 extremities and not to my head. Trust to a Scotchman's 
 head for standing any amount of whisky. When the 
 remains arrived at Auchimachie for interment, it was 
 supposed that some mistake had been made. My hair 
 is sandy, that of O'Hooligan is black, or nearly so ; but 
 there was no knowing what chemical action the alcohol 
 might have on the hair in altering its colour. But my 
 mother identified the legs past mistake, by a mole on the 
 left calf and a varicose vein on the right. Anyhow, half 
 a loaf is better than no bread, so all the mortal relics 
 were consigned to the McAlister vault. It was aggravating 
 to my feelings that the minister should pronounce a varra 
 eloquent and moving discourse on the occasion over the 
 trunk of a confounded Irishman and a papist." 
 
 " You must really excuse me," interrupted I, " but how 
 the dickens do you know all this ? " 
 
 " There is always an etherial current of communication 
 between the parts of a man's body," replied McAlister, 
 " and there is speeritual intercommunication between 
 a man's head and his toes, however pairted they may be. 
 I tell you, sir, in the speeritual world we know a thing 
 or two." 
 
 *' And now," said I, " what may be your wishes in this 
 most unfortunate matter ? " 
 
 " I am coming to that, if you'll exercise a little rational 
 patience. This that I tell you of occurred in 1814, a 
 
McALISTER 53 
 
 considerable time ago. I shall be varra pleased if, on 
 your return to England, you will make it your business 
 to run up to Scotland, and interview my great-nephew. 
 I am quite sure he will do the right thing by me, for 
 the honour of the family, and to ease my soul. He 
 never would have come into the estate at all if it had 
 not been for my lamented decease. There's another 
 little unpleasantness to which I desire you to call his 
 attention. A tombstone has been erected over my trunk 
 and O'Hooligan's legs, here in this cemetery, and on 
 it is : * Sacred to the Memory of Captain Timothy 
 O'Hooligan, who fell on the field of Glory. R. I. P.' 
 Now this is liable to a misunderstanding for it is me 
 — I mean I, to be grammatical — who lies underneath. 
 I make no account of the Irishman's nether extremities. 
 And being a convinced and zealous Presbyterian, I al- 
 together conscientiously object to having 'Requiescat in 
 pace' inscribed over my bodily remains. And my great- 
 nephew, the present laird, if he be true to the principles 
 of the Covenant, will object just as strongly as myself. 
 I know very weel those letters are attached to the name 
 of O'Hooligan, but they mark the place of deposition 
 of my body rather than his. So I wish you just to 
 put it clearly and logically to the laird, and he will 
 take steps, at any cost, to have me transferred to Auchi- 
 machie. What he may do with the relics of that Irish 
 rogue I don't care for, not one stick of barley sugar." 
 
 I promised solemnly to fulfil the commission entrusted 
 to me, and then Captain McAlister wished me a good 
 night, and retired behind the cemetery wall. 
 
 I did not quit the South of France that same year, for 
 I spent the winter at Pau. In the following May I re- 
 turned to England, and there found that a good many 
 matters connected with my family called for my immediate 
 attention. It was accordingly just a year and five months 
 after my interview with Captain McAlister that I was able 
 
54 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 to discharge my promise. I had never forgotten my 
 undertaking — I had merely postponed it. Charity begins 
 at home, and my own concerns engrossed my time too 
 fully to allow me the leisure for a trip to the North. 
 
 However, in the end I did go. I took the express to 
 Edinburgh. That city, I think candidly, is the finest for 
 situation in the world, as far as I have seen of it. I did not 
 then visit it. I never had previously been in the Athens 
 of the North, and I should have liked to spend a couple of 
 days at least in it, to look over the castle and to walk 
 through Holyrood. But duty stands before pleasure, and 
 I went on directly to my destination, postponing acquaint- 
 ance with Edinburgh till I had accomplished my under- 
 taking. 
 
 I had written to Mr. Fergus McAlister to inform him of 
 my desire to see him. I had not entered into the matter 
 of my communication. I thought it best to leave this till 
 I could tell him the whole story by word of mouth. I 
 merely informed him by letter that I had something to 
 speak to him about that greatly concerned his family. 
 
 On reaching the station his carriage awaited me, and I 
 was driven to his house. 
 
 He received me with the greatest cordiality, and offered 
 me the kindest hospitality. 
 
 The house was large and rambling, not in the best 
 repair, and the grounds, as I was driven through them, did 
 not appear to be trimly kept. I was introduced to his 
 wife and to his five daughters, fair-haired, freckled girls, 
 certainly not beautiful, but pleasing enough in manner. 
 His eldest son was away in the army, and his second was 
 in a lawyer's office in Edinburgh ; so I saw nothing of 
 them. 
 
 After dinner, when the ladies had retired, I told him 
 the entire story as freely and as fully as possible, and he 
 listened to me with courtesy, patience, and the deepest 
 attention. 
 
McALISTER 55 
 
 " Yes/' he said, when I had concluded, " I was aware 
 that doubts had been cast on the genuineness of the trunk. 
 But under the circumstances it was considered advisable 
 to allow the matter to stand as it was. There were in- 
 superable difficulties in the way of an investigation and a 
 certain identification. But the legs were all right And 
 I hope to show you to-morrow, in the kirk, a very hand- 
 some tablet against the wall, recording the name and the 
 date of decease of my great-uncle, and some very lauda- 
 tory words on his character, beside an appropriate text 
 from the Screeptures." 
 
 " Now, however, that the facts are known, you will, of 
 course, take steps for the translation of the half of Captain 
 Alister to your family vault." 
 
 " I foresee considerable difficulties in the way," he re- 
 plied. "The authorities at Bayonne might raise objections 
 to the exhuming of the remains in the grave marked by 
 the tombstone of Captain O'Hooligan. They might very 
 reasonably say : 'What the hang has Mr. Fergus Mc Alister 
 to do with the body of Captain O'Hooligan?' We must 
 consult the family of that officer in Ireland." 
 
 "But," said I, "a representation of the case — of the 
 mistake made — would render all clear to them. I do not 
 see that there is any necessity for complicating the story 
 by saying that you have only half of your relative here, 
 and that the other half is in O'Hooligan's grave. State 
 that orders had been given for the transmission of the body 
 of your great-uncle to Auchimachie, and that, through 
 error, the corpse of Captain O'Hooligan had been sent, 
 and Captain McAlister buried by mistake as that of the 
 Irishman. That makes a simple, intelligible, and straight- 
 forward tale. Then you could dispose of the superfluous 
 legs when they arrived in the manner you think best." 
 
 The laird remained silent for a while, rubbing his chin, 
 and looking at the tablecloth. 
 
 Presently he stood up, and going to the sideboard, said : 
 
56 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " I'll just take a wash of whisky to clear my thoughts. 
 Will you have some ? " 
 
 " Thank you ; I am enjoying your old and excellent 
 port." 
 
 Mr. Fergus McAlister returned leisurely to the table after 
 his " wash," remained silent a few minutes longer, then 
 lifted his head and said : "I don't see that I am called upon 
 to transport those legs." 
 
 '' No," I answered ; " but you had best take the remains 
 in a lump and sort them on their arrival." 
 
 " I am afraid it will be seriously expensive. My good 
 sir, the property is not now worth what it was in Captain 
 Alister's time. Land has gone down in value, and rents 
 have been seriously reduced. Besides, farmers are now 
 more exacting than formerly; they will not put up with 
 the byres that served their fathers. Then my son in the 
 army is a great expense to me, and my second son is not 
 yet earning his livelihood, and my daughters have not yet 
 found suitors, so that I shall have to leave them something 
 on which to live; besides" — he drew a long breath — "I 
 want to build on to the house a billiard-room." 
 
 " I do not think," protested I, " that the cost would be 
 very serious." 
 
 " What do you mean by serious ? " he asked. 
 
 " I think that these relics of humanity might be trans- 
 ported to Auchimachie in a hogshead of cognac, much as 
 the others were." 
 
 " What is the price of cognac down there ? " asked he. 
 
 *' Well," I replied, " that is more than I can say as to 
 the cask. Best cognac, three stars, is five francs fifty 
 centimes a bottle." 
 
 '' That's a long price. But one star ? " 
 
 " I cannot say ; I never bought that. Possibly three 
 francs and a half." 
 
 " And how many bottles to a cask ? " 
 
 " I am not sure, something over two hundred litres." 
 
McALISTER 57 
 
 " Two hundred three shillings," mused Mr. Fergus ; and 
 then looking up, " there is the duty in England, very 
 heavy on spirits, and charges for the digging-up, and fees 
 
 to the officials, and the transport by water " He shook 
 
 his head. 
 
 "You must remember," said I, "that your relative is 
 subjected to great indignities from those legs, getting toed 
 three or four times round the enclosure." I said three or 
 four, but I believe it was only twice or thrice. *' It hardly 
 comports with the family honour to suffer it." 
 
 " I think," replied Mr. Fergus, " that you said it was but 
 the speeritual presentment of a boot, and that there was 
 no pheesical inconvenience felt, only a speeritual impres- 
 sion ? " 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 " For my part, judging from my personal experience," 
 said the laird, " speeritual impressions are most evanes- 
 cent." 
 
 " Then," said I, " Captain Alister's trunk lies in a foreign 
 land." 
 
 " But not," replied he, " in Roman Catholic consecrated 
 soil. That is a great satisfaction." 
 
 " You, however, have the trunk of a Roman Catholic in 
 your family vault." 
 
 "It is so, according to what you say. But there are a 
 score of McAlisters there, all staunch Presbyterians, and 
 if it came to an argument among them — I won't say he 
 would not have a leg to stand on, as he hasn't those any- 
 how, but he would find himself just nowhere." 
 
 Then Mr. Fergus McAlister stood up and said : " Shall 
 we join the ladies ? As to what you have said, sir, and 
 have recommended, I assure you that I will give it my 
 most serious consideration." 
 
THE LEADEN RING 
 
 " T T is not possible, Julia. I cannot conceive how the 
 
 X idea of attending the county ball can have entered 
 your head after what has happened. Poor young Hatters- 
 ley's dreadful death suffices to stop that." 
 
 " But, aunt, Mr. Hattersley is no relation of ours." 
 
 " No relation — but you know that the poor fellow would 
 not have shot himself if it had not been for you." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Elizabeth, how can you say so, when the 
 verdict was that he committed suicide when in an unsound 
 condition of mind ? How could I help his blowing out 
 his brains, when those brains were deranged ? " 
 
 " Julia, do not talk like this. If he did go off his head, 
 it was you who upset him by first drawing him on, leading 
 him to believe that you liked him, and then throwing him 
 over so soon as the Hon. James Lawlor appeared on the 
 tapis. Consider : what will people say if you go to the 
 assembly ? " 
 
 " What will they say if I do not go ? They will im- 
 mediately set it down to my caring deeply for James 
 Hattersley, and they will think that there was some sort 
 of engagement." 
 
 " They are not likely to suppose that. But really, Julia, 
 you were for a while all smiles and encouragement. Tell 
 me, now, did Mr. Hattersley propose to you ? " 
 
 " Well — yes, he did, and I refused him." 
 
 "And then he went and shot himself in despair. Julia, 
 you cannot with any face go to the ball." 
 
 " Nobody knows that he proposed. And precisely 
 
 5S 
 
THE LEADEN RING 59 
 
 because I do go everyone will conclude that he did not 
 propose. I do not wish it to be supposed that he did." 
 
 " His family, of course, must have been aware. They 
 will see your name among those present at the assembly." 
 
 "Aunt, they are in too great trouble to look at the 
 paper to see who were at the dance." 
 
 " Plis terrible death lies at your door. How you can 
 have the heart, Julia " 
 
 " I don't see it. Of course, I feel it. I am awfully sorry, 
 and awfully sorry for his father, the admiral. I cannot 
 set him up again. I wish that when I rejected him he 
 had gone and done as did Joe Pomeroy, marry one of 
 his landlady's daughters." 
 
 "There, Julia, is another of your delinquencies. You 
 lured on young Pomeroy till he proposed, then you refused 
 him, and in a fit of vexation and mortified vanity he 
 married a girl greatly beneath him in social position. 
 If the 7nenage prove a failure you will have it on your 
 conscience that you have wrecked his life and perhaps 
 hers as well." 
 
 " I cannot throw myself away as a charity to save this 
 man or that from doing a foolish thing." 
 
 "What I complain of, Julia, is that you encouraged 
 young Mr. Pomeroy till Mr. Hattersley appeared, whom 
 you thought more eligible, and then you tossed him aside ; 
 and you did precisely the same with James Hattersley 
 as soon as you came to know Mr. Lawlor. After all, 
 Julia, I am not so sure that Mr. Pomeroy has not chosen 
 the better part. The girl, I dare say, is simple, fresh, and 
 affectionate." 
 
 "Your implication is not complimentary, Aunt Eliza- 
 beth." 
 
 " My dear, I have no patience with the young lady of 
 the present day, who is shallow, self-willed, and indifferent 
 to the feelings and happiness of others, who craves for 
 excitement and pleasure, and desires nothing that is useful 
 
6o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and good. Where now will you see a girl like Viola's 
 sister, who let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, feed 
 on her damask cheek? Nowadays a girl lays herself at 
 the feet of a man if she likes him, turns herself inside-out 
 to let him and all the world read her heart." 
 
 " I have no relish to be like Viola's sister, and have my 
 story — a blank. I never grovelled at the feet of Joe 
 Pomeroy or James Hattersley." 
 
 " No, but you led each to consider himself the favoured 
 one till he proposed, and then you refused him. It was 
 like smiling at a man and then stabbing him to the heart." 
 
 "Well — I don't want people to think that James Hat- 
 tersley cared for me — I certainly never cared for him — 
 nor that he proposed ; so I shall go to the ball." 
 
 Julia Demant was an orphan. She had been retained 
 at school till she was eighteen, and then had been removed 
 just at the age when a girl begins to take an interest 
 in her studies, and not to regard them as drudgery. On 
 her removal she had cast away all that she had acquired, 
 and had been plunged into the whirl of Society. Then 
 suddenly her father died — she had lost her mother some 
 years before — and she went to live with her aunt. Miss 
 Flemming. Julia had inherited a sum of about five hundred 
 pounds a year, and would probably come in for a good 
 estate and funds as well on the death of her aunt. She 
 had been flattered as a girl at home, and at school as a 
 beauty, and she certainly thought no small bones of her- 
 self 
 
 Miss Flemming was an elderly lady with a sharp tongue, 
 very outspoken, and very decided in her opinions ; but 
 her action was weak, and Julia soon discovered that she 
 could bend the aunt to do anything she willed, though she 
 could not modify or alter her opinions. 
 
 In the matter of Joe Pomeroy and James Hattersley, it 
 was as Miss Flemming had said. Julia had encouraged 
 Mr. Pomeroy, and had only cast him off because she 
 
THE LEADEN RING 6i 
 
 thought better of the suit of Mr. Hattersley, son of an 
 admiral of that name. She had seen a good deal of young 
 Hattersley, had given him every encouragement, had so 
 entangled him, that he was madly in love with her ; and 
 then, when she came to know the Hon. James Lawlor, and 
 saw that he was fascinated, she rejected Hattersley with 
 the consequences alluded to in the conversation above 
 given. 
 
 Julia was particularly anxious to be present at the 
 county ball, for she had been already booked by Mr. 
 Lawlor for several dances, and she was quite resolved 
 to make an attempt to bring him to a declaration. 
 
 On the evening of the ball Miss Flemming and Julia 
 entered the carriage. The aunt had given way, as was 
 her wont, but under protest. 
 
 For about ten minutes neither spoke, and then Miss 
 Flemming said, " Well, you know my feelings about this 
 dance. I do not approve. I distinctly disapprove. I do 
 not consider your going to the ball in good taste, or, 
 as you would put it, in good form. Poor young Hatters- 
 ley " 
 
 " Oh, dear aunt, do let us put young Hattersley aside. 
 He was buried with the regular forms, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, Julia." 
 
 " Then the rector accepted the verdict of the jury at the 
 inquest. Why should not we ? A man who is unsound 
 in his mind is not responsible for his actions." 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 " Much less, then, I who live ten miles away." 
 
 " I do not say that you are responsible for his death, but 
 for the condition of mind that led him to do the dreadful 
 deed. Really, Julia, you are one of those into whose head 
 or heart only by a surgical operation could the thought be 
 introduced that you could be in the wrong. A hypoder- 
 mic syringe would be too weak an instrument to effect 
 such a radical change in you. Everyone else may be 
 
62 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 in the wrong, you — never. As for me, I cannot get 
 young Hattersley out of my head." 
 
 " And I," retorted Julia with asperity, for her aunt's 
 words had stung her — " I, for my part, do not give him 
 a thought." 
 
 She had hardly [spoken the words before a chill wind 
 began to pass round her. She drew the Barege shawl 
 that was over her bare shoulders closer about her, and 
 said — " Auntie ! is the glass down on your side ? " 
 
 " No, Julia ; why do you ask ? " 
 
 " There is such a draught." 
 
 " Draught ! — I do not feel one ; perhaps the window on 
 your side hitches." 
 
 " Indeed, that is all right. It is blowing harder and is 
 deadly cold. Can one of the front panes be broken ? " 
 
 " No. Rogers would have told me had that been the 
 case. Besides, I can see that they are sound." 
 
 The wind of which Julia complained swirled and whistled 
 about her. It increased in force ; it plucked at her shawl 
 and slewed it about her throat ; it tore at the lace on her 
 dress. It snatched at her hair, it wrenched it away from 
 the pins, the combs that held it in place ; one long tress 
 was lashed across the face of Miss Flemming. Then the 
 hair, completely released, eddied up above the girl's head, 
 and next moment was carried as a drift before her, blind- 
 ing her. Then — a sudden explosion, as though a gun had 
 been fired into her ear; and with a scream of terror she sank 
 back among the cushions. Miss Flemming, in great alarm, 
 pulled the checkstring, and the carriage stopped. The 
 footman descended from the box and came to the side. 
 The old lady drew down the window and said : " Oh I 
 Phillips, bring the lamp. Something has happened to 
 Miss Demant." 
 
 The man obeyed, and sent a flood of light into the 
 carriage. Julia was lying back, white and senseless. Her 
 hair was scattered over her face, neck, and shoulders ; the 
 
THE LEADEN RING 63 
 
 flowers that had been stuck in it, the pins that had fastened 
 it in place, the pads that had given shape to the convolu- 
 tions lay strewn, some on her lap, some in the rug at the 
 bottom of the carriage. 
 
 " Phillips!" ordered the old lady in great agitation, "tell 
 Rogers to turn the horses and drive home at once ; and do 
 you run as fast as you can for Dr. Crate." 
 
 A few minutes after the carriage was again in motion, 
 Julia revived. Her aunt was chafing her hand. 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! " she said, " are all the glasses broken ? " 
 
 " Broken — what glasses ? " 
 
 " Those of the carriage — with the explosion." 
 
 " Explosion, my dear ! " 
 
 " Yes. That gun which was discharged. It stunned me. 
 Were you hurt ? " 
 
 " I heard no gun — no explosion.** 
 
 " But I did. It was as though a bullet had been dis- 
 charged into my brain. I wonder that I escaped. Who 
 can have fired at us ? " 
 
 " My dear, no one fired. I heard nothing. I know 
 what it was. I had the same experience many years ago. 
 I slept in a damp bed, and awoke stone deaf in my right 
 ear. I remained so for three weeks. But one night when 
 I was at a ball and was dancing, all at once I heard a 
 report as of a pistol in my right ear, and immediately 
 heard quite clearly again. It was wax." 
 
 " But, Aunt Elizabeth, I have not been deaf." 
 
 " You have not noticed that you were deaf" 
 
 " Oh ! but look at my hair ; it was that wind that blew 
 it about." 
 
 " You are labouring under a delusion, Julia. There was 
 no wind." 
 
 *' But look — feel how my hair is down." 
 
 " That has been done by the motion of the carriage. 
 There are many ruts in the road." 
 
 They reached home, and Julia, feeling sick, frightened, 
 
64 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and bewildered, retired to bed. Dr. Crate arrived, said 
 that she was hysterical, and ordered something to soothe 
 her nerves. Julia was not convinced. The explanation 
 offered by Miss Flemming did not satisfy her. That she 
 was a victim to hysteria she did not in the least believe. 
 Neither her aunt, nor the coachman, nor Phillips had heard 
 the discharge of a gun. As to the rushing wind, Julia was 
 satisfied that she had experienced it. The lace was ripped, 
 as by a hand, from her dress, and the shawl was twisted 
 about her throat; besides, her hair had not been so slightly 
 arranged that the jolting of the carriage would completely 
 disarrange it. She was vastly perplexed over what she 
 had undergone. She thought and thought, but could get 
 no nearer to a solution of the mystery. 
 
 Next day, as she was almost herself again, she rose and 
 went about as usual. 
 
 In the afternoon the Hon. James Lawlor called and 
 asked after Miss Flemming. The butler replied that his 
 mistress was out making calls, but that Miss Demant was 
 at home, and he believed was on the terrace. Mr. Lawlor 
 at once asked to see her. 
 
 He did not find Julia in the parlour or on the terrace, 
 but in a lower garden to which she had descended to feed 
 the goldfish in the pond. 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Demant," said he, " I was so disappointed 
 not to see you at the ball last night." 
 
 " I was very unwell ; I had a fainting fit and could not 
 
 go. 
 
 " It threw a damp on our spirits — that is to say, on mine. 
 I had you booked for several dances." 
 
 " You were able to give them to others." 
 
 " But that was not the same to me. I did an act of 
 charity and self-denial. I danced instead with the ugly 
 Miss Burgons and with Miss Pounding, and that was like 
 dragging about a sack of potatoes. I believe it would 
 have been a jolly evening, but for that shocking affair of 
 
HER HAT WAS BLOWN" OFF, AND NEXT IiNSTANT A DETONATION KANCi THKOUGH 
 HER HEAD AS THOUGH A GUN HAD BEEN FIKED INTO HER EAR 
 
THE LEADEN RING 65 
 
 young Hattersley which kept some of the better sort 
 away. I mean those who know the Hattersleys. Of 
 course, for me that did not matter, we were not acquainted. 
 I never even spoke with the fellow. You knew him, I 
 believe? I heard some people say so, and that you had 
 not come because of him. The supper, for a subscription 
 ball, was not atrociously bad." 
 
 " What did they say of me ? " 
 
 " Oh ! — if you will know — that you did not attend the 
 ball because you liked him very much, and were awfully 
 cut up." 
 
 " I — I ! What a shame that people should talk ! I never 
 cared a rush for him. He was nice enough in. his way, 
 not a bounder, but tolerable as young men go." 
 
 Mr. Lav/lor laughed. " I should not relish to have such 
 a qualified estimate made of me." 
 
 *' Nor need you. You are interesting. He became so 
 only when he had shot himself. It will be by this alone 
 that he will be remembered." 
 
 " But there is no smoke without fire. Did he like you — 
 much ? " 
 
 "Dear Mr. Lawlor, I am not a clairvoyante, and never 
 was able to see into the brains or hearts of people — least 
 of all of young men. Perhaps it is fortunate for me that 
 I cannot." 
 
 '* One lady told me that he had proposed to you." 
 
 " W^ho was that ? The potato-sack ? " 
 
 " I will not give her name. Is there any truth in it ? 
 Did he?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 At the moment she spoke there sounded in her ear 
 a whistle of wind, and she felt a current like a cord of ice 
 creep round her throat, increasing in force and compres- 
 sion, her hat was blown off, and next instant a detonation 
 rang through her head as though a gun had been fired into 
 her ear. She uttered a cry and sank upon the ground. 
 
 F 
 
66 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 James Lawlor was bewildered. His first impulse was to 
 run to the house for assistance ; then he considered that 
 he could not leave her lying on the wet soil, and he 
 stooped to raise her in his arms and to carry her within. 
 In novels young men perform such a feat without difficulty; 
 but in fact they are not able to do it, especially when the 
 girl is tall and big-boned. Moreover, one in a faint is 
 a dead weight. Lawlor staggered under his burden to 
 the steps. It was as much as he could perform to carry 
 her up to the terrace, and there he placed her on a seat. 
 Panting, and with his muscles quivering after the strain, 
 he hastened to the drawing-room, rang the bell, and when 
 the butler appeared, he gasped : " Miss Demant has 
 fainted ; you and I and the footman must carry her 
 within." 
 
 " She fainted last night in the carriage," said the butler. 
 
 When Julia came to her senses, she was in bed attended 
 by the housekeeper and her maid. A few moments later 
 Miss Flemming arrived. 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! I have heard it again." 
 
 " Heard what, dear ? " 
 
 " The discharge of a gun." 
 
 " It is nothing but wax," said the old lady. " I will drop 
 a little sweet-oil into your ear, and then have it syringed 
 with warm water." 
 
 " I want to tell you something — in private." 
 
 Miss Flemming signed to the servants to withdraw. 
 
 '* Aunt," said the girl, " I must say something. This is 
 the second time that this has happened. I am sure it is 
 significant. James Lawlor was with me in the sunken 
 garden, and he began to speak about James Hattersley. 
 You know it was when we were talking about him last 
 night that I heard that awful noise. It was precisely as 
 if a gun had been discharged into my ear. I felt as if all 
 the nerves and tissues of my head were being torn, and all 
 the bones of my skull shattered — ^just what Mr. Hattersley 
 
THE LEADEN RING 6^ 
 
 must have undergone when he pulled the trigger. It was 
 an agony for a moment perhaps, but it felt as if it lasted 
 an hour. Mr. Lawlor had asked me point blank if James 
 Hattersley had proposed to me, and I said, * No.' I was 
 perfectly justified in so answering, because he had no right 
 to ask me such a question. It was an impertinence on 
 his part, and I answered him shortly and sharply with a 
 negativ^e. But actually James Hattersley proposed twice to 
 me. He would not accept a first refusal, but came next 
 day bothering me again, and I was pretty curt with him. 
 He made some remarks that were rude about how I had 
 treated him, and which I will not repeat, and as he left, in 
 a state of great agitation, he said, ' Julia, I vow that you 
 shall not forget this, and you shall belong to no one but 
 me, alive or dead.' I considered this great nonsense, and 
 did not accord it another thought. But, really, these terrible 
 annoyances, this wind and the bursts of noise, do seem 
 to me to come from him. It is just as though he felt a 
 malignant delight in distressing me, now that he is dead. 
 I should like to defy him, and I will do it if I can, but 
 I cannot bear more of these experiences — they will kill me.'* 
 
 Several days elapsed. 
 
 Mr. Lawlor called repeatedly to inquire, but a week 
 passed before Julia was sufficiently recovered to receive 
 him, and then the visit was one of courtesy and of sym- 
 pathy, and the conversation turned upon her health, and 
 on indifferent themes. 
 
 But some few days later it was otherwise. She was in 
 the conservatory alone, pretty much herself again, when 
 Mr. Lawlor was announced. 
 
 Physically she had recovered, or believed that she had, 
 but her nerves had actually received a severe shock. She 
 had made up her mind that the phenomena of the circling 
 wind and the explosion were in some mysterious manner 
 connected with Hattersley. 
 
 She bitterly resented this, but she was in mortal terror 
 
68 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 of a recurrence ; and she felt no compunction for her 
 treatment of the unfortunate young man, but rather a 
 sense of deep resentment against him. If he were dead, 
 why did he not He quiet and cease from vexing her ? 
 
 To be a martyr was to her no gratification, for hers was 
 not a martyrdom that provoked sympathy, and which 
 could make her interesting. 
 
 She had hitherto supposed that when a man died there 
 was an end of him ; his condition was determined for good 
 or for ill. But that a disembodied spirit should hover 
 about and make itself a nuisance to the living, had never 
 entered into her calculations. 
 
 " Julia — if I may be allowed so to call you " — began 
 Mr. Lawlor, " I have brought you a bouquet of flowers. 
 Will you accept them ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, as he handed the bunch to her, " how 
 kind of you. At this time of the year they are so rare, 
 and aunt's gardener is so miserly that he will spare me 
 none for my room but some miserable bits of geranium. 
 It is too bad of you wasting your money like this upon me." 
 
 '* It is no waste, if it afford you pleasure." 
 
 " It is a pleasure. I dearly love flowers." 
 
 " To give you pleasure," said Mr. Lawlor, " is the great 
 object of my life. If I could assure you happiness — if 
 you would allow me to hope — to seize this opportunity, 
 now that we are alone together " 
 
 He drew near and caught her hand. His features were 
 agitated, his lips trembled, there was earnestness in his 
 eyes. 
 
 At once a cold blast touched Julia and began to circle 
 about her and to flutter her hair. She trembled and drew 
 back. That paralysing experience was about to be re- 
 newed. She turned deadly white, and put her hand to her 
 right ear. " Oh, James ! James ! " she gasped. " Do not, 
 pray do not speak what you want to say, or I shall faint. 
 It is coming on. I am not yet well enough to hear it. 
 
THE LEADEN RING 69 
 
 Write to me and I will answer. For pity's sake do not 
 speak it." Then she sank upon a seat — and at that 
 moment her aunt entered the conservatory. 
 
 On the following day a note was put into her hand, con- 
 taining a formal proposal from the Hon. James Lawlor ; 
 and by return of post Julia answered with an acceptance. 
 
 There was no reason whatever why the engagement 
 should be long ; and the only alternative mooted was 
 whether the wedding should take place before Lent or 
 after Easter. Finally, it was settled that it should be 
 celebrated on Shrove Tuesday. This left a short time for 
 the necessary preparations. Miss Flemming would have 
 to go to town with her niece concerning a trousseau, and a 
 trousseau is not turned out rapidly any more than an armed 
 cruiser. 
 
 There is usually a certain period allowed to young 
 people who have become engaged, to see much of each 
 other, to get better acquainted with one another, to build 
 their castles in the air, and to indulge in little passages of 
 affection, vulgarly called " spooning." But in this case the 
 spooning had to be curtailed and postponed. 
 
 At the outset, when alone with James, Julia was nervous. 
 She feared a recurrence of those phenomena that so affected 
 her. But, although every now and then the wind curled 
 and soughed about her, it was not violent, nor was it 
 chilling ; and she came to regard it as a wail of discom- 
 fiture. Moreover, there was no recurrence of the detona- 
 tion, and she fondly hoped that with her marriage the 
 vexation would completely cease. 
 
 In her heart was deep down a sense of exultation. She 
 was defying James Hattersley and setting his prediction 
 at naught. She was not in love with Mr. Lawlor ; she 
 liked him, in her cold manner, and was not insensible to 
 the social advantage that would be hers when she became 
 the Honourable Mrs. Lawlor. 
 
 The day of the wedding arrived. Happily it was fine. 
 
70 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 *' Blessed is the bride the sun shines on," said the cheery 
 Miss Flemming ; " an omen, I trust, of a bright and un- 
 ruffled life in your new condition." 
 
 All the neighbourhood was present at the church. Miss 
 Flemming had many friends. Mr. Lawlor had fewer 
 present, as he belonged to a distant county. The church 
 path had been laid with red cloth, the church decorated 
 with flowers, and a choir was present to twitter " The 
 voice that breathed o'er Eden." 
 
 The rector stood by the altar, and two cushions had 
 been laid at the chancel step. The rector was to be 
 assisted by an uncle of the bridegroom who was in Holy 
 Orders ; the rector, being old-fashioned, had drawn on pale 
 grey kid gloves. 
 
 First arrived the bridegroom with his best man, and 
 stood in a nervous condition balancing himself first on 
 one foot, then on the other, waiting, observed by all eyes. 
 
 Next entered the procession of the bride, attended by 
 her maids, to the " Wedding March " in Lohengrin, on a 
 wheezy organ. Then Julia and her intended took their 
 places at the chancel step for the performance of the first 
 portion of the ceremony, and the two clergy descended to 
 them from the altar. 
 
 " Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " I, James, take thee, Julia, to my wedded wife, to have 
 and to hold " and so on. 
 
 As the words were being spoken, a cold rush of air 
 passed over the clasped hands, numbing them, and began 
 to creep round the bride, and to flutter her veil. She set 
 her lips and knitted her brows. In a few minutes she 
 would be beyond the reach of these manifestations. 
 
 When it came to her turn to speak, she began firmly : 
 " I, Julia, take thee, James " but as she proceeded the 
 
THE LEADEN KING 71 
 
 wind became fierce ; it raged about her, it caught her 
 veil on one side and buffeted her cheek ; it switched the 
 veil about her throat, as though strangling her with a 
 drift of snow contracting into ice. But she persevered to 
 the end. 
 
 Then James Lawlor produced the ring, and was about to 
 place it on her finger with the prescribed words : " With 
 
 this ring I thee wed " when a report rang in her ear, 
 
 followed by a heaving of her skull, as though the bones 
 were being burst asunder, and she sank unconscious on 
 the chancel step. 
 
 In the midst of profound commotion, she was raised 
 and conveyed to the vestry, followed by James Lawlor, 
 trembling and pale. He had slipped the ring back into 
 his waistcoat pocket. Dr. Crate, who was present, 
 hastened to offer his professional assistance. 
 
 In the vestry Julia rested in a Glastonbury chair, white 
 and still, with her hands resting in her lap. And to the 
 amazement of those present, it was seen that on the 
 third finger of her left hand was a leaden ring, rude and 
 solid as though fashioned out of a bullet. Restoratives 
 were applied, but full a quarter of an hour elapsed before 
 Julia opened her eyes, and a little colour returned to her 
 lips and cheek. But, as she raised her hands to her brow 
 to wipe away the damps that had formed on it, her eye 
 caught sight of the leaden ring, and with a cry of horror 
 she sank again into insensibility. 
 
 The congregation slowly left the church, awestruck, 
 whispering, asking questions, receiving no satisfactory 
 answers, forming surmises all incorrect. 
 
 " I am very much afraid, Mr. Lawlor," said the rector, 
 " that it will be impossible to proceed with the service to- 
 day; it must be postponed till Miss Demant is in a condition 
 to conclude her part, and to sign the register. I do not 
 see how it can be gone on with to-day. She is quite un- 
 equal to the effort." 
 
72 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 The carriage which was to have conveyed the couple to 
 Miss Flemming's house, and then, later, to have taken them 
 to the station for their honeymoon, the horses decorated 
 with white rosettes, the whip adorned with a white bow, 
 had now to convey Julia, hardly conscious, supported by 
 her aunt, to her home. 
 
 No rice could be thrown. The bell-ringers, prepared to 
 give a joyous peal, were constrained to depart. 
 
 The reception at Miss Flemming's was postponed. No 
 one thought of attending. The cakes, the ices, were con- 
 sumed in the kitchen. 
 
 The bridegroom, bewildered, almost frantic, ran hither 
 and thither, not knowing what to do, what to say. 
 
 Julia lay as a stone for fully two hours ; and when she 
 came to herself could not speak. When conscious, she 
 raised her left hand, looked on the leaden ring, and sank 
 back again into senselessness. 
 
 Not till late in the evening was she sufficiently recovered 
 to speak, and then she begged her aunt, who had remained 
 by her bed without stirring, to dismiss the attendants. She 
 desired to speak with her alone. When no one was in the 
 room with her, save Miss Flemming, she said in a whisper : 
 " Oh, Aunt Elizabeth ! Oh, auntie ! such an awful thing 
 has happened. I can never marry Mr. Lawlor, never. I 
 have married James Hattersley ; I am a dead man's wife. 
 At the time that James Lawlor was making the responses, 
 I heard a piping voice in my ear, an unearthly voice, say- 
 ing the same words. When I said : ' I, Julia, take you, 
 James, to my wedded husband ' — you know Mr. Hattersley 
 is James as well as Mr. Lawlor — then the words applied to 
 him as much or as well as to the other. And then, when 
 it came to the giving of the ring, there was the explosion 
 in my ear, as before — and the leaden ring was forced on to 
 my finger, and not James Lawlor's golden ring. It is of 
 no use my resisting any more. I am a dead man's wife, and 
 I cannot marry James Lawlor." 
 
THE LEADEN RING 73 
 
 Some years have elapsed since that disastrous day and 
 that incomplete marriage. 
 
 Miss Demant is Miss Demant still, and she has never 
 been able to remove the leaden ring from the third finger 
 of her left hand. Whenever the attempt has been made, 
 either to disengage it by drawing it off or by cutting 
 through it, there has ensued that terrifying discharge as of 
 a gun into her ear, causing insensibility. The prostration 
 that has followed, the terror it has inspired, have so affected 
 her nerves, that she has desisted from every attempt to rid 
 herself of the ring. 
 
 She invariably wears a glove on her left hand, and it is 
 bulged over the third finger, where lies that leaden ring. 
 
 She is not a happy woman, although her aunt is dead 
 and has left her a handsome estate. She has not got many 
 acquaintances. She has no friends ; for her temper is un- 
 amiable, and her tongue is bitter. She supposes that the 
 world, as far as she knows it, is in league against her. 
 
 Towards the memory of James Hattersley she entertains 
 a deadly hate. If an incantation could lay his spirit, if 
 prayer could give him repose, she would have recourse to 
 none of these expedients, even though they might relieve 
 her, so bitter is her resentment. And she harbours a silent 
 wrath against Providence for allowing the dead to walk 
 and to molest the living. 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 
 
 ANNA VOSS, of Siebenstein, was the prettiest girl 
 in her village. Never was she absent from a fair or 
 a dance. No one ever saw her abroad anything but 
 merry. If she had her fits of bad temper, she kept them 
 for her mother, in the secrecy of the house. Her voice was 
 like that of the lark, and her smile like the May morning. 
 She had plenty of suitors, for she was possessed of what a 
 young peasant desires more in a wife than beauty, and 
 that is money. 
 
 But of all the young men who hovered about her, and 
 sought her favour, none was destined to win it save 
 Joseph Arler, the ranger, a man in a government position, 
 whose duty was to watch the frontier against smugglers, 
 and to keep an eye on the game against poachers. 
 
 The eve of the marriage had come. 
 
 One thing weighed on the pleasure-loving mind of Anna. 
 She dreaded becoming a mother of a family which would 
 keep her at home, and occupy her from morn to eve in 
 attendance on her children, and break the sweetness of her 
 sleep at night. 
 
 So she visited an old hag named Schandelwein, who was 
 a reputed witch, and to whom she confided her trouble. 
 
 The old woman said that she had looked into the mirror 
 of destiny, before Anna arrived, and she had seen that 
 Providence had ordained that Anna should have seven 
 children, three girls and four boys, and that one of the 
 latter was destined to be a priest. 
 
 But Mother Schandelwein had great powers; she could 
 
 74 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 75 
 
 set at naught the determinations of Providence ; and she 
 gave to Anna seven pips, very much like apple-pips, which 
 she placed in a cornet of paper ; and she bade her cast 
 these one by one into the mill-race, and as each went over 
 the mill-wheel, it ceased to have a future, and in each pip 
 was a child's soul. 
 
 So Anna put money into Mother Schandelwein's hand 
 and departed, and when it was growing dusk she stole to 
 the wooden bridge over the mill-stream, and dropped in 
 one pip after another. As each fell into the water she 
 heard a little sigh. 
 
 But when it came to casting in the last of the seven 
 she felt a sudden qualm, and a battle in her soul. 
 
 However, she threw it in, and then, overcome by an im- 
 pulse of remorse, threw herself into the stream to recover 
 it, and as she did so she uttered a cry. 
 
 But the water was dark, the floating pip was small, she 
 could not see it, and the current was rapidly carrying her 
 to the mill-wheel, when the miller ran out and rescued 
 her. 
 
 On the following morning she had completely recovered 
 her spirits, and laughingly told her bridesmaids how that 
 in the dusk, in crossing the wooden bridge, her foot had 
 slipped, she had fallen into the stream, and had been 
 nearly drowned. " And then," added she, " if I really had 
 been drowned, what would Joseph have done?" 
 
 The married life of Anna was not unhappy. It could 
 hardly be that in association with so genial, kind, and 
 simple a man as Joseph. But it was not altogether the 
 ideal happiness anticipated by both. Joseph had to be 
 much away from home, sometimes for days and nights 
 together, and Anna found it very tedious to be alone 
 And Joseph might have calculated on a more considerate 
 wife. After a hard day of climbing and chasing in the 
 mountains, he might have expected that she would have 
 a good hot supper ready for him. But Anna set before him 
 
76 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 whatever came to hand and cost least trouble. A healthy 
 appetite is the best of sauces, she remarked. 
 
 Moreover, the nature of his avocation, scrambling up 
 rocks and breaking through an undergrowth of brambles 
 and thorns, produced rents and fraying of stockings and 
 cloth garments. Instead of cheerfully undertaking the 
 repairs, Anna grumbled over each rent, and put out his 
 garments to be mended by others. It was only when 
 repair was urgent that she consented to undertake it 
 herself, and then it was done with sulky looks, muttered 
 reproaches, and was executed so badly that it had to be 
 done over again, and by a hired workwoman. 
 
 But Joseph's nature was so amiable, and he was so fond 
 of his pretty wife, that he bore with those defects, and 
 turned off her murmurs with a joke, or sealed her pouting 
 lips with a kiss. 
 
 There was one thing about Joseph that Anna could not 
 relish. Whenever he came into the village, he was sur- 
 rounded, besieged by the children. Hardly had he turned 
 the corner into the square, before it was known that he 
 was there, and the little ones burst out of their parents* 
 houses, broke from their sister nurse's arms, to scamper up 
 to Joseph and to jump about him. For Joseph somehow 
 always had nuts or almonds or sweets in his pockets, and 
 for these he made the children leap, or catch, or scramble, 
 or sometimes beg, by putting a sw^eet on a boy's nose and 
 bidding him hold it there, till he said " Catch ! " 
 
 Joseph had one particular favourite among all this 
 crew, and that was a little lame boy with a white, pinched 
 face, who hobbled about on crutches. 
 
 Him Joseph would single out, take him on his knee, 
 seat himself on the steps of the village cross or of the 
 churchyard, and tell him stories of his adventures, of 
 the habits of the beasts of the forest. 
 
 Anna, looking out of her window, could see all this ; 
 and see how before Joseph set the poor cripple down, 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 77 
 
 the child would throw its arms round his neck and kiss 
 him. 
 
 Then Joseph would come home with his swinging step 
 and joyous face. 
 
 Anna resented that his first attention should be given 
 to the children, regarding it as her due, and she often 
 showed her displeasure by the chill of her reception of 
 her husband. She did not reproach him in set words, but 
 she did not run to meet him, jump into his arms, and 
 respond to his warm kisses. 
 
 Once he did venture on a mild expostulation. " Annerl, 
 why do you not knit my socks or stocking-legs ? Home- 
 made is heart-made. It is a pity to spend money on 
 buying what is poor stuff, when those made by you would 
 not only last on my calves and feet, but warm the cockles 
 of my heart." 
 
 To which she replied testily : " It is you who set the 
 example of throwing money away on sweet things for 
 those pestilent little village brats." 
 
 One evening Anna heard an unusual hubbub in the 
 square, shouts and laughter, not of children alone, but of 
 women and men as well, and next moment into the 
 house burst Joseph very red, carrying a cradle on his 
 head. 
 
 " What is this fooling for?" asked Anna, turning crimson. 
 
 " An experiment, Annerl, dearest," answered Joseph, set- 
 ting down the cradle. '' I have heard it said that a wife 
 who rocks an empty cradle soon rocks a baby into it. So 
 I have bought this and brought it to you. Rock, rock, 
 rock, and when I see a little rosebud in it among the 
 snowy linen, I shall cry for joy." 
 
 Never before had Anna known how dull and dead life 
 could be in an empty house. When she had lived with 
 her mother, that mother had made her do much of the 
 necessary work of the house ; now there was not much to 
 be done, and there was no one to exercise compulsion. 
 
78 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 If Anna ran out and visited her neighbours, they proved 
 to be disinclined for a gossip. During the day they had 
 to scrub and bake and cook, and in the evening they had 
 their husbands and children with them, and did not relish 
 the intrusion of a neighbour. 
 
 The days were weary days, and Anna had not the 
 energy or the love of work to prompt her to occupy her- 
 self more than was absolutely necessary. Consequently, 
 the house was not kept scrupulously clean. The glass 
 and the pewter and the saucepans did not shine. The 
 window-panes were dull. The house linen was unhemmed. 
 
 One evening Joseph sat in a meditative mood over the 
 fire, looking into the red embers, and what was unusual 
 with him, he did not speak. 
 
 Anna was inclined to take umbrage at this, when all at 
 once he looked round at her with his bright pleasant smile 
 and said, " Annerl ! I have been thinking. One thing is 
 wanted to make us supremely happy — a baby in the 
 house. It has not pleased God to send us one, so I pro- 
 pose that we both go on pilgrimage to Mariahilf to ask 
 for one." 
 
 " Go yourself — I want no baby here," retorted Anna. 
 
 A few days after this, like a thunderbolt out of a clear 
 sky, came the great affliction on Anna of her husband's 
 death. 
 
 Joseph had been found shot in the mountains. He was 
 quite dead. The bullet had pierced his heart. He was 
 brought home borne on green fir-boughs interlaced, by 
 four fellow-jagers, and they carried him into his house. 
 He had, in all probability, met his death at the hand of 
 smugglers. 
 
 With a cry of horror and grief Anna threw herself on 
 Joseph's body and kissed his pale lips. Now only did she 
 realise how deeply all along she had loved him — now that 
 she had lost him. 
 
 Joseph was laid in his coffin preparatory to the inter- 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 79 
 
 ment on the morrow. A crucifix and two candles stood 
 at his head on a little table covered with a white cloth. 
 On a stool at his feet was a bowl containing holy water 
 and a sprig of rue. 
 
 A neighbour had volunteered to keep company with 
 Anna during the night, but she had impatiently, without 
 speaking, repelled the offer. She would spend the last 
 night that he was above ground alone with her dead — 
 alone with her thoughts. 
 
 And what were those thoughts ? 
 
 Now she remembered how indifferent she had been to 
 his wishes, how careless of his comforts ; how little she had 
 valued his love, had appreciated his cheerfulness, his kind- 
 ness, his forbearance, his equable temper. 
 
 Now she recalled studied coldness on her part, sharp 
 words, mortifying gestures, outbursts of unreasoning and 
 unreasonable petulance. 
 
 Now she recalled Joseph scattering nuts among the 
 children, addressing kind words to old crones, giving 
 wholesome advice to giddy youths. 
 
 She remembered now little endearments shown to her, 
 the presents brought her from the fair, the efforts made to 
 cheer her with his pleasant stories and quaint jokes. She 
 heard again his cheerful voice as he strove to interest her 
 in his adventures of the chase. 
 
 As she thus sat silent, numbed by her sorrow, in the 
 faint light cast by the two candles, with the shadow of the 
 coffin lying black on the floor at her feet, she heard a 
 stumping without ; then a hand was laid on the latch, the 
 door was timidly opened, and in upon his crutches came 
 the crippled boy. He looked wistfully at her, but she 
 made no sign, and then he hobbled to the coffin and burst 
 into tears, and stooped and kissed the brow of his dead 
 friend. 
 
 Leaning on his crutches, he took his rosary and said the 
 prayers for the rest of her and his Joseph's soul ; then 
 
8o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 shuffled awkwardly to the foot, dipped the spray of rue, 
 and sprinkled the dead with the blessed water. 
 
 Next moment the ungainly creature was stumping forth, 
 but after he had passed through the door, he turned, 
 looked once more towards the dead, put his hand to his 
 lips, and wafted to it his final farewell. 
 
 Anna now took her beads and tried to pray, but her 
 prayers would not leave her lips ; they were choked and 
 driven back by the thoughts which crowded up and be- 
 wildered her. The chain fell from her fingers upon her 
 lap, lay there neglected, and then slipped to the floor. 
 How the time passed she knew not, neither did she care. 
 The clock ticked, and she heard it not; the hours sounded, 
 and she regarded them not till in at her ear and through 
 her brain came clear the call of the wooden cuckoo an- 
 nouncing midnight. 
 
 Her eyes had been closed. Now suddenly she was 
 roused, and they opened and saw that all was changed. 
 
 The coffin was gone, but by her instead was the cradle 
 that years ago Joseph had brought home, and which she 
 had chopped up for firewood. And now in that cradle lay 
 a babe asleep, and with her foot she rocked it, and found 
 a strange comfort in so doing. 
 
 She was conscious of no sense of surprise, only a great 
 welling up of joy in her heart. Presently she heard a 
 feeble whimper and saw a stirring in the cradle ; little 
 hands were put forth gropingly. Then she stooped and 
 lifted the child to her lap, and clasped it to her heart. Oh, 
 how lovely was that tiny creature ! Oh, how sweet in her 
 ears its appealing cry ! As she held it to her bosom the 
 warm hands touched her throat, and the little lips were 
 pressed to her bosom. She pressed it to her. She had 
 entered into a new world, a world of love and light and 
 beauty and happiness unspeakable. Oh ! the babe — the 
 babe— the babe ! She laughed and cried, and cried and 
 laughed and sobbed for very exuberance of joy. It 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 8i 
 
 brought warmth to her heart, it made every vein tingle, 
 it ingrained her brain with pride. It was hers! — her own ! — 
 her very own ! She could have been content to spend an 
 eternity thus, with that little one close, close to her heart. 
 
 Then as suddenly all faded away — the child in her 
 arms was gone as a shadow ; her tears congealed, her 
 neart was cramped, and a voice spoke within her : ** It is 
 not, because you would not. You cast the soul away, and 
 it went over the mill-wheel." 
 
 Wild with terror, uttering a despairing cry, she started 
 up, straining her arms after the lost child, and grasping 
 nothing. She looked about her. The light of the candles 
 flickered over the face of her dead Joseph. And tick, tick, 
 tick went the clock. 
 
 She could endure this no more. She opened the door 
 to leave the room, and stepped into the outer chamber and 
 cast herself into a chair. And lo ! it was no more night. 
 The sun, the red evening sun, shone in at the window, and 
 on the sill were pots of pinks and mignonette that filled 
 the air with fragrance. 
 
 And there at her side stood a little girl with shining fair 
 hair, and the evening sun was on it like the glory about a 
 saint. The child raised its large blue eyes to her, pure 
 innocent eyes, and said : " Mother, may I say my Cate- 
 chism and prayers before I go to bed ? " 
 
 Then Anna answered and said : " Oh, my darling ! My 
 dearest Barbchen ! All the Catechism is comprehended in 
 this : Love God, fear God, always do what is your duty. 
 Do His will, and do not seek only your own pleasure and 
 ease. And this will give you peace — peace — peace." 
 
 The little girl knelt and laid her golden head on her 
 folded hands upon Anna's knee and began : " God bless 
 dear father, and mother, and all my dear brothers and 
 sisters." 
 
 Instantly a sharp pang as a knife went through the 
 heart of Anna, and she cried : " Thou hast no father and 
 
82 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 no mother and no brothers and no sisters, for thou art not, 
 because I would not have thee. I cast away thy soul, and 
 it went over the mill-wheel." 
 
 The cuckoo called one. The child had vanished. But 
 the door was thrown open, and in the doorway stood a 
 young couple — one a youth with fair hair and the down 
 of a moustache on his lip, and oh, in face so like to the 
 dead Joseph. He held by the hand a girl, in black bodice 
 and with white sleeves, looking modestly on the ground. 
 At once Anna knew what this signified. It was her son 
 Florian come to announce that he was engaged, and to 
 ask his mother's sanction. 
 
 Then said the young man, as he came forward leading 
 the girl : " Mother, sweetest mother, this is Susie, the 
 baker's daughter, and child of your old and dear friend 
 Vronie. We love one another ; we have loved since we 
 were little children together at school, and did our lessons 
 out of one book, sitting on one bench. And, mother, the 
 bakehouse is to be passed on to me and to Susie, and 
 I shall bake for all the parish. The good Jesus fed the 
 multitude, distributing the loaves through the hands of 
 His apostles. And I shall be His minister feeding His 
 people here. Mother, give us your blessing." 
 
 Then Florian and the girl knelt to Anna, and with tears 
 of happiness in her eyes she raised her hands over them. 
 But ere she could touch them all had vanished. The room 
 was dark, and a voice spake within her : " There is no 
 Florian ; there would have been, but you would not. You 
 cast his soul into the water, and it passed away for ever 
 over the mill-wheel." 
 
 In an agony of terror Anna sprang from her seat. She 
 could not endure the room, the air stifled her ; her brain 
 was on fire. She rushed to the back door that opened on 
 a kitchen garden, where grew the pot-herbs and cabbages 
 for use, tended by Joseph when he returned from his work 
 in the mountains. 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 83 
 
 But she came forth on a strange scene. She was on 
 a battlefield. The air was charged with smoke and the 
 smell of gunpowder. The roar of cannon and the rattle 
 of musketry, the cries of the wounded, and shouts of 
 encouragement rang in her ears in a confused din. 
 
 As she stood, panting, her hands to her breast, staring 
 with wondering eyes, before her charged past a battalion 
 of soldiers, and she knew by their uniforms that they 
 were Bavarians. One of them, as he passed, turned his 
 face towards her ; it was the face of an Arler, fired with 
 enthusiasm, she knew it ; it was that of her son Fritz. 
 
 Then came a withering volley, and many of the gallant 
 fellows fell, among them he who carried the standard. 
 Instantly, Fritz snatched it from his hand, waved it over 
 his head, shouted, " Charge, brothers, fill up the ranks ! 
 Charge, and the day is ours 1 " 
 
 Then the remnant closed up and went forward with 
 bayonets fixed, tramp, tramp. Again an explosion of 
 firearms and a dense cloud of smoke rolled before her and 
 she could not see the result. 
 
 She waited, quivering in every limb, holding her breath — 
 hoping, fearing, waiting. And as the smoke cleared she 
 saw men carrying to the rear one who had been wounded, 
 and in his hand he grasped the flag. They laid him at 
 Anna's feet, and she recognised that it was her Fritz. She 
 fell on her knees, and snatching the kerchief from her 
 throat and breast, strove to stanch the blood that welled 
 from his heart. He looked up into her eyes, with such 
 love in them as made her choke with emotion, and he said 
 faintly : " Miitterchen, do not grieve for me ; we have 
 stormed the redoubt, the day is ours. Be of good cheer. 
 They fly, they fly, those French rascals ! Mother, re- 
 member me — I die for the dear Fatherland." 
 
 And a comrade standing by said : " Do not give way to 
 your grief, Anna Arler ; your son has died the death of a 
 hero." 
 
84 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Then she stooped over him, and saw the glaze of death in 
 his eyes, and his lips moved. She bent her ear to them 
 and caught the words : " I am not, because you would not. 
 There is no Fritz ; you cast my soul into the brook and I 
 was carried over the mill-wheel." 
 
 All passed away, the smell of the powder, the roar of 
 the cannon, the volumes of smoke, the cry of the battle, 
 all — to a dead hush. Anna staggered to her feet, and 
 turned to go back to her cottage, and as she opened the 
 door, heard the cuckoo call two. 
 
 But, as she entered, she found herself to be, not in her 
 own room and house — she had strayed into another, and 
 she found herself not in a lone chamber, not in her desolate 
 home, but in the midst of a strange family scene. 
 
 A woman, a mother, was dying. Her head reposed on 
 her husband's breast as he sat on the bed and held her in 
 his arms. 
 
 The man had grey hair, his face was overflowed with 
 tears, and his eyes rested with an expression of devouring 
 love on her whom he supported, and whose brow he now 
 and again bent over to kiss. 
 
 About the bed were gathered her children, ay, and also 
 her grandchildren, quite young, looking on with solemn, 
 wondering eyes on the last throes of her whom they had 
 learned to cling to and love with all the fervour of their 
 simple hearts. One mite held her doll, dangling by the 
 arm, and the forefinger of her other hand was in her 
 mouth. Her eyes were brimming, and sobs came from her 
 infant breast. She did not understand what was being 
 taken from her, but she wept in sympathy with the rest. 
 
 Kneeling by the bed was the eldest daughter of the ex- 
 piring woman, reciting the Litany of the Dying, and the 
 sons and another daughter and a daughter-in-law repeated 
 the responses in voices broken with tears. 
 
 When the recitation of the prayers ceased, there ensued 
 for a while a great stillness, and all eyes rested on the 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 85 
 
 dying woman. Her lips moved, and she poured forth her 
 last petitions, that left her as rising flakes of fire, kindled 
 by her pure and ardent soul. " O God, comfort and bless 
 my dear husband, and ever keep Thy watchful guard over 
 my children and my children's children, that they may 
 walk in the way that leads to Thee, and that in Thine own 
 good time we may all — all be gathered in Thy Paradise 
 together, united for evermore. Amen." 
 
 A spasm contracted Anna's heart. This woman with 
 ecstatic, upturned gaze, this woman breathing forth her 
 peaceful soul on her husband's breast, was her own 
 daughter Elizabeth, and in the fine outline of her features 
 was Joseph's profile. 
 
 All again was hushed. The father slowly rose and 
 quitted his position on the bed, gently laid the head on 
 the pillow, put one hand over the eyes that still looked up 
 to heaven, and with the fingers of the other tenderly 
 arranged the straggling hair on each side of the brow. 
 Then standing and turning to the rest, with a subdued 
 voice he said : " My children, it has pleased the Lord to 
 take to Himself your dear mother and my faithful com- 
 panion. The Lord's will be done." 
 
 Then ensued a great burst of weeping, and Anna's eyes 
 brimmed till she could see no more. The church bell 
 began to toll for a departing spirit. And following each 
 stroke there came to her, as the after-clang of the boom : 
 " There is not, there has not been, an Elizabeth. There 
 would have been all this — but thou wouldest it not. For 
 the soul of thy Elizabeth thou didst send down the mill- 
 stream and over the wheel." 
 
 Frantic with shame, with sorrow, not knowing what she 
 did, or whither she went, Anna made for the front door of 
 the house, ran forth and stood in the village square. 
 
 To her unutterable amazement it was vastly changed. 
 Moreover, the sun was shining brightly, and it gleamed 
 over a new parish church, of cut white stone, very stately, 
 
S6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 with a gilded spire, with windows of wondrous lacework. 
 Flags were flying, festoons of flowers hung everywhere. 
 A triumphal arch of leaves and young birch trees was at 
 the graveyard gate. The square was crowded with the 
 peasants, all in their holiday attire. 
 
 Silent, Anna stood and looked around. And as she 
 stood she heard the talk of the people about her. 
 
 One said : " It is a great thing that Johann von Arler 
 has done for his native village. But see, he is a good 
 man, and he is a great architect." 
 
 " But why," asked another, ''do you call him Von Arler? 
 He was the son of that Joseph the Jager who was killed 
 by the smugglers in the mountains." 
 
 " That is true. But do you not know that the king has 
 ennobled him ? He has done such great things in the 
 Residenz. He built the new Town Hall, which is thought 
 to be the finest thing in Bavaria. He added a new wing 
 to the Palace, and he has rebuilt very many churches, and 
 designed mansions for the rich citizens and the nobles. 
 But although he is such a famous man his heart is in the 
 right place. He never forgets that he was born in 
 Siebenstein. Look what a beautiful house he has built for 
 himself and his family on the mountain-side. He is there 
 in summer, and it is furnished magnificently. But he will 
 not suffer the old, humble Arler cottage here to be 
 meddled with. They say that he values it above gold. 
 And this is the new church he has erected in his native 
 village — that is good." 
 
 " Oh ! he is a good man is Johann ; he was always a 
 good and serious boy, and never happy without a pencil 
 in his hand. You mark what I say. Some day hence, 
 when he is dead, there will be a statue erected in his 
 honour here in this market-place, to commemorate the one 
 famous man that has been produced by Siebenstein. But 
 see — see ! Here he comes to the dedication of the new 
 church." 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES ^7 
 
 Then, through the throng advanced a blonde, middle- 
 aged man, with broad forehead, clear, bright blue eyes, 
 and a flowing light beard. All the men present plucked 
 off their hats to him, and made way for him as he ad- 
 vanced. But, full of smiles, he had a hand and a warm 
 pressure, and a kindly word and a question as to family 
 concerns, for each who was near. 
 
 All at once his eye encountered that of Anna. A flash 
 of recognition and joy kindled it up, and, extending his 
 arms, he thrust his way towards her, crying: "My mother ! 
 my own mother ! " 
 
 Then — ^just as she was about to be folded to his heart, 
 all faded away, and a voice said in her soul : " He is no son 
 of thine, Anna Arler. He is not, because thou wouldest 
 not. He might have been, God had so purposed ; but thou 
 madest His purpose of none effect. Thou didst send his 
 soul over the mill-wheel." 
 
 And then faintly, as from a far distance, sounded in her 
 ear the call of the cuckoo— three. 
 
 The magnificent new church had shrivelled up to the 
 original mean little edifice Anna had known all her life. 
 The square was deserted, the cold faint glimmer of coming 
 dawn was visible over the eastern mountain-tops, but stars 
 still shone in the sky. 
 
 With a cry of pain, like a wounded beast, Anna ran 
 hither and thither seeking a refuge, and then fled to the 
 one home and resting-place of the troubled soul — the 
 church. She thrust open the swing-door, pushed in, sped 
 over the uneven floor, and flung herself on her knees 
 before the altar. 
 
 But see ! before that altar stood a priest in a vestment 
 of black-and-silver ; and a serving-boy knelt on his right 
 hand on a lower stage. The candles were lighted, for the 
 priest was about to say Mass. There was a rustling of feet, 
 a sound as of people entering, and many were kneeling, 
 shortly after, on each side of Anna, and still they came 
 
88 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 on ; she turned about and looked and saw a great crowd 
 pressing in, and strange did it seem to her eyes that all — 
 men, women, and children, young and old — seemed to bear 
 in their faces something, a trace only in many, of the 
 Arler or the Voss features. And the little serving-boy, as 
 he shifted his position, showed her his profile — it was like 
 her little brother who had died when he was sixteen. 
 
 Then the priest turned himself about, and said, " Ore- 
 mus." And she knew him — he was her own son — her 
 Joseph, named after his dear father. 
 
 The Mass began, and proceeded to the " Sursum corda " 
 — "Lift up your hearts!" — when the celebrant stood facing 
 the congregation with extended arms, and all responded : 
 " We lift them up unto the Lord." 
 
 But then, instead of proceeding with the accustomed 
 invocation, he raised his hands high above his head, with 
 the palms towards the congregation, and in a loud, stern 
 voice exclaimed — 
 
 " Cursed is the unfruitful field ! " 
 
 " Amen." 
 
 " Cursed is the barren tree ! " 
 
 " Amen." 
 
 " Cursed is the empty house ! " 
 
 " Amen." 
 
 " Cursed is the fishless lake ! ** 
 
 " Amen." 
 
 " Forasmuch as Anna Arler, born Voss, might have 
 been the mother of countless generations, as the sand of 
 the seashore for number, as the stars of heaven for bright- 
 ness, of generations unto the end of time, even of all o 
 us now gathered together here, but she would not — there- 
 fore shall she be alone, with none to comfort her ; sick, 
 with none to minister to her ; broken in heart, with none 
 to bind up her wounds ; feeble, and none to stay her up ; 
 dead, and none to pray for her, for she would not — she 
 shall have an unforgotten and unforgettable past, and have 
 
THE MOTHER OF PANSIES 89 
 
 no future ; remorse, but no hope ; she shall have tears, but 
 no laughter — for she would not. Woe ! woe ! woe !" 
 
 He lowered his hands, and the tapers were extinguished, 
 the celebrant faded as a vision of the night, the server 
 vanished as an incense-cloud, the congregation disappeared, 
 melting into shadows, and then from shadows to nothing- 
 ness, without stirring from their places, and without a 
 sound. 
 
 And Anna, with a scream of despair, flung herself forward 
 with her face on the pavement, and her hands extended. 
 
 Two years ago, during the first week in June, an English 
 traveller arrived at Siebenstein and put up at the " Krone," 
 where, as he was tired and hungry, he ordered an early 
 supper. When that was discussed, he strolled forth into 
 the village square, and leaned against the wall of the 
 churchyard. The sun had set in the valley, but the 
 mountain-peaks were still in the glory of its rays, sur- 
 rounding the place as a golden crown. He lighted a cigar, 
 and, looking into the cemetery, observed there an old 
 woman, bowed over a grave, above which stood a cross, 
 inscribed "Joseph Arler," and she was tending the 
 flowers on it, and laying over the arms of the cross a little 
 wreath of heart's-ease or pansy. She had in her hand a 
 small basket. Presently she rose and walked towards the 
 gate, by which stood the traveller. 
 
 As she passed, he said kindly to her : " Griiss Gott, 
 Mutterchen." 
 
 She looked steadily at him and replied : " Honoured sir ! 
 that which is past may be repented of, but can never be 
 undone ! " and went on her way. 
 
 He was struck with her face. He had never before seen 
 one so full of boundless sorrow — almost of despair. 
 
 His eyes followed her as she walked towards the mill- 
 stream, and there she took her place on the wooden bridge 
 that crossed it, leaning over the handrail, and looking down 
 
90 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 into the water. An impulse of curiosity and of interest 
 led him to follow her at a distance, and he saw her pick a 
 flower, a pansy, out of her basket, and drop it into the 
 current, which caught and carried it forward. Then she 
 took a second, and allowed it to fall into the water. Then, 
 after an interval, a third — a fourth ; and he counted seven 
 in all. After that she bowed her head on her hands ; her 
 grey hair fell over them, and she broke into a paroxysm of 
 weeping. 
 
 The traveller, standing by the stream, saw the seven 
 pansies swept down, and one by one pass over the revolving 
 wheel and vanish. 
 
 He turned himself about to return to his inn, when, seeing 
 a grave peasant near, he asked : " Who is that poor old 
 woman who seems so broken down with sorrow?" 
 
 " That," replied the man, " is the Mother of Pansies." 
 
 " The Mother of Pansies ! " he repeated. 
 
 ** Well — it is the name she has acquired in the place. 
 Actually, she is called Anna Arler, and is a widow. She 
 was the wife of one Joseph Arler, a jager, who was shot by 
 smugglers. But that is many, many years ago. She is not 
 right in her head, but she is harmless. When her husband 
 was brought home dead, she insisted on being left alone in 
 the night by him, before he was buried alone, — with his 
 coffin. And what happened in that night no one knows. 
 Some affirm that she saw ghosts. I do not know — she may 
 have had Thoughts. The French word for these flowers is 
 pensees — thoughts — and she will have none others. When 
 they are in her garden she collects them, and does as she 
 has done now. When she has none, she goes about to her 
 neighbours and begs them. She comes here every evening 
 and throws in seven — ^just seven, no more and no less — and 
 then weeps as one whose heart would split. My wife on 
 one occasion offered her forget-me-nots. * No,* she said ; 
 * I cannot send forget-me-nots after those who never were, 
 I can send only Pansies.' " 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL 
 
 A WIFE'S STORY 
 
 IN 1876 we took a house in one of the best streets and 
 parts of B . I do not give the name of the street 
 
 or the number of the house, because the circumstances 
 that occurred in that place were such as to make people 
 nervous, and shy — unreasonably so — of taking those lodg- 
 ings, after reading our experiences therein. 
 
 We were a small family — my husband, a grown-up 
 daughter, and myself; and we had two maids — a cook, and 
 the other was house- and parlourmaid in one. We had 
 not been a fortnight in the house before my daughter said 
 to me one morning : *' Mamma, I do not like Jane " — that 
 was our house-parlourmaid. 
 
 " Why so ? " I asked. " She seems respectable, and she 
 does her work systematically. I have no fault to find with 
 her, none whatever." 
 
 " She may do her work," said Bessie, my daughter, " but 
 I dislike inquisitiveness." 
 
 " Inquisitiveness ! " I exclaimed. " What do you mean ? 
 Has she been looking into your drawers ? " 
 
 " No, mamma, but she watches me. It is hot weather 
 now, and when I am in my room, occasionally, I leave my 
 door open whilst writing a letter, or doing any little bit of 
 needlework, and then I am almost certain to hear her out- 
 side. If I turn sharply round, I see her slipping out of 
 sight. It is most annoying. I really was unaware that I 
 was such an interesting personage as to make it worth 
 anyone's while to spy out my proceedings." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear. You are sure it is Jane ? " 
 
 9» 
 
92 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Well — I suppose so." There was a slight hesitation in 
 her voice. "If not Jane, who can it be ? " 
 
 " Are you sure it is not cook ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, it is not cook ; she is busy in the kitchen. I 
 have heard her there, when I have gone outside my room 
 upon the landing, after having caught that girl watching 
 me. 
 
 *' If you have caught her," said I, " I suppose you spoke 
 to her about the impropriety of her conduct." 
 
 " Well, caught is the wrong word. I have not actually 
 caught her at it. Only to-day I distinctly heard her at my 
 door, and I saw her back as she turned to run away, when 
 I went towards her." 
 
 " But you followed her, of course ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I did not find her on the landing when I got 
 outside." 
 
 " Where was she, then ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " But did you not go and see ? " 
 
 *'She slipped away with astonishing celerity," said Bessie. 
 
 " I can take no steps in the matter. If she does it again, 
 speak to her and remonstrate." 
 
 "But I never have a chance. She is gone in a moment." 
 
 " She cannot get away so quickly as all that." 
 
 " Somehow she does." 
 
 " And you are sure it is Jane ? " again I asked ; and 
 again she replied : " If not Jane, who else can it be ? 
 There is no one else in the house." 
 
 So this unpleasant matter ended, for the time. The 
 next intimation of something of the sort proceeded from 
 another quarter — in fact, from Jane herself She came to 
 me some days later and said, with some embarrassment in 
 her tone — 
 
 "If you please, ma'am, if I do not give satisfaction, I 
 would rather leave the situation." 
 
 " Leave ! " I exclaimed. " Why, I have not given you 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL 93 
 
 the slightest cause. I have not found fault with you for 
 anything as yet, have I, Jane? On the contrary, I have 
 been much pleased with the thoroughness of your work. 
 And you are always tidy and obliging." 
 
 " It isn't that, ma'am ; but I don't like being watched 
 whatever I do.'" 
 
 " Watched ! " I repeated. " What do you mean ? You 
 surely do not suppose that I am running after you when 
 you are engaged on your occupations. I assure you I 
 have other and more important things to do." 
 
 " No, ma'am, I don't suppose you do." 
 
 " Then who watches you ? " 
 
 " I think it must be Miss Bessie." 
 
 "Miss Bessie!" I could say no more, I was so astounded. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. When I am sweeping out a room, and 
 my back is turned, I hear her at the door; and when I turn 
 myself about, I just catch a glimpse of her running away. 
 I see her skirts " 
 
 " Miss Bessie is above doing anything of the sort." 
 
 " If it is not Miss Bessie, who is it, ma'am ^ " 
 
 There was a tone of indecision in her voice. 
 
 " My good Jane," said I, " set your mind at rest. Miss 
 Bessie could not act as you suppose. Have you seen her 
 on these occasions and assured yourself that it is she ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, I've not, so to speak, seen her face ; but I 
 know it ain't cook, and I'm sure it ain't you, ma'am ; so 
 who else can it be ? " 
 
 I considered for some moments, and the maid stood 
 before me in dubious mood. 
 
