Cecilia de Noel

BY

LANOE FALCONER

MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED ST.MARTINS ST., LONDON 1910

CECILIA DE NOEL

CHAPTER I

ATHERLEY'S GOSPEL

"There is no revelation but that ofscience," said Atherley.

It was after dinner in the drawing-room. From the cold of the earlyspring night, closed shutters and drawncurtains carefully protected us; shadedlamps and a wood fire diffused anexquisite twilight; we breathed a mildand even balmy atmosphere scentedwith hothouse flowers.

"And this revelation completely satisfiesall reasonable desires," he continued,surveying his small audience from thehearthrug where he stood; "mind, I sayall reasonable desires. If you have a

healthy appetite for bread, you will getit and plenty of it, but if you have asickly craving for manna, why then youwill come badly off, that is all. This isthe gospel of fact, not of fancy: ofthings as they actually are, you know,instead of as A dreamt they were, or Bdecided they ought to be, or C wouldlike to have them. So this gospel is aptto look a little dull beside the highlycoloured romances the churches haveaccustomed us to as a modern plate-glass window might, compared with astained-glass oriel in a mediaevalcathedral. There is no doubt which isthe prettier of the two. The question is,do you want pretty colour or do youwant clear daylight " He paused, but

neither of his listeners spoke. LadyAtherley was counting the stitches ofher knitting; I was too tired; so heresumed: "For my part, I prefer thedaylight and the glass, without anydaubing. What does science discover inthe universe Precision, accuracy,reliability any amount of it; but as topity, mercy, love! The fact is, thatfamous simile of the angel playing atchess was a mistake. Very smart, I grantyou, but altogether misleading. Why!the orthodox quote it as much as theothers always a bad sign. It tickles theseanthropomorphic fancies, which are atthe bottom of all their creeds. Imagineyourself playing at chess, not with anangel, but with an automaton, an

admirably constructed automatonwhose mechanism can outwit yourbrains any day: calm and strong, if youlike, but no more playing for love thanthe clock behind me is ticking for love;there you have a much clearer notionof existence. A much clearer notion,and a much more satisfactory notiontoo, I say. Fair play and no favour! Whatmore can you ask, if you are fit to live "

His kindling glance sought the fartherend of the long drawing-room; had itfallen upon me instead, perhaps thatlast challenge might have been lessassured; and yet how bravely it becamethe speaker, whose wide-browed head ano less admirable frame supported.

Even the stiff evening uniform of hisclass could not conceal the grace ofform which health and activity hadmoulded, working through highlyfavoured generations. There was latentforce implied in every line of it, and, inthe steady poise of look and mien, thatperfect nervous balance which is thecrown of strength.

"And with our creed, of course, weshift our moral code as well. The tencommandments, or at least the secondtable, we retain for obvious reasons,but the theological virtues must be gotrid of as quickly as possible. Charity,for instance, is a mischievous quality itis too indulgent to weakness, which is

not to be indulged or encouraged, butstamped out. Hope is anotherpernicious quality leading to all kindsof preposterous expectations whichnever are, or can be, fulfilled; and as tofaith, it is simply a vice. So far fromtaking anything on trust, you mustrefuse to accept any statementwhatsoever till it is proved so plainlyyou can't help believing it whether youlike it or not; just as a theorem in "

"George," said Lady Atherley, "what isthat noise "

The question, timed as Lady Atherley'sremarks so often were, came withsomething of a shock. Her husband,

thus checked in full flight, seemed toreel for a moment, but quicklyrecovering himself, asked resignedly:"What noise "

"Such a strange noise, like the howlingof a dog."

"Probably it is the howling of a dog."

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

I confessed that I had not.

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

"Why, there it is again," cried LadyAtherley.

Atherley instantly rang the bell nearhim, and while Lady Atherleycontinued to repeat that it was verystrange, and that she could not imaginewhat it could be, he waited silently tillhis summons was answered by afootman.

"Charles, what is the meaning of thatcrying or howling which seems to comefrom your end of the house "

"I think, Sir George," said Charles, withthe coldly impassive manner of ahighly-trained servant "I think, SirGeorge, it must be Ann, the kitchen-maid, that you hear."

"Indeed! and may I ask what Ann, thekitchen-maid, is supposed to be doing"

"If you please, Sir George, she is inhysterics."

"Oh! why " exclaimed Lady Atherley

plaintively.

"Because, my lady, Mrs. Mallet has seenthe ghost!"

"Because Mrs. Mallet has seen theghost!" repeated Atherley. "Pray, what isMrs. Mallet herself doing under thecircumstances "

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

"Mrs. Mallet is a sensible woman," saidAtherley heartily; "Ann, the kitchen-maid, had better follow her example."

"You may go, Charles," said Lady

Atherley; and, as the door closedbehind him, exclaimed, "I wish thathorrid woman had never entered thehouse!"

"What horrid woman Your toosympathetic kitchen-maid "

"No, that that Mrs. Mallet."

"Why are you angry with her Becauseshe has seen the ghost "

"Yes, for I told her most particularly thevery day I engaged her, after Mrs. Webbleft us in that sudden way I told her Inever allowed the ghost to bementioned."

"And why, my dear, did you break yourown excellent rule by mentioning it toher "

"Because she had the impertinence totell me, almost directly she came intothe morning-room, that she knew allabout the ghost; but I stopped her atonce, and said that if ever she spoke ofsuch a thing especially to the otherservants, I should be very muchdispleased; and now she goes andbehaves in this way."

"Where did you pick up this viper "

"She comes from Quarley Beacon.

There was no one in this stupid villagewho could cook at all, and Cecilia deNoel, who recommended her "

"Cecilia de Noel!" repeated Atherley,with that long-drawn emphasis whichsuggests so much. "My dear Jane, Imust say that in taking a servant onCissy's recommendation you did notdisplay your usual sound commonsense. I should as soon have thoughtof asking her to buy me a gun,knowing that she would carefully pickout the one least likely to shootanything. Cissy is accustomed to lookupon a servant as something to bewaited on and taken care of. Her ownhousehold, as we all know, is composed

chiefly of chronic invalids."

"But I explained to Cecilia that Iwanted somebody who was strong aswell as a good cook; and I am surethere is nothing the matter with Mrs.Mallet. She is as fat as possible, and asred! Besides, she has never been one ofCecilia's servants; she only goes there tohelp sometimes; and she says she isperfectly respectable."

"Mrs. Mallet says that Cissy is perfectlyrespectable "

"No, George; it is not likely that Ishould allow a person in Mrs. Mallet'sposition to speak disrespectfully to me

about Cecilia. Cecilia said Mrs. Malletwas perfectly respectable."

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

"Cecilia may be peculiar in many ways,but she is too much of a lady to sendme any one who was not quite nice. Idon't believe there is anything againstMrs. Mallet's character. She cooks verywell, you must allow that; you said onlytwo days ago you never had tasted anomelette so nicely made in England."

"Did she cook that omelette Then I amsure she is perfectly respectable; andpray let her see as many ghosts as she

cares to, especially if it leads to nothingworse than her taking a moderatequantity of brandy. Time to smoke,Lindy. I am off."

I dragged myself up after my usualfashion, and was preparing to followhim, when Lady Atherley, directly hewas gone, began:

"It is such a pity that clever people cannever see things as others do. Georgealways goes on in this way as if theghost were of no consequence, but Ialways knew how it would be. Ofcourse it is nice that George shouldcome in for the place, as he might nothave done if his uncle had married,

and people said it would be delightfulto live in such an old house, but thereare a good many drawbacks, I canassure you. Sir Marmaduke livedabroad for years before he died, andeverything has got into such a state. Wehave had to nearly refurnish the house;the bedrooms are not done yet. Theservants' accommodation is very badtoo, and there was no proper cooking-range in the kitchen. But the worst ofall is the ghost. Directly I heard of it Iknew we should have trouble with theservants; and we had not been here amonth when our cook, who had livedwith us for years, gave warning becausethe place was damp. At first she said itwas the ghost, but when I told her not

to talk such nonsense she said it wasthe damp. And then it is so awkwardabout visitors. What are we to do whenthe fishing season begins I cannot getGeorge to understand that some peoplehave a great objection to anything ofthe kind, and are quite angry if you putthem into a haunted room. And it ismuch worse than having only onehaunted room, because we could makethat into a bachelor's bedroom I don'tthink they mind; or a linen cupboard,as they do at Wimbourne Castle; butthis ghost seems to appear in all therooms, and even in the halls andpassages, so I cannot think what we areto do."

I said it was extraordinary, and I meantit. That a ghost should venture intoAtherley's neighbourhood was lessamazing than that it should continue toexist in his wife's presence, so muchmore fatal than his eloquence to all butthe tangible and the solid. Herorthodoxy is above suspicion, but aftersome hours of her society I am unableto contemplate any aspects of life savethe comfortable and theuncomfortable: while the Universeitself appears to me only a giganticapparatus especially designed toprovide Lady Atherley and her classwith cans of hot water at statedintervals, costly repasts elaboratelyserved, and all other requisites of

irreproachable civilisation.

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

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

"You look dead beat," he said later on,in his own particular and untidy den, ashe carefully stuffed the bowl of hispipe. "I think it would go better withyou, old chap, if you did not holdyourself in quite so tight. I don't wantyou to rave or commit suicide in someuntidy fashion, as the hero of a French

novel does; but you are as well-behavedas a woman, without a woman's grandresources of hysterics and generalunreasonableness all round. You alwayswere a little too good for humannature's daily food. Your notions onsome points are quite unwholesomelysuperfine. It would be a comfort to seeyou let out in some way. I wish youwould have a real good fling for once."

"I should have to pay too dear for itafterwards. My superfine habits are nota matter of choice only, you mustremember."

"Oh! the women! Not the best of themis worth bothering about, let alone a

shameless jilt."

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

"You never understood her, Lindy. Itwas not a case of jilting a cripple at all.She jilted three thousand a year and asmall place for ten thousand a year anda big one."

After all, it did hurt a little, whichAtherley must have divined, forcrossing the room on some pretext oranother he let his strong hand rest, just

for an instant, gently upon myshoulder, thus, after the manner of hisrace, mutely and concisely expressingaffection and sympathy that might haveswelled a canto.

"I shall be sorry," he said presently,lying rather than sitting in the deepchair beside the fire, "very sorry, if theghost is going to make itself anuisance."

"What is the story of the ghost "

"Story! God bless you, it has none totell, sir; at least it never has told it, andno one else rightly knows it. It I meanthe ghost is older than the family. We

found it here when we came into theplace about two hundred years ago, andit refused to be dislodged. It is ratheruncertain in its habits. Sometimes it isnot heard of for years; then all at onceit reappears, generally, I may observe,when some imaginative female in thehouse is in love, or out of spirits, orbored in any other way. She sees it, andthen, of course the complaint beinghighly infectious so do a lot more. Oneof the family started the theory it wasthe ghost of the portrait, or rather theunknown individual whose portraithangs high up over the sideboard in thedining-room."

"You don't mean the lady in green

velvet with the snuff-box "

"Certainly not; that is my own great-grand-aunt. I mean a square of blackcanvas with one round yellow spot inthe middle and a dirty white smudgeunder the spot. There are members ofthis family Aunt Eleanour, for instancewho tell me the yellow spot is a man'sface and the dirty white smudge is anElizabethan ruff. Then there is a pictureof a man in armour in the oak room,which I don't believe is a portrait at all;but Aunt Henrietta swears it is, and ofthe ghost, too as he was before he died,of course. And very interesting detailsboth my aunts are ready to furnishconcerning the two originals. It is

extraordinary what an amount ofinformation is always forthcomingabout things of which nobody canknow anything as about the next world,for instance. The, last time I went tochurch the preacher gave as minute anaccount of what our post-mortemexperiences were to be as if he hadgone through it all himself severaltimes."

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

"It depends entirely upon who sees it aghost always does. Last night, forinstance, I lay you odds it wore neitherruff nor armour, because Mrs. Mallet is

not likely to have heard of either theone or the other. Not that she saw theghost not she. What she saw was abogie, not a ghost."

"Why, what is the difference "

"Immense! As big as that whichseparates the objective from thesubjective. Any one can see a bogie. It isa real thing belonging to the externalworld. It may be a bright light, a whitesheet, or a black shadow always atnight, you know, or at least in the dusk,when you are apt to be a little mixed inyour observations. The best example ofa bogie was Sir Walter Scott's. It lookedin the twilight remember exactly like

Lord Byron, who had not longdeparted this life at the time Sir Waltersaw it. Nine men out of ten wouldhave gone off and sworn they had seena ghost; why, religions have beenfounded on just such stuff: but SirWalter, as sane a man as ever livedthough he did write poetry kept hishead clear and went up closer to hisghost, which proved on examination tobe a waterproof."

"A waterproof "

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

"Well, what is a ghost "

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

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

"I am glad to hear it. It does you credit.If ever any one had an excuse forseeing a ghost it would be a man whosespine was jarred. But I meant nothingpersonal by the pronoun only to givegreater force to my remarks. The firstperson singular will do instead. Theghost belongs to the same lot, as thefaces that make mouths at me when Ihave brain-fever, the reptiles that crawl

about when I have an attack of theD.T., or to take a more familiar examplethe spots I see floating before my eyeswhen my liver is out of order. You willallow there is nothing supernatural inall that "

"Certainly. Though, did not that prettyniece of Mrs. Molyneux's say she usedto see those spots floating before hereyes when a misfortune was impending"

"I fancy she did, and true enough too,as such spots would very likely precedea bilious attack, which is misfortuneenough while it lasts. But still, evenMrs. Molyneux's niece, even Mrs.

Molyneux herself, would not say thefever faces, or the reptiles, or the spots,were supernatural. And in fact theghost is, so far, more more recherche, letus say, than the other things. It takesmore than a bilious attack or a fever, oreven D.T., to produce a ghost. It takesnothing less than a pretty high degreeof nervous sensibility and excitableimagination. Now these two disordershave not been much developed yet bythe masses, in spite of the school-boards: ergo, any apparition whichleads to hysterics or brandy-and-waterin the servants' hall is a bogie, not aghost."

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe,

and added:

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

It was a strange house, Weald Manor,designed, one might suppose, by someinveterate enemy of light. It lay at thefoot of a steep hill which screened itfrom the morning sun, and the fewwindows which looked towards therising day were so shaped as to admitbut little of its brightness. At night itwas even worse, at least in the halls andpassages, for there, owing probably tothe dark oak which lined both wallsand floor, a generous supply of lamps

did little more than illumine the surfaceof the darkness, leaving unfathomedand unexplained mysterious shadowsthat brooded in distant corners, or,towering giant-wise to the ceiling,loomed ominously overhead. Will-o'-the-wisp-like reflections from ourlighted candles danced in the polishedsurface of panel and balustrade, asfrom the hall we went upstairs, Ihelping myself from step to step byAtherley's arm, as instinctively, asunconsciously almost, as he offered it.We stopped on the first landing. Beforeus rose the stairs leading to the gallerywhere Atherley's bedroom was: to ourleft ran "the bachelor's passage," whereI was lodged.

"Night, night," were Atherley's partingwords. "Don't dream of flirts or ghosts,but sleep sound."

Sleep sound! the kind words soundedlike mockery. Sleep to me, always charyof her presence, was at best but a fair-weather friend, instantly deserting mewhen pain or exhaustion made mecrave the more for rest andforgetfulness; but I had something todo in the interim a little auto-da-fe toperform, by which, with that faith inceremonial, so deep laid in humannature, I meant once for all to lay theghost that haunted me the ghost of adelightful but irrevocable past, with

which I had dallied too long.

Sitting before the wood-fire I slowlyunfolded them: the three faintly-perfumed sheets with the giltmonogram above the pointed writing:

"Dear Mr. Lyndsay," ran the first, "whydid you not come over to-day I wasexpecting you to appear all theafternoon. Yours sincerely, G.E.L."

The second was dated four weeks later

"You silly boy! I forbid you ever towrite or talk of yourself in such a wayagain. You are not a cripple; and if youhad ever had a mother or a sister, you

would know how little women think ofsuch things. How many moreassurances do you expect from me Doyou wish me to propose to you againNo, if you won't have me, go. Yours, inspite of yourself, GLADYS."

The third the third is too long to quoteentire; besides, the substance iscontained in this last sentence

"So I think, my dear Mr. Lyndsay, foryour sake more than my own, ourengagement had better be broken off."

In this letter, dated six weeks ago, shehad charged me to burn all that she hadwritten to me, and as yet I had not

done so, shrinking from the sharpunreasonable pain with which we burythe beloved dead. But the time of mymourning was accomplished. I tore thepaper into fragments and droppedthem into the flames.