 "You say you saw her skirts. Did you recognise the 
 gown ? What did she wear ? " 
 
 " It was a light cotton print — more like a maid's morn- 
 ing dress." 
 
 " Well, set your mind at ease ; Miss Bessie has not got 
 such a frock as you describe." 
 
 " I don't think she has," said Jane ; " but there was 
 
94 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 someone at the door, watching me, who ran away when I 
 turned myself about." 
 
 " Did she run upstairs or down ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I did go out on the landing, but there 
 was no one there. I'm sure it wasn't cook, for I heard her 
 clattering the dishes down in the kitchen at the time." 
 
 " Well, Jane, there is some mystery in this. I will not 
 accept your notice ; we will let matters stand over till we 
 can look into this complaint of yours and discover the 
 rights of it." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am. I'm very comfortable here, but it 
 is unpleasant to suppose that one is not trusted, and is 
 spied on wherever one goes and whatever one is about." 
 
 A week later, after dinner one evening, when Bessie and 
 I had quitted the table and left my husband to his smoke, 
 Bessie said to me, when we were in the drawing-room 
 together : " Mamma, it is not Jane." 
 
 " What is not Jane ? " I asked. 
 
 " It is not Jane who watches me." 
 
 " Who can it be, then ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " And how is it that you are confident that you are not 
 being observed by Jane ? " 
 
 " Because I have seen her — that is to say, her head." 
 
 "When? where?" 
 
 " Whilst dressing for dinner, I was before the glass 
 doing my hair, when I saw in the mirror someone behind 
 me. I had only the two candles lighted on the table, and 
 the room was otherwise dark. I thought I heard someone 
 stirring — ^just the sort of stealthy step I have come to 
 recognise as having troubled me so often. I did not turn, 
 but looked steadily before me into the glass, and I could 
 see reflected therein someone — a woman with red hair. 
 Then I moved from my place quickly. I heard steps 
 of some person hurrying away, but I saw no one then." 
 
 " The door was open ? " 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL 95 
 
 " No, it was shut." 
 
 " But where did she go ? " 
 
 " I do not know, mamma. I looked everywhere in the 
 room and could find no one. I have been quite upset. I 
 cannot tell what to think of this. I feel utterly unhinged." 
 
 " I noticed at table that you did not appear well, but 
 I said nothing about it. Your father gets so alarmed, and 
 fidgets and fusses, if he thinks that there is anything the 
 matter with you. But this is a most extraordinary story." 
 
 " It is an extraordinary fact," said Bessie. 
 
 " You have searched your room thoroughly ? " 
 
 " I have looked into every corner." 
 
 " And there is no one there ? " 
 
 " No one. Would you mind, mamma, sleeping with me 
 to-night ? I am so frightened. Do you think it can be a 
 ghost ? " 
 
 "Ghost? Fiddlesticks!" 
 
 I made some excuse to my husband and spent the night 
 in Bessie's room. There was no disturbance that night of 
 any sort, and although my daughter was excited and un- 
 able to sleep till long after midnight, she did fall into 
 refreshing slumber at last, and in the morning said to me : 
 " Mamma, I think I must have fancied that I saw some- 
 thing in the glass. I dare say my nerves were over- 
 wrought." 
 
 I was greatly relieved to hear this, and I arrived at much 
 the same conclusion as did Bessie, but was again be- 
 wildered, and my mind unsettled by Jane, who came to 
 me just before lunch, when I was alone, and said — 
 
 " Please, ma'am, it's only fair to say, but it's not Miss 
 Bessie." 
 
 " What is not Miss Bessie ? I mean, who is not Miss 
 Bessie?" 
 
 '* Her as is spying on me." 
 
 " I told you it could not be she. Who is it ? " 
 
 " Please, ma'am, I don't know. It's a red-haired girl." 
 
96 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " But, Jane, be serious. There is no red-haired girl in 
 the house." 
 
 " I know there ain't, ma'am. But for all that, she spies 
 on me." 
 
 " Be reasonable, Jane," I said, disguising the shock her 
 words produced on me. "If there be no red-haired girl 
 in the house, how can you have one watching you ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; but one does." 
 
 " How do you know that she is red-haired ? " 
 
 " Because I have seen her," 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 *' This morning." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. I was going upstairs, when I heard steps 
 coming softly after me — the backstairs, ma'am ; they're 
 rather dark and steep, and there's no carpet on them, as 
 on the front stairs, and I was sure I heard someone follow- 
 ing me ; so I twisted about, thinking it might be cook, but 
 it wasn't. I saw a young woman in a print dress, and the 
 light as came from the window at the side fell on her head, 
 and it was carrots — reg'lar carrots." 
 
 " Did you see her face ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; she put her arm up and turned and ran 
 downstairs, and I went after her, but I never found her." 
 
 " You followed her — how far ? " 
 
 " To the kitchen. Cook was there. And I said to cook, 
 says I: 'Did you see a girl come this way.?' And she 
 said, short-like : ' No.' " 
 
 " And cook saw nothing at all ? " 
 
 " Nothing. She didn't seem best pleased at my axing. 
 I suppose I frightened her, as I'd been telling her about 
 how I was followed and spied on." 
 
 I mused a moment only, and then said solemnly — 
 
 "Jane, what you want is a////. You are suffering from 
 hallucinations. I know a case very much like yours ; and 
 take my word for it that, in your condition of liver or 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL 97 
 
 digestion, a pill is a sovereign remedy. Set your mind at 
 rest ; this is a mere delusion, caused by pressure on the 
 optic nerve. I will give you a pill to-night when you go to 
 bed, another to-morrow, a third on the day after, and that 
 will settle the red-haired girl. You will see no more of her." 
 
 " You think so, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 On consideration, I thought it as well to mention the 
 matter to the cook, a strange, reserved woman, not given 
 to talking, who did her work admirably, but whom, for 
 some inexplicable reason, I did not like. If I had con- 
 sidered a little further as to how to broach the subject, 
 I should perhaps have proved more successful ; but by not 
 doing so I rushed the question and obtained no satisfaction. 
 
 I had gone down to the kitchen to order dinner, and the 
 difficult question had arisen how to dispose of the scraps 
 from yesterday's joint. 
 
 " Rissoles, ma'am ? " 
 
 "No," said I, "not rissoles. Your master objects to them." 
 
 " Then perhaps croquettes ? " 
 
 " They are only rissoles in disguise." 
 
 " Perhaps cottage pie ? " 
 
 " No ; that is inorganic rissole, a sort of protoplasm out 
 of which rissoles are developed." 
 
 " Then, ma'am, I might make a hash." 
 
 " Not an ordinary, barefaced, rudimentary hash?" 
 
 " No, ma'am, with French mushrooms, or truffles, or 
 tomatoes." 
 
 " Well — yes — perhaps. By the way, talking of tomatoes, 
 who is that red-haired girl who has been about the house ? " 
 
 " Can't say, ma'am." 
 
 I noticed at once that the eyes of the cook contracted, 
 her lips tightened, and her face assumed a half-defiant, 
 half-terrified look. 
 
 " You have not many friends in this place, have you, 
 cook ? " 
 
 H 
 
98 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " No, ma'am, none." 
 
 " Then who can she be ? " 
 
 " Can't say, ma'am." 
 
 " You can throw no light on the matter ? It is very un- 
 satisfactory having a person about the house — and she has 
 been seen upstairs — of whom one knows nothing." 
 
 " No doubt, ma'am." 
 
 " And you cannot enlighten me ? " 
 
 " She is no friend of mine." 
 
 " Nor is she of Jane's. Jane spoke to me about her. 
 Has she remarked concerning this girl to you ? " 
 
 " Can't say, ma'am, as I notice all Jane says. She talks 
 a good deal." 
 
 " You see, there must be someone who is a stranger and 
 who has access to this house. It is most awkward." 
 
 " Very so, ma'am." 
 
 I could get nothing more from the cook. I might as 
 well have talked to a log ; and, indeed, her face assumed 
 a wooden look as I continued to speak to her on the 
 matter. So I sighed, and said — 
 
 " Very well, hash with tomato," and went upstairs. 
 
 A few days later the house-parlourmaid said to me, 
 " Please, ma'am, may I have another pill ? " 
 
 " Pill ! " I exclaimed. " Why ? " 
 
 "Because I have seen her again. She was behind the 
 curtains, and I caught her putting out her red head to look 
 at me." 
 
 " Did you see her face ? " 
 
 " No ; she up with her arm over it and scuttled away." 
 
 " This is strange. I do not think I have more than two 
 podophyllin pills left in the box, but to those you are wel- 
 come. Only I should recommend a different treatment. 
 Instead of taking them yourself, the moment you see, or 
 fancy that you see, the red-haired girl, go at her with the 
 box and threaten to administer the pills to her. That will 
 rout her, if anything will." 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL 99 
 
 " But she will not stop for the pills." 
 
 " The threat of having them forced on her every time 
 she shows herself will disconcert her. Conceive, I am 
 supposing, that on each occasion Miss Bessie, or I, were to 
 meet you on the stairs, in a room, on the landing, in the 
 hall, we were to rush on you and force, let us say, castor-oil 
 globules between your lips. You would give notice at 
 once." 
 
 " Yes ; so I should, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, try this upon the red-haired girl. It will prove 
 infallible." 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am ; what you say seems reasonable." 
 
 Whether Bessie saw more of the puzzling apparition, 
 I cannot say. She spoke no further on the matter to me ; 
 but that may have been so as to cause me no further un- 
 easiness. I was unable to resolve the question to my own 
 satisfaction — whether what had been seen was a real 
 person, who obtained access to the house in some un- 
 accountable manner, or whether it was, what 1 have called 
 it, an apparition. 
 
 As far as I could ascertain, nothing had been taken 
 away. The movements of the red-haired girl were not 
 those of one who sought to pilfer. They seemed to me 
 rather those of one not in her right mind ; and on this 
 supposition I made inquiries in the neighbourhood as to 
 the existence in our street, in any of the adjoining houses, 
 of a person wanting in her wits, who was suffered to run 
 about at will. But I could obtain no information that at 
 all threw light on a point to me so perplexing. 
 
 Hitherto I had not mentioned the topic to my husband. 
 I knew so well that I should obtain no help from him, that 
 I made no effort to seek it. He would " Pish ! " and 
 " Pshaw ! " and make some slighting reference to women's 
 intellects, and not further trouble himself about the matter. 
 
 But one day, to my great astonishment, he referred to 
 it himself. 
 
loo A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 "Julia," said he, "do you observe how I have cut myself 
 in shaving?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," I replied. " You have cotton-wool sticking 
 to your jaw, as if you were growing a white whisker on 
 one side." 
 
 " It bled a great deal," said he. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it." 
 
 " And I mopped up the blood with the new toilet-cover." 
 
 " Never ! " I exclaimed. " You haven't been so foolish 
 as to do that ? " 
 
 " Yes. And that is just like you. You are much more 
 concerned about your toilet-cover being stained than about 
 my poor cheek which is gashed." 
 
 "You were very clumsy to do it," was all I could say. 
 Married people are not always careful to preserve the 
 amenities in private life. It is a pity, but it is so. 
 
 " It was due to no clumsiness on my part," said he ; 
 "though I do allow my nerves have been so shaken, 
 broken, by married life, that I cannot always command 
 my hand, as was the case when I was a bachelor. But 
 this time it was due to that new, stupid, red-haired servant 
 you have introduced into the house without consulting me 
 or my pocket." 
 
 " Red-haired servant ! " I echoed. 
 
 " Yes, that red-haired girl I have seen about. She thrusts 
 herself into my study in a most offensive and objec- 
 tionable way. But the climax of all was this morning, 
 when I was shaving. I stood in my shirt before the glass, 
 and had lathered my face, and was engaged on my right 
 jaw, when that red-haired girl rushed between me and the 
 mirror with both her elbows up, screening her face with 
 her arms, and her head bowed. I started back, and in so 
 doing cut myself." 
 
 " Where did she come from ? " 
 
 " How can I tell ? I did not expect to see anyone." 
 
 " Then where did she go ? " 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL loi 
 
 " I do not know ; I was too concerned about my bleed- 
 ing jaw to look about me. Thnlt'-girl must 'be dismissed." 
 
 " I wish she could be dismissed/' I said. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " ' ' ■ " 
 
 I did not answer my husband, for I really did not know 
 what answer to make. 
 
 I was now the only person in the house who had not 
 seen the red-haired girl, except possibly the cook, from 
 whom I could gather nothing, but whom I suspected of 
 knowing more concerning this mysterious apparition than 
 she chose to admit. That what had been seen by Bessie 
 and Jane was a supernatural visitant, I now felt convinced, 
 seeing that it had appeared to that least imaginative and 
 most commonplace of all individuals, my husband. By no 
 mental process could he have been got to imagine any- 
 thing. He certainly did see this red-haired girl, and that 
 no living, corporeal maid had been in his dressing-room at 
 the time I was perfectly certain. 
 
 I was soon, however, myself to be included in the 
 number of those before whose eyes she appeared. It was 
 in this wise. 
 
 Cook had gone out to do some marketing. I was in the 
 breakfast-room, when, wanting a funnel to fill a little phial 
 of brandy I always keep on the washstand in case of 
 emergencies, I went to the head of the kitchen stairs, to 
 descend and fetch what I required. Then I was aware of 
 a great clattering of the fire-irons below, and a banging 
 about of the boiler and grate. I went down the steps very 
 hastily and entered the kitchen. 
 
 There I saw a figure of a short, set girl in a shabby 
 cotton gown, not over clean, and slipshod, stooping before 
 the stove, and striking the fender with the iron poker. 
 She had fiery red hair, very untidy. 
 
 I uttered an exclamation. 
 
 Instantly she dropped the poker, and covering her face 
 with her arms, uttering a strange, low cry, she dashed 
 
I02 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 round the kitchen table,, making nearly the complete 
 circuit, and then swept past r-ie, and I heard her clattering 
 up the kitchen stairs., 
 
 I was tpQ much taken ^aback to follow. I stood as one 
 petrified. I felt dazed and unable to trust either my eyes 
 or my ears. 
 
 Something like a minute must have elapsed before ■ I 
 had sufficiently recovered to turn and leave the kitchen. 
 Then I ascended slowly and, I confess, nervously. I was 
 fearful lest I should find the red-haired girl cowering 
 against the wall, and that I should have to pass her. 
 
 But nothing was to be seen. I reached the hall, and 
 saw that no door was open from it except that of the 
 breakfast-room. I entered and thoroughly examined every 
 recess, corner, and conceivable hiding-place, but could find 
 no one there. Then I ascended the staircase, with my 
 hand on the balustrade, and searched all the rooms on the 
 first floor, without the least success. Above were the 
 servants' apartments, and I now resolved on mounting to 
 them. Here the staircase was uncarpeted. As I was 
 ascending, I heard Jane at work in her room. I then 
 heard her come out hastily upon the landing. At the 
 same moment, with a rush past me, uttering the same 
 moan, went the red-haired girl. I am sure I felt her skirts 
 sweep my dress. I did not notice her till she was close 
 upon me, but I did distinctly see her as she passed. I 
 turned, and saw no more. 
 
 I at once mounted to the landing where was Jane. 
 
 " What is it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, I've seen the red-haired girl again, and 
 I did as you recommended. I went at her rattling the 
 pill-box, and she turned and ran downstairs. Did you see 
 her, ma'am, as you came up ? " 
 
 " How inexplicable ! " I said. I would not admit to 
 Jane that I had seen the apparition. 
 
 The situation remained unaltered for a week. The 
 
THE RED-HAIRED GIRL 103 
 
 mystery was unsolved. No fresh light had been thrown 
 on it. I did not again see or hear anything out of the 
 way ; nor did my husband, I presume, for he made no 
 further remarks relative to the extra servant who had 
 caused him so much annoyance. I presume he supposed 
 that I had summarily dismissed her. This I conjectured 
 from a smugness assumed by his face, such as it always 
 acquired when he had carried a point against me — which 
 was not often. 
 
 However, one evening, abruptly, we had a new sensa- 
 tion. My husband, Bessie, and I were at dinner, and we 
 were partaking of the soup, Jane standing by, waiting to 
 change our plates and to remove the tureen, when we 
 dropped our spoons, alarmed by fearful screams issuing 
 from the kitchen. By the way, characteristically, my 
 husband finished his soup before he laid down the spoon 
 and said — 
 
 " Good gracious ! What is that ? " 
 
 Bessie, Jane, and I were by this time at the door, and 
 we rushed together to the kitchen stairs, and one after the 
 other ran down them. I was the first to enter, and I saw 
 cook wrapped in flames, and a paraffin lamp on the floor 
 broken, and the blazing oil flowing over it. 
 
 I had sufficient presence of mind to catch up the cocoa- 
 nut matting which was not impregnated with the oil, and 
 to throw it round cook, wrap her tightly in it, and force 
 her down on the floor where not overflowed by the oil. I 
 held her thus, and Bessie succoured me. Jane was too 
 frightened to do other than scream. The cries of the 
 burnt woman were terrible. Presently my husband ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " Dear me ! Bless me ! Good gracious ! " he said. 
 
 " You go away and fetch a doctor," I called to him ; 
 "you can be of no possible service here — you only get 
 in our way." 
 
 " But the dinner ? " 
 
I04 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Bother the dinner ! Run for a surgeon." 
 In a little while we had removed the poor woman to her 
 room, she shrieking the whole way upstairs ; and, when 
 there, we laid her on the bed, and kept her folded in the 
 cocoanut matting till a medical man arrived, in spite of 
 her struggles to be free. My husband, on this occasion, 
 acted with commendable promptness; but whether because 
 he was impatient for the completion of his meal, or whether 
 his sluggish nature was for once touched with human sym- 
 pathy, it is not for me to say. 
 
 All I know is that, so soon as the surgeon was there, 
 I dismissed Jane with '' There, go and get your master the 
 rest of his dinner, and leave us with cook." 
 
 The poor creature was frightfully burnt. She was at- 
 tended to devotedly by Bessie and myself, till a nurse was 
 obtained from the hospital. For hours she was as one mad 
 with terror as much as with pain. 
 
 Next day she was quieter and sent for me. I hastened 
 to her, and she begged the nurse to leave the room. I 
 took a chair and seated myself by her bedside, and ex- 
 pressed my profound commiseration, and told her that I 
 should like to know how the accident had taken place. 
 " Ma'am, it was the red-haired girl did it." 
 " The red-haired girl ! " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. I took a lamp to look how the fish was 
 getting on, and all at once I saw her rush straight at me, 
 and I — I backed, thinking she would knock me down, and 
 the lamp fell over and smashed, and my clothes caught, 
 
 and " 
 
 " Oh, cook ! you should not have taken the lamp." 
 " It's done. And she would never leave me alone till 
 she had burnt or scalded me. You needn't be afraid — she 
 don't haunt the house. It is me she has haunted, because 
 of what I did to her." 
 " Then you know her ? " 
 " She was in service with me, as kitchenmaid, at my last 
 
THE RED-HAmED GIRL 105 
 
 place, near Cambridge. I took a sort of hate against her, 
 she was such a slattern and so inquisitive. She peeped 
 into my letters, and turned out my box and drawers, she 
 was ever prying ; and when I spoke to her, she was that 
 saucy ! I reg'lar hated her. And one day she was kneeling 
 by the stove, and I was there, too, and I suppose the devil 
 possessed me, for I upset the boiler as was on the hot-plate 
 right upon her, just as she looked up, and it poured over 
 her face and bosom, and arms, and scalded her that dread- 
 ful, she died. And since then she has haunted me. But 
 she'll do so no more. She won't trouble you further. She 
 has done for me, as she has always minded to do, since 
 I scalded her to death." 
 
 The unhappy woman did not recover. 
 
 " Dear me ! no hope } " said my husband, when informed 
 that the surgeon despaired of her. " And good cooks are 
 so scarce. By the way, that red-haired girl ? " 
 
 " Gone — gone for ever," I said. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 
 
 MR. LEVERIDGE was in a solicitor's office at Swan- 
 ton. Mr. Leveridge had been brought up well by a 
 sensible father and an excellent mother. His principles left 
 nothing to be desired. His father was now dead, and his 
 mother did not reside at Swanton, but near her own re- 
 lations in another part of England. Joseph Leveridge was 
 a mild, inoffensive man, with fair hair and a full head. He 
 was so shy that he did not move in Society as he might 
 have done had he been self-assertive. But he was fairly 
 happy — not so happy as he might have been, for reasons to 
 be shortly given. 
 
 Swanton was a small market-town, that woke into life 
 every Friday, which was market-day, burst into boisterous 
 levity at the Michaelmas fair, and then lapsed back into 
 decorum ; it was, except on Fridays, somnolent during the 
 day and asleep at night. 
 
 Swanton was not a manufacturing town. It possessed 
 one iron foundry and a brewery, so that it afforded little 
 employment for the labouring classes, yet the labouring 
 classes crowded into it, although cottage rents were high, 
 because the farmers could not afford, owing to the hard 
 times, to employ many hands on the land, and because 
 their wives and daughters desired the distractions and dis- 
 sipations of a town, and supposed that both were to be 
 found in superfluity at Swanton. 
 
 There was a large town hall with a magistrates' court, 
 where the bench sat every month once. The church, in 
 the centre of the town, was an imposing structure of 
 
 106 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 107 
 
 stone, very cold within. The presentation was in the 
 hands of the Simeonite Trustees, so that the vicar was 
 of the theological school — if that can be called a school 
 where nothing is taught — called Evangelical. The services 
 ever long and dismal. The Vicar slowly and impressively 
 declaimed the prayers, preached lengthy sermons, and con- 
 demned the congregation to sing out of the Mitre hymnal. 
 
 The principal solicitor, Mr. Stork, was clerk of the petty 
 sessions and registrar. He did a limited amount of legal 
 work for the landed gentry round, was trustee to some 
 widows and orphans, and was consulted by tottering 
 yeomen as to their financial difficulties, lent them some 
 money to relieve their immediate embarrassments, on the 
 security of their land, which ultimately passed into his 
 possession. 
 
 To this gentleman Mr. Leveridge had been articled. He 
 had been induced to adopt the legal profession, not from 
 any true vocation, but at the instigation of his mother, 
 who had urged him to follow in the professional foot- 
 steps of his revered father. But the occupation was not 
 one that accorded with the tastes of the young man, who, 
 notwithstanding his apparent mildness and softness, was 
 not deficient in brains. He was a shrewd observer, and 
 was endowed with a redundant imagination. 
 
 From a child he had scribbled stories, and with his 
 pencil had illustrated them; but this had brought upon him 
 severe rebukes from his mother, who looked with disfavour 
 on works of imagination, and his father had taken him 
 across his knee, of course before he was adult, and had 
 castigated him with the flat of the hairbrush for surrep- 
 titiously reading the Arabian Nights. 
 
 Mr. Teveridge's days passed evenly enough ; there was 
 some business coming into the office on Fridays, and none 
 at all on Sundays, on which day he wrote a long and affec- 
 tionate letter to his widowed mother. 
 
 He would have been a happy man, happy in a mild, 
 
To8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 lotus-eating way, but for three things. In the first place, 
 he became conscious that he was not working in his proper 
 vocation. He took no pleasure in engrossing deeds ; in- 
 dentures his soul abhorred. He knew himself to be 
 capable of better things, and feared lest the higher faculties 
 of his mind should become atrophied by lack of exercise. 
 In the second place, he was not satisfied that his superior 
 was a man of strict integrity. He had no reason whatever 
 for supposing that anything dishonest went on in the office, 
 but he had discovered that his "boss" was a daring and 
 venturesome speculator, and he feared lest temptation 
 should induce him to speculate with the funds of those to | 
 whom he acted as trustee. And Joseph, with his high 
 sense of rectitude, was apprehensive lest some day some- 
 thing might there be done, which would cause a crash. 
 Lastly, Joseph Leveridge had lost his heart. He was 
 consumed by a hopeless passion for Miss Asphodel 
 Vincent, a young lady with a small fortune of about 
 ;^400 per annum, to whom Mr. Stork was guardian and 
 trustee. 
 
 This young lady was tall, slender, willowy, had a sweet, 
 Madonna-like face, and like Joseph himself was constitu- 
 tionally shy ; and she was unconscious of her personal and 
 pecuniary attractions. She moved in the best society, she 
 was taken up by the county people. No doubt she would 
 be secured by the son of some squire, and settle down as 
 Lady Bountiful in some parish ; or else some wily curate 
 with a moustache would step in and carry her off. But 
 her bashfulness and her indifference to men's society had 
 so far protected her. She loved her garden, cultivated 
 herbaceous plants, and was specially addicted to a rockery 
 in which she acclimatised flowers from the Alps. 
 
 As Mr. Stork was her guardian, she often visited the 
 office, when Joseph flew, with heightened colour, to offer 
 her a chair till Mr. Stork was disengaged. But conversa- 
 tion between them had never passed beyond generalities. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 109 
 
 Mr. Leveridge occasionally met her in his country walks, 
 but never advanced in intimacy beyond raising his hat and 
 remarking on the weather. 
 
 Probably it was the stimulus of this devouring and 
 despairing passion which drove Mr. Leveridge to writing 
 a novel, in which he could paint Asphodel, under another 
 name, in all her perfections. She should move through 
 his story diffusing an atmosphere of sweetness and saint- 
 liness, but he could not bring himself to provide her with 
 a lover, and to conclude his romance with her union to 
 a being of the male sex. 
 
 Impressed as he had been in early youth by the admoni- 
 tions of his mother, and the applications of the hairbrush 
 by his father, that the imagination was a dangerous and 
 delusive gift, to be restrained, not indulged, he resolved 
 that he would create no characters for his story, but make 
 direct studies from life. Consequently, when the work was 
 completed, it presented the most close portraits of a certain 
 number of the residents in Swanton, and the town in which 
 the scene was laid was very much like Swanton, though he 
 called it Buzbury. 
 
 But to find a publisher was a more difficult work than 
 to write the novel. Mr. Leveridge sent his MS. type- 
 written to several firms, and it was declined by one after 
 another. At last, however, it fell into the hands of an 
 unusually discerning reader, who saw in it distinct tokens 
 of ability. It was not one to appeal to the general public. 
 It contained no blood-curdling episodes, no hair-breadth 
 escapes, no risky situations ; it was simply a transcript of 
 life in a little English country town. Though not high- 
 spiced to suit the vulgar taste, still the reader and the 
 publisher considered that there was a discerning public, 
 small and select, that relished good, honest work of the 
 Jane Austen kind, and the latter resolved on risking the 
 production. Accordingly he offered the author fifty pounds 
 for the work, he buying all rights. Joseph Leveridge was 
 
no A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 overwhelmed at the munificence of the offer, and accepted 
 it gratefully and with alacrity. 
 
 The next stage in the proceedings consisted in the revision 
 of the proofs. And who that has not experienced it can 
 judge of the sensation of exquisite delight afforded by this 
 to the young author ? After the correction of his romance 
 — if romance such a prosaic tale can be called — in print, 
 with characteristic modesty Leveridge insisted that his 
 story should appear under an assumed name. What the 
 name adopted was it does not concern the reader of this 
 narrative to know. Some time now elapsed before the 
 book appeared, at the usual publishing time, in October. 
 
 Eventually it came out, and Mr. Leveridge received his 
 six copies, neatly and quietly bound in cloth. He cut 
 and read one with avidity, and at once perceived that he 
 had overlooked several typographical errors, and wrote to 
 the publisher to beg that these might be corrected in the 
 event of a second edition being called for. 
 
 On the morning following the publication and dissemina- 
 tion of the book, Joseph Leveridge lay in bed a little longer 
 than usual, smiling in happy self-gratification at the 
 thought that he had become an author. On the table by 
 his bed stood his extinguished candle, his watch, and the 
 book. He had looked at it the last thing before he closed 
 his eyes in sleep. It was moreover the first thing that his 
 eyes rested on when they opened. A fond mother could 
 not have gazed on her new-born babe with greater pride 
 and affection. 
 
 Whilst he thus lay and said to himself, " I really must 
 — I positively must get up and dress ! " he heard a stump- 
 ing on the stairs, and a few moments later his door was 
 burst open, and in came Major Dolgelly Jones, a retired 
 officer, resident in Swanton, who had never before done 
 him the honour of a call — and now he actually penetrated 
 to Joseph's bedroom. 
 
 The major was hot in the face. He panted for breath. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET iii 
 
 his cheeks quivered. The major was a man who, judging 
 by what could be perceived of his intellectual gifts, could 
 not have been a great acquisition to the Army. He was a 
 man who never could have been trusted to act a brilliant 
 part. He was a creature of routine, a martinet ; and since 
 his retirement to Swanton had been a passionate golf- 
 player and nothing else. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? What do you mean ? " 
 spluttered he, " by putting me into your book ? " 
 
 *' My book ! " echoed Joseph, affecting surprise. " What 
 book do you refer to ? " 
 
 " Oh ! it's all very well your assuming that air of injured 
 innocence, your trying to evade my question. Your 
 sheepish expression does not deceive me. Why — there is 
 the book in question by your bedside." 
 
 " I have, I admit, been reading that novel, which has 
 recently appeared." 
 
 " You wrote it. Everyone in Swanton knows it. I don't 
 object to your writing a book ; any fool can do that — 
 especially a novel. What I do object to is your putting 
 me into it." 
 
 " If I remember rightly," said Joseph, quaking under the 
 bedclothes, and then wiping his upper lip on which a dew 
 was forming, " If I remember aright, there is in it a major 
 who plays golf, and does nothing else ; but his name is 
 Piper." 
 
 "What do I care about a name? It is I — I. You have 
 put me in." 
 
 " Really, Major Jones, you have no justification in thus 
 accusing me. The book does not bear my name on the 
 back and title-page." 
 
 " Neither does the golfing retired military ofificer bear 
 my name, but that does not matter. It is I myself. I am 
 in your book. I would horsewhip you had I any energy 
 left in me, but all is gone, gone with my personality into 
 your book. Nothing is left of me — nothing but a body 
 
112 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and a light tweed suit. I — I — have been taken out of 
 myself and transferred to that " he used a naughty- 
 word, " that book. How can I golf any more ? Walk the 
 links any more with any heart ? How can I putt a ball and 
 follow it up with any feeling of interest? I am but a 
 carcass. My soul, my character, my individuality have 
 been burgled. You have broken into my inside, and have 
 despoiled me of my personality." And he began to cry. 
 
 " Possibly," suggested Mr. Leveridge, " the author 
 might " 
 
 " The author can do nothing. I have been robbed — my 
 fine ethereal self has been purloined. I — Dolgelly Jones — 
 am only an outside husk. You have despoiled me of my 
 richest jewel — myself." 
 
 " I really can do nothing, major." 
 
 " I know you can do nothing, that is the pity of it. You 
 have sucked all my spiritual being with its concomitants 
 out of me, and cannot put it back again. Vou have used 
 me upy 
 
 Then, wringing his hands, the major left the room, 
 stumped slowly downstairs, and quitted the house. 
 
 Joseph Leveridge rose from his bed and dressed in 
 great perturbation of mind. Here was a condition of 
 affairs on which he had not reckoned. He was so dis- 
 tracted in mind that he forgot to brush his teeth. 
 
 When he reached his little sitting-room he found that 
 the table was laid for his breakfast, and that his landlady 
 had just brought up the usual rashers of bacon and two 
 boiled eggs. She was sobbing. 
 
 " What is the matter, Mrs. Baker ? " asked Joseph. " Has 
 Lasinia " — that was the name of the servant — " broken any 
 more dishes?" 
 
 " Everything has happened," replied the woman ; " you 
 have taken away my character." 
 
 " I — I never did such a thing." 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, you have. All the time you've been writing, 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 113 
 
 I've felt it going out of me like perspiration, and now it is 
 all in your book." 
 
 " My book ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir, under the name of Mrs. Brooks. But law ! sir, 
 what is there in a name ? You might have taken the name 
 of Baker and used that as you likes. There be plenty of 
 Bakers in England and the Colonies. But it's my character, 
 sir, you've taken away, and shoved it into your book." 
 Then the woman wiped her eyes with her apron. 
 
 " But really, Mrs. Baker, if there be a landlady in this 
 novel of which you complain " 
 
 " There is, and it is me." 
 
 " But it is a mere work of fiction." 
 
 " It is not a work of fiction, it is a work of fact, and that 
 a cruel fact. What has a poor lorn widow like me got to 
 boast of but her character? I'm sure I've done well by you, 
 and never boiled your eggs hard — and to use me like this." 
 
 " Good gracious, dear Mrs. Baker ! " 
 
 " Don't dear me, sir. If you had loved me, if you had been 
 decently grateful for all I have done for you, and mended 
 your socks too, you'd not have stolen my character from 
 me, and put it into your book. Ah, sir! you have dealt by 
 me what I call regular shameful, and not like a gentleman. 
 You have used me up" 
 
 Joseph was silent, cowed. He turned the rashers about 
 on the dish with his fork in an abstracted manner. All 
 desire to eat was gone from him. 
 
 Then the landlady went on : " And it's not me only as 
 has to complain. There are three gentlemen outside, 
 sitting on the doorstep, awaiting of you. And they say 
 that there they will remain, till you go out to your office. 
 And they intend to have it out with you." 
 
 Joseph started from the chair he had taken, and went to 
 the window, and threw up the sash. 
 
 Leaning out, he saw three hats below. It was as Mrs. 
 Baker had intimated. Three gentlemen were seated on 
 I 
 
114 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 the doorstep. One was the vicar, another his " boss " Mr. 
 Stork, and the third was Mr. Wotherspoon. 
 
 There could be no mistake about the vicar ; he wore a 
 chimney-pot hat of silk, that had begun to curl at the brim, 
 anticipatory of being adapted as that of an archdeacon. 
 Moreover, he wore extensive, well-cultivated grey whiskers 
 on each cheek. If we were inclined to adopt the modern 
 careless usage, we might say that he grew whiskers on 
 either cheek. But in strict accuracy that would mean that 
 the whiskers grew indifferently, or alternatively, inter- 
 mittently on one cheek or the other. This, however, was 
 not the case, consequently we say on each cheek. These 
 whiskers now waved and fluttered in the light air passing 
 up and down the street. 
 
 The second was Mr. Stork ; he wore a stiff felt hat, his 
 fiery hair showed beneath it, behind, and in front ; when he 
 lifted his head, the end of his pointed nose showed distinctly 
 to Joseph Leveridge who looked down from above. The 
 third, Mr. Wotherspoon, had a crushed brown cap on ; he 
 sat with his hands between his knees, dejected, and looking 
 on the ground. 
 
 Mr. Wotherspoon lived in Swanton with his mother and 
 three sisters. The mother was the widow of an officer, not 
 well off. He was an agreeable man, an excellent player at 
 lawn-tennis, croquet, golf, rackets, billiards, and cards. 
 His age was thirty, and he had as yet no occupation. His 
 mother gently, his sisters sharply, urged him to do some- 
 thing, so as to earn his livelihood. With his mother's 
 death her pension would cease, and he could not then 
 depend on his sisters. He always answered that something 
 would turn up. Occasionally he ran to town to look for 
 employment, but invariably returned without having 
 secured any, and with his pockets empty. He was so 
 cheerful, so good-natured, was such good company, that 
 everyone liked him, but also everyone was provoked at his 
 sponging on his mother and sisters. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 115 
 
 " Really," said Mr. Leveridge, " I cannot encounter those 
 three. It is true that I have drawn them pretty accurately 
 in my novel, and here they are ready to take me to account 
 for so doing. I will leave the house by the back door." 
 
 Without his breakfast, Joseph fled ; and having escaped 
 from those who had hoped to intercept him, he made his 
 way to the river. Here were pleasant grounds, with walks 
 laid out, and benches provided. The place was not likely 
 to be frequented at that time of the morning, and Mr. 
 Leveridge had half an hour to spare before he was 
 due at the office. There, later, he was likely to meet his 
 "boss"; but it was better to face him alone, than him ac- 
 companied by two others who had a similar grievance 
 against him. 
 
 He seated himself on a bench and thought. He did not 
 smoke ; he had promised his "mamma" not to do so, and 
 he was a dutiful son, and regarded his undertaking. 
 
 What should he do ? He was becoming involved in 
 serious embarrassments. Would it be possible to induce 
 the publisher to withdraw the book from circulation and 
 to receive back the fifty pounds ? That was hardly 
 possible. He had signed away all his rights in the novel, 
 and the publisher had been to a considerable expense for 
 paper, printing, binding, and advertising. 
 
 He was roused from his troubled thoughts by seeing 
 Miss Asphodel Vincent coming along the walk towards 
 him. Her step had lost its wonted spring, her carriage 
 its usual buoyancy. In a minute or two she would reach 
 him. Would she deign to speak? He felt no compunction 
 towards her. He had made her his heroine in the tale. By 
 not a word had he cast a shadow over her character or her 
 abilities. Indeed, he had pictured her as the highest ideal 
 of an English girl. She might be flattered, she could not 
 be offended. And yet there was no flattery in his pencil — 
 he had sketched her in as she was. 
 
 As she approached she noticed the young author. She 
 
ii6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 did not hasten her step. She displayed a strange listless- 
 ness in her movements, and lack of vivacity in her eye. 
 
 When she stood over against him, Joseph Leveridge 
 rose and removed his hat. " An early promenade, Miss 
 Vincent," he said. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, " I am glad to meet you here where we 
 cannot be overheard. I have something about which I 
 must speak to you, to complain of a great injury done to 
 me." 
 
 " You do me a high honour," exclaimed Joseph. " If I 
 can do anything to alleviate your distress and to redress 
 the wrong, command me." 
 
 "You can do nothing. It is impossible to undo what 
 has already been done. You put me into your book." 
 
 " Miss Vincent," protested Leveridge with vehemence, 
 " if I have, what then ? I have not in the least over- 
 charged the colours, by a line caricatured you." It was 
 in vain for him further to pretend not to be the author 
 and to have merely read the book. 
 
 "That may be, or it may not. But you have taken 
 strange liberties with me in transferring me to your 
 pages." 
 
 "And you really recognised yourself?" 
 
 " It is myself, my very self, who is there." 
 
 " And yet you are here, before my humble self." 
 
 " That is only my outer shell. All my individuality, all 
 that goes to make up the Ego — I myself — has been taken 
 from me and put into your book." 
 
 " Surely that cannot be." 
 
 " But it is so. I feel precisely as I suppose felt my doll 
 when I was a child, when it became unstitched and all the 
 bran ran out ; it hung limp like a rag. But it is not bran 
 you have deprived me of, it is my personality." 
 
 " In my novel is your portraiture indeed — but you your- 
 self are here," said Leveridge. 
 
 " It is my very self, my noblest and best part, my moral 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 117 
 
 and intellectual self, which has been carried off and put into 
 your book." 
 
 " This is quite impossible, Miss Vincent" 
 
 " A moment's thought," said she, " will convince you that 
 it is as I say. If I pick an Alpine flower and transfer it to 
 my blotting-book, it remains in the herbarium. It is no 
 longer on the Alp where it bloomed." 
 
 " But " urged Joseph. 
 
 " No," she interrupted, " you cannot undeceive me. No 
 one can be in two places at the same time. If I am in 
 your book, I cannot be here — except so far as goes my 
 animal nature and frame. You have subjected me, Mr. 
 Leveridge, to the greatest humiliation. I am by you 
 reduced to the level of a score of girls that I know, with 
 no pursuits, no fixed principles, no opinions of their own, 
 no ideas. They are swayed by every fashion, they are 
 moulded by their surroundings ; they are destitute of what 
 some would call moral fibre, and I would term character. 
 I had all this, but you have deprived me of it, by putting it 
 into your book. I shall henceforth be the sport of every 
 breath, be influenced by every folly, be without self-con- 
 fidence and decision, the prey to any adventurer." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, do not say that." 
 
 " I cannot say anything other. If I had a sovereign in 
 my purse, and a pickpocket stole it, I should no longer 
 have the purse and sovereign, only the pocket ; and I am 
 a mere pocket now without the coin of my personality that 
 you have filched from me. Mr. Leveridge, it was a cruel 
 wrong you did me, when you used me up." 
 
 Then, sighing, Miss Asphodel went languidly on her 
 way. Joseph was as one stunned. He buried his face in his 
 hands. The person of all others with whom he desired to 
 stand well, that person looked upon him as her most 
 deadly enemy, at all events as the one who had most 
 cruelly aggrieved her. 
 
 Presently, hearing the clock strike, he started. He was 
 
ii8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 due at the office, and Joseph Leveridge had always made 
 a point of punctuality. 
 
 He now went to the office, and learned from his fellow- 
 clerk that Mr. Stork had not returned ; he had been there, 
 and then had gone away to seek Leveridge at his lodgings. 
 Joseph considered it incumbent on him to resume his 
 hat and go in quest of his "boss." 
 
 On his way it occurred to him that there was monotony 
 in bacon and eggs for breakfast every morning, and he 
 would like a change. Moreover, he was hungry ; he had 
 left the house of Mrs. Baker without taking a mouthful, 
 and if he returned now for a snack the eggs and the bacon 
 would be cold. So he stepped into the shop of Mr. Box, 
 the grocer, for a tin of sardines in oil. 
 
 When the grocer saw him he said : '' Will you favour me 
 with a word, sir, in the back shop ? " 
 
 " I am pressed for time," replied Leveridge nervously. 
 
 " But one word ; I will not detain you," said Mr. Box, 
 and led the way. Joseph walked after him. 
 
 " Sir," said the grocer, shutting the glass door, " you 
 have done me a prodigious wrong. You have deprived 
 me of what I would not have lost for a thousand pounds. 
 You have put me into your book. How my business will 
 get on without me — I mean my intellect, my powers of 
 organisation, my trade instincts, in a word, myself — I do 
 not know. You have taken them from me and put them 
 into your book. I am consigned to a novel, when I want 
 all my powers behind the counter. Possibly my affairs for 
 a while will go on by the weight of their own momentum, 
 but it cannot be for long without my controlling brain. 
 Sir, you have brought me and my family to ruin— fou 
 have used me up^ 
 
 Leveridge could bear this no more ; he seized the 
 handle of the door, rushed through the outer shop, pre- 
 cipitated himself into the street, carrying the sardine tin 
 in his hand, and hurried to his lodgings. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 119 
 
 But there new trouble awaited him. On the doorstep 
 still sat the three gentlemen. 
 
 When they saw him they rose to their feet. 
 
 *^ I know, I know what you have to say," gasped Joseph. 
 " In pity do not attack me all together. One at a time. 
 With your leave, Mr. Vicar, will you step up first into my 
 humble little sanctum, and I will receive the others later. 
 I believe that the smell of bacon and eggs is gone from 
 the room. I left the window open." 
 
 " I will most certainly follow you," said the Vicar of 
 Swanton. " This is a most serious matter." 
 
 "Excuse me, will you take a chair?" 
 
 " No, thank you ; I can speak best when on my legs. I 
 lose impressiveness when seated. But I fear, alas ! that 
 gift has been taken from me. Sir ! sir ! you have put me 
 into your book. My earthly tabernacle may be here, 
 standing on your — or Mrs. Baker's drugget — but all my 
 great oratorical powers have gone. I have been despoiled 
 of what was in me my highest, noblest, most spiritual 
 parts. What my preaching henceforth will be I fear to 
 contemplate. I may be able to string together a number 
 of texts, and tack on an application, but that is mere 
 mechanical work. I used to dredge in much florid 
 eloquence, to stick in the flowers of elocution between 
 every joint. And now ! — I am despoiled of all. I, the 
 Vicar of Swanton, shall be as a mere stick; 1 shall no more 
 be a power in the pulpit, a force on the platform. My 
 prospects in the diocese are put an end to. Miserable, 
 miserable young man, you might have pumped others, but 
 why me ? I know but too surely that you have used me upy 
 The vicar had taken off his hat, his bald forehead was 
 beaded, his bristling grey whiskers drooped, his unctuous 
 expression had faded away. His eyes, usually bearing 
 the look as though turned inward in ecstatic contempla- 
 tion of his personal piety, with only a watery stare on the 
 world without, were now dull. 
 
I20 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 He turned to the door. " I will send up Stork," he said. 
 
 " Do so by all means, sir," was all that Joseph could say. 
 
 When the solicitor entered his red hair had assumed a 
 darker dye, through the moisture that exuded from his 
 head. 
 
 " Mr. Leveridge," said he, " this is a scurvy trick you have 
 played me. You have put me into your book." 
 
 " I only sketched a not over-scrupulous lawyer," pro- 
 tested Joseph. " Why should you put the cap on your 
 own head?" 
 
 " Because it fits. It is myself you have put into your 
 book, and by no legal process can I get out of it. I shall 
 not be competent to advise the magistrates on the bench, 
 and, good heavens ! what a mess they will get into. I do not 
 know whether your fellow-clerk can carry on the business. 
 I have been used up. I'll tell you what. You go away ; I 
 want you no more at the office. Whenever you revisit 
 Swanton you will see only the ruins of the respected firm 
 of Stork. It cannot go on when I am not in it, but in 
 your book." 
 
 The last to arrive was Mr. Wotherspoon. He was in a 
 most depressed condition. " There was not much in me," 
 said he, " not at any time. You might have spared such a 
 trifle as me, and not put me also into your book and used 
 me up. Oh, dear, dear ! what will my poor mother do ! 
 And how Sarah and Jane will bully me." 
 
 That same day Mr. Leveridge packed up his traps and 
 departed from Swanton for his mother's house. 
 
 That she was delighted to see him need not be said ; 
 that something was wrong, her maternal instinct told her. 
 But it was not for some days that he confided to her so 
 much as this : " Oh, mother, I have written a novel, and 
 have put into it the people of Swanton — and so have had 
 to leave." 
 
 "My dear Joe," said the old lady, "you have done wrong 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 121 
 
 and made a great mistake. You never should introduce 
 actual living personages into a work of fiction. You should 
 pulp them first, and then run out your characters fresh 
 from the pulp.** 
 
 " I was so afraid of using my imagination," explained Joe. 
 
 Some months elapsed, and Leveridge could not resolve 
 on an employment that would suit him and at the same 
 time maintain him. The fifty pounds he had earned would 
 not last long. He began to be sensible of the impulse to be 
 again writing. He resisted it for a while, but when he got 
 a letter from his publisher, saying that the novel had sold 
 well, far better than had been expected, and that he would 
 be pleased to consider another from Mr. Leveridge's pen, 
 and could promise him for it more liberal terms, then 
 Joseph's scruples vanished. But on one thing he was re- 
 solved. He would now create his characters. They should 
 not be taken from observation. 
 
 Moreover, he determined to differentiate his new work 
 from the old in other material points. His characters 
 should be the reverse of those in the first novel. For 
 his heroine he imagined a girl of boisterous spirits, straight- 
 forward, true, but somewhat unconventional, and given to 
 use slang expressions. He had never met with such a girl, 
 so that she would be a pure creation of his brain, and he 
 made up his mind to call her Poppy. Then he would 
 avoid drawing the portrait of an Evangelical parson, and 
 introduce one decidedly High Church ; he would have no 
 heavy, narrow tradesman like Box, but a man full of 
 venture and speculative push. Moreover, having used up 
 the not over-scrupulous lawyer, he would portray one, the 
 soul of honour, the confidant of not only the county gentry 
 but of the county nobility. And as he had caused so 
 much trouble by the introduction of good old Mother 
 Baker, he would trace the line of a lively, skittish young 
 widow, always on the hunt after admirers, and endeavour- 
 ing to entangle the youths who lodged with her. 
 
122 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 As he went on with his story, it worked out to his 
 satisfaction, and what especially gratified him and gave 
 repose to his mind was the consciousness that he was 
 using no one up, with whom he was acquainted, and that 
 all his characters were pure creations. 
 
 The work was complete, and the publisher agreed to 
 give a hundred pounds for it. Then it passed through the 
 press, and in due course Leveridge heard from the pub- 
 lisher that his six free copies had been sent off to him by 
 train. Joseph was almost as excited over his second novel 
 as he was over the first. 
 
 He was too impatient to wait till the parcels were sent 
 round in the ordinary way. He hurried to the station in 
 the evening, to meet the train from town, by which he 
 expected his consignment; and having secured it, he hurried 
 home, carrying the heavy parcel. 
 
 His mother's house was comparatively large; she occupied 
 but a corner of it, and she had given over to her son a little 
 cosy sitting-room, in which he might write and read. 
 Into this room Joseph carried his parcel, full of impatience 
 to cut the string and disclose the volumes. 
 
 But he had hardly passed through his door before he was 
 startled to see that his room was full of people ; all but one 
 were seated about the table. That one who was not, 
 lounged against the bookcase, standing on one foot. With 
 a shock of surprise, Joseph recognised all those there 
 gathered together. They were the characters in his book, 
 his own creations. And that individual who stood, in an 
 indifferent attitude, was his new heroine, Poppy. The first 
 shock of surprise rapidly passed. Joseph Leveridge felt 
 no fear, but rather a sense of pleasure. He was in the 
 presence of his own creations, and knew them familiarly. 
 There were seven in all. At his appearance they all 
 saluted him respectfully as their creator — all except Poppy, 
 who gave him a wink and a nod. 
 
 At the head of the table sat the High Church par.son, 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 123 
 
 shaven, with a long coat and a grave face, next to him, on 
 the right, Lady Mabel Forraby, a tall, elderly, aristocratic- 
 looking woman, the aunt of Poppy. One element of light- 
 ness in the book had consisted in the struggles of Lady 
 Mabel to control her wayward niece and the revolt of the 
 latter. Mr. Leveridge had never known a person of title 
 in his life, so that Lady Mabel was a pure creation; so also, 
 brought up, as he had been, by a Calvinistic mother, and 
 afterwards thrown under the ministry of the Vicar of 
 Swanton, he had not once come across a Ritualist. Con- 
 sequently his parson, in this instance, was also a pure 
 creation. A young gentleman, the hero of the novel, 
 a bright intelligent fellow, full of vigour and good sense, 
 and highly cultured, sat next to Lady Mabel. Joseph had 
 never been thrown into association with men of quite this 
 type. He had met nice respectable clerks and amusing 
 and agreeable travellers for commercial houses, so that this 
 personage also was a creation. So most certainly was 
 the bold, pert little widow who rolled her eyes and put on 
 winsome airs. Joseph had kept clear of all such instances, 
 but he had heard and read of them. She could look to 
 him as her creator. 
 
 And that naughty little Poppy ! Her naughtiness was all 
 mischief, put on to aggravate her staid old aunt, so full of 
 daring, and yet withal so steady of heart ; so full of frolic, 
 but with principle underlying it all. Joseph had never 
 encountered anyone like her, anyone approaching to her 
 The young ladies to whom his mother introduced him were 
 all very prim and proper. At Swanton he had been 
 little in society: the vicar's daughter was a tract distributer 
 and a mission woman, and Mr. Stork's daughter a domestic 
 drudge. Of all the characters in Joseph's book she was 
 his most especial and delightful creation. 
 
 Then the white-haired family lawyer, fond of his jokes, 
 able to tell a good story, close as a walnut relative to all 
 matters communicated to him, strict and honourable in all 
 
124 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 his dealings, content with his small earnings, and frugally 
 laying them by. Joseph had not met such a man, but he 
 had idealised him as the sort of lawyer he would wish to 
 be should he stick to his profession. He also, accordingly, 
 was a creation. And last, but not least, was the red-faced, 
 audacious stockbroker ; a man of sharp and quick deter- 
 mination, who saw a chance in a moment and closed on it, 
 who was keen of scent and smelt a risky investment the 
 moment it came before him. Joseph knew no stockbroker 
 — had only heard of them by rumour. He, therefore, was a 
 creation. 
 
 " Well, my children, not of my loins, but of my brain," 
 said the author. " What do you all want ? " 
 " Bodies," they replied with one voice. 
 " Bodies ! " gasped Joseph, stepping backwards. " Why, 
 what possesses you all ? You can't expect me to furnish 
 you with them." 
 
 "But, indeed, we do, old chap," said Poppy. 
 " Niece ! " said Lady Mabel, turning about in her chair, 
 " address your creator with more respect." 
 
 *' Stay, my lady," said the parson. " Allow me to 
 explain matters to Mr. Leveridge. He is young and 
 an inexperienced writer of fiction, and is therefore unaware 
 of the exigencies of his profession. You must know, 
 dear author of our being, that every author of a work of 
 imagination, such as you have been, lays himself under a 
 moral and an inexorable obligation to find bodies for all 
 those whom he has called into existence through his fertile 
 brain. Mr. Leveridge has not mixed in the literary world. 
 He does not belong to the Society of Authors. He is — 
 he will excuse the expression — raw in his profession. It 
 is a well-known law among novelists that they must 
 furnish bodies for such as they have called into existence 
 out of their pure imagination. For this reason they 
 invariably call their observation to their assistance, and 
 they balance in their books the creations with the tran- 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 125 
 
 scripts from life. The only exception to this rule that I 
 am aware of," continued the parson, " is where the author 
 is able to get his piece dramatised, in which case, of course, 
 the difficulty ceases." 
 
 " I should love to go on the stage," threw in Poppy. 
 
 " Niece, you do not know what you say," remarked Lady 
 Mabel, turning herself about. 
 
 " Allow me, my lady," said the parson. " What I have 
 said is fact, is it not ? " 
 
 " Most certainly," replied all. Lady Mabel said: " I sup- 
 pose it is." 
 
 "Then," pursued the parson, **the situation is this : Have 
 you secured the dramatisation of your novel ? " 
 
 " I never gave it a thought," said Joseph. 
 
 " In that case, as there is no prospect of our being so 
 accommodated, the position is this : We shall have to 
 haunt you night and day, mainly at night, till you have 
 accommodated us with bodies ; we cannot remain as phan- 
 tom creations of a highly imaginative soul such as is yours, 
 Mr. Leveridge. If you have your rights, so have we. 
 And we insist on ours, and will insist till we are satisfied." 
 
 At once all vanished. 
 
 Joseph Leveridge felt that he had got himself into a 
 worse hobble than before. From his former difficulties he 
 had escaped by flight. But there was, he feared, no flying 
 from these seven impatient creations all clamouring for 
 bodies, and to provide them with such was beyond his 
 powers. All his delight in the publication of his new novel 
 was spent. It had brought with it care and perplexity. 
 
 He went to bed. 
 
 During the night, he was troubled with his characters ; 
 they peeped in at him. Poppy got a peacock's feather 
 and tickled his nose just as he was dropping asleep. "You 
 bounder ! " she said ; " I shall give you no peace till you 
 have settled me into a body — but oh ! get me on to the 
 stage if you can." 
 
126 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Poppy, come away," called Lady Mabel. " Don't be 
 improper. Mr. Leveridge will do his best. I want a body 
 quite as much as do you, but I know how to ask for it 
 properly." 
 
 " And I," said the parson, " should like to have mine 
 before Easter, but have one I must." 
 
 Mr. Leveridge's state now was worse than the first. One 
 or other of his creatures was ever watching him. His 
 every movement was spied on. There was no escaping 
 their vigilance. Sometimes they attended him in groups 
 of two or three ; sometimes they were all around him. 
 
 At meals not one was missing, and they eyed every 
 mouthful of his food as he raised it to his lips. His 
 mother saw nothing — the creations were invisible to all 
 eyes save those of their creator. 
 
 If he went out for a country walk, they trotted forth 
 with him, some before, looking round at every turn to see 
 which way he purposed going, some following. Poppy and 
 the skittish widow managed to attach themselves to him, 
 one on each side. " I hate that little woman," said Poppy. 
 " Why did you call her into being ? " 
 
 " I never dreamed that things would come to this pass." 
 
 " I am convinced, creator dear, that there is a vein of 
 wickedness in your composition, or you would never have 
 imagined such a minx, good and amiable and butter- 
 won't-melt-in-your-mouth though you may look. And 
 there must be a frolicsome devil in your heart, or 1 should 
 never have become." 
 
 " Indeed, Poppy, I am very glad that I gave you being. 
 But one may have too much even of a good thing, and 
 there are moments when I could dispense with your 
 presence." 
 
 " I know, when you want to carry on with the widow. 
 She is always casting sheep's eyes at you." 
 
 " But, Poppy, you forget my hero, whom I created on 
 purpose for you." 
 
IF Hg WENT OUT FOR A WALK THEY TKOTTED FORTH WITH HIM, 
 SOME BEFORE, SOME FOLLOWING 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 127 
 
 " All my attention is now engrossed in you, and will be 
 till you provide me with a body." 
 
 When Leveridge was in his room reading, if he raised 
 his eyes from his book they met the stare of one of his 
 characters. If he went up to his bedroom, he was followed. 
 If he sat with his mother, one kept guard. 
 
 This was become so intolerable, that one evening he 
 protested to the stockbroker, who was then in attendance. 
 " Do, I entreat you, leave me to myself. You treat me 
 as if I were a lunatic and about to commit felo de se, and 
 you were my warders." 
 
 " We watch you, sir," said the stockbroker, " in our own 
 interest. We cannot suffer you to give us the slip. We 
 are all expectant and impatient for the completion of what 
 you have begun." 
 
 Then the parson undertook to administer a lecture on 
 Duty, on responsibilities contracted to those called into 
 partial existence by a writer of fiction. He cannot be 
 allowed to half do his work. His creations must be 
 realised, and can only be realised by being given a 
 material existence. 
 
 " But what the dickens can I do ? I cannot fabricate 
 bodies for you. I never in my life even made a doll." 
 
 " Have you no thought of dramatising us ? " 
 
 " I know no dramatic writers." 
 
 " Do it yourself." 
 
 " Does not this sort of work require a certain familiarity 
 with the technique of the stage which I do not possess ? " 
 
 "That might be attended to later. Pass your MS. 
 through the hands of a dramatic expert, and pay him a 
 percentage of your profits in recognition of his services. 
 Only one thing I bargain for, do not present me on the 
 stage in such a manner as to discredit my cloth." 
 
 " Have I done so in my book ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I have nothing to complain of in that. 
 But there is no counting on what Poppy may persuade 
 
128 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 you into doing, and I fear that she is gaining influence 
 over you. Remember, she is your creation, and you must 
 not suffer her to mould you." 
 
 The idea took root. The suggestion was taken up, and 
 Joseph Leveridge applied himself to his task with zest. 
 But he had to conceal what he was about from his mother, 
 who had no opinion of the drama, and regarded the 
 theatre as a sink of iniquity. 
 
 But now new difficulties arose. Joseph's creations would 
 not leave him alone for a moment. Each had a suggestion, 
 each wanted his or her own part accentuated at the 
 expense of the other. Each desired the heightening of 
 the situations in which they severally appeared. The 
 clamour, the bickering, the interference made it impossible 
 for Joseph to collect his thoughts, keep cool, and proceed 
 with his work. 
 
 Sunday arrived, and Joseph drew on his gloves, put on 
 his box-hat, and offered his arm to his mother, to conduct 
 her to chapel. All the characters were drawn up in the 
 hall to accompany them. Joseph and his mother walking 
 down the street to Ebenezer Chapel presented a picture of 
 a good and dutiful son and of a pious widow not to be sur- 
 passed. Poppy and the widow entered into a struggle as 
 to which was to walk on the unoccupied side of Joseph. 
 If this had been introduced into the picture it would have 
 marred it ; but happily this was invisible to all eyes save 
 those of Joseph. The rest of the imaginary party walked 
 arm in arm behind till the chapel was reached, when the 
 parson started back. 
 
 " I am not going in there ! It is a schism-shop," he 
 exclaimed. " Nothing in the world would induce me to 
 cross the threshold." 
 
 "And I," said Lady Mabel, "I have no idea of attending 
 a place of worship not of the Established Church." 
 
 " I'll go in — if only to protect Creator from the widow." 
 said Poppy. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 129 
 
 Joseph and his mother entered, and occupied their pew. 
 The characters, with the exception of the parson and the 
 old lady, grouped themselves where they were able. The 
 stockbroker stood in the aisle with his arms on the pew 
 door, to ensure that Joseph was kept a prisoner there. 
 But before the service had advanced far he had gone to 
 sleep. This was the more to be regretted, as the minister 
 delivered a very strong appeal to the unconverted, and if 
 ever there was an unconverted worldling, it was that 
 stockbroker. 
 
 The skittish widow was leering at a deacon of an 
 amorous complexion, but as he did not, and, in fact, could 
 not see her, all her efforts were cast away. The solicitor 
 sat with stolid face and folded hands, and allowed the 
 discourse to flow over him like a refreshing douche. 
 Poppy had got very tired of the show, and had slunk 
 away to rejoin her aunt. The hero closed his eyes and 
 seemed resigned. 
 
 After nearly an hour had elapsed, whilst a hymn was 
 being sung, Joseph, more to himself than to his mother, 
 said : " Can I escape?" 
 
 " Escape what ? Wretch ? " inquired the widowed lady. 
 
 " I think I can do it. There's a room at the side for 
 earnest inquirers, or a vestry or something, with an outer 
 door. I will risk it, and make a bolt for my liberty." 
 
 He very gently and cautiously unhasped the door of the 
 pew, and as he slid it open, the sleeping stockbroker, still 
 sleeping and unconscious, slipped back, and Joseph was 
 out. He made his way into the room at the side, forth 
 from the actual chapel, ran through it, and tried the door 
 that opened into a side lane. It was locked, but happily 
 the key was in its place. He turned it, plunged forth, and 
 fell into the arms of his characters. They were all there. 
 The solicitor had been observing him out of the corner of 
 his eye, and had given the alarm. The stockbroker was 
 aroused, and he, the solicitor, the hero, ran out, gave the 
 
I30 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 alarm to the three without, and Joseph was intercepted, 
 and his attempt at escape frustrated. He was reconducted 
 home by them, himself dejected, they triumphant. 
 
 When his mother returned she was full of solicitude. 
 
 " What was the matter, Joe dear ? " she inquired. 
 
 " I wasn't feeling very well," he explained. " But I shall 
 be better presently." 
 
 " I hope it will not interfere with your appetite, Joe. I 
 have cold lamb and mint-sauce for our early dinner." 
 
 " I shall peck a bit, I trust," said Mr. Leveridge. 
 
 But during dinner he was abstracted and silent. All at 
 once he brought down his fist on the table. " I've hit it ! " 
 he exclaimed, and a flush of colour mantled his face to the 
 temples. 
 
 " My dear," said his mother ; " you have made all the 
 plates and dishes jump, and have nearly upset the water- 
 bottle." 
 
 " Excuse me, mother ; I really must go to my room." 
 
 He rose, made a sign to his characters, and they all 
 rose and trooped after him into his private apartment. 
 
 When they were within he said to his hero : " May I 
 trouble you kindly to shut the door and turn the key ? My 
 mother will be anxious and come after me, and I want 
 a word with you all. It will not take two minutes. I 
 see my way to our mutual accommodation. Do not be 
 uneasy and suspicious ; I will make no further attempt 
 at evasion. Meet me to-morrow morning at the 9.48 
 down train. I am going to take you all with me to 
 Swanton." 
 
 A tap at the door. 
 
 " Open — it is my mother," said Joseph. 
 
 Mrs. Leveridge entered with a face of concern. " What 
 is the matter with you, Joe ?" she said. "If we were not 
 both of us water-drinkers, I should say that you had been 
 indulging in — spirits." 
 
 " Mother, I must positively be off to Swanton to- 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 131 
 
 morrow morning. I see my way now, all will come 
 right." 
 
 " How, my precious boy ? " 
 
 " I cannot explain. I see my way to clearing up the 
 unpleasantness caused by that unfortunate novel of mine. 
 Pack my trunk, mother." 
 
 " Not on the Sabbath, lovie." 
 
 " No — to-morrow morning. I start by the 9.48 a.m. 
 We all go together." 
 
 " We — am I to accompany you ? " 
 
 " No, no. We — did I say ? It is a habit I have got 
 into as an author. Authors, like royal personages, speak 
 of themselves as We." 
 
 Joseph Leveridge was occupied during the afternoon in 
 writing to his victims at Swanton. 
 
 First, he penned a notice to Mrs. Baker that he would 
 require his lodgings from the morrow, and that he had 
 something to say to her that would afford her much 
 gratification. 
 
 Then he wrote to the vicar, expressed his regret for 
 having deprived him of his personality, and requested 
 him, if he would do him the favour, to call in the evening 
 at 7.30, at his lodgings in West Street. He had something 
 of special importance to communicate to him. He apolo- 
 gised for not himself calling at the vicarage, but said that 
 there were circumstances that made it more desirable that 
 he should see his reverence privately in his own lodgings. 
 
 Next, he addressed an epistle to Mr. Stork. He assured 
 him that he, Joseph Leveridge, had felt keenly the wrong 
 he had done him, that he had forfeited his esteem, had ill 
 repaid his kindness, had acted in a manner towards his 
 employer that was dishonourable. But, he added, he 
 had found a means of rectifying what was wrong. He 
 placed himself unreservedly in the hands of Mr. Stork, and 
 entreated him to meet him at his rooms in West Street on 
 the ensuing Monday evening at 7.45, when he sincerely 
 
132 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 trusted that the past would be forgotten, and a brighter 
 future would be assured. 
 
 This was followed by a formal letter couched to Mr. Box. 
 He invited him to call at Mrs. Baker's lodgings on that 
 same evening at 8 p.m., as he had business of an important 
 and far-reaching nature to discuss with him. If Mr. Box 
 considered that he, Joseph Leveridge, had done him an 
 injury, he was ready to make what reparation lay in his 
 power. 
 
 Taking a fresh sheet of notepaper, he now wrote a fifth 
 letter, this to Mr. Wotherspoon, requesting the honour of 
 a call at his ''diggings" at 8.15 p.m., when matters of con- 
 troversy between them could be amicably adjusted. 
 
 The ensuing letter demanded some deliberation. It 
 was to Asphodel. He wrote it out twice before he was 
 satisfied with the mode in which it was expressed. He 
 endeavoured to disguise under words full of respect, yet 
 not disguise too completely, the sentiments of his heart. 
 But he was careful to let drop nothing at which she might 
 take umbrage. He entreated her to be so gracious as to 
 allow him an interview by the side of the river at the 
 hour of 8.30 on the Monday evening. He apologised for 
 venturing to make such a demand, but he intimated that 
 the matter he had to communicate was so important and 
 so urgent, that it could not well be postponed till Tuesday, 
 and that it was also most necessary that the interview 
 should be private. It was something he had to say that 
 would materially — no, not materially, but morally — affect 
 her, and would relieve his mind from a burden of remorse 
 that had become to him wholly intolerable. 
 
 The final, the seventh letter, was to Major Dolgelly Jones, 
 and was more brief. It merely intimated that he had some- 
 thing of the utmost importance to communicate to his 
 private ear, and for this purpose he desired the favour of a 
 call at Mrs. Baker's lodgings, at 8.45 on Monday evening. 
 
 These letters despatched, Mr. Leveridge felt easier in 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 133 
 
 mind and lighter at heart. He slept well the ensuing night, 
 better than he had for long. His creations did not so 
 greatly disturb him. He was aware that he was still kept 
 under surveillance, but the watch was not so strict, nor so 
 galling as hitherto. 
 
 On the Monday morning he was at the station, and took 
 his ticket for Swanton. One ticket sufficed, as his com- 
 panions, who awaited him on the platform, were imaginary 
 characters. 
 
 When he took his seat, they pressed into the carriage 
 after him. Poppy secured the seat next him, but the 
 widow placed herself opposite, and exerted all her blandish- 
 ment with the hope of engrossing his whole attention. At 
 a junction all got out, and Joseph provided himself with a 
 luncheon - basket and mineral water. The characters 
 watched him discussing the half-chicken and slabs of 
 ham, with the liveliest interest, and were especially obser- 
 vant of his treatment of the thin paper napkin, wherewith 
 he wiped his fingers and mouth. 
 
 At last he arrived at Swanton and engaged a cab, as he 
 was encumbered with a portmanteau. Lady Mabel, Poppy, 
 and the widow could be easily accommodated within, the 
 two latter with their backs to the horses. Joseph would 
 willingly have resigned his seat to either of these, but they 
 would not hear of it. A gentle altercation ensued between 
 the parson and the solicitor, as to which should ride on the 
 box. The lawyer desired to yield the place to " the cloth," 
 but the parson would not hear of this — the silver hairs of the 
 other claimed precedence. The stockbroker mounted to 
 the roof of the fly and the clerical gentleman hung on 
 behind. The hero professed his readiness to walk. 
 
 Eventually the cab drew up at Mrs. Baker's door. 
 
 That stout, elderly lady received her old lodger without 
 effusion, and with languid interest. The look of the house 
 was not what it had been. It had deteriorated. The 
 windows had not been cleaned nor the banisters dusted. 
 
134 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " My dear old landlady, I am so glad to see you again," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 " Thank you, sir. You ordered no meal, but I have got 
 two mutton chops in the larder, and can mash some pota- 
 toes. At what time would you like your supper, sir?" 
 She had become a machine, a thing of routine. 
 
 " Not yet, thank you. I have business to transact first, 
 and I shall not be disengaged before nine o'clock. But I 
 have something to say to you, Mrs. Baker, and I will say 
 it at once and get it over, if you will kindly step up into 
 my parlour." 
 
 She did so, sighing at each step of the stairs as she 
 ascended. 
 
 All the characters mounted as well, and entering the 
 little sitting-room, ranged themselves against the wall 
 facing the door. 
 
 Mrs. Baker was a portly woman, aged about forty-five, 
 and plain featured. She had formerly been neat, now she 
 was dowdy. Before she had lost her character she never 
 appeared in that room without removing her apron, but on 
 this occasion she wore it, and it was not clean. 
 
 " Widow ! " said Joseph, addressing his character, " will 
 you kindly step forward ? " 
 
 " I would do anything for fou," with a roll of the eyes. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Baker," said Leveridge, " I feel that I have 
 done you a grievous wrong." 
 
 " Well, sir, I ain't been myself since you put me into 
 your book." 
 
 " My purpose is now to undo the past, and to provide 
 you with a character." 
 
 Then, turning to the skittish widow of his creation, he 
 said, " Now, then, slip into and occupy her." 
 
 " I don't like the tenement," said the widow, pouting. 
 
 "Whether you like it or not," protested Joseph, "you 
 must have that or no other." He waved his hand. "Presto!" 
 he exclaimed. 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 135 
 
 Instantly a wondrous change was effected in Mrs. Baker. 
 She whipped off the apron, and crammed it under the sofa 
 cushion. She wriggled in her movements, she eyed herself 
 in the glass, and exclaimed : " Oh, my ! what a fright I 
 am. I'll be back again in a minute when I have changed 
 my gown and done up my hair." 
 
 " We can dispense with your presence, Mrs. Baker," said 
 Leveridge sternly. " I will ring for you when you are 
 wanted." 
 
 At that moment a rap at the door was heard ; and Mrs. 
 Baker, having first dropped a coquettish curtsy to her 
 lodger, tripped downstairs to admit the vicar, and to show 
 him up to Mr. Leveridge's apartment. 
 