It must have been the pang with whichI watched them darken and shrivel thatbrought back the memory of anothersharp stab. It was that day ten years ago,when I walked for the first time aftermy accident. Supported by a stick onone side, and by Atherley on the other,I crawled down the long gallery athome and halted before a high wide-open window to see the sunlit view ofpark and woods and distant downland.

Then all at once, ridden by my groom,Charming went past with feet thatverily danced upon the greensward, andquivering nostrils that rapturouslyinhaled the breath of spring and ofmorning. I said: "George, I want you tohave Charming." And it made me smile,even in that bitter moment, toremember how indistinctly, howchurlishly almost, Atherley accepted thegift, in his eager haste to get me out ofsight and thought of it.

It was long before the last flutteringrags had vanished, transmuted intofiery dust. The clock on the landinghad many times chanted its dirge since Ihad heard below the footsteps of the

servants carrying away the lamps fromthe sitting-rooms and the hall. Later stillcame the far-off sound of Atherley'sdoor closing behind him, like the finalgood-night of the waking day. Over allthe unconscious household had stolenthat silence which is more than silence,that hush which seems to wait forsomething, that stillness of the night-watch which is kept alone. It wasfamiliar enough to me, but to-night ithad a new meaning; like the sunlightthat shines when we are happy, or therain that falls when we are weeping, itseemed, as if in sympathy, to berepeating and accenting what I couldnot so vividly have told in words. In mylife, and for the second time, there was

the same desolate pause, as if thedreary tale were finished and only thedrearier epilogue remained to livethrough the same sense of sadseparation from the happy and thehealthful.

I made a great effort to read, holdingthe book before me and compellingmyself to follow the sentences, but thatpower of abstraction which canconquer pain does not belong totemperaments like mine. If only I couldhave slept, as men have been able to doeven upon the rack; but every hour thatpassed left me more awake, more alive,more supersensitive to suffering.

Early in the morning, long before thedawn, I must have been feverish, Ithink. My head and hands burned, theair of the room stifled me, I was losingmy self-control.

I opened the window and leant out.The cool air revived me bodily, but tothe fever of the spirit it brought norelief. To my heart, if not to my lips,sprang the old old cry for help whichanguish has wrung from generationafter generation. The agony of mine, Ifelt wildly, must pierce through sense,time, space, everything even to theLiving Heart of all, and bring thencesome token of pity! For one instant mypassion seemed to beat against the

silent heavens, then to fall back bruisedand bleeding.

Out of the darkness came not so muchas a wind whisper or the twinkle of astar.

Was Atherley right after all

CHAPTER II

THE STRANGER'S GOSPEL

From the short unsatisfying slumberwhich sometimes follows a night ofinsomnia I was awakened by the

laughter and shouts of children. WhenI looked out I saw brooding above thehollow a still gray day, in whose lightthe woodlands of the park were all insombre brown, and the trout streambetween its sedgy banks glided darkand lustreless.

On the lawn, still wet with dew, andcrossed by the shadows of the bareelms, Atherley's little sons, Harold andDenis, were playing with a veryunlovely but much-beloved mongrelcalled Tip. They had bought him withtheir own pocket-money from a tinkerwho was ill-using him, and thenclaimed for him the hospitality of theirparents; so, though Atherley often

spoke of the dog as a disgrace to thehousehold, he remained a memberthereof, and received, from a familyincapable of being uncivil, far lessunkind, to an animal, as much attentionas if he had been high-bred andbeautiful which indeed he plainlysupposed himself to be.

When, about an hour later, after theirdaily custom, this almost inseparabletrio fell into the breakfast-room as ifthe door had suddenly given waybefore them, the boys were able torevenge themselves for the rebuke thisentrance provoked by the tidings theybrought with them.

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

"Take your arms off the table, Harold,"said Lady Atherley. "Pray, how do youknow Mrs. Mallet is going "

"She said so herself. She said," he wenton, screwing up his nose and speakingin a falsetto to express the intensity ofhis scorn "she said she was afraid ofthe ghost."

"I told you I did not allow that word tobe mentioned."

"I did not; it was old Mallet."

"But, pray, what were you doing in oldMallet's domain " asked Atherley.

"Cooking cabbage for Tip."

"Hum! What with ghosts by night andboys by day, our cook seems to have apleasant time of it; I shall be glad whenMiss Jones's holidays are over.Castleman, is it true that Mrs. Mallettalks of leaving us because of the ghost"

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

morning."

"And how is the kitchen-maid "

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

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

"The usual doctor is away," said LadyAtherley. "There is a London doctor inhis place. He is clever, Lady Sylvia said,but he gives himself airs."

"Never mind what he gives himself ifhe gives his patients the right thing."

"And after all we can manage very wellwithout Ann, but what are we to doabout Mrs. Mallet I always told youhow it would be."

"But, my dear, it is not my fault. Youlook as reproachfully at me as if it weremy ghost which was causing all thisdisturbance instead of the ghost of aremote ancestor predecessor, in fact."

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

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

"How can I prevent her going I thinkyou had better talk to her yourself."

"I should like to meet her very much;would not you, Lindy I should like tohear her story; it must be a blood-curdling one, to judge from its effectupon Ann. The only person I have yetmet who pretended to have seen theghost was Aunt Eleanour."

"And what was it like, daddy " askedDenis, much interested.

"She did not say, Den. She would nevertell me anything about it."

"Would she tell me "

"I am afraid not. I don't think shewould tell any one, except perhaps Mr.Lyndsay. He has a way of wormingthings out of people."

"Mr. Lyndsay, how do you worm thingsout of people "

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

"First, by never asking any questions,"said Atherley promptly; "and then by a

curious way he has of looking as if hewas listening attentively to what wassaid to him, instead of thinking, asmost people do, what he shall sayhimself when he gets a chance ofputting a word in."

"But how could Aunt Eleanour see theghost when there is not any such thing" cried Harold.

"How indeed!" said his father, rising;"that is just the puzzle. It will take youyears to find it out. Lindy, look into themorning-room in about half an hour,and you will hear a tale whose lightestword will harrow up thy soul, etc., etc."

As Lady Atherley kindly seconded thisinvitation I accepted it, though notwith the consequences predicted.Anything less suggestive of thesupernatural, or in every way less likethe typical ghost-seer, was surely neverproduced than the round and rubicundlittle person I found in conversationwith the Atherleys. Mrs. Mallet was abrunette who might once haveconsidered herself a beauty, to judge bythe self-conscious and self-satisfiedsimper which the ghastliestrecollections were unable to banish. AsI entered I caught only the last wordsof Atherley's speech

" treating you well, Mrs. Mallet "

"Oh no, Sir George," answered Mrs.Mallet, standing very straight and stiff,with two plump red hands foldeddemurely before her; "which I have nota word to say against any one, but havemet, ever since I come here, with thegreatest of kindness and respect. Butthe noises, sir, the noises of a night ismore than I can abear."

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

"No rats in this world ever made sech anoise, Sir George; which the very firstnight as I slep here, there come themost mysterioustest sounds as ever Ihear, which I says to Hann, 'Whatever

are you a-doing ' which she woke up allof a suddent, as young people will, andsaid she never hear nor yet seenothing."

"What was the noise like, Mrs. Mallet "

"Well, Sir George, I can only compare itto the dragging of heavy furniture,which I really thought at first it was herladyship a-coming upstairs to wakenme, took bad with burglars or a fire."

"But, Mrs. Mallet, I am sure you are toobrave a woman to mind a little noise."

"It is not only noises, Sir George. Lastnight "

Mrs. Mallet drew a long breath andclosed her eyes.

"Yes, Mrs. Mallet, pray go on; I am verycurious to hear what did happen lastnight."

"It makes the cold chills run over me tothink of it. We was all gone to bedleastways the maids and me, and Hannand me was but just got to my roomwhen says she to me, 'Oh la! whateverdo you think ' says she; 'I promisedEllen when she went out this afternoonas I would shut the windows in thepink bedroom at four o'clock, andnever come to think of it till this

minute,' she says. 'Oh dear,' I says, 'andthem new chintzes will be entirelyruined with the damp. Why, what agood-for-nothing girl you are!' I says,'and what you thinks on half your timeis more than I can tell.' 'Whatever shall Ido ' she says, 'for go along there at thistime of night all by myself I dare not,'says she. 'Well,' I says, 'rather than youshould go alone, I'll go along with you,'I says, 'for stay here by myself I wouldnot,' I says, 'not if any one was to payme hundreds.' So we went down ourstairs and along our passage to the doorwhich you go into the gallery, Hann a-clutching hold of me and starting,which when we come into the gallery Iwas all of a tremble, and she shook so I

said, 'La! Hann, for goodness' sake docarry that candle straight, or you willgrease the carpet shameful;' and cometo the pink room I says, 'Open thedoor.' 'La!' says she, 'what if we was tosee the ghost ' 'Hold your silly nonsensethis minute,' I says, 'and open the door,'which she do, but stand right back forto let me go first, when, true as ever Iam standing here, my lady, I seesomething white go by like a flash, andstruck me cold in the face, and blew thecandle out, and then come thefearfullest noise, which thunderclaps isnothing to it. Hann began a-screaming,and we ran as fast as ever we could tillwe come to the pantry, where Mr.Castleman and the footman was. I

thought I should ha' died: died Ithought I should. My face was as whiteas that antimacassar."