 "You may go, Mrs. Baker," said he; for she seemed 
 inclined to linger. 
 
 When she had left the room, Joseph contemplated the 
 reverend gentleman. He bore a crestfallen appearance. 
 He looked as if he had been out in the rain all night with- 
 out a paletot. His cheeks were flabby, his mouth drooped 
 at the corners, his eyes were vacant, and his whiskers no 
 longer stuck out horrescent and assertive. 
 
 " Dear vicar," said Leveridge, " I cannot forgive myself." 
 In former times, Mr. Leveridge would not have dreamed 
 of addressing the reverend gentleman in this familiar 
 manner, but it was other now that the latter looked so 
 limp and forlorn. " My dear vicar, I cannot forgive myself 
 for the trouble I have brought upon you. It has weighed 
 on me as a nightmare, for I know that it is not you only 
 who have suffered, but also the whole parish of Swanton. 
 
 Happily a remedy is at hand. I have here " he waved 
 
 to the parson of his creation, " I have here an individuality 
 I can give to you, and henceforth, if you will not be pre- 
 cisely yourself again, you will be a personality in your 
 parish and the diocese." He waved his hand. " Presto ! " 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye all was changed in the Vicar 
 of Swanton. He straightened himself. His expression 
 
136 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 altered to what it never had been before. The cheeks 
 became firm, and lines formed about the mouth indicative 
 of force of character and of self-restraint. The eye assumed 
 an eager look as into far distances, as seeking something 
 beyond the horizon. 
 
 The vicar walked to the mirror over the mantelshelf. 
 
 '' Bless me ! " he said, " I must go to the barber's and 
 have these whiskers off." And he hurried downstairs. 
 
 After a little pause in the proceedings, Mrs. Baker, now 
 very trim, with a blue ribbon round her neck hanging 
 down in streamers behind, ushered up Mr. Stork. The 
 lawyer had a faded appearance, as if he had been exposed 
 to too strong sunlight ; he walked in with an air of lack 
 of interest, and sank into a chair. 
 
 " My dear old master," said Leveridge, " it is my purpose 
 to restore to you all your former energy, and to supply 
 you with what you may possibly have lacked previously." 
 
 He signed to the white-haired family solicitor he had 
 called into fictitious being, and waved his hand. 
 
 At once Mr. Stork stood up and shook his legs, as 
 though shaking out crumbs from his trousers. His breast 
 swelled, he threw back his head, his eye shone clear and 
 was steady. 
 
 " Mr. Leveridge," said he, " I have long had my eye on 
 you, sir — had my eye on you. I have marked your char- 
 acter as one of uncompromising probity. I hate shiftiness, 
 I abhor duplicity. I have been disappointed with my 
 clerks. I could not always trust them to do the right 
 thing. I want to strengthen and brace my firm. But I 
 will not take into partnership with myself any but one of 
 the strictest integrity. Sir! I have marked you — I have 
 marked you, Mr. Leveridge. Call on me to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and we will consider the preliminaries for a partner- 
 ship. Don't talk to me of buying a partnership." 
 
 " I have not done so, sir." 
 
 " I know you have not. I will take you in, sir, for your 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 137 
 
 intrinsic value. An honest man is worth his weight in 
 gold, and is as scarce as the precious metal." 
 
 Then, with dignity, Mr. Stork withdrew, and passed 
 Mr. Box, the grocer, mounting the stairs. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Box," said Leveridge, " how wags the world 
 with you ? " 
 
 '* Badly, sir, badly since you booked me. I mentioned 
 to you, sir, that I trusted my little business would for a 
 while go on by its own momentum. It has, sir, it has, but 
 the momentum has been downhill. I can't control it. 
 I have not the personality to do so, to serve as a drag, to 
 urge it upwards. I am in daily expectation, sir, of a 
 regular smash up." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear this," said Leveridge. " But I think 
 I have found a means of putting all to rights. Presto ! " 
 He waved his hand and the imaginary character of the 
 stockbroker had actualised himself in the body of Mr. Box. 
 
 '* I see how to do it. By ginger, I do ! " exclaimed the 
 grocer, a spark coming into his eye. " I'll run my little 
 concern on quite other lines. And look ye here, Mr. 
 Leveridge. I bet you my bottom dollar that I'll run it to 
 a tremendous success, become a second Lipton, and keep 
 a yacht." 
 
 As Mr. Box bounced out of the room and proceeded 
 to run downstairs, he ran against and nearly knocked over 
 Mrs. Baker ; the lady was whispering to and coquetting 
 with Mr. Wotherspoon, who was on the landing. That 
 gentleman, in his condition of lack of individuality, was like 
 a teetotum spun in the hands of the designing Mrs. Baker, 
 who put forth all the witchery she possessed, or supposed 
 that she possessed, to entangle him in an amorous intrigue. 
 
 " Come in," shouted Joseph Leveridge, and Mr. Wother- 
 spoon, looking hot and frightened and very shy, tottered 
 in and sank into a chair. He was too much shaken and 
 perturbed by the advances of Mrs. Baker to be able to 
 speak. 
 
138 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " There," said Joseph, addressing his hero. " You cannot 
 do better than animate that feeble creature. Go ! " 
 
 Instantly Mr. Wotherspoon sprang to his feet. " By- 
 George ! " said he. " I wonder that never struck me before. 
 I'll at once volunteer to go out to South Africa, and have 
 a shot at those canting, lying, treacherous Boers. If I 
 come back with a score of their scalps at my waist, I shall 
 have deserved well of my country. I will volunteer at 
 once. But — I say, Leveridge — clear that hulking, fat 
 old landlady out of the way. She blocks the stairs, and 
 I can't kick down a woman." 
 
 When Mr. Wotherspoon was gone — " Well," said Poppy, 
 " what have you got for me ? " 
 
 " If you will come with me. Poppy dear, I will serve 
 you as well as the rest." 
 
 " I hope better than you did that odious little widow. 
 But she is well paid out." 
 
 " Follow me to the riverside," said Joseph ; " at 8.33 p.m. 
 I am due there, and so is another — a lady." 
 
 " And pray why did you not make her come here instead 
 of lugging me all the way down there ? " 
 
 " Because I could not make an appointment with a 
 young lady in my bachelor's apartments." 
 
 " That's all very fine. But I am there." 
 
 "Yes, you — but you are only an imaginary character, 
 and she is a substantial reality." 
 
 " I think I had better accompany you," said Lady Mabel. 
 
 " I think not. If your ladyship will kindly occupy my 
 fauteuil till I return, that chair will ever after be sacred to 
 me. Come along, Poppy." 
 
 " I'm game," said she. 
 
 On reaching the riverside Joseph saw that Miss Vincent 
 was walking there in a listless manner, not straight, but 
 swerving from side to side. She saw him, but did not 
 quicken her pace, nor did her face light up with interest. 
 
 "Now,then,"said he to Poppy," what do you think of her?" 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 139 
 
 " She ain't bad," answered the fictitious character ; *' she 
 is very pretty certainly, but inanimate." 
 
 " You will change all that." 
 
 " I'll try— you bet." 
 
 Asphodel came up. She bowed, but did not extend her 
 hand. 
 
 " Miss Vincent," said Joseph. " How good of you to 
 come." 
 
 " Not at all. I could not help. I have no free-will left. 
 When you wrote Come — I came, I could do no other. I 
 have no initiative, no power of resistance." 
 
 " I do hope, Miss Vincent, that the thing you so feared 
 has not happened." 
 
 " What thing ? " 
 
 " You have not been snapped up by a fortune-hunter ? " 
 
 " No. People have not as yet found out that I have lost 
 my individuality. I have kept very much to myself — that 
 is to say, not to myself, as I have no proper myself left — I 
 mean to the semblance of myself. People have thought I 
 was anaemic." 
 
 Leveridge turned aside : " Well, Poppy ! " 
 
 " Right you are." 
 
 Leveridge waved his hand. Instantly all the inertia 
 passed away from the girl, she stood erect and firm. A 
 merry twinkle kindled in her eye, a flush was on her cheek, 
 and mischievous devilry played about her lips. 
 
 " I feel," said she, " as another person." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad. Miss Vincent." 
 
 " That is a pretty speech to make to a lady ! Glad I am 
 different from what I was before." 
 
 " I did not mean that — I meant — in fact, I meant that as 
 you were and as you are you are always charming." 
 
 "Thank you, sir!" said Asphodel, curtsying and laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Vincent, at all times you have seemed to me 
 the ideal of womanhood. I have worshipped the very 
 ground you have trod upon." 
 
I40 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 "Fiddlesticks." 
 
 He looked at her. For the moment he was bewildered, 
 oblivious that the old personality of Asphodel had passed 
 into his book and that the new personality of Poppy had 
 invaded Asphodel. 
 
 " Well," said she, " is that all you have to say to me ? " 
 
 " All ? — oh, no. I could say a great deal — I have ordered 
 my supper for nine o'clock." 
 
 "Oh, how obtuse you men are! Come — is this leap 
 year ? " 
 
 " I really believe that it is." 
 
 "Then I shall take the privilege of the year, and offer 
 you my hand and heart and fortune — there ! Now it only 
 remains with you to name the day." 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Vincent, you overcome me." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense. Call me Asphodel, do Joe." 
 
 Mr. Leveridge walked back to his lodgings as if he trod 
 on air. As he passed by the churchyard, he noticed the 
 vicar, now shaven and shorn, labouring at a laden wheel- 
 barrow. He halted at the rails and said : " Why, vicar, 
 what are you about ? " 
 
 "The sexton has begun a grave for old Betty Goodman, 
 and it is unfinished. He must dig another." He turned 
 over the wheelbarrow and shot its contents into the grave. 
 
 " But what are you doing ? " again asked Joseph. 
 
 " Burying the Mitre hymnals," replied the vicar. 
 
 The clock struck a quarter to nine. 
 
 " I must hurry ! " exclaimed Joseph. 
 
 On reaching his lodgings he found Major Dolgelly 
 Jones in his sitting-room, sitting on the edge of his table 
 tossing up a tennis-ball. In the armchair, invisible to the 
 major, reclined Lady Mabel. 
 
 " I am so sorry to be late," apologised Joseph. " How 
 are you, sir ? " 
 
 " Below par. I have been so ever since you put me into 
 
A PROFESSIONAL SECRET 141 
 
 your book. I have no appetite for golf. I can do nothing 
 to pass the weary hours but toss up and down a tennis-ball." 
 
 " I hope " began Joseph ; and then a horror seized on 
 
 him. He had no personality of his creation left but that 
 of Lady Mabel. Would it be possible to translate that 
 into the major ? 
 
 He remained silent, musing for a while, and then said 
 hesitatingly to the lady : " Here, my lady, is the body you 
 are to individualise." 
 
 " But it is that of a man ! " 
 
 " There is no other left." 
 
 " It is hardly delicate." 
 
 " There is no help for it." Then turning to the major, 
 he said : * I am very sorry — it really is no fault of mine, 
 but I have only a female personality to offer to you, and 
 that elderly." 
 
 "It is all one to me," replied the major, "catch" — he 
 caught the ball. " Many of our generals are old women. 
 I am agreeable. Place aux dames!' 
 
 " But," protested Lady Mabel, " you made me a member 
 of a very ancient titled house that came over with the 
 Conqueror." 
 
 " The personality I offer you," said I to the major, 
 "though female is noble; the family is named in the roll of 
 Battle Abbey." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Dolgelly Jones, " I descend from one of the 
 royal families of Powys, lineally from Caswallon Llanhir 
 and Maelgwn Gwynedd, long before the Conqueror was 
 thought of" 
 
 " Well, then," said Leveridge, and waved his hand. 
 
 In Swanton it is known that the major now never plays 
 golf; he keeps rabbits. 
 
 It is with some scruple that I insert this record in the 
 Book of Ghosts^ for actually it is not a story of ghosts. 
 But a greater scruple moved me as to whether I should be 
 
142 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 justified in revealing a professionial secret, known only 
 among such as belong to the Confraternity of Writers of 
 Fiction. But I have observed so much perplexity arise, so 
 much friction caused, by persons suddenly breaking out 
 into a course of conduct, or into actions, so entirely in- 
 consistent with their former conduct as to stagger their 
 acquaintances and friends. Henceforth, to use a vulgar- 
 ism, since I have let the cat out of the bag, they will know 
 that such persons have been used up by novel writers 
 that have known them, and who have replaced the stolen 
 individualities with others freshly created. This is the 
 explanation, and the explanation has up to the present 
 remained a professional secret. 
 
H. P. 
 
 THE river Vez^re leaps to life among the granite of 
 the Limousin, forms a fine cascade, the Saut de la 
 Virolle, then after a rapid descent over mica-schist, it 
 passes into the region of red sandstone at Brive, and 
 swelled with affluents it suddenly penetrates a chalk dis- 
 trict, where it has scooped out for itself a valley between 
 precipices some two to three hundred feet high. 
 
 These precipices are not perpendicular, but overhang, be- 
 cause the upper crust is harder than the stone it caps ; and 
 atmospheric influences, rain and frost, have gnawed into 
 the chalk below, so that the cliffs hang forward as pent- 
 house roofs, forming shelters beneath them. And these 
 shelters have been utilised by man from the period when 
 the first occupants of the district arrived at a vastly 
 remote period, almost uninterruptedly to the present day. 
 When peasants live beneath these roofs of nature's pro- 
 viding, they simply wall up the face and ends to form 
 houses of the cheapest description of construction, with the 
 earth as the floor, and one wall and the roof of living rock, 
 into which they burrow to form cupboards, bedplaces, and 
 cellars. 
 
 The refuse of all ages is superposed, like the leaves of a 
 book, one stratum above another in orderly succession. If 
 we shear down through these beds, we can read the history 
 of the land, so far as its manufacture goes, beginning at 
 the present day and going down, down to the times of 
 primeval man. Now, after every meal, the peasant casts 
 down the bones he has picked, he does not stoop to collect 
 
 ^43 
 
144 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and cast forth the sherds of a broken pot, and if a sou 
 falls and rolls away, in the dust of these gloomy habita- 
 tions it gets trampled into the soil, to form another token 
 of the period of occupation. 
 
 When the first man settled here the climatic conditions 
 were different. The mammoth or woolly elephant, the 
 hyaena, the cave bear, and the reindeer ranged the land. 
 Then naked savages, using only flint tools, crouched under 
 these rocks. They knew nothing of metals and of pottery. 
 They hunted and ate the horse ; they had no dogs, no 
 oxen, no sheep. Glaciers covered the centre of France, 
 and reached down the Vezere valley as far as to Brive. 
 
 These people passed away, whither we know not. The 
 reindeer retreated to the north, the hyaena to Africa, which 
 was then united to Europe. The mammoth became ex- 
 tinct altogether. 
 
 After long ages another people, in a higher condition of 
 culture, but who also used flint tools and weapons, appeared 
 on the scene, and took possession of the abandoned rock 
 shelters. They fashioned their implements in a different 
 manner by flaking the flint in place of chipping it. They 
 understood the art of the potter. They grew flax and 
 wove linen. They had domestic animals, and the dog had 
 become the friend of man. And their flint weapons they 
 succeeded in bringing to a high polish by incredible labour 
 and perseverance. 
 
 Then came in the Age of Bronze, introduced from abroad, 
 probably from the East, as its great depot was in the basin 
 of the Po. Next arrived the Gauls, armed with weapons 
 of iron. They were subjugated by the Romans, and 
 Roman Gaul in turn became a prey to the Goth and the 
 Frank. History has begun and is in full swing. 
 
 The mediaeval period succeeded, and finally the modern 
 age, and man now lives on top of the accumulation of all 
 preceding epochs of men and stages of civilisation. In no 
 other part of France, indeed of Europe, is the story of 
 
H. P. 145 
 
 man told so plainly, that he who runs may read ; and ever 
 since the middle of last century, when this fact was recog- 
 nised, the district has been studied, and explorations have 
 been made there, some slovenly, others scientifically. 
 
 A few years ago I was induced to visit this remarkable 
 region and to examine it attentively. I had been furnished 
 with letters of recommendation from the authorities of the 
 great Museum of National Antiquities at St. Germain, to 
 enable me to prosecute my researches unmolested by over- 
 suspicious gendarmes and ignorant mayors. 
 
 Under one overhanging rock was a cabaret or tavern, 
 announcing that wine was sold there, by a withered bush 
 above the door. 
 
 The place seemed to me to be a probable spot for my 
 exploration. I entered into an arrangement with the pro- 
 prietor to enable me to dig, he stipulating that I should 
 not undermine and throw down his walls. I engaged six 
 labourers, and began proceedings by driving a tunnel some 
 little way below the tavern into the vast bed of debris. 
 
 The upper series of deposits did not concern me much. 
 The point I desired to investigate, and if possible to deter- 
 mine, was the approximate length of time that had elapsed 
 between the disappearance of the reindeer hunters and the 
 coming on the scene of the next race, that which used 
 polished stone implements and had domestic animals. 
 
 Although it may seem at first sight as if both races had 
 been savage, as both lived in the Stone Age, yet an enor- 
 mous stride forward had been taken when men had learned 
 the arts of weaving, of pottery, and had tamed the dog, the 
 horse, and the cow. These new folk had passed out of the 
 mere wild condition of the hunter, and had become pas- 
 toral and to some extent agricultural. 
 
 Of course, the data for determining the length of a 
 period might be few, but I could judge whether a very 
 long or a very brief period had elapsed between the two 
 occupations by the depth of debris — chalk fallen from the 
 
146 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 roof, brought down by frost, in which were no traces of 
 human workmanship. 
 
 It was with this distinct object in view that I drove my 
 adit into the slope of rubbish some way below the cabaret, 
 and I chanced to have hit on the level of the deposits of 
 the men of bronze. Not that we found much bronze — all 
 we secured was a broken pin — but we came on fragments 
 of pottery marked with the chevron and nail and twisted 
 thong ornament peculiar to that people and age. 
 
 My men were engaged for about a week before we 
 reached the face of the chalk cliff. We found the work 
 not so easy as I had anticipated. Masses of rock had be- 
 come detached from above and had fallen, so that we had 
 either to quarry through them or to circumvent them. 
 The soil was of that curious coffee colour so inseparable 
 from the chalk formation. We found many things brought 
 down from above, a coin commemorative of the storming 
 of the Bastille, and some small pieces of the later Roman 
 emperors. But all of these were, of course, not in the 
 solid ground below, but near the surface. 
 
 When we had reached the face of the cliff, instead of 
 sinking a shaft I determined on carrying a gallery down 
 an incline, keeping the rock as a wall on my right, till I 
 reached the bottom of all. 
 
 The advantage of making an incline was that there was 
 no hauling up of the earth by a bucket let down over a 
 pulley, and it was easier for myself to descend. 
 
 I had not made my tunnel wide enough, and it was 
 tortuous. When I began to sink, I set two of the men to 
 smash up the masses of fallen chalk rock, so as to widen 
 the tunnel, so that I might use barrows. I gave strict 
 orders that all the material brought up was to be picked 
 over by two of the most intelligent of the men, outside in 
 the blaze of the sun. I was not desirous of sinking too 
 expeditiously ; I wished to proceed slowly, cautiously 
 observing every stage as we went deeper. 
 
H. P. 147 
 
 We got below the layer in which were the relics of the 
 Bronze Age and of the men of polished stone, and then we 
 passed through many feet of earth that rendered nothing, 
 and finally came on the traces of the reindeer period. 
 
 To understand how that there should be a considerable 
 depth of the debris of the men of the rude stone im- 
 plements, it must be explained that these men made their 
 hearths on the bare ground, and feasted around their fires, 
 throwing about them the bones they had picked, and the 
 ashes, and broken and disused implements, till the ground 
 was inconveniently encumbered. Then they swept all the 
 refuse together over their old hearth, and established 
 another on top. So the process went on from generation 
 to generation. 
 
 For the scientific results of my exploration I must refer 
 the reader to the journals and memoirs of learned societies. 
 I will not trouble him with them here. 
 
 On the ninth day after we had come to the face of the 
 cliff, and when we had reached a considerable depth, we 
 uncovered some human bones. I immediately adopted 
 special precautions, so that these should not be disturbed. 
 With the utmost care the soil was removed from over them, 
 and it took us half a day to completely clear a perfect 
 skeleton. It was that of a full-grown man, lying on his 
 back, with the skull supported against the wall of chalk 
 rock. He did not seem to have been buried. Had he been 
 so, he would doubtless have been laid on his side in a 
 contracted posture, with the chin resting on the knees. 
 
 One of the men pointed out to me that a mass of fallen 
 rock lay beyond his feet, and had apparently shut him in, 
 so that he had died through suffocation, buried under the 
 earth that the rock had brought down with it. 
 
 I at once despatched a man to my hotel to fetch my 
 camera, that I might by flashlight take a photograph of 
 the skeleton as it lay ; and another I sent to get from 
 the chemist and grocer as much gum arabic and isinglass 
 
148 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 as could be procured. My object was to give to the bones 
 a bath of gum to render them less brittle when removed, 
 restoring to them the gelatine that had been absorbed by 
 the earth and lime in which they lay. 
 
 Thus I was left alone at the bottom of my passage, the 
 four men above being engaged in straightening the adit 
 and sifting the earth. 
 
 I was quite content to be alone, so that I might at my 
 ease search for traces of personal ornament worn by 
 the man who had thus met his death. The place was 
 somewhat cramped, and there really was not room in it for 
 more than one person to work freely. 
 
 Whilst I was thus engaged, I suddenly heard a shout, 
 followed by a crash, and, to my dismay, an avalanche 
 of rubble shot down the inclined passage of descent. I 
 at once left the skeleton, and hastened to effect my exit, 
 but found that this was impossible. Much of the super- 
 incumbent earth and stone had fallen, dislodged by the 
 vibrations caused by the picks of the men smashing up 
 the chalk blocks, and the passage was completely choked. 
 I was sealed up in the hollow where I was, and thankful 
 that the earth above me had not fallen as well, and buried 
 me, a man of the present enlightened age, along with the 
 primeval savage of eight thousand years ago. 
 
 A large amount of matter must have fallen, for I could 
 not hear the voices of the men. 
 
 I was not seriously alarmed. The workmen would 
 procure assistance and labour indefatigably to release me ; 
 of that I could be certain. But how much earth had 
 fallen ? How much of the passage was choked, and how 
 long would they take before I was released .? All that 
 was uncertain. I had a candle, or, rather, a bit of one, 
 and it was not probable that it would last till the passage 
 was cleared. What made me most anxious was the 
 question whether the supply of air in the hollow in which 
 I was enclosed would suffice. 
 
H. P. 149 
 
 My enthusiasm for prehistoric research failed me just 
 then. All my interests were concentrated on the present, 
 and I gave up groping about the skeleton for relics. I 
 seated myself on a stone, set the candle in a socket of 
 chalk I had scooped out with my pocket-knife, and awaited 
 events with my eyes on the skeleton. 
 
 Time passed somewhat wearily. I could hear an occa- 
 sional thud, thud, when the men were using the pick ; but 
 they mostly employed the shovel, as I supposed. I set 
 my elbows on my knees and rested my chin in my hands. 
 The air was not cold, nor was the soil damp ; it was dry 
 as snuff. The flicker of my light played over the man 
 of bones, and especially illumined the skull. It may have 
 been fancy on my part, it probably was fancy, but it 
 seemed to me as though something sparkled in the eye- 
 sockets. Drops of water possibly lodged there, or crystals 
 formed within the skull ; but the effect was much as of 
 eyes leering and winking at me. I lighted my pipe, and 
 to my disgust found that my supply of matches was 
 running short. In France the manufacture belongs to the 
 state, and one gets but sixty allumettes for a penny. 
 
 I had not brought my watch with me below ground, 
 fearing lest it might meet with an accident ; consequently 
 I was unable to reckon how time passed. I began count- 
 ing and ticking off the minutes on my fingers, but soon 
 tired of doing this. 
 
 My candle was getting short ; it would not last much 
 longer, and then I should be in the dark. I consoled 
 myself with the thought that with the extinction of the 
 light the consumption of the oxygen in the air would be 
 less rapid. My eyes now rested on the flame of the candle, 
 and I watched the gradual diminution of the composite. 
 It was one of those abominable bougies v^\\h holes in them to 
 economise the wax, and which consequently had less than 
 the proper amount of material for feeding and maintaining 
 a flame. At length the light went out, and I was left in 
 
I50 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 total darkness. I might have used up the rest of my 
 matches, one after another, but to what good ? — they would 
 prolong the period of illumination for but a very little 
 while. 
 
 A sense of numbness stole over me, but I was not as 
 yet sensible of deficiency of air to breathe. I found 
 that the stone on which I was seated was pointed and 
 hard, but I did not like to shift my position for fear of 
 getting among and disturbing the bones, and I was still 
 desirous of having them photographed in situ before they 
 were moved. 
 
 I was not alarmed at my situation ; I knew that I must 
 be released eventually. But the tedium of sitting there in 
 the dark and on a pointed stone was becoming intolerable. 
 
 Some time must have elapsed before I became, dimly at 
 first, and then distinctly, aware of a bluish phosphorescent 
 emanation from the skeletion. This seemed to rise above 
 it like a faint smoke, which gradually gained consistency, 
 took form, and became distinct ; and I saw before me the 
 misty, luminous form of a naked man, with wolfish counten- 
 ance, prognathous jaws, glaring at me out of eyes deeply 
 sunk under projecting brows. Although I thus describe 
 what I saw, yet it gave me no idea of substance ; it was 
 vaporous, and yet it was articulate. Indeed, I cannot say 
 at this moment whether I actually saw this apparition 
 with my eyes, or whether it was a dream-like vision of 
 the brain. Though luminous, it cast no light on the walls 
 of the cave ; if I raised my hand it did not obscure any 
 portion of the form presented to me. Then I heard: 
 " I will tear you with the nails of my fingers and toes, 
 and rip you with my teeth." 
 
 " What have I done to injure and incense you?" I asked. 
 
 And here I must explain. No word was uttered by 
 either of us; no word could have been uttered by this 
 vaporous form. It had no material lungs, nor throat, nor 
 mouth to form vocal sounds. It had but the semblance 
 
H. P. 151 
 
 of a man. It was a spook, not a human being. But from 
 it proceeded thought-waves, odylic force which smote on 
 the tympanum of my mind or soul, and thereon registered 
 the ideas formed by it. So in Hke manner I thought my 
 replies, and they were communicated back in the same 
 manner. If vocal words had passed between us neither 
 would have been intelligible to the other. No dictionary 
 was ever compiled, or would be compiled, of the tongue 
 of prehistoric man ; moreover, the grammar of the speech 
 of that race would be absolutely incomprehensible to man 
 now. But thoughts can be interchanged without words. 
 When we think we do not think in any language. It is 
 only when we desire to communicate our thoughts to 
 other men that we shape them into words and express 
 them vocally in structural, grammatical sentences. The 
 beasts have never attained to this, yet they can communi- 
 cate with one another, not by language, but by thought 
 vibrations. 
 
 I must further remark that when I give what ensued as 
 a conversation, I have to render the thought intercommuni- 
 cation that passed between the Homo Praehistoricus — the 
 prehistoric man — and me, in English as best I can render 
 it. I knew as we conversed that I was not speaking to 
 him in English, nor in French, nor Latin, nor in any tongue 
 whatever. Moreover, when I use the words " said " or 
 " spoke," I mean no more than that the impression was 
 formed on my brain-pan or the receptive drum of my soul, 
 was produced by the rhythmic, orderly sequence of 
 thought-waves. When, however, I express the words 
 " screamed " or " shrieked," I signify that those vibrations 
 came sharp and swift ; and when I say " laughed," that 
 they came in a choppy, irregular fashion, conveying the 
 idea, not the sound of laughter. 
 
 " I will tear you ! I will rend you to bits and throw 
 you in pieces about this cave ! " shrieked the Homo Prae- 
 historicus, or primeval man. 
 
152 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Again I remonstrated, and inquired how I had incensed 
 him. But yelling with rage, he threw himself upon me. 
 In a moment I was enveloped in a luminous haze, strips 
 of phosphorescent vapour laid themselves about me, but I 
 received no injury whatever, only my spiritual nature was 
 subjected to something like a magnetic storm. After a 
 few moments the spook disengaged itself from me, and 
 drew back to where it was before, screaming broken excla- 
 mations of meaningless rage, and jabbering savagely. It 
 rapidly cooled down. 
 
 " Why do you wish me ill ? " I asked again. 
 
 " I cannot hurt you. I am spirit, you are matter, and 
 spirit cannot injure matter ; my nails are psychic pheno- 
 mena. Your soul you can lacerate yourself, but I can 
 effect nothing, nothing." 
 
 " Then why have you attacked me ? What is the cause 
 of your impotent resentment?" 
 
 "Because you are a son of the twentieth century, and I 
 lived eight thousand years ago. Why are you nursed in 
 the lap of luxury? Why do you enjoy comforts, a civilisa- 
 tion that we knew nothing of? It is not just. It is cruel 
 on us. We had nothing, nothing, literally nothing, not 
 even lucifer matches ! " 
 
 Again he fell to screaming, as might a caged monkey 
 rendered furious by failure to obtain an apple which he 
 could not reach. 
 
 " I am very sorry, but it is no fault of mine." 
 
 " Whether it be your fault or not does not matter to me. 
 You have these things — we had not. Why, I saw you 
 just now strike a light on the sole of your boot. It was 
 done in a moment. We had only flint and iron-stone, and 
 it took half a day with us to kindle a fire, and then it 
 flayed our knuckles with continuous knocking. No ! we 
 had nothing, nothing — no lucifer matches, no commercial 
 travellers, no Benedictine, no pottery, no metal, no educa- 
 tion, no elections, no chocolat metziery 
 
H. P. 153 
 
 " How do you know about these products of the present 
 age, here, buried under fifty feet of soil for eight thousand 
 years ? " 
 
 " It is my spirit which speaks with your spirit. My 
 spook does not always remain with my bones. I can go 
 up; rocks and stones and earth heaped over me do not 
 hold me down. I am often above. I am in the tavern 
 overhead. I have seen men drink there. I have seen a 
 bottle of Benedictine. I have applied my psychical lips 
 to it, but I could taste, absorb nothing. I have seen com- 
 mercial travellers there, cajoling the patron into buying 
 things he did not want. They are mysterious, marvellous 
 beings, their powers of persuasion are little short of miracu- 
 lous. What do you think of doing with me ? " 
 
 " Well, I propose first of all photographing you, then 
 soaking you in gum arable, and finally transferring you to 
 a museum." 
 
 He screamed as though with pain, and gasped : " Don't ! 
 don't do it. It will be torture insufferable." 
 
 " But why so ? You will be under glass, in a polished 
 oak or mahogany box." 
 
 " Don't ! You cannot understand what it will be to me 
 — a spirit more or less attached to my body, to spend ages 
 upon ages in a museum with fibulae, triskelli, palstaves, 
 celts, torques, scarabs. We cannot travel very far from 
 our bones — our range is limited. And conceive of my 
 feelings for centuries condemned to wander among glass 
 cases containing prehistoric antiquities, and to hear the 
 talk of scientific men alone. Now here, it is otherwise. 
 Here I can pass up when I like into the tavern, and can 
 see men get drunk, and hear commercial travellers hood- 
 wink the patron, and then when the taverner finds he has 
 been induced to buy what he did not want, I can see him 
 beat his wife and smack his children. There is something 
 human, humorous, in that, but fibulae, palstaves, torques 
 —bah I " 
 
154 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " You seem to have a lively knowledge of antiquities," I 
 observed. 
 
 " Of course I have. There come archaeologists here and 
 eat their sandwiches above me, and talk prehistoric an- 
 tiquities till I am sick. Give me life ! Give me something 
 interesting ! " 
 
 " But what do you mean when you say that you cannot 
 travel far from your bones ? " 
 
 " I mean that there is a sort of filmy attachment that 
 connects our psychic nature with our mortal remains. It 
 is like a spider and its web. Suppose the soul to be the 
 spider and the skeleton to be the web. If you break 
 the thread the spider will never find its way back to its 
 home. So it is with us; there is an attachment, a faint 
 thread of luminous spiritual matter that unites us to our 
 earthly husk. It is liable to accidents. It sometimes gets 
 broken, sometimes dissolved by water. If a blackbeetle 
 crawls across it it suffers a sort of paralysis. I have never 
 been to the other side of the river, I have feared to do so, 
 though very anxious to look at that creature like a large 
 black caterpillar called the Train." 
 
 " This is news to me. Do you know of any cases of 
 rupture of connection ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " My old father, after he was dead 
 some years, got his link of attachment broken, and he 
 wandered about disconsolate. He could not find his own 
 body, but he lighted on that of a young female of seventeen, 
 and he got into that. It happened most singularly that 
 her spook, being frolicsome and inconsiderate, had got its 
 bond also broken, and she, that is her spirit, straying about 
 in quest of her body, lighted on that of my venerable 
 parent, and for want of a better took possession of it. 
 It so chanced that after a while they met and became 
 chummy. In the world of spirits there is no marriage, but 
 there grow up spiritual attachments, and these two got 
 rather fond of each other, but never could puzzle it out 
 
H. P. 155 
 
 which was which and what each was ; for a female soul 
 had entered into an old male body, and a male soul had 
 taken up its residence in a female body. Neither could 
 riddle out of which sex each was. You see they had 
 no education. But I know that my father's soul became 
 quite sportive in that young woman's skeleton." 
 
 " Did they continue chummy ? " 
 
 " No ; they quarrelled as to which was which, and they 
 are not now on speaking terms. I have two great-uncles. 
 Theirs is a sad tale. Their souls were out wandering one 
 day, and inadvertently they crossed and recrossed each 
 other's tracks so that their spiritual threads of attachment 
 got twisted. They found this out, and that they were 
 getting tangled up. What one of them should have done 
 would have been to have stood still and let the other jump 
 over and dive under his brother's thread till he had cleared 
 himself. But my maternal great-uncles — I think I forgot 
 to say they were related to me through my mother — they 
 were men of peppery tempers and they could not under- 
 stand this. They had no education. So they jumped one 
 this way and one another, each abusing the other, and 
 made the tangle more complete. That was about six 
 thousand years ago, and they are now so knotted up that 
 I do not suppose they will be clear of one another till time 
 is no more." 
 
 He paused and laughed. 
 
 Then I said : " It must have been very hard for you 
 to be without pottery of any sort." 
 
 " It was," replied H. P. (this stands for Homo Praehis- 
 toricus, not for House-Parlourmaid or Hardy Perennial), 
 " very hard. We had skins for water and milk " 
 
 " Oh ! you had milk. I supposed you had no cows." 
 
 " Nor had we, but the reindeer were beginning to get 
 docile and be tamed. If we caught young deer we brought 
 them up to be pets for our children. And so it came 
 about that as they grew up we found out that we could 
 
156 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 milk them into skins. But that gave it a smack, and when- 
 ever we desired a fresh draught there was nothing for it 
 but to lie flat on the ground under a doe reindeer and suck 
 for all we were worth. It was hard. Horses were hunted. 
 It did not occur to us that they could be tamed and 
 saddled and mounted. Oh ! it was not right. It was not 
 fair that you should have everything and we nothing — 
 nothing — nothing ! Why should you have all and we have 
 had naught ? " 
 
 "Because I belong to the twentieth century. Thirty- 
 three generations go to a thousand years. There are some 
 two hundred and sixty-four or two hundred and seventy 
 generations intervening between you and me. Each gen- 
 eration makes some discovery that advances civilisation 
 a stage, the next enters on the discoveries of the preceding 
 generations, and so culture advances stage by stage. Man 
 is infinitely progressive, the brute beast is not." 
 
 " That is true," he replied. '' I invented butter, which was 
 unknown to my ancestors, the unbuttered man." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " It was so," he said, and I saw a flush of light ripple over 
 the emanation. I suppose it was a glow of self-satisfaction. 
 " It came about thus. One of my wives had nearly let the 
 fire out. I was very angry, and catching up one of the 
 skins of milk, I banged her about the head with it till she 
 fell insensible to the earth. The other wives were very 
 pleased and applauded. When I came to take a drink, for 
 my exertions had heated me, I found that the milk was 
 curdled into butter. At first I did not know what it was, 
 so I made one of my other wives taste it, and as she pro- 
 nounced it to be good, I ate the rest myself. That was 
 how butter was invented. For four hundred years that was 
 the way it was made, by banging a milk-skin about the 
 head of a woman till she was knocked down insensible. 
 But at last a woman found out that by churning the milk 
 with her hand butter could be made equally well, and then 
 
H. P. 157 
 
 the former process was discontinued except by some men 
 who clung to ancestral customs." 
 
 " But," said I, " nowadays you would not be suffered 
 to knock your wife about, even with a milk-skin." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because it is barbarous. You would be sent to gaol." 
 
 " But she was my wife." 
 
 " Nevertheless it would not be tolerated. The law steps 
 in and protects women from ill-usage." 
 
 " How shameful ! Not allowed to do what you like with 
 your own wife ! " 
 
 " Most assuredly not. Then you remarked that this was 
 how you dealt with one of your wives. How many did 
 you possess ? " 
 
 " Off and on, seventeen." 
 
 '■'Now, no man is suffered to have more than one." 
 
 " What — one at a time ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied. 
 
 " Ah, well. Then if you had an old and ugly wife, or one 
 who was a scold, you could kill her and get another, young 
 and pretty." 
 
 " That would not be allowed." 
 
 " Not even if she were a scold ? " 
 
 ** No, you would have to put up with her to the bitter end." 
 
 " Humph ! " H. P. remained silent for a while wrapped 
 in thought. Presently he said : " There is one thing I do 
 not understand. In the wine-shop overhead the men get very 
 quarrelsome, others drunk, but they never kill one another." 
 
 " No. If one man killed another he would have his head 
 cut off — here in France — unless extenuating circumstances 
 were found. With us in England he would be hanged by 
 the neck till he was dead." 
 
 " Then — what is your sport ? " 
 
 " We hunt the fox." 
 
 " The fox is bad eating. I never could stomach it. If 
 I did kill a fox I made my wives eat it, and had some 
 
158 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 mammoth meat for myself. But hunting is business with 
 us — or was so — not sport." 
 
 " Nevertheless with us it is our great sport." 
 
 "Business is business and sport is sport," he said. "Now, 
 we hunted as business, and had little fights and killed one 
 another as our sport." 
 
 " We are not suffered to kill one another." 
 
 " But take the case," said he, " that a man has a nose- 
 ring, or a pretty wife, and you want one or the other. 
 Surely you might kill him and possess yourself of what you 
 so ardently covet ? " 
 
 " By no means. Now, to change the topic," I went on, 
 **you are totally destitute of clothing. You do not even 
 wear the traditional garment of fig leaves." 
 
 " What avail fig leaves ? There is no warmth in them." 
 
 ** Perhaps not — but out of delicacy," 
 
 " What is that ? I don't understand." There was clearly 
 no corresponding sensation in the vibrating tympanum of 
 his psychic nature. 
 
 " Did you never wear clothes ? " I inquired. 
 
 '* Certainly, when it was cold we wore skins, skins of the 
 beasts we killed. But in summer what is the use of cloth- 
 ing? Besides, we only wore them out of doors. When 
 we entered our homes, made of skins hitched up to the 
 rock overhead, we threw them off. It was hot within, and 
 we perspired freely." 
 
 " What, were naked in your homes ! you and your 
 wives ? " 
 
 "Of course we were. Why not? It was very warm 
 within with the fire always kept up." 
 
 " Why — good gracious me ! " I exclaimed, " that would 
 never be tolerated nowadays. If you attempted to go 
 about the country unclothed, even get out of your clothes 
 freely at home, you would be sent to a lunatic asylum and 
 kept there." 
 
 " Humph ! " He again lapsed into silence. 
 
H. P. 159 
 
 Presently he exclaimed : '* After all, I think that we 
 were better off as we were eight thousand years ago, even 
 without your matches, Benedictine, education, chocolat 
 vieniery and commercials, for then we were able to enjoy 
 real sport — we could kill one another, we could knock old 
 wives on the head, we could have a dozen or more squaws 
 according to our circumstances, young and pretty, and we 
 could career about the country or sit and enjoy a social 
 chat at home, stark naked. We were best off as we were. 
 There are compensations in life at every period of man. 
 Vive la liberty ! " 
 
 At that moment I heard a shout — saw a flash of light. 
 The workmen had pierced the barrier. A rush of fresh air 
 entered. I staggered to my feet. 
 
 " Oh ! mon Dieu ! Monsieur vit encore ! " 
 
 I felt dizzy. Kind hands grasped me. I was dragged 
 forth. Brandy was poured down my throat. When I 
 came to myself I gasped : " Fill in the hole ! Fill it all 
 up. Let H. P. lie where he is. He shall not go to the 
 British Museum. I have had enough of prehistoric 
 antiquities. Adieu, pour toujours la Vezere." 
 
GLAMR 
 
 The following story is found in the Gretla, an Icelandic Saga, composed 
 in the thirteenth century, or that comes to us in the form then given 
 to it ; but it is a redaction of a Saga of much earlier date. Most 
 of it is thoroughly historical, and its statements are corroborated 
 by other Sagas. The following incident was introduced to account 
 for the fact that the outlaw Gretter would run any risk rather than 
 spend the long winter nights alone in the dark. 
 
 AT the beginning of the eleventh century there stood, 
 ^ a little way up the Valley of Shadows in the north of 
 Iceland, a small farm, occupied by a worthy bonder, named 
 Thorhall, and his wife. The farmer was not exactly a 
 chieftain, but he was well enough connected to be con- 
 sidered respectable ; to back up his gentility he possessed 
 numerous flocks of sheep and a goodly drove of oxen. 
 Thorhall would have been a happy man but for one circum- 
 stance — his sheepwalks were haunted. 
 
 Not a herdsman would remain with him ; he bribed, he 
 threatened, entreated, all to no purpose ; one shepherd after 
 another left his service, and things came to such a pass 
 that he determined on asking advice at the next annual 
 council. Thorhall saddled his horses, adjusted his packs, 
 provided himself with hobbles, cracked his long Icelandic 
 whip, and cantered along the road, and in due time 
 reached Thingvellir. 
 
 Skapti Thorodd's son was lawgiver at that time, and as 
 everyone considered him a man of the utmost prudence 
 and able to give the best advice, our friend from the Vale 
 of Shadows made straight for his booth. 
 
 i6o 
 
GLAMR i6i 
 
 "An awkward predicament, certainly — to have large 
 droves of sheep and no one to look after them," said 
 Skapti, nibbling the nail of his thumb, and shaking his 
 wise head — a head as stuffed with law as a ptarmigan's 
 crop is stuffed with blaeberries. " Now I'll tell you what — 
 as you have asked my advice, 1 will help you to a shepherd ; 
 a character in his way, a man of dull intellect, to be sure 
 but strong as a bull." 
 
 " I do not care about his wits so long as he can look 
 after sheep," answered Thorhall. 
 
 " You may rely on his being able to do that," said 
 Skapti. " He is a stout, plucky fellow ; a Swede from 
 Sylgsdale, if you know where that is." 
 
 Towards the break-up of the council — " Thing " they call 
 it in Iceland — two greyish-white horses belonging to Thor- 
 hall slipped their hobbles and strayed ; so the good man 
 had to hunt after them himself, which shows how short of 
 servants he was. He crossed Sletha-asi, thence he bent 
 his way to Armann's-fell, and just by the Priest's Wood he 
 met a strange-looking man driving before him a horse 
 laden with faggots. The fellow was tall and stalwart ; his 
 face involuntarily attracted Thorhall's attention, for the 
 eyes, of an ashen grey, were large and staring, the powerful 
 jaw was furnished with very white protruding teeth, and 
 around the low forehead hung bunches of coarse wolf-grey 
 hair. 
 
 " Pray, what Is your name, my man ? " asked the farmer 
 pulling up. 
 
 " Glamr, an please you," replied the wood-cutter. 
 
 Thorhall stared ; then, with a preliminary cough, he 
 asked how Glamr liked faggot-picking, 
 
 " Not much," was the answer ; " I prefer shepherd life." 
 
 "Will you come with me?" asked Thorhall; "Skapti 
 has handed you over to me, and I want a shepherd this 
 winter uncommonly." 
 
 " If I serve you, it is on the und :rstanding that I come 
 
 M 
 
i62 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 or go as it pleases me. I tell you I am a bit truculent if 
 things do not go just to my thinking." 
 
 " I shall not object to this," answered the bonder. " So I 
 may count on your services ? " 
 
 " Wait a moment ! You have not told me whether there 
 be any drawback." 
 
 " I must acknowledge that there is one," said Thorhall ; 
 " in fact, the sheepwalks have got a bad name for bogies." 
 
 " Pshaw ! I'm not the man to be scared at shadows," 
 laughed Glamr ; " so here's my hand to it ; I'll be with 
 you at the beginning of the winter night." 
 
 Well, after this they parted, and presently the farmer 
 found his ponies. Having thanked Skapti for his advice 
 and assistance, he got his horses together and trotted 
 home. 
 
 Summer, and then autumn passed, but not a word about 
 the new shepherd reached the Valley of Shadows. The 
 winter storms began to bluster up the glen, driving the 
 flying snow-flakes and massing the white drifts at every 
 winding of the vale. Ice formed in the shallows of the 
 river; and the streams, which in summer trickled down the 
 ribbed scarps, were now transmuted into icicles. 
 
 One gusty night a violent blow at the door startled all 
 in the farm. In another moment Glamr, tall as a troll, 
 stood in the hall glowering out of his wild eyes, his grey 
 hair matted with frost, his teeth rattling and snapping with 
 cold, his face blood-red in the glare of the fire which smoul- 
 dered in the centre of the hall. Thorhall jumped up and 
 greeted him warmly, but the housewife was too frightened 
 to be very cordial. 
 
 Weeks passed, and the new shepherd was daily on the 
 moors with his flock ; his loud and deep-toned voice was 
 often borne down on the blast as he shouted to the sheep 
 driving them into fold. His presence in the house always 
 produced gloom, and if he spoke it sent a thrill through 
 the women, who openly proclaimed their aversion for him. 
 
GLAMR 163 
 
 There was a church near the byre, but Gldmr never 
 crossed the threshold ; he hated psalmody ; apparently he 
 was an indifferent Christian. On the vigil of the Nativity 
 Gldmr rose early and shouted for meat. 
 
 " Meat ! " exclaimed the housewife ; " no man calling 
 himself a Christian touches flesh to-day. To-morrow is 
 the holy Christmas Day, and this is a fast." 
 
 " All superstition ! " roared Glamr. " As far as I can 
 see, men are no better now than they were in the bonny 
 heathen time. Bring me meat, and make no more ado 
 about it." 
 
 " You may be quite certain," protested the good wife, 
 " if Church rule be not kept, ill-luck will follow." 
 
 Glamr ground his teeth and clenched his hands. " Meat! 
 
 I will have meat, or " In fear and trembling the poor 
 
 woman obeyed. 
 
 The day was raw and windy; masses of grey vapour 
 rolled up from the Arctic Ocean, and hung in piles about 
 the mountain-tops. Now and then a scud of frozen fog, 
 composed of minute particles of ice, swept along the glen, 
 covering bar and beam with feathery hoar-frost. As the 
 day declined, snow began to fall in large flakes like the 
 down of the eider-duck. One moment there was a lull in 
 the wind, and then the deep-toned shout of GMmr, high 
 up the moor slopes, was heard distinctly by the congrega- 
 tion assembling for the first vespers of Christmas Day. 
 Darkness came on, deep as that in the rayless abysses of 
 the caverns under the lava, and still the snow fell thicker. 
 The lights from the church windows sent a yellow haze far 
 out into the night, and every flake burned golden as it 
 swept within the ray. The bell in the lych-gate clanged 
 for evensong, and the wind puffed the sound far up the 
 glen ; perhaps it reached the herdsman's ear. Hark ! 
 Someone caught a distant sound or shriek, which it was he 
 could not tell, for the wind muttered and mumbled about 
 the church eaves, and then with a fierce whistle scudded 
 
i64 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 over the graveyard fence. Glamr had not returned when 
 the service was over. Thorhall suggested a search, but no 
 man would accompany him ; and no wonder ! it was not a 
 night for a dog to be out in; besides, the tracks were a 
 foot deep in snow. The family sat up all night, waiting, 
 listening, trembling; but no Gldmr came home. Dawn 
 broke at last, wan and blear in the south. The clouds hung 
 down like great sheets, full of snow, almost to bursting. 
 
 A party was soon formed to search for the missing man. 
 A sharp scramble brought them to high land, and the 
 ridge between the two rivers which join in Vatnsdalr was 
 thoroughly examined. Here and there were found the 
 scattered sheep, shuddering under an icicled rock, or half 
 buried in a snow-drift. No trace yet of the keeper. A 
 dead ewe lay at the bottom of a crag ; it had staggered 
 over in the gloom, and had been dashed to pieces. 
 
 Presently the whole party were called together about 
 a trampled spot in the heath, where evidently a death- 
 struggle had taken place, for earth and stone were tossed 
 about, and the snow was blotched with large splashes of 
 blood. A gory track led up the mountain, and the farm- 
 servants were following it, when a cry, almost of agony, 
 from one of the lads, made them turn. In looking behind 
 a rock, the boy had come upon the corpse of the shepherd ; 
 it was livid and swollen to the size of a bullock. It lay 
 on its back with the arms extended. The snow had been 
 scrabbled up by the puffed hands in the death-agony, and 
 the staring glassy eyes gazed out of the ashen-grey, up- 
 turned face into the vaporous canopy overhead. From 
 the purple lips lolled the tongue, which in the last throes 
 had been bitten through by the white fangs, and a dis- 
 coloured stream which had flowed from it was now an icicle. 
 
 With trouble the dead man was raised on a litter, and 
 carried to a gill-edge, but beyond this he could not be 
 borne ; his weight waxed more and more, the bearers 
 toiled beneath their burden, their foreheads became beaded 
 
GLAMR 165 
 
 with sweat ; though strong men they were crushed to the 
 ground. Consequently, the corpse was left at the ravine- 
 head, and the men returned to the farm. Next day their 
 efforts to lift Glamr's bloated carcass, and remove it to 
 consecrated ground, were unavailing. On the third day 
 a priest accompanied them, but the body was nowhere to 
 be found. Another expedition without the priest was 
 made, and on this occasion the corpse was discovered ; so 
 a cairn was raised over the spot. 
 
 Two nights after this one of the thralls who had gone 
 after the cows burst into the hall with a face blank and 
 scared ; he staggered to a seat and fainted. On recover- 
 ing his senses, in a broken voice he assured all who 
 crowded about him that he had seen Glamr walking past 
 him as he left the door of the stable. On the following 
 evening a houseboy was found in a fit under the farmyard 
 wall, and he remained an idiot to his dying day. Some of 
 the women next saw a face which, though blown out and 
 discoloured, they recognised as that of Glamr, looking in 
 upon them through a window of the dairy. In the twi- 
 light, Thorhall himself met the dead man, who stood and 
 glowered at him, but made no attempt to injure his master. 
 The haunting did not end there. Nightly a heavy tread 
 was heard around the house, and a hand feeling along the 
 walls, sometimes thrust in at the windows, at others clutch- 
 ing the woodwork, and breaking it to splinters. However, 
 when the spring came round the disturbances lessened, 
 and as the sun obtained full power, ceased altogether. 
 
 That summer a vessel from Norway dropped anchor in 
 the nearest bay. Thorhall visited it, and found on board 
 a man named Thorgaut, who was in search of work. 
 
 " What do you say to being my shepherd ? " asked the 
 bonder. 
 
 " I should very much like the office," answered Thorgaut. 
 " I am as strong as two ordinary men, and a handy fellow 
 to boot.'' 
 
i66 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " I will not engage you without forewarning you of the 
 terrible things you may have to encounter during the 
 winter night." 
 
 " Pray, what may they be ? " 
 
 " Ghosts and hobgoblins," answered the farmer ; " a fine 
 dance they lead me, I can promise you." 
 
 " I fear them not," answered Thorgaut ; " I shall be with 
 you at cattle-slaughtering time." 
 
 At the appointed season the man came, and soon 
 established himself as a favourite in the house ; he romped 
 with the children, chucked the maidens under the chin, 
 helped his fellow-servants, gratified the housewife by 
 admiring her curd, and was just as much liked as his 
 predecessor had been detested. He was a devil-may-care 
 fellow, too, and made no bones of his contempt for the 
 ghost, expressing hopes of meeting him face to face, which 
 made his master look grave, and his mistress shudderingly 
 cross herself As the winter came on, strange sights and 
 sounds began to alarm the folk, but these never frightened 
 Thorgaut ; he slept too soundly at night to hear the tread 
 of feet about the door, and was too short-sighted to catch 
 glimpses of a grizzly monster striding up and down, in the 
 twilight, before its cairn. 
 
 At last Christmas Eve came round, and Thorgaut went 
 out as usual with his sheep. 
 
 " Have a care, man," urged the bonder ; " go not near 
 to the gill-head, where Glamr lies." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! fear not for me. I shall be back by vespers." 
 
 " God grant it," sighed the housewife ; " but 'tis not a 
 day for risks, to be sure." 
 
 Twilight came on : a feeble light hung over the south, 
 one white streak above the heath land to the south. Far 
 off in southern lands it was still day, but here the darkness 
 gathered in apace, and men came from Vatnsdalr for even- 
 song, to herald in the night when Christ was born. Christ- 
 mas Eve I How different in Saxon England ! There the 
 
GLAMR 167 
 
 great ashen faggot is rolled along the hall with torch and 
 taper ; the mummers dance with their merry jingling 
 bells ; the boar's head, with gilded tusks, " bedecked with 
 holly and rosemary," is brought in by the steward to a 
 flourish of trumpets. 
 
 How different, too, where the Varanger cluster round 
 the imperial throne in the mighty church of the Eternal 
 Wisdom at this very hour. Outside, the air is soft from 
 breathing over the Bosphorus, which flashes tremulously 
 beneath the stars. The orange and laurel leaves in the 
 palace gardens are still exhaling fragrance in the hush of 
 the Christmas night. 
 
 But it is different here. The wind is piercing as a two- 
 edged sword ; blocks of ice crash and grind along the 
 coast, and the lake waters are congealed to stone. Aloft, 
 the Aurora flames crimson, flinging long streamers to the 
 zenith, and then suddenly dissolving into a sea of pale 
 green light. The natives are waiting round the church- 
 door, but no Thorgaut has returned. 
 
 They find him next morning, lying across Gldmr's cairn, 
 with his spine, his leg, and arm-bones shattered. He is 
 conveyed to the churchyard, and a cross is set up at his 
 head. He sleeps peacefully. Not so Glamr ; he becomes 
 more furious than ever. No one will remain with Thor- 
 hall now, except an old cowherd who has always served 
 the family, and who had long ago dandled his present 
 master on his knee. 
 
 "All the cattle will be lost if I leave," said the carle; 
 " it shall never be told of me that I deserted Thorhall from 
 fear of a spectre." 
 
 Matters grew rapidly worse. Outbuildings were broken 
 into of a night, and their woodwork was rent and 
 shattered ; the house door was violently shaken, and great 
 pieces of it were torn away ; the gables of the house were 
 also pulled furiously to and fro. 
 
 One morning before dawn, the old man went to the 
 
i68 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 stable. An hour later, his mistress arose, and taking her 
 milking pails, followed him. As she reached the door of 
 the stable, a terrible sound from within — the bellowing of 
 the cattle, mingled with the deep notes of an unearthly- 
 voice — sent her back shrieking to the house. Thorhall 
 leaped out of bed, caught up a weapon, and hastened to 
 the cow-house. On opening the door, he found the cattle 
 goring each other. Slung across the stone that separated 
 the stalls was something. Thorhall stepped up to it, felt 
 it, looked close ; it was the cowherd, perfectly dead, his 
 feet on one side of the slab, his head on the other, and his 
 spine snapped in twain. The bonder now moved with his 
 family to Tunga, another farm owned by him lower down 
 the valley ; it was too venturesome living during the mid- 
 winter night at the haunted farm ; and it was not till the 
 sun had returned as a bridegroom out of his chamber, and 
 had dispelled night with its phantoms, that he went back 
 to the Vale of Shadows. In the meantime, his little girl's 
 health had given way under the repeated alarms of the 
 winter ; she became paler every day ; with the autumn 
 flowers she faded, and was laid beneath the mould of the 
 churchyard in time for the first snows to spread a virgin 
 pall over her small grave. 
 
 At this time Grettir — a hero of great fame, and a native 
 of the north of the island — was in Iceland, and as the 
 hauntings of this vale were matters of gossip throughout 
 the district, he inquired about them, and resolved on 
 visiting the scene. So Grettir busked himself for a cold 
 ride, mounted his horse, and in due course of time drew 
 rein at the door of Thorhall's farm with the request that 
 he might be accommodated there for the night. 
 
 "Ahem!" coughed the bonder; "perhaps you are not 
 aware " 
 
 " I am perfectly aware of all. I want to catch sight of 
 the troll." 
 
 " But your horse is sure to be killed." 
 
GLAMR 169 
 
 **I will risk it. Glamr I must meet, so there's an end of it." 
 
 " I am delighted to see you," spoke the bonder ; " at the 
 same time, should mischief befall you, don't lay the blame 
 at my door." 
 
 " Never fear, man." 
 
 So they shook hands; the horse was put into the 
 strongest stable, Thorhall made Grettir as good cheer as 
 he was able, and then, as the visitor was sleepy, all retired 
 to rest. 
 
 The night passed quietly, and no sounds indicated the 
 presence of a restless spirit. The horse, moreover, was 
 found next morning in good condition, enjoying his hay. 
 
 " This is unexpected ! " exclaimed the bonder, gleefully. 
 "Now, where's the saddle? We'll clap it on, and then good- 
 bye, and a merry journey to you." 
 
 " Good-bye ! " echoed Grettir ; " I am going to stay here 
 another night." 
 
 " You had best be advised," urged Thorhall ; " if mis- 
 fortune should overtake you, I know that all your kinsmen 
 would visit it on my head." 
 
 " I have made up my mind to stay," said Grettir, and he 
 looked so dogged that Thorhall opposed him no more. 
 
 All was quiet next night ; not a sound roused Grettir 
 from his slumber. Next morning he went with the farmer 
 to the stable. The strong wooden door was shivered and 
 driven in. They stepped across it ; Grettir called to his 
 horse, but there was no responsive whinny. 
 
 " I am afraid " began Thorhall. Grettir leaped in, 
 
 and found the poor brute dead, and with its neck broken. 
 
 " Now," said Thorhall quickly, " I've got a capital 
 horse — a skewbald — down by Tunga, I shall not be many 
 hours in fetching it ; your saddle is here, I think, and then 
 you will just have time to reach " 
 
 " I stay here another night," interrupted Grettir. 
 
 " I implore you to depart," said Thorhall. 
 
 " My horse is slain ! " 
 
I70 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " But I will provide you with another." 
 
 " Friend," answered Grettir, turning so sharply round 
 that the farmer jumped back, half frightened, "no man 
 ever did me an injury without rueing it. Now, your 
 demon herdsman has been the death of my horse. He 
 must be taught a lesson." 
 
 " Would that he were ! " groaned Thorhall ; " but mortal 
 must not face him. Go in peace and receive compensa- 
 tion from me for what has happened." 
 
 " I must revenge my horse." 
 
 "An obstinate man will have his own way ! But if you 
 run your head against a stone wall, don't be angry because 
 you get a broken pate." 
 
 Night came on ; Grettir ate a hearty supper and was 
 right jovial ; not so Thorhall, who had his misgivings. At 
 bedtime the latter crept into his crib, which, in the manner 
 of old Icelandic beds, opened out of the hall, as berths do 
 out of a cabin. Grettir, however, determined on remaining 
 up ; so he flung himself on a bench with his feet against 
 the posts of the high seat, and his back against Thorhall's 
 crib ; then he wrapped one lappet of his fur coat round his 
 feet, the other about his head, keeping the neck-opening in 
 front of his face, so that he could look through into the hall. 
 
 There was a fire burning on the hearth, a smouldering 
 heap of red embers ; every now and then a twig flared up 
 and crackled, giving Grettir glimpses of the rafters, as 
 he lay with his eyes wandering among the mysteries of 
 the smoke-blackened roof The wind whistled softly over- 
 head. The clerestory windows, covered with the amnion 
 of sheep, admitted now and then a sickly yellow glare 
 from the full moon, which, however, shot a beam of pure 
 silver through the smoke-hole in the roof A dog without 
 began to howl ; the cat, which had long been sitting 
 demurely watching the fire, stood up with raised back and 
 bristling tail, then darted behind some chests in a corner. 
 The hall door was in a sad plight. It had been so riven 
 
GLAMR 171 
 
 by the spectre that it was made firm by wattles only, and 
 the moon glinted athwart the crevices. Soothingly the 
 river, not yet frozen over, prattled over its shingly bed 
 as it swept round the knoll on which stood the farm. 
 Grettir heard the breathing of the sleeping women in the 
 adjoining chamber, and the sigh of the housewife as she 
 turned in her bed. 
 
 Click! click ! — It is only the frozen turf on the roof crack- 
 ing with the cold. The wind lulls completely. The night 
 is very still without. Hark ! a heavy tread, beneath which 
 the snow yields. Every footfall goes straight to Grettir's 
 heart. A crash on the turf overhead ! By all the saints in 
 paradise ! The monster is treading on the roof For one 
 moment the chimney-gap is completely darkened : Gldmr 
 is looking down it ; the flash of the red ash is reflected in 
 the two lustreless eyes. Then the moon glances sweetly 
 in once more, and the heavy tramp of Glamr is audibly 
 moving towards the farther end of the hall. A thud — he 
 has leaped down. Grettir feels the board at his back 
 quivering, for Thorhall is awake and is trembling in his bed. 
 The steps pass round to the back of the house, and then 
 the snapping of the wood shows that the creature is destroy- 
 ing some of the outhouse doors. He tires of this appar- 
 ently, for his footfall comes clear towards the main entrance 
 to the hall. The moon is veiled behind a watery cloud, and 
 by the uncertain glimmer Grettir fancies that he sees two 
 dark hands thrust in above the door. His apprehensions 
 are verified, for, with a loud snap, a long strip of panel 
 breaks, and light is admitted. Snap — snap! another por- 
 tion gives way, and the gap becomes larger. Then the 
 wattles slip from their places, and a dark arm rips them out 
 in bunches, and flings them away. There is a cross-beam 
 to the door, holding a bolt which slides into a stone groove. 
 Against the grey light, Grettir sees a huge black figure 
 heaving itself over the bar. Crack ! that has given way, 
 and the rest of the door falls in shivers to the earth. 
 
172 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Oh, heavens above ! " exclaims the bonder. 
 
 Stealthily the dead man creeps on, feeling at the beams 
 as he comes ; then he stands in the hall, with the firelight 
 on him. A fearful sight; the tall figure distended with the 
 corruption of the grave, the nose fallen off, the wandering, 
 vacant eyes, with the glaze of death on them, the sallow 
 flesh patched with green masses of decay; the wolf-grey hair 
 and beard have grown in the tomb, and hang matted about 
 the shoulders and breast ; the nails, too, they have grown. 
 It is a sickening sight — a thing to shudder at, not to see. 
 
 Motionless, with no nerve quivering now, Thorhall and 
 Grettir held their breath. 
 
 Gldmr's lifeless glance strayed round the chamber ; it 
 rested on the shaggy bundle by the high seat. Cautiously 
 he stepped towards it. Grettir felt him groping about the 
 lower lappet and pulling at it. The cloak did not give 
 way. Another jerk; Grettir kept his feet firmly pressed 
 against the posts, so that the rug was not pulled off. The 
 vampire seemed puzzled, he plucked at the upper flap and 
 tugged. Grettir held to the bench and bed-board, so that 
 he was not moved, but the cloak was rent in twain, and 
 the corpse staggered back, holding half in its hands, and 
 gazing wonderingly at it. Before it had done examining 
 the shred, Grettir started to his feet, bowed his body, flung 
 his arms about the carcass, and, driving his head into 
 the chest, strove to bend it backward and snap the spine. 
 A vain attempt ! The cold hands came down on Grettir's 
 arms with diabolical force, riving them from their hold. 
 Grettir clasped them about the body again ; then the arms 
 closed round him, and began dragging him along. The 
 brave man clung by his feet to benches and posts, but 
 the strength of the vampire was the greater ; posts gave 
 way, benches were heaved from their places, and the 
 wrestlers at each moment neared the door. Sharply 
 writhing loose, Grettir flung his hands round a roof-beam. 
 He was dragged from his feet ; the numbing arms clenched 
 
GLAMR 173 
 
 him round the waist, and tore at him ; every tendon in his 
 breast was strained ; the strain under his shoulders became 
 excruciating, the muscles stood out in knots. Still he 
 held on ; his fingers were bloodless ; the pulses of his 
 temples throbbed in jerks ; the breath came in a whistle 
 through his rigid nostrils. All the while, too, the long 
 nails of the dead man cut into his side, and Grettir could 
 feel them piercing like knives between his ribs. Then at 
 once his hands gave way, and the monster bore him 
 reeling towards the porch, crashing over the broken frag- 
 ments of the door. Hard as the battle had gone with him 
 indoors, Grettir knew that it would go worse outside, so he 
 gathered up all his remaining strength for one final 
 desperate struggle. The door had been shut with a swivel 
 into a groove ; this groove was in a stone, which formed 
 the jamb on one side, and there was a similar block on the 
 other, into which the hinges had been driven. As the 
 wrestlers neared the opening, Grettir planted both his feet 
 against the stone posts, holding Gldmr by the middle. 
 He had the advantage now. The dead man writhed 
 in his arms, drove his talons into Grettir's back, and tore 
 up great ribbons of flesh, but the stone jambs held firm. 
 
 " Now," thought Grettir, " I can break his back," and 
 thrusting his head under the chin, so that the grizzly 
 beard covered his eyes, he forced the face from him, and 
 the back was bent as a hazel-rod. 
 
 " If I can but hold on," thought Grettir, and he tried to 
 shout for Thorhall, but his voice was muffled in the hair of 
 the corpse. 
 
 Suddenly one or both of the door-posts gave way. 
 Down crashed the gable trees, ripping beams and rafters 
 from their beds ; frozen clods of earth rattled from the 
 roof and thumped into the snow. Glamr fell on his back, 
 and Grettir staggered down on top of him. The moon 
 was at her full ; large white clouds chased each other 
 across the sky, and as they swept before her disk she 
 
174 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 looked through them with a brown halo round her. The 
 snow-cap of Jorundarfell, however, glowed like a planet, 
 then the white mountain ridge was kindled, the light ran 
 down the hillside, the bright disk stared out of the veil 
 and flashed at this moment full on the vampire's face 
 Grettir's strength was failing him, his hands quivered in 
 the snow, and he knew that he could not support himself 
 from dropping flat on the dead man's face, eye to eye, lip 
 to lip. The eyes of the corpse were fixed on him, lit with 
 the cold glare of the moon. His head swam as his heart 
 sent a hot stream to his brain. Then a voice from the 
 grey lips said — 
 
 "Thou hast acted madly in seeking to match thyself 
 with me. Now learn that henceforth ill-luck shall con- 
 stantly attend thee ; that thy strength shall never exceed 
 what it now is, and that by night these eyes of mine shall 
 stare at thee through the darkness till thy dying day, so 
 that for very horror thou shalt not endure to be alone." 
 
 Grettir at this moment noticed that his dirk had slipped 
 from its sheath during the fall, and that it now lay con- 
 veniently near his hand. The giddiness which had oppressed 
 him passed away, he clutched at the sword-haft, and with 
 a blow severed the vampire's throat. Then, kneeling on 
 the breast, he hacked till the head came off. 
 
 Thorhall appeared now, his face blanched with terror, 
 but when he saw how the fray had terminated he assisted 
 Grettir gleefully to roll the corpse on the top of a pile 
 of faggots, which had been collected for winter fuel. Fire 
 was applied, and soon far down the valley the flames of 
 the pyre startled people, and made them wonder what 
 new horror was being enacted in the upper portion of the 
 Vale of Shadows. 
 
 Next day the charred bones were conveyed to a spot 
 remote from the habitations of men, and were there buried. 
 
 What Gldmr had predicted came to pass. Never after 
 did Grettir dare to be alone in the dark. 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S GHOST 
 STORY 
 
 I HAD just come back to England, after having been 
 some years in India, and was looking forward to meet 
 my friends, among whom there was none I was more 
 anxious to see than Sir Francis Lynton. We had been 
 at Eton together, and for the short time I had been at 
 Oxford before entering the Army we had been at the same 
 college. Then we had been parted. He came into the 
 title and estates of the family in Yorkshire on the death 
 of his grandfather — his father had predeceased — and I 
 had been over a good part of the world. One visit, 
 indeed, I had made him in his Yorkshire home, before 
 leaving for India, of but a few days. 
 
 It will easily be imagined how pleasant it was, two or 
 three days after my arrival in London, to receive a letter 
 from Lynton saying he had just seen in the papers that 
 I had arrived, and begging me to come down at once to 
 Byfield, his place in Yorkshire. 
 
 " You are not to tell me," he said, " that you cannot 
 come. I allow you a week in which to order and try on 
 your clothes, to report yourself at the War Office, to pay 
 your respects to the Duke, and to see your sister at 
 Hampton Court ; but after that I shall expect you. In 
 fact, you are to come on Monday. I have a couple of 
 horses which will just suit you ; the carriage shall meet 
 you at Packham, and all you have got to do is to put 
 yourself in the train which leaves King's Cross at twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 175 
 
176 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Accordingly, on the day appointed I started ; in due 
 time reached Packham, losing much time on a detestable 
 branch line, and there found the dogcart of Sir Francis 
 awaiting me. I drove at once to Byfield. 
 
 The house I remembered. It was a low, gabled structure 
 of no great size, with old-fashioned lattice windows, 
 separated from the park, where were deer, by a charming 
 terraced garden. 
 
 No sooner did the wheels crunch the gravel by the 
 principal entrance, than, almost before the bell was rung, 
 the porch door opened, and there stood Lynton himself, 
 whom I had not seen for so many years, hardly altered, 
 and with all the joy of welcome beaming in his face. 
 Taking me by both hands, he drew me into the house, 
 got rid of my hat and wraps, looked me all over, and 
 then, in a breath, began to say how glad he was to see 
 me, what a real delight it was to have got me at last under 
 his roof, and what a good time we would have together, 
 like the old days over again. 
 
 He had sent my luggage up to my room, which was 
 ready for me, and he bade me make haste and dress for 
 dinner. 
 
 So saying, he took me through a panelled hall up an 
 oak staircase, and showed me my room, which, hurried as 
 I was, I observed was hung with tapestry, and had a large 
 fourpost bed, with velvet curtains, opposite the window. 
 
 They had gone into dinner when I came down, despite 
 all the haste I made in dressing; but a place had been 
 kept for me next Lady Lynton. 
 