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

But Mrs. Mallet with great dignityretorted

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

"Very alarming," said Atherley, "buteasily explained. Directly you openedthe door there was, of course, adraught from the open window. That

draught blew the candle out andknocked something over, probably ascreen."

"La' bless you, Sir George, it was morelike paving-stones than screens a-falling."

And indeed Mrs. Mallet was so farright, that when, to settle the weightyquestion once for all, we adjourned in abody to the pink bedroom, wediscovered that nothing less than theceiling, or at least a portion of it, hadfallen, and was lying in a heap ofbroken plaster upon the floor.However, the moral, as Atherleyhastened to observe, was the same.

"You see, Mrs. Mallet, this was whatmade the noise."

Mrs. Mallet made no reply, but it wasevident she neither saw nor intended tosee anything of the kind; and Atherleywisely substituted bribery for reasoning.But even with this he made little way tillaccidentally he mentioned the name ofMrs. de Noel, when, as if it had been aname to conjure by, Mrs. Mallet showedsigns of softening.

"Yes, think of Mrs. de Noel, Mrs.Mallet; what will she say if you leaveher cousin to starve "

"I should not wish such a thing tohappen for a moment," said Mrs.Mallet, as if this had been no figure ofspeech but the actual alternative, "notto any relation of Mrs. de Noel."

And shortly after the debate ended witha cheerful "Well, Mrs. Mallet, you willgive us another trial," from Atherley.

"There," he exclaimed, as we all threereturned to the morning-room "there isas splendid an example of themanufacture of a bogie as you are everlikely to meet with. All the spiritualphenomena are produced much in thesame way. Work yourself up into agreat state of terror and excitement, in

the first place; in the next, procure onecompanion, if not more, as credulousand excitable as yourself; go at a latehour and with a dim light to a placewhere you have been told you will seesomething supernatural; steadfastly anddeterminedly look out for it, and youwill have your reward. These areprecisely the lines on which a spiritualseance is conducted, only instead ofplaster, which is not always so obligingas to fall in the nick of time, you have apaid medium who supplies the materialfor your fancy to work upon. Mrs.Mallet, you see, has discovered all thisfor herself that woman is a borngenius. Just think what she might havebeen and seen if she had lived in a

sphere where neither cooking nor anyother rational occupation interferedwith her pursuit of the supernatural.Mrs. Molyneux would be nowherebeside her."

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

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

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

"It is the quality of the climate," saidAtherley. "It is horribly destructive. Ifyou would read the batch of lettersnow on my writing-table from tenant-farmers you would see what I mean:barns, roofs, gates, everything is fallingto pieces and must immediately berepaired at the landlord's expense, ofcourse."

"We must send for a plasterer," saidLady Atherley, "and then the doctor.Perhaps you would have time to goround his way, George."

"No, I have no time to go anywhere butto Northside farm. Hunt has beenwaiting nearly half an hour for me, as it

is. Lindy, would you like to come withme "

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

"Don't compare yourself to a pooroverworked underpaid landowner likeme. You are one of the landlords theyspout about in London parks onSundays. You have nothing to do butsign receipts for your rents, paid in fulland up to date."

"Mr. Lyndsay is an excellent landlord,"said Lady Atherley; "and they tell methe new church and the schools he has

built are charming."

"Very mischievous things both," saidAtherley. "Ta-ta."

That afternoon, Atherley being stillabsent, and Lady Atherley having goneforth to pay a round of calls, the littleboys undertook my entertainment.They were in rather a sober mood forthem, having just forfeited four weeks'pocket-money towards expensesincurred by Tip in the dairy, where theyhad foolishly allowed him to enter; sothey accepted very good-humouredlymy objections to wading in the river orclimbing trees, and took me instead fora walk to Beggar's Stile. We climbed up

the steep carriage-drive to the lodge,passed through the big iron gates,turned sharply to the left, and wentdown the road which the park palingsborder and the elms behind themshade, past the little copse beyond thepark, till we came to a tumble-downgate with a stile beside it in thehedgerow; and this was Beggar's Stile. Itwas just on the brow of the little hillwhich sloped gradually downward tothe village beneath, and commanded awide view of the broad shallow valleyand of the rising ground beyond.

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

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

"Yes, a little."

"I s'pose you are tired because youalways have to pull your leg after you,"said Denis, turning upon me two largetopaz-coloured eyes. "Does it hurt you,Mr. Lyndsay "

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

"No, she didn't; she said I was not totalk about the funny way he walked.She said "

"Well, never mind, little man," Iinterrupted. "Is that Weald down there"

"Yes," cried Denis, maintaining hisbalance on the topmost bar but one ofthe gate with enviable ease. "All thesecottages and houses belong to Weald,and it is all daddy's on this side of theriver down to where you see the whiterailings a long way down near thepoplars, and that is the road we go totea with Aunt Eleanour; and do you seea little blue speck on the hill over thereYou could see if you had a telescope.Daddy showed me once; but you mustshut your eye. That is Quarley Beacon,

where Aunt Cissy lives."

"No, she does not, stupid," criedHarold, now suspended, headdownwards, by one foot, from thetopmost rail of the gate. "No one livesthere. She lives in Quarley Manor, justbehind."

Denis replied indirectly to thediscourteous tone of this speech bytrying with the point of his own footto dislodge that by which Haroldmaintained his remarkable position,and a scuffle ensued, wherein, though anon-combatant, I seemed likely to getthe worst, when their attention wasfortunately diverted by the sight of Tip

sneaking off, and evidently with thevilest motives, towards the covert.

My memory was haunted that day bycertain words spoken seven monthsago by Atherley, and by me at the timevery ungraciously received:

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

No, nor could I work them off, as somemight have done. I possessed nodistinct talents, no marked vocation. Ifthere was nothing behind and beyondall this, what an empty freak of destiny

my life would have been full, not evenof sound and fury, but of dullcommon-place suffering: a tale told byan idiot with a spice of malice in him.

Then the view before me made itselffelt, as a gentle persistent sound mighthave done: a flat, almost featurelessscene a little village church withcottages and gardens clustering aboutit, straggling away from it, by copsesand meadows in which winter had leftonly the tenderest shades of thesaddest colours. The winding riverbrightened the dull picture with brokenglints of silver, and the tawny hues ofthe foreground faded through softgradations of violet and azure into a

far distance of pearly grey. It is not thescenery men cross continents andoceans to admire, and yet it has amessage of its own. I felt it that daywhen I was heart-weary, and was gladthat in one corner of this restless worldthe little hills preach peace.

Meantime Tip had been recaptured,and when he, or rather the groundclose beside him, had been beatenseverely with sticks, and he himselfupbraided in terms which left thecensors hoarse, we went down againinto the hollow. Then Lady Atherleyreturned and gave me tea; andafterwards, in the library, I worked ataccounts till it was nearly too dark to

write. No doubt on the high groundthe sky was aflame with brilliant colour,of which only a dim reflection tingedthe dreary view of sward and leaflesstrees, to which, for some mysteriousreason, a gig crawling down thecarriage-drive gave the last touch ofdesolation.

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

"If you will wait here, sir, I will find herladyship."

The new-comer was young and slight,with an erect carriage and a firm step.

He had the finely-cut features and dullcolouring which I associate with thehigh-pressure life of a busy town, sothat I guessed who he was before hisfirst words told me.

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

The thought of this said patient mademe smile, and in explanation I told himfrom what she was supposed to besuffering.

"Well; it is less common than otherforms of feverishness, but willprobably yield to the same remedies,"

was his only comment.

"You do not believe in ghosts "

"Pardon me, I do, just as I believe in allsymptoms. When my patient tells me hehears bells ringing in his ear, or feels theground swaying under his feet, I believehim implicitly, though I know nothingof the kind is actually taking place. Theghost, so far, belongs to the same classas the other experiences, that it is asymptom it may be of a very trifling, itmay be of a very serious, disorder."

The voice, the keen flash of the eye,impressed me. I recognised one ofthose alert intelligences, beside whose

vivid flame the mental life of mostmen seems to smoulder. I wished tohear him speak again.

"Is this your view of all supernaturalmanifestations "

"Of all so-called supernaturalmanifestations; I don't understand theword or the distinction. No eventwhich has actually taken place can besupernatural. Since it belongs to theactual it must be governed by, it mustbe the outcome of, laws whicheverywhere govern the actualeverywhere and at all times. In fact, itmust be natural, whatever we may thinkof it."

"Then if a miracle could be proven, itwould be no miracle to you "

"Certainly not."

"And it could convince you of nothing"

"Neither me nor any one else who hasoutgrown his childhood, I shouldthink. I have never been able tounderstand the outcry of the orthodoxover their lost miracles. It makes theirposition neither better nor worse. Themiracles could never prove their creeds.How am I to recognise a divinemessenger He makes the furniture float

about the room; he changes that coalinto gold; he projects himself or hisimage here when he is a thousand milesaway. Why, an emissary from the devilmight do as much! It only provesalways supposing he really does thesethings instead of merely appearing todo so it proves that he is betteracquainted with natural laws than I am.What if he could kill me by an effortof the will What if he could bring meto life again It is always the same; hemight still be morally my inferior; hemight be a false prophet after all."

He took out his watch and looked at it,by this simple action illustrating andreminding me of the difference

between us he talking to pass away thetime, I thinking aloud the gnawingquestion at my heart.

"And you have no hope for anythingbeyond this "

Something in my voice must havestruck his ear, trained like every otherorgan of observation to quick and fineperception, for he looked at me moreattentively, and it was in a gentler tonethat he said

"Surely, you do not mean for a lifebeyond this One's best hope must bethat the whole miserable business endswith death."

"Have you found life so wretched "

"I am not speaking from my ownparticular point of view. I amsingularly, exceptionally, fortunate, I amhealthy; I have tastes which I cangratify, work which I keenly enjoy.Whether the tastes are worth gratifyingor the work worth doing I cannot say.At least they act as an anodyne to self-consciousness; they help me to forgetthe farce in which I play my part. LikeSolomon, and all who have had thebest of life, I call it vanity. What do yousuppose it is to those by far the largestnumber, remember who have had theworst of it To them it is not vanity, it is

misery."

"But they suffer under the invariablelaws you speak of laws workingtowards deliverance and happiness inthe future."

"The future Yes, I know that form ofconsolation which seems to satisfy somany. To me it seems a hollow one. Ihave never yet been able to understandhow any amount of ecstasy enjoyed byB a million years hence can make up forthe torture A is suffering to-day. Isuppose, dealing so much withindividuals as I do, I am inclined toindividualise like a woman. I think ofunits rather than of the mass. At this

moment I have before me a patientnow left suffering pain as acute as anythe rack ever inflicted. How does itaffect his case that centuries later suchpain may be unknown "

"Of course, the individual's one andonly hope is a future existence. Then itmay be all made up to him."

"I see no reason to hope so. Eitherthere is no God, and we shall still be atthe mercy of the blind destiny wesuffer under here; or there is a God, theGod who looks on at this world andmakes no sign! The sooner we escapefrom Him by annihilation the better."

"Christians would tell you He hadgiven a sign."

"Yes; so they do in words and deny it indeeds. Nothing is sadder in the wholetragedy, or comedy, than these pitiableefforts to hide the truth, to gloss it overwith fables which nobody in his heartof hearts believes at least in these days.Why not face the worst like men If wecan't help being unhappy we can helpbeing dishonest and cowardly.Existence is a misfortune. Let us franklyconfess that it is, and make the best ofit."

He was not looking at his watch now;he was pacing the room. At last, he was

in earnest, and had forgotten allaccidents of time and place before thesame enigma which perplexed myself.

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

"No," he cried, stopping and turningsharply upon me. "The worst, becausethe most cowardly; so long as you havestrength, brains, money anything withwhich you can do good."

He looked past me through thewindow into the outer air, no longerfaintly tinged, but dyed deep red by thelight of the unseen but resplendent

sunset, and added slowly, dejectedly, asif speaking to himself as much as tome

"Yes, there is one thing worth living forto help to make it all a little morebearable for the others."

And then all at once, his face, so virileyet so delicate, so young and yet so sad,reminded me of one I had seen in anold picture the face of an angelwatching beside the dead Christ; and Icried

"But are you certain He has made nosign; not hundreds of years ago, but inyour own lifetime not to saint or

apostle, but to you, yourself Hasnothing which has happened to you,nothing you have ever seen or read orheard, tempted you to hope insomething better "

"Yes," he said deliberately; "I have hadmy weak moments. My conviction haswavered, not before religious teachingof any kind, however, nor beforeNature, in which some people seem tofind such promise; but I have met oneor two women, and one man all ofthem unknown, unremarkable peoplewhom the world never heard of, nor islikely to hear of, living uneventfulobscure lives in out-of-the-way corners.For instance, there is a lady in this very

neighbourhood, a relation of SirGeorge Atherley, I believe, Mrs. de No "

"Her ladyship would like to see you inthe drawing-room, sir," said Castleman,suddenly coming in.

The doctor bowed to me andimmediately left the room.

CHAPTER III

MRS. MOSTYN'S GOSPEL

"No, they have not seen any moreghosts, sir," replied Castleman

scornfully next day, "and never needhave seen any. It is all along of this tea-drinking. We did not have this botherwhen the women took their beerregular. These teetotallers have done alot of harm. They ought to be putdown by Act of Parliament."

And the kitchen-maid was better. Mrs.Mallet, indeed, assured Lady Atherleythat Hann was not long for this world,having turned just the same colour asthe late Mr. Mallet did on the eve of hisdeath; but fortunately the patientherself, as well as the doctor, took amore hopeful view of the case.

"I can see Mrs. Mallet is a horrible old

croaker," said Lady Atherley.

"Let her croak," said Atherley, "so longas she cooks as she did last night. Thatcurry would have got her absolutionfor anything if your uncle had beenhere."

"That reminds me, George, the ceilingof the spare room is not mended yet."

"Why, I thought you sent to Whitfordfor a plasterer yesterday "

"Yes, and he came; but Mrs. Mallet hassome extraordinary story about hisfalling into his bucket and spoiling hisSunday coat, and going home at once

to change it. I can't make it out, butnothing is done to the ceiling."

"I make it out," said Atherley; "I makeout that he was a little the worse fordrink. Have we not a plasterer in thevillage "

"I think there is one. I fancy theJacksons did not wish us to employhim, because he is a dissenter; but afterall, giving him work is not the same asgiving him presents."

"No, indeed; nor do I see why, becausehe is a dissenter, I, who am only aninfidel, am to put up with a hole in myceiling."

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

"His name is Smart. Everybody in ourvillage is called Smart mostinappropriately too."

"No, George, the man the doctor toldus about who is so dangerously ill iscalled Monk."

"I am glad to hear it; but he doesn'tbelong to our parish, though he lives soclose. He is actually in Rood Warren.His cottage is at the other side of theCommon."

"Then we can leave the wine and things

as we go. And, George, while the boysare having tea with Aunt Eleanour, Ithink I shall drive on to QuarleyBeacon and try and persuade Cecilia tocome back and spend the night with us.I think we could manage to put her upin the little blue dressing-room. She isso good-natured; she won't mind itsbeing so small."

"Yes, do; I want Lyndsay to see her.And give my best love to AuntEleanour, and say that if she is going tosend me any more tracts against Popery,I should be extremely obliged if shewould prepay the postage sufficiently."

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

only threepence."

"Well, then, tell her it is no goodsending any at all, because I have madeup my mind to go over to Rome nextJuly."

"No, George; she might not like it, andI don't believe you are going to doanything of the kind. Oh, are you offalready I thought you would settlesomething about the plasterer."

"No, no; I can't think of plasterers andrepairs to-day. Even the galley-slave hashis holiday this is mine. I am going tosee the hounds throw off at RoodAcre, and forget for one day that I have

an inch of landed property in theworld."

"But, George, if the pink-room ceilingis not put right by Saturday, where shallwe put Uncle Augustus "

"Into the room just opposite toLindy's."

"What! that little room In the bachelor'spassage A man of his age, and of hisposition!"

"I am sure it is large enough for anyone under a bishop. Besides, I don'tthink he is fussy about anything excepthis dinner."