 Besides my hosts, there were their two daughters, Colonel 
 Lynton, a brother of Sir Francis, the chaplain, and some 
 others whom I do not remember distinctly. 
 
 After dinner there was some music in the hall, and a 
 game of whist in the drawing-room, and after the ladies 
 had gone upstairs, Lynton and I retired to the smoking- 
 room, where we sat up talking the best part of the night. 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S STORY 177 
 
 I think it must have been near three when I retired. Once 
 in bed, I slept so soundly that my servant's entrance the 
 next morning failed to arouse me, and it was past nine 
 when I awoke. 
 
 After breakfast and the disposal of the newspapers, 
 Lynton retired to his letters, and I asked Lady Lynton if 
 one of her daughters might show me the house. Elizabeth, 
 the eldest, was summoned, and seemed in no way to dislike 
 the task. 
 
 The house was, as already intimated, by no means large; 
 it occupied three sides of a square, the entrance and one 
 end of the stables making the fourth side. The interior 
 was full of interest — passages, rooms, galleries, as well as 
 hall, were panelled in dark wood and hung with pictures. 
 I was shown everything on the ground floor, and then on 
 the first floor. Then my guide proposed that we should 
 ascend a narrow twisting staircase that led to a gallery. 
 We did as proposed, and entered a handsome long room 
 or passage, leading to a small chamber at one end, in 
 which my guide told me her father kept books and papers. 
 
 I asked if anyone slept in this gallery, as I noticed a 
 bed, and fireplace, and rods, by means of which curtains 
 might be drawn, enclosing one portion where were bed and 
 fireplace, so as to convert it into a very cosy chamber. 
 
 She answered " No," the place was not really used except 
 as a playroom, though sometimes, if the house happened 
 to be very full, in her great-grandfather's time, she had 
 heard that it had been occupied. 
 
 By the time we had been over the house, and I had 
 also been shown the garden and the stables, and intro- 
 duced to the dogs, it was nearly one o'clock. We were 
 to have an early luncheon, and to drive afterwards to see 
 the ruins of one of the grand old Yorkshire abbeys. 
 
 This was a pleasant expedition, and we got back just in 
 time for tea, after which there was some reading aloud. 
 The evening passed much in the same way as the preced- 
 
 N 
 
178 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 ing one, except that Lynton, who had some business, did 
 not go down to the smoking-room, and I took the oppor- 
 tunity of retiring early in order to write a letter for the 
 Indian mail, something having been said as to the prospect 
 of hunting the next day. 
 
 I had finished my letter, which was a long one, together 
 with two or three others, and had just got into bed when I 
 heard a step overhead as of someone walking along the 
 gallery, which I now knew ran immediately above my 
 room. It was a slow, heavy, measured tread which I 
 could hear getting gradually louder and nearer, and then 
 as gradually fading away as it retreated into the distance. 
 
 I was startled for a moment, having been informed that 
 the gallery was unused; but the next instant it occurred to 
 me that I had been told it communicated with a chamber 
 where Sir Francis kept books and papers. I knew he had 
 some writing to do, and I thought no more on the matter. 
 
 I was down the next morning at breakfast in good 
 time. " How late you were last night ! " I said to Lynton, 
 in the middle of breakfast. "I heard you overhead after 
 one o'clock." 
 
 Lynton replied rather shortly, " Indeed you did not, for 
 I was in bed last night before twelve." 
 
 " There was someone certainly moving overhead last 
 night," I answered, " for I heard his steps as distinctly as 
 I ever heard anything in my life, going down the gallery." 
 
 Upon which Colonel Lynton remarked that he had often 
 fancied he had heard steps on his staircase, when he knew 
 that no one was about. He was apparently disposed to 
 say more, when his brother interrupted him somewhat 
 curtly, as I fancied, and asked me if I should feel inclined 
 after breakfast to have a horse and go out and look for the 
 hounds. They met a considerable way off, but if they did 
 not find in the coverts they should first draw, a thing not 
 improbable, they would come our way, and we might fall in 
 with them about one o'clock and have a run. I said there 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S STORY 179 
 
 was nothing I should like better. Lynton mounted me on 
 a very nice chestnut, and the rest of the party having gone 
 out shooting, and the young ladies being otherwise en- 
 gaged, he and I started about eleven o'clock for our ride. 
 
 The day was beautiful, soft, with a bright sun, one of 
 those delightful days which so frequently occur in the 
 early part of November. 
 
 On reaching the hilltop where Lynton had expected to 
 meet the hounds no trace of them was to be discovered. 
 They must have found at once, and run in a different 
 direction. At three o'clock, after we had eaten our sand- 
 wiches, Lynton reluctantly abandoned all hopes of falling 
 in with the hounds, and said we would return home by a 
 slightly different route. 
 
 We had not descended the hill before we came on an 
 old chalk quarry and the remains of a disused kiln. 
 
 I recollected the spot at once. I had been here with 
 Sir Francis on my former visit, many years ago. " Why — 
 bless me ! " said I. " Do you remember, Lynton, what 
 happened here when I was with you before ? There had 
 been men engaged removing chalk, and they came on a 
 skeleton under some depth of rubble. We went together 
 to see it removed, and you said you would have it pre- 
 served till it could be examined by some ethnologist or 
 anthropologist, one or other of those dry-as-dusts, to decide 
 whether the remains are dolichocephalous or brachy- 
 cephalous, whether British, Danish, or — modern. What 
 was the result ? " 
 
 Sir Francis hesitated for a moment, and then answered : 
 " It is true, I had the remains removed." 
 
 " Was there an inquest ? " 
 
 " No. I had been opening some of the tumuli on the 
 Wolds. I had sent a crouched skeleton and some skulls 
 to the Scarborough Museum. This I was doubtful about, 
 whether it was a prehistoric interment — in fact, to what 
 date it belonged. No one thought of an inquest." 
 
i8o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 On reaching the house, one of the grooms who took 
 the horses, in answer to a question from Lynton, said that 
 Colonel and Mrs. Hampshire had arrived about an hour 
 ago, and that, one of the horses being lame, the carriage 
 in which they had driven over from Castle Frampton was 
 to put up for the night. In the drawing-room we found 
 Lady Lynton pouring out tea for her husband's youngest 
 sister and her husband, who, as we came in, exclaimed : 
 " We have come to beg a night's lodging." 
 
 It appeared that they had been on a visit in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and had been obliged to leave at a moment's 
 notice in consequence of a sudden death in the house 
 where they were staying, and that, in the impossibility 
 of getting a fly, their hosts had sent them over to Byfield. 
 
 " We thought," Mrs. Hampshire went on to say, " that 
 as we were coming here the end of next week, you would 
 not mind having us a little sooner ; or that, if the house 
 were quite full, you would be willing to put us up any- 
 where till Monday, and let us come back later." 
 
 Lady Lynton interposed with the remark that it was 
 all settled ; and then, turning to her husband, added : 
 " But I want to speak to you for a moment." 
 
 They both left the room together. 
 
 Lynton came back almost immediately, and, making an 
 excuse to show me on a map in the hall the point to 
 which we had ridden, said as soon as we were alone, with 
 a look of considerable annoyance : " I am afraid we must 
 ask you to change your room. Shall you mind very 
 much ? I think we can make you quite comfortable up- 
 stairs in the gallery, which is the only room available. 
 Lady Lynton has had a good fire lit ; the place is really 
 not cold, and it will be for only a night or two. Your 
 servant has been told to put your things together, but 
 Lady Lynton did not like to give orders to have them 
 actually moved before my speaking to you." 
 
 I assured him that I did not mind in the very least, 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S STORY i8i 
 
 that I should be quite as comfortable upstairs, but that 
 I did mind very much their making such a fuss about 
 a matter of that sort with an old friend like myself. 
 
 Certainly nothing could look more comfortable than my 
 new lodging when I went upstairs to dress. There was a 
 bright fire in the large grate, an armchair had been drawn 
 up beside it, and all my books and writing things had been 
 put in, with a reading-lamp in the central position, and the 
 heavy tapestry curtains were drawn, converting this part of 
 the gallery into a room to itself. Indeed, I felt somewhat 
 inclined to congratulate myself on the change. The spiral 
 staircase had been one reason against this place having 
 been given to the Hampshires. No lady's long dress trunk 
 could have mounted it. 
 
 Sir Francis was necessarily a good deal occupied in the 
 evening with his sister and her husband, whom he had not 
 seen for some time. Colonel Hampshire had also just heard 
 that he was likely to be ordered to Egypt, and when Lyn- 
 ton and he retired to the smoking-room, instead of going 
 there I went upstairs to my own room to finish a book in 
 which I was interested. I did not, however, sit up long, 
 and very soon went to bed. 
 
 Before doing so, I drew back the curtains on the rod, 
 partly because I like plenty of air where I sleep, and partly 
 also because I thought I might like to see the play of the 
 moonlight on the floor in the portion of the gallery beyond 
 where I lay, and where the blinds had not been drawn. 
 
 I must have been asleep for some time, for the fire, which 
 I had left in full blaze, was gone to a few sparks wandering 
 among the ashes, when I suddenly awoke with the impres- 
 sion of having heard a latch click at the further extremity 
 of the gallery, where was the chamber containing books 
 and papers. 
 
 I had always been a light sleeper, but on the present 
 occasion I woke at once to complete and acute conscious- 
 ness, and with a sense of stretched attention which seemed 
 
i82 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 to intensify all my faculties. The wind had risen, and was 
 blowing in fitful gusts round the house. 
 
 A minute or two passed, and I began almost to fancy I 
 must have been mistaken, when I distinctly heard the creak 
 of the door, and then the click of the latch falling back 
 into its place. Then I heard a sound on the boards as of 
 one moving in the gallery. I sat up to listen, and as I 
 did so I distinctly heard steps coming down the gallery. 
 I heard them approach and pass my bed. I could see 
 nothing, all was dark ; but I heard the tread proceeding 
 towards the further portion of the gallery where were the 
 uncurtained and unshuttered windows, two in number ; but 
 the moon shone through only one of these, the nearer ; 
 the other was dark, shadowed by the chapel or some other 
 building at right angles. The tread seemed to me to pause 
 now and again, and then continue as before. 
 
 I now fixed my eyes intently on the one illumined win- 
 dow, and it appeared to me as if some dark body passed 
 across it : but what ? I listened intently, and heard the 
 step proceed to the end of the gallery and then return. 
 
 I again watched the lighted window, and immediately 
 that the sound reached that portion of the long passage it 
 ceased momentarily, and I saw, as distinctly as I ever saw 
 anything in my life, by moonlight, a figure of a man with 
 marked features, in what appeared to be a fur cap drawn 
 over the brows. 
 
 It stood in the embrasure of the window, and the out- 
 line of the face was in silhouette ; then it moved on, and 
 as it moved I again heard the tread. I was as certain as 
 I could be that the thing, whatever it was, or the person, 
 whoever he was, was approaching my bed. 
 
 I threw myself back in the bed, and as I did so a mass 
 of charred wood on the hearth fell down and sent up a 
 flash of — I fancy sparks, that gave out a glare in the dark- 
 ness, and by that — red as blood—I saw a face near me. 
 
 With a cry, over which I had as little control as the 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S STORY 183 
 
 scream uttered by a sleeper in the agony of a nightmare, 
 I called : " Who are you ? " 
 
 There was an instant during which my hair bristled on 
 my head, as in the horror of the darkness I prepared to 
 grapple with the being at my side ; when a board creaked 
 as if someone had moved, and I heard the footsteps retreat, 
 and again the click of the latch. 
 
 The next instant there was a rush on the stairs and 
 Lynton burst into the room, just as he had sprung out of 
 bed, crying : " For God's sake, what is the matter ? Are 
 you ill?" 
 
 I could not answer. Lynton struck a light and leant 
 over the bed. Then I seized him by the arm, and said 
 without moving : " There has been something in this room 
 — gone in thither." 
 
 The words were hardly out of my mouth when Lynton, 
 following the direction of my eyes, had sprung to the end 
 of the corridor and thrown open the door there. 
 
 He went into the room beyond, looked round it, returned, 
 and said : "You must have been dreaming." 
 
 By this time I was out of bed. 
 
 " Look for yourself," said he, and he led me into the little 
 room. It was bare, with cupboards and boxes, a sort of 
 lumber-place. " There is nothing beyond this," said he, 
 " no door, no staircase. It is a cul-de-sac!^ Then he added: 
 " Now pull on your dressing-gown and come downstairs 
 to my sanctum." 
 
 I followed him, and after he had spoken to Lady Lynton, 
 who was standing with the door of her room ajar in a state 
 of great agitation, he turned to me and said : " No one can 
 have been in your room. You see my and my wife's apart- 
 ments are close below, and no one could come up the spiral 
 staircase without passing my door. You must have had a 
 nightmare. Directly you screamed I rushed up the steps, 
 and met no one descending ; and there is no place of con- 
 cealment in the lumber-room at the end of the gallery." 
 
i84 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Then he took me into his private snuggery, blew up the 
 fire, lighted a lamp, and said : " I shall be really grateful if 
 you will say nothing about this. There are some in the 
 house and neighbourhood who are silly enough as it is. 
 You stay here, and if you do not feel inclined to go to bed, 
 read — here are books. I must go to Lady Lynton, who is 
 a good deal frightened, and does not like to be left alone." 
 
 He then went to his bedroom. 
 
 Sleep, as far as I was concerned, was out of the ques- 
 tion, nor do I think that Sir Francis or his wife slept much 
 either. 
 
 I made up the fire, and after a time took up a book, and 
 tried to read, but it was useless. 
 
 I sat absorbed in thoughts and questionings till I heard 
 the servants stirring in the morning. I then went to my 
 own room, left the candle burning, and got into bed. I had 
 just fallen asleep when my servant brought me a cup of 
 tea at eight o'clock. 
 
 At breakfast Colonel Hampshire and his wife asked if 
 anything had happened in the night, as they had been 
 much disturbed by noises overhead, to which Lynton re- 
 plied that I had not been very well, and had an attack of 
 cramp, and that he had been upstairs to look after me. 
 From his manner I could see that he wished me to be 
 silent, and I said nothing accordingly. 
 
 In the afternoon, when everyone had gone out. Sir 
 Francis took me into his snuggery and said : " Halifax, I 
 am very sorry about that matter last night. It is quite 
 true, as my brother said, that steps have been heard 
 about this house, but I never gave heed to such things, 
 putting all noises down to rats. But after your experiences 
 I feel that it is due to you to tell you something, and 
 also to make to you an explanation. There is — there 
 was — no one in the room at the end of the corridor, except 
 the skeleton that was discovered in the chalk-pit when you 
 were here many years ago. I confess I had not paid much 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S STORY 185 
 
 heed to it. My archaeological fancies passed ; I had no 
 visits from anthropologists ; the bones and skull were never 
 shown to experts, but remained packed in a chest in that 
 lumber-room. I confess I ought to have buried them, 
 having no more scientific use for them, but I did not — on 
 my word, I forgot all about them, or, at least, gave no 
 heed to them. However, what you have gone through, 
 and have described to me, has made me uneasy, and 
 has also given me a suspicion that I can account for 
 that body in a manner that had never occurred to me 
 before." 
 
 After a pause, he added : " What I am going to tell you 
 is known to no one else, and must not be mentioned by 
 you — anyhow, in my lifetime. You know now that, owing 
 to the death of my father when quite young, I and my 
 brother and sister were brought up here with our grand- 
 father. Sir Richard. He was an old, imperious, short- 
 tempered man. I will tell you what I have made out of a 
 matter that was a mystery for long, and I will tell you 
 afterwards how I came to unravel it. My grandfather was 
 in the habit of going out at night with a young under- 
 keeper, of whom he was very fond, to look after the game 
 and see if any poachers, whom he regarded as his natural 
 enemies, were about. 
 
 " One night, as I suppose, my grandfather had been out 
 with the young man in question, and, returning by the 
 plantations, where the hill is steepest, and not far from 
 that chalk-pit you remarked on yesterday, they came 
 upon a man, who, though not actually belonging to the 
 country, was well known in it as a sort of travelling tinker 
 of indifferent character, and a notorious poacher. Mind 
 this, I am not sure it was at the place I mention ; I only 
 now surmise it. On the particular night in question, my 
 grandfather and the keeper must have caught this man 
 setting snares ; there must have been a tussle, in the 
 course of which as subsequent circumstances have led me 
 
i86 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 to imagine, the man showed fight and was knocked down 
 by one or other of the two — my grandfather or the keeper. 
 I believe that after having made various attempts to 
 restore him, they found that the man was actually dead. 
 
 " They were both in great alarm and concern — my 
 grandfather especially. He had been prominent in putting 
 down some factory riots, and had acted as magistrate 
 with promptitude, and had given orders to the military 
 to fire, whereby a couple of lives had been lost. There 
 was a vast outcry against him, and a certain political 
 party had denounced him as an assassin. No man was 
 more vituperated ; yet, in my conscience, I believe that 
 he acted with both discretion and pluck, and arrested a 
 mischievous movement that might have led to much 
 bloodshed. Be that as it may, my impression is that he 
 lost his head over this fatal affair with the tinker, and that 
 he and the keeper together buried the body secretly, not 
 far from the place where he was killed. I now think it 
 was in the chalk-pit, and that the skeleton found years 
 after there belonged to this man." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " I exclaimed, as at once my mind 
 rushed back to the figure with the fur cap that I had seen 
 against the window. 
 
 Sir Francis went on : " The sudden disappearance of 
 the tramp, in view of his well-known habits and wander- 
 ing mode of life, did not for some time excite surprise ; 
 but, later on, one or two circumstances having led to 
 suspicion, an inquiry was set on foot, and among others, my 
 grandfather's keepers were examined before the magis- 
 trates. It was remembered afterwards that the under-keeper 
 in question was absent at the time of the inquiry, my 
 grandfather having sent him with some dogs to a brother- 
 in-law of his who lived upon the moors ; but whether no 
 one noticed the fact, or if they did, preferred to be silent, 
 I know not, no observations were made. Nothing came 
 of the investigation, and the whole subject would have 
 
COLONEL HALIFAX'S STORY 187 
 
 dropped if it had not been that two years later, for some 
 reasons I do not understand, but at the instigation of a 
 magistrate recently imported into the division, whom my 
 grandfather greatly disliked, and who was opposed to him 
 in politics, a fresh inquiry was instituted. In the course 
 of that inquiry it transpired that, owing to some unguarded 
 words dropped by the under-keeper, a warrant was about 
 to be issued for his arrest. My grandfather, who had had 
 a fit of the gout, was away from home at the time, but on 
 hearing the news he came home at once. The evening he 
 returned he had a long interview with the young man, who 
 left the house after he had supped in the servants' hall 
 It was observed that he looked much depressed. The 
 warrant was issued the next day, but in the meantime the 
 keeper had disappeared. My grandfather gave orders to 
 all his own people to do everything in their power to assist 
 the authorities in the search that was at once set on foot, 
 but was unable himself to take any share in it. 
 
 " No trace of the keeper was found, although at a subse- 
 quent period rumours circulated that he had been heard of 
 in America. But the man having been unmarried, he 
 gradually dropped out of remembrance, and as my grand- 
 father never allowed the subject to be mentioned in his 
 presence, I should probably never have known anything 
 about it but for the vague tradition which always attaches 
 to such events, and for this fact : that after my grand- 
 father's death a letter came addressed to him from some- 
 where in the United States from someone — the name 
 different from that of the keeper — but alluding to the past, 
 and implying the presence of a common secret, and, of 
 course, with it came a request for money. I replied, 
 mentioning the death of Sir Richard, and asking for an 
 explanation. I did get an answer, and it is from that that 
 I am able to fill in so much of the story. But I never 
 learned where the man had been killed and buried, and 
 niy next letter to the fellow was returned with ' Deceased ' 
 
i88 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 written across it. Somehow, it never occurred to me till I 
 heard your story that possibly the skeleton in the chalk- 
 pit might be that of the poaching tinker. I will now most 
 assuredly have it buried in the churchyard." 
 
 " That certainly ought to be done," said I. 
 
 " And — " said Sir Francis, after a pause, " I give you 
 my word. After the burial of the bones, and you are 
 gone, I will sleep for a week in the bed in the gallery, and 
 report to you if I see or hear anything. If all be quiet, 
 then — well, you form your own conclusions." 
 
 I left a day after. Before long I got a letter from my 
 friend, brief but to the point : " All quiet, old boy ; come 
 again." 
 
THE MEREWIGS 
 
 DURING the time that I lived in Essex, I had the 
 pleasure of knowing Major Donelly, retired on half- 
 pay, who had spent many years in India ; he was a man 
 of great powers of observation, and possessed an inex- 
 haustible fund of information of the most valuable quality, 
 which he was ready to communicate to his intimates, 
 among whom was I. 
 
 Major Donelly is now no more, and the world is thereby 
 the poorer. Major Donelly took an interest in everything — 
 anthropology, mechanics, archaeology, physical science, 
 natural history, the stock market, politics. In fact, it was 
 not possible in conversation to broach a subject with which 
 he was wholly unacquainted, and concerning which he was 
 not desirous of acquiring further information. A man of 
 this description is not to be held by lightly. I grappled 
 him to my heart. 
 
 One day when we were taking a constitutional walk 
 together, I casually mentioned the " Red Hills." He had 
 never heard of them, inquired, and I told him what little 
 I knew on the matter. The Red Hills are mounds of 
 burnt clay of a brick-red colour, found at intervals along 
 the fringe of the marshes on the east coast. Of the date 
 of their formation and the purpose they were destined to 
 discharge, nothing has been certainly ascertained. Theories 
 have been formed, and have been held to with tenacity, but 
 these are unsupported by sound evidence. And yet, one 
 would have supposed that these mysterious mounds would 
 have been subjected to a careful scientific exploration to 
 
 189 
 
I90 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 determine by the discovery of flint tools, potsherds, or coins 
 to what epoch they belong, and that some clue should be 
 discovered as to their purport. But at the time when I was 
 in Essex, no such study had been attempted; whether any 
 has been undertaken since I am unable to say. 
 
 I mentioned to Donelly some of the suppositions offered 
 as to the origin of these Red Hills ; that they represented 
 salt-making works, that they were funereal erections, that 
 they were artificial bases for the huts of fishers. 
 
 " That is it," said the major, " no doubt about it. To 
 keep off the ague. Do you not know that burnt clay is 
 a sure protection against ague, which was the curse of the 
 Essex marsh land ? In Central Africa, in the districts that 
 lie low and there is morass, the natives are quite aware of 
 the fact, and systematically form a bed of burnt clay as a 
 platform on which to erect their hovels. Now look here, 
 my dear friend, I'd most uncommonly like to take a boat 
 along with you, and explore both sides of the Blackwater 
 to begin with, and its inlets, and to tick down on the 
 ordnance map every red hill we can find." 
 
 " I am quite ready," I replied. " There is one thing to 
 remember. A vast number of these hills have been 
 ploughed down, but you can certainly detect where they 
 were by the colour of the soil." 
 
 Accordingly, on the next fine day we engaged a boat — 
 not a rower — for we could manage it between us, and 
 started on our expedition. 
 
 The country around the Blackwater is flat, and the land 
 slides into the sea and river with so slight an incline, that 
 a good extent of debatable ground exists, which may be 
 reckoned as belonging to both. Vast marshes are found 
 occasionally flooded, covered with the wild lavender, and 
 in June flushed with the seathrift. They nourish a coarse 
 grass, and a bastard samphire. These marshes are threaded, 
 cobweb fashion, by myriads of lines of water and mud that 
 intercommunicate. Woe to the man who either stumbles 
 
THE MEREWIGS 191 
 
 into, or in jumping falls into, one of these breaks in the 
 surface of land. He sinks to his waist in mud. At 
 certain times, when no high tides are expected, sheep are 
 driven upon these marshes and thrive. They manage to 
 leap the runnels, and the shepherd is aware when danger 
 threatens, and they must be driven off. 
 
 Nearer the mainland are dykes thrown up, none know 
 when, to reclaim certain tracts of soil, and on the land 
 side are invariably stagnant ditches, where mosquitoes 
 breed in myriads. Further up grow oak trees, and in 
 summer to these the mosquitoes betake themselves in 
 swarms, and may be seen in the evening swaying in such 
 dense clouds above the trees that these latter seem to be 
 on fire and smoking. Major Donelly and I leisurely 
 paddled about, running into creeks, leaving our boat, 
 identifying our position on the map, and marking in the 
 position of such red hills or their traces as we lighted on. 
 
 Major Donelly and I pretty well explored the left bank 
 up to a certain point, when he proposed that we should 
 push across to the other. 
 
 "I should advise doing thoroughly the upper reach of the 
 Blackwater," said he, " and we shall then have completed 
 one section." 
 
 " All right," I responded, and we turned the boat's head 
 to cross. Unhappily, we had not calculated that the 
 estuary was full of mudbanks. Moreover, the tide was 
 ebbing, and before very long we grounded. 
 
 " Confound it ! " said the major, " we are on a mudbank. 
 What a fix we are in." 
 
 We laboured with the oars to thrust off, but could touch 
 no solid ground, to obtain purchase sufficient for our 
 purpose. 
 
 Then said Donelly : " The only thing to be done is for 
 one of us to step onto the bank and thrust the boat off. I 
 will do that. I have on an old shabby pair of trousers that 
 don't matter." 
 
192 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " No, indeed, you shall not. I will go," and at the word 
 I sprang overboard. But the major had jumped simultane- 
 ously, and simultaneously we sank in the horrible slime. 
 It had the consistency of spinach. I do not mean such as 
 English cooks send us to table, half-mashed and often 
 gritty, but the spinach as served at a French table d'hote, 
 that has been pulped through a fine hair sieve. And what is 
 more, it apparently had no bottom. For aught I know it 
 might go down a mile in depth towards the centre of the 
 globe, and it stank abominably. We both clung to the sides 
 of the boat to save ourselves from sinking altogether. 
 
 There we were, one on each side, clinging to the bulwarks 
 and looking at one another. For a moment or two neither 
 spoke. Donelly was the first to recover his presence of mind, 
 and after wiping his mouth on the gunwale from the mud 
 that had squirted over it, he said : " Can you get out ? " 
 
 " Hardly," said I. 
 
 We tugged at the boat, it squelched about, splashing the 
 slime over us, till it plastered our heads and faces and 
 covered our hands. 
 
 " This will never do," said he. " We must get in together, 
 and by instalments. Look here ! when I say * three,' throw 
 in your left leg if you can get it out of the mud." 
 
 " I will do my best." 
 
 " And," he said further, " we must do so both at the 
 same moment. Now, don't be a sneak and try to get in 
 your body whilst I am putting in my leg, or you will upset 
 the boat." 
 
 " I never was a sneak," I retorted angrily, " and I certainly 
 will not be one in what may be the throes of death." 
 
 " All right," said the major. " One — two — three ! " 
 
 Instantly both of us drew our left legs out of the 
 mud, and projected them over the sides into the boat. 
 
 " How are you?" asked he. "Got your leg in all right?" 
 
 " All but my boot," I replied, " and that has been sucked 
 off my foot." 
 
THE MERE WIGS 193 
 
 "Oh, bother the boot," said the major, "so long as your 
 leg is safe within, and has not been sucked off. That would 
 have disturbed the equipoise. Now then — next we must 
 have our trunks and right legs within. Take a long 
 breath, and wait till I call 'three.'" 
 
 We paused, panting with the strain ; then Donelly, in a 
 stentorian voice, shouted : " One — two — three ! " 
 
 Instantly we writhed and strained, and finally, after a 
 convulsive effort, both were landed in the bottom of the 
 boat. We picked ourselves up and seated ourselves, each 
 on one bulwark, looking at one another. 
 
 We were covered with the foul slime from head to foot, 
 our clothes were caked, so were our hands and faces. But 
 we were secure. 
 
 " Here," said Donelly, " we shall have to remain for six 
 hours till the tide flows, and the boat is lifted. It is of no 
 earthly use for us to shout for help. Even if our calls were 
 heard, no one could come out to us. Here, then, we stick 
 and must make the best of it. Happily the sun is hot, and 
 will cake the mud about us, and then we can pick off some 
 of it." 
 
 The prospect was not inviting. But I saw no means of 
 escape. 
 
 Presently Donelly said : " It is good that we brought 
 our luncheon with us, and above all some whisky, which is 
 the staff of life. Look here, my dear fellow. I wish it 
 were possible to get this stinking stuff off our hands and 
 faces ; it smells like the scouring poured down the sink in 
 Satan's own back kitchen. Is there not a bottle of claret 
 in the basket ? " 
 
 " Yes, I put one in." 
 
 " Then," said he, " the best use we can put it to Is to 
 wash our faces and hands in it. Claret is poor drink, and 
 there is the whisky to fall back on." 
 
 "The water has all ebbed away," I remarked "We can- 
 not clean ourselves in that." 
 
194 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Then uncork the Saint Julien" 
 
 There was really no help for it. The smell of the mud 
 was disgusting, and it turned one's stomach. So I pulled 
 out the cork, and we performed our ablutions in the claret. 
 
 That done, we returned to our seats on the gunwale, one 
 on each side, and looked sadly at one another. Six hours ! 
 That was an interminable time to spend on a mudflat m 
 the Blackwater. Neither of us was much inclined to speak. 
 After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, the major proposed 
 refreshments. Accordingly we crept together into the 
 bottom of the boat and there discussed the contents of the 
 hamper, and we certainly did full justice to the whisky 
 bottle. For we were wet to the skin, and beplastered from 
 head to foot in the ill-savoured mud. 
 
 When we had done the chicken and ham, and drained the 
 whisky jar, we returned to our several positions vis-d-vis. 
 It was essential that the balance of the boat should be 
 maintained. 
 
 Major Donelly was now in a communicative mood. 
 
 " I will say this," observed he ; " that you are the best- 
 informed and most agreeable man I have met with in 
 Colchester and Chelmsford." 
 
 I would not record this remark but for what it led up to. 
 
 I replied — I dare say I blushed — but the claret in my 
 face made it red, anyhow. I replied : " You flatter me." 
 
 " Not at all. I always say what I think. You have 
 plenty of information, and you'll grow your wings, and put 
 on rainbow colours." 
 
 *' What on earth do you mean ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Do you not know," said he, " that we shall all of us, 
 some day, develop wings ? Grow into angels ! What do 
 you suppose that ethereal pinions spring out of? They 
 do not develop out of nothing. Ex nihilo nihil fit. You 
 cannot think that they are the ultimate produce of ham 
 and chicken." 
 
 " Nor of whisky." 
 
THE MEREWIGS 195 
 
 " Nor of whisky," he repeated. " You know it is so with 
 the grub." 
 
 " Grub is ambiguous," I observed. 
 
 "I do not mean victuals, but the caterpillar. That 
 creature spends its short life in eating, eating, eating. 
 Look at a cabbage-leaf, it is riddled with holes ; the grub 
 has consumed all that vegetable matter, and I will inform 
 you for what purpose. It retires into its chrysalis, and 
 during the winter a transformation takes place, and in spring 
 it breaks forth as a glorious butterfly. The painted wings 
 of the insect in its second stage of existence are the sub- 
 limated cabbage it has devoured in its condition of larva." 
 
 " Quite so. What has that to do with me ? " 
 
 " We are also in our larva condition. But do not for a 
 moment suppose that the wings we shall put on with rain- 
 bow painting are the produce of what we eat here — of ham 
 and chicken, kidneys, beef, and the like. No, sir, certainly 
 not. They are fashioned out of the information we have 
 absorbed, the knowledge we have acquired during the first 
 stage of life." 
 
 *' How do you know that? " 
 
 " I will tell you," he answered. " I had a remarkable 
 experience once. It is a rather long story, but as we have 
 some five hours and a half to sit here looking at one 
 another till the tide rises and floats us, I may as well tell 
 you, and it will help to the laying on of the colours on your 
 pinions when you acquire them. You would like to hear 
 the tale .? " 
 
 ** Above all things." 
 
 " There is a sort of prologue to it," he went on. " I can- 
 not well dispense with it as it leads up to what I particularly 
 want to say." 
 
 " By all means let me have the prologue, if it be instruc- 
 tive." 
 
 " It is eminently instructive," he said. " But before I 
 begin, just pass me the bottle, if there is any whisky left." 
 
196 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " It is drained," I said. 
 
 '' Well, well, it can't be helped. When I was in India, I 
 moved from one place to another, and I had pitched my tent 
 in a certain spot. I had a native servant. I forget what 
 his real name was, and it does not matter. I always called 
 him Alec. He was a curious fellow, and the other servants 
 stood in awe of him. They thought that he saw ghosts 
 and had familiar dealings with the spiritual world. He 
 was honest as natives go. He would not allow anyone 
 else to rob me ; but, of course, he filched things of mine 
 himself We are accustomed to that, and think nothing of 
 it. But it was a satisfaction that he kept the fingers of the 
 others off my property. Well, one night, when, as I have 
 informed you, my tent was pitched on a spot I con- 
 sidered eminently convenient, I slept very uncomfortably. 
 It was as though a centipede were crawling over me. 
 Next morning I spoke to Alec, and told him my experi- 
 ences, and bade him search well my mattress and the 
 floor of my tent. A Hindu's face is impassive, but I 
 thought I detected in his eyes a twinkle of understanding. 
 Nevertheless I did not give it much thought. Next night 
 it was as bad, and in the morning I found my panjams 
 slit from head to foot. I called Alec to me and held up the 
 garment, and said how uncomfortable I had been. * Ah ! 
 sahib,' said he, ' that is the doings of Abdulhamid, the 
 blood-thirsty scoundrel ! ' " 
 
 " Excuse me," I interrupted. " Did he mean the present 
 Sultan of Turkey ? " 
 
 " No, quite another, of the same name." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," I said. " But when you mentioned 
 him as a bloodthirsty scoundrel, I supposed it must be 
 he." 
 
 " It was not he. It was another. Call him, if you like, 
 the other Abdul. But to proceed with my story." 
 
 " One inquiry more," said I. " Surely Abdulhamid can- 
 not be a Hindu name?" 
 
THE MERE WIGS 197 
 
 " I did not say that it was," retorted the major with a 
 touch of asperity in his tone. " He was doubtless a 
 Mohammedan." 
 
 " But the name is rather Turkish or Arabic." 
 
 " I am not responsible for that ; I was not his godfathers 
 and godmothers at his baptism. I am merely repeating 
 what Alec told me. If you are so captious, I shall shut 
 up and relate no more." 
 
 " Do not take umbrage," said I. " I surely have a right 
 to test the quality of the material I take in, out of which 
 my wings are to be evolved. Go ahead ; I will interrupt 
 no further." 
 
 "Very well, then, let that be understood between us. 
 Are you caking ? " 
 
 " Slowly," I replied. " The sun is hot ; I am drying up 
 on one side of my body." 
 
 " I think that we had best shift sides of the boat," said 
 the major. " It is the same with me." 
 
 Accordingly, with caution, we crossed over, and each 
 took the seat on the gunwale lately occupied by the other. 
 
 " There," said Donelly. " How goes the enemy ? My 
 watch got smothered in the mud, and has stopped." 
 
 " Mine," I explained, " is plastered into my waistcoat 
 pocket, and I cannot get at it without messing my fingers, 
 and there is no more claret left for a wash ; the whisky is 
 all inside us." 
 
 "Well," said the major, "it does not matter; there is 
 plenty of time before us for the rest of my story. Let me 
 see — where was I ? Oh ! where Alec mentioned Abdul- 
 hamid, the inferior scoundrel, not the Sultan. Alec went 
 on to say that he was himself possessed of a remarkably 
 keen scent for blood, even though it had been shed a 
 century before his time, and that my tent had been 
 pitched and my bed spread over a spot marked by a most 
 atrocious crime. That Abdul of whom he had made men- 
 tion had been a man steeped in crimes of the most 
 
198 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 atrocious character. Of course, he did not come up in 
 wickedness to his illustrious namesake, but that was 
 because he lacked the opportunities with which the other 
 is so favoured. On the very identical spot where I then 
 was, this same bloodstained villain had perpetrated his 
 worst iniquity — he had murdered his father and mother, 
 and aunt, and his children. After that he was taken and 
 hanged. When his soul parted from his body, in the 
 ordinary course it would have entered into the shell of a 
 scorpion or some other noxious creature, and so have 
 mounted through the scale of beings, by one incarnation 
 after another, till he attained once more to the high estate 
 of man." 
 
 "Excuse the interruption," said I, "but I think you 
 intimated that this Abdulhamid was a Mohammedan, and 
 the sons of the Prophet do not believe in the transmigra- 
 tion of souls." 
 
 " That," said Donelly, " is precisely the objection I raised 
 to Alec. But he told me that souls after death are not 
 accommodated with a future according to the creeds they 
 hold, but according to Destiny : that whatever a man 
 might suppose during life as to the condition of his future 
 state, there was but one truth to which they would all 
 have their eyes opened — the truth held by the Hindus, 
 viz. the transmigration of souls from stage to stage, ever 
 progressing upward to man, and then to recommence the 
 interminable circle of reincarnation. 'So,' said I, 'it was 
 Abdul in the form of a scorpion who was tickling my ribs 
 all night' ' No, sahib,' replied my native servant very 
 gravely. He was too wicked to be suffered to set his foot, 
 so to speak, on the lowest rung of the ladder of existences. 
 The doom went forth against him that he must haunt the 
 scenes of his former crimes, till he found a man sleeping 
 over one of them, and on that man must be a mole, and 
 out of that mole must grow three hairs. These hairs he 
 must pluck out and plant on the grave of his final victims, 
 
THE MEREWIGS 199 
 
 and water them with his tears. And the flowing of these 
 first drops of penitence would enable him to pass at once 
 into the first stage of the circle of incarnations.' * Why/ 
 said I, ' that unredeemed ruffian was mole-hunting over 
 me the last two nights ! But what do you say to these 
 slit panjams ? ' ' Sahib,' replied Alec, ' he did that with 
 his nails. I presume he turned you over, and ripped them 
 so as to get at your back and feel for the so-much-desired 
 mole.' * I'll have the tent shifted,' said I. * Nothing will 
 induce me to sleep another night on this accursed spot.' " 
 
 Donelly paused, and proceeded to take off some flakes 
 of mud that had formed on his sleeve. We really were 
 beginning to get drier, but in drying we stiffened, as the 
 mud became hard about us like pie-crust. 
 
 " So far/' said I, " we have had no wings/' 
 
 " I am coming to them/' replied the major ; " I have now 
 concluded the prologue." 
 
 " Oh ! that was the prologue, was it ? " 
 
 "Yes. Have you anything against it? It was the pro- 
 logue. Now I will go on with the main substance of my 
 story. About a year after that incident I retired on half- 
 pay, and returned to England. What became of Alec I 
 did not know, nor care a hang. I had been in England 
 for a little over two years, when one day I was walking 
 along Great Russell Street, and passing the gates of the 
 British Museum, I noticed a Hindu standing there, look- 
 ing wretchedly cold and shabby. He had a tray con- 
 taining bangles and necklaces and gewgaws, made in 
 Germany, which he was selling as oriental works of art. 
 As I passed, he saluted me, and, looking steadily at him, I 
 recognised Alec. * Why, what brings you here? ' I inquired, 
 vastly astonished. * Sahib may well ask/ he replied. ' I 
 came over because I thought I might better my condition. 
 I had heard speak of a Psychical Research Society es- 
 tablished in London ; and with my really extraordinary 
 gifts, I thought that I might be of value to it, and be taken 
 
200 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 in and paid an annuity if I supplied it continuously with 
 well-authenticated, first-hand ghost stories.' ' Well,' said I, 
 ' and have you succeeded ? ' ' No, sahib. I cannot find it. 
 I have inquired after it from several of the crossing-sweepers, 
 and they could not inform me of its whereabouts ; and if I 
 applied to the police, they bade me take myself off, there was 
 no such a thing. I should have starved, sahib, if it had not 
 been that I had taken to this line ' ; he pointed to his tray. 
 ' Does that pay well ? ' I asked. He shook his head sadly. 
 'Very poorly. I can live — that is all. There goes in a 
 Merewig.' ' How many of these rubbishy bangles can you 
 dispose of in a day?' I inquired. 'That depends, sahib. 
 It varies so greatly, and the profits are very small. So 
 small that I can barely get along. There goes in another 
 Merewig.' ' Where are all these things made ? ' I asked. 
 ' In Germany or in Birmingham ? ' * Oh, sahib, how can I 
 tell ? I get them from a Jew dealer. He supplies various 
 street-hawkers. But I shall give it up — it does not pay — 
 and shall set up a stall and dispose of Turkish Delight. 
 There is always a run on that. You English have a sweet 
 tooth. That's a Merewig,' and he pointed to a dowdy 
 female, with a reticule on her arm, who, at that moment, 
 went through the painted iron gates. * What do you 
 mean by Merewigs ? ' said I. * Does not sahib know ? ' 
 Alec's face expressed genuine surprise. * If sahib will go 
 into the great reading-room, he will see scores of them 
 there. It is their great London haunt ; they pass in all 
 day, mainly in the morning — some are in very early, so soon 
 as the museum is open at nine o'clock. And they usually 
 remain there all day picking up information, acquiring 
 knowledge.' * You mean the students.' * Not all the 
 students, but a large percentage of them. I know them in 
 a moment. Sahib is aware that I have great gifts for the 
 discernment of spirits.' 
 
 " By the way," broke off Donelly, " do you understand 
 Hindustani ? " 
 
THE MERE WIGS 201 
 
 " Not a word of it," I replied. 
 
 " I am sorry for that," said he, " because I could tell you 
 what passed between us so much easier in Hindustani. 
 I am able to speak and understand it as readily as English, 
 and the matter I am going to relate would come off my 
 tongue so much easier in that language." 
 
 " You might as well speak it in Chinese. I should be 
 none the wiser. Wait a moment. I am cracking." 
 
 It was so. The heat of the sun was sensibly affecting my 
 crust of mud. I think I must have resembled a fine old 
 painting, the varnish of which is stained and traversed by 
 an infinity of minute fissures, a perfect network of cracks. 
 I stood up and stretched myself, and split in several places. 
 Moreover, portions of my muddy envelope began to curl at 
 the edges. 
 
 " Don't be in too great a hurry to peel," advised Donelly. 
 
 " We have abundance of time still before us, and I want 
 to proceed with my narrative." 
 
 " Go on, then. When are we coming to the wings ? " 
 
 " Directly," replied he. " Well, then — if you cannot 
 receive what I have to say in Hindustani, I must do my 
 best to give you the substance of Alec's communication in 
 the vulgar tongue. I will epitomise it. The Hindu went 
 on to explain in this fashion. He informed me that with 
 us. Christians and white people, it is not the same as with 
 the dusky and the yellow races. After death we do not 
 pass into the bodies of the lower animals, which is a great 
 privilege and ought to aftbrd us immense satisfaction. We 
 at once progress into a higher condition of life. We develop 
 wings, as does the butterfly when it emerges from its con- 
 dition of grub. But the matter out of which the wings are 
 produced is nothing gross. They are formed, or form them- 
 selves, out of the information with which we have filled our 
 brains during life. We lay up, during our mortal career 
 here, a large amount of knowledge, of scientific, historical, 
 philosophic, and like acquisitions, and these form the so-to- 
 
202 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 speak psychic pulp out of which, by an internal and 
 mysterious and altogether inexplicable process, the trans- 
 mutation takes place into our future wings. The more we 
 have stored, the larger are our wings ; the more varied the 
 nature, the more radiant and coloured is their painting. 
 When, at death, the brain is empty, there can be no wing- 
 development. Out of nothing, nothing can arise. That is 
 a law of nature absolutely inexorable in its application. 
 And this is why you will never have to regret sticking in 
 the mud to-day, my friend. I have supplied you with such 
 an amount of fresh and valuable knowledge, that I believe 
 you will have pinions painted hereafter with peacock's eyes." 
 
 " I am most obliged to you," said I, splitting into a 
 thousand cakes with the emotion that agitated me. 
 
 Donelly proceeded. " I was so interested in what Alec 
 told me, that I said to him, * Come along with me into the 
 Nineveh room, and we shall be able to thrash this matter 
 out' * Ah, sahib,' he replied, ' they will not allow me to 
 take in my tray.' ' Very well,' said I, ' then we will find 
 a step before the portico, one not too much frequented by 
 the pigeons, and will sit there.' He agreed. But the 
 porter at the gate demurred to letting the Hindu through. 
 He protested that no trafficking was allowed on the 
 premises. I explained that none was purposed ; that the 
 man and I proposed a discussion on psychological topics. 
 This seemed to content the porter, and he suffered Alec to 
 pass through with me. We picked out as clean a portion 
 of the steps as we could, and seated ourselves on it side by 
 side, and then the Hindu went on with what he was saying." 
 
 Donelly and I were now drying rapidly. As we sat 
 facing each other we must have looked very much like 
 the chocolate men one sees in confectioners' shops — of 
 course, I mean on a much larger scale, and not of the 
 same warm tint, and, of course, also, we did not exhale 
 the same aromatic odour. 
 
 " When we were seated," proceeded Donelly, '' I felt the 
 
THE MEREWIGS 203 
 
 cold of the stone steps strike up into my system, and as 
 I have had a touch or two of lumbago since I came home, 
 I stood up again, took a copy of the Standard out of my 
 pocket, folded it, and placed it between myself and the 
 step. I did, however, pull out the inner leaf, that con- 
 taining the leaders, and presented it to Alec for the same 
 purpose. Orientals are insensible to kindness, and are 
 deficient in the virtue of gratitude. But this delicate 
 trait of attention did touch the benighted heathen. His 
 lip quivered, and he became, if possible, more than ever 
 communicative. He nudged me with his tray and said, 
 * There goes out a Merewig. I wonder why she leaves 
 so soon ? ' I saw a middle-aged woman in a gown of grey, 
 with greasy splotches on it, and the braid unsewn at the 
 skirt trailing in a loop behind. 'What are the Merewigs?' 
 I asked. I will give you what I learned in my own words. 
 All men and women — I allude only to Europeans and 
 Americans — in the first stage of their life are bound 
 morally, and in their own interest, to acquire and store 
 up in their brains as much information as these will hold, 
 for it is out of this that their wings will be evolved in their 
 second stage of existence. Of course, the more varied 
 this information is, the better. Men inevitably accumulate 
 knowledge. Even if they assimilate very little at school, 
 yet, as young men, they necessarily take in a good deal — 
 of course, I exempt the mashers, who never learn anything. 
 Even in sport they obtain something ; but in business, by 
 reading, by association, by travel, they go on piling up 
 a store. You see that in common conversation they cannot 
 escape doing this ; politics, social questions, points of 
 natural history, scientific discoveries form the staple of 
 their talk, so that the mind of a man is necessarily kept 
 replenished. But with women this is not the case. Young 
 girls read nothing whatever but novels — they might as 
 well feed on soap-bubbles. In their conversation with one 
 another they twaddle, they do not talk." 
 
204 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 "But," protested I, "in our civilised society young women 
 associate freely with men." 
 
 "That is true," replied he. "But to what is their 
 dialogue limited ? — to ragging, to frivolous jokes. Men 
 do not talk to them on rational topics, for they know 
 well enough that such topics do not interest girls, and 
 that they are wholly incapable of applying their minds to 
 them. It is wondered why so many Englishmen look out 
 for American wives. That is because the American girl 
 takes pains to cultivate her mind, becomes a rational and 
 well-educated woman. She can enter into her husband's 
 interests, she can converse with him on almost every topic. 
 She becomes his companion. That the modern English 
 girl cannot be. Her head is as hollow as a drum. Now, 
 if she grows up and marries, or even remains an old 
 maid, the case is altered ; she takes to keeping poultry, 
 she becomes passionately fond of gardening, and she ac- 
 quires a fund of information on the habits and customs 
 of the domestic servant. The consequence of this is, that 
 the vast majority of English young women who die early, 
 die with nothing stored up in their brains out of which 
 the wings may be evolved. In the larva condition they 
 have consumed nothing that can serve them to bring them 
 into the higher state." 
 
 " So," said I, " we are all, you and I, in the larva condition 
 as well as girls." 
 
 " Quite so, we are larvae like them, only they are more 
 so. To proceed. When girls die, without having acquired 
 any profitable knowledge, as you well see, they cannot 
 rise. They become Merewigs." 
 
 " Oh, that is Merewigs," said I, greatly astonished. 
 
 "Yes, but the Merewigs I had seen pass in and out of 
 the British Museum, whether to study the collections or to 
 work in the reading-room, were middle-aged for the most 
 part." 
 
 " How do you explain that ? " I asked. 
 
THE MEREWIGS 205 
 
 " I give you only what I received from Alec. There 
 are male Merewigs, but they are few and far between, for 
 the reasons I have given to you. I suppose there are 
 ninety-nine female Merewigs to one male." 
 
 "You astonish me." 
 
 " I was astonished when I learned this from Alec. Now 
 I will tell you something further. All the souls of the girls 
 who have died empty-headed in the preceding twenty-four 
 hours in England assemble at four o'clock every morning, 
 or rather a few minutes before the stroke of the clock, 
 about the statue of Queen Anne in front of St. Paul's 
 Cathedral, with a possible sprinkling of male masher souls 
 among them. At the stroke of the clock, off the whole 
 swarm rushes up Holborn Hill, along Oxford Street, 
 whither I cannot certainly say. Alec told me that it is for 
 all the world like the rush of an army of rats in the sewers." 
 
 "But what can that Hindu know of underground 
 London ? " 
 
 " He knows because he lodges in the house of a sewer- 
 man, with whom he has become on friendly terms." 
 
 "Then you do not know whither this galloping legion 
 runs ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, for Alec was not sure. But he tells me 
 they tear away to the great garde-robe of discarded female 
 bodies. They must get into these, so as to make up for 
 the past, and acquire knowledge, out of which wings 
 may be developed. Of course there is a scamble for these 
 bodies, for there are at least half a dozen applicants. At 
 first only the abandoned husks of old maids were given them, 
 but the supply having proved to be altogether inadequate, 
 they are obliged to put up with those of married women and 
 widows. There was some demur as to this, but beggars 
 must not be choosers. And so they become Merewigs. 
 There are more than a sufficiency of old bachelors' outer 
 cases hanging up in the garde-robe^ but the girls will not 
 get into them at any price. Now you understand what 
 
2o6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Merewigs are, and why they swarm in the reading-room 
 of the British Museum. They are there picking up in- 
 formation as hard as they can pick." 
 
 " This is extremely interesting," said I, " and novel." 
 
 " I thought you would say so. How goes on the drying ? " 
 
 " I have been picking off clots of clay while you have 
 been talking." 
 
 " I hope you are interested," said Donelly. 
 
 " Interested," I replied, " is not the word for it." 
 
 " I am glad you think so," said the major ; " I was 
 intensely interested in what Alec told me, so much so that 
 I proposed he should come with me into the reading-room, 
 and point out to me such as he perceived by his remark- 
 able gift of discernment of spirits were actual Merewigs. 
 But again the difficulty of his tray was objected, and 
 Alec further intimated that he was missing opportunities 
 of disposing of his trinkets by spending so m ach time 
 conversing with me. ' As to that,' said I, ' I will buy half 
 a dozen of your bangles and present them to my lady 
 friends; as coming from me, an oriental traveller, they will 
 believe them to be genuine ' " 
 
 " As your experiences," interpolated I. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " he inquired sharply. 
 
 " Nothing more than this," rejoined I, " that faith is grown 
 weak among females nowadays." 
 
 "That is certainly true. It is becoming a sadly in- 
 credulous sex. I further got over Alec's difficulty about 
 the tray by saying that it could be left in the custody of 
 one of the officials at the entrance. Then he consented. 
 We passed through the swing-door and deposited the tray 
 with the functionary who presides over umbrellas and 
 walking-sticks. Then I went forward along with my Hindu 
 towards the reading-room. But here another hindrance 
 arose. Alec had no ticket, and therefore might not enter 
 beyond the glass screen interposed between the door and 
 the readers. Some demur was made as to his being allowed 
 
THE MEREWIGS 207 
 
 to remain there for any considerable time, but I got over 
 that by means of a little persuasion. ' Sahib/ said Alec 
 ' I should suggest your marking the Merevvigs, so as to be 
 able to recosrnise them elsewhere.' 'How can I do that?' 
 I inquired. ' I have here with me a piece of French chalk,' 
 he answered. 'You go within, sahib, and walk up and 
 down by the tables, behind the chairs of the readers, or 
 around the circular cases that contain the catalogues, and 
 where the students are looking out for the books they 
 desire to consult. When you pass a female, either seated 
 or standing, glance towards the glass screen, and when you 
 are by a Merewig I will hold up my hand above the screen, 
 and you will know her to be one; then just scrawl a W or 
 M, or any letter or cabalistic symbol that occurs to you, 
 upon her back with the French chalk. Then whenever 
 you meet her in the street, in society, at an A. B. C. place of 
 refreshment, on a railway platform, you will recognise her 
 infallibly.' ' Not likely,' I objected. * Of course, so soon 
 as she gets home, she will brush off the mark.' * You do 
 not know much of the Merewigs,' he said. * When the 
 spirits of those frivolous girls were in their first stage of 
 existence, they were most particular about their personal 
 appearance, about the neatness and stylishness of their 
 dress, and the puffing and piling up of their hair. Now 
 all that is changed. They are so disgusted at having to 
 get into any unsouled body that they can lay hold of in 
 the garde-robe, such a body being usually plain in features, 
 middle-aged, and with no waist to speak of, or rather too 
 ample in the waist to be elegant, that they have abandoned 
 all concern about dress and tidiness. Besides, they are 
 engrossed in the acquisition of knowledge, and the burning 
 desire that consumes them is to get out of these borrowed 
 cases as speedily as may be. Consequently, so long as 
 they are dressed and their hair done up anyhow, that is 
 all they care about. As to threads, or feathers, or French 
 chalk marks on their clothes, they would not think of 
 
2o8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 looking for them.' Then Alec handed to me a little piece 
 of French chalk, such as tailors and dressmakers employ 
 to indicate alterations when fitting on garments. So pro- 
 vided, I passed wholly into the spacious reading-room, 
 leaving the Hindu behind the screen. 
 
 " I slowly strayed down the first line of desks and chairs, 
 which were fully engaged. There were many men there, 
 with piles of books at their sides. There were also some 
 women. I stepped behind one, and turned my head towards 
 the screen, but Alec made no sign. At the second, how- 
 ever, up went his hand above it, and I hastily scrawled M, 
 on her back as she stooped over her studies. I had time, 
 moreover, to see what she was engaged upon. She was 
 working up deep-sea soundings, beginning with that re- 
 corded by Schiller in his ballad of ' The Diver,' down to 
 the last scientific researches in the bottom of the Atlantic 
 and the Pacific, and the dredgings in the North Sea. She 
 was engrossed in her work, and was picking up facts at 
 a prodigious rate. She was a woman of, I should say, forty, 
 with a cadaverous face, a shapeless nose, and enormous 
 hands. Her dress was grey, badly fitted, and her boots 
 were even worse made. Her hair was drawn back and 
 knotted in a bunch behind, with the pins sticking out. It 
 might have been better brushed. I passed on behind her 
 back ; the next occupants of seats were gentlemen, so I 
 stepped to another row of desks, and looking round saw 
 Alec's hand go up. I was behind a young lady in a felt 
 hat, crunched in at top, and with a feather at the side ; 
 she wore a pea-jacket, with large smoked buttons, and 
 beneath it a dull green gown, very short in the skirt, and 
 brown boots. Her hair was cut short like that of a man. 
 As I halted, she looked round, and I saw that she had 
 hard, brown eyes, like pebbles, without a gleam of tender- 
 ness or sympathy in them. I cannot say whether this was 
 due to the body she had assumed, or to the soul which 
 had entered into the body — whether the lack was in the 
 
THE MEREWIGS 209 
 
 organ, or In the psychic force which employed the organ. 
 I merely state the fact. I looked over her shoulder to see 
 what she was engaged upon, and found that she was work- 
 ing her way diligently through Herbert Spencer. I scored 
 a W on her back and went on. The next Merewig I had 
 to scribble on was a wizen old lady, with little grey curls 
 on the temples, very shabby in dress, and very antiquated 
 in costume. Her fingers were dirty with ink, and the ink 
 did not appear to me to be all of that day's application. 
 Besides, I saw that she had been rubbing her nose. I 
 presume it had been tickling, and she had done this with 
 a finger still wet with ink, so that there was a smear on 
 her face. She was engaged on the peerage. She had 
 Dod, Burke, and Foster before her, and was getting up 
 the authentic pedigrees of our noble families and their 
 ramifications. I noticed with her as with the other Mere- 
 wigs, that when they had swallowed a certain amount of 
 information they held up their heads much like fowls after 
 drinking. 
 
 " The next that I marked was a very thin woman of an 
 age I was quite unable to determine. She had a pointed 
 nose, and was dressed in red. She looked like a stick of 
 sealing-wax. The gown had probably enough been good 
 and showy at one time, but it was ripped behind now, and 
 the stitches showed, besides, a little bit of what was be- 
 neath. There was a frilling, or ruche, or tucker, about the 
 throat that I think had been sewn into it three weeks 
 before. I drew a note of interrogation on her back with 
 my bit of French chalk. I wanted much to find out 
 what she was studying, but could not. She turned 
 round and asked sharply what I was stooping over for and 
 breathing on the back of her neck. So I was forced to 
 go on to the next. This was a lady fairly well dressed 
 in the dingiest of colours, wearing spectacles. I believe 
 that she wore divided skirts, but as she did not stand up 
 and walk, I cannot be certain. I am particular never to 
 p 
 
2IO A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 make a statement of which I am not absolutely certain. 
 She was engaged upon the subject of the land laws in 
 various countries, on common land, and property in land ; 
 and she was at that time devoting her special attention to 
 the constitution of the Russian mir, and the tenure of land 
 under it. I scrawled on her back the zodiacal sign for 
 Venus, the Virgin, and went further. But when I had 
 marked seventeen I gave it up. I had already gone over 
 the desks to L, beginning backward, and that sufficed, so 
 I returned to Alec, paid him for the bangles, and we 
 separated. I did, however, give him a letter to the Secretary 
 of the Psychical Research Society, and addressed it, having 
 found what I wanted in the London Directory, which was 
 in the reading-room of the British Museum. Two days 
 later I met, by appointment, my Hindu once more, and for 
 the last time. He had not been received as he had antici- 
 pated by the Psychical Research Society, and thought of 
 getting back to India at the first opportunity. 
 
 " It is remarkable that, a few days later, I saw in the 
 Underground one of those I had marked. The chalk mark 
 was still quite distinct. She was not in my compartment, 
 but I noticed her as she stepped out on to the platform at 
 Baker Street. I suspect she was on her way to Madame 
 Tussaud's waxwork exhibition, to instruct her mind there. 
 But I was more fortunate a week later when I was at 
 St. Albans. I had an uncle living there from whom I had 
 expectations, and I paid him a visit. Whilst there, a lecture 
 was to be given on the spectroscope, and as my acquaint- 
 ance with that remarkable invention of modern times was 
 limited, I resolved to go. Have you, my friend, ever taken 
 up the subject of the photosphere of the sun ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Then let me press it upon you. It will really supply a 
 large amount of wing-pulp, if properly assimilated. It is 
 a most astonishing thought that we are able, at the remote 
 distance at which we are from the solar orb, to detect the 
 
THE MERE WIGS 211 
 
 various incandescent metals which go to make up the 
 luminous envelope of the sun. Not only so, but we are able 
 to discover, by the bars in the spectroscope, of what Jupiter, 
 Saturn, and so on are composed. What a stride astronomy 
 has made since the days of Newton !" 
 
 " No doubt about it. But I do not want to hear about 
 the bars, but of the chalk marks on the Merewigs." 
 
 " Well, then, I noticed two elderly ladies sitting in the 
 row before me, and there — as distinctly as if sketched in 
 only yesterday — were the symbols I had scribbled on their 
 backs. I did not have an opportunity of speaking with 
 them then ; indeed, I had no introduction to them, and 
 could hardly take on me to address them without it. I was, 
 however, more successful a week or two later. There was 
 a meeting of the Hertfordshire Archaeological Society 
 organised, to last a week, with excursions to ancient 
 Verulam and to other objects of interest in the county. 
 Hertfordshire is not a large county. It is, in fact, one of the 
 smallest in England, but it yields to none in the points of 
 interest that it contains, apart from the venerable abbey 
 church that has been so fearfully mauled and maltreated 
 by ignorant so-called restoration. One must really hope 
 that the next generation, which will be more enlightened 
 than our own, will undo all the villainous work that has 
 been perpetrated to disfigure it in our own. The local 
 secretaries and managers had arranged for char-a-bancs 
 and brakes to take the party about, and men — learned, or 
 thinking themselves to be learned, on the several antiquities 
 — were to deliver lectures on the spot explanatory of what 
 we saw. On three days there were to be evening gather- 
 ings, at which papers would be read. You may conceive 
 that this was a supreme opportunity for storing the mind 
 v/ith information, and knowing what I did, I resolved on 
 taking advantage of it. I entered my name as a subscriber 
 to all the excursions. On the first day we went over the 
 remains of the old Roman city of Verulam, and were 
 
212 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 shown its plan and walls, and further, the spot where the 
 protomartyr of Britain passed over the stream, and the hill 
 on which he was martyred. Nothing could have been 
 more interesting and more instructive. Among those 
 present were three middle-aged personages of the female 
 sex, all of whom were chalk-marked on the back. One of 
 these marks was somewhat effaced, as though the lady 
 whose gown was scored had made a faint effort to 
 brush it off, but had tired of the attempt and had aban- 
 doned it. The other two scorings were quite distinct. 
 
 " On this, the first day, though I sidled up to these three 
 Merewigs, I did not succeed in ingratiating myself into 
 their favour sufficiently to converse with them. You may 
 well understand, my friend, that such an opportunity of 
 getting out of them some of their Merewigian experiences 
 was not to be allowed to slip. On the second day I was 
 more successful. I managed to obtain a seat in a brake 
 between two of them. We were to drive to a distant spot 
 where was a church of considerable architectural interest. 
 
 " Well, in these excursions a sort of freemasonry exists 
 between the archaeologists who share in them, and no cere- 
 monious introductions are needed. For instance, you say 
 to the lady next to you, * Am I squeezing you ? ' And 
 the ice is broken. I did not, however, attempt to draw 
 any information from those between whom I was seated, 
 till after luncheon, a most sumptuous repast, with cham- 
 pagne, liberally given to the Society by a gentleman of 
 property, to whose house we drove up just about one 
 o'clock. There was plenty of champagne supplied, and 
 I did not stint myself I felt it necessary to take in a cer- 
 tain amount of Dutch courage before broaching to my 
 companions in the brake the theme that lay near my heart. 
 When, however, we got into the conveyance, all in great 
 spirits, after the conclusion of the lunch, I turned to my 
 right-hand lady, and said to her: 'Well, miss, I fear it will be 
 a long time before you become angelic' She turned her 
 
THE MERE WIGS 213 
 
 back upon me and made no reply. Somewhat discon- 
 certed, I now addressed myself to the chalk-marked lady 
 on my left hand, and asked : * Have you anything at all in 
 your head except archaeology ? ' Instead of answering me 
 in the kindly mood in which I spoke, she began at once to 
 enter into a lively discussion with her neighbour on the 
 opposite side of the carriage, and ignored me. I was not 
 to be done in this way. I wanted information. But, of 
 course, I could enter into the feelings of both. Merewigs 
 do not like to converse about themselves in their former 
 stage of existence, of which they are ashamed, nor of the 
 efforts they are making in this transitional stage to acquire 
 a fund of knowledge for the purpose of ultimately discard- 
 ing their acquired bodies, and developing their ethereal 
 wings as they pass into the higher and nobler condition. 
 
 "We left the carriage to go to a spot about a mile off, 
 through lanes, muddy and rutty, for the purpose of inspect- 
 ing some remarkable stones. All the party would not 
 walk, and the conveyances could proceed no nearer. The 
 more enthusiastic did go on, and I was of the number. 
 What further stimulated me to do so was the fact that the 
 third Merewig, she who had partially cleaned my scoring 
 off her back, plucked up her skirts, and strode ahead. I 
 hurried after and caught her up. ' I beg your pardon,' 
 said I. 'You must excuse the interest I take in an- 
 tiquities, but I suppose it is a long time since you were a 
 girl.' Of course, my meaning was obvious ; I referred to 
 her earlier existence, before she borrowed her present body. 
 But she stopped abruptly, gave me a withering look, and 
 went back to rejoin another group of pedestrians. Ha ! 
 my friend, I verily believe that the boat is being lifted. 
 The tide is flowing in." 
 
 " The tide is flowing," I said ; and then added, " really, 
 Major Donelly, your story ought not to be confined to the 
 narrow circle of your intimates." 
 
 " That is true," he replied. " But my desire to make it 
 
214 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 known has been damped by the way in which Alec was 
 received, or rather rejected, by the Secretary of the Society 
 for Psychical Research." 
 
 "But I do not mean that you should tell it to the Society 
 for Psychical Research." 
 
 " To whom, then ? " 
 
 " Tell it to the Horse Marines." 
 
THE "BOLD VENTURE" 
 
 THE little fisher-town of Portstephen comprised two 
 strings of houses facing each other at the bottom of 
 a narrow valley, down which the merest trickle of a stream 
 decanted into the harbour. The street was so narrow that 
 it was at intervals alone that sufficient space was accorded 
 for two wheeled vehicles to pass one another, and the road- 
 way was for the most part so narrow that each house door 
 was set back in the depth of the wall, to permit the foot- 
 passenger to step into the recess to avoid being overrun by 
 the wheels of a cart that ascended or descended the street. 
 
 The inhabitants lived upon the sea and its produce. 
 Such as were not fishers were mariners, and but a small 
 percentage remained that were neither — the butcher, the 
 baker, the smith, and the doctor ; and these also lived by 
 the sea, for they lived upon the sailors and fishermen. 
 
 For the most part, the seafaring men were furnished with 
 large families. The net in which they drew children was 
 almost as well filled as the seine in which they trapped 
 pilchards. 
 
 Jonas Rea, however, was an exception ; he had been 
 married for ten years, and had but one child, and that a son. 
 
 " You've a very poor haul, Jonas," said to him his neigh- 
 bour, Samuel Carnsew ; " I've been married so long as you 
 and I've twelve. My wife has had twins twice." 
 
 " It's not a poor haul for me, Samuel," replied Jonas, 
 ** I may have but one child, but he's a buster." 
 
 Jonas had a mother alive, known as Old Betty Rea. 
 When he married, he had proposed that his mother, who 
 
 215 
 
2i6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 was a widow, should live with him. But man proposes 
 and woman disposes. The arrangement did not commend 
 itself to the views of Mrs. Rea, junior — that is to say, of 
 Jane, Jonas's wife. 
 
 Betty had always been a managing woman. She had 
 managed her house, her children, and her husband ; but 
 she speedily was made aware that her daughter-in-law 
 refused to be managed by her. 
 
 Jane was^ in her way, also a managing woman : she kept 
 her house clean, her husband's clothes in order, her child neat, 
 and herself the very pink of tidiness. She was a somewhat 
 hard woman, much given to grumbling and finding fault. 
 
 Jane and her mother-in-law did not come to an open 
 and flagrant quarrel, but the fret between them waxed 
 intolerable ; and the curtain- lectures, of which the text and 
 topic was Old Betty, were so frequent and so protracted 
 that Jonas convinced himself that there was smoother 
 water in the worst sea than in his own house. 
 
 He was constrained to break to his mother the un- 
 pleasant information that she must go elsewhere ; but he 
 softened the blow by informing her that he had secured 
 for her residence a tiny cottage up an alley, that consisted 
 of two rooms only, one a kitchen, above that a bedchamber. 
 
 The old woman received the communication without 
 annoyance. She rose to the offer, for she had also herself 
 considered that the situation had become unendurable. 
 Accordingly, with goodwill, she removed to her new 
 quarters, and soon made the house look keen and cosy. 
 
 But, so soon as Jane gave indications of becoming a 
 mother, it was agreed that Betty should attend on her 
 daughter-in-law. To this Jane consented. After all, Betty 
 could not be worse than another woman, a stranger. 
 
 And when Jane was in bed, and unable to quit it, then 
 Betty once more reigned supreme in the house and managed 
 everything — even her daughter-in-law. 
 
 But the time of Jane's lying upstairs was brief, and at 
 
THE "BOLD VENTURE" 217 
 
 the earliest possible moment she reappeared in the kitchen, 
 pale indeed and weak, but resolute, and with firm hand 
 withdrew the reins from the grasp of Betty. 
 
 In leaving her son's house, the only thing that Betty 
 regretted was the baby. To that she had taken a mighty 
 affection, and she did not quit till she had poured forth into 
 the deaf ear of Jane a thousand instructions as to how the 
 babe was to be fed, clothed, and reared. 
 
 As a devoted son, Jonas never returned from sea without 
 visiting his mother, and when on shore saw her every day. 
 He sat with her by the hour, told her of all that concerned 
 him — except about his wife — and communicated to her all 
 his hopes and wishes. The babe, whose name was Peter, 
 was a topic on which neither wearied of talking or of listen- 
 ing ; and often did Jonas bring the child over to be kissed 
 and admired by his grandmother. 
 
 Jane raised objections — the weather was cold and the 
 child would take a chill ; grandmother was inconsiderate, 
 and upset its stomach with sweetstuff ; it had not a tidy 
 dress in which to be seen : but Jonas overruled all her ob- 
 jections. He was a mild and yielding man, but on this one 
 point he was inflexible — his child should grow up to know, 
 love, and reverence his mother as sincerely as did he him- 
 self. And these were delightful hours to the old woman, 
 when she could have the infant on her lap, croon to it, and 
 talk to it all the delightful nonsense that flows from the lips 
 of a woman when caressing a child. 
 
 Moreover, when the boy was not there, Betty was knit- 
 ting socks or contriving pin-cases, or making little garments 
 for him ; and all the small savings she could gather from the 
 allowance made by her son, and from the sale of some of 
 her needlework, were devoted to the same grandchild. 
 
 As the little fellow found his feet and was allowed to 
 toddle, he often wanted to " go to granny," not much to the 
 approval of Mrs. Jane. And, later, when he went to school, 
 he found his way to her cottage before he returned home 
 
2i8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 so soon as his work hours in class were over. He very 
 early developed a love for the sea and ships. 
 
 This did not accord with Mrs. Jane's ideas ; she came of 
 a family that had ever been on the land, and she dis- 
 approved of the sea. " But," remonstrated her husband, 
 " he is my son, and I and my father and grandfather were 
 all of us sea-dogs, so that, naturally, my part in the boy 
 takes to the water." 
 