"It is not the way he is accustomed tobe treated when he is on a visit, I canassure you. He is a person who isgenerally considered a great deal."

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

Fortunately for their domestic peace,Lady Atherley usually misses the pointsof her husband's speeches, but thereare some which jar upon her sense ofthe becoming, and this was one ofthem.

"I don't think," she observed to me, the

offender himself having escaped, "thateven if Uncle Augustus were not myuncle, a heathen is a proper name tocall a clergyman, especially a canon andone who is so looked up to in theChurch. Have you ever heard himpreach But you must have heard abouthim, and about his sermons I thoughtso. They are beautiful. When hepreaches the church is crammed, andwith the best people in the season,when they are in town. And he haswritten a great many religious bookstoo sermons and hymns and manuals.There is a little book in red moroccoyou may have seen in my sitting-room Iknow it was there a week ago which hegave me, The Life of Prayer, with a short

meditation and a hymn for every hourof the day all composed by him. Wedon't see so much of him as I couldwish. He is so grieved about George'sviews. He gave him some of his ownsermons, but of course George wouldnot look at them; and so annoying thelast time he came I put the sermons,two beautiful large volumes of them,on the drawing-room table, and whenwe were all there after dinner Georgeasked me quite loud what these smartbooks were, and where they came from.So altogether he has not come to see usfor a long time; but as he happened tobe staying with the Mountshires, Ibegged him to come over for a night ortwo; so you will hear him preach on

Sunday."

At lunch that day Lady Atherleyproposed that I should accompanythem to Woodcote. "Do come, Mr.Lyndsay," said Denis. "We shall havecakes for tea, and jam-sandwiches aswell."

"And there is an awfully jolly banisterfor sliding down," added Harold,"without any turns or landing, youknow."

I professed myself unable to resist suchinducements. Indeed, I was almost gladto go. The recollection of Mrs.Mostyn's cheerful face was as alluring

to me that day as the thought of aglowing hearth might be to the beggaron the door-step. Here, at least, was oneto whom life was a blessing; whopartook of all it could bestow with anappetite as healthfully keen as hernephew's, but without hisdisinclination or disregard for anythingbesides.

The mild March day felt milder, therooks cawed more cheerfully, and thespring flowers shone out morefearlessly around us when we hadpassed through the white gates ofWoodcote a favoured spot gentlydeclining to the sunniest quarter, andsheltered from the north and north-east

by barricades of elm-woods. The tinydomain was exquisitely ordered, as Ilove to see everything which appertainsto women; and within the low whitehouse, furnished after the simple andstiff fashion of a past generation,reigned the same dainty neatness, thesame sunny cheerfulness, the nativeatmosphere of its chatelaine Mrs.Mostyn a white-haired old lady longpast seventy, with the bloom of youthon her cheek, its vivacity in her step,and its sparkle in her eyes.

Hardly were the first greetingsexchanged when the children openedthe ball of conversation by inquiringeagerly when tea would be ready.

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

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

"Poor darlings!" cried Mrs. Mostyn,regarding them with the enrapturedgaze of the true child-lover; "their drivehas made them hungry; and we cannothave tea very well before half-past four,because some old women from thevillage have come up to have tea, andthe servants are busy attending to them.But I can tell you what you could do,dears. You know the way to the dairy;

one of the maids is sure to be there; tellher to give you some cream. You willlike that, won't you Yes, you can go outby this door."

"And remember to "

Lady Atherley's exhortation remainedunfinished, her sons having dartedthrough the door-window like arrowsfrom the bow.

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

"Oh, it is such a good sign!" cried Mrs.Mostyn heartily; "it shows they are so

thoroughly well. Mr. Lyndsay, why haveyou chosen that uncomfortable chairCome and sit over beside me, if you arenot afraid of the fire. And now, Jane,my love, tell me how you are getting onat Weald."

Then followed a long catalogue ofaccidents and disappointments, offaithlessness and incapacity, to whichMrs. Mostyn supplied a runningcommentary of interjectionssympathetic and consoling. There were,moreover, many changes for the worsesince Sir Marmaduke had resided there:the shooting and the fishing had beenalike neglected; the farmers wereimpoverished; the old places had

changed hands.

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

"Quite ladies and gentlemen, I believe,and nice enough as long as you don'tget to know them too intimately; butthey are always quarrelling."

"About what "

"About everything; but especially aboutchurch matters decorations andanthems and other rubbish. What they

want is less of the church and more ofthe Bible."

"I believe Mr. Jackson has a Bible-classevery week."

"But is it a Bible-class, or is it onlycalled so There is Mr. Austin at RoodWarren, a Romanist in disguise if everthere was one: he is by way of having aBible-class, and one of our farmers'daughters attended it. 'And what partof the Bible are you studying now ' Iasked her. 'We are studying early churchhistory.' 'I don't know any such chapterin the Bible as that,' I said, and yet Iknow my Bible pretty well. Sheexplained it was a continuation of the

Acts of the Apostles. I said: 'My dearchild, don't you be misled by anyjugglery of that kind; there is nocontinuation of the Bible; and as towhat people call the early church, itsdoings and sayings are of noconsequence at all. The one questionwe have to ask ourselves is this: '"Whatdoes the Book say "' What is in theBook is God's word: what is not in theBook is only man's."

The effect of this exposition on LadyAtherley was to make her ask eagerlywhether the curate in charge at RoodWarren was one of the Austyns ofTemple Leigh.

"I believe he is a nephew," Mrs. Mostynadmitted, quite gloomily for her. "It ispainful to see people of good standinggoing astray in this manner."

"I was thinking it would be soconvenient to get a young man over todinner sometimes; and Rood Warrencannot be very far from us, for one ofMr. Austyn's parishioners lives just atthe end of Weald."

"If you take my advice, my dearest Jane,you will not have anything to do withhim. He is certain to be attractive menof that sort always are; and there is nosaying what he might do: perhaps gainan influence over George himself."

"I don't think there need be any fear ofthat, for at dinner, you know, we neednot have any religious discussions; Inever will have them; they are almost asbad as politics, they make people socross."

Then she rose and explained her visit toMrs. de Noel.

"But, Mr. Lyndsay," said Mrs. Mostyn,"are you going to desert the old womanfor the young one, or are you going tostay and see my gardens and have teaThat is right. Good-bye, my dearestJane. Give my dear love to Cissy, andtell her to come over and see me but I

shall have a glimpse of her on your wayback."

"I hope Mrs. de Noel may be persuadedto come back," I said, as the carriagedrove off, and we walked along a gravelpath by lawns of velvet smoothness; "Iwould so much like to meet her."

"Have you never met her Dear Cecilia!She is a sweet creature the sweetest, Ithink, I ever met, though perhaps Iought not to say so of my own niece.She wants but one thing the grace ofGod."

We passed into a little wood, tapestriedwith ivy, carpeted with clustering

primroses, and she continued

"It is most mysterious. Both Cecilia andGeorge, being left orphans so early,were brought up by my dear sisterHenrietta. She was a believingChristian, and no children ever hadgreater religious advantages than thesetwo. As soon as they could speak theylearnt hymns or texts of Scripture, andbefore they could read they knewwhole chapters of the Bible by heart.George even now, I will say that forhim, knows his Bible better than agood many clergymen. And theSabbath, too. They were taught toreverence the Lord's day in a waychildren never are nowadays. All games

and picture-books put away onSaturday night; regularly to churchmorning and afternoon, and in theevening Henrietta would talk to themand question them about the sermon.And after all, here is George who sayshe believes in nothing; and as to Cecilia,I never can make out what she does ordoes not believe. However, I am quitehappy in my mind about them. I feelthey are of the elect. I am as certain oftheir salvation as I am of my own."

A sudden scampering of feet upon thegravel was followed by the appearanceof the boys, rosy with exercise andexcitement.

"Well, my darling boys, have you hadyour cream "

"Oh yes, Aunt Eleanour," cried Harold,"and we have been into the farm-yardand seen the little pigs. Such jolly littlebeasts, Mr. Lyndsay, and squeak sofunnily when you pull their tails."

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

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

"But I want to give apples to thehorses," cried Harold.

So we went to the fruit-house forapples, which Mrs. Mostyn herselfselected from an upper shelf, mountinga ladder with equal agility and grace;then to the stables, where these daintieswere crunched by two very fat carriage-horses; then to the miniature farm-yard,and the tiny ivy-covered dairy beyond;and just as I was beginning to feel thefirst qualms of my besettinghumiliation, fatigue, Mrs. Mostyn led usround to the garden a garden with highred walls, and a dial in the meeting-place of the flower-bordered paths;and we sat down in a rustic seat cosily

fitted into one sunny corner, justbehind a great bed of hyacinths inflower.

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

"But mamma would not let us bringhim," cried Harold in an aggrievedtone, "because he will roll in theflower-beds."

"Do you think it is nearly half-pastfour, Aunt Eleanour " asked Denis.

"Very nearly, I should think. Supposeyou were to go and see if they havebrought the tea-kettle in; and if they

have, call to me from the drawing-roomwindow, and I will come."

The tempered sunlight fell full uponthe delicate hyacinth clusters coral,snow-white, and faintest lilac exhalingtheir exquisite odour, and the warmsweet air seemed to enwrap us tenderly.My spirits, heavy as lead, began to risestrangely, irrationally. Sunlight hasalways for me a supersensuous beauty,while the colour and perfume offlowers move me as sound vibrationsmove the musician. Just then it was tome as if through Nature, from thatwhich is behind Nature, there reachedme a pitying, a comforting caress.

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

"Mr. Lyndsay, I am an old woman andyou are very young, and my heart goesout to all young creatures in sorrow,especially to one who has no mother ofhis own, no, nor father even, tocomfort him. I know what trouble youhave had. Would you be offended if Isaid how deeply I felt for you "

"Offended, Mrs. Mostyn!"

"No. I see you understand me; you willnot think me obtrusive when I say thatI pray this great trial may be for yourlasting good; may lead you to seek and

to find salvation. The truth is broughthome to us in many different ways, bymany different instruments. My owneyes were opened by very extraordinarymeans."

She was silent for a few instants, andthen went on

"When I was young, Mr. Lyndsay, Ilived for the world only. I went tochurch, of course, like other people,and said my prayers and called myself aChristian, but I did not know what theword meant. My sister Henrietta wouldoften talk seriously to me, but it had noeffect, and she was quite grieved overmy hardened state; but my dear mother,

a true saint, used to tell her to have nofear, that some day I should be sharplyawakened to my soul's danger. But itwas not till years after she was inheaven that her words came true."

I looked at her and waited.

"We were still living at Weald Manorwith my brother Marmaduke, and wehad young people staying with us. Theywere all going all but myself to a ball atCarchester. I stayed at home because Ihad a slight cold, which made me feeltired and feverish, and disinclined to bedancing till early next morning. I wentto bed early, and when I had sent awaymy maid I sat beside the fire for a little,

thinking. You know the long gallery "

"Yes."

"My room was there; so I was quitealone, for the servants slept, just as theydo now, in the opposite end of thehouse. But I had my dog with me, sucha dear little thing, a black-and-tanterrier. He was lying asleep on the rugbeside me. Well, all at once he got upand put his head on one side as if heheard something, and he began barking.I only said 'Nonsense, Totty, lie down,'and paid no more attention to him, tillsome moments afterwards he made astrange kind of noise as if he weretrying to bark and was choked in some

way. This made me look at him, andthen I observed that he was tremblingfrom head to foot, and staring in thestrangest way at something behind me.I will honestly tell you he made me feelso uncomfortable I was afraid to lookround; and still it was almost as bad tosit there and not look round, so at last Isummoned up courage and turned myhead. Then I saw it."

"The ghost "

"Yes."

"What was it like "

"It was like a shadow, only darker, and

not lying against the wall as a shadowwould do, but standing out from it inthe air. It stood a little way from me in acorner of the room. It was in the shapeof a man, with a ruff round his neck,and sleeves puffed out at the shoulders,as you often see in old pictures; but Idon't remember much about that, for atthe time I could think of nothing butthe face."

"And that "

"That was simply dreadful. I can't tellyou what it was like. I could not haveimagined it, if I had not seen it. It wasthe look the look in its eyes. After allthese years it makes me tremble when I

think of it. But what I felt was not thesame nervous feeling which made meafraid to turn round. It went muchdeeper indeed it went deeper thananything in my life had ever gonebefore; it went right down to my soul,in fact, and made me feel I had a soul."

She had turned quite pale.

"Yes, Mr. Lyndsay, strange as it sounds,the mere sight of that face made merealise in an instant what I had read andheard thousands of times, and what mymother and Henrietta had told me overand over again about the utternothingness of earthly aims andcomforts of what in an ordinary way is

called life. I had heard very finesermons preached about the samething: 'What is our life, it is even avapour,' and the 'vain shadow' in whichwe walk. Have you ever thought howwe can go on hearing and evenrepeating true and wise words withoutgetting at their real sense, and, what isworse, without suspecting our ownignorance "

"I know it well."

"When Henrietta used to say that thewhirl of worldly occupations andinterests and amusements in which Iwas so engrossed did not deserve to becalled life, and could never satisfy the

eternal soul within me, it used to seemto me an exaggerated way of saying thatthe next world would be better thanthis one; but I saw the meaning of herwords, I saw the truth of them, as I seethese flowers before me, and feel thegravel under my feet: it came to me in amoment, the night these terrible eyeslooked into mine. The feeling did notlast, but I have never forgotten it, andnever shall. It was as if a veil were liftedfor an instant, and I was standingoutside of my life and looking back atit; and it seemed so poor and worthlessand unreal I can't explain myselfproperly."

"And did the figure remain for any time

"

"I do not know. I think I must havefainted. They found me lying in a half-unconscious state in my chair whenthey came home. I was ill in bed forweeks with what the doctors call lowfever. But neither the fever nor anythingelse could remove the impression thathad been made. That terrible thing wasa blessed messenger to me. My realconversion was not till years later, butthe way was prepared by the greatshock I then received, and whichroused me to a sense of my danger."

"What do you think the thing you sawWas, Mrs. Mostyn "

"The ghost "

"Yes."

Slowly, thoughtfully, she answered me

"I am certain it was a lost soul: nothingelse could have worn that dreadfullook."

She paused for a few moments andthen continued

"Perhaps you are one of those who donot believe in the punishment of sin "

"Who can disbelieve it, Mrs. Mostyn

Call it what we like, it is a fact. Itconfronts us on every side. We might aswell refuse to believe in death."

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

"Well, there, too, no doubt it mustcontinue, until the uttermost farthing ispaid. I believe at least I hope that."

She shook her head with a troubledexpression.

"There is no paying that debt in thenext world. It can only be paid here.Here, a free pardon is offered to us, and

if we do not accept it, then It is thefashion, even among believers,nowadays to avoid this awful subject.Preachers of the Gospel do not speakof it in the pulpit as they once did. It isconsidered too shocking for ourmodern notions. I have no patiencewith such weakness, such folly worsethan folly. It seems to me even morewrong to try and hide this terribledanger from ourselves and from othersthan to deny it altogether, as some poordeluded souls do. Mr. Lyndsay, haveyou ever realised what the place oftorment will be like "

"Yes; once, Mrs. Mostyn."

"You were in pain "

"I suppose it was pain," I said.

For always, when anything revives thisrecollection, seared into my memory,the question rises: was it merely pain,physical pain, of which we all speak soeasily and lightly It lasted only tenminutes; ten minutes by the clock, thatis. For me time was annihilated. Therewas no past or future, but only anintolerable present, in which mind andsoul were blotted out, and all ofsentient existence that remained was theanimal consciousness of agony. Icannot share men's stoical contempt fora Gehenna, which is nothing worse.

"Mr. Lyndsay, imagine pain, worse thanany ever endured on earth going onand on, for ever!"

A bird, not a thrush, but one of theminor singers, lighting on a bough nearus, trilled one simple but ecstaticphrase.

"Do you really and truly believe, Mrs.Mostyn, that this will be the fate of anysingle being "

"Of any single being Do we not knowthat it is what will happen to thegreatest number For what does theBook say 'Many are called but few are

chosen.'"

Through the still, mild air, across thesun-steeped gardens, came the voicesof the children

"Aunt Eleanour! Aunt Eleanour!"

"Many are called," she repeated, "butfew are chosen; and those who are notchosen shall be cast into everlastingfire."

There was a pause. She turned to lookat me, and, as if struck by something inmy face, said gently, soothingly:

"Yes, it is a terrible thought, but only

for the unregenerate. It has no terrorfor me. I trust it need have no terror foryou. After all, how simple, how easy isthe way of escape! You have only tobelieve."

"And then "

"And then you are safe, safe forevermore. Think of that. The foolishpeople who wish to explain awayeternal punishment, forget that at thesame time they explain away eternalhappiness! You will be safe now, andafter death you will be in heaven forevermore."