 And now an idea entered the head of Old Betty. She 
 resolved on making a ship for Peter. She provided herself 
 with a stout piece of deal of suitable size and shape, and 
 proceeded to fashion it into the form of a cutter, and to 
 scoop out the interior. At this Peter assisted. After school 
 hours he was with his grandmother watching the process, 
 giving his opinion as to shape, and how the boat was to be 
 rigged and furnished. The aged woman had but an old 
 knife, no proper carpentering tools, consequently the pro- 
 gress made was slow. Moreover, she worked at the ship 
 only when Peter was by. The interest excited in the child 
 by the process was an attraction to her house, and it served 
 to keep him there. Further, when he was at home, he 
 was being incessantly scolded by his mother, and the 
 preference he developed for granny's cottage caused many 
 a pang of jealousy in Jane's heart. 
 
 Peter was now nine years old, and remained the only 
 child, when a sad thing happened. One evening, when the 
 little ship was rigged and almost complete, after leaving his 
 grandmother, Peter went down to the port. There happened 
 to be no one about, and in craning over the quay to look into 
 his father's boat, he overbalanced, fell in, and was drowned. 
 
 The grandmother supposed that the boy had returned 
 home, the mother that he was with his grandmother, and a 
 couple of hours passed before search for him was instituted, 
 and the body was brought home an hour after that. Mrs. 
 Jane's grief at losing her child was united with resentment 
 against Old Betty for having drawn the child away from 
 
THE "BOLD VENTURE" 219 
 
 home, and against her husband for having encouraged it. 
 She poured forth the vials of her wrath upon Jonas. He 
 it was who had done his utmost to have the boy killed, 
 because he had allowed him to wander at large, and had 
 provided him with an excuse by allowing him to tarry with 
 Old Betty after leaving school, so that no one knew where 
 he was. Had Jonas been a reasonable man, and a docile 
 husbandjhe would have insisted on Peter returning promptly 
 home every day, in which case this disaster would not have 
 occurred. '* But," said Jane bitterly, " you never have con- 
 sidered my feelings, and I believe you did not love Peter, 
 and wanted to be rid of him." 
 
 The blow to Betty was terrible; her heart-strings were 
 wrapped about the little fellow ; and his loss was to her the 
 eclipse of all light, the death of all her happiness. 
 
 When Peter was in his coffin, then the old woman went 
 to the house, carrying the little ship. It was now complete 
 with sails and rigging. 
 
 "Jane," said she, " I want thickey ship to be put in with 
 Peter. 'Twere made for he, and I can't let another have it, 
 and I can't keep it myself." 
 
 " Nonsense," retorted Mrs. Rea, junior. " The boat can 
 be no use to he, now." 
 
 " I wouldn't say that. There's naught revealed on them 
 matters. But I'm cruel certain that up aloft there'll be a 
 rumpus if Peter wakes up and don't find his ship." 
 
 "You may take it away ; I'll have none of it," said Jane. 
 
 So the old woman departed, but was not disposed to 
 accept discomfiture. She went to the undertaker. 
 
 " Mr. Matthews, I want you to put this here boat in wi' 
 my gran'child Peter. It will go in fitty at his feet." 
 
 " Very sorry, ma'am, but not unless I break off the bow- 
 sprit. You see the coffin is too narrow." 
 
 " Then put'n in sideways and longways." 
 
 "Very sorry, ma'am, but the mast is in the way. I'd be 
 forced to break that so as to get the lid down." 
 
220 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Disconcerted, the old woman retired ; she would not 
 suffer Peter's boat to be maltreated. 
 
 On the occasion of the funeral, the grandmother appeared 
 as one of the principal mourners. For certain reasons, 
 Mrs. Jane did not attend at the church and grave. 
 
 As the procession left the house, Old Betty took her 
 place beside her son, and carried the boat in her hand. 
 At the close of the service at the grave, she said to the 
 sexton: " I'll trouble you, John Hext, to put this here little 
 ship right o' top o' his coffin. I made'n for Peter, and Peter'U 
 expect to have'n." This was done, and not a step from the 
 grave would the grandmother take till the first shovelfuls had 
 fallen on the coffin and had partially buried the white ship. 
 
 When Granny Rea returned to her cottage, the fire was 
 out. She seated herself beside the dead hearth, with hands 
 folded and the tears coursing down her withered cheeks. 
 Her heart was as dead and dreary as that hearth. She had 
 now no object in life, and she murmured a prayer that the 
 Lord might please to take her, that she might see her 
 Peter sailing his boat in paradise. 
 
 Her prayer was interrupted by the entry of Jonas, who 
 shouted : " Mother, we want your help again. There's Jane 
 took bad ; wi' the worrit and the sorrow it's come on a bit 
 earlier than she reckoned, and you're to come along as 
 quick as you can. 'Tisn't the Lord gave and the Lord 
 hath taken away, but topsy-turvy, the Lord hath taken 
 away and is givin' again." 
 
 Betty rose at once, and went to the house with her son, 
 and again — as nine years previously — for a while she 
 assumed the management of the house ; and when a baby 
 arrived, another boy, she managed that as well. 
 
 The reign of Betty in the house of Jonas and Jane was 
 not for long. The mother was soon downstairs, and with 
 her reappearance came the departure of the grandmother. 
 
 And now began once more the same old life as had been 
 initiated nine years previously. The child carried to its 
 
THE "BOLD VENTURE" 221 
 
 grandmother, who dandled it, crooned and talked to it. 
 Then, as it grew, it was supplied with socks and garments 
 knitted and cut out and put together by Betty ; there 
 ensued the visits of the toddling child, and the remon- 
 strances of the mother. School time arrived, and with it a 
 break in the journey to or from school at granny's house, 
 to partake of bread and jam, hear stories, and, finally, to 
 assist at the making of a new ship. 
 
 If, with increase of years, Betty's powers had begun to 
 fail, there had been no corresponding decrease in energy of 
 will. Her eyes were not so clear as of old, nor her hearing 
 so acute, but her hand was not unsteady. She would this 
 time make and rig a schooner and not a cutter. 
 
 Experience had made her more able, and she aspired to 
 accomplish a greater task than she had previously under- 
 taken. It was really remarkable how the old course was 
 resumed almost in every particular. But the new grandson 
 was called Jonas, like his father, and Old Betty loved him, 
 if possible, with a more intense love than had been given 
 to the first child. He closely resembled his father, and to 
 her it was a renewal of her life long ago, when she nursed 
 and cared for the first Jonas. And, if possible, Jane 
 became more jealous of the aged woman, who was 
 drawing to her so large a portion of her child's affection. 
 The schooner was nearly complete. It was somewhat 
 rude, having been v/orked with no better tool than a 
 penknife, and its masts being made of knitting-pins. 
 
 On the day before little Jonas's ninth birthday, Betty 
 carried the ship to the painter. 
 
 " Mr. Elway," said she, " there be one thing I do want 
 your help in. I cannot put the name on the vessel. I 
 can't fashion the letters, and I want you to do it for me." 
 
 " All right, ma'am. What name ? " 
 
 "Well, now," said she, "my husband, the father of 
 Jonas, and the grandfather of the little Jonas, he always 
 sailed in a schooner, and the ship was the Bold Venture!' 
 
222 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " The Bonaventura, I think. I remember her." 
 
 " I'm sure she was the Bold Ventured 
 
 " I think not, Mrs. Rea." 
 
 " It must have been the Bold Venture or Bold Adven- 
 turer. What sense is there in such a name as Boneventure? 
 I never heard of no such venture, unless it were that of 
 Jack Smithson, who jumped out of a garret window, and 
 sure enough he broke a bone of his leg. No, Mr. Elway, 
 I'll have her entitled the Bold Ventured 
 
 " I'll not gainsay you. Bold Venture she shall be." 
 
 Then the painter very dexterously and daintily put the 
 name in black paint on the white strip at the stern. 
 
 " Will it be dry by to-morrow ? " asked the old woman. 
 "That's the little lad's birthday, and I promised to have 
 his schooner ready for him to sail her then." 
 
 " I've put dryers in the paint," answered Mr. Elway, 
 ** and you may reckon it will be right for to-morrow." 
 
 That night Betty was unable to sleep, so eager was she 
 for the day when the little boy would attain his ninth year 
 and become the possessor of the beautiful ship she had 
 fashioned for him with her own hands, and on which, in 
 fact, she had been engaged for more than a twelvemonth. 
 
 Nor was she able to eat her simple breakfast and noon- 
 day meal, so thrilled was her old heart with love for the 
 child and expectation of his delight when the Bold 
 Vejzture was made over to him as his own. 
 
 She heard his little feet on the cobblestones of the alley: 
 he came on, dancing, jumping, fidgeted at the lock, threw 
 the door open and burst in with a shout — 
 
 "See! see, granny! my new ship! Mother has give it me. 
 A real frigate — with three masts, all red and green, and cost 
 her seven shillings at Camelot Fair yesterday." He bore 
 aloft a very magnificent toy ship. It had pennants at the 
 mast-top and a flag at stern. " Granny ! look ! look ! ain't 
 she a beauty ? Now I shan't want your drashy old schooner 
 when I have my grand new frigate." 
 
THE "BOLD VENTURE" 223 
 
 "Won't you have your ship — the Bold Venture?^' 
 
 " No, granny ; chuck it away. It's a shabby bit o' 
 rubbish, mother says ; and see ! there's a brass cannon, a 
 real cannon that will go off with a bang, on my frigate. 
 Ain't it a beauty ? " 
 
 " Oh, Jonas ! look at the Bold Venture!'' 
 
 " No, granny, I can't stay. I want to be off and swim 
 my beautiful seven-shilling ship." 
 
 Then he dashed away as boisterous as he had dashed in, 
 and forgot to shut the door. It was evening when the 
 elder Jonas returned home, and he was welcomed by his 
 son with exclamations of delight, and was shown the new 
 ship. 
 
 " But, daddy, her won't sail ; over her will flop in the 
 water." 
 
 " There is no lead on the keel," remarked the father. 
 "The vessel is built for show only." 
 
 Then he walked away to his mother's cottage. He was 
 vexed. He knew that his wife had bought the toy with 
 the deliberate intent of disappointing and wounding her 
 mother-in-law ; and he was afraid that he would find the 
 old lady deeply mortified and incensed. As he entered 
 the dingy lane, he noticed that her door was partly open. 
 
 The aged woman was on the seat by the table at the 
 window, lying forward clasping the ship, and the two 
 masts were run through her white hair ; her head rested, 
 partly on the new ship and partly on the table. 
 
 " Mother ! " said he. " Mother ! " 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 The feeble old heart had given way under the blow, and 
 had ceased to beat. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I was accustomed, a few summers past, to spend a 
 couple of months at Portstephen. Jonas Rea took me 
 often in his boat, either mackerel fishing, or on excursions 
 to the islets off the coast, in quest of wild birds. We 
 
224 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 became familiar, and I would now and then spend an 
 evening with him in his cottage, and talk about the sea, 
 and the chances of a harbour of refuge being made at 
 Portstephen, and sometimes we spoke of our own family 
 affairs. Thus it was that, little by little, the story of the 
 ship Bold Venture was told me. 
 
 Mrs. Jane was no more in the house. 
 
 "It's a curious thing," said Jonas Rea, "but the first ship 
 my mother made was no sooner done than my boy Peter 
 died, and when she made another, with two masts, as soon 
 as ever it was finished she died herself, and shortly after 
 my wife, Jane, who took a chill at mother's funeral. It 
 settled on her chest, and she died in a fortnight." 
 
 " Is that the boat ? " I inquired, pointing to a glass case 
 on a cupboard, in which was a rudely executed schooner. 
 
 "That's her," replied Jonas; "and I'd like you to have 
 a look close at her." 
 
 I walked to the cupboard and looked. 
 
 " Do you see anything particular .'"' asked the fisherman. 
 
 " I can't say that I do." 
 
 " Look at her masthead. What is there ? " 
 
 After a pause I said : " There is a grey hair, that is all, 
 like a pennant." 
 
 " I mean that," said Jonas. " I can't say whether my 
 old mother put a hair from her white head there for the 
 purpose, or whether it caught and fixed itself when she 
 fell forward clasping the boat, and the masts and spars 
 and shrouds were all tangled in her hair. Anyhow, there 
 it be, and that's one reason why I've had the Bold Ve^iture 
 put in a glass case — that the white hair may never by no 
 chance get brushed away from it. Now, look again. Do 
 you see nothing more ? " 
 
 " Can't say I do." 
 
 " Look at the bows." 
 
 I did so. Presently I remarked : " I see nothing except, 
 perhaps, some bruises, and a little bit of red paint." 
 
THE "BOLD VENTURE" 225 
 
 "Ah! that's it, and where did the red paint come from?" 
 
 I was, of course, quite unable to suggest an explanation. 
 
 Presently, after Mr. Rea had waited — as if to draw from 
 me the answer he expected — he said : " Well, no, I reckon 
 you can't tell. It was thus. When mother died, I brought 
 the Bold Ve^tture here and set her where she is now, on the 
 cupboard, and Jonas, he had set the new ship, all red and 
 green, the Saucy Jane it was called, on the bureau. Will 
 you believe me, next morning when I came downstairs the 
 frigate was on the floor, and some of her spars broken and 
 all the rigging in a muddle." 
 
 " There was no lead on the bottom. It fell down." 
 
 " It was not once that happened. It came to the same 
 thing every night ; and what is more, the Bold Venture 
 began to show signs of having fouled her." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Run against her. She had bruises, and had brought 
 away some of the paint of the Saucy Jane, Every morn- 
 ing the frigate, if she were'nt on the floor, were rammed 
 into a corner, and battered as if she'd been in a bad sea." 
 
 " But it is impossible." 
 
 " Of course, lots o' things is impossible, but they happen 
 all the same." 
 
 *' Well, what next ? " 
 
 " Jane, she was ill, and took wus and wus, and just as 
 she got wus so it took wus as well with the Saucy Jane, 
 And on the night she died, I reckon that there was a 
 reg'lar pitched sea-fight." 
 
 " But not at sea." 
 
 "Well, no ; but the frigate seemed to have been rammed, 
 and she was on the floor and split from stem to stern." 
 
 "And, pray, has the Bold Venture made no attempt 
 since ? The glass case is not broken." 
 
 " There's been no occasion. I chucked what remained 
 of the Saucy Jane into the fire.'* 
 
MUSTAPHA 
 
 I 
 
 AMONG the many hangers-on at the Hotel de I'Europe 
 X~\ at Luxor — donkey-boys, porters, guides, antiquity 
 dealers — was one, a young man named Mustapha, who 
 proved a general favourite. 
 
 I spent three winters at Luxor, partly for my health, 
 partly for pleasure, mainly to make artistic studies, as I 
 am by profession a painter. So I came to know Mustapha 
 fairly well in three stages, during those three winters. 
 
 When first I made his acquaintance he was in the 
 transition condition from boyhood to manhood. He had 
 an intelligent face, with bright eyes, a skin soft as brown 
 silk, with a velvety hue on it. His features were regular, 
 and if his face was a little too round to quite satisfy an 
 English artistic eye, yet this was a peculiarity to which 
 one soon became accustomed. He was unflaggingly 
 good-natured and obliging. A mongrel, no doubt, he 
 was ; Arab and native Egyptian blood were mingled in 
 his veins. But the result was happy ; he combined the 
 patience and gentleness of the child of Mizraim with the 
 energy and pluck of the son of the desert. 
 
 Mustapha had been a donkey-boy, but had risen a stage 
 higher, and looked, as the object of his supreme ambition, 
 to become some day a dragoman, and blaze like one of 
 these gilded beetles in lace and chains, rings and weapons. 
 To become a dragoman — one of the most obsequious of 
 
 226 
 
MUSTAPHA 227 
 
 men till engaged, one of the veriest tyrants when engaged 
 — to what higher could an Egyptian boy aspire ? 
 
 To become a dragoman means to go in broadcloth and 
 with gold chains when his fellows are half naked ; to lounge 
 and twist the moustache when his kinsfolk are toiling under 
 the water-buckets; to be able to extort backsheesh from all 
 the tradesmen to whom he can introduce a master ; to do 
 nothing himself and make others work for him ; to be 
 able to look to purchase two, three, even four wives when 
 his father contented himself with one ; to soar out of 
 the region of native virtues into that of foreign vices ; to 
 be superior to all instilled prejudices against spirits and 
 wine — that is the ideal set before young Egypt through 
 contact with the English and the American tourist. 
 
 We all liked Mustapha. No one had a bad word to say 
 of him. Some pious individuals rejoiced to see that he 
 had broken with the Koran, as if this were a first step 
 towards taking up with the Bible. A free-thinking pro- 
 fessor was glad to find that Mustapha had emancipated 
 himself from some of those shackles which religion places 
 on august, divine humanity, and that by getting drunk he 
 gave pledge that he had risen into a sphere of pure emanci- 
 pation, which eventuates in ideal perfection. 
 
 As I made my studies I engaged Mustapha to carry 
 my easel and canvas, or camp-stool. I was glad to have 
 him as a study, to make him stand by a wall or sit on a 
 pillar that was prostrate, as artistic exigencies required. 
 He was always ready to accompany me. There was an 
 understanding between us that when a drove of tourists 
 came to Luxor he might leave me for the day to pick up 
 what he could then from the natural prey ; but I found 
 him not always keen to be off duty to me. Though he 
 could get more from the occasional visitor than from me, 
 he was above the ravenous appetite for backsheesh which 
 consumed his fellows. 
 
 He who has much to do with the native Egyptian will 
 
228 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 have discovered that there are in him a fund of kindliness 
 and a treasure of good qualities. He is delighted to be 
 treated with humanity, pleased to be noticed, and ready to 
 repay attention with touching gratitude. He is by no 
 means as rapacious for backsheesh as the passing traveller 
 supposes ; he is shrewd to distinguish between man and 
 man ; likes this one, and will do anything for him un- 
 rewarded, and will do naught for another for any bribe. 
 
 The Egyptian is now in a transitional state. If it be 
 quite true that the touch of England is restoring life to his 
 crippled limbs, and the voice of England bidding him rise 
 up and walk, there are occasions on which association with 
 Englishmen is a disadvantage to him. Such an instance 
 is that of poor, good Mustapha. 
 
 It was not my place to caution Mustapha against the 
 pernicious influences to which he was subjected, and, to 
 speak plainly, I did not know what line to adopt, on what 
 ground to take my stand, if I did. He was breaking with 
 the old life, and taking up with what was new, retaining 
 of the old only what was bad in it, and acquiring of the 
 new none of its good parts. Civilisation — European 
 civilisation — is excellent, but cannot be swallowed at a 
 gulp, nor does it wholly suit the oriental digestion. 
 
 That which impelled Mustapha still further in his course 
 was the attitude assumed towards him by his own relatives 
 and the natives of his own village. They were strict 
 Moslems, and they regarded him as one on the highway 
 to becoming a renegade. They treated him with mistrust, 
 showed him aversion, and loaded him with reproaches. 
 Mustapha had a high spirit, and he resented rebuke. Let 
 his fellows grumble and objurgate, said he ; they would 
 cringe to him when he became a dragoman, with his 
 pockets stuffed with piastres. 
 
 There was in our hotel, the second winter, a young 
 fellow of the name of Jameson, a man with plenty of 
 money, superficial good nature, little intellect, very con- 
 
MUSTAPHA 229 
 
 ceited and egotistic, and this fellow was Mustapha's evil 
 genius. It was Jameson's delight to encourage Mustapha 
 in drinking and gambling. Time hung heavy on his 
 hands. He cared nothing for hieroglyphics, scenery bored 
 him, antiquities, art, had no charm for him. Natural 
 history presented to him no attraction, and the only 
 amusement level with his mental faculties was that of 
 hoaxing natives, or breaking down their religious preju- 
 dices. 
 
 Matters were in this condition as regarded Mustapha, 
 when an incident occurred during my second winter at 
 Luxor that completely altered the tenor of Mustapha's 
 life. 
 
 One night a fire broke out in the nearest village. It 
 originated in a mud hovel belonging to a fellah ; his wife 
 had spilled some oil on the hearth, and the flames leaping 
 up had caught the low thatch, which immediately burst 
 into a blaze. A wind was blowing from the direction of 
 the Arabian desert, and it carried the flames and ignited 
 the thatch before it on other roofs ; the conflagration 
 spread, and the whole village was menaced with destruc- 
 tion. The greatest excitement and alarm prevailed. The 
 inhabitants lost their heads. Men ran about rescuing 
 from their hovels their only treasures — old sardine tins 
 and empty marmalade pots ; women wailed, children 
 sobbed ; no one made any attempt to stay the fire ; and, 
 above all, were heard the screams of the woman whose 
 incaution had caused the mischief, and who was being 
 beaten unmercifully by her husband. 
 
 The few English in the hotel came on the scene, and 
 with their instinctive energy and system set to work to 
 organise a corps and subdue the flames. The women and 
 girls who were rescued from the menaced hovels, or plucked 
 out of those already on fire, were in many cases unveiled, 
 and so it came to pass that Mustapha, who, under English 
 direction, was ablest and most vigorous in his efforts to 
 
230 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 stop the conflagration, met his fate in the shape of the 
 daughter of Ibraim the Farrier. 
 
 By the Hght of the flames he saw her, and at once 
 resolved to make that fair girl his wife. 
 
 No reasonable obstacle intervened, so thought Mustapha. 
 He had amassed a sufficient sum to entitle him. to buy a 
 wife and set up a household of his own. A house consists 
 of four mud walls and a low thatch, and housekeeping in 
 an Egyptian house is as elementary and economical as 
 the domestic architecture. The maintenance of a wife and 
 family is not costly after the first outlay, which consists in 
 indemnifying the father for the expense to which he has 
 been put in rearing a daughter. 
 
 The ceremony of courting is also elementary, and the 
 addresses of the suitor are not paid to the bride, but to 
 her father, and not in person by the candidate, but by an 
 intermediary. 
 
 Mustapha negotiated with a friend, a fellow hanger-on 
 at the hotel, to open proceedings with the farrier. He" 
 was to represent to the worthy man that the suitor 
 entertained the most ardent admiration for the virtues 
 of Ibraim personally, that he was inspired with but one 
 ambition, which was alliance with so distinguished a family 
 as his. He was to assure the father of the damsel that 
 Mustapha undertook to proclaim through Upper and 
 Lower Egypt, in the ears of Egyptians, Arabs, and 
 Europeans, that Ibraim was the most remarkable man 
 that ever existed for solidity of judgment, excellence of 
 parts, uprightness of dealing, nobility of sentiment, strict- 
 ness in observance of the precepts of the Koran, and 
 that finally Mustapha was anxious to indemnify this same 
 paragon of genius and virtue for his condescension in 
 having cared to breed and clothe and feed for several 
 years a certain girl, his daughter, if Mustapha might have 
 that daughter as his wife. Not that he cared for the 
 daughter in herself, but as a means whereby he might 
 
MUSTAPHA 231 
 
 have the honour of entering into alliance with one so dis- 
 tinguished and so esteemed of Allah as Ibraim the Farrier. 
 
 To the infinite surprise of the intermediary, and to the 
 no less surprise and mortification of the suitor, Mustapha 
 was refused. He was a bad Moslem. Ibraim would have 
 no alliance with one who had turned his back on the 
 Prophet and drunk bottled beer. 
 
 Till this moment Mustapha had not realised how great 
 was the alienation between his fellows and himself — what 
 a barrier he had set up between himself and the men of his 
 own blood. The refusal of his suit struck the young man 
 to the quick. He had known and played with the farrier's 
 daughter in childhood, till she had come of age to veil her 
 face ; now that he had seen her in her ripe charms, his heart 
 was deeply stirred and engaged. He entered into himself, 
 and going to the mosque he there made a solemn vow that 
 if he ever touched wine, ale, or spirits again he would cut 
 his throat, and he sent word to Ibraim that he had done so, 
 and begged that he would not dispose of his daughter and 
 finally reject him till he had seen how that he who had 
 turned in thought and manner of life from the Prophet 
 would return with firm resolution to the right way. 
 
 II 
 
 From this time Mustapha changed his conduct. He 
 was obliging and attentive as before, ready to exert himself 
 to do for me what I wanted, ready also to extort money 
 from the ordinary tourist for doing nothing, to go with me 
 and carry my tools when I went forth painting, and to 
 joke and laugh with Jameson ; but, unless he were un- 
 avoidably detained, he said his prayers five times daily 
 in the mosque, and no inducement whatever would make 
 him touch anything save sherbet, milk, or water. 
 
 Mustapha had no easy time of it. The strict Mohamme- 
 dans mistrusted this sudden conversion, and believed that 
 
232 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 he was playing a part. Ibraim gave him no encourage- 
 ment. His relatives maintained their reserve and stiffness 
 towards him. 
 
 His companions, moreover, who were in the transitional 
 stage, and those who had completely shaken off all faith in 
 Allah and trust in the Prophet and respect for the Koran, 
 were incensed at his desertion. He was ridiculed, insulted ; 
 he was waylaid and beaten. The young fellows mimicked 
 him, the elder scoffed at him. 
 
 Jameson took his change to heart, and laid himself out 
 to bring him out of his pot of scruples. 
 
 " Mustapha ain't any sport at all now," said he. " I'm 
 hanged if he has another para from me." He offered him 
 bribes in gold, he united with the others in ridicule, he turned 
 his back on him, and refused to employ him. Nothing 
 availed. Mustapha was respectful, courteous, obliging as 
 before, but he had returned, he said, to the faith and rule of 
 life in which he had been brought up, and he would never 
 again leave it. 
 
 " 1 have sworn," said he, " that if I do I will cut my 
 throat." 
 
 I had been, perhaps, negligent in cautioning the young 
 fellow the first winter that I knew him against the harm 
 likely to be done him by taking up v/ith European habits 
 contrary to his law and the feelings and prejudices of his 
 people. Now, however, I had no hesitation in expressing 
 to him the satisfaction I felt at the courageous and deter- 
 mined manner in which he had broken with acquired habits 
 that could do him no good. For one thing, we were now 
 better acquaintances, and I felt that as one who had known 
 him for more than a few months in the winter, I had a 
 good right to speak. And, again, it is always easier or 
 pleasanter to praise than to reprimand. 
 
 One day when sketching I cut my pencil with a pruning- 
 knife I happened to have in my pocket ; my proper knife 
 of many blades had been left behind by misadventure. 
 
MUSTAPHA 233 
 
 Mustapha noticed the knife and admired it, and asked 
 if it had cost a great sum. 
 
 " Not at all," I answered. " I did not even buy it. It 
 was given me. I ordered some flower seeds from a seeds- 
 man, and when he sent me the consignment he included 
 this knife in the case as a present. It is not worth more 
 than a shilling in England." 
 
 He turned it about, with looks of admiration. 
 
 " It is just the sort that would suit me," he said. " I 
 know your other knife with many blades. It is very fine, 
 but it is too small. I do not want it to cut pencils. It 
 has other things in it, a hook for taking stones from a 
 horse's hoof, a pair of tweezers for removing hairs. I do 
 not want such, but a knife such as this, with such a curve, 
 is just the thing." 
 
 " Then you shall have it," said I. " You are welcome. 
 It was for rough work only that I brought the knife to 
 Egypt with me." 
 
 I finished a painting that winter that gave me real 
 satisfaction. It was of the great court of the temple of 
 Luxor by evening light, with the last red glare of the sun 
 over the distant desert hills, and the eastern sky above of 
 a purple depth. What colours I used ! the intensest on 
 my palette, and yet fell short of the effect. 
 
 The picture was in the Academy, was well hung, abomi- 
 nably represented in one of the illustrated guides to the 
 galleries, as a blotch, by some sort of photographic process 
 on gelatine ; my picture sold, which concerned me most of 
 all, and not only did it sell at a respectable figure, but it 
 also brought me two or three orders for Egyptian pictures. 
 So many English and Americans go up the Nile, and 
 carry away with them pleasant reminiscences of the Land 
 of the Pharaohs, that when in England they are fain to 
 buy pictures which shall remind them of scenes in that 
 land. 
 
 I returned to my hotel at Luxor in November, to spend 
 
234 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 there a third winter. The fellaheen about there saluted 
 me as a friend with an affectionate delight, which I am 
 quite certain was not assumed, as they got nothing out of 
 me save kindly salutations. I had the Egyptian fever on 
 me, which, when once acquired, is not to be shaken off — 
 an enthusiasm for everything Egyptian, the antiquities, 
 the history of the Pharaohs, the very desert, the brown 
 Nile, the desolate hill ranges, the ever blue sky, the 
 marvellous colorations at rise and set of sun, and last, 
 but not least, the prosperity of the poor peasants. 
 
 I am quite certain that the very warmest welcome 
 accorded to me was from Mustapha, and almost the first 
 words he said to me on my meeting him again were : 
 " I have been very good. I say my prayers. I drink no 
 wine, and Ibraim will give me his daughter in the second 
 lomada — what you call January." 
 
 "Not before, Mustapha?" 
 
 " No, sir ; he says I must be tried for one whole year, 
 and he is right." 
 
 " Then soon after Christmas you will be happy ! " 
 
 " I have got a house and made it ready. Yes. After 
 Christmas there will be one very happy man — one very, 
 very happy man in Egypt, and that will be your humble 
 servant, Mustapha." 
 
 Ill 
 
 We were a pleasant party at Luxor, this third winter, 
 not numerous, but for the most part of congenial tastes. 
 For the most part we were keen on hieroglyphics, we 
 admired Queen Hatasou and we hated Rameses II. We 
 could distinguish the artistic work of one dynasty from 
 that of another. We were learned on cartouches, and 
 flourished our knowledge before the tourists dropping in. 
 
 One of those staying in the hotel was an Oxford don, 
 very good company, interested in everything, and able to 
 
MUSTAPHA 235 
 
 talk well on everything — I mean everything more or less 
 remotely connected with Egypt. Another was a young 
 fellow who had been an attache at Berlin, but was out of 
 health — nothing organic the matter with his lungs, but they 
 were weak. He was keen on the political situation, and 
 very anti-Gallican, as every man who has been in Egypt 
 naturally is, who is not a Frenchman. 
 
 There was also staying in the hotel an American lady, 
 fresh and delightful, whose mind and conversation twinkled 
 like frost crystals in the sun, a woman full of good-humour, 
 of the most generous sympathies, and so droll that she 
 kept us ever amused. 
 
 And, alas ! Jameson was back again, not entering into 
 any of our pursuits, not understanding our little jokes, not 
 at all content to be there. He grumbled at the food — 
 and, indeed, that might have been better ; at the monotony 
 of the life at Luxor, at his London doctor for putting the 
 veto on Cairo because of its drainage, or rather the absence 
 of all drainage. I really think we did our utmost to draw 
 Jameson into our circle, to amuse him, to interest him in 
 something ; but one by one we gave him up, and the last 
 to do this was the little American lady. 
 
 From the outset he had attacked Mustapha, and en- 
 deavoured to persuade him to shake off his " squeamish 
 nonsense," as Jameson called his resolve. " I'll tell you 
 what it is, old fellow," he said, " life isn't worth living with- 
 out good liquor, and as for that blessed Prophet of yours, 
 he showed he was a fool when he put a bar on drinks." 
 
 But as Mustapha was not pliable he gave him up. " He's 
 become just as great a bore as that old Rameses," said he. 
 " I'm sick of the whole concern, and I don't think any- 
 thing of fresh dates, that you fellows make such a fuss 
 about. As for that stupid old Nile — there ain't a fish worth 
 eating comes out of it. And those old Egyptains were 
 arrant humbugs. I haven't seen a lotus since I came here, 
 and they made such a fuss about them too." 
 
236 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 The little American lady was not weary of asking 
 questions relative to English home life, and especially to 
 country-house living and amusements. 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! " said she, " I would give my ears to 
 spend a Christmas in the fine old fashion in a good 
 ancient manor-house in the country." 
 
 " There is nothing remarkable in that," said an English 
 lady. 
 
 " Not to you, maybe ; but there would be to us. What 
 we read of and make pictures of in our fancies, that is 
 what you live. Your facts are our fairy tales. Look at 
 your hunting." 
 
 " That, if you like, is fun," threw in Jameson. " But 
 I don't myself think anything save Luxor can be a bigger 
 bore than country-house life at Christmas time — when all 
 the boys are back from school." 
 
 "With us," said the little American, "our sportsmen 
 dress in pink like yours — the whole thing — and canter 
 after a bag of anise seed that is trailed before them." 
 
 " Why do they not import foxes ? " 
 
 " Because a fox would not keep to the road. Our 
 farmers object pretty freely to trespass ; so the hunting 
 must of necessity be done on the highway, and the game 
 is but a bag of anise seed. I would like to see an English 
 meet and a run." 
 
 This subject was thrashed out after having been pro- 
 longed unduly for the sake of Jameson. 
 
 "Oh, dear me!" said the Yankee lady. "If but that 
 chef could be persuaded to give us plum-puddings for 
 Christmas, I would try to think I was in England." 
 
 "Plum -pudding is exploded," said Jameson. "Only 
 children ask for it now. A good trifle or a tipsy-cake is 
 much more to my taste ; but this hanged cook here can 
 give us nothing but his blooming custard pudding and 
 burnt sugar." 
 
 " I do not think it would be wise to let him attempt a 
 
MUSTAPHA 237 
 
 plum-pudding," said the English lady. "But if we can 
 persuade him to permit me I will mix and make the 
 pudding, and then he cannot go far wrong in the boiling 
 and dishing up." 
 
 " That is the only thing wanting to make me perfectly 
 happy," said the American. " I'll confront monsieur. I 
 am sure I can talk him into a good humour, and we shall 
 have our plum-pudding." 
 
 No one has yet been found, I do believe, who could resist 
 that little woman. She carried everything before her. The 
 cook placed himself and all his culinary apparatus at her 
 feet. We took part in the stoning of the raisins, and the 
 washing of the currants, even the chopping of the suet ; 
 we stirred the pudding, threw in sixpence apiece, and a 
 ring, and then it was tied up in a cloth, and set aside to be 
 boiled. Christmas Day came, and the English chaplain 
 preached us a practical sermon on " Goodwill towards 
 men." That was his text, and his sermon was but a 
 swelling out of the words just as rice is swelled to thrice 
 its size by boiling. 
 
 We dined. There was an attempt at roast beef — it was 
 more like baked leather. The event of the dinner was to 
 be the bringing in and eating of the plum-pudding. 
 
 Surely all would be perfect. We could answer for 
 the materials and the mixing. The English lady could 
 guarantee the boiling. She had seen the plum-pudding 
 "on the boil," and had given strict injunctions as to the 
 length of time during which it was to boil. 
 
 But, alas ! the pudding was not right when brought on 
 the table. It was not enveloped in lambent blue flame — 
 it was not crackling in the burning brandy. It was sent 
 in dry, and the brandy arrived separate in a white sauce- 
 boat, hot indeed, and sugared, but not on fire. 
 
 There ensued outcries of disappointment. Attempts 
 were made to redress the mistake by setting fire to the 
 brandy in a spoon, but the spoon was cold. The flame 
 
2t;8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 o 
 
 would not catch, and finally, with a sigh, we had to take our 
 plum-pudding as served. 
 
 "I say, chaplain!" exclaimed Jameson, "practice is 
 better than precept, is it not?" 
 
 " To be sure it is." 
 
 " You gave us a deuced good sermon. It was short, as 
 it ought to be ; but I'll go better on it, I'll practise where 
 you preached, and have larks, too ! " 
 
 Then Jameson started from table with a plate of plum- 
 pudding in one hand and the sauce-boat in the other. 
 " By Jove ! " he said, " I'll teach these fellows to open their 
 eyes. I'll show them that we know how to feed. We 
 can't turn out scarabs and cartouches in England, that are 
 no good to anyone, but we can produce the finest roast 
 beef in the world, and do a thing or two in puddings." 
 
 And he left the room. 
 
 We paid no heed to anything Jameson said or did. We 
 were rather relieved that he was out of the room, and did 
 not concern ourselves about the "larks" he promised 
 himself, and which we were quite certain would be as 
 insipid as were the quails of the Israelites. 
 
 In ten minutes he was back, laughing and red in the 
 face. 
 
 " I've had splitting fun," he said. " You should have 
 been there." 
 
 "Where, Jameson?" 
 
 " Why, outside. There were a lot of old moolahs and 
 other hoky-pokies sitting and contemplating the setting 
 sun and all that sort of thing, and I gave Mustapha the 
 pudding. I told him I wished him to try our great national 
 English dish, on which her Majesty the Queen dines daily. 
 Well, he ate and enjoyed it, by George. Then I said, ' Old 
 fellow, it's uncommonly dry, so you must take the sauce to 
 it' He asked if it was only sauce — flour and water. * It's 
 sauce, by Jove,' said I, * a little sugar to it ; no bar on the 
 sugar, Musty.' So I put the boat to his lips and gave him 
 
MUSTAPHA 239 
 
 a pull. By George, you should have seen his face! It 
 was just thundering fun. * I've done you at last, old Musty,' 
 1 said. ' It is best cognac' He gave me such a look ! 
 He'd have eaten me, I believe — and he walked away. It 
 was just splitting fun. I wish you had been there to see 
 it." 
 
 I went out after dinner, to take my usual stroll along 
 the river-bank, and to watch the evening lights die away 
 on the columns and obelisk. On my return I saw at once 
 that something had happened which had produced com- 
 motion among the servants of the hotel. I had reached 
 the salon before I inquired what was the matter. 
 
 The boy who was taking the coffee round said : 
 " Mustapha is dead. He cut his throat at the door of the 
 mosque. He could not help himself. He had broken his 
 vow." 
 
 I looked at Jameson without a word. Indeed, I could 
 not speak ; I was choking. The little American lady was 
 trembling, the English lady crying. The gentlemen stood 
 silent in the windows, not speaking a word. 
 
 Jameson's colour changed. He was honestly distressed, 
 uneasy, and tried to cover his confusion with bravado and 
 a jest. 
 
 " After all," he said, " it is only a nigger the less." 
 
 " Nigger ! " said the American lady. " He was no nigger, 
 but an Egyptian." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't pretend to distinguish between your 
 blacks and whity-browns any more than I do between 
 your cartouches," returned Jameson. 
 
 " He was no black," said the American lady, standing 
 up. " But I do mean to say that I consider you an utterly 
 unredeemed black " 
 
 " My dear, don't," said the Englishwoman, drawing the 
 other down. " It's no good. The thing is done. He 
 meant no harm." 
 
240 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 IV 
 
 I could not sleep. My blood was in a boil. I felt that 
 I could not speak to Jameson again. He would have to 
 leave Luxor. That was tacitly understood among us. 
 Coventry was the place to which he would be consigned. 
 
 I tried to finish in a little sketch I had made in my 
 notebook when I was in my room, but my hand shook, 
 and I was constrained to lay my pencil aside. Then I 
 took up an Egyptian grammar, but could not fix my 
 mind on study. The hotel was very still. Everyone had 
 gone to bed at an early hour that night, disinclined for 
 conversation. No one was moving. There was a lamp in 
 the passage ; it was partly turned down. Jameson's room 
 was next to mine. I heard him stir as he undressed, and 
 talk to himself. Then he was quiet. I wound up my 
 watch, and emptying my pocket, put my purse under the 
 pillow. I was not in the least heavy with sleep. If I did 
 go to bed I should not be able to close my eyes. But then 
 — if I sat up I could do nothing. 
 
 I was about leisurely to undress, when I heard a sharp 
 cry, or exclamation of mingled pain and alarm, from the 
 adjoining room. In another moment there was a rap at 
 my door. I opened, and Jameson came in. He was in 
 his nightshirt, and looking agitated and frightened. 
 
 "Look here, old fellow," said he in a shaking voice, 
 " there is Musty in my room. He has been hiding there, 
 and just as I dropped asleep he ran that knife of yours 
 into my throat." 
 
 "My knife?" 
 
 "Yes — that pruning-knife you gave him, you know. 
 Look here— I must have the place sewn up. Do go for a 
 doctor, there's a good chap," 
 Where is the place?" 
 
 " Here on my right gill.'* 
 
MUSTAPHA 241 
 
 Jameson turned his head to the left, and I raised the 
 lamp. There was no wound of any sort there. 
 
 I told him so. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! That's fine— I tell you I felt his knife go in." 
 
 " Nonsense, you were dreaming." 
 
 " Dreaming ! Not I. I saw Musty as distinctly as I 
 now see you." 
 
 " This is a delusion, Jameson," I replied. " The poor 
 fellow is dead." 
 
 " Oh, that's very fine," said Jameson. " It is not the first 
 of April, and I don't believe the yarns that you've been 
 spinning. You tried to make believe he was dead, but I 
 know he is not. He has got into my room, and he made 
 a dig at my throat with your pruning-knife." 
 
 " I'll go into your room with you." 
 
 " Do so. But he's gone by this time. Trust him to 
 cut and run." 
 
 I followed Jameson, and looked about. There was no 
 trace of anyone beside himself having been in the room. 
 Moreover, there was no place but the nut-wood wardrobe 
 in the bedroom in which anyone could have secreted him- 
 self I opened this and showed that it was empty. 
 
 After a while I pacified Jameson, and induced him to go 
 to bed again, and then I left his room. I did not now 
 attempt to court sleep. I wrote letters with a hand not 
 the steadiest, and did my accounts. 
 
 As the hour approached midnight I was again startled 
 by a cry from the adjoining room, and in another 
 moment Jameson was at my door. 
 
 " That blooming fellow Musty is in my room still," said 
 he. " He has been at my throat again." 
 
 " Nonsense," I said. " You are labouring under halluci- 
 nations. You locked your door." 
 
 " Oh, by Jove, yes — of course I did ; but, hang it, in this 
 hole, neither doors nor windows fit, and the locks are no 
 good, and the bolts nowhere. He got in again somehow, 
 
 R 
 
242 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and if I had not started up the moment I felt the knife, 
 he'd have done for me. He would, by George. I wish I 
 had a revolver." 
 
 I went into Jameson's room. Again he insisted on my 
 looking at his throat. 
 
 " It's very good of you to say there is no wound," said 
 he. " But you won't gull me with words. I felt his knife 
 in my windpipe, and if I had not jumped out of bed " 
 
 " You locked your door. No one could enter. Look 
 in the glass, there is not even a scratch. This is pure 
 imagination." 
 
 "I'll tell you what, old fellow, I won't sleep in that room 
 again. Change with me, there's a charitable buffer. If 
 you don't believe in Musty, Musty won't hurt you, maybe 
 — anyhow you can try if he's solid or a phantom. Blow 
 me if the knife felt like a phantom." 
 
 " I do not quite see my way to changing rooms," I 
 replied ; " but this I will do for you. If you like to go to 
 bed again in your own apartment, I will sit up with you 
 till morning." 
 
 " All right," answered Jameson. " And if Musty comes 
 in again, let out at him and do not spare him. Swear 
 that." 
 
 I accompanied Jameson once more to his bedroom, 
 Little as I liked the man, I could not deny him my 
 presence and assistance at this time. It was obvious that 
 his nerves were shaken by what had occurred, and he felt 
 his relation to Mustapha much more than he cared to 
 show. The thought that he had been the cause of the 
 poor fellow's death preyed on his mind, never strong, and 
 now it was upset with imaginary terrors. 
 
 I gave up letter writing, and brought my Baedeker's 
 Upper Egypt into Jameson's room, one of the best of all 
 guide-books, and one crammed with information. I seated 
 myself near the light, and with my back to the bed, on 
 which the young man had once more flung himself. 
 
MUSTAPHA 243 
 
 " I say," said Jameson, raising his head, "is it too late for 
 a brandy-and-soda?" 
 
 " Everyone is in bed." 
 
 " What lazy dogs they are. One never can get anything 
 one wants here." 
 
 " Well, try to go to sleep." 
 
 He tossed from side to side for some time, but after 
 a while, either he was quiet, or I was engrossed in my 
 Baedeker, and I heard nothing till a clock struck twelve. 
 At the last stroke I heard a snort and then a gasp 
 and a cry from the bed. I started up, and looked round. 
 Jameson was slipping out with his feet onto the floor. 
 
 "Confound you!" said he angrily, "you are a fine watch, 
 you are, to let Mustapha steal in on tiptoe whilst you are 
 cartouching and all that sort of rubbish. He was at me 
 again, and if I had not been sharp he'd have cut my 
 throat. I won't go to bed any more ! " 
 
 " Well, sit up. But I assure you no one has been here." 
 
 " That's fine. How can you tell ? You had your back 
 to me, and these devils of fellows steal about like cats. 
 You can't hear them till they are at you." 
 
 It was of no use arguing with Jameson, so I let him 
 have his way. 
 
 " I can feel all the three places in my throat where he 
 ran the knife in," said he. "And — don't you notice? — 
 I speak with difficulty." 
 
 So we sat up together the rest of the night. He be- 
 came more reasonable as dawn came on, and inclined to 
 admit that he had been a prey to fancies. 
 
 The day passed very much as did others — Jameson was 
 dull and sulky. After dejeuner he sat on at table when 
 the ladies had risen and retired, and the gentlemen had 
 formed in knots at the window, discussing what was to 
 be done in the afternoon. 
 
 Suddenly Jameson, whose head had begun to nod, 
 started up with an oath and threw down his chair. 
 
244 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " You fellows ! " he said, " you are all in league against 
 me. You let that Mustapha come in without a word, and 
 try to stick his knife into me." 
 
 " He has not been here." 
 
 " It's a plant. You are combined to bully me and 
 drive me away. You don't like me. You have engaged 
 Mustapha to murder me. This is the fourth time he has 
 tried to cut my throat, and in the salle a manger^ too, with 
 you all standing round. You ought to be ashamed to call 
 yourselves Englishmen. I'll go to Cairo. I'll complain." 
 
 It really seemed that the feeble brain of Jameson was 
 affected. The Oxford don undertook to sit up in the 
 room the following night. 
 
 The young man was fagged and sleep-weary, but no 
 sooner did his eyes close, and clouds form about his head, 
 than he was brought to wakefulness again by the same 
 fancy or dream. The Oxford don had more trouble with 
 him on the second night than I had on the first, for his 
 lapses into sleep were more frequent, and each such lapse 
 was succeeded by a start and a panic. 
 
 The next day he was worse, and we felt that he could 
 no longer be left alone. The third night the attache sat 
 up to watch him. 
 
 Jameson had now sunk into a sullen mood. He would 
 not speak, except to himself, and then only to grumble. 
 
 During the night, without being aware of it, the young 
 attache, who had taken a couple of magazines with him 
 to read, fell asleep. When he went off he did not know. 
 He woke just before dawn, and in a spasm of terror and 
 self-reproach saw that Jameson's chair was empty. 
 
 Jameson was not on his bed. He could not be found in 
 the hotel. 
 
 At dawn he was found — dead, at the door of the 
 mosque, with his throat cut. 
 
you LEI THAT MUSTAPHA COME IN, AND TRY AND STICK HIS KNIFE IN lO ME' 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 
 
 " 'HT^ HERE'S no good in him," said his stepmother, "not 
 X a mossul ! " With these words she thrust little Joe 
 forward by applying her knee to the small of his back, 
 and thereby jerking him into the middle of the school 
 before the master. " There's no making nothing out of 
 him, whack him as you will." 
 
 Little Joe Lambole was a child of ten, dressed in second- 
 hand, nay, third-hand garments that did not fit. His coat 
 had been a soldier's scarlet uniform, that had gone when 
 discarded to a dealer, who had dealt it to a carter, and 
 when the carter had worn it out it was reduced and adapted 
 to the wear of the child. The nether garments had, in like 
 manner, served a full-grown man till worn out ; then they 
 had been cut down at the knees. Though shortened in 
 leg, they maintained their former copiousness of seat, and 
 served as an inexhaustible receptacle for dust. Often as 
 little Joe was " licked " there issued from the dense mass 
 of drapery clouds of dust. It was like beating a puff-ball. 
 
 " Only a seven-month child," said Mrs. Lambole con- 
 temptuously, " born without his nails on fingers and toes ; 
 they growed later. His wits have never come right, and a 
 deal, a deal of larruping it will take to make 'em grow. 
 Use the rod ; we won't grumble at you for doing so." 
 
 Little Joe Lambole when he came into the world had 
 not been expected to live. He was a poor, small, miser- 
 able baby, that could not roar, but whimpered. He had 
 been privately baptised directly he was born, because, at 
 the first, Mrs. Lambole said, " The child is mine, though 
 
 245 
 
246 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 it be such a creetur, and I wouldn't like it, according, to 
 be buried like a dog." 
 
 He was called Joseph. The scriptural Joseph had been 
 sold as a bondman into Egypt ; this little Joseph seemed 
 to have been brought into the world to be a slave. In 
 all propriety he ought to have died as a baby, and that 
 happy consummation was almost desired, but he disap- 
 pointed expectations and lived. His mother died soon 
 after, and his father married again, and his father and 
 stepmother loved him, doubtless ; but love is manifested 
 in many ways, and the Lamboles showed theirs in a rough 
 way, by slaps and blows and kicks. The father was 
 ashamed of him because he was a weakling, and the step- 
 mother because he was ugly, and was not her own child. 
 He was a meagre little fellow, with a long neck and a 
 white face and sunken cheeks, a pigeon breast, and a big 
 stomach. He walked with his head forward and his great 
 pale blue eyes staring before him into the far distance, as 
 if he were always looking out of the world. His walk 
 was a waddle, and he tumbled over every obstacle, because 
 he never looked where he was going, always looked to 
 something beyond the horizon. 
 
 Because of his walk and his long neck, and staring eyes 
 and big stomach, the village children called him " Gander 
 Joe " or " Joe Gander " ; and his parents were not sorry, for 
 they were ashamed that such a creature should be known 
 as a Lambole. 
 
 The Lamboles were a sturdy, hearty people, with cheeks 
 like quarrender apples, and bones set firm and knit with 
 iron sinews. They were a hard-working, practical people 
 who fattened pigs and kept poultry at home. Lambole 
 was a roadmaker. In breaking stones one day a bit of 
 one had struck his eye and blinded it. After that he wore 
 a black patch upon it He saw well enough out of the 
 other ; he never missed seeing his own interests. Lambole 
 could have made a few pence with his son had his son 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 247 
 
 been worth anything. He could have sent him to scrape 
 the road, and bring the manure off it in a shovel to his 
 garden. But Joe never took heartily to scraping the dung 
 up. In a word, the boy was good for nothing. 
 
 He had hair like tow, and a little straw hat on his head 
 with the top torn, so that the hair forced its way out, and 
 as he walked the top bobbed about like the lid of a boiling 
 saucepan. 
 
 When the whortleberries were ripe in June, Mrs. Lambole 
 sent Joe out with other children to collect the berries in a 
 tin can ; she sold them for fourpence a quart, and any 
 child could earn eightpence a day in whortleberry time ; 
 one that was active might earn a shilling. 
 
 But Joe would not remain with the other children. 
 They teased him, imitated ganders and geese, and poked 
 out their necks and uttered sounds in imitation of the 
 voices of these birds. Moreover, they stole the berries he 
 had picked, and put them into their own cans. 
 
 When Joe Gander left them and found himself alone in 
 the woods, then he lay down among the brown heather 
 and green fern, and looked up through the oak leaves at 
 the sky, and listened to the singing of the birds. Oh, 
 wondrous music of the woods ! the hum of the summer 
 air among the leaves, the drone of the bees about the 
 flov/ers, the twittering and fluting and piping of the finches 
 and blackbirds and thrushes, and the cool soft cooing of 
 the wood pigeons, like the lowing of aerial oxen ; then 
 the tapping of the green woodpecker and a glimpse of its 
 crimson head, like a carbuncle running up the tree trunk, 
 and the powdering down of old husks of fir cones or of the 
 tender rind of the topmost shoot of a Scottish pine ; for 
 aloft a red squirrel was barking a beautiful tree out of 
 wantonness and frolic. A rabbit would come forth from 
 the bracken and sit up in the sun, and clean its face with 
 the fore paws and stroke its long ears ; then, seeing the 
 soiled red coat, would skip up — little Joe lying very still — 
 
248 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and screw its nose and turn its eyes from side to side, and 
 skip nearer again, till it was quite close to Joe Gander ; 
 and then the boy laughed, and the rabbit was gone with 
 a flash of white tail. 
 
 Happy days ! days of listening to mysterious music, of 
 looking into mysteries of sun and foliage, of spiritual 
 intercourse with the great mother-soul of nature. 
 
 In the evenings, when Gander Joe came without his can, 
 or with his can empty, he would say to his stepmother : 
 " Oh, steppy ! it was so nice ; everything was singing." 
 
 " I'll make you sing in the chorus too !" cried Mrs. Lam- 
 bole, and laid a stick across his shoulders. Experience had 
 taught her the futility of dusting at a lower level. 
 
 Then Gander Joe cried and writhed, and promised to 
 be more diligent in picking whortleberries in future. But 
 when he went again into the wood it was again the same. 
 The spell of the wood spirits was on him ; he forgot about 
 the berries at fourpence a quart, and lay on his back and 
 listened. And the whole wood whispered and sang to him 
 and consoled him for his beating, and the wind played 
 lullabies among the fir spines and whistled in the grass, 
 and the aspen clashed its myriad tiny cymbals together, 
 producing an orchestra of sound that filled the soul of the 
 dreaming boy with love and delight and unutterable 
 yearning. 
 
 It fared no better in autumn, when the blackberry 
 season set in. Joe went with his can to an old quarry 
 where the brambles sent their runners over the masses of 
 rubble thrown out from the pits, and warmed and ripened 
 their fruit on the hot stones. It was a marvel to see how 
 the blackberries grew in this deserted quarry ; how large 
 the fruit swelled, how thick they were — like mulberries. 
 On the road side of the quarry was a belt of pines, and 
 the sun drew out of their bark scents of unsurpassed 
 sweetness. About the blackberries hovered spotted white 
 and yellow and black moths, beautiful as butterflies. 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 249 
 
 Butterflies did not fail either. The red admiral was there, 
 resting on the bark of the trees, asleep in the sun with 
 wings expanded, or drifting about the clumps of yellow 
 ragwort, doubtful whether to perch or not. 
 
 Here, hidden behind the trees, among the leaves of 
 overgrown rubble, was a one-story cottage of wood and clay, 
 covered with thatch, in which lived Roger Gale, the postman. 
 
 Roger Gale had ten miles to walk every morning, de- 
 livering letters, and the same number of miles every even- 
 ing, for which twenty miles he received the liberal pay of 
 six shillings a week. He had to be at the post office at 
 half-past six in the morning to receive the letters, and at 
 seven in the evening to deliver them. His work took him 
 about six hours. The middle of the day he had to him- 
 self Roger Gale was an old soldier, and enjoyed a pension. 
 He occupied himself, when at home, as a shoemaker ; but 
 the walks took so much out of him, being an old man, 
 that he had not the strength and energy to do much 
 cobbling when at home. Therefore he idled a good deal, 
 and he amused his idle hours with a violin. Now, when 
 Joe Gander came to the quarry before the return of the 
 postman from his rounds, he picked blackberries ; but no 
 sooner had Roger Gale unlocked his door, taken down his 
 fiddle, and drawn the bow across the strings, than Joe set 
 down the can and listened. And when old Roger began 
 to play an air from the Daughter of the Regiment, then Joe 
 crept towards his cottage in little stages of wonderment 
 and hunger to hear more and hear better, much in the 
 same way as now and again in the wood the inquisitive 
 rabbits had approached his red jacket. Presently Joe was 
 seated on the doorstep, with his ear against the wooden 
 door, and the blackberries and the can, and stepmother's 
 orders and father's stick, and his hard bed and his meagre 
 meals, even the whole world had passed away as a scroll 
 that is rolled up and laid aside, and he lived only in the 
 world of music. 
 
250 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Though his great eyes were wide he saw nothing 
 through them ; though the rain began to fall, and the 
 north-east wind to blow, he felt nothing : he had but one 
 faculty that was awake, and that was hearing. 
 
 One day Roger came to his door and opened it sud- 
 denly, so that the child, leaning against it, fell across his 
 threshold. 
 
 " Whom have we here ? What is this ? What do you 
 want ? " asked the postman. 
 
 Then Gander Joe stood up, craning his long neck and 
 staring out of his goggle eyes, with his rough flaxen hair 
 standing up in a ruffle above his head and his great stomach 
 protruded, and said nothing. So Roger burst out laugh- 
 ing. But he did not kick him off' the step ; he gave him 
 a bit of bread and a drop of cider, and presently drew 
 from the boy the confession that he had been listening to 
 the fiddle. This was flattering to the postman, and it was 
 the initiation of a friendship between them. 
 
 But when Joe came home with an empty can and said : 
 " Oh, steppy, Master Roger Gale did fiddle so beautiful ! " 
 the woman said : " Fiddle ! I'll fiddle your back pretty 
 smartly, you idle vagabond " ; and she was a truthful 
 woman who never fell short of her word. 
 
 To break him of his bad habits — that is, of his dreami- 
 ness and uselessness — Mrs. Lambole took Joe to school. 
 
 At school he had a bad time of it. He could not learn 
 the letters. He was mentally incapable of doing a sub- 
 traction sum. He sat on a bench staring at the teacher, 
 and was unable to answer an ordinary question what the 
 lesson was about. The school-children tormented him, 
 the monitor scolded, and the master beat. Then little Joe 
 Gander took to absenting himself from school. He was 
 sent off every morning by his stepmother, but instead of 
 going to the school he went to the cottage in the quarry, 
 and listened to the fiddle of Roger Gale. 
 
 Little Joe got hold of an old box, and with a knife he 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 251 
 
 cut holes in it ; and he fashioned a bridge, and then a 
 handle, and he strung horsehair over the latter, and made 
 a bow, and drew very faint sounds from this improvised 
 violin, that made the postman laugh, but which gave great 
 pleasure to Joe. The sound that issued from his instru- 
 ment was like the humming of flies, but he got distinct 
 notes out of his strings, though the notes were faint. 
 
 After he had played truant for some time his father 
 heard what he had done, and he beat the boy till he was 
 like a battered apple that had been flung from the tree by 
 a storm upon a road. 
 
 For a while Joe did not venture to the quarry except on 
 Saturdays and Sundays. He was forbidden by his father 
 to go to church, because the organ and the singing there 
 drove him half crazed. When a beautiful, touching melody 
 was played his eyes became clouded and the tears ran down 
 his cheeks ; and when the organ played the " Hallelujah 
 Chorus," or some grand and stirring march, his eyes flashed, 
 and his little body quivered, and he made such faces that 
 the congregation were disturbed and the parson remon- 
 strated with his mother. The child was clearly imbecile, 
 and unfit to attend divine worship. 
 
 Mr. Lambole got an idea into his head, he would bring 
 up Joe to be a butcher, and he informed Joe that he was 
 going to place him with a gentleman of that profession in 
 town. Joe cried. He turned sick at the sight of blood, 
 and the smell of raw meat was abhorrent to him. But 
 Joe's likings were of no account with his father, and he 
 took him to the town and placed him with a butcher there. 
 He was invested in a blue smock, and was informed that 
 his duties would consist in taking meat about to the 
 customers. ]oq was left. It was the first time he had 
 been from home, and he cried himself to sleep the first 
 night, and he cried all the next day when sent around 
 with meat on his shoulder. 
 
 Now on his journey through the streets he had to pass 
 
252 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 the window of a toy-shop. In the window were dolls and 
 horses and little carts. For these Joe did not care, but 
 there were also some little violins, some high priced, and 
 some very low, and over these Joe lingered with loving, 
 covetous eyes. There was one little fiddle to which his 
 heart went out, that cost only three shillings and sixpence. 
 Each day, as he passed the shop, he was drawn to it, and 
 stood looking in, and longed daily more ardently than on 
 the previous day for this three-and-sixpenny violin. 
 
 One day he was so lost in admiration and on the 
 schemes he framed as to how he might eventually become 
 possessed of the instrument, that he was unconscious of 
 some boys stealing the meat out of the sort of trough on 
 his shoulder in which he carried it about. 
 
 This was the climax of his misdeeds — he had been 
 reprimanded for his blunders, delivering the wrong meat 
 at the customers' doors ; for his dilatory ways in going 
 on his errands. The butcher could endure him no more, 
 and sent him home to his father, who thrashed him, as his 
 welcome. 
 
 But he carried home with him the haunting recollec- 
 tions of that beautiful little red fiddle, with its fine black 
 keys. The bow, he remembered, was strung with white 
 horsehair. Joe had now a fixed ambition — something 
 to live for. He would be perfectly happy if he could 
 have that three-shillings-and-sixpenny fiddle. But how 
 were three shillings and sixpence to be earned ? 
 
 He confided his difficulty to postman Roger Gale, and 
 Roeer Gale said he would consider the matter. 
 
 A couple of days after the postman said to Joe — 
 
 " Gander, they want a lad to sweep the leaves in the 
 drive at the great house. The squire's coachman told 
 me, and I mentioned you. You'll have to do it on 
 Saturday, and be paid sixpence." 
 
 Joe's face brightened. He went home and told his 
 stepmother. 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 253 
 
 "For once you are going to be useful," said Mrs. Lambole. 
 " Very well, you shall sweep the drive ; then fivepence will 
 come to us, and you shall have a penny every week to 
 spend in sweetstuff at the post office." 
 
 Joe tried to reckon how long it would be before he could 
 purchase the fiddle, but the calculation was beyond his 
 powers ; so he asked the postman, who assured him it 
 would take him forty weeks — that is, about ten months. 
 
 Little Joe was not cast down. What was time with such 
 an end in view ? Jacob served fourteen years for Rachel, 
 and this was only forty weeks for a fiddle ! 
 
 Joe was diligent every Saturday sweeping the drive. He 
 was ordered whenever a carriage entered to dive behind the 
 rhododendrons and laurels and disappear. He was of a too 
 ragged and idiotic appearance to show in a gentleman's 
 grounds. 
 
 Once or twice he encountered the squire and stood 
 quaking, with his fingers spread out, his mouth and eyes 
 open, and the broom at his feet. The squire spoke kindly 
 to him, but Joe Gander was too frightened to reply. 
 
 " Poor fellow," said the squire to the gardener. " I 
 suppose it is a charity to employ him, but I must say I 
 should have preferred someone else with his wits about him. 
 I will see to having him sent to an asylum for idiots 
 in which I have some interest. There's no knowing," said 
 the squire, " no knowing but that with wholesome food, 
 cleanliness, and kindness his feeble mind may be got to 
 understand that two and two make four, which I learn he 
 has not yet mastered." 
 
 Every Saturday evening Joe Gander brought his sixpence 
 home to his stepmother. The woman was not so regular 
 in allowing him his penny out. 
 
 " Your edication costs such a lot of money," she said. 
 
 " Steppy, need I go to school any more ? " He never 
 could frame his mouth to call her mother. 
 
 " Of course you must. You haven't passed your standard." 
 
254 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " But I don't think that I ever shall." 
 
 " Then," said Mrs. Lambole, " what masses of good food 
 you do eat. You're perfectly insatiable. You cost us 
 more than it would to keep a cow." 
 
 "Oh, steppy, I won't eat so much if I may have my 
 penny ! " 
 
 " Very well. Eating such a lot does no one good. If 
 you will be content with one slice of bread for breakfast 
 instead of two, and the same for supper, you shall have 
 your penny. If you are so very hungry you can always 
 get a swede or a mangold out of Farmer Eggins's field. 
 Swedes and mangolds are cooling to the blood and sit 
 light on the stomick," said Mrs. Lambole. 
 
 So the compact was made ; but it nearly killed Joe. 
 His cheeks and chest fell in deeper and deeper, and his 
 stomach protruded more than ever. His legs seemed 
 hardly able to support him, and his great pale blue 
 wandering eyes appeared ready to start out of his head 
 like the horns of a snail. As for his voice, it was thin 
 and toneless, like the notes on his improvised fiddle, on 
 which he played incessantly. 
 
 " The child will always be a discredit to us," said Lam- 
 bole. " He don't look like a human child. He don't 
 think and feel like a Christian. The shovelfuls of dung 
 he might have brought to cover our garden if he had only 
 given his heart to it ! " 
 
 " I've heard of changelings," said Mrs. Lambole ; " and 
 with this creetur on our hands I mainly believe the tale. 
 They do say that the pixies steal away the babies of 
 Christian folk, and put their own bantlings in their stead. 
 The only way to find out is to heat a poker red-hot and 
 ram it down the throat of the child ; and when you do 
 that the door opens, and in comes the pixy mother and 
 runs off with her own child, and leaves your proper babe 
 behind. That's what we ought to ha' done wi' Joe." 
 
 " I doubt, wife, the law wouldn't have upheld us," said 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 255 
 
 Lambole, thrusting hot coals back on to the hearth with 
 his foot. 
 
 " I don't suppose it would," said Mrs. Lambole. " And 
 yet we call this a land of liberty ! Law ain't made for 
 the poor, but for the rich." 
 
 " It is wickedness " argued the father. " It is just the 
 same with colts — all wickedness. You must drive it out 
 with the stick." 
 
 And now a great temptation fell on little Gander Joe. 
 The squire and his family were at home, and the daughter 
 of the house, Miss Amory, was musical. Her mother 
 played on the piano and the young lady on the violin. 
 The fashion for ladies to play on this instrument had 
 come in, and Miss Amory had taken lessons from the best 
 masters in town. She played vastly better than poor 
 Roger Gale, and she played to an accompaniment. 
 
 Sometimes whilst Joe was sweeping he heard the music; 
 then he stole nearer and nearer to the house, hiding behind 
 rhododendron bushes, and listening with eyes and mouth 
 and nostrils and ears. The music exercised on him an 
 irresistible attraction. He forgot his obligation to work ; 
 he forgot the strict orders he had received not to approach 
 the garden-front of the house. The music acted on him 
 like a spell. Occasionally he was roused from his dream 
 by the gardener, who boxed his ears, knocked him over, 
 and bade him get back to his sweeping. Once a servant 
 came out from Miss Amory to tell the ragged little boy 
 not to stand in front of the drawing-room window staring 
 in. On another occasion he was found by Miss Amory 
 crouched behind a rose bush outside her boudoir, listening 
 whilst she practised. 
 
 No one supposed that the music drew him. They 
 thought him a fool, and that he had the inquisitiveness 
 of the half-witted to peer in at windows and see the 
 pretty sights within. 
 
 He was reprimanded, and threatened with dismissal. 
 
256 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 The gardener complained to the lad's father and advised 
 a good hiding, such as Joe should not forget. 
 
 " These sort of chaps," said the gardener, " have no 
 senses like rational beings, except only the feeling, and 
 you must teach them as you feed the Polar bears — with 
 the end of a stick." 
 
 One day Miss Amory, seeing how thin and hollow-eyed 
 the child was, and hearing him cough, brought him out a 
 cup of hot coffee and some bread. 
 
 He took it without a word, only pulling off his torn 
 straw hat and throwing it at his feet, exposing the full 
 shock of tow -like hair; then he stared at her out of 
 his great eyes, speechless. 
 
 "Joe," she said, "poor little man, how old are you?" 
 
 " Dun'now," he answered. 
 
 "Can you read and write?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor do sums ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What can you do ? " 
 
 " Fiddle." 
 
 " Have you got a fiddle ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I should like to see it, and hear you play." 
 
 Next day was Sunday. Little Joe forgot about the day, 
 and forgot that Miss Amory would probably be in church 
 in the morning. She had asked to see his fiddle, so in the 
 morning he took it and went down with it to the park. 
 The church was within the grounds, and he had to pass it. 
 As he went by he heard the roll of the organ and the 
 strains of the choir. He stopped to hearken, then went 
 up the steps of the churchyard, listening. A desire came 
 on him to catch the air on his improvised violin, and he 
 put it to his shoulder and drew his bow across the slender 
 cords. The sound was very faint, so faint as to be drowned 
 by the greater volume of the organ and the choir. Never- 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 257 
 
 theless he could hear the feeble tones close to his ear, and 
 his heart danced at the pleasure of playing to an accom- 
 paniment, like Miss Amory. The choir, the congregation, 
 were singing the Advent hymn to Luther's tune — 
 
 " Great God, what do I see and hear ? 
 The end of things created." 
 
 Little Joe, playing his inaudible instrument, came creep- 
 ing up the avenue, treading on the fallen yellow lime leaves, 
 passing between the tombstones, drawn on by the solemn, 
 beautiful music. Presently he stood in the porch, then he 
 went on ; he was unconscious of everything but the music 
 and the joy of playing with it ; he walked on softly into 
 the church without even removing his ragged straw cap, 
 though the squire and the squire's wife, and the rector 
 and the reverend the Mrs. Rector, and the parish church- 
 warden and the rector's churchwarden, and the overseer 
 and the waywarden, and all the farmers and their wives 
 were present. He had forgotten about his broken cap in 
 the delight that made the tears fill his eyes and trickle over 
 his pale cheeks. 
 
 Then when with a shock the parson and the church- 
 wardens saw the ragged urchin coming up the nave fiddling, 
 with his hat on, regardless of the sacredness of the place, 
 and above all of the sacredness of the presence of the 
 squire, J.P. and D.L., the rector coughed very loud and 
 looked hard at his churchwarden, Farmer Eggins, who 
 turned red as the sun in a November fog, and rose. At 
 the same instant the people's churchwarden rose, and both 
 advanced upon Joe Gander from opposite sides of the 
 church. 
 
 At the moment that they touched him the organ and the 
 singing ceased ; and it was to Joe a sudden wakening 
 from a golden dream to a black and raw reality. He 
 looked up with dazed face first at one man, then at the 
 other : both their faces blazed with equal indignation ; 
 s 
 
258 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 both were equally speechless with wrath. They conducted 
 him, each holding an arm, out of the porch and down the 
 avenue. Joe heard indistinctly behind him the droning 
 of the rector's voice continuing the prayers. He looked 
 back over his shoulder and saw the faces of the school- 
 children straining after him through the open door from 
 their places near it. On reaching the steps — there was a 
 flight of five leading to the road — the people's church- 
 warden uttered a loud and disgusted " Ugh ! " then with 
 his heavy hand slapped the head of the child towards the 
 parson's churchwarden, who with his still heavier hand 
 boxed it back again ; then the people's churchwarden gave 
 him a blow which sent him staggering forward, and this 
 was supplemented by a kick from the parson's church- 
 warden, which sent Joe Gander spinning down the five 
 steps at once and cast him prostrate into the road, where 
 he fell and crushed his extemporised violin. 
 
 Then the churchwardens turned, blew their noses, and 
 re-entered the church, where they sat out the rest of the 
 service, grateful in their hearts that they had been enabled 
 that day to show that their office was no sinecure. 
 
 The churchwardens were unaware that in banging and 
 kicking the little boy out of the churchyard and into the 
 road they had flung him so that he fell with his head upon 
 the curbstone of the footpath, which stone was of slate, 
 and sharp. They did not find this out through the prayers, 
 nor through the sermon. But when the whole congregation 
 left the church they were startled to find little Joe Gander 
 insensible, with his head cut, and a pool of blood on the 
 footway. The squire was shocked, as were his wife and 
 daughter, and the churchwardens were in consternation. 
 Fortunately the squire's stables were near the church, and 
 there was a running fountain there, so that water was 
 procured, and the child revived. 
 
 Mrs. Amory had in the meantime hastened home and 
 returned with a roll of diachylon plaster and a pair of 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 259 
 
 small scissors. Strips of the adhesive plaster were applied 
 to the wound, and the boy was soon sufficiently recovered 
 to stand on his feet, when the churchwardens very con- 
 siderately undertook to march him home. On reaching 
 his cottage the churchwardens described what had taken 
 place, painting the insult offered to the worshippers in the 
 most hideous colours, and representing the accident of the 
 cut as due to the violent resistance offered by the culprit 
 to their ejectment of him. Then each pressed a half-crown 
 into the hand of Mr. Lambole and departed to his dinner. 
 
 " Now then, young shaver," exclaimed the father, " at 
 your pranks again ! How often have I told you not to go 
 intruding into a place of worship ? Church ain't for such 
 as you. If you had'nt been punished a bit already, 
 wouldn't I larrup you neither? Oh, no!" 
 
 Little Joe's head was bad for some days. His cheeks 
 were flushed and his eyes bright, and he talked strangely 
 — he who was usually so silent. What troubled him was 
 the loss of his fiddle ; he did not know what had become 
 of it, whether it had been stolen or confiscated. He asked 
 after it, and when at last it was produced, smashed to 
 chips, with the strings torn and hanging loose about it 
 like the cordage of a broken vessel, he cried bitterly. 
 Miss Amory came to the cottage to see him, and finding 
 father and stepmother out, went in and pressed five shillings 
 into his hand. Then he laughed with delight, and clapped 
 his hands, and hid the money away in his pocket, but he 
 said nothing, and Miss Amory went away convinced that 
 the child was half a fool. But little Joe had sense in his 
 head, though his head was different from those of others ; 
 he knew that now he had the money wherewith to buy the 
 beautiful fiddle he had seen in the shop window many 
 months before, and to get which he had worked and 
 denied himself food. 
 
 When Miss Amory was gone, and his stepmother had 
 not returned, he opened the door of the cottage and stole 
 
26o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 out. He was afraid of being seen, so he crept along in the 
 hedge, and when he thought anyone was coming he got 
 through a gate or lay down in a ditch, till he was some 
 way on his road to the town. Then he ran till he was 
 tired. He had a bandage round his head, and, as his head 
 was hot, he took the rag off, dipped it in water, and tied it 
 round his head again. Never in his life had his mind been 
 clearer than it was now, for now he had a distinct purpose, 
 and an object easily attainable, before him. He held the 
 money in his hand, and looked at it, and kissed it ; then 
 pressed it to his beating heart, then ran on. He lost breath. 
 He could run no more. He sat down in the hedge and 
 gasped. The perspiration was streaming off his face. 
 Then he thought he heard steps coming fast along the 
 road he had run, and as he feared pursuit, he got up and 
 ran on. 
 
 He went through the village four miles from home just 
 as the children were leaving school, and when they saw 
 him some of the elder cried out that here was " Gander 
 Joe ! quack ! quack ! Joe the Gander ! quack ! quack ! 
 quack ! " and the little ones joined in the banter. The 
 boy ran on, though hot and exhausted, and with his head 
 swimming, to escape their merriment. 
 
 He got some way beyond the village when he came 
 to a turnpike. There he felt dizzy, and he timidly asked 
 if he might have a piece of bread. He would pay for it if 
 they would change a shilling. The woman at the 'pike 
 pitied the pale, hollow-eyed child, and questioned him ; 
 but her questions bewildered him, and he feared she would 
 send him home, so that he either answered nothing, or in 
 a way which made her think him distraught. She gave 
 him some bread and water, and watched him going on 
 towards the town till he was out of sight. The day 
 was already declining ; it would be dark by the time he 
 reached the town. But he did not think of that. He did 
 not consider where he would sleep, whether he would have 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 261 
 
 strength to return ten miles to his home. He thought 
 only of the beautiful red violin with the yellow bridge 
 hung in the shop window, and offered for three shillings 
 and sixpence. Three-and-sixpence ! Why, he had five 
 shillings. He had money to spend on other things beside 
 the fiddle. He had been sadly disappointed about his 
 savings from the weekly sixpence. He had asked for 
 them ; he had earned them, not by his work only, but by 
 his abstention from two pieces of bread per diem. When 
 he asked for the money, his stepmother answered that she 
 had put it away in the savings bank. If he had it he would 
 waste it on sweetstuff; if it were hoarded up it would 
 help him on in life when left to shift for himself; and if 
 he died, why it would go towards his burying. 
 
 So the child had been disappointed in his calculations, 
 and had worked and starved for nothing. Then came 
 Miss Amory with her present, and he had run away with 
 that, lest his mother should take it from him to put in 
 the savings bank for setting him up in life or for his 
 burying. What cared he for either? All his ambition 
 was to have a fiddle, and a fiddle was to be had for three- 
 and-sixpence. 
 
 Joe Gander was tired. He was fain to sit down at 
 intervals on the heaps of stones by the roadside to rest. 
 His shoes were very poor, with soles worn through, so that 
 the stones hurt his feet. At this time of the year the 
 highways were fresh metalled, and as he stumbled over 
 the newly broken stones they cut his soles and his ankles 
 turned. He was footsore and weary in body, but his heart 
 never failed him. Before him shone the red violin with 
 the yellow bridge, and the beautiful bow strung with 
 shining white hair. When he had that all his weariness 
 would pass as a dream ; he would hunger no more, cry no 
 more, feel no more sickness or faintness. He would draw 
 the bow over the strings and play with his fingers on the 
 catgut, and the waves of music would thrill and flow, and 
 
262 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 away on those melodious waves his soul would float far 
 from trouble, far from want, far from tears, into a shining, 
 sunny world of music. 
 
 So he picked himself up when he fell, and staggered to 
 his feet from the stones on which he rested, and pressed on. 
 
 The sun was setting as he entered the town. He went 
 straight to the shop he so well remembered, and to his 
 inexpressible delight saw still in the window the coveted 
 violin, price three shillings and sixpence. 
 
 Then he timidly entered the shop, and with trembling 
 hand held out the money. 
 
 " What do you want ?" 
 
 " It," said the boy. It. To him the shop held but one 
 article. The dolls, the wooden horses, the tin steam- 
 engines, the bats, the kites, were unconsidered. He had 
 seen and remembered only one thing — the red violin. 
 " It," said the boy, and pointed. 
 
 When little Joe had got the violin he pressed it to his 
 shoulder, and his heart bounded as though it would have 
 burst the pigeon breast. His dull eyes lightened, and into 
 his white sunken cheeks shot a hectic flame. He went 
 forth with his head erect and with firm foot, holding his 
 fiddle to the shoulder and the bow in hand. 
 
 He turned his face homeward. Now he would return to 
 father and stepmother, to his little bed at the head of the 
 stairs, to his scanty meals, to the school, to the sweeping 
 of the park drive, and to his stepmother's scoldings and his 
 father's beatings. He had his fiddle, and he cared for 
 nothing else. 
 
 He waited till he was out of the town before he tried it. 
 Then, when he was on a lonely part of the road, he seated 
 himself in the hedge, under a holly tree covered with 
 scarlet berries, and tried his instrument. Alas ! it had 
 hung many years in the shop window, and the catgut was 
 old and the glue had lost its tenacity. One string started ; 
 then when he tried to screw up a second, it sprang as well, 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 263 
 
 and then the bridge collapsed and fell. Moreover, the 
 hairs on the bow came out. They were unresined. 
 
 Then little Joe's spirits gave way. He laid the bow and 
 the violin on his knees and began to cry. 
 
 As he cried he heard the sound of approaching wheels 
 and the clatter of a horse's hoofs. 
 
 He heard, but he was immersed in sorrow and did not 
 heed and raise his head to see who was coming. Had he 
 done so he would have seen nothing, as his eyes were 
 swimming with tears. Looking out of them he saw only 
 as one sees who opens his eyes when diving. 
 
 " Halloa, young shaver ! Dang you ! What do you 
 mean giving me such a cursed hunt after you as this — 
 you as ain't worth the trouble, eh?" 
 
 The voice was that of his father, who drew up before 
 him. Mr. Lambole had made inquiries when it was dis- 
 covered that Joe was lost, first at the school, where it was 
 most unlikely he would be found, then at the public-house, 
 at the gardener's and the gamekeeper's ; then he had 
 looked down the well and then up the chimney. After 
 that he went to the cottage in the quarry. Roger Gale 
 knew nothing of him. Presently someone coming from 
 the nearest village mentioned that he had been seen there ; 
 whereupon Lambole borrowed Farmer Eggins's trap and 
 went after him, peering right and left of the road with his 
 one eye. 
 
 Sure enough he had been through the village. He had 
 passed the turnpike. The woman there described him 
 accurately as " a sort of a tottle " (fool). 
 
 Mr. Lambole was not a pleasant-looking man ; he was 
 as solidly built as a navvy. The backs of his hands were 
 hairy, and his fist was so hard, and his blows so weighty, 
 that for sport he was wont to knock down and kill at a 
 blow the oxen sent to Butcher Robbins for slaughter, and 
 that he did with his fist alone, hitting the animal on the 
 head between the horns, a little forward of the horns. 
 
264 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 That was a great feat of strength, and Lambole was proud 
 of it. He had a long back and short legs. The back was 
 not pliable or bending ; it was hard, braced with sinews 
 tough as hawsers, and supported a pair of shoulders that 
 could sustain the weight of an ox. 
 
 His face was of a coppery colour, caused by exposure to 
 the air and drinking. His hair was light: that was almost 
 the only feature his son had derived from him. It was 
 very light, too light for his dark red face. It grew about 
 his neck and under his chin as a Newgate collar ; there 
 was a great deal of it, and his face, encircled by the pale 
 hair, looked like an angry moon surrounded by a fog bow. 
 
 Mr. Lambole had a queer temper. He bottled up his 
 anger, but when it blew the cork out it spurted over and 
 splashed all his home ; it flew in the faces and soused 
 everyone who came near him. 
 
 Mr. Lambole took his son roughly by the arm and 
 lifted him into the tax cart. The boy offered no resist- 
 ance. His spirit was broken, his hopes extinguished. For 
 months he had yearned for the red fiddle, price three-and- 
 six, and now that, after great pains and privations, he had 
 acquired it, the fiddle would not sound. 
 
 " Ain't you ashamed of yourself, giving your dear dada 
 such trouble, eh, Viper ? " 
 
 Mr. Lambole turned the horse's head homeward. He 
 had his black patch towards the little Gander, seated in 
 the bottom of the cart, hugging his wrecked violin. When 
 Mr. Lambole spoke he turned his face round to bring the 
 active eye to bear on the shrinking, crouching little figure 
 below. 
 
 The Viper made no answer, but looked up. Mr. Lam- 
 bole turned his face away, and the seeing eye watched the 
 horse's ears, and the black patch was towards a frightened, 
 piteous, pleading little face, looking up, with the light of 
 the evening sky irradiating it, showing how wan it was, 
 how hollow were the cheeks, how sunken the eyes, how 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 265 
 
 sharp the little pinched nose. The boy put up his arm, 
 that held the bow, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. In 
 so doing he poked his father in the ribs with the end of 
 the bow. 
 
 " Now, then ! " exclaimed Mr. Lambole with an oath, 
 "what darn'd insolence be you up to now, Gorilla?" 
 
 If he had not held the whip in one hand and the reins 
 in the other he would have taken the bow from the child 
 and flung it into the road. He contented himself with 
 rapping Joe's head with the end of the whip. 
 
 " What's that you've got there, eh ? " he asked. 
 
 The child replied timidly : " Please, father, a fiddle." 
 
 " Where did you get 'un — steal it, eh? " 
 
 Joe answered, trembling : " No, dada, I bought it." 
 
 " Bought it ! Where did you get the money ? " 
 
 " Miss Amory gave it me." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 The Gander answered : " Her gave me five shilling." 
 
 " Five shillings ! And what did that blessed " (he did 
 not say " blessed," but something quite the reverse) " fiddle 
 cost you?" 
 
 " Three-and-sixpence." 
 
 " So you've only one-and-six left ? " 
 
 " I've none, dada." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I spent one shilling on a pipe for you, and 
 sixpence on a thimble for stepmother as a present," 
 answered the child, with a flicker of hope in his dim 
 eyes that this would propitiate his father. 
 
 " Dash me," roared the roadmaker, " if you ain't worse 
 nor Mr. Chamberlain, as would rob us of the cheap loaf! 
 What in the name of Thunder and Bones do you mean 
 squandering the precious money over fooleries like that 
 for? I've got my pipe, black as your back shall be be- 
 fore to-morrow, and mother has an old thimble as full 
 o' holes as I'll make your skin before the night is much 
 
266 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 older. Wait till we get home, and I'll make pretty music 
 out of that there fiddle ! just you see if I don't." 
 
 Joe shivered in his seat, and his head fell. 
 
 Mr. Lambole had a playful wit. He beguiled his journey 
 home by indulging in it, and his humour flashed above the 
 head of the child like summer lightning. " You're hardly 
 expecting the abundance of the supper that's awaiting 
 you," he said, with his black patch glowering down at the 
 irresponsive heap in the corner of the cart. " No stinting 
 of the dressing, I can tell you. You like your meat well 
 basted, don't you? The basting shall not incur your 
 disapproval as insufficient. Underdone ? Oh, dear, no ! 
 Nothing underdone for me. Pickles ? I can promise you 
 that there is something in pickle for you, hot — very hot 
 and stinging. Plenty of capers — mutton and capers. 
 Mashed potatoes? Was the request for that on the tip 
 of your tongue? Sorry I can give you only half what 
 you want — the mash, not the potatoes. There is nothing 
 comparable in my mind to young pig with crackling. 
 The hide is well striped, cut in lines from the neck to the 
 tail. I think we'll have crackling on our pig before 
 morning." 
 
 He now threw his seeing eye into the depths of the 
 cart, to note the effect his fun had on the child, but he 
 was disappointed. It had evoked no hilarity. Joe had 
 fallen asleep, exhausted by his walk, worn out with dis- 
 appointments, with his head on his fiddle, that lay on his 
 knees. The jogging of the cart, the attitude, affected his 
 wound ; the plaster had given way, and the blood was 
 running over the little red fiddle and dripping into its 
 hollow body through the S-hole on each side. 
 
 It was too dark for Mr. Lambole to notice this. He set 
 his lips. His self-esteem was hurt at the child not relishing 
 his waggery. 
 
 Mrs. Lambole observed it when, shortly after, the cart 
 drew up at the cottage and she lifted the sleeping child out. 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 267 
 
 " I must take the cart back to Farmer Eggins," said her 
 husband ; " duty fust, and pleasure after." 
 
 When his father was gone Mrs. Lambole said, " Now 
 then, Joe, you've been a very wicked, bad boy, and God 
 will never forgive you for the naughtiness you have com- 
 mitted and the trouble to which you have put your poor 
 father and me." She would have spoken more sharply but 
 that his head needed her care and the sight of the blood 
 disarmed her. Moreover, she knew that her husband would 
 not pass over what had occurred with a reprimand. " Get 
 off your clothes and go to bed, Joe," she said when she 
 had readjusted the plaster. " You may take a piece of dry 
 bread with you, and I'll see if I can't persuade your father 
 to put off whipping of you for a day or two." 
 
 Joe began to cry. 
 
 " There," she said, " don't cry. When wicked children 
 do wicked things they must suffer for them. It is the law 
 of nature. And," she went on, "you ought to be that 
 ashamed of yourself that you'd be glad for the earth to 
 open under you and swallow you up like Korah, Dathan, 
 and Abiram. Running away from so good and happy a 
 home and such tender parents ! But I reckon you be lost 
 to natural affection as you be to reason." 
 
 " May I take my fiddle with me ? " asked the boy. 
 
 " Oh, take your fiddle if you like," answered his mother. 
 " Much good may it do you. Here, it is all smeared wi' 
 blood. Let me wipe it first, or you'll mess the bedclothes 
 with it. There," she said as she gave him the broken 
 instrument. " Say your prayers and go to sleep ; though 
 I reckon your prayers will never reach to heaven, coming 
 out of such a wicked unnatural heart." 
 
 So the little Gander went to his bed. The cottage had 
 but one bedroom and a landing above the steep and narrow 
 flight of steps that led to it from the kitchen. On this 
 landing was a small truckle bed, on which Joe slept. He 
 took off his clothes and stood in his little short shirt of 
 
268 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 very coarse white linen. He knelt down and said his 
 prayers, with both his hands spread over his fiddle. 
 Then he got into bed, and until his stepmother fetched 
 away the benzoline lamp he examined the instrument. 
 He saw that the bridge might be set up again with a 
 little glue, and that fresh catgut strings might be supplied. 
 He would take his fiddle next day to Roger Gale and ask 
 him to help to mend it for him. He was sure Roger 
 would take an interest in it. Roger had been mysterious 
 of late, hinting that the time was coming when Joey 
 would have a first-rate instrument and learn to play like a 
 Paganini. Yes ; the case of the red fiddle was not desperate. 
 
 Just then he heard the door below open, and his father's 
 step. 
 
 " Where is the toad ? " said Mr. Lambole. 
 
 Joe held his breath, and his blood ran cold. He could 
 hear every word, every sound in the room below. 
 
 " He's gone to bed," answered Mrs. Lambole. " Leave 
 the poor little creetur alone to-night, Samuel ; his head has 
 been bad, and he don't look well. He's overdone." 
 
 " Susan," said the roadmaker, " I've been simmering all 
 the way to town, and bubbling and boiling all the way back, 
 and busting is what I be now, and bust I will." 
 
 Little Joe sat up in bed, hugging the violin, and his tow- 
 like hair stood up on his head. His great stupid eyes 
 stared wide with fear ; in the dark the iris in each had 
 grown big, and deep, and solemn. 
 
 " Give me my stick," said Mr. Lambole. " I've promised 
 him a taste of it, and a taste won't suffice to-night ; he 
 must have a gorge of it." 
 
 " I've put it away," said Mrs. Lambole. " Samuel, right 
 is right, and I'm not one to stand between the child and 
 what he deserves, but he ain't in condition for it to-night. 
 He wants feeding up to it." 
 
 Without wasting another word on her the roadmaker 
 went upstairs. 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 269 
 
 The shuddering, cowering little fellow saw first the red 
 face, surrounded by a halo of pale hair, rise above the floor, 
 then the strong square shoulders, then the clenched hands, 
 and then his father stood before him, revealed down to his 
 thick boots. The child crept back in the bed against the 
 wall, and would have disappeared through it had the wall 
 been soft-hearted, as in fairy tales, and opened to receive 
 him. He clasped his little violin tight to his heart, and 
 then the blood that had fallen into it trickled out and 
 ran down his shirt, staining it — upon the bedclothes, 
 staining them. But the father did not see this. He was 
 effervescing with fury. His pulses went at a gallop, and 
 his great fists clutched spasmodically. 
 
 "You Judas Iscariot, come here !" he shouted. 
 
 But the child only pressed closer against the wall. 
 
 " What ! disobedient and daring ? Do you hear ? Come 
 to me ! " 
 
 The trembling child pointed to a pretty little pipe on 
 the bedclothes. He had drawn it from his pocket and 
 taken the paper off it, and laid it there, and stuck the 
 silver-headed thimble in the bowl for his stepmother when 
 she came upstairs to take the lamp. 
 
 " Come here, vagabond ! " 
 
 He could not ; he had not the courage nor the strength. 
 
 He still pointed pleadingly to the little presents he had 
 bought with his eighteenpence. 
 
 " You won't, you dogged, insulting being ? " roared the 
 roadmaker, and rushed at him, knocking over the pipe, 
 which fell and broke on the floor, and trampling flat the 
 thimble. "You won't yet? Always full of sulks and 
 defiance ! Oh, you ungrateful one, you ! " Then he had 
 him by the collar of his nightshirt and dragged him from 
 his bed, and with his violence tore the button off, and with 
 his other hand he wrenched the violin away and beat the 
 child over the back with it as he dragged him from the 
 bed. 
 
270 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Oh, my mammy ! my mammy ! " cried Joe. 
 
 He was not crying out for his stepmother. It was the 
 agonised cry of his frightened heart for the one only being 
 who had ever loved him, and whom God had removed 
 from him. 
 
 Suddenly Samuel Lambole started back. 
 
 Before him, and between him and the child, stood a 
 pale, ghostly form, and he knew his first wife. 
 
 He stood speechless and quaking. Then, gradually re- 
 covering himself, he stumbled down the stairs, and seated 
 himself, looking pasty and scared, by the fire below. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Samuel ? " asked his wife. 
 
 " I've seen her," he gasped. " Don't ask no more ques- 
 tions." 
 
 Now when he was gone, little Joe, filled with terror — 
 not at the apparition, which he had not seen, for his eyes 
 were too dazed to behold it, but with apprehension of 
 the chastisement that awaited him, scrambled out of the 
 window and dropped on the pigsty roof, and from thence 
 jumped to the ground. 
 
 Then he ran — ran as fast as his legs could carry him, 
 still hugging his instrument — to the churchyard; and on 
 reaching that he threw himself on his mother's grave and 
 sobbed : " Oh, mammy, mammy ! father wants to beat me 
 and take away my beautiful violin — but oh, mammy ! my 
 violin won't play." 
 
 And when he had spoken, from out the grave rose the 
 form of his lost mother, and looked kindly on him. 
 
 Joe saw her, and he had no fear. 
 
 " Mammy ! " said he, " mammy, my violin cost three 
 shillings and sixpence, and I can't make it play noways." 
 
 Then the spirit of his mother passed a hand over the 
 the strings, and smiled. Joe looked into her eyes, and 
 they were as stars. And he put the violin under his chin, 
 and drew the bow across the strings — and lo ! they sounded 
 wondrously. His soul thrilled, his heart bounded, his dull 
 
MA.M.MY, SAID HE, ".MAMMY, I\IV VIOLIN COST TIIKKK SUII.I.INGS AND SIXl'ENCE, 
 AND I CANT MAKE IT TLAY NOWAYS ' 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 271 
 
 eye brightened. He was as though caught up in a chariot 
 of fire and carried to lieavenly places. His bow worked 
 rapidly, such strains poured from the little instrument as 
 he had never heard before. It was to him as though 
 heaven opened, and he heard the angels performing there, 
 and he with his fiddle was taking a part in the mighty 
 symphony. He felt not the cold, the night was not dark 
 to him. His head no longer ached. It was as though after 
 long seeking through life he had gained an undreamed-of 
 prize, reached some glorious consummation. 
 
 There was a musical party that same evening at the 
 Plall. Miss Amory played beautifully, with extraordinary 
 feeling and execution, both with and without accompani- 
 ment on the piano. Several ladies and gentlemen sang 
 and played ; there were duets and trios. 
 
 During the performances the guests talked to each other 
 in low tones about various topics. 
 
 Said one lady to Mrs. Amory : " How strange it is that 
 among the English lower classes there is no love of 
 music." 
 
 " There is none at all," answered Mrs. Amory ; " our 
 rector's wife has given herself great trouble to get up 
 parochial entertainments, but we find that nothing takes 
 with the people but comic songs, and these, instead of 
 elevating, vulgarise them." 
 
 " They have no music in them. The only people with 
 music in their souls are the Germans and the Italians." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Amory with a sigh ; " it is sad, but 
 true : there is neither poetry, nor picturesqueness, nor 
 music among the English peasantry." 
 
 " You have never heard of one, self-taught, with a real 
 love of music in this country ? " 
 
 " Never : such do not exist among us." 
 
 The parish churchwarden was walking along the road on 
 
272 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 his way to his farmhouse, and the road passed under the 
 churchyard v/all. 
 
 As he walked along the way — with a not too steady step, 
 for he was returning from the public-house — he was sur- 
 prised and frightened to hear music proceed from among 
 the graves. 
 
 It was too dark for him to see any figure then, only the 
 tombstones loomed on him in ghostly shapes. He began 
 to quake, and finally turned and ran, nor did he slacken 
 his pace till he reached the tavern, where he burst in 
 shouting : " There's ghosts abroad. I've heard 'em in the 
 churchyard making music," 
 
 The revellers rose from their cups. 
 
 " Shall we go and hear ? " they asked. 
 
 " I'll go for one," said a man ; " if others will go with me." 
 
 " Ay," said a third, " and if the ghosts be playing a jolly 
 good tune, we'll chip in." 
 
 So the whole half-tipsy party reeled along the road, 
 talking very loud, to encourage themselves and the others, 
 till they approached the church, the spire of which stood 
 up dark against the night sky. 
 
 " There's no lights in the windows," said one. 
 
 " No," observed the churchwarden, " I didn't notice any 
 myself; it was from the graves the music came, as if all 
 the dead was squeakin' like pigs." 
 
 " Hush ! " All kept silence — not a sound could be heard. 
 
 " I'm sure I heard music afore," said the churchwarden. 
 " I'll bet a gallon of ale I did." 
 
 "There ain't no music now, though," remarked one of 
 the men. 
 
 " Nor more there ain't," said others. 
 
 " Well, I don't care — I say I heard it," asseverated the 
 churchwarden. '' Let's go up closer." 
 
 All of the party drew nearer to the wall of the grave- 
 yard. One man, incapable of maintaining his legs unaided, 
 sustained himself on the arm of another. 
 
LITTLE JOE GANDER 273 
 
 " Well, I do believe, Churchwarden Eggins, as how you 
 have been leading us a wild goose chase ! " said a fellow. 
 
 Then the clouds broke, and a bright, dazzling pure ray- 
 shot down on a grave in the churchyard, and revealed a 
 little figure lying on it. 
 
 " I do believe," said one man, " as how, if he ain't led us 
 a goose chase, he's brought us after a Gander — surely that 
 is little Joe." 
 
 Thus encouraged, and their fears dispelled, the whole 
 half-tipsy party stumbled up the graveyard steps, staggered 
 among the tombs, some tripping on the mounds and 
 falling prostrate. All laughed, talked, joked with one 
 another. 
 
 The only one silent there was little Joe Gander — and he 
 was gone to join in the great symphony above. 
 
A DEAD FINGER 
 
 I 
 
 WHY the National Gallery should not attract so many 
 visitors as, say, the British Museum, I cannot ex- 
 plain. The latter does not contain much that, one would 
 suppose, appeals to the interest of the ordinary sightseer. 
 What knows such of prehistoric flints and scratched bones ? 
 Of Assyrian sculpture ? Of Egyptian hieroglyphics ? The 
 Greek and Roman statuary is cold and dead. The paint- 
 ings in the National Gallery glow with colour, and are 
 instinct with life. Yet, somehow, a few listless wanderers 
 saunter yawning through the National Gallery, whereas 
 swarms pour through the halls of the British Museum, and 
 talk and pass remarks about the objects there exposed, of 
 the date and meaning of which they have not the faintest 
 conception. 
 
 I was thinking of this problem, and endeavouring to 
 unravel it, one morning whilst sitting in the room for 
 English masters at the great collection in Trafalgar 
 Square. At the same time another thought forced itself 
 upon me. I had been through the rooms devoted to 
 foreign schools, and had then come into that given over 
 to Reynolds, Morland, Gainsborough, Constable, and 
 Hogarth. The morning had been for a while propitious, 
 but towards noon a dense umber-tinted fog had come on, 
 making it all but impossible to see the pictures, and quite 
 impossible to do them justice. I was tired, and so seated 
 myself on one of the chairs, and fell into the consideration 
 
 274 
 
A DEAD FINGER 275 
 
 first of all of — why the National Gallery is not as popular 
 as it should be ; and secondly, how it was that the British 
 School had no beginnings, like those of Italy and the 
 Netherlands. We can see the art of the painter from its 
 first initiation in the Italian peninsula, and among the 
 Flemings. It starts on its progress like a child, and we 
 can trace every stage of its growth. Not so with English 
 art. It springs to life in full and splendid maturity. Who 
 were there before Reynolds and Gainsborough and Hogarth? 
 The great names of those portrait and subject painters who 
 have left their canvases upon the walls of our country 
 houses were those of foreigners — Holbein, Kneller, Van 
 Dyck, and Lely for portraits, and Monnoyer for flower and 
 fruit pieces. Landscapes, figure subjects were all importa- 
 tions, none home-grown. How came that about? Was 
 there no limner that was native? Was it that fashion 
 trampled on home-grown pictorial beginnings as it flouted 
 and spurned native music ? 
 
 Here was food for contemplation. Dreaming in the 
 brown fog, looking through it without seeing its beauties, 
 at Hogarth's painting of Lavinia Fenton as Polly Peachum, 
 without wondering how so indifferent a beauty could have 
 captivated the Duke of Bolton and held him for thirty 
 years, I was recalled to myself and my surroundings by 
 the strange conduct of a lady who had seated herself on a 
 chair near me, also discouraged by the fog, and awaiting 
 its dispersion. 
 
 I had not noticed her particularly. At the present 
 moment I do not remember particularly what she was like. 
 So far as I can recollect she was middle-aged, and was 
 quietly yet well dressed. It was not her face nor her dress 
 that attracted my attention and disturbed the current of 
 my thoughts ; the effect I speak of was produced by her 
 strange movements and behaviour. 
 
 She had been sitting listless, probably thinking of 
 nothing at all, or nothing in particular, when, in turning 
 
276 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 her eyes round, and finding that she could see nothing of 
 the paintings, she began to study me. This did concern 
 me greatly. A cat may look at the king ; but to be 
 contemplated by a lady is a compliment sufficient to please 
 any gentleman. It was not gratified vanity that troubled 
 my thoughts, but the consciousness that my appearance 
 produced — first of all a startled surprise, then undisguised 
 alarm, and, finally, indescribable horror. 
 
 Now a man can sit quietly leaning on the head of his 
 umbrella, and glow internally, warmed and illumined by 
 the consciousness that he is being surveyed with admiration 
 by a lovely woman, even when he is middle-aged and not 
 fashionably dressed ; but no man can maintain his com- 
 posure when he discovers himself to be an object of 
 aversion and terror. 
 
 What was it? I passed my hand over my chin and 
 upper lip, thinking it not impossible that I might have 
 forgotten to shave that morning, and in my confusion not 
 considering that the fog would prevent the lady from 
 discovering neglect in this particular, had it occurred, 
 which it had not. I am a little careless, perhaps, about 
 shaving when in the country ; but when in town, never. 
 
 The next idea that occurred to me was — a smut. Had a 
 London black, curdled in that dense pea-soup atmosphere, 
 descended on my nose and blackened it ? I hastily drew 
 my silk handkerchief from my pocket, moistened it, and 
 passed it over my nose, and then each cheek. I then 
 turned my eyes into the corners and looked at the lady, to 
 see whether by this means I had got rid of what was 
 objectionable in my personal appearance. 
 
 Then I saw that her eyes, dilated with horror, were 
 riveted, not on my face, but on my leg. 
 
 My leg ! What on earth could that harmless member 
 have in it so terrifying? The morning had been dull; 
 there had been rain in the night, and I admit that on leaving 
 my hotel I had turned up the bottoms of my trousers. 
 
A DEAD FINGER 277 
 
 That is a proceeding not so uncommon, not so outrageous 
 as to account for the stony stare of this woman's eyes. 
 
 If that were all I would turn my trousers down. 
 
 Then I saw her shrink from the chair on which she sat 
 to one further removed from me, but still with her eyes fixed 
 on my leg — about the level of my knee. She had let fall 
 her umbrella, and was grasping the seat of her chair with 
 both hands, as she backed from me. 
 
 I need hardly say that I was greatly disturbed in mind 
 and feelings, and forgot all about the origin of the English 
 schools of painters, and the question why the British 
 Museum is more popular than the National Gallery. 
 
 Thinking that I might have been spattered by a hansom 
 whilst crossing Oxford Street, I passed my hand down my 
 side hastily, with a sense of annoyance, and all at once 
 touched something cold, clammy, that sent a thrill to my 
 heart, and made me start and take a step forward. At the 
 same moment, the lady, with a cry of horror, sprang to her 
 feet, and with raised hands fled from the room, leaving her 
 umbrella where it had fallen. 
 
 There were other visitors to the Picture Gallery besides 
 ourselves, who had been passing through the saloon, and 
 they turned at her cry, and looked in surprise after her. 
 
 The policeman stationed in the room came to me and 
 asked what had happened. I was in such agitation that 
 I hardly knew what to answer. I told him that I could 
 explain what had occurred little better than himself I 
 had noticed that the lady had worn an odd expression, 
 and had behaved in most extraordinary fashion, and that 
 he had best take charge of her umbrella, and wait for her 
 return to claim it. 
 
 This questioning by the official was vexing, as it pre- 
 vented me from at once and on the spot investigating 
 the cause of her alarm and mine — hers at something she 
 must have seen on my leg, and mine at something I had 
 distinctly felt creeping up my leg. 
 
2 78 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 The numbing and sickening effect on me of the touch of 
 the object I had not seen was not to be shaken off at once. 
 Indeed, I felt as though my hand were contaminated, and 
 that I could have no rest till I had thoroughly washed the 
 hand, and, if possible, washed away the feeling that had 
 been produced. 
 
 I looked on the floor, I examined my leg, but saw nothing. 
 As I wore my overcoat, it was probable that in rising from 
 my seat the skirt had fallen over my trousers and hidden 
 the thing, whatever it was. I therefore hastily removed 
 my overcoat and shook it, then I looked at^ my trousers. 
 There was nothing whatever on my leg, and nothing fell 
 from my overcoat when shaken. 
 
 Accordingly I reinvested myself, and hastily left the 
 Gallery ; then took my way as speedily as I could, without 
 actually running, to Charing Cross Station and down the 
 narrow way leading to the Metropolitan, where I went into 
 Faulkner's bath and hairdressing establishment, and asked 
 for hot water to thoroughly wash my hand and well soap 
 it. I bathed my hand in water as hot as I could endure it, 
 employed carbolic soap, and then, after having a good brush 
 down, especially on my left side where my hand had en- 
 countered the object that had so affected me, I left. I had 
 entertained the intention of going to the Princess's Theatre 
 that evening, and of securing a ticket in the morning ; 
 but all thought of theatre-going was gone from me. I 
 could not free my heart from the sense of nausea and cold 
 that had been produced by the touch. I went into Gatti's 
 to have lunch, and ordered something, I forget what, but, 
 when served, I found that my appetite was gone. I could 
 eat nothing ; the food inspired me with disgust. I thrust 
 it from me untasted, and, after drinking a couple of glasses 
 of claret, left the restaurant, and returned to my hotel. 
 
 Feeling sick and faint, I threw my overcoat over the 
 sofa-back, and cast myself on my bed. 
 
 I do not know that there was any particular reason for 
 
A DEAD FINGER 279 
 
 my doing so, but as I lay my eyes were on my great- 
 coat. 
 
 The density of the fog had passed away, and there was 
 light again, not of first quality, but sufficient for a Londoner 
 to swear by, so that I could see everything in my room, 
 though through a veil, darkly. 
 
 I do not think my mind was occupied in any way. 
 About the only occasions on which, to my knowledge, 
 my mind is actually passive or inert is when crossing the 
 Channel in The Foam from Dover to Calais, when I am 
 always, in every weather, abjectly seasick — and thought- 
 less. But as I now lay on my bed, uncomfortable, 
 squeamish, without knowing why — I was in the same 
 inactive mental condition. But not for long. 
 
 I saw something that startled me. 
 
 First, it appeared to me as if the lappet of my overcoat 
 pocket were in movement, being raised. I did not pay 
 much attention to this, as I supposed that the garment 
 was sliding down on to the seat of the sofa, from the back, 
 and that this displacement of gravity caused the movement 
 I observed. But this I soon saw was not the case. That 
 which moved the lappet was something in the pocket that 
 was struggling to get out. I could see now that it was 
 working its way up the inside, and that when it reached 
 the opening it lost balance and fell down again. I could 
 make this out by the projections and indentations in the 
 cloth ; these moved as the creature, or whatever it was, 
 worked its way up the lining. 
 
 " A mouse," I said, and forgot my seediness ; I was 
 interested. " The little rascal ! However did he contrive 
 to seat himself in my pocket? and I have worn that 
 overcoat all the morning 1 " But no — it was not a mouse. 
 I saw something white poke its way out from under the 
 lappet ; and in another moment an object was revealed 
 that, though revealed, I could not understand, nor could 
 I distinguish what it was. 
 
28o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Now roused by curiosity, I raised myself on my elbow. 
 In doing this I made some noise, the bed creaked. In- 
 stantly the something dropped on the floor, lay outstretched 
 for a moment, to recover itself, and then began, with the 
 motions of a maggot, to run along the floor. 
 
 There is a caterpillar called *' The Measurer," because, 
 when it advances, it draws its tail up to where its head 
 is and then throws forward its full length, and again 
 draws up its extremity, forming at each time a loop ; and 
 with each step measuring its total length. The object 
 I now saw on the floor was advancing precisely like the 
 measuring caterpillar. It had the colour of a cheese- 
 maggot, and in length was about three and a half inches. 
 It was not, however, like a caterpillar, which is flexible 
 throughout its entire length, but this was, as it seemed to 
 me, jointed it two places, one joint being more conspicuous 
 than the other. For some moments I was so completely 
 paralysed by astonishment that I remained motionless, 
 looking at the thing as it crawled along the carpet — a dull 
 green carpet with darker green, almost black, flowers in it. 
 
 It had, as it seemed to me, a glossy head, distinctly 
 marked ; but, as the light was not brilliant, I could not 
 make out very clearly, and, moreover, the rapid move- 
 ments prevented close scrutiny. 
 
 Presently, with a shock still more startling than that 
 produced by its apparition at the opening of the pocket 
 of my great-coat, I became convinced that what I saw 
 was a finger, a human forefinger, and that the glossy head 
 was no other than the nail. 
 
 The finger did not seem to have been amputated. There 
 was no sign of blood or laceration where the knuckle 
 should be, but the extremity of the finger, or root rather, 
 faded away to indistinctness, and I was unable to make 
 out the root of the finger. 
 
 I could see no hand, no body behind this finger, nothing 
 whatever except a finger that had little token of warm life 
 
A DEAD FINGER 281 
 
 in it, no coloration as though blood circulated in it ; and 
 this finger was in active motion creeping along the carpet 
 towards a wardrobe that stood against the wall by the 
 fireplace. 
 
 I sprang off the bed and pursued it. 
 
 Evidently the finger was alarmed, for it redoubled its 
 pace, reached the wardrobe, and went under it. By the 
 time I had arrived at the article of furniture it had dis- 
 appeared. I lit a vesta match and held it beneath the 
 wardrobe, that was raised above the carpet by about two 
 inches, on turned feet, but I could see nothing more of 
 the finger. 
 
 I got my umbrella and thrust it beneath, and raked 
 forwards and backwards, right and left, and raked out 
 flue, and nothing more solid. 
 
 II 
 
 I packed my portmanteau next day and returned to 
 my home in the country. All desire for amusement in 
 town was gone, and the faculty to transact business had 
 departed as well. 
 
 A languor and qualms had come over me, and my head 
 was in a maze. I was unable to fix my thoughts on any- 
 thing. At times I was disposed to believe that my wits 
 were deserting me, at others that I was on the verge of a 
 severe illness. Anyhow, whether likely to go off my head 
 or not, or take to my bed, home was the only place for 
 me, and homeward I sped, accordingly. On reaching my 
 country habitation, my servant, as usual, took my port- 
 manteau to my bedroom, unstrapped it, but did not 
 unpack it. I object to his throwing out the contents 
 of my Gladstone bag ; not that there is anything in it 
 he may not see, but that he puts my things where I 
 cannot find them again. My clothes — he is welcome to 
 place them where he likes and where they belong, and 
 
282 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 this latter he knows better than I do ; but, then, I carry 
 about with me other things than a dress suit, and changes 
 of linen and flannel. There are letters, papers, books — 
 and the proper destinations of these are known only to 
 myself A servant has a singular and evil knack of 
 putting away literary matter and odd volumes in such 
 places that it takes the owner half a day to find them 
 again. Although I was uncomfortable, and my head in 
 a whirl, I opened and unpacked my own portmanteau. 
 As I was thus engaged I saw something curled up in my 
 collar-box, the lid of which had got broken in by a boot- 
 heel impinging on it. I had pulled off the damaged cover 
 to see if my collars had been spoiled, when something 
 curled up inside suddenly rose on end and leapt, just like 
 a cheese-jumper, out of the box, over the edge of the 
 Gladstone bag, and scurried away across the floor in a 
 manner already familiar to me. 
 
 I could not doubt for a moment what it was — here was 
 the finger again. It had come with me from London to 
 the country. 
 
 Whither it went in its run over the floor I do not know, 
 I was too bewildered to observe. 
 
 Somewhat later, towards evening, I seated myself in my 
 easy-chair, took up a book, and tried to read. I was tired 
 with the journey, with the knocking about in town, and 
 the discomfort and alarm produced by the apparition of 
 the finger. I felt worn out. I was unable to give my 
 attention to what I read, and before I was aware was 
 asleep. Roused for an instant by the fall of the book 
 from my hands, I speedily relapsed into unconsciousness. 
 I am not sure that a doze in an armchair ever does good. 
 It usually leaves me in a semi-stupid condition and with 
 a headache. Five minutes in a horizontal position on my 
 bed is worth thirty in a chair. That is my experience. 
 In sleeping in a sedentary position the head is a difficulty; 
 it drops forward or lolls on one side or the other, and has 
 
A DEAD FINGER 283 
 
 to be brought back into a position in which the h'ne to 
 the centre of gravity runs through the trunk, otherwise 
 the head carries the body over in a sort of general capsize 
 out of the chair on to the floor. 
 
 I slept, on the occasion of which I am speaking, pretty 
 healthily, because deadly weary ; but I was brought to 
 waking, not by my head falling over the arm of the chair, 
 and my trunk tumbling after it, but by a feeling of cold 
 extending from my throat to my heart. When I awoke I 
 was in a diagonal position, with my right ear resting on 
 my right shoulder, and exposing the left side of my throat, 
 and it was here — where the jugular vein throbs — that I felt 
 the greatest intensity of cold. At once I shrugged my left 
 shoulder, rubbing my neck with the collar of my coat in 
 so doing. Immediately something fell off, upon the floor, 
 and I again saw the finger. 
 
 My disgust — horror, were intensified when I perceived 
 that it was dragging something after it, which might have 
 been an old stocking, and which I took at first glance for 
 something of the sort. 
 
 The evening sun shone in through my window, in a 
 brilliant golden ray that lighted the object as it scrambled 
 along. With this illumination I was able to distinguish 
 what the object was. It is not easy to describe it, but I 
 will make the attempt. 
 
 The finger I saw was solid and material ; what it drew 
 after it was neither, or was in a nebulous, protoplasmic 
 condition. The finger was attached to a hand that was 
 curdling into matter and in process of acquiring solidity ; 
 attached to the hand was an arm in a very filmy condition, 
 and this arm belonged to a human body in a still more 
 vaporous, immaterial condition. This was being dragged 
 along the floor by the finger, just as a silkworm might 
 pull after it the tangle of its web. I could see legs and 
 arms, and head, and coat-tail tumbling about and inter- 
 lacing and disentangling again in a promiscuous manner. 
 
284 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 There were no bone, no muscle, no substance in the figure ; 
 the members were attached to the trunk, which was spine- 
 less, but they had evidently no functions, and were wholly 
 dependent on the finger which pulled them along in a 
 jumble of parts as it advanced. 
 
 In such confusion did the whole vaporous matter seem, 
 that I think — I cannot say for certain it was so, but the 
 impression left on my mind was — that one of the eyeballs 
 was looking out at a nostril, and the tongue lolling out of 
 one of the ears. 
 
 It was, however, only for a moment that I saw this 
 germ-body ; I cannot call by another name that which 
 had not more substance than smoke. I saw it only so 
 long as it was being dragged athwart the ray of sunlight. 
 The moment it was pulled jerkily out of the beam into 
 the shadow beyond, I could see nothing of it, only the 
 crawling finger. 
 
 I had not sufficient moral energy or physical force in 
 me to rise, pursue, and stamp on the finger, and grind it 
 with my heel into the floor. Both seemed drained out of 
 me. What became of the finger, whither it went, how it 
 managed to secrete itself, I do not know. I had lost the 
 power to inquire. I sat in my chair, chilled, staring before 
 me into space. 
 
 " Please, sir," a voice said, " there's Mr. Square below, 
 electrical engineer." 
 
 " Eh ? " I looked dreamily round. 
 
 My valet was at the door. 
 
 " Please, sir, the gentleman would be glad to be allowed 
 to go over the house and see that all the electrical apparatus 
 is in order." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! Yes — show him up." 
 
A DEAD FINGER 285 
 
 III 
 
 I had recently placed the lighting of my house in the 
 hands of an electrical engineer, a very intelligent man, 
 Mr. Square, for whom I had contracted a sincere friendship. 
 
 He had built a shed with a dynamo out of sight, and 
 had entrusted the laying of the wires to subordinates, as 
 he had been busy with other orders and could not personally 
 watch every detail. But he was not the man to let any- 
 thing pass unobserved, and he knew that electricity was 
 not a force to be played with. Bad or careless workmen 
 will often insufficiently protect the wires, or neglect the 
 insertion of the lead which serves as a safety-valve in the 
 event of the current being too strong. Houses may be 
 set on fire, human beings fatally shocked, by the neglect 
 of a bad or slovenly v/orkman. 
 
 The apparatus for my mansion was but just completed, 
 and Mr. Square had come to inspect it and make sure that 
 all was right. 
 
 He was an enthusiast in the matter of electricity, and 
 saw for it a vast perspective, the limits of which could not 
 be predicted. 
 
 "All forces," said he, "are correlated. When you have 
 force in one form, you may just turn it into this or that, as 
 you like. In one form it is motive power, in another it 
 is light, in another heat. Now we have electricity for 
 illumination. We employ it, but not as freely as in the 
 States, for propelling vehicles. Why should we have 
 horses drawing our buses ? We should use only electric 
 trams. Why do we burn coal to warm our shins ? There 
 is electricity, which throws out no filthy smoke as does 
 coal. Why should we let the tides waste their energies in 
 the Thames? in other estuaries? There we have Nature 
 supplying us — free, gratis, and for nothing — with all the 
 force we want for propelling, for heating, for lighting. I 
 will tell you something more, my dear sir," said Mr. Square. 
 " I have mentioned but three modes of force, and have 
 
286 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 instanced but a limited number of uses to which electricity 
 may be turned. How is it with photography? Is not 
 electric light becoming an artistic agent ? I bet you/' said 
 he, "before long it will become a therapeutic agent as well." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I have heard of certain impostors with their 
 life-belts." 
 
 Mr. Square did not relish this little dig I gave him. He 
 winced, but returned to the charge. " We don't know 
 how to direct it aright, that is all," said he. " I haven't 
 taken the matter up, but others will, I bet ; and we shall 
 have electricity used as freely as now we use powders and 
 pills. I don't believe in doctors' stuffs myself I hold 
 that disease lays hold of a man because he lacks physical 
 force to resist it. Now, is it not obvious that you are 
 beginning at the wrong end when you attack the disease ? 
 What you want is to supply force, make up for the lack 
 of physical power, and force is force wherever you find it 
 — here motive, there illuminating, and so on. I don't see 
 why a physician should not utilise the tide rushing out 
 under London Bridge for restoring the feeble vigour of all 
 who are languid and a prey to disorder in the Metropolis. 
 It will come to that, I bet, and that is not all. Force is 
 force, everywhere. Political, moral force, physical force, 
 dynamic force, heat, light, tidal waves, and so on — all are 
 one, all is one. In time we shall know how to galvanise 
 into aptitude and moral energy all the limp and crooked 
 consciences and wills that need taking in hand, and such 
 there always will be in modern civilisation. I don't know 
 how to do it. I don't know how it will be done, but in 
 the future the priest as well as the doctor will turn elec- 
 tricity on as his principal, nay, his only agent. And he 
 can get his force anywhere, out of the running stream, out 
 of the wind, out of the tidal wave. 
 
 " I'll give you an instance," continued Mr. Square, 
 chuckling and rubbing his hands, " to show you the great 
 possibilities in electricity, used in a crude fashion. In a 
 
A DEAD FINGER 287 
 
 certain great city away far west in the States, a go-ahead 
 place, too, more so than New York, they had electric trams 
 all up and down and along the roads to everywhere. The 
 union men working for the company demanded that the 
 non-unionists should be turned off. But the company 
 didn't see it. Instead, it turned off the union men. It 
 had up its sleeve a sufficiency of the others, and filled all 
 places at once. Union men didn't like it, and passed word 
 that at a given hour on a certain day every wire was to be 
 cut. The company knew this by means of its spies, and 
 turned on, ready for them, three times the power into all the 
 wires. At the fixed moment, up the poles went the strikers 
 to cut the cables, and down they came a dozen times 
 quicker than they went up, I bet. Then there came wires 
 to the hospitals from all quarters for stretchers to carry off 
 the disabled men, some with broken legs, arms, ribs ; two 
 or three had their necks broken. I reckon the company 
 was wonderfully merciful — it didn't put on sufficient force to 
 make cinders of them then and there; possibly opinion 
 might not have liked it. Stopped the strike, did that. 
 Great moral effect — all done by electricity." 
 
 In this manner Mr. Square was wont to rattle on. He 
 interested me, and I came to think that there might be 
 something in what he said — that his suggestions were not 
 mere nonsense. I was glad to see Mr. Square enter my 
 room, shown in by my man. I did not rise from my chair 
 to shake his hand, for I had not sufficient energy to do 
 so. In a languid tone I welcomed him and signed to him to 
 take a seat. Mr. Square looked at me with some surprise. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter ?" he said. "You seem unwell. 
 Not got the 'flue, have you?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " 
 
 " The influenza. Every third person is crying out that 
 he has it, and the sale of eucalyptus is enormous, not that 
 eucalyptus is any good. Influenza microbes indeed ! 
 What care they for eucalyptus ? You've gone down some 
 
288 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 steps of the ladder of life since I saw you last, squire. 
 How do you account for that?" 
 
 I hesitated about mentioning the extraordinary circum- 
 stances that had occurred; but Square was a man who 
 would not allow any beating about the bush. He was 
 downright and straight, and in ten minutes had got the 
 entire story out of me. 
 
 " Rather boisterous for your nerves that — a crawling 
 finger/' said he. " It's a queer story taken on end." 
 
 Then he was silent, considering. 
 
 After a few minutes he rose, and said : " I'll go and look 
 at the fittings, and then I'll turn this little matter of yours 
 over again, and see if I can't knock the bottom out of it, 
 I'm kinder fond of these sort of things." 
 
 Mr. Square was not a Yankee, but he had lived for some 
 time in America, and affected to speak like an American. 
 He used expressions, terms of speech common in the 
 States, but had none of the Transatlantic twang. He 
 was a man absolutely without affectation in every other 
 particular ; this was his sole weakness, and it was harmless. 
 
 The man was so thorough in all he did that I did not 
 expect his return immediately. He was certain to examine 
 every portion of the dynamo engine, and all the connections 
 and burners. This would necessarily engage him for some 
 hours. As the day was nearly done, I knew he could not 
 accomplish what he wanted that evening, and accord- 
 ingly gave orders that a room should be prepared for him. 
 Then, as my head was full of pain, and my skin was 
 burning, I told my servant to apologise for my absence 
 from dinner, and tell Mr. Square that I was really forced 
 to return to my bed by sickness, and that I believed I was 
 about to be prostrated by an attack of influenza. 
 
 The valet — a worthy fellow, who has been with me for six 
 years — was concerned at my appearance, and urged me to 
 allow him to send for a doctor. I had no confidence in the 
 local practitioner, and if I sent for another from the nearest 
 
A DEAD FINGER 289 
 
 town I should offend him, and a row would perhaps en- 
 sue, so I declined. If I were really in for an influenza 
 attack, I knew about as much as any doctor how to deal 
 with it. Quinine, quinine — that was all. I bade my man 
 light a small lamp, lower it, so as to give sufficient illumi- 
 nation to enable me to find some lime-juice at my bed 
 head, and my pocket-handkerchief, and to be able to read 
 my watch. When he had done this, I bade him leave me. 
 
 I lay in bed, burning, racked with pain in my head, and 
 with my eyeballs on fire. 
 
 Whether I fell asleep or went off my head for a while 
 I cannot tell. I may have fainted. I have no recollection 
 of anything after having gone to bed and taken a sip of 
 lime-juice that tasted to me like soap — till I was roused by 
 a sense of pain in my ribs — a slow, gnawing, torturing pain, 
 waxing momentarily more intense. In half-consciousness 
 I was partly dreaming and partly aware of actual suffering. 
 The pain was real; but in my fancy I thought that a great 
 maggot was working its way into my side between my 
 ribs. I seemed to see it. It twisted itself half round, 
 then reverted to its former position, and again twisted 
 itself, moving like a bradawl, not like a gimlet, which 
 latter forms a complete revolution. 
 
 This, obviously, must have been a dream, hallucina- 
 tion only, as I was lying on my back and my eyes were 
 directed towards the bottom of the bed, and the coverlet 
 and blankets and sheet intervened between my eyes and 
 my side. But in fever one sees without eyes, and in every 
 direction, and through all obstructions. 
 
 Roused thoroughly by an excruciating twinge, I tried to 
 cry out, and succeeded in throwing myself over on my 
 right side, that which was in pain. At once I felt the thino- 
 withdrawn that was awling — if I may use the word — in 
 between my ribs. 
 
 And now I saw, standing beside the bed, a figure that 
 had its arm under the bedclothes, and was slowly re- 
 u 
 
290 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 moving it. The hand was leisurely drawn from under the 
 coverings and rested on the eider-down coverlet, with the 
 forefinger extended. 
 
 The figure was that of a man, in shabby clothes, with a 
 sallow, mean face, a retreating forehead, with hair cut after 
 the French fashion, and a moustache, dark. The jaws and 
 chin were covered with a bristly growth, as if shaving had 
 been neglected for a fortnight. The figure did not appear 
 to be thoroughly solid, but to be of the consistency of 
 curd, and the face was of the complexion of curd. As 
 I looked at this object it withdrew, sliding backward in 
 an odd sort of manner, and as though overweighted by 
 the hand, which was the most substantial, indeed the only 
 substantial portion of it. Though the figure retreated 
 stooping, yet it was no longer huddled along by the finger, 
 as if it had no material existence. If the same, it had 
 acquired a consistency and a solidity which it did not 
 possess before. 
 
 How it vanished I do not know, nor whither it went. 
 The door opened, and Square came in. 
 
 "What!" he exclaimed with cheery voice; "influenza 
 is it?" 
 
 " I don't know — I think it's that finger again." 
 
 IV 
 
 " Now, look here," said Square, " I'm not going to have 
 that cuss at its pranks any more. Tell me all about it." 
 
 I was now so exhausted, so feeble, that I was not able 
 to give a connected account of what had taken place, but 
 Square put to me just a few pointed questions and elicited 
 the main facts. He pieced them together in his own orderly 
 mind, so as to form a connected whole. " There is a 
 feature in the case," said he, " that strikes me as remark- 
 able and important. At first — a finger only, then a hand, 
 then a- nebulous figure attached to the hand, without 
 backbone, without consistency. Lastly, a complete form, 
 
A DEAD FINGER 291 
 
 with consistency and with backbone, but the latter in a 
 gelatinous condition, and the entire figure overweighted by 
 the hand, just as hand and figure were previously over- 
 weighted by the finger. Simultaneously with this compact- 
 ing and consolidating of the figure, came your degeneration 
 and loss of vital force and, in a word, of health. What 
 you lose, that object acquires, and what it acquires, it gains 
 by contact with you. That's clear enough, is it not ? " 
 
 *' I dare say. I don't know. I can't think." 
 
 " I suppose not; the faculty of thought is drained out of 
 you. Very well, I must think for you, and I will. Force 
 is force, and see if I can't deal with your visitant in such a 
 way as will prove just as truly a moral dissuasive as that 
 employed on the union men on strike in — never mind 
 where it was. That's not to the point." 
 
 " Will you kindly give me some lime-juice?" I entreated. 
 
 I sipped the acid draught, but without relief I listened 
 to Square, but without hope. I wanted to be left alone. 
 I was weary of my pain, weary of everything, even of life. 
 It was a matter of indifference to me whether I recovered 
 or slipped out of existence. 
 
 " It will be here again shortly," said the engineer. " As 
 the French say, Vappetit vient en mangeant. It has been at 
 you thrice, it won't be content without another peck. And 
 if it does get another, I guess it will pretty well about 
 finish you." 
 
 Mr. Square rubbed his chin, and then put his hands into 
 his trouser pockets. That also was a trick acquired in the 
 States, an inelegant one. His hands, when not actively 
 occupied, went into his pockets, inevitably they gravitated 
 thither. Ladies did not like Square ; they said he was 
 not a gentleman. But it was not that he said or did any- 
 thing " off colour," only he spoke to them, looked at them, 
 walked with them, always with his hands In his pockets. 
 I have seen a lady turn her back on him deliberately 
 because of this trick. 
 
292 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Standing now with his hands in his pockets, he studied 
 my bed, and said contemptuously : " Old-fashioned and 
 bad, fourposter. Oughtn't to be allowed, I guess; un- 
 wholesome all the way round." 
 
 I was not in a condition to dispute this. I like a four- 
 poster with curtains at head and feet ; not that I ever 
 draw them, but it gives a sense of privacy that is wanting 
 in one of your half-tester beds. 
 
 If there is a window at one's feet, one can lie in bed 
 without the glare in one's eyes, and yet without darkening 
 the room by drawing the blinds. There is much to be 
 said for a fourposter, but this is not the place in which to 
 say it. 
 
 Mr. Square pulled his hands out of his pockets and 
 began fiddling with the electric point near the head of 
 my bed, attached a wire, swept it in a semicircle along 
 the floor, and then thrust the knob at the end into my 
 hand in the bed. 
 
 " Keep your eye open," said he, " and your hand shut 
 and covered. If that finger comes again tickling your ribs, 
 try it with the point. I'll manage the switch, from behind 
 the curtain." 
 
 Then he disappeared. 
 
 I was too indifferent in my misery to turn my head and 
 observe where he was. I remained inert, with the knob in 
 my hand, and my eyes closed, suffering and thinking of 
 nothing but the shooting pains through my head and the 
 aches in my loins and back and legs. 
 
 Some time probably elapsed before I felt the finger 
 again at work at my ribs ; it groped, but no longer bored. 
 I now felt the entire hand, not a single finger, and the 
 hand was substantial, cold, and clammy. I was aware, 
 how, I know not, that if the finger-point reached the 
 region of my heart, on the left side, the hand would, so to 
 speak, sit down on it, with the cold palm over it, and that 
 then immediately my heart would cease to beat, and it 
 
A DEAD FINGER 293 
 
 would be, as Square might express it, " gone coon " with 
 me. 
 
 In self-preservation I brought up the knob of the electric 
 wire against the hand — against one of the fingers, I think 
 — and at once was aware of a rapping, squealing noise. I 
 turned my head languidly, and saw the form, now more 
 substantial than before, capering in an ecstasy of pain, 
 endeavouring fruitlessly to withdraw its arm from under 
 the bedclothes, and the hand from the electric point. 
 
 At the same moment Square stepped from behind the 
 curtain, with a dry laugh, and said : " I thought we should 
 fix him. He has the coil about him, and can't escape. 
 Now let us drop to particulars. But I shan't let you off 
 till I know all about you." 
 
 The last sentence was addressed, not to me, but to the 
 apparition. 
 
 Thereupon he bade me take the point away from the 
 hand of the figure — being — whatever it was, but to be 
 ready with it at a moment's notice. He then proceeded 
 to catechise my visitor, who moved restlessly within the 
 circle of wire, but could not escape from it. It replied in 
 a thin, squealing voice that sounded as if it came from a 
 distance, and had a querulous tone in it. I do not pretend 
 to give all that was said. I cannot recollect everything 
 that passed. My memory was affected by my illness, as 
 well as my body. Yet I prefer giving the scraps that I 
 recollect to what Square told me he had heard. 
 
 " Yes — I was unsuccessful, always was. Nothing an- 
 swered with me. The world was against me. Society 
 was. I hate Society. I don't like work neither, never did. 
 But I like agitating against what is established. I hate 
 the Royal Family, the landed interest, the parsons, every- 
 thing that is, except the people — that is, the unemployed. 
 I always did. I couldn't get work as suited me. When I 
 died they buried me in a cheap coffin, dirt cheap, and 
 gave me a nasty grave, cheap, and a service rattled away 
 
294 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 cheap, and no monument. Didn't want none. Oh ! there 
 are lots of us. All discontented. Discontent ! That's a 
 passion, it is — it gets into the veins, it fills the brain, it 
 occupies the heart ; it's a sort of divine cancer that takes 
 possession of the entire man, and makes him dissatisfied 
 with everything, and hate everybody. But we must have 
 our share of happiness at some time. We all crave for it 
 in one way or other. Some think there's a future state of 
 blessedness and so have hope, and look to attain to it, for 
 hope is a cable and anchor that attaches to what is real. 
 But when you have no hope of that sort, don't believe in 
 any future state, you must look for happiness in life here. 
 We didn't get it when we were alive, so we seek to procure 
 it after we are dead. We can do it, if we can get out of 
 our cheap and nasty coffins. But not till the greater part 
 of us is mouldered away. If a finger or two remains, 
 that can work its way up to the surface, those cheap deal 
 coffins go to pieces quick enough. Then the only solid 
 part of us left can pull the rest of us that has gone to 
 nothing after it. Then we grope about after the living. 
 The well-to-do if we can get at them — the honest working 
 poor if we can't — we hate them too, because they are 
 content and happy. If we reach any of these, and can 
 touch them, then we can draw their vital force out of them 
 into ourselves, and recuperate at their expense. That was 
 about what I was going to do with you. Getting on 
 famous. Nearly solidified into a new man ; and given 
 another chance in life. But I've missed it this time. Just 
 like my luck. Miss everything. Always have, except 
 misery and disappointment. Get plenty of that." 
 
 " What are you all ? " asked Square. " Anarchists out of 
 employ ? " 
 
 " Some of us go by that name, some by other designa- 
 tions, but we are all one, and own allegiance to but one 
 monarch — Sovereign discontent. We are bred to have 
 a distaste for manual work ; and we grow up loafers, 
 
A DEAD FINGER 295 
 
 grumbling at everything and quarrelling with Society that 
 is around us and the Providence that is above us." 
 
 "And what do you call yourselves now?" 
 
 " Call ourselves ? Nothing; we are the same, in another 
 condition, that is all. Folk called us once Anarchists, 
 Nihilists, Socialists, Levellers, now they call us the In- 
 fluenza. The learned talk of microbes, and bacilli, and 
 bacteria. Microbes, bacilli, and bacteria be blowed ! We 
 are the Influenza ; we the social failures, the generally 
 discontented, coming up out of our cheap and nasty graves 
 in the form of physical disease. We are the Influenza." 
 
 " There you are, I guess ! " exclaimed Square trium- 
 phantly. " Did I not say that all forces were correlated ? 
 If so, then all negations, deficiences of force are one in 
 their several manifestations. Talk of Divine discontent 
 as a force impelling to progress ! Rubbish, it is a paralysis 
 of energy. It turns all it absorbs to acid, to envy, spite, 
 gall. It inspires nothing, but rots the whole moral system. 
 Here you have it — moral, social, political discontent in 
 another form, nay aspect — that is all. What Anarchism 
 is in the body Politic, that Influenza is in the body Physical. 
 Do you see that ? " 
 
 " Ye-e-s-e-s," I believe I answered, and dropped away 
 into the land of dreams. 
 
 I recovered. What Square did with the Thing I know 
 not, but believe that he reduced it again to its former 
 negative and self-decomposing condition. 
 
BLACK RAM 
 
 I DO not know when I had spent a more pleasant 
 evening, or had enjoyed a dinner more than that at 
 Mr. Weatherwood's hospitable house. For one thing, the 
 hostess knew how to keep her guests interested and in 
 good-humour. The dinner was all that could be desired, 
 and so were the wines. But what conduced above all to my 
 pleasure was that at table I sat by Miss Fulton, a bright, 
 intelligent girl, well read and entertaining. My wife had 
 a cold, and had sent her excuses by me. Miss Fulton and 
 I talked of this, that, and every thing. Towards the end 
 of dinner she said : " I shall be obliged to run away so soon 
 as the ladies leave the room to you and your cigarettes 
 and gossip. It is rather mean, but Mrs. Weatherwood 
 has been forewarned, and understands. To-morrow is our 
 village feast at Marksleigh, and I have a host of things on 
 my hand. I shall have to be up at seven, and I do object 
 to cut a slice off my night's rest at both ends." 
 
 " Rather an unusual time of the year for a village 
 feast," said I. "These things are generally got over in 
 the summer." 
 
 " You see, our church is dedicated to St. Mark, and to- 
 morrow is his festival, and it has been observed in one 
 fashion or another in our parish from time immemorial. In 
 your parts have they any notions about St. Mark's eve ? " 
 
 " What sort of notions ? " 
 
 " That if you sit in the church porch from midnight till 
 the clock strikes one, you will see the apparitions pass 
 before you of those destined to die within the year." 
 
 296 
 
BLACK RAM 297 
 
 " I fancy our good people see themselves, and nothing 
 but themselves, on every day and hour throughout the 
 twelvemonth." 
 
 " Joking apart, have you any such superstition hanging 
 on in your neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of. That sort of thing belonged 
 to the Golden Age that has passed away. Board schools 
 have reduced us to that of lead." 
 
 " At Marksleigh the villagers believe in it, and recently 
 their faith has received corroboration." 
 
 " How so ? " I asked. 
 
 " Last year, in a fit of bravado, a young carpenter 
 ventured to sit in the porch at the witching hour, and saw 
 himself enter the church. He came home, looking as 
 blank as a sheet, moped, lost flesh, and died nine months 
 later." 
 
 " Of course he died, if he had made up his mind to do 
 so. 
 
 " Yes — that is explicable. But how do you account for 
 his having seen his double?" 
 
 " He had been drinking at the public-house. A good 
 many people see double after that." 
 
 " It was not so. He was perfectly sober at the time." 
 
 " Then I give it up." 
 
 " Would you venture on a visit to a church porch on 
 this night— St. Mark's eve ? " 
 
 " Certainly I would, if well wrapped up, and I had my 
 pipe." 
 
 " I bar the pipe," said Miss Fulton. " No apparition can 
 stand tobacco smoke. But there is Lady Eastleigh rising. 
 When you come to rejoin the ladies, I shall be gone." 
 
 I did not leave the house of the Weatherwoods till late. 
 My dogcart was driven by my groom, Richard. The 
 night was cold, or rather chilly, but I had my fur-lined 
 overcoat, and did not mind that. The stars shone out of 
 a frosty sky. All went smoothly enough till the road 
 
298 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 dipped into a valley, where a dense white fog hung over 
 the river and the water-meadows. Anyone who has had 
 much experience in driving at night is aware that in such 
 a case the carriage lamps are worse than useless ; they 
 bewilder the horse and the driver. I cannot blame Dick 
 if he ran his wheel over a heap of stones that upset the 
 trap. We were both thrown out, and I fell on my head. 
 I sang out : " Mind the cob, Dick ; I am all right." 
 
 The boy at once mastered the horse. I did not rise 
 immediately, for I had been somewhat jarred by the fall ; 
 when I did I found Dick engaged in mending a ruptured 
 trace. One of the shafts was broken, and a carriage lamp 
 had been shattered. 
 
 " Dick," said I, " there are a couple of steep hills to 
 descend, and that is risky with a single shaft. I will 
 lighten the dogcart by walking home, and do you take 
 care at the hills." 
 
 " I think we can manage, sir." 
 
 " I should prefer to walk the rest of the way. I am 
 rather shaken by my fall, and a good step out in the cool 
 night will do more to put me to rights than anything else. 
 When you get home, send up a message to your mistress 
 that she is not to expect me at once. I shall arrive in due 
 time, and she is not to be alarmed." 
 
 " It's a good trudge before you, sir. And I dare say we 
 could get the shaft tied up at Fifevvell." 
 
 " What — at this time of night ? No, Dick, do as I say." 
 
 Accordingly the groom drove off, and I started on my 
 walk. I was glad to get out of the clinging fog, when I 
 reached higher ground. I looked back, and by the star- 
 light saw the river bottom filled with the mist, lying 
 apparently dense as snow. 
 
 After a swinging walk of a quarter of an hour I entered 
 the outskirts of Fifewell, a village of some importance, 
 with shops, the seat of the petty sessions, and with a small 
 boot and shoe factory in it 
 
BLACK RAM 299 
 
 The street was deserted. Some bedroom windows were 
 lighted, for our people have the habit of burning their 
 paraffin lamps all night. Every door was shut, no one 
 was stirring. 
 
 As I passed along the churchyard wall, the story of the 
 young carpenter, told by Miss Fulton, recurred to me. 
 
 " By Jove ! " thought I, " it is now close upon midnight, a 
 rare opportunity for me to see the wonders of St. Mark's 
 eve. I will go into the porch and rest there for a few 
 minutes, and then I shall be able, when I meet that girl 
 again, to tell her that I had done what she challenged me 
 to do, without any idea that I would take her challenge up." 
 
 I turned in at the gate, and walked up the pathway. 
 The headstones bore a somewhat ghostly look in the star- 
 light. A cross of white stone, recently set up, I supposed, 
 had almost the appearance of phosphorescence. The 
 church windows were dark. 
 
 I seated myself in the roomy porch on a stone bench 
 against the wall, and felt for my pipe. I am not sure 
 that I contemplated smoking it then and there, partly 
 because Miss Fulton had forbidden it, but also because 
 I felt that it was not quite the right thing to do on 
 consecrated ground. But it would be a satisfaction to 
 finger it, and I might plug it, so as to be ready to light up 
 so soon as I left the churchyard. To my vexation I found 
 that I had lost it. The tobacco-pouch was there, and the 
 matches. My pipe must have fallen out of my pocket 
 when I was pitched from the trap. That pipe was a 
 favourite of mine. 
 
 " What a howling nuisance," said I. " If I send Dick 
 back over the road to-morrow morning, ten chances to 
 one if he finds it, for to-morrow is market-day, and people 
 will be passing early." 
 
 As I said this, the clock struck twelve. 
 
 I counted each stroke. I wore my fur-lined coat, and 
 was not cold — in fact, I had been too warm walking in it. 
 
300 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 At the last stroke of twelve I noticed lines of very 
 brilliant light appear about the door into the church. The 
 door must have fitted well, as the light did no more than 
 show about it, and did not gush forth at all the crevices. 
 But from the keyhole shot a ray of intense brilliancy. 
 
 Whether the church windows were illumined I did not 
 see — in fact, it did not occur to me to look, either then 
 or later — but I am pretty certain that they were not, or 
 the light streaming from them would have brought the 
 gravestones into prominence. When you come to think 
 of it, it was remarkable that the light of so dazzling a 
 nature should shine through the crannies of the door, and 
 that none should issue, as far as I could see, from the 
 windows. At the time I did not give this a thought ; my 
 attention was otherwise taken up. For I saw distinctly 
 Miss Venville, a very nice girl of my acquaintance, coming 
 up the path with that swinging walk so characteristic of 
 an English young lady. 
 
 How often it has happened to me, when I have been 
 sitting in a public park or in the gardens of a Cursaal 
 abroad, and some young girls have passed by, that I have 
 said to my wife : " I bet you a bob those are English." 
 
 " Yes, of course," she has replied ; " you can see that by 
 their dress." 
 
 " I don't know anything about dress," I have said ; " I 
 judge by the walk." 
 
 Well, there was Miss Venville coming towards the porch. 
 
 " This is a joke," said I. " She is going to sit here on 
 the look-out for ghosts, and if I stand up or speak she 
 will be scared out of her wits. Hang it, I wish I had my 
 pipe now ; if I gave a whiff it would reveal the presence 
 of a mortal, without alarming her. I think I shall whistle." 
 
 I had screwed up my lips to begin " Rocked in the 
 cradle of the deep" — that is my great song I perform 
 whenever there is a village concert, or I am asked out to 
 dinner, and am entreated afterwards to sing — I say I had 
 
BLACK RAM 301 
 
 screwed up my lips to whistle, when I saw something that 
 scared me so that I made no attempt at the melody. 
 
 The ray of light through the keyhole was shut off, 
 and I saw standing in the porch before me the form of 
 Mrs. Venville, the girl's mother, who had died two years 
 before. The ray of white light arrested by her filled her 
 as a lamp — was diffused as a mild glow from her. 
 
 "Halloo, mother, what brings you here?" asked the 
 girl. 
 
 "Gwendoline, I have come to warn you back. You 
 cannot enter ; you have not got the key." 
 
 "The key, mother?" 
 
 " Yes, everyone who would pass within must have his or 
 her own key." 
 
 " Well, where am I to get one?" 
 
 "It must be forged for you, Gwen. You are wholly 
 unfit to enter. What good have you ever done to deserve 
 it?" 
 
 "Why, mother, everyone knows I'm an awfully good 
 sort." 
 
 " No one in here knows it. That is no qualification." 
 
 " And I always dressed in good taste." 
 
 " Nor is that." 
 
 " And I was splendid at lawn tennis." 
 
 Her mother shook her head. 
 
 " Look here, little mummy. I won a brooch at the 
 archery match." 
 
 " That will not do, Gwendoline. What good have you 
 ever done to anyone else beside yourself?" 
 
 The girl considered a minute, then laughed, and said: " I 
 put into a raffle at a bazaar — no, it was a bran-pie for an 
 orphanage — and I drew out a pair of braces. I had rare 
 fun over those braces, I sold them to Captain Fitzakerly 
 for half a crown, and that I gave to the charity." 
 
 " You went for what you could get, not what you could 
 give." 
 
302 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Then the mother stepped on one side, and the ray shot 
 directly at the girl. I saw that it had something of the 
 quality of the X-ray. It was not arrested by her gar- 
 ments, or her flesh or muscles. It revealed in her breast, 
 in her brain — penetrating her whole body — a hard, dark 
 core. 
 
 " Black Ram, I bet," said I. 
 
 Now Black Ram is the local name for a substance found 
 in our land, especially in the low ground that ought to be 
 the most fertile, but is not so, on account of this material 
 found in it. 
 
 The substance lies some two or three feet below the 
 surface, and forms a crust of the consistency of cast iron. 
 No plough can possibly be driven through it. No water 
 can percolate athwart it, and consequently where it is, 
 there the superincumbent soil is resolved into a quag- 
 mire. No tree can grow in it, for the moment the tap- 
 root touches the Black Ram the tree dies. 
 
 Of what Black Ram consists is more than I can say; the 
 popular opinion is that it is a bastard manganese. Now 
 I happen to own several fields accursed with the presence 
 in them of Black Ram — fields that ought to be luxuriant 
 meadows, but which, in consequence of its presence, are 
 worth almost nothing at all. 
 
 " No, Gwen," said her mother, looking sorrowfully at 
 her, " there is not a chance of your admission till you have 
 got rid of the Black Ram that is in you." 
 
 " Sure," said I, as I slapped my knee, " I thought I knew 
 the article, and now my opinion has been confirmed." 
 
 " How can I get rid of it?" asked the girl. 
 
 " Gwendoline, you will have to pass into little Polly 
 Finch, and work it out of your system. She is dying of 
 scarlet fever, and you must enter into her body, and so rid 
 yourself in time of the Black Ram." 
 
 " Mother ! — the Finches are common people." 
 
 " So much the better chance for you." 
 
BLACK RAM 303 
 
 " And I am eighteen, Polly is about ten." 
 
 "You will have to become a little child if you would 
 enter here." 
 
 " I don't like it. What is the alternative ? " 
 
 " To remain without in the darkness till you come to a 
 better mind. And now, Gwen, no time is to be lost ; you 
 must pass into Polly Finch's body before it grows cold." 
 
 " Well, then — here goes ! " 
 
 Gwen Venville turned, and her mother accompanied her 
 down the path. The girl moved reluctantly, and pouted. 
 Passing out of the churchyard, both traversed the street 
 and disappeared within a cottage, from the upper window 
 of which light from behind a white blind was diffused. 
 
 I did not follow, I leaned back against the wall. I felt 
 that my head was throbbing. I was a little afraid lest my 
 fall had done more injury than I had at first anticipated. I 
 put my hand to my head, and held it there for a moment. 
 
 Then it was as though a book were opened before me — 
 the book of the life of Polly Finch — or rather of Gwen- 
 doline's soul in Polly Finch's body. It was but one page 
 that I saw, and the figures in it were moving. 
 
 The girl was struggling under the burden of a heavy 
 baby brother. She coaxed him, she sang to him, she 
 played with him, talked to him, broke off bits of her 
 bread and butter, given to her for breakfast, and made 
 him eat them ; she wiped his nose and eyes with her pocket- 
 handkerchief, she tried to dance him in her arms. He 
 was a fractious urchin, and most exacting, but her patience, 
 her good -nature, never failed. The drops stood on her 
 brow, and her limbs tottered under the weight, but her 
 heart was strong, and her eyes shone with love. 
 
 I drew my hand from my head. It was burning. I put 
 my hand to the cold stone bench to cool it, and then 
 applied it once more to my brow. 
 
 Instantly it was as though another page were revealed. 
 I saw Polly in her widowed father's cottage. She was 
 
304 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 now a grown girl ; she was on her knees scrubbing the floor. 
 A bell tinkled. Then she put down the soap and brush, 
 turned down her sleeves, rose and went into the outer shop 
 to serve a customer with half a pound of tea. That done, 
 she was back again, and the scrubbing was renewed. 
 Again a tinkle, and again she stood up and went into the 
 shop to a child who desired to buy a pennyworth of lemon 
 drops. 
 
 On her return, in came her little brother crying — he had 
 cut his finger. Polly at once applied cobweb, and then 
 stitched a rag about the wounded member. 
 
 " There, there. Tommy ! don't cry any more. I have 
 kissed the bad place, and it will soon be well." 
 
 " Poll ! it hurts ! it hurts ! " sobbed the boy. 
 
 " Come to me," said his sister. She drew a low chair to 
 the fireside, took Tommy on her lap, and began to tell 
 him the story of Jack the Giant-killer. 
 
 I removed my hand, and the vision was gone. 
 
 I put my other hand to my head, and at once saw a 
 further scene in the life-story of Polly. 
 
 She was now a middle-aged woman, and had a cottage 
 of her own. She was despatching her children to school. 
 They had bright, rosy faces, their hair was neatly combed, 
 their pinafores were white as snow. One after another, 
 before leaving, put up the cherry lips to kiss mammy ; and 
 when they were gone, for a moment she stood in the door 
 looking after them, then sharply turned, brought out a 
 basket, and emptied its contents on the table. There were 
 little girls' stockings with "potatoes" in them to be darned, 
 torn jackets to be mended, a little boy's trousers to be re- 
 seated, pocket-handkerchiefs to be hemmed. She laboured 
 on with her needle the greater part of the day, then put 
 away the garments, some finished, others to be finished, 
 and going to the flour-bin took forth flour and began to 
 knead dough, and then to roll it out to make pasties for 
 her husband and the children. 
 
BLACK RAM 305 
 
 " Poll ! " called a voice from without; she ran to the door. 
 
 " Back, Joe ! I have your dinner hot in the oven." 
 
 " I must say, Poll, you are the best of good wives, and 
 there isn't a mother like you in the shire. My word ! that 
 was a lucky day when I chose you, and didn't take Mary 
 Matters, who was setting her cap at me. See what a 
 slattern she has turned out. Why, I do believe, Poll, if I'd 
 took her she'd have drove me long ago to the public-house." 
 
 I saw the mother of Gwendoline standing by me and 
 looking out on this scene, and I heard her say : " The 
 Black Ram is run out, and the key is forged." 
 
 All had vanished. I thought now I might as well rise 
 and continue my journey. But before I had left the bench 
 I observed the rector of Fifewell sauntering up the path, 
 with uncertain step, as he fumbled in his coat-tail pockets, 
 and said : " Where the deuce is the key ? " 
 
 The Reverend William Hexworthy was a man of good 
 private means, and was just the sort of man that a bishop 
 delights to honour. He was one who would never cause 
 him an hour's anxiety ; he was not the man to indulge in 
 ecclesiastical vagaries. He flattered himself that he was 
 strictly a via media man. He kept dogs, he was a good 
 judge of horses, was fond of sport. He did not hunt, but 
 he shot and fished. He was a favourite in Society, was of 
 irreproachable conduct, and was a magistrate on the bench. 
 
 As the ray from the keyhole smote on him he seemed 
 to be wholly dark, — made up of nothing but Black Ram. 
 He came on slowly, as though not very sure of his way. 
 
 " Bless me ! where can be the key ? " he asked. 
 
 Then from out of the graves, and from over the wall of 
 the churchyard, came rushing up a crowd of his dead 
 parishioners, and blocked his way to the porch. 
 
 " Please, your reverence ! " said one, " you did not visit 
 me when I was dying." 
 
 " I sent you a bottle of my best port," said the parson. 
 
 " Ay, sir, and thank you for it. But that went into my 
 
 X 
 
3o6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 stomick, and what I wanted was medicine for my soul. 
 You never said a prayer by me. You never urged me to 
 repentance for my bad life, and you let me go out of the 
 world with all my sins about me." 
 
 "And I, sir," said another, thrusting himself before 
 Mr. Hexworthy — " I was a young man, sir, going wild, 
 and you never said a word to restrain me ; never sent for 
 me and gave me a bit of warning and advice which would 
 have checked me. You just shrugged your shoulders and 
 laughed, and said that a young chap like me must sow his 
 wild oats." 
 
 " And we," shouted the rest — " we were never taught by 
 you anything at all." 
 
 " Now this is really too bad," said the rector. " I 
 preached twice every Sunday." 
 
 "Oh, yes — right enough that. But precious little good 
 it did when nothing came out of your heart, and all out 
 of your pocket — and that you did give us was copied in 
 your library. Why, sir, not one of your sermons ever did 
 anybody a farthing of good." 
 
 " We were your sheep," protested others, " and you let 
 us wander where we would ! You didn't seem to know 
 yourself that there was a fold into which to draw us." 
 
 " And we," said others, " went off to chapel, and all the 
 good we ever got was from the dissenting minister — never 
 a mite from you." 
 
 " And some of us," cried out others, " went to the bad 
 altogether, through your neglect. What did you care 
 about our souls so long as your terriers were washed and 
 combed, and your horses well groomed ? You were a 
 fisherman, but all you fished for were trout — not souls. 
 And if some of us turned out well, it was in spite of your 
 neglect — no thanks to you." 
 
 Then some children's voices were raised : " Sir, you 
 never taught us no Catechism, nor our duty to God and 
 to man, and we grew up regular heathens." 
 
BLACK RAM 307 
 
 " That was your fathers' and mothers' duty." 
 
 "But our fathers and mothers never taught us any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Come, this is intolerable/' shouted Mr. Hexworthy. 
 ** Get out of the way, all of you. I can't be bothered with 
 you now. I want to go in there." 
 
 " You can't, parson ! the door is shut, and you have not 
 got your key." 
 
 Mr. Hexworthy stood bewildered and irresolute. He 
 rubbed his chin. 
 
 " What the dickens am I to do ? " he asked. 
 
 Then the crowd closed about him, and thrust him back 
 towards the gate. " You must go whither we send you," 
 they said. 
 
 I stood up to follow. It was curious to see a flock drive 
 its shepherd, who, indeed, had never attempted to lead. 
 I walked in the rear, and it seemed as though we were 
 all swept forward as by a mighty wind. I did not gain 
 my breath, or realise whither I was going, till I found 
 myself in the slums of a large manufacturing town before 
 a mean house such as those occupied by artisans, with the 
 conventional one window on one side of the door and two 
 windows above. Out of one of these latter shone a scarlet 
 glow. 
 
 The crowd hustled Mr. Hexworthy in at the door, 
 which was opened by a hospital nurse. 
 
 I stood hesitating what to do, and not understanding 
 what had taken place. On the opposite side of the street 
 was a mission church, and the windows were lighted. I 
 entered, and saw that there were at least a score of people, 
 shabbily dressed, and belonging to the lowest class, on 
 their knees in prayer. There was a sort of door-opener 
 or verger at the entrance, and I said to him : " What is 
 the meaning of all this ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " said he, " Jie is ill, he has been attacked by 
 smallpox. It has been raging in the place, and he has 
 
3o8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 been with all the sick, and now he has taken it himself, 
 and we are terribly afraid that he is dying. So we are 
 praying God to spare him to us." 
 
 Then one of those who was kneeling turned to me and 
 said : " I was an hungred, and he gave me meat." 
 
 And another rose up and said : " I was a stranger, and 
 he took me in." 
 
 Then a third said : " I was naked, and he clothed me." 
 
 And a fourth : " I was sick, and he visited me." 
 
 Then said a fifth, with bowed head, sobbing : " I was in 
 prison, and he came to me." 
 
 Thereupon I went out and looked up at the red window, 
 and I felt as if I must see the man for whom so many 
 prayed. I tapped at the door, and a woman opened. 
 
 " I should so much like to see him, if I may," said I. 
 
 "Well, sir," spoke the woman, a plain, middle-aged, rough 
 creature, but her eyes were full of tears : " Oh, sir, I think 
 you may, if you will go up softly. There has come over 
 him a great change. It is as though a new life had entered 
 into him." 
 
 I mounted the narrow staircase of very steep steps and 
 entered the sick-room. There was an all-pervading glow 
 of red. The fire was low — no flame, and a screen was 
 before it. The lamp had a scarlet shade over it. I 
 stepped to the side of the bed, where stood a nurse. I 
 looked on the patient. He was an awful object. His face 
 had been smeared over with some dark solution, with the 
 purpose of keeping all light from the skin, with the object 
 of saving it from permanent disfigurement. 
 
 The sick priest lay with eyes raised, and I thought I 
 saw in them those of Mr. Hexworthy, but with a new light, 
 a new faith, a new fervour, a new love in them. The lips 
 were moving in prayer, and the hands were folded over 
 the breast. The nurse whispered to me : " We thought 
 he was passing away, but the prayers of those he loved 
 have prevailed. A great change has come over him. 
 
BLACK RAM 309 
 
 The last words he spoke were : ' God's will be done. If 
 I live, I will live only — only for my dear sheep, and die 
 among them ' ; and now he is in an ecstasy, and says 
 nothing. But he is praying still — for his people." 
 
 As I stood looking I saw what might have been tears, 
 but seemed to be molten Black Ram, roll over the painted 
 cheeks. The spirit of Mr. Hexworthy was in this body. 
 
 Then, without a word, I turned to the door, went through, 
 groped my way down the steps, passed out into the street, 
 and found myself back in the porch of Fifewell Church. 
 
 " Upon my word," said I, " I have been here long enough." 
 I wrapped my fur coat about me, and prepared to go, 
 when I saw a well-known figure, that of Mr. Fothergill, 
 advancing up the path. 
 
 I knew the old gentleman well. His age must have 
 been seventy. He was a spare man, he was rather bald, 
 and had sunken cheeks. He was a bachelor, living in a 
 pretty little villa of his own. He had a good fortune, and 
 was a harmless, but self-centred, old fellow. He prided 
 himself on his cellar and his cook. He always dressed 
 well, and was scrupulously neat. I had often played a 
 game of chess with him. 
 
 I would have run towards him to remonstrate with him 
 for exposing himself to the night air, but I was fore- 
 stalled. Slipping past me, his old manservant, David, 
 went to meet him. David had died three years before. 
 Mr. Fothergill had then been dangerously ill with typhoid 
 fever, and the man had attended to him night and day. 
 The old gentleman, as I heard, had been most irritable 
 and exacting in his illness. When his malady took a turn, 
 and he was on the way to convalescence, David had 
 succumbed in his turn, and in three days was dead. 
 
 This man now met his master, touched his cap, and 
 said : " Beg pardon, sir, you will not be admitted." 
 
 " Not admitted ? Why not, Davie ? " 
 
 " I really am very sorry, sir. If my key would have 
 
3IO A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 availed, you would have been welcome to it ; but, sir, 
 there's such a terrible lot of Black Ram in you, sir. That 
 must be got out first." 
 
 " I don't understand, Davie." 
 
 " I'm sorry, sir, to have to say it ; but you've never done 
 anyone any good." 
 
 " I paid you your wages regularly." 
 
 *' Yes, sir, to be sure, sir, for my services to yourself." 
 
 " And I've always subscribed when asked for money." 
 
 " Yes, that is very true, sir, but that was because you 
 thought it was expected of you, not because you had any 
 sympathy with those in need, and sickness, and suffering." 
 
 " I'm sure I never did anyone any harm." 
 
 " No, sir, and never anyone any good. You'll excuse 
 me for mentioning it." 
 
 " But, Davie, what do you mean ? I can't get in ?" 
 
 " No, sir, not till you have the key." 
 
 " But, bless my soul ! what is to become of me ? Am I 
 to stick out here?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, unless " 
 
 " In this damp, and cold, and darkness?" 
 
 " There is no help for it, Mr. Fothergill, unless " 
 
 " Unless what, Davie?" 
 
 " Unless you become a mother, sir 1" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Of twins, sir." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " 
 
 " Indeed, it is so, sir, and you will have to nurse them." 
 
 " I can't do it. I'm physically incapable." 
 
 " It must be done, sir. Very sorry to mention it, but 
 there is no alternative. There's Sally Bowker is approach- 
 ing her confinement, and it's going terribly hard with her. 
 The doctor thinks she'll never pull through. But if you'd 
 consent to pass into her and become a mother " \ 
 
 " And nurse the twins ? Oh, Davie, I shall need a great 
 amount of stout." 
 
BLACK RAM 311 
 
 " I grieve to say it, Mr. Fothergill, but you'll be too 
 poor to afford it." 
 
 " Is there no alternative?" 
 
 " None in the world, sir." 
 
 " I don't know my way to the place." 
 
 ** If you'd do me the honour, sir, to take my arm, I 
 would lead you to the house." 
 
 " It's hard — cruel hard on an old bachelor. Must it be 
 twins ? It's a rather large order." 
 
 " It really must, sir." 
 
 Then I saw David lend his arm to his former master 
 and conduct him out of the churchyard, across the street, 
 into the house of Seth Bowker, the shoemaker. 
 
 I was so interested in the fate of my old friend, and so 
 curious as to the result, that I followed, and went into the 
 cobbler's house. I found myself in the little room on the 
 ground floor. Seth Bowker was sitting over the fire with 
 his face in his hands, swaying himself, and moaning : " Oh 
 dear ! dear life ! whatever shall I do without her ? and she 
 the best woman as breathed, and knew all my little ways." 
 
 Overhead was a trampling. The doctor and the mid- 
 wife were with the woman. Seth looked up, and listened. 
 Then he flung himself on his knees at the deal table, and 
 prayed : " Oh, good God in heaven ! have pity on me, and 
 spare me my wife. I shall be a lost man without her — and 
 no one to sew on my shirt-buttons ! " 
 
 At the moment I heard a feeble twitter aloft, then it 
 grew in volume, and presently became cries. Seth looked 
 up ; his face was bathed in tears. Still that strange sound 
 like the chirping of sparrows. He rose to his feet and 
 made for the stairs, and held on to the banister. 
 
 Forth from the chamber above came the doctor, and 
 leisurely descended the stairs. 
 
 " Well, Bowker," said he, " I congratulate you ; you have 
 two fine boys." 
 
 " And my Sally — my wife ? " 
 
312 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " She has pulled through. But really, upon my soul, I 
 did fear for her at one time. But she rallied marvellously." 
 
 " Can I go up to her ? " 
 
 *' In a minute or two, not just now, the babes are being 
 washed." 
 
 " And my wife will get over it ? " 
 
 " I trust so, Bowker; a new life came into her as she gave 
 birth to twins." 
 
 " God be praised ! " Seth's mouth quivered, all his face 
 worked, and he clasped his hands. 
 
 Presently the door of the chamber upstairs was opened, 
 the nurse looked down, and said : " Mr. Bowker, you may 
 come up. Your wife wants you. Lawk ! you will see the 
 beautifullest twins that ever was." 
 
 I followed Seth upstairs, and entered the sick-room. It 
 was humble enough, with whitewashed walls, all scrupu- 
 lously clean. The happy mother lay in the bed, her pale 
 face on the pillow, but the eyes were lighted up with 
 ineffable love and pride. 
 
 " Kiss them, Bowker," said she, exhibiting at her side two 
 little pink heads, with down on them. But her husband 
 just stooped and pressed his lips to her brow, and after 
 that kissed the tiny morsels at her side. 
 
 " Ain't they loves ! " exclaimed the midwife. 
 
 But oh ! what a rapture of triumph, pity, fervour, love, 
 was in that mother's face, and — the eyes looking on those 
 children were the eyes of Mr. Fothergill. Never had I seen 
 such an expression in them, not even when he had ex- 
 claimed " Checkmate " over a game of chess. 
 
 Then I knew what would follow. How night and day 
 that mother would live only for her twins, how she would 
 cheerfully sacrifice her night's rest to them ; how she would 
 go downstairs, even before it was judicious, to see to 
 her husband's meals. Verily, with the mother's milk that 
 fed those babes, the Black Ram would run out of the 
 JFothergill soul. There was no need for me to tarry. I 
 
BLACK RAM 313 
 
 went forth, and as I issued into the street heard the clock 
 strike one. 
 
 " Bless me ! " I exclaimed, " I have spent an hour in the 
 porch. What will my wife say ? " 
 
 I walked home as fast as 1 could in my fur coat. When 
 I arrived I found Bessie up. 
 
 *' Oh, Bessie ! " said I, " with your cold you ought to have 
 been in bed." 
 
 " My dear Edward," she replied, " how could I ? I had 
 lain down, but when I heard of the accident I could not 
 rest. Have you been hurt ? " 
 
 " My head is somewhat contused," I replied. 
 
 "Let me feel. Indeed, it is burning. I will put on 
 some cold compresses." 
 
 " But, Bessie, I have a story to tell you." 
 
 " Oh ! never mind the story, we'll have that another day. 
 I'll send for some ice from the fishmonger to-morrow for 
 your head." 
 
 I did eventually tell my wife the story of my experience 
 in the porch of Fifewell on St. Mark's eve. 
 
 I have since regretted that I did so ; for whenever I 
 cross her will, or express my determination to do some- 
 thing of which she does not approve, she says : " Edward, 
 Edward ! I very much fear there is still in you too much 
 Black Ram." 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 
 
 MR. BENJAMIN WOOLFIELD was a widower. 
 For twelve months he put on mourning. The 
 mourning was external, and by no means represented the 
 condition of his feelings ; for his married life had not been 
 happy. He and Kesiah had been unequally yoked to- 
 gether. The Mosaic law forbade the union of the ox and 
 the ass to draw one plough ; and two more uncongenial 
 creatures than Benjamin and Kesiah could hardly have 
 been coupled to draw the matrimonial furrow. 
 
 She was a Plymouth Sister, and he, as she repeatedly 
 informed him whenever he indulged in light reading, 
 laughed, smoked, went out shooting, or drank a glass of 
 wine, was of the earth, earthy, and a miserable worldling. 
 
 For some years Mr. Woolfield had been made to feel 
 as though he were a moral and religious pariah. Kesiah 
 had invited to the house and to meals, those of her own 
 way of thinking, and on such occasions had spared no 
 pains to have the table well served, for the elect are par- 
 ticular about their feeding, if indifferent as to their drinks. 
 On such occasions, moreover, when Benjamin had sat at 
 the bottom of his own table, he had been made to feel that 
 he was a worm to be trodden on. The topics of conversa- 
 tion were such as were far beyond his horizon, and con- 
 cerned matters of which he was ignorant. He attempted 
 at intervals to enter into the circle of talk. He knew that 
 such themes as football matches, horse races, and cricket 
 were taboo, but he did suppose that home or foreign poli- 
 tics might interest the guests of Kesiah. But he soon 
 
 314 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 315 
 
 learned that this was not the case, unless such matters 
 tended to the fulfilment of prophecy. 
 
 When, however, in his turn, Benjamin invited home to 
 dinner some of his old friends, he found that all provided 
 for them was hashed mutton, cottage pie, and tapioca 
 pudding. But even these could have been stomached, had 
 not Mrs. Woolfield sat stern and silent at the head of the 
 table, not uttering a word, but giving vent to occasional, 
 very audible sighs. 
 
 When the year of mourning was well over, Mr. Wool- 
 field put on a light suit, and contented himself, as an indi- 
 cation of bereavement, with a slight black band round the 
 left arm. He also be^an to look about him for someone 
 who might make up for the years during which he had felt 
 like a crushed strawberry. 
 
 And in casting his inquiring eye about, it lighted upon 
 Philippa Weston, a bright, vigorous young lady, well 
 educated and intelligent. She was aged twenty-four and 
 he was but eighteen years older, a difference on the right 
 side. 
 
 It took Mr. Woolfield but a short courtship to reach an 
 understanding, and he became engaged. 
 
 On the same evening upon which he had received a satis- 
 factory answer to the question put to her, and had pressed 
 for an early marriage, to which also consent had been 
 accorded, he sat by his study fire, with his hands on his 
 knees, looking into the embers and building love-castles 
 there. Then he smiled and patted his knees. 
 
 He was startled from his honey reveries by a sniff. He 
 looked round. There was a familiar ring in that sniff 
 which was unpleasant to him. 
 
 What he then saw dissipated his rosy dreams, and sent 
 his blood to his heart. 
 
 At the table sat his Kesiah, looking at him with her 
 beady black eyes, and with stern lines in her face. He was 
 so startled and shocked that he could not speak. 
 
3i6 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Benjamin/' said the apparition, " I know your purpose. 
 It shall never be carried to accomplishment. I will pre- 
 vent it." 
 
 " Prevent what, my love, my treasure ? " he gathered up 
 his faculties to reply. 
 
 "It is in vain that you assume that infantile look of 
 innocence," said his deceased wife. " You shall never — 
 never — lead her to the hymeneal altar." 
 
 " Lead whom, my idol ? You astound me." 
 
 " I know all. I can read your heart. A lost being though 
 you be, you have still me to watch over you. When you 
 quit this earthly tabernacle, if you have given up taking 
 in the Field, and have come to realise your fallen condition, 
 there is a chance — a distant chance — but yet one of our 
 union becoming eternal." 
 
 "You don't mean to say so," said Mr. Woolfield, his 
 jaw falling. 
 
 " There is — there is that to look to. That to lead you to 
 turn over a new leaf But it can never be if you become 
 united to that Flibbertigibbet." 
 
 Mentally, Benjamin said : " I must hurry up with my 
 marriage ! " Vocally he said : " Dear me ! Dear me ! " 
 
 " My care for you is still so great," continued the appari- 
 tion, " that I intend to haunt you by night and by day, till 
 that engagement be broken off." 
 
 " I would not put you to so much trouble," said he. 
 
 " It is my duty," replied the late Mrs. Woolfield sternly. 
 
 " You are oppressively kind," sighed the widower. 
 
 At dinner that evening Mr. Woolfield had a friend to 
 keep him company, a friend to whom he had poured out 
 his heart. To his dismay, he saw seated opposite him the 
 form of his deceased wife. 
 
 He tried to be lively ; he cracked jokes, but the sight of 
 the grim face and the stony eyes riveted on him damped 
 his spirits, and all his mirth died away. 
 
 " You seem to be out of sorts to-night," said his friend. 
 
 { 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 317 
 
 " I am sorry that I act so bad a host," apologised Mr, 
 Woolfield. " Two is company, three is none." 
 
 " But we are only two here to-night." 
 
 " My wife is with me in spirit." 
 
 " Which, she that was, or she that is to be ? " 
 
 Mr. Woolfield looked with timid eyes towards her who 
 sat at the end of the table. She was raising her hands 
 in holy horror, and her face was black with frowns. 
 
 His friend said to himself when he left : " Oh, these 
 lovers ! They are never themselves so long as the fit 
 lasts." 
 
 Mr. Woolfield retired early to bed. When a man has 
 screwed himself up to proposing to a lady, it has taken 
 a great deal out of him, and nature demands rest. It 
 was so with Benjamin ; he was sleepy. A nice little fire 
 burned in his grate. He undressed and slipped between 
 the sheets. 
 
 Before he put out the light he became aware that the 
 late Mrs. Woolfield was standing by his bedside with a 
 nightcap on her head. 
 
 " I am cold," said she, " bitterly cold." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it, my dear," said Benjamin. 
 
 " The grave is cold as ice," she said. " I am going to 
 step into bed." 
 
 " No — never ! " exclaimed the widower, sitting up. " It 
 won't do. It really v/on't. You will draw all the vital 
 heat out of me, and I shall be laid up with rheumatic 
 fever. It will be ten times worse than damp sheets." 
 
 " I am coming to bed," repeated the deceased lady, 
 inflexible as ever in carrying out her will. 
 
 As she stepped in Mr. Woolfield crept out on the side 
 of the fire and seated himself by the grate. 
 
 He sat there some considerable time, and then, feeling 
 cold, he fetched his dressing-gown and enveloped himself 
 in that. 
 
 He looked at the bed. In it lay the deceased lady with 
 
3i8 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 her long slit of a mouth shut like a rat-trap, and her hard 
 eyes fixed on him. 
 
 " It is of no use your thinking of marrying, Benjamin," 
 she said. " I shall haunt you till you give it up." 
 
 Mr. Woolfield sat by his fire all night, and only dozed 
 off towards morning. 
 
 During the day he called at the house of Miss Weston, 
 and was shown into the drawing-room. But there, stand- 
 ing behind her chair, was his deceased wife with her arms 
 folded on the back of the seat, glowering at him. 
 
 It was impossible for the usual tender passages to ensue 
 between the lovers with a witness present, expressing by 
 gesture her disapproval of such matters and her inflexible 
 determination to force on a rupture. 
 
 The dear departed did not attend Mr. Woolfield con- 
 tinuously during the day, but appeared at intervals. He 
 could never say when he would be free, when she would 
 not turn up. 
 
 In the evening he rang for the housemaid. " Jemima," 
 he said, " put two hot bottles into my bed to-night. It is 
 somewhat chilly." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And let the water be boiling — not with the chill off." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 When somewhat late Mr. Woolfield retired to his room 
 he found, as he had feared, that his late wife was there 
 before him. She lay in the bed with her mouth snapped, 
 her eyes like black balls, staring at him. 
 
 " My dear," said Benjamin, " I hope you are more 
 comfortable." 
 
 " I'm cold, deadly cold." 
 
 " But I trust you are enjoying the hot bottles." 
 
 " I lack animal heat," replied the late Mrs. Woolfield. 
 
 Benjamin fled the room and returned to his study, 
 where he unlocked his spirit case and filled his pipe. The 
 fire was burning. He made It up. He would sit there all 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 319 
 
 night. During the passing hours, however, he was not 
 left quite alone. At intervals the door was gently opened, 
 and the night-capped head of the late Mrs. Woolfield was 
 thrust in. 
 
 " Don't think, Benjamin, that your engagement will lead 
 to anything," she would say, " because it will not. I shall 
 stop it." 
 
 So time passed. Mr. Woolfield found it impossible to 
 escape this persecution. He lost spirits ; he lost flesh. 
 
 At last, after sad thought, he saw but one way of relief, 
 and that was to submit. And in order to break off the 
 engagement he must have a prolonged interview with 
 Philippa. He went to the theatre and bought two stall 
 tickets, and sent one to her with the earnest request that 
 she would accept it and meet him that evening at the 
 theatre. He had something to communicate of the 
 utmost importance. 
 
 At the theatre he knew that he would be safe ; the 
 principles of Kesiah would not suffer her to enter there. 
 
 At the proper time Mr. Woolfield drove round to Miss 
 Weston's, picked her up, and together they went to the 
 theatre and took their places in the stalls. Their seats 
 were side by side. 
 
 " I am so glad you have been able to come," said Benja- 
 min. " I have a most shocking disclosure to make to you. 
 I am afraid that — but I hardly know how to say it — that 
 — I really must break it off." 
 
 " Break what off? " 
 
 " Our engagement." 
 
 " Nonsense. I have been fitted for my trousseau." 
 
 " Your what ? " 
 
 " My wedding-dresses." 
 
 "Oh, I beg pardon. I did not understand your French 
 pronunciation. I thought — b it it does not matter what 
 I thought." 
 
 " Pray what is the sense of this ? " 
 
320 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 "Philippa, my affection for you is unabated. Do not 
 suppose that I love you one whit the less. But I am 
 oppressed by a horrible nightmare — daymare as well. 
 I am haunted." 
 
 *' Haunted, indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes ; by my late wife. She allows me no peace. She 
 has made up her mind that I shall not marry you." 
 
 " Oh ! Is that all ? I am haunted also." 
 
 "Surely not?" 
 
 " It is a fact." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " from persons in front and at the side. 
 Neither Ben nor Philippa had noticed that the curtain had 
 risen and that the play had begun. 
 
 " We are disturbing the audience," whispered Mr. Wool- 
 field. " Let us go out into the passage and promenade 
 there, and then we can talk freely." 
 
 So both rose, left their stalls, and went into the couloir. 
 
 " Look here, Philippa," said he, offering the girl his arm, 
 which she took, " the case is serious. I am badgered out 
 of my reason, out of my health, by the late Mrs. Wool- 
 field. She always had an iron will, and she has intimated 
 to me that she will force me to give you up." 
 
 " Defy her." 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 " Tut ! these ghosts are exacting. Give them an inch 
 and they take an ell. They are like old servants ; if you 
 yield to them they tyrannise over you." 
 
 "But how do you know, Philippa, dearest?" 
 
 " Because, as I said, I also am haunted." 
 
 " That only makes the matter more hopeless." 
 
 " On the contrary, it only shows how well suited we are 
 to each other. We are in one box." 
 
 " Philippa, it is a dreadful thing. When my wife was 
 dying she told me she was going to a better world, and 
 that we should never meet again. And she has not kept 
 her wordy 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 321 
 
 The girl laughed. " Rag her with it." 
 
 " How can I ? " 
 
 " You can do it perfectly. Ask her why she is left out 
 in the cold. Give her a piece of your mind. Make it 
 unpleasant for her. I give Jehu no good time." 
 
 " Who is Jehu ? " 
 
 " Jehu Post is the ghost who haunts me. When in the 
 flesh he was a great admirer of mine, and in his cumbrous 
 way tried to court me ; but I never liked him, and gave 
 him no encouragement. I snubbed him unmercifully, but 
 he was one of those self-satisfied, self-assured creatures 
 incapable of taking a snubbing. He was a Plymouth 
 Brother." 
 
 " My wife was a Plymouth Sister." 
 
 " I know she was, and I always felt for you. It was so 
 sad. Well, to go on with my story. In a frivolous mood 
 Jehu took to a bicycle, and the very first time he scorched 
 he was thrown, and so injured his back that he died in 
 a week. Before he departed he entreated that I would see 
 him ; so I could not be nasty, and I went. And he told 
 me then that he was about to be wrapped in glory. I asked 
 him if this were so certain. ' Cocksure ' was his reply ; and 
 they were his last words. And he has not kept his word!' 
 
 "And he haunts you now?" 
 
 " Yes. He dangles about with his great ox-eyes fixed 
 on me. But as to his envelope of glory I have not seen 
 a fag end of it, and I have told him so." 
 
 " Do you really mean this, Philippa ?" 
 
 " I do. He wrings his hands and sighs. He gets no 
 change out of me, I promise you." 
 
 " This is a very strange condition of affairs." 
 
 " It only shows how well matched we are. I do not 
 suppose you will find two other people in England so 
 situated as we are, and therefore so admirably suited to one 
 another." 
 
 " There is much in what you say. But how are we 
 
 Y 
 
322 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 to rid ourselves of the nuisance — for it is a nuisance being 
 thus haunted. We cannot spend all our time in a theatre." 
 
 " We must defy them. Marry in spite of them." 
 
 " I never did defy my wife when she was alive. I do 
 not know how to pluck up courage now that she is dead. 
 Feel my hand, Philippa, how it trembles. She has broken 
 my nerve. When I was young I could play spellikins — 
 my hand was so steady. Now I am quite incapable 
 of doing anything with the little sticks." 
 
 " Well, hearken to what I propose," said Miss Weston. 
 " I will beard the old cat " 
 
 " Hush, not so disrespectful ; she was my wife." 
 
 " Well, then, the ghostly old lady, in her den. You 
 think she will appear if I go to pay you a visit ? " 
 
 " Sure of it. She is consumed with jealousy. She had 
 no personal attractions herself, and you have a thousand. 
 I never knew whether she loved me, but she was always 
 confoundedly jealous of me." 
 
 " Very well, then. You have often spoken to me about 
 changes in the decoration of your villa. Suppose I call 
 on you to-morrow afternoon, and you shall show me what 
 your schemes are." 
 
 " And your ghost, will he attend you ? " 
 
 " Most probably. He also is as jealous as a ghost can 
 well be." 
 
 "Well, so be it. I shall await your coming with im- 
 patience. Now, then, we may as well go to our respective 
 homes." 
 
 A cab was accordingly summoned, and after Mr. Wool- 
 field had handed Philippa in, and she had taken her seat 
 in the back, he entered and planted himself with his back 
 to the driver. 
 
 " Why do you not sit by me ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " I can't," replied Benjamin. " Perhaps you may not 
 see, but I do, my deceased wife is in the cab, and occupies 
 the place on your left." 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 323 
 
 " Sit on her," urged Philippa. 
 
 " I haven't the effrontery to do it," gasped Ben. 
 
 " Will you believe me," whispered the young lady, lean- 
 ing over to speak to Mr. Woolfield, " I have seen Jehu 
 Post hovering about the theatre door, wringing his white 
 hands and turning up his eyes. I suspect he is running 
 after the cab." 
 
 As soon as Mr. Woolfield had deposited his bride-elect 
 at her residence he ordered the cabman to drive him 
 home. Then he was alone in the conveyance with the 
 ghost. As each gaslight was passed the flash came over 
 the cadaverous face opposite him, and sparks of fire 
 kindled momentarily in the stony eyes. 
 
 " Benjamin ! " she said, " Benjamin ! Oh, Benjamin ! Do 
 not suppose that I shall permit it. You may writhe and 
 twist, you may plot and contrive how you will, I will stand 
 between you and her as a wall of ice." 
 
 Next day, in the afternoon, Philippa Weston arrived at 
 the house. The late Mrs. Woolfield had, however, appar- 
 ently obtained an inkling of what was intended, for she was 
 already there, in the drawing-room, seated in an armchair 
 with her hands raised and clasped, looking stonily before 
 her. She had a white face, no lips that showed, and her 
 dark hair was dressed in two black slabs, one on each side 
 of the temples. It was done in a knot behind. She wore 
 no ornaments of any kind. 
 
 In came Miss Weston, a pretty girl, coquettishly dressed 
 in colours, with sparkling eyes and laughing lips. As she 
 had predicted, she was followed by her attendant spectre, 
 a tall, gaunt young man in a black frock-coat, with a 
 melancholy face and large ox-eyes. He shambled in 
 shyly, looking from side to side. He had white hands 
 and long, lean fingers. Every now and then he put his 
 hands behind him, up his back, under the tails of his coat, 
 and rubbed his spine where he had received his mortal 
 injury in cycling. Almost as soon as he entered he 
 
324 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 noticed the ghost of Mrs. Woolfield that was, and made 
 an awkward bow. Her eyebrows rose, and a faint wintry 
 smile of recognition lighted up her cheeks. 
 
 " I believe I have the honour of saluting Sister 
 Kesiah," said the ghost of Jehu Post, and he assumed a 
 posture of ecstasy. 
 
 " It is even so. Brother Jehu." 
 
 " And how do you find yourself, sister — out of the 
 flesh ? " 
 
 The late Mrs. Woolfield looked disconcerted, hesitated 
 a moment, as if she found some difficulty in answering, 
 and then, after a while, said : " I suppose, much as do you, 
 brother." 
 
 ** It is a melancholy duty that detains me here below," 
 said Jehu Post's ghost. 
 
 *'The same may be said of me," observed the spirit of 
 the deceased Mrs. Woolfield. " Pray take a chair." 
 
 " I am greatly obliged, sister. My back " 
 
 Philippa nudged Benjamin, and unobserved by the 
 ghosts, both slipped into the adjoining room by a doorway 
 over which hung velvet curtains. 
 
 In this room, on the table, Mr. Woolfield had collected 
 patterns of chintzes and books of wall-papers. 
 
 There the engaged pair remained, discussing what 
 curtains would go with the chintz coverings of the sofa 
 and chairs, and what papers would harmonise with both. 
 
 " I see," said Philippa, '' that you have plates hung on the 
 walls. I don't like them : it is no longer in good form. If 
 they be worth anything you must have a cabinet with glass 
 doors for the china. How about the carpets ? " 
 
 " There is the drawing-room," said Benjamin. 
 
 " No, we won't go in there and disturb the ghosts," 
 said Philippa. " We'll take the drawing - room for 
 granted." 
 
 <' Well — come with me to the dining-room. We can 
 reach it by another door." 
 
I BELIEVE THAT THEV AUE TALKING GOODY, GOODY 
 
A HAPPY RELEASE 325 
 
 In the room they now entered the carpet was in fairly- 
 good condition, except at the head and bottom of the 
 table, where it was worn. This was especially the case at 
 the bottom, where Mr. Woolfield had usually sat. There, 
 when his wife had lectured, moralised, and harangued, he 
 had rubbed his feet up and down and nad fretted the nap 
 off the Brussels carpet. 
 
 " I think," remarked Philippa, " that we can turn it 
 about, and by taking out one width and putting that under 
 the bookcase and inserting the strip that was there in its 
 room, we can save the expense of a new carpet. But — 
 the engravings — those Landseers. What do you think of 
 them, Ben, dear ? " 
 
 She pointed to the two familiar engravings of the " Deer 
 in Winter," and " Dignity and Impudence." 
 
 " Don't you think, Ben, that one has got a little tired 
 of those pictures ? " 
 
 " My late wife did not object to them, they were so 
 perfectly harmless." 
 
 " But your coming wife does. We will have something 
 more up-to-date in their room. By the way, I wonder how 
 the ghosts are getting on. They have let us alone so far. 
 I will run back and have a peep at them through the 
 curtains." 
 
 The lively girl left the dining apartment, and her 
 husband-elect, studying the pictures to which Philippa 
 had objected. Presently she returned. 
 
 " Oh, Ben ! such fun ! " she said, laughing. " My ghost 
 has drawn up his chair close to that of the late Mrs. Wool- 
 field, and is fondling her hand. But I believe that they 
 are only talking goody-goody." 
 
 " And now about the china," said Mr. Woolfield. " It is 
 in a closet near the pantry — that is to say, the best china. 
 I will get a benzoline lamp, and we will examine it. We 
 had it out only when Mrs. Woolfield had a party of her 
 elect brothers and sisters. I fear a good deal is broken. 
 
326 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 I know that the soup tureen has lost a lid, and I believe 
 we are short of vegetable dishes. How many plates 
 remain I do not know. We had a parlour-maid, Dorcas, 
 who was a sad smasher, but as she was one who had made 
 her election sure, my late wife would not part with her." 
 
 " And how are you off for glass ? " 
 
 " The wine-glasses are fairly complete. I fancy the cut- 
 glass decanters are in a bad way. My late wife chipped 
 them, I really believe out of spite." 
 
 It took the couple some time to go through the china 
 and the glass. 
 
 " And the plate ? " asked Philippa. 
 
 *• Oh, that is right. All the real old silver is at the bank, 
 as Kesiah preferred plated goods." 
 
 " How about the kitchen utensils ? " 
 
 " Upon my word I cannot say. We had a rather nice- 
 looking cook, and so my late wife never allowed me to 
 step inside the kitchen." 
 
 " Is she here still ? " inquired Philippa sharply. 
 
 " No ; my wife, when she was dying, gave her the sack." 
 
 " Bless me, Ben ! " exclaimed Philippa. " It is growing 
 dark. I have been here an age. I really must go home. 
 I wonder the ghosts have not worried us. I'll have another 
 look at them." 
 
 She tripped off. 
 
 In five minutes she was back. She stood for a minute 
 looking at Mr. Woolfield, laughing so heartily that she had 
 to hold her sides. 
 
 " What is it, Philippa ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Oh, Ben ! A happy release. They will never dare 
 to show their faces again. They have eloped together." 
 
THE 9.30 UP-TRAIN 
 
 IN a well-authenticated ghost story, names and dates 
 should be distinctly specified. In the following story 
 I am unfortunately able to give only the year and the 
 month, for I have forgotten the date of the day, and I do 
 not keep a diary. With regard to names, my own figures 
 as a guarantee as that of the principal personage to whom 
 the following extraordinary circumstances occurred, but 
 the minor actors are provided with fictitious names, for 
 I am not warranted to make their real ones public. I may 
 add that the believer in ghosts may make use of the facts 
 which I relate to establish his theories, if he finds that they 
 will be of service to him — when he has read through and 
 weighed well the startling account which I am about to 
 give from my own experiences. 
 
 On a fine evening in June, i860, I paid a visit to Mrs. 
 Lyons, on my way to the Hassocks Gate Station, on the 
 London and Brighton line. This station is the first out of 
 Brighton. 
 
 As I rose to leave, I mentioned to the lady whom I was 
 visiting that I expected a parcel of books from town, and 
 that I was going to the station to inquire whether it had 
 arrived. 
 
 " Oh ! " said she, readily, " I expect Dr. Lyons out from 
 Brighton by the 9.30 train ; if you like to drive the pony 
 chaise down and meet him, you are welcome, and you can 
 bring your parcel back with you in it." 
 
 I gladly accepted her offer, and in a few minutes I was 
 seated in a little low basket-carriage, drawn by a pretty 
 iron-grey Welsh pony. 
 
 327 
 
328 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 The station road commands the line of the South Downs 
 from Chantonbury Ring, with its cap of dark firs, to Mount 
 Harry, the scene of the memorable battle of Lewes. Wool- 
 sonbury stands out like a headland above the dark Danny 
 woods, over which the rooks were wheeling and cawing 
 previous to settling themselves in for the night. Ditchling 
 beacon — its steep sides gashed with chalk-pits — was faintly 
 flushed with light. The Clayton windmills, with their sails 
 motionless, stood out darkly against the green evening 
 sky. Close beneath opens the tunnel in which, not so 
 long before, had happened one of the most fearful railway 
 accidents on record. 
 
 The evening was exquisite. The sky was kindled with 
 light, though the sun was set. A few gilded bars of cloud 
 lay in the west. Two or three stars looked forth — one 
 I noticed twinkling green, crimson, and gold, like a gem. 
 From a field of young wheat hard by I heard the harsh, 
 grating note of the corncrake. Mist was lying on the low 
 meadows like a mantle of snow, pure, smooth, and white ; 
 the cattle stood in it to their knees. The effect was so 
 singular that I drew up to look at it attentively. At the 
 same moment I heard the scream of an engine, and on 
 looking towards the downs I noticed the up-train shooting 
 out of the tunnel, its red signal lamps flashing brightly 
 out of the purple gloom which bathed the roots of the 
 hills. 
 
 Seeing that I was late, I whipped the Welsh pony on, 
 and proceeded at a fast trot. 
 
 At about a quarter mile from the station there is a turn- 
 pike — an odd-looking building, tenanted then by a strange 
 old man, usually dressed in a white smock, over which his 
 long white beard flowed to his breast. This toll-collector — 
 he is dead now — had amused himself in bygone days by 
 carving life-size heads out of wood, and these were stuck 
 along the eaves. One is the face of a drunkard, round 
 and blotched, leering out of misty eyes at the passers-by ; 
 
THE 9.80 UP-TRAIN 329 
 
 the next has the crumpled features of a miser, worn out 
 with toil and moil; a third has the wild scowl of a maniac; 
 and a fourth the stare of an idiot. 
 
 I drove past, flinging the toll to the door, and shouting 
 to the old man to pick it up, for I was in a vast hurry to 
 reach the station before Dr. Lyons left it. I whipped the 
 little pony on, and he began to trot down a cutting in the 
 greensand, through which leads the station road. 
 
 Suddenly, Taffy stood still, planted his feet resolutely 
 on the ground, threw up his head, snorted, and refused 
 to move a peg. I " gee-uped," and " tshed," all to no 
 purpose; not a step would the little fellow advance. I saw 
 that he was thoroughly alarmed ; his flanks were quivering, 
 and his ears were thrown back. I was on the point of 
 leaving the chaise, when the pony made a bound on one 
 side and ran the carriage up into the hedge, thereby up- 
 setting me on the road. I picked myself up, and took the 
 beast's head. I could not conceive what had frightened 
 him; there was positively nothing to be seen, except a puff 
 of dust running up the road, such as might be blown along 
 by a passing current of air. There was nothing to be 
 heard, except the rattle of a gig or tax-cart with one wheel 
 loose : probably a vehicle of this kind was being driven 
 down the London road, which branches off at the turnpike 
 at right angles. The sound became fainter, and at last 
 died away in the distance. 
 
 The pony now no longer refused to advance. It trembled 
 violently, and was covered with sweat. 
 
 " Well, upon my word, you have been driving hard ! " 
 exclaimed Dr. Lyons, when I met him at the station. 
 
 '' I have not, indeed," was my reply ; " but something 
 has frightened Taffy, but what that something was, is more 
 than I can tell." 
 
 " Oh, ah ! " said the doctor, looking round with a certain 
 degree of interest in his face ; " so you met it, did you ? " 
 
 " Met what ? " 
 
330 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Oh, nothing ; — only I have heard of horses being 
 frightened along this road after the arrival of the 9.30 up- 
 train. Flys never leave the moment that the train comes 
 in, or the horses become restive — a wonderful thing for 
 a fly-horse to become restive, isn't it ? " 
 
 " But what causes this alarm ? I saw nothing ! " 
 
 •' You ask me more than I can answer. I am as ignorant 
 of the cause as yourself. I take things as they stand, and 
 make no inquiries. When the flyman tells me that he 
 can't start for a minute or two after the train has arrived, 
 or urges on his horses to reach the station before the 
 arrival of this train, giving as his reason that his brutes 
 become wild if he does not do so, then I merely say, * Do 
 as you think best, cabby,' and bother my head no more 
 about the matter." 
 
 " I shall search this matter out," said I resolutely. 
 " What has taken place so strangely corroborates the 
 superstition, that I shall not leave it uninvestigated." 
 
 " Take my advice and banish it from your thoughts. 
 When you have come to the end, you will be sadly dis- 
 appointed, and will find that all the mystery evaporates, 
 and leaves a dull, commonplace residuum. It is best that 
 the few mysteries which remain to us unexplained should 
 still remain mysteries, or we shall disbelieve in supernatural 
 agencies altogether. We have searched out the arcana 
 of nature, and exposed all her secrets to the garish eye 
 of day, and we find, in despair, that the poetry and romance 
 of life are gone. Are we the happier for knowing that 
 there are no ghosts, no fairies, no witches, no mermaids, no 
 wood spirits ? Were not our forefathers happier in think- 
 ing every lake to be the abode of a fairy, every forest to 
 be a bower of yellow-haired sylphs, every moorland sweep 
 to be tripped over by elf and pixie ? I found my little boy 
 one day lying on his face in a fairy-ring, crying: 'You dear, 
 dear little fairies, I will believe in you, though papa says 
 you are all nonsense.' I used, in my childish days, to 
 
THE 9.30 UP-TRAIN 331 
 
 think, when a silence fell upon a company, that an angel 
 was passing through the room. Alas ! I now know that it 
 results only from the subject of weather having been talked 
 to death, and no new subject having been started. Believe 
 me, science has done good to mankind, but it has done 
 mischief too. If we wish to be poetical or romantic, we 
 must shut our eyes to facts. The head and the heart wage 
 mutual war now. A lover preserves a lock of his mistress's 
 hair as a holy relic, yet he must know perfectly well that 
 for all practical purposes a bit of rhinoceros hide would do 
 as well — the chemical constituents are identical. If I adore 
 a fair lady, and feel a thrill through all my veins when I 
 touch her hand, a moment's consideration tells me that 
 phosphate of lime No. i is touching phosphate of lime 
 No. 2 — nothing more. If for a moment I forget myself so 
 far as to wave my cap and cheer for king, or queen, 
 or prince, I laugh at my folly next moment for having 
 paid reverence to one digesting machine above another." 
 
 I cut the doctor short as he was lapsing into his favourite 
 subject of discussion, and asked him whether he would 
 lend me the pony-chaise on the following evening, that 
 I might drive to the station again and try to unravel the 
 mystery. 
 
 " I will lend you the pony," said he, " but not the chaise, 
 as I am afraid of its being injured should Taffy take fright 
 and run up into the hedge again. I have got a saddle." 
 
 Next evening I was on my way to the station consider- 
 ably before the time at which the train was due. 
 
 I stopped at the turnpike and chatted with the old man 
 who kept it. I asked him whether he could throw any 
 light on the matter which I was investigating. He 
 shrugged his shoulders, saying that he " knowed nothink 
 about it." 
 
 '' What ! Nothing at all ? " 
 
 *' I don't trouble my head with matters of this sort," was 
 the reply. " People do say that something out of the 
 
332 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 common sort passes along the road and turns down the 
 other road leading to Clayton and Brighton; but I pays no 
 attention to what them people says." 
 
 " Do you ever hear anything ? " 
 
 "After the arrival of the 9.30 train I does at times hear 
 the rattle as of a mail-cart and the trot of a horse along 
 the road ; and the sound is as though one of the wheels 
 was loose. I've a been out many a time to take the toll ; 
 but, Lor' bless 'ee! them sperits — if sperits them be — don't 
 go for to pay toll." 
 
 "Have you never inquired into the matter?" 
 
 ** Why should I ? Anythink as don't go for to pay toll 
 don't concern me. Do ye think as I knows 'ow many 
 people and dogs goes through this heer geatt in a day? 
 Not I — them don't pay toll, so them's no odds to me." 
 
 " Look here, my man ! " said L " Do you object to my 
 putting the bar across the road, immediately on the arrival 
 of the train ? " 
 
 " Not a bit ! Please yersel' ; but you han't got much 
 time to lose, for theer comes thickey train out of Clayton 
 tunnel." 
 
 I shut the gate, mounted Taffy, and drew up across the 
 road a little way below the turnpike. I heard the train 
 arrive — I saw it puff off. At the same moment I distinctly 
 heard a trap coming up the road, one of the wheels rattling 
 as though it were loose. I repeat deliberately that I heard 
 it — I cannot account for it — but, though I heard it, yet 
 I saw nothing whatever. 
 
 At the same time the pony became restless, it tossed its 
 head, pricked up its ears, it started, pranced, and then made 
 a bound to one side, entirely regardless of whip and rein. 
 It tried to scramble up the sand-bank in its alarm, and 
 I had to throw myself off and catch its head. I then cast 
 a glance behind me at the turnpike. I saw the bar bent, 
 as though someone were pressing against it ; then, with a 
 click, it flew open, and was dashed violently back against 
 
THE 9.30 UP-TRAIN 333 
 
 the white post to which it was usually hasped in the day- 
 time. There it remained, quivering from the shock. 
 
 Immediately I heard the rattle — rattle — rattle — of the 
 tax-cart. I confess that my first impulse was to laugh, 
 the idea of a ghostly tax-cart was so essentially ludicrous ; 
 but the reality of the whole scene soon brought me to a 
 graver mood, and, remounting Taffy, I rode down to the 
 station. 
 
 The officials were taking their ease, as another train was 
 not due for some while ; so I stepped up to the station- 
 master and entered into conversation with him. After 
 a few desultory remarks, I mentioned the circumstances 
 which had occurred to me on the road, and my inability to 
 account for them. 
 
 " So that's what you're after ! " said the master somewhat 
 bluntly. " Well, I can tell you nothing about it ; sperits 
 don't come in my way, saving and excepting those which 
 can be taken inwardly ; and mighty comfortable warming 
 things they be when so taken. If you ask me about other 
 sorts of sperits, I tell you flat I don't believe in 'em, though 
 I don't mind drinking the health of them what does." 
 
 " Perhaps you may have the chance, if you are a little 
 more communicative," said I. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you all I know, and that is precious 
 little," answered the worthy man. " I know one thing for 
 certain — that one compartment of a second-class carriage 
 is always left vacant between Brighton and Hassocks 
 Gate, by the 9.30 up-train." 
 
 " For what purpose ? " 
 
 "Ah! that's more than I can fully explain. Before the 
 orders came to this effect, people went into fits and that 
 like, in one of the carriages." 
 
 "Any particular carriage?" 
 
 " The first compartment of the second-class carriage 
 nearest to the engine. It is locked at Brighton, and 
 I unlock it at this station." 
 
334 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " What do you mean by saying that people had fits ? " 
 
 " I mean that I used to find men and women a-screeching 
 and a-hoUering like mad to be let out ; they'd seen some'ut 
 as had frightened them as they was passing through the 
 Clayton tunnel. That was before they made the arrange- 
 ment I told y' of." 
 
 " Very strange ! " said I meditatively. 
 
 " Wery much so, but true for all that. / don't believe in 
 nothing but sperits of a warming and cheering nature, and 
 them sort ain't to be found in Clayton tunn'l to my 
 thinking." 
 
 There was evidently nothing more to be got out of my 
 friend. I hope that he drank my health that night ; if he 
 omitted to do so, it was his fault, not mine. 
 
 As I rode home revolving in my mind all that I had 
 heard and seen, I became more and more settled in my 
 determination to thoroughly investigate the matter. The 
 best means that I could adopt for so doing would be 
 to come out from Brighton by the 9.30 train in the very 
 compartment of the second-class carriage from which the 
 public were considerately excluded. 
 
 Somehow I felt no shrinking from the attempt ; my 
 curiosity was so intense that it overcame all apprehension 
 as to the consequences. 
 
 My next free day was Thursday, and I hoped then to 
 execute my plan. In this, however, I was disappointed, as 
 I found that a battalion drill was fixed for that very 
 evening, and I was desirous of attending it, being some- 
 what behindhand in the regulation number of drills. 
 I was consequently obliged to postpone my Brighton trip. 
 
 On the Thursday evening about five o'clock I started in 
 regimentals with my rifle over my shoulder, for the drilling 
 ground — a piece of furzy common near the railway station. 
 
 I was speedily overtaken by Mr. Ball, a corporal in the 
 rifle corps, a capital shot and most efficient in his drill. 
 Mr. Ball was driving his gig. He stopped on seeing me 
 
THE 9.30 UP-TRAIN 335 
 
 and offered me a seat beside him. I gladly accepted, as 
 the distance to the station is a mile and three-quarters by 
 the road, and two miles by what is commonly supposed to 
 be the short cut across the fields. 
 
 After some conversation on volunteering matters, about 
 which Corporal Ball was an enthusiast, we turned out 
 of the lanes into the station road, and I took the oppor- 
 tunity of adverting to the subject which was uppermost in 
 my mind. 
 
 '* Ah ! I have heard a good deal about that," said the 
 corporal. '' My workmen have often told me some cock- 
 and-bull stories of that kind, but I can't say has 'ow 
 I believed them. What you tell me is, 'owever, very 
 remarkable. I never *ad it on such good authority afore. 
 Still, I can't believe that there's hanything supernatural 
 about it." 
 
 " I do not yet know what to believe," I replied, " for 
 the whole matter is to me perfectly inexplicable." 
 
 " You know, of course, the story which gave rise to the 
 superstition?" 
 
 " Not I. Pray tell it me." 
 
 " Just about seven years agone — why, you must remem- 
 ber the circumstances as well as I do — there was a man 
 druv over from I can't say where, for that was never 
 exact-ly hascertained, — but from the Henfield direction, in 
 a light cart. He went to the Station Inn, and throwing- 
 
 o 
 
 the reins to John Thomas, the ostler, bade him take the 
 trap and bring it round to meet the 9.30 train, by which he 
 calculated to return from Brighton. John Thomas said as 
 'ow the stranger was quite unbeknown to him, and that 
 he looked as though he 'ad some matter on his mind when 
 he went to the train ; he was a queer sort of a man, with 
 thick grey hair and beard, and delicate white 'ands, jist 
 like a lady's. The trap was round to the station door as 
 bordered by the arrival of the 9.30 train. The ostler 
 observed then that the man was ashen pale, and that his 
 
336 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 *ands trembled as he took the reins, that the stranger 
 stared at him in a wild habstracted way, and that he would 
 have driven off without tendering payment had he not 
 been respectfully reminded that the 'orse had been given a 
 feed of boats. John Thomas made a hobservation to the 
 gent relative to the wheel which was loose, but that hob- 
 servation met with no corresponding hanswer. The driver 
 whipped his 'orse and went off. He passed the turnpike, 
 and was seen to take the Brighton road hinstead of that 
 by which he had come. A workman hobserved the trap 
 next on the downs above Clayton chalk-pits. He didn't 
 pay much attention to it, but he saw that the driver was 
 on his legs at the 'ead of the 'orse. Next, morning, when 
 the quarrymen went to the pit, they found a shattered tax- 
 cart at the bottom, and the 'orse and driver dead, the 
 latter with his neck broken. What was curious, too, was 
 that an 'andkerchief was bound round the brute's heyes, so 
 that he must have been driven over the edge blindfold. 
 Hodd, wasn't it ? Well, folks say that the gent and his 
 tax-cart pass along the road every hevening after the 
 arrival of the 9.30 train ; but I don't believe it ; I ain't 
 a bit superstitious — not I ! " 
 
 Next week I was again disappointed in my expectation 
 of being able to put my scheme in execution ; but on the 
 third Saturday after my conversation with Corporal Ball, 
 I walked into Brighton in the afternoon, the distance being 
 about nine miles. I spent an hour on the shore watching 
 the boats, and then I sauntered round the Pavilion, ardently 
 longing that fire might break forth and consume that 
 architectural monstrosity. I believe that I afterwards had 
 a cup of coffee at the refreshment-rooms of the station, 
 and capital refreshment-rooms they are, or were — very 
 moderate and very good. I think that I partook of a bun, 
 but if put on my oath I could not swear to the fact ; a 
 floating reminiscence of bun lingers in the chambers 
 of memory, but I cannot be positive, and I wish in this 
 
THE 9.30 UP-TRAIN 337 
 
 paper to advance nothing but reliable facts. I squandered 
 precious time in reading the advertisements of baby- 
 jumpers — which no mother should be without — which are 
 indispensable in the nursery and the greatest acquisition 
 in the parlour, the greatest discovery of modern times, 
 etc., etc. I perused a notice of the advantage of metallic 
 brushes, and admired the young lady with her hair white 
 on one side and black on the other ; I studied the Chinese 
 letter commendatory of Horniman's tea and the inferior 
 English translation, and counted up the number of agents 
 in Great Britain and Ireland. At length the ticket-office 
 opened, and I booked for Hassocks Gate, second class, 
 fare one shilling. 
 
 I ran along the platform till I came to the compartment 
 of the second-class carriage which I wanted. The door 
 was locked, so I shouted for a guard. 
 
 " Put me in here, please." 
 
 " Can't there, s'r ; next, please, nearly empty, one woman 
 and baby." 
 
 " I particularly wish to enter this carriage," said I. 
 
 " Can't be, lock'd, orders, comp'ny," replied the guard, 
 turning on his heel. 
 
 " What reason is there for the public's being excluded, 
 may I ask ? " 
 
 " Dn'ow, 'spress ord'rs — c'n't let you in ; next caridge, 
 pl'se ; now then, quick, pl'se." 
 
 I knew the guard and he knew me — by sight, for I often 
 travelled to and fro on the line, so I thought it best to be 
 candid with him. I briefly told him my reason for making 
 the request, and begged him to assist me in executing my 
 plan. He then consented, though with reluctance. 
 
 " 'Ave y'r own way," said he ; " only if an'thing 'appens, 
 don't blame me ! " 
 
 " Never fear," laughed I, jumping into the carriage. 
 
 The guard left the carriage unlocked, and in two minutes 
 we were off. 
 
33^ A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 I did not feel in the slightest degree nervous. There 
 was no light in the carriage, but that did not matter, as 
 there was twilight. I sat facing the engine on the left 
 side, and every now and then I looked out at the downs 
 with a soft haze of light still hanging over them. We 
 swept into a cutting, and I watched the lines of flint in the 
 chalk, and longed to be geologising among them with my 
 hammer, picking out " shepherds' crowns " and sharks' 
 teeth, the delicate rhynconella and the quaint ventriculite. 
 I remembered a not very distant occasion on which I had 
 actually ventured there, and been chased off by the guard, 
 after having brought down an avalanche of chalk debris 
 in a manner dangerous to trafiic whilst endeavouring to 
 extricate a magnificent ammonite which I found, and — 
 alas ! left — protruding from the side of the cutting. I 
 wondered whether that ammonite was still there ; I looked 
 about to identify the exact spot as we whizzed along ; and 
 at that moment we shot into the tunnel. 
 
 There are two tunnels, with a bit of chalk cutting be- 
 tween them. We passed through the first, which is short, 
 and in another moment plunged into the second. 
 
 I cannot explain how it was that now, all of a sudden, a 
 feeling of terror came over me ; it seemed to drop over me 
 like a wet sheet and wrap me round and round. 
 
 I felt that someone was seated opposite me — someone in 
 the darkness with his eyes fixed on me. 
 
 Many persons possessed of keen nervous sensibility are 
 well aware when they are in the presence of another, even 
 though they can see no one, and I believe that I possess 
 this power strongly. If I were blindfolded, I think that 
 I should know when anyone was looking fixedly at me, 
 and I am certain that I should instinctively know that 
 I was not alone if I entered a dark room in which another 
 person was seated, even though he made no noise. I 
 remember a college friend of mine, who dabbled in anatomy, 
 telling me that a little Italian violinist once called on him 
 
THE 9.30 UP-TRAIN 339 
 
 to give a lesson on his instrument. The foreigner — a 
 singularly nervous individual — moved restlessly from the 
 place where he had been standing, casting many a furtive 
 glance over his shoulder at a press which was behind him. 
 At last the little fellow tossed aside his violin, saying — 
 
 " I can note give de lesson if someone weel look at 
 me from behind ! Dare is somebodee in de cupboard, 
 I know ! " 
 
 " You are right, there is ! " laughed my anatomical 
 friend, flinging open the door of the press and discovering 
 a skeleton. 
 
 The horror which oppressed me was numbing. For 
 a few moments I could neither lift my hands nor stir a 
 finger. I was tongue-tied. I seemed paralysed in every 
 member. I fancied that I felt eyes staring at me through 
 the gloom. A cold breath seemed to play over my face. 
 I believed that fingers touched my chest and plucked 
 at my coat. I drew back against the partition ; my heart 
 stood still, my flesh became stiff, my muscles rigid. 
 
 I do not know whether I breathed — a blue mist swam 
 before my eyes, and my head span. 
 
 The rattle and roar of the train dashing through the 
 tunnel drowned every other sound. 
 
 Suddenly we rushed past a light fixed against the wall 
 in the side, and it sent a flash, instantaneous as that 
 of lightning, through the carriage. In that moment I saw 
 what I shall never, never forget. I saw a face opposite 
 me, livid as that of a corpse, hideous with passion like that 
 of a gorilla. 
 
 I cannot describe it accurately, for I saw it but for 
 a second ; yet there rises before me now, as I write, the 
 low broad brow seamed with wrinkles, the shaggy, over- 
 hanging grey eyebrows ; the wild ashen eyes, which 
 glared as those of a demoniac ; the coarse mouth, with 
 its fleshy lips compressed till they were white ; the pro- 
 fusion of wolf-grey hair about the cheeks and chin ; the 
 
340 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 thm,bloodless hands, raised and half-open, extended towards 
 me as though they would clutch and tear me. 
 
 In the madness of terror, I flung myself along the seat 
 to the further window. 
 
 Then I felt that it was moving slowly down, and was 
 opposite me again. I lifted my hand to let down the 
 window, and I touched something : I thought it was a 
 hand — yes, yes ! it was a hand, for it folded over mine and 
 began to contract on it. I felt each finger separately ; 
 they were cold, dully cold. I wrenched my hand away. 
 I slipped back to my former place in the carriage by the 
 open window, and in frantic horror I opened the door, 
 clinging to it with both my hands round the window-jamb, 
 swung myself out with my feet on the floor and my head 
 turned from the carriage. If the cold fingers had but 
 touched my woven hands, mine would have given way ; 
 had I but turned my head and seen that hellish counten- 
 ance peering out at me, I must have lost my hold. 
 
 Ah ! I saw the light from the tunnel mouth ; it smote 
 on my face. The engine rushed out with a piercing 
 whistle. The roaring echoes of the tunnel died away. 
 The cool fresh breeze blew over my face and tossed my 
 hair ; the speed of the train was relaxed ; the lights of the 
 station became brighter. I heard the bell ringing loudly ; 
 I saw people waiting for the train ; I felt the vibration as 
 the brake was put on. We stopped ; and then my fingers 
 gave way. I dropped as a sack on the platform, and then, 
 then — not till then — I awoke. There now ! from begin- 
 ning to end the whole had been a frightful dream caused 
 by my having too many blankets over my bed. If I must 
 append a moral — Don't sleep too hot. 
 
ON THE LEADS 
 
 HAVING realised a competence in Australia, and 
 having a hankering after country life for the re- 
 mainder of my days in the old home, on my return to 
 England I went to an agent with the object of renting 
 a house with shooting attached, over at least three thou- 
 sand acres, with the option of a purchase should the place 
 suit me. I was no more intending to buy a country seat 
 without having tried what it was like, than is a king dis- 
 posed to go to war without knowing something of the force 
 that can be brought against him. I was rather taken with 
 photographs of a manor called Fernwood, and I was still 
 further engaged when I saw the place itself on a beautiful 
 October day, when St. Luke's summer was turning the 
 country into a world of rainbow tints under a warm sun, 
 and a soft vaporous blue haze tinted all shadows cobalt, 
 and gave to the hills a stateliness that made them look 
 like mountains. Fernwood was an old house, built in the 
 shape of the letter H, and therefore, presumably, dating 
 from the time of the early Tudor monarchs. The porch 
 opened into the hall which was on the left of the cross- 
 stroke, and the drawing-room was on the right. There 
 was one inconvenience about the house ; it had a staircase 
 at each extremity of the cross-stroke, and there was no 
 upstair communication between the two wings of the 
 mansion. But, as a practical man, I saw how this might 
 be remedied. The front door faced the south, and the hall 
 was windowless on the north. Nothing easier than to run 
 a corridor along at the back, giving communication both 
 
 341 
 
342 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 upstairs and downstairs, without passing through the hall. 
 The whole thing could be done for, at the outside, two hun- 
 dred pounds, and would be no disfigurement to the place. 
 I agreed to become tenant of Fernwood for a twelve- 
 month, in which time I should be able to judge whether 
 the place would suit me, the neighbours be pleasant, and 
 the climate agree with my wife. We went down to Fern- 
 wood at once, and settled ourselves comfortably in by the 
 first week in November. 
 
 The house was furnished ; it was the property of an 
 elderly gentleman, a bachelor named Framett, who lived 
 in rooms in town, and spent most of his time at the club. 
 He was supposed to have been jilted by his intended, 
 after which he eschewed female society, and remained 
 unmarried. 
 
 I called on him before taking up our residence at Fern- 
 wood, and found him a somewhat blase, languid, cold- 
 blooded creature, not at all proud of having a noble 
 manor-house that had belonged to his family for four 
 centuries ; very willing to sell it, so as to spite a cousin 
 who calculated on coming in for the estate, and whom 
 Mr. Framett, with the malignity that is sometimes found 
 in old people, was particularly desirous of disappointing. 
 
 " The house has been let before, I suppose ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh, yes," he replied indifferently, " I believe so, several 
 times." 
 
 " For long ? " 
 
 " No — o. I believe, not for long." 
 
 " Have the tenants had any particular reasons for not 
 remaining on there — if I may be so bold as to inquire ? " 
 
 " All people have reasons to offer, but what they offer 
 you are not supposed to receive as genuine." 
 
 I could get no more from him than this. " I think, sir, 
 if I were you I would not go down to Fernwood till after 
 November was out." 
 
 " But," said I, " I want the shooting." 
 
ON THE LEADS 343 
 
 " Ah, to be sure — the shooting, ah ! I should have pre- 
 ferred if you could have waited till December began." 
 
 "That would not suit me," I said, and so the matter ended. 
 
 When we were settled in, we occupied the right wing 
 of the house. The left or west wing was but scantily 
 furnished and looked cheerless, as though rarely tenanted. 
 We were not a large family, my wife and myself alone ; 
 there was consequently ample accommodation in the east 
 wing for us. The servants were placed above the kitchen, 
 in a portion of the house I have not yet described. It 
 was a half-wing, if I may so describe it, built on the north 
 side parallel with the upper arm of the western limb of 
 the hall and the H. This block had a gable to the north 
 like the wings, and a broad lead valley was between them, 
 that, as I learned from the agent, had to be attended to 
 after the fall of the leaf, and in times of snow, to clear it. 
 
 Access to this valley could be had from within by means 
 of a little window in the roof, formed as a dormer. A 
 short ladder allowed anyone to ascend from the passage 
 to this window and open or shut it. The western 
 staircase gave access to this passage, from which the 
 servants' rooms in the new block were reached, as also the 
 untenanted apartments in the old wing. And as there 
 were no windows in the extremities of this passage that 
 ran due north and south, it derived all its light from the 
 aforementioned dormer window. 
 
 One night, after we had been in the house about a week, 
 I was sitting up smoking, with a little whisky-and-water at 
 my elbow, reading a review of an absurd, ignorantly 
 written book on New South Wales, when I heard a tap 
 at the door, and the parlourmaid came in, and said in 
 a nervous tone of voice : " Beg your pardon, sir, but cook 
 nor I, nor none of us dare go to bed." 
 
 " Why not ? " I asked, looking up in surprise. 
 
 " Please, sir, we dursn't go into the passage to get to our 
 rooms." 
 
344 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Whatever is the matter with the passage ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, sir, with the passage. Would you mind, 
 sir, just coming to see ? We don't know what to make 
 of it." 
 
 I put down my review with a grunt of dissatisfaction, 
 laid my pipe aside, and followed the maid. 
 
 She led me through the hall, and up the staircase at the 
 western extremity. 
 
 On reaching the upper landing I saw all the maids there 
 in a cluster, and all evidently much scared. 
 
 " Whatever is all this nonsense about ? " I asked. 
 
 " Please, sir, will you look ? We can't say." 
 
 The parlourmaid pointed to an oblong patch of moon- 
 light on the wall of the passage. The night was cloudless, 
 and the full moon shone slanting in through the dormer 
 and painted a brilliant silver strip on the wall opposite. 
 The window being on the side of the roof to the east, we 
 could not see that, but did see the light thrown through it 
 against the wall. This patch of reflected light was about 
 seven feet above the floor. 
 
 The window itself was some ten feet up, and the pass- 
 age was but four feet wide. I enter into these particulars 
 for reasons that will presently appear. 
 
 The window was divided into three parts by wooden 
 mullions, and was composed of four panes of glass in each 
 compartment. 
 
 Now I could distinctly see the reflection of the moon 
 through the window with the black bars up and down, and 
 the division of the panes. But I saw more than that : 
 I saw the shadow of a lean arm with a hand and thin, 
 lengthy fingers across a portion of the window, apparently 
 groping at where was the latch by which the casement 
 could be opened. 
 
 My impression at the moment was that there was a 
 burglar on the leads trying to enter the house by means 
 of this dormen 
 
ON THE LEADS 345 
 
 Without a minute's hesitation I ran into the passage 
 and looked up at the window, but could see only a portion 
 of it, as in shape it was low, though broad, and, as already 
 stated, was set at a great height. But at that moment 
 something fluttered past it, like a rush of flapping draperies 
 obscuring the light. 
 
 I had placed the ladder, which I found hooked up to 
 the wall, in position, and planted my foot on the lowest 
 rung, when my wife arrived. She had been alarmed by 
 the housemaid, and now she clung to me, and protested 
 that I was not to ascend without my pistol. 
 
 To satisfy her I got my Colt's revolver that I always 
 kept loaded, and then, but only hesitatingly, did she allow 
 me to mount. I ascended to the casement, unhasped it, 
 and looked out. I could see nothing. The ladder was 
 over-short, and it required an effort to heave oneself from 
 it through the casement on to the leads. I am stout, and 
 not so nimble as I was when younger. After one or two 
 efforts, and after presenting from below an appearance 
 that would have provoked laughter at any other time, I 
 succeeded in getting through and upon the leads. 
 
 I looked up and down the valley — there was absolutely 
 nothing to be seen except an accumulation of leaves carried 
 there from the trees that were shedding their foliage. 
 
 The situation was vastly puzzling. As far as I could 
 judge there was no way ofl" the roof, no other window 
 opening into the valley ; I did not go along upon the leads, 
 as it was night, and moonlight is treacherous. Moreover, 
 I was wholly unacquainted with the arrangement of the 
 roof, and had no wish to risk a fall. 
 
 I descended from the window with my feet groping for 
 the upper rung of the ladder in a manner even more 
 grotesque than my ascent through the casement, but 
 neither my wife — usually extremely alive to anything 
 ridiculous in my appearance — nor the domestics were in 
 a mood to make merry. I fastened the window after me, 
 
346 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 and had hardly reached the bottom of the ladder before 
 again a shadow flickered across the patch of moonlight. 
 
 I was fairly perplexed, and stood musing. Then I re- 
 called that immediately behind the house the ground rose ; 
 that, in fact, the house lay under a considerable hill. It 
 was just possible by ascending the slope to reach the level 
 of the gutter and rake the leads from one extremity to 
 the other with my eye. 
 
 I mentioned this to my wife, and at once the whole set 
 of maids trailed down the stairs after us. They were 
 afraid to remain in the passage, and they were curious to 
 see if there was really some person on the leads. 
 
 We went out at the back of the house, and ascended 
 the bank till we were on a level with the broad gutter 
 between the gables. I now saw that this gutter did not 
 run through, but stopped against the hall roof; con- 
 sequently, unless there were some opening of which I knew 
 nothing, the person on the leads could not leave the place, 
 save by the dormer window, when open, or by swarming 
 down the fall pipe. 
 
 It at once occurred to me that if what I had seen were 
 the shadow of a burglar, he might have mounted by means 
 of the rain-water pipe. But if so — how had he vanished 
 the moment my head was protruded through the window? 
 and how was it that I had seen the shadow flicker past 
 the light immediately after I had descended the ladder? 
 It was conceivable that the man had concealed himself in 
 the shadow of the hall roof, and had taken advantage of 
 my withdrawal to run past the window so as to reach the 
 fall pipe, and let himself down by that. 
 
 I could, however, see no one running away, as I must 
 have done, going outside so soon after his supposed 
 descent. 
 
 But the whole affair became more perplexing when, 
 looking towards the leads, I saw in the moonlight some- 
 thing with fluttering garments running up and down them. 
 
ON THE LEADS 347 
 
 There could be no mistake — the object was a woman, 
 and her garments were mere tatters. We could not hear 
 a sound. 
 
 I looked round at my wife and the servants, — they saw 
 this weird object as distinctly as myself. It was more like 
 a gigantic bat than a human being, and yet, that it was a 
 woman we could not doubt, for the arms were now and 
 then thrown above the head in wild gesticulation, and at 
 moments a profile was presented, and then we saw, or 
 thought we saw, long flapping hair, unbound. 
 
 " I must go back to the ladder," said I ; " ) ou remain 
 where you are, watching." 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! not alone," pleaded my wife. 
 
 " My dear, who is to go with me ? " 
 
 I went I had left the back door unlocked, and I 
 ascended the staircase and entered the passage. Again 
 I saw the shadow flicker past the moonlit patch on the 
 wall opposite the window. 
 
 I ascended the ladder and opened the casement. 
 
 Then I heard the clock in the hall strike one. 
 
 I heaved myself up to the sill with great labour, and 
 I endeavoured to thrust my short body through the win- 
 dow, when I heard feet on the stairs, and next moment my 
 wife's voice from below, at the foot of the ladder. " Oh, 
 Edward, Edward ! please do not go out there again. It 
 has vanished. All at once. There is nothing there now 
 to be seen." 
 
 I returned, touched the ladder tentatively with my feet, 
 refastened the window, and descended — perhaps in- 
 elegantly. I then went down with my wife, and with her 
 returned up the bank, to the spot where stood clustered 
 our servants. 
 
 They had seen nothing further ; and although I re- 
 mained on the spot watching for half an hour, I also saw 
 nothing more. 
 
 The maids were too frightened to go to bed, and so 
 
348 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 agreed to sit up in the kitchen for the rest of the night 
 by a good fire, and I gave them a bottle of sherry to mull, 
 and make themselves comfortable upon, and to help them 
 to recover their courage. 
 
 Although I went to bed, I could not sleep. I was com- 
 pletely baffled by what I had seen. I could in no way 
 explain what the object was and how it had left the leads. 
 
 Next day I sent for the village mason and asked him to 
 set a long ladder against the well-head of the fall pipe, 
 and examine the valley between the gables. At the same 
 time I would mount to the little window and contemplate 
 proceedings through that. 
 
 The man had to send for a ladder sufficiently long, and 
 that occupied some time. However, at length he had it 
 planted, and then mounted. When he approached the 
 dormer window — 
 
 " Give me a hand," said I, " and haul me up ; I would 
 like to satisfy myself with my own eyes that there is no 
 other means of getting upon or leaving the leads." 
 
 He took me under both shoulders and heaved me out, 
 and I stood with him in the broad lead gutter. 
 
 " There's no other opening whatever," said he, " and. 
 Lord love you, sir, I believe that what you saw was no 
 more than this," and he pointed to a branch of a noble 
 cedar that grew hard by the west side of the house. 
 
 " I warrant, sir," said he, " that what you saw was this 
 here bough as has been carried by a storm and thrown 
 here, and the wind last night swept it up and down the 
 leads." 
 
 " But was there any wind ? " I asked. " I do not re- 
 member that there was." 
 
 " I can't say," said he ; " before twelve o'clock I was fast 
 asleep, and it might have blown a gale and I hear nothing 
 of it." 
 
 " I suppose there must have been some wind," said I, 
 "and that I was too surprised and the women too frightened 
 
ON THE LEADS 349 
 
 to observe it" I laughed. "So this marvellous spectral 
 phenomenon receives a very prosaic and natural explana- 
 tion. Mason, throw down the bough and we will bnrn it 
 to-night." 
 
 The branch was cast over the edge, and fell at the back 
 of the house. I left the leads, descended, and going out 
 picked up the cedar branch, brought it into the hall, sum- 
 moned the servants, and said derisively: " Here is an illus- 
 tration of the way in which weak-minded women get 
 scared. Now we will burn the burglar or ghost that we 
 saw. It turns out to be nothing but this branch, blown 
 up and down the leads by the wind." 
 
 " But, Edward," said my wife, " there was not a breath 
 stirring." 
 
 " There must have been. Only where we were we were 
 sheltered and did not observe it. Aloft, it blew across the 
 roofs, and formed an eddy that caught the broken bough, 
 lifted it, carried it first one way, then spun it round and 
 carried it the reverse way. In fact, the wind between the 
 two roofs assumed a spiral movement. I hope now you 
 are all satisfied. I am." 
 
 So the bough was burned, and our fears — I mean those 
 of the females — were allayed. 
 
 In the evening, after dinner, as I sat with my wife, she 
 said to me : ** Half a bottle would have been enough, 
 Edward. Indeed, I think half a bottle would be too much ; 
 you should not give the girls a liking for sherry, it may 
 lead to bad results. If it had been elderberry wine, that 
 would have been different." 
 
 "But there is no elderberry wine in the house," I 
 objected. 
 
 " Well, I hope no harm will come of it, but I greatly 
 mistrust " 
 
 " Please, sir, it is there again." 
 
 The parlourmaid, with a blanched face, was at the 
 door. 
 
350 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " Nonsense," said I, " we burnt it." 
 
 " This comes of the sherry," observed my wife. " They 
 will be seeing ghosts every night." 
 
 " But, my dear, you saw it as well as myself ! " 
 
 I rose, my wife followed, and we went to the landing as 
 before, and, sure enough, against the patch of moonlight 
 cast through the window in the roof, was the arm again, 
 and then a flutter of shadows, as if cast by garments. 
 
 " It was not the bough," said my wife. " If this had 
 been seen immediately after the sherry I should not have 
 been surprised, but — as it is now it is most extraordinary." 
 
 " I'll have this part of the house shut up," said I. Then 
 I bade the maids once more spend the night in the kitchen, 
 " and make yourselves lively on tea," I said — for I knew 
 my wife would not allow another bottle of sherry to be 
 given them. " To-morrow your beds shall be moved to 
 the east wing." 
 
 " Beg pardon," said the cook, " I speaks in the name of 
 all. We don't think we can remain in the house, but 
 must leave the situation." 
 
 " That comes of the tea," said I to my wife. " Now," to 
 the cook, " as you have had another fright, I will let you 
 have a bottle of mulled port to-night." 
 
 " Sir," said the cook, " if you can get rid of the ghost, 
 we don't want to leave so good a master. We withdraw 
 the notice." 
 
 Next day I had all the servants' goods transferred to 
 the east wing, and rooms were fitted up for them to sleep 
 in. As their portion of the house was completely cut off 
 from the west wing, the alarm of the domestics died away. 
 
 A heavy, stormy rain came on next week, the first token 
 of winter misery. 
 
 I then found that, whether caused by the cedar bough, 
 or by the nailed boots of the mason, I cannot say, but the 
 lead of the valley between the roofs was torn, and water 
 came in, streaming down the walls, and threatening to 
 
ON THE LEADS 351 
 
 severely damage the ceilings. I had to send for a plumber 
 as soon as the weather mended. At the same time I 
 started for town to see Mr. Framett. 1 had made up my 
 mind that Fernwood was not suitable, and by the terms of 
 my agreement I might be off my bargain if I gave notice 
 the first month, and then my tenancy would be for the six 
 months only. I found the squire at his club. 
 
 " Ah !" said he, " I told you not to go there in November. 
 No one likes Fernwood in November; it is all right at other 
 times." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " There is no bother except in November." 
 
 " Why should there be bother, as you term it, then ? " 
 
 Mr. Framett shrugged his shoulders. " How the deuce 
 can I tell you ? I've never been a spirit, and all that sort 
 of thing. Mme. Blavatsky might possibly tell you. I 
 can't. But it is a fact." 
 
 " What is a fact ? " 
 
 "Why, that there is no apparition at any other time 
 It is only in November, when she met with a little mis- 
 fortune. That is when she is seen." 
 
 " Who is seen ? " 
 
 " My aunt Eliza — I mean my great-aunt" 
 
 " You speak mysteries." 
 
 " I don't know much about it, and care less," said Mr. 
 Framett, and called for a lemon squash. " It was this : I 
 had a great-aunt who was deranged. The family kept it 
 quiet, and did not send her to an asylum, but fastened her 
 in a room in the west wing. You see, that part of the 
 house is partially separated from the rest. I believe she was 
 rather shabbily treated, but she was difficult to manage, 
 and tore her clothes to pieces. Somehow, she succeeded in 
 getting out on the roof, and would race up and down there. 
 They allowed her to do so, as by that means she obtained 
 fresh air. But one night in November she scrambled up 
 and, I believe, tumbled over. It was hushed up. Sorry 
 
352 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 you went there in November. I should have liked you 
 to buy the place. I am sick of it." 
 
 I did buy Fernwood. What decided me was this : the 
 plumbers, in mending the leads, with that ingenuity to do 
 mischief which they sometimes display, succeeded in setting 
 fire to the roof, and the result was that the west wing was 
 burnt down. Happily, a wall so completely separated the 
 wing from the rest of the house, that the fire was arrested. 
 The wing was not rebuilt, and I, thinking that with the 
 disappearance of the leads I should be freed from the 
 apparition that haunted them, purchased Fernwood. I am 
 happy to say we have been undisturbed since. 
 
AUNT JOANNA 
 
 IN the Land's End district is the little church-town 
 of Zennor. There is no village to speak of — a few 
 scattered farms, and here and there a cluster of cottages. 
 The district is bleak, the soil does not lie deep over 
 granite that peers through the surface on exposed spots, 
 where the furious gales from the ocean sweep the land. 
 If trees ever existed there, they have been swept away by 
 the blast, but the golden furze or gorse defies all winds, 
 and clothes the moorland with a robe of splendour, and 
 the heather flushes the slopes with crimson towards the 
 decline of summer, and mantles them in soft, warm brown 
 in winter, like the fur of an animal. 
 
 In Zennor is a little church, built of granite, rude and 
 simple of construction, crouching low, to avoid the gales, 
 but with a tower that has defied the winds and the lashing 
 rains, because wholly devoid of sculptured detail, which 
 would have afforded the blasts something to lay hold of 
 and eat away. In Zennor parish is one of the finest 
 cromlechs in Cornwall, a huge slab of unwrought stone 
 like a table, poised on the points of standing upright 
 blocks as rude as the mass they sustain. 
 
 Near this monument of a hoar and indeed unknown 
 antiquity lived an old woman by herself, in a small 
 cottage of one story in height, built of moor stones set in 
 earth, and pointed only with lime. It was thatched with 
 heather, and possessed but a single chimney that rose but 
 little above the apex of the roof, and had two slates set 
 on the top to protect the rising smoke from being blown 
 2 A 353 
 
354 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 down the chimney into the cottage when the wind was 
 from the west or from the east. When, however, it drove 
 from north or south, then the smoke must take care of 
 itself On such occasions it was wont to find its way out 
 of the door, and little or none went up the chimney. 
 
 The only fuel burnt in this cottage was peat — not the 
 solid black peat from deep bogs, but turf of only a spade 
 graft, taken from the surface, and composed of undissolved 
 roots. Such fuel gives flame, which the other does not ; 
 but, on the other hand, it does not throw out the same 
 amount of heat, nor does it last one half the time. 
 
 The woman who lived in the cottage was called by the 
 people of the neighbourhood Aunt Joanna. What her 
 family name was but few remembered, nor did it concern 
 herself much. She had no relations at all, with the ex- 
 ception of a grand-niece, who was married to a small 
 tradesman, a wheelwright near the church. But Joanna 
 and her great-niece were not on speaking terms. The girl 
 had mortally offended the old woman by going to a dance 
 at St. Ives, against her express orders. It was at this 
 dance that she had met the wheelwright, and this meeting, 
 and the treatment the girl had met with from her aunt for 
 having gone to it, had led to the marriage. For Aunt 
 Joanna was very strict in her Wesleyanism, and bitterly 
 hostile to all such carnal amusements as dancing and play- 
 acting. Of the latter there was none in that wild west 
 Cornish district, and no temptation ever afforded by a 
 strolling company setting up its booth within reach of 
 Zennor. But dancing, though denounced, still drew the 
 more independent spirits together. Rose Penaluna had 
 been with her great-aunt after her mother's death. She 
 was a lively girl, and when she heard of a dance at St. Ives, 
 and had been asked to go to it, although forbidden by 
 Aunt Joanna, she stole from the cottage at night, and 
 found her way to St. Ives. 
 
 Her conduct was reprehensible certainly. But that of 
 
AUNT JOANNA 355 
 
 Aunt Joanna was even more so, for when she discovered 
 that the girl had left the house she barred her door, and 
 refused to allow Rose to re-enter it. The poor girl had 
 been obliged to take refuge the same night at the nearest 
 farm and sleep in an outhouse, and next morning to go 
 into St. Ives and entreat an acquaintance to take her in till 
 she could enter into service. Into service she did not go, 
 for when Abraham Hext, the carpenter, heard how she had 
 been treated, he at once proposed, and in three weeks 
 married her. Since then no communication had taken 
 place between the old woman and her grand-niece. As 
 Rose knew, Joanna was implacable in her resentments, 
 and considered that she had been acting aright in what she 
 had done. 
 
 The nearest farm to Aunt Joanna's cottage was occupied 
 by the Hockins. One day Elizabeth, the farmer's wife, 
 saw the old woman outside the cottage as she was herself 
 returning from market ; and, noticing how bent and feeble 
 Joanna was, she halted, and talked to her, and gave her 
 good advice. 
 
 " See you now, auntie, you'm gettin' old and crimmed 
 wi' rheumatics. How can you get about ? An' there's no 
 knowin' but you might be took bad in the night. You 
 ought to have some little lass wi' you to mind you." 
 
 " I don't want nobody, thank the Lord." 
 
 " Not just now, auntie, but suppose any chance ill-luck 
 were to come on you. And then, in the bad weather, 
 you'm not fit to go abroad after the turves, and you 
 can't get all you want — tay and sugar and milk for your- 
 self now. It would be handy to have a little maid by 
 you." 
 
 " Who should I have ? " asked Joanna. 
 
 " Well, now, you couldn't do better than take little 
 Mary, Rose Hext's eldest girl. She's a handy maid, and 
 bright and pleasant to speak to." 
 
 " No," answered the old woman, " I'll have none o' they 
 
356 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Hexts, not I. The Lord is agin Rose and all her family, 
 I know it. I'll have none of them." 
 
 " But, auntie, you must be nigh on ninety." 
 
 " I be ower that. But what o' that ? Didn't Sarah, the 
 wife of Abraham, live to an hundred and seven and twenty 
 years, and that in spite of him worritin' of her wi' that 
 owdacious maid of hern, Hagar? If it hadn't been for 
 their goings on, of Abraham and Hagar, it's my belief 
 that she'd ha' held on to a hundred and fifty-seven. I 
 thank the Lord I've never had no man to worrit me. So 
 why I shouldn't equal Sarah's life I don't see." 
 
 Then she went indoors and shut the door. 
 
 After that a week elapsed without Mrs. Hockin seeing 
 the old woman. She passed the cottage, but no Joanna 
 was about. The door was not open, and usually it was. 
 Elizabeth spoke about this to her husband. " Jabez," said 
 she, " I don't like the looks o' this ; I've kept my eye open, 
 and there be no Auntie Joanna hoppin' about. Whativer 
 can be up? It's my opinion us ought to go and see." 
 
 "Well, I've naught on my hands now," said the farmer, 
 " so I reckon we will go." 
 
 The two walked together to the cottage. No smoke 
 issued from the chimney, and the door was shut. Jabez 
 knocked, but there came no answer ; so he entered, 
 followed by his wife. 
 
 There was in the cottage but the kitchen, with one 
 bedroom at the side. The hearth was cold. 
 
 " There's some'ut up," said Mrs. Hockin. 
 
 " I reckon it's the old lady be down," replied her husband, 
 and, throwing open the bedroom door, he said : " Sure 
 enough, and no mistake — there her be, dead as a dried 
 pilchard." 
 
 And in fact Auntie Joanna had died in the night, after 
 having so confidently affirmed her conviction that she 
 would live to the age of a hundred and twenty-seven. 
 
 " Whativer shall we do ? " asked Mrs. Hockin. 
 
AUNT JOANNA 357 
 
 " I reckon," said her husband, " us had better take an 
 inventory of what is here, lest wicked rascals come in 
 and steal anything and everything." 
 
 " Folks bain't so bad as that, and a corpse in the house," 
 observed Mrs. Hockin. 
 
 " Don't be sure o' that — these be terrible wicked times," 
 said the husband. " And I sez, sez I, no harm is done in 
 seein' what the old creetur had got." 
 
 " Well, surely," acquiesced Elizabeth, " there is no harm 
 in that." 
 
 In the bedroom was an old oak chest, and this the 
 farmer and his wife opened. To their surprise they found 
 in it a silver teapot, and half a dozen silver spoons. 
 
 " Well, now," exclaimed Elizabeth Hockin, " fancy her 
 havin' these — and me only Britannia metal." 
 
 " I reckon she came of a good family," said Jabez, 
 " Leastwise, I've heard as how she were once well off." 
 
 " And look here ! " exclaimed Elizabeth, " there's fine 
 and beautiful linen underneath — sheets and pillow-cases." 
 
 " But look here ! " cried Jabez, " blessed if the taypot 
 bain't chock-full o' money ! Whereiver did she get it 
 from ? " 
 
 " Her's been in the way of showing folk the Zennor 
 Quoit, visitors from St. Ives and Penzance, and she's had 
 scores o' shillings that way." 
 
 " Lord !" exclaimed Jabez. " I wish she'd left it to me, 
 and I could buy a cow ; I want another cruel bad." 
 
 " Ay, we do, terrible," said Elizabeth. " But just look 
 to her bed, what torn and wretched linen be on that — and 
 here these fine bedclothes all in the chest." 
 
 " Who'll get the silver taypot and spoons, and the 
 money?" inquired Jabez. 
 
 " Her had no kin — none but Rose Hext, and her couldn't 
 abide her. Last words her said to me was that she'd ' have 
 never naught to do wi' the Hexts, they and all their be- 
 longings.' " 
 
358 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " That was her last words ? " 
 
 " The very last words her spoke to me — or to anyone." 
 
 " Then," said Jabez, " I'll tell ye what, Elizabeth, it's our 
 moral dooty to abide by the wishes of Aunt Joanna. It 
 never does to go agin what is right. And as her expressed 
 herself that strong, why us, as honest folks, must carry out 
 her wishes, and see that none of all her savings go to them 
 darned and dratted Hexts." 
 
 " But who be they to go to, then ? " 
 
 " Well — we'll see. Fust us will have her removed, and 
 provide that her be daycent buried. Them Hexts be in a 
 poor way, and couldn't afford the expense, and it do seem 
 to me, Elizabeth, as it would be a liberal and a kindly act 
 in us to take all the charges on ourselves. Us is the closest 
 neighbours." 
 
 " Ay — and her have had milk of me these ten or twelve 
 years, and I've never charged her a penny, thinking her 
 couldn't afford it. But her could, her were a-hoardin' of 
 her money — and not paying me. That were not honest, 
 and what I say is, that I have a right to some of her 
 savin's, to pay the milk bill — and it's butter I've let her 
 have now and then in a liberal way." 
 
 " Very well, Elizabeth. Fust of all, we'll take the silver tay- 
 pot and the spoons wi' us, to get 'em out of harm's way." 
 
 " And I'll carry the linen sheets and pillow-cases. My 
 word ! — why didn't she use 'em, instead of them rags ? " 
 
 All Zennor declared that the Hockins were a most 
 neighbourly and generous couple, when it was known that 
 they took upon themselves to defray the funeral expenses. 
 
 Mrs. Hext came to the farm, and said that she was 
 willing to do what she could, but Mrs. Hockin replied : 
 " My good Rose, it's no good. I seed your aunt when her 
 was ailin', and nigh on death, and her laid it on me solemn 
 as could be that we was to bury her, and that she'd have 
 nothin' to do wi' the Hexts at no price." 
 
 Rose sighed, and went away. 
 
AUNT JOANNA 359 
 
 Rose had not expected to receive anything from her 
 aunt. She had never been allowed to look at the 
 treasures in the oak chest. As far as she had been aware, 
 Aunt Joanna had been extremely poor. But she re- 
 membered that the old woman had at one time befriended 
 her, and she was ready to forgive the harsh treatment to 
 which she had finally been subjected. In fact, she had re- 
 peatedly made overtures to her great-aunt to be reconciled, 
 but these overtures had been always rejected. She was, 
 accordingly, not surprised to learn from Mrs. Hockin that 
 the old woman's last words had been as reported. 
 
 But, although disowned and disinherited, Rose, her 
 husband, and children dressed in black, and were chief 
 mourners at the funeral. Now it had so happened that 
 when it came to the laying out of Aunt Joanna, Mrs. Hockin 
 had looked at the beautiful linen sheets she had found in 
 the oak chest, with the object of furnishing the corpse with 
 one as a winding-sheet. But — she said to herself — it would 
 really be a shame to spoil a pair, and where else could she 
 get such fine and beautiful old linen as was this ? So she 
 put the sheets away, and furnished for the purpose a clean 
 but coarse and ragged sheet such as Aunt Joanna had in 
 common use. That was good enough to moulder in the 
 grave. It would be positively sinful, because wasteful, 
 to give up to corruption and the worm such fine white 
 linen as Aunt Joanna had hoarded. The funeral was 
 conducted, otherwise, liberally. Aunt Joanna was given 
 an elm, and not a mean deal board coffin, such as is 
 provided for paupers ; and a handsome escutcheon of 
 white metal was put on the lid. 
 
 Moreover, plenty of gin was drunk, and cake and cheese 
 eaten at the house, all at the expense of the Hockins. 
 And the conversation among those who attended, and 
 ate and drank, and wiped their eyes, was rather anent 
 the generosity of the Hockins than of the virtues of the 
 departed. 
 
36o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hockin heard this, and their hearts swelled 
 within them. Nothing so swells the heart as the conscious- 
 ness of virtue being recognised. Jabez in an undertone 
 informed a neighbour that he were'nt goin' to stick at the 
 funeral expenses, not he ; he'd have a neat stone erected 
 above the grave with work on it, at twopence a letter. The 
 name and the date of departure of Aunt Joanna, and her 
 age, and two lines of a favourite hymn of his, all about 
 earth being no dwelling-place, heaven being properly her 
 home. 
 
 It was not often that Elizabeth Hockin cried, but she 
 did this day; she wept tears of sympathy with the deceased, 
 and happiness at the ovation accorded to herself and her 
 husband. At length, as the short winter day closed in, 
 the last of those who had attended the funeral, and had 
 returned to the farm to recruit and regale after it, departed, 
 and the Hockins were left to themselves. 
 
 "It were a beautiful day," said Jabez. 
 
 " Ay," responded Elizabeth, " and what a sight o' people 
 came here." 
 
 " This here buryin' of Aunt Joanna have set us up tre- 
 mendous in the estimation of the neighbours." 
 
 " I'd like to know who else would ha' done it for a poor 
 old creetur as is no relation ; ay — and one as owed a 
 purty long bill to me for milk and butter through ten or 
 twelve years." 
 
 " Well," said Jabez, " I've alius heard say that a good 
 deed brings its own reward wi' it — and it's a fine proverb. 
 I feels it in my insides." 
 
 " P'raps it's the gin, Jabez." 
 
 " No — it's virtue. It's warmer nor gin a long sight. Gin 
 gives a smouldering spark, but a good conscience is a blaze 
 of furze." 
 
 The farm of the Hockins was small, and Hockin looked 
 after his cattle himself One maid was kept, but no man 
 in the house. All were wont to retire early to bed ; neither 
 
AUNT JOANNA 361 
 
 Hockin nor his wife had Hterary tastes, and were not 
 disposed to consume much oil, so as to read at night. 
 
 During the night, at what time she did not know, Mrs. 
 Hockin awoke with a start, and found that her husband 
 was sitting up in bed Hstening. There was a moon that 
 night, and no clouds in the sky. The room was full of 
 silver light. Elizabeth Hockin heard a sound of feet in 
 the kitchen, which was immediately under the bedroom of 
 the couple. 
 
 " There's someone about," she whispered ; " go down, 
 Jabez." 
 
 " I wonder, now, who it be. P'raps its Sally." 
 
 " It can't be Sally — how can it, when she can't get out 
 o' her room wi'out passin' through ours ? " 
 
 " Run down, Elizabeth, and see." 
 
 " It's your place to go, Jabez." 
 
 " But if it was a woman — and me in my night-shirt ? " 
 
 " And, Jabez, if it was a man, a robber — and me in my 
 night-shirt? It 'ud be shameful." 
 
 " I reckon us had best go down together." 
 
 " We'll do so— but I hope it's not " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Mrs. Hockin did not answer. She and her husband 
 crept from bed, and, treading on tiptoe across the room, 
 descended the stair. 
 
 There was no door at the bottom, but the staircase was 
 boarded up at the side ; it opened into the kitchen. 
 
 They descended very softly and cautiously, holding 
 each other, and when they reached the bottom, peered 
 timorously into the apartment that served many purposes 
 — kitchen, sitting-room, and dining-place. The moonlight 
 poured in through the broad, low window 
 
 By it they saw a figure. There could be no mistaking 
 it — it was that of Aunt Joanna, clothed in the tattered 
 sheet that Elizabeth Hockin had allowed for her grave- 
 clothes. The old woman had taken one of the fine linen 
 
362 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 sheets out of the cupboard in which it had been placed, 
 anfi had spread it over the long table, and was smoothing 
 it down with her bony hands. 
 
 The Hockins trembled, not with cold, though it was 
 mid-winter, but with terror. They dared not advance, 
 and they felt powerless to retreat. 
 
 Then they saw Aunt Joanna go to the cupboard, open 
 it, and return with the silver spoons ; she placed all six on 
 the sheet, and with a lean finger counted them. 
 
 She turned her face towards those who were watching 
 her proceedings, but it was in shadow, and they could not 
 distinguish the features nor note the expression with which 
 she regarded them. 
 
 Presently she went back to the cupboard, and returned 
 with the silver teapot. She stood at one end of the table, 
 and now the reflection of the moon on the linen sheet was 
 cast upon her face, and they saw that she was moving her 
 lips — but no sound issued from them. 
 
 She thrust her hand into the teapot and drew forth the 
 coins, one by one, and rolled them along the table. The 
 Hockins saw the glint of the metal, and the shadow cast 
 by each piece of money as it rolled. The first coin lodged 
 at the further left-hand corner and the second rested near 
 it ; and so on, the pieces were rolled, and ranged them- 
 selves in order, ten in a row. Then the next ten were run 
 across the white cloth in the same manner, and dropped 
 over on their sides below the first row ; thus also the third 
 ten. And all the time the dead woman was mouthing, as 
 though counting, but still inaudibly. 
 
 The couple stood motionless observing proceedings, till 
 suddenly a cloud passed before the face of the moon, so 
 dense as to eclipse the light. 
 
 Then in a paroxysm of terror both turned and fled up 
 the stairs, bolted their bedroom door, and jumped into bed. 
 
 There was no sleep for them that night. In the gloom 
 when the moon was concealed, in the glare when it shone 
 
SHE THRUST HEK HANI) INTO ITIF. TEAPOT AXn DREW FORTH THE COINS, 
 ONE BY ONE, AND ROM. ED THEM AI,ON(; I HE TAIiLE 
 
AUNT JOANNA ^^^ 
 
 forth, it was the same, they could hear the h'ght rolling 
 of the coins along the table, and the click as they fell 
 over. Was the supply inexhaustible? It was not so, but 
 apparently the dead woman did not weary of counting the 
 coins. When all had been ranged, she could be heard 
 moving to the further end of the table, and there re- 
 commencing the same proceeding of coin-roUing. 
 
 Not till near daybreak did this sound cease, and not till 
 the maid, Sally, had begun to stir in the inner bedchamber 
 did Hockin and his wife venture to rise. Neither would 
 suffer the servant girl to descend till they had been down 
 to see in what condition the kitchen was. They found 
 that the table had been cleared, the coins were all back in 
 the teapot, and that and the spoons were where they had 
 themselves placed them. The sheet, moreover, was neatly 
 folded, and replaced where it had been before. 
 
 The Hockins did not speak to one another of their 
 experiences during the past night, so long as they were in 
 the house, but when Jabez was in the field, Elizabeth went 
 to him and said : " Husband, what about Aunt Joanna?'* 
 
 *' I don't know — maybe it were a dream." 
 
 " Curious us should ha' dreamed alike." 
 
 " I don't know that ; 'twere the gin made us dream, and 
 us both had gin, so us dreamed the same thing." 
 
 "'Twere more like real truth than dream," observed 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " We'll take it as dream," said Jabez. " Mebbe it won't 
 happen again." 
 
 But precisely the same sounds were heard on the follow- 
 ing night. The moon was obscured by thick clouds, and 
 neither of the two had the courage to descend to the 
 kitchen. But they could hear the patter of feet, and then 
 the roll and click of the coins. Again sleep was im- 
 possible. 
 
 "Whatever shall we do?" asked Elizabeth Hockin next 
 morning of her husband. " Us can't go on like this wi' 
 
364 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 the dead woman about our house nightly. There's no 
 tellin' she might take it into her head to come upstairs and 
 pull the sheets off us. As we took hers, she may think it 
 fair to carry off ours." 
 
 " I think," said Jabez sorrowfully, " we'll have to return 
 'em." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 After some consultation the couple resolved on convey- 
 ing all the deceased woman's goods to the churchyard, 
 by night, and placing them on her grave. 
 
 " I reckon," said Hockin, " we'll bide in the porch and 
 watch what happens. If they be left there till mornin', 
 why we may carry 'em back wi' an easy conscience. We've 
 spent some pounds over her buryin'." 
 
 " What have it come to ?" 
 
 " Three pounds five and fourpence, as I make it out." 
 
 " Well," said Elizabeth, '' we must risk it." 
 
 When night had fallen murk, the farmer and his wife 
 crept from their house, carrying the linen sheets, the teapot, 
 and the silver spoons. They did not start till late, for fear 
 of encountering any villagers on the way, and not till after 
 the maid, Sally, had gone to bed. 
 
 They fastened the farm door behind them. The night 
 was dark and stormy, with scudding clouds, so dense as to 
 make deep night, when they did not part and allow the 
 moon to peer forth. 
 
 They walked timorously, and side by side, looking 
 about them as they proceeded, and on reaching the 
 churchyard gate they halted to pluck up courage before 
 opening and venturing within. Jabez had furnished him- 
 self with a bottle of gin, to give courage to himself and 
 his wife. 
 
 Together they heaped the articles that had belonged to 
 Aunt Joanna upon the fresh grave, but as they did so the 
 wind caught the linen and unfurled and flapped it, and 
 they were forced to place stones upon it to hold it down. 
 
AUNT JOANNA 365 
 
 Then, quaking with fear, they retreated to the church 
 porch, and Jabez, uncorking the bottle, first took a long 
 pull himself, and then presented it to his wife. 
 
 And now down came a tearing rain, driven by a blast 
 from the Atlantic, howling among the gravestones, and 
 screaming in the battlements of the tower and its bell- 
 chamber windows. The night was so dark, and the rain 
 fell so heavily, that they could see nothing for full half an 
 hour. But then the clouds were rent asunder, and the 
 moon glared white and ghastly over the churchyard. 
 
 Elizabeth caught her husband by the arm and pointed. 
 There was, however, no need for her to indicate that on 
 which his eyes were fixed already. 
 
 Both saw a lean hand come up out of the grave, and lay 
 hold of one of the fine linen sheets and drag at it. They 
 saw it drag the sheet by one corner, and then it went 
 down underground, and the sheet followed, as though 
 sucked down in a vortex ; fold on fold it descended, till 
 the entire sheet had disappeared. 
 
 " Her have taken it for her windin' sheet," whispered 
 Elizabeth. " Whativer will her do wi' the rest ? " 
 
 " Have a drop o' gin ; this be terrible tryin'," said Jabez 
 in an undertone ; and again the couple put their lips to 
 the bottle, which came away considerably lighter after the 
 draughts. 
 
 " Look ! " gasped Elizabeth. 
 
 Again the lean hand with long fingers appeared above 
 the soil, and this was seen groping about the grass till it 
 laid hold of the teapot. Then it groped again, and 
 gathered up the spoons, that flashed in the moonbeams. 
 Next, up came the second hand, and a long arm that 
 stretched along the grave till it reached the other sheets. 
 At once, on being raised, these sheets were caught by the 
 wind, and flapped and fluttered like half-hoisted sails. The 
 hands retained them for a while till they bellied with the 
 wind, and then let them go, and they were swept away by 
 
366 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 the blast across the churchyard, over the wall, and lodged 
 in the carpenter's yard that adjoined, among his timber. 
 
 " She have sent 'em to the Hexts," whispered Elizabeth. 
 
 Next the hands began to trifle with the teapot, and to 
 shake out some of the coins. 
 
 In a minute some silver pieces were flung with so true 
 an aim that they fell clinking down on the floor of the 
 porch. 
 
 How many coins, how much money was cast, the couple 
 were in no mood to estimate. 
 
 Then they saw the hands collect the pillow-cases, and 
 proceed to roll up the teapot and silver spoons in them, 
 and, that done, the white bundle was cast into the air, and 
 caught by the wind and carried over the churchyard wall 
 into the wheelwright's yard. 
 
 At once a curtain of vapour rushed across the face of 
 the moon, and again the graveyard was buried in darkness. 
 Half an hour elapsed before the moon shone out again. 
 Then the Hockins saw that nothing was stirring in the 
 cemetery. 
 
 " I reckon us may go now," said Jabez. 
 
 " Let us gather up what she chucked to us," advised 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 So the couple felt about the floor, and collected a 
 number of coins. What they were they could not tell till 
 they reached their home, and had lighted a candle. 
 
 " How much be it ? " asked Elizabeth. 
 
 "Three pound five and fourpence, exact," answered 
 Jabez. 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 
 
 A PERCENTAGE of the South African Boers— how 
 large or how small that percentage is has not been 
 determined — is possessed of a rudimentary conscience, 
 much as the oyster has incipient eyes, and the snake 
 initiatory articulations for feet, which in the course of long 
 ages may, under suitable conditions, develop into an active 
 faculty. 
 
 If Jacob Van Heeren possessed any conscience at all it 
 was the merest protoplasm of one. 
 
 He occupied Heerendorp, a ramshackle farmhouse under 
 a kopje, and had cattle and horses, also a wife and grown- 
 up sons and daughters. 
 
 When the war broke out Jacob hoisted the white flag 
 at the gable, and he and his sons indulged their sporting 
 instincts by shooting down such officers and men of the 
 British army as went to the farm, unsuspecting treachery. 
 
 Heerendorp by this means obtained an evil notoriety, 
 and it was ordered to be burnt, and the women of Jacob's 
 family to be transferred to a concentration camp where 
 they would be mollycoddled at the expense of the English 
 taxpayer. Thus Jacob and his sons were delivered from all 
 anxiety as to their womankind, and were given a free field 
 in which to exercise their mischievous ingenuity. As to 
 their cattle and horses that had been commandeered, they 
 held receipts which would entitle them to claim full value 
 for the beasts at the termination of hostilities. 
 
 Jacob and his sons might have joined one of the com- 
 panies under a Boer general, but they preferred inde- 
 
 367 
 
368 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 pendent action, and their peculiar tactics, which proved 
 eminently successful. 
 
 That achievement in which Jacob exhibited most slim- 
 ness, and of which he was pre-eminently proud, was as 
 follows : feigning himself to be wounded, he rolled on the 
 ground, waving a white kerchief, and crying out for water. 
 A young English lieutenant at once filled a cap and ran to 
 his assistance, when Jacob shot him through the heart. 
 
 When the war was over Van Heeren got his farm rebuilt 
 and restocked at the expense of the British taxpayer, and 
 received his wife and daughters from the concentration 
 camp, plump as partridges. 
 
 So soon as the new Heerendorp was ready for occupation, 
 Jacob took a large knife and cut seventeen notches in the 
 doorpost. 
 
 "What is that for, Jacob?" asked his wife. 
 
 " They are reminders of the Britishers I have shot." 
 
 " Well," said she, " if I hadn't killed more Rooineks than 
 that, I'd be ashamed of myself" 
 
 " Oh, I shot more in open fight. I didn't count them ; I 
 only reckon such as I've been slim enough to befool with 
 the white flag," said the Boer. 
 
 Now the lieutenant whom Jacob Van Heeren had killed 
 when bringing him a cup of cold water, was Aneurin Jones, 
 and he was the only son of his mother, and she a widow 
 in North Wales. On Aneurin her heart had been set, in 
 him was all her pride. Beyond him she had no ambition. 
 About him every fibre of her heart was entwined. Life 
 had to her no charms apart from him. When the news 
 of his death reached her, unaccompanied by particulars, 
 she was smitten with a sorrow that almost reached despair. 
 The joy was gone out of her life, the light from her sky. 
 The prospect was a blank before her. She sank into 
 profound despondency, and would have welcomed death 
 as an end to an aimless, a hopeless life. 
 
 But when peace was concluded, and some comrades of 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 369 
 
 Aneurin returned home, the story of how he had met his 
 death was divulged to her. 
 
 Then the passionate Welsh mother's heart became as a 
 live coal v/ithin her breast. An impotent rage against his 
 murderer consumed her. She did not know the name of the 
 man who had killed him, she but ill understood where her son 
 had fallen. Had she known, had she been able, she would 
 have gone out to South Africa, and have gloried in being 
 able to stab to the heart the man who had so treacherously 
 murdered her Aneurin. But how was he to be identified ? 
 
 The fact that she was powerless to avenge his death was 
 a torture to her. She could not sleep, she could not eat, 
 she writhed, she moaned, she bit her fingers, she chafed at 
 her incapacity to execute justice on the murderer. A 
 feverish flame was lit in her hollow cheeks. Her lips 
 became parched, her tongue dry, her dark eyes glittered as 
 if sparks of unquenchable fire had been kindled in them. 
 
 She sat with clenched hands and set teeth before her 
 dead grate, and the purple veins swelled and throbbed in 
 her temples. 
 
 Oh ! if only she knew the name of the man who had 
 shot her Aneurin ! 
 
 Oh ! if only she could find out a way to recompense 
 him for the wrong he had done ! 
 
 These were her only thoughts. And the sole passage 
 in her Bible she could read, and which she read over and 
 over again, was the story of the Importunate Widow who 
 cried to the judge, " Avenge me of mine adversary ! " and 
 who was heard for her persistent asking. 
 
 Thus passed a fortnight. She was visibly wasting in 
 flesh, but the fire within her burned only the fiercer as her 
 bodily strength failed. 
 
 Then, all at once, an idea shot like a meteor through her 
 brain. She remembered to have heard of the Cursing Well 
 of St. Elian, near Colwyn. She recalled the fact that the 
 last " Priest of the Well," an old man who had lived hard 
 
 2 B 
 
370 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 by, and who had initiated postulants into the mysteries of 
 the well, had been brought before the magistrates for 
 obtaining money under false pretences, and had been sent 
 to gaol at Chester ; and that the parson of Llanelian had 
 taken a crowbar and had ripped up the wall that enclosed 
 the spring, and had done what lay in his power to destroy 
 it and blot out the remembrance of the powers of the well, 
 or to ruin its efficacy. 
 
 But the spring still flowed. Had it lost its virtues? 
 Could a parson, could magistrates bring to naught what 
 had been for centuries ? 
 
 She remembered, further, that the granddaughter of the 
 " Priest of the Well" was then an inmate of the workhouse 
 at Denbigh. Was it not possible that she should know 
 the ritual of St. Elian's spring? — should be able to assist 
 her in the desire of her heart ? 
 
 Mrs. Winifred Jones resolved on trying. She went to 
 the workhouse and sought out the woman, an old and 
 infirm creature, and had a conference with her. She found 
 the woman, a poor, decrepit creature, very shy of speaking 
 about the well, very unwilling to be drawn into a confession 
 of the extent of her knowledge, very much afraid of the 
 magistrates and the master of the workhouse punishing 
 her if she had anything to do with the well ; but the in- 
 tensity of Mrs. Jones, her vehemence in prosecuting her 
 inquiries, and, above all, the gift of half a sovereign pressed 
 into her palm, with the promise of another if she assisted 
 Mrs. Winifred in the prosecution of her purpose, finally 
 overcame her scruples, and she told all that she knew. 
 
 " You must visit St. Elian's, madam," said she, " when 
 the moon is at the wane. You must write the name of 
 him whose death you desire on a pebble, and drop it into 
 the water, and recite the sixty-ninth Psalm." 
 
 " But," objected the widow, " I do not know his name, 
 and I have no means of discovering it. I want to kill the 
 man who murdered my son." 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 371 
 
 The old woman considered, and then said : " In this 
 case it is different. There is a way under these circum- 
 stances. Murdered, was your son ? " 
 
 " Yes, he was treacherously shot." 
 
 " Then you will have to call on your son by name, as 
 you let fall the pebble, and say : ' Let him be wiped out of 
 the book of the living. Avenge me of mine adversary, 
 O my God.' And you must go on dropping in pebbles, 
 reciting the same prayer, till you see the water of the 
 spring boil up black as ink. Then you will know that 
 your prayer has been heard, and that the curse has wrought." 
 
 Winifred Jones departed in some elation. 
 
 She waited till the moon changed, and then she went 
 to the spring. It was near a hedge ; there were trees by 
 it. Apparently it had been unsought for many years. 
 But it still flowed. About it lay scattered a few stones 
 that had once formed the bounds. 
 
 She looked about her. No one was by. The sun was 
 declining, and would soon set. She bent over the water 
 — it was perfectly clear. She had collected a lapful of 
 rounded stones. 
 
 Then she cried out : " Aneurin ! come to my aid against 
 your murderer. Let him be blotted out of the book of 
 the living. Avenge me on my adversary, O my God ! " 
 and she dropped a pebble into the water. 
 
 Then rose a bubble. That was all. 
 
 She paused but for a moment, then again she cried : 
 " Aneurin ! come to my aid against your murderer. Let 
 him be blotted out of the book of the living. Avenge me 
 on my adversary, O my God !" 
 
 Once more a pebble was let fall. It splashed into the 
 spring, but there was no change save that ripples were 
 sent against the side. 
 
 A third — then a fourth — she went on ; the sun sent a 
 shaft of yellow glory through the trees over the spring. 
 
 Then someone passed along the road hard by, and 
 
372 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Mrs. Winifred Jones held her breath, and desisted till the 
 footfall had died away. 
 
 But then she continued, stone after stone was dropped, 
 and the ritual was followed, till the seventeenth had dis- 
 appeared in the well, when up rose a column of black fluid 
 boiling as it were from below, the colour of ink ; and 
 the widow pressed her hands together, and drew a sigh of 
 relief; her prayer had been heard, and her curse had taken 
 effect. 
 
 She cast away the rest of the pebbles, let down her 
 skirt, and went away rejoicing. 
 
 It so fell out that on this very evening Jacob Van 
 Heeren had gone to bed early, as he had risen before 
 daybreak, and had been riding all day. His family were 
 in the outer room, when they were startled by a hoarse cry 
 from the bedroom. He was a short-tempered, imperious 
 man, accustomed to yell at his wife and children when he 
 needed them ; but this cry was of an unusual character, it 
 had in it the ring of alarm. His wife went to him to 
 inquire what was the matter. She found the old Boer 
 sitting up in bed with one leg extended, his face like dirty 
 stained leather, his eyes starting out of his head, and his 
 mouth opening and shutting, lifting and depressing his 
 shaggy, grey beard, as though he were trying to speak, but 
 could not utter words. 
 
 " Pete ! " she called to her eldest son, " come here, and 
 see what ails your father." 
 
 Pete and others entered, and stood about the bed, 
 staring stupidly at the old man, unable to comprehend 
 what had come over him. 
 
 " Fetch him some brandy, Pete," said the mother ; " he 
 looks as if he had a fit." 
 
 When some spirits had been poured down his throat 
 the farmer was revived, and said huskily : " Take it away 1 
 Quick, take it off!" 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 373 
 
 " Take what away ? " 
 
 " The white flag." 
 
 " There is none here." 
 
 "It is there — there, wrapped about my foot." 
 
 The wife looked at the outstretched leg, and saw 
 nothing. Jacob became angry, he swore at her, and 
 yelled : "Take it off; it is chilling me to the bone." 
 
 " There is nothing there." 
 
 " But I say it is. I saw him come in " 
 
 " Saw whom, father ? " asked one of the sons. 
 
 " I saw that Rooinek lieutenant I shot when he was 
 bringing me drink, thinking I was wounded. He came in 
 through the door " 
 
 " That is not possible — he must have passed us." 
 
 " I say he did come. I saw him, and he held the 
 white rag, and he came upon me and gave me a twist 
 with the flag about my foot, and there it is — it numbs 
 me. I cannot move it. Quick, quick, take it away." 
 
 " I repeat there is nothing there," said his wife. 
 
 " Pull off his stocking," said Pete Van Heeren ; " he has 
 got a chill in his foot, and fancies this nonsense. He has 
 been dreaming." 
 
 "It was not a dream," roared Jacob ; " I saw him as 
 clearly as I see you, and he wrapped my foot up in that 
 accursed flag." 
 
 "Accursed flag!" exclaimed Samuel, the second son. 
 "That's a fine way to speak of it, father, when it served 
 you so well." 
 
 " Take it off, you dogs ! " yelled the old man, " and don't 
 stand staring and barking round me." 
 
 The stocking was removed from his leg, and then it was 
 seen that his foot — the left foot — had turned a livid white. 
 
 " Go and heat a brick," said the housewife to one of her 
 daughters ; " it is just the circulation has stopped." 
 
 But no artificial warmth served to restore the flow of 
 blood, and the natural heat. 
 
374 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 Jacob passed a sleepless night. 
 
 Next morning he rose, but limped ; all feeling had gone 
 out of the foot. His wife vainly urged him to keep to his 
 bed. He was obstinate, and would get up ; but he could 
 not walk without the help of a stick. When clothed, he 
 hobbled into the kitchen and put the numbed foot to the 
 fire, and the stocking sole began to smoke, it was singed 
 and went to pieces, but his foot was insensible to the heat. 
 Then he went forth, aided by the stick, to his farmyard, 
 hoping that movement would restore feeling and warmth ; 
 but this also was in vain. In the evening he seated 
 himself on a bench outside the door, whilst his family 
 ate supper. He ordered them to bring food to him. 
 He felt easier in the open air than within doors. 
 
 Whilst his wife and children were about the table at 
 their meal, they heard a scream without, more like that 
 of a wounded horse than a man, and all rushed forth, to 
 find Jacob in a paroxysm of terror only less severe than 
 that of the preceding night. 
 
 " He came on me again," he gasped ; " the same man, I 
 do not know from whence — he seemed to spring out of 
 the distance. I saw him first like smoke, but with a 
 white flicker in it ; and then he got nearer and became 
 more distinct, and I knew it was he ; and he had another 
 of those white napkins in his hand. I could not call for 
 help — I tried, I could utter no sound, till he wrapped it — 
 that white rag — round my calf, and then, with the cold 
 and pain, I cried out, and he vanished." 
 
 " Father," said Pete, " you fell asleep and dreamt this." 
 
 " I did not. I saw him, and I felt what he did. Give me 
 your hand. I cannot rise. I must go within. Good Lord, 
 when will this come to an end ? " 
 
 When lifted from his seat it was seen that his left leg 
 dragged. He had to lean heavily on his son on one side 
 and his wife on the other, and he allowed himself, without 
 remonstrance, to be put to bed. 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 375 
 
 It was then seen that the dead whiteness, as of a corpse, 
 had spread from the foot up the calf. 
 
 " He is going to have a paralytic stroke, that is it," said 
 Pete. " You, Samuel, must ride for a doctor to-morrow 
 morning, not that he can do much good, K what I think 
 be the case." 
 
 On the second day the old man persisted in his deter- 
 mination to rise. He was deaf to all remonstrance, he 
 would get up and go about, as far as he was able. But 
 his ability was small. In the evening, as the sun went 
 down, he was sitting crouched over the fire. The family 
 had finished supper, and all had left the room except his 
 wife, who was removing the dishes, when she heard a 
 gasping and struggling by the fire, and, turning her head, 
 saw her husband writhing on his stool, clinging to it 
 with his hands, with his left leg out, his mouth foaming, 
 and he was snorting with terror or pain. 
 
 She ran to him at once. 
 
 "Jacob, what is it?" 
 
 " He is at me again ! Beat him off with the broom ! " 
 he screamed. " Keep him away. He is wrapping the 
 white flag round my knee." 
 
 Pete and the others ran in, and raised their father, who 
 was falling out of his seat, and conveyed him to bed. 
 
 It was now seen that his knee had become hard and 
 stiff, his calf was as if frozen ; the whiteness had ex- 
 tended upwards to the knee. 
 
 Next day a surgeon arrived. He examined the old man, 
 and expressed his conviction that he had a stroke. But 
 it was a paralytic attack of an unusual character, as it had 
 in no way affected his speech or his left arm and hand. 
 He recommended hot fomentations. 
 
 Still the farmer would not be confined to bed ; he insisted 
 on being dressed and assisted into the kitchen. 
 
 One stick was not now sufficient for him, and Samuel 
 contrived for him crutches. With these he could drag 
 
376 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 himself about, and on the fourth evening he laboriously 
 worked his way to a cowstall to look at one of his beasts 
 that was ill. 
 
 Whilst there he had a fourth attack. Pete, who was 
 without, heard him yell and beat at the door with one 
 of his crutches. He entered, and found his father lying 
 on the floor, quivering with terror, and spluttering unin- 
 telligible words. He lifted him, and drew him without, 
 then shouted to Samuel, who came up, and together they 
 carried him to the house. 
 
 Only when there, and when he had drunk some brandy, 
 was he able to give an account of what had taken place. 
 He had been looking at the cow, and feeling it, when 
 down out of the hayloft had come leaping the form of 
 the Rooinek lieutenant, which had sprung in between him 
 and the cow, and, stooping, had wrapped a white rag 
 round his thigh, above the knee. And now the whole of 
 his leg was dead and livid. 
 
 ''There is nothing for it, father, but to have your leg 
 amputated," said Pete. " The doctor told me as much. 
 He said that mortification would set in if there was no 
 return of circulation." 
 
 "I won't have it off! What good shall I be with only 
 one leg ? " exclaimed the old man. 
 
 " But father, it will be the sole means of saving your 
 life." 
 
 " I won't have my leg off!" again repeated Jacob. 
 
 Pete said in a low tone to his mother : " Have you seen 
 any dark spots on his leg ? The doctor said we must 
 look for them, and, when they come, send for him at 
 once." 
 
 " No," she replied, " I have not noticed any, so far." 
 
 " Then we will wait till they appear." 
 
 On the fifth day the farmer was constrained to keep his 
 bed. 
 
 He had now become a prey to abject terror. So sure 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 377 
 
 as the hour of sunset came, did a new visitation occur. 
 He listened for the clock to sound each hour of the day, 
 and as the afternoon drew on he dreaded with unspeak- 
 able horror the advent of the moment when again the 
 apparition would be seen, and a fresh chill be inflicted. 
 He insisted that his wife or Pete should remain in the 
 room with him. They took it in turns to sit by his bedside. 
 
 Through the little window the fire of the setting sun 
 smote in and fell across the suffering man. 
 
 It was his wife's turn to be in attendance. 
 
 All at once a gurgling sound broke from his throat. 
 His eyes started from his face, his hair bristled, and with 
 his hands he worked himself into a sitting posture, and he 
 heaved himself on to his pillow, and would have broken 
 his way through the backboard of his bed, could he have 
 done so. 
 
 " What is it, Jacob ? " asked his wife, throwing down the 
 garment which she was mending, and coming to his 
 assistance. " Lie down again. There is nothing here." 
 
 He could not speak. His teeth were chattering, and 
 his beard shaking, foam-bubbles formed on his lips, and 
 great sweatdrops on his brow. 
 
 " Pete ! Samuel ! " she called, " come to your father." 
 
 The young men ran in, and they forcibly laid the old 
 Boer in bed, prostrate. 
 
 And now it was found that the right foot had turned 
 dead, like the left. 
 
 On the evening of the seventeenth day after the visit to 
 the well of Llanelian, Mrs. Winifred Jones was sitting on 
 the side of her bed in the twilight. She had lighted no 
 candle. She was musing, always on the same engrossing 
 topic, the wrong that had been done to her and her son, 
 and thirsting with a feverish thirst for vengeance on the 
 wrongdoer. 
 
 Her confidence in the expedient to which she had re- 
 
2,7^ A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 sorted was beginning to fail. What was this recourse to 
 the well but a falling in with an old superstition that had 
 died out with the advance of knowledge, and under the 
 influence of a wholesome feeling? Was any trust to be 
 placed in that woman at the workhouse? Was she de- 
 ceiving her for the sake of the half-sovereign ? And yet 
 — she had seen a token that her prayer would prove 
 efficacious. There had risen through the crystal water a 
 column of black fluid. 
 
 Could it be that a widow's prayer should meet with no 
 response ? Was wrong to prevail in the world ? Were the 
 weak and oppressed to have no means of procuring the 
 execution of justice on the evildoers? Was not God 
 righteous in all His ways ? Would it be righteous in Him 
 to suffer the murderer of her son to thrive? If God be 
 merciful, He is also just. If His ear is open to the prayer 
 for help, He must as well listen to the cry for vengeance. 
 
 Since that evening at the spring she had been unable to 
 pray as usual, to pray for herself — her only cry had been : 
 "Avenge me on my adversary!" If she tried to frame 
 the words of the Lord's Prayer, she could not do so. They 
 escaped her ; her thoughts travelled to the South African 
 veldt. Her soul could not rise to God in the ecstasy of 
 love and devotion ; it was choked with hate — an over- 
 whelming hate. 
 
 She was in her black weeds ; the hands, thin and white, 
 were on her lap, nervously clasping and unclasping the 
 fingers. Had anyone been there, in the grey twilight of a 
 summer night, he would have been saddened to see how 
 hard and lined the face had become, how all softness had 
 passed from the lips, how sunken were the eyes, in which 
 was only a glitter of wrath. 
 
 Suddenly she saw standing before her, indistinct indeed, 
 but unmistakable, the form of her lost son, her Aneurin, 
 and he held a white napkin in his right hand, and this 
 napkin emitted a phosphorescent glow. 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 379 
 
 She tried to cry out ; to utter the beloved name ; she 
 tried to spring to her feet and throw herself into his arms ! 
 But she was unable to stir hand, or foot, or tongue. She 
 was as one paralysed, but her heart bounded within her 
 bosom. 
 
 " Mother," said the apparition, in a voice that seemed to 
 come from a vast distance, yet was articulate and audible 
 — " Mother, you called me back from the world of spirits, 
 and sent me to discharge a task. I have done it. I have 
 touched him on the foot and calf and knee and thigh, on 
 hand and elbow and shoulder, on one side and on the 
 other, on his head, and lastly on his heart, with the white 
 flag — and now he is dead. I did it in all sixteen times, 
 and with the sixteenth he died. I chilled him piecemeal 
 with the white flag ; the sixteenth was laid on his heart, 
 and that stopped beating." 
 
 Then she lifted her hands slightly, and her stiffened 
 tongue relaxed so far that she was able to murmur : " God 
 be thanked!" 
 
 *' Mother," continued the apparition, " there is a seven- 
 teenth remaining." 
 
 She tried to clasp her hands on her lap, but the fingers 
 were no longer under her control ; they had fallen to the 
 side of the chair-bed, and hung there lifeless. Her eyes 
 stared wildly at the spectre of her son, but without love in 
 them ; love had faded out of her heart, and given place to 
 hate of his murderer. 
 
 " Mother," proceeded the vision, " you summoned me, 
 and even in the world of spirits the soul of a child must 
 respond to the cry of a mother, and I have been permitted 
 to come back and to do your will. And now I am suffered 
 to reveal something to you : to show you what my life 
 would have been had it not been cut short by the shot of 
 the Boer." 
 
 He stepped towards her, and put forth a vaporous hand 
 and touched her eyes. She felt as though a feather had 
 
38o A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 been passed over them. Then he raised the luminous sheet 
 and shook it. Instantly all about her was changed. 
 
 Mrs. Winifred Jones was not in her little Welsh cottage ; 
 nor was it night. She was no longer alone. She stood in 
 a court, in full daylight. She saw before her the judge on 
 his seat, the barristers in wig and gown, the press reporters 
 with their notebooks and pens, a dense crowd thronging 
 every portion of the court. And she knew instinctively, 
 before a word was spoken, without an intimation from the 
 spirit of her son, that she was standing in the Divorce 
 Court. And she sa.w there as co-respondent her son, older, 
 changed in face, but more altered in expression. And she 
 heard a tale unfolded — full of dishonour, and rousing 
 disgust. 
 
 She was now able to raise her hands — she covered her 
 ears ; her face, crimson with shame, sank on her bosom. 
 She could endure the sight, the words spoken, the revela- 
 tions made, no longer, and she cried out : " Aneurin ! 
 Aneurin ! for the Lord's sake, no more of this ! Oh, the 
 day, the day, that I have seen you standing here." 
 
 At once all passed ; and she was again in her bedroom 
 in Honeysuckle Cottage, North Wales, seated with folded 
 hands on her lap, and looking before her wonderingly at 
 the ghostly form of her son. 
 
 " Is that enough, mother?" 
 
 She lifted her hands deprecatingly. 
 
 Again he shook the glimmering white sheet, and it was 
 as though drops of pearly fire fell out of it. 
 
 And again — all was changed. 
 
 She found herself at Monte Carlo ; she knew it in- 
 stinctively. She was in the great saloon, where were 
 the gaming-tables. The electric lights glittered, and the 
 decorations were superb. But all her attention was en- 
 grossed on her son, whom she saw at one of the tables, 
 staking his last napoleon. 
 
 It was indeed her own Aneurin, but with a face on 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 381 
 
 which vice and its consequent degradation were written 
 indelibly. 
 
 He lost, and turned away, and left the hall and its 
 lights. His mother followed him. He went forth into the 
 gardens. The full moon was shining, and the gravel of 
 the terraces was white as snow. The air was fragrant 
 with the scent of oranges and myrtles. The palms cast 
 black shadows on the soil. The sea lay still as if asleep, 
 with a gleam over it from the moon. 
 
 Mrs. Winifred Jones tracked her son, as he stole in and 
 out among the shrubs, amid the trees, with a sickening fear 
 at her heart. Then she saw him pause by some oleanders, 
 and draw a revolver from his pocket and place it at his ear. 
 She uttered a cry of agony and horror, and tried to spring 
 forward to dash the weapon from his hand. 
 
 Then all changed. 
 
 She was again in her little room in the dusk, and the 
 shadowy form of Aneurin was before her. 
 
 " Mother," said the spirit, " I have been permitted to 
 come to you and to show to you what would have been 
 my career if I had not died whilst young, and fresh, and 
 innocent. You have to thank Jacob Van Heeren that he 
 saved me from such a life of infamy, and such an evil 
 death by my own hand. You should thank, and not curse 
 him." She was breathing heavily. Her heart beat so fast 
 that her brain span ; she fell on her knees. 
 
 " Mother," the apparition continued, " there were seven- 
 teen pebbles cast into the well." 
 
 " Yes, Aneurin," she whispered. 
 
 " And there is a seventeenth white flag. With the six- 
 teenth Jacob Van Heeren died. The seventeenth is re- 
 served for you." 
 
 "Aneurin ! I am not fit to die." 
 
 " Mother, it must be, I must lay the white flag over your 
 head." 
 
 " Oh ! my son, my son ! " 
 
382 A BOOK OF GHOSTS 
 
 " It is so ordained," he proceeded ; " but there are Love 
 and Mercy on high, and you shall not be veiled with it till 
 you have made your peace. You have sinned. You have 
 thrust yourself into the council-chamber of God. You 
 have claimed to exercise vengeance yourself, and not left 
 it to Him to whom vengeance in right belongs." 
 
 " I know it now," breathed the widow. 
 
 " And now you must atone for the curses by prayers. 
 You have brought Jacob Van Heeren to his death by your 
 imprecations, and now, fold your hands and pray to God 
 for him — for him, your son's murderer. Little have you 
 considered that his acts were due to ignorance, resentment 
 for what he fancied were wrongs, and to having been reared 
 in a mutilated and debased form of Christianity. Pray 
 for him, that God may pardon his many and great trans- 
 gressions, his falsehood, his treachery, his self-righteous- 
 ness. You who have been so greatly wronged are the 
 right person to forgive and to pray for his soul. In no other 
 way can you so fully show that your heart is turned from 
 wrath to love. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive 
 them that trespass against us." 
 
 She breathed a " Yes." 
 
 Then she clasped her hands. She was already on her 
 knees, and she prayed first the great Exemplar's prayer, 
 and then particularly for the man who had wrecked her 
 life, with all its hopes. 
 
 And as she prayed the lines in her face softened, and 
 the lips lost their hardness, and the fierce light passed 
 utterly away from her eyes, in which the lamp of Charity 
 was once more lighted, and the tears formed and rolled 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 And still she prayed on, bathed in the pearly light from 
 the summer sky at night. Without, in the firmament, 
 twinkled a star ; and a night-bird began to sing. 
 
 " And now, mother, pray for yourself" 
 
 Then she crossed her hands over her bosom, and bowed 
 
THE WHITE FLAG 383 
 
 her head, full of self-reproach and shame ; and as she 
 prayed, the spirit of her son raised the White Flag above 
 her and let it sail down softly, lightly over the loved head, 
 and as it descended there fell from it as it were a dew of 
 pale fire, and it rested on her head, and fell about her, and 
 she sank forward with her face upon the floor. R.I.P. 
 
PLYMOUTH 
 
 WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON 
 
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