"I shall be in heaven for evermore, and

always there will be hell."

"Yes."

"Where the others will be "

"What others Only the wicked!"

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

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

And I remained and obeyed her, andbeheld, entire, distinct, the spectre thatdrives men to madness or despairillimitable omnipotent Malice. In its

shadow the colour of the flowers wasquenched, and the music of the birdsrang false. Yet it wore the consecrationof time and authority! What if it weretrue

"Mr. Lyndsay," said Denis at my elbow,"Aunt Eleanour has sent me to fetchyou to tea. Mr. Lyndsay, do you hearWhy do you look so strange "

He caught my hand anxiously as hespoke, and by that little human touchthe spell was broken. The phantomvanished; and, looking into the child'seyes, I felt it was a lie.

CHAPTER IV

CANON VERNADE'S GOSPEL

There was no Mrs. de Noel in thecarriage when it returned; she had goneto London to stay with Mrs.Donnithorne, whom Atherley spoke ofas Aunt Henrietta, and was notexpected home till Wednesday.

"I am sorry," Lady Atherley observed,as we drove home through the dusk; "Ishould like to have had her here whenUncle Augustus was with us. I wouldhave asked Mrs. Mostyn to dine withus, but I am not sure she and Uncle

Augustus would get on. When hersister, Mrs. Donnithorne, met UncleAugustus and his wife at lunch at ourhouse once, she said she thought nominister of the Gospel ought to allowhis child to take part in worldlyamusements or ceremonials. It was veryawkward, because Uncle Augustus'seldest girl had been presented only theday before. And Aunt Clara, UncleAugustus's wife, you know, who israther quick, said it depended whetherthe minister of the Gospel was agentleman or a shoe-black, becauseMrs. Donnithorne was attending adissenting chapel then where thepreacher was quite a commonuneducated sort of person. And after

that they would not talk to each other,and, altogether, I remember, it was veryunpleasant. I do think it is such a pity,"cried Lady Atherley with real feeling,"when people will take up theseextreme religious views, as all theAtherleys do. I am sure it is quite acomfort to have someone like you inthe house, Mr. Lyndsay, who is notparticular about religion."

* * * * *

"If this is the best Aunt Eleanour hasto show in the way of a ghost, she doeswell to keep so quiet about it," wasAtherley's comment on that part of thestory which, by special permission, I

repeated to him next day. "I never hearda weaker ghost story. She explains thewhole thing away as she tells it. Shewas, as she candidly admits, ill andfeverish sickening for a fever, in fact,when the most rational person's sensesare apt to play them strange tricks. Sheis alone at the dead of night in a houseshe believes to be haunted; and thenher dog an odious little beast, Iremember him well, always barking atsomething or nothing; the dog suggeststhere is somebody near. She looksround into a dark part of the room,and naturally, inevitably all thingsconsidered sees a ghost. Did you say itwore a ruff and puffed sleeves "

"So Mrs. Mostyn said."

"Of course, because, as I told you,Aunt Eleanour believed in theElizabethan portrait theory. If it hadbeen Aunt Henrietta, the ghost wouldhave been in armour. Ghosts and allvisitors from the other world obliginglycorrespond with the preconceivednotions of the visionary. When a whiterobe and a halo were considered theproper celestial outfit, saints and angelsalways appeared with white robes andhalos. In the same way, the Africansavage, who believes in a god with acrooked leg, always sees him in dreams,waking or asleep, with a crooked leg;and "

Here we were interrupted by a great stirin the hall outside, and Lady Atherleylooked in to explain that the carriagewith Uncle Augustus was just comingdown the drive.

Her manner reminded me of the fullimportance of this arrival, as well as ofthe unfortunate circumstance that,owing to the ill-timed absence of thedissenting plasterer, the Canon must belodged in the little room opposite tomy own.

However, when I went into thedrawing-room, I found him acceptinghis niece's apologies and explanations

with great good-humour. To me also hewas especially gracious.

"I had the pleasure of dining atLindesford, Mr. Lyndsay, when youmust have been in long clothes. Iremember we had some of the finesttrout I ever tasted. Are they still as goodin your river "

His voice, like himself, was massive andimpressive; his bearing and mannerinspired me with wistful admiration:what must life be to a man so self-confident, and so rightly self-confident

"Is not Uncle Augustus a fine-lookingman " asked Lady Atherley, when he

had left the room with Atherley. "Icannot think why they do not makehim a bishop; he would look so well inthe robes. He ought to have hadsomething when the last ministry wasin, for Aunt Clara and Lord Lingfordare cousins; but, unfortunately, thefamilies were on bad terms because ofa lawsuit."

The morning after was bright and fair,so that sunlight mingled with thedrowsy calm Sunday in the country aswe remember it, looking lovingly backfrom lands that are not English to thetenderer side of the Puritan Sabbath.But I missed my little aubade from thelawn, and not till breakfast-time did I

behold my small friends, who thencame into the breakfast-room, one oneither side of their mother twominiature sailors, exquisitely neat butvisibly dejected. Behind walked Tip,demurely recognising the change in theatmosphere, but, undisturbed thereby,he at once, with his usual air of self-satisfied dignity, assumed his place inthe largest arm-chair.

"The landau could take us all to churchexcept you, George," said LadyAtherley, looking thoughtfully into thefire as we waited for breakfast and theCanon. "But I suppose you wouldprefer to walk "

"Why should you suppose I am goingto church, either walking or driving "

"Well, I certainly hoped you wouldhave gone to-day; as Uncle Augustus isgoing to preach it seems only polite todo so."

"Well, I don't mind; I daresay it will dome no harm; and if it is understood Iattend only out of consideration formy wife's uncle, then "

He was interrupted by the entrance ofthe person in question.

Many times during breakfast Denislooked thoughtfully at his great-uncle,

and at last inquired

"Do you preach very long sermons,Uncle Augustus "

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

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

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

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

"Yes, it is people who never go to

church."

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

"But they don't have sermons."

"Don't they Hours long, especiallywhen they bury each other."

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

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

"And what may that be " inquired theCanon.

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

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

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

It was perhaps this remark that led theCanon to ask, on the way to church

"Is it true that Mrs. de Noel attends adissenting chapel "

"No," said Lady Atherley. "But I knowwhy people say so. She lent a field lastyear to the Methodists to have theircamp-meeting in."

"Oh! but that is a pity," said the Canon."A very great pity a person in herposition encouraging dissent, especiallywhen there is no real occasion for it.Clara's nephew, young Littlemore, didsomething of the kind last year, butthen he was standing for the county;and though that hardly justifies, itexcuses, a little pandering to themultitude."

"Cissy only let them have it once," saidLady Atherley, as if making the best ofit. "And, indeed, I believe it rained sohard that day they were not able to havethe meeting after all."

Then the carriage stopped before thelych-gate, through which the fresh-faced school children were trooping;and while the bell clanged its lastmonotonous summons, we walked upbetween the village graves to the oldchurch porch that older yewsovershadow, where the village lads wereloitering, as Sunday after Sunday theirsleeping forefathers had loitered beforethem.

We worshipped that morning in amagnificent pew to one side of thechancel, and quite as large, from whichwe enjoyed a full view of clergy andcongregation. The former consisted ofthe Canon, Mr. Jackson, clergyman ofthe parish, and a young man I had notseen before. Not a large number hadmustered to hear the Canon; the frontseats were well filled by men andwomen in goodly apparel, but in thepews behind and in the side aisles therewas a mere sprinkling of worshippersin the Sunday dress of countrylabourers. Our supplicaitions wereoffered with as little ritualisticpageantry as Mrs. Mostyn herself could

have desired, though the choir probablysang oftener and better than she wouldhave approved. In spite of their effortsit was as uninspiring a service as I haveever taken part in. This was not due, asmight be suspected, to Atherley'spresence, for his demeanour wasirreproachable. His little sons, delightedat having him with them, carefullyfound his places for him in prayer andhymnbook, and kept watch that he didnot lose them afterwards, so that heperforce assumed a really edifyingdegree of attention. Nor, indeed, didthe rest of the congregation err in thedirection of restlessness or wanderinglooks, but rather in the oppositeextreme, insomuch that during the

litany, when we were no longersupported by music, and had, most ofus, assumed attitudes favourable torepose, we appeared one and all tosuccumb to it, especially towards theclose, when, from the body of thechurch at least, only the aged clerk washeard to cry for mercy. But with thethird service, there came a change,which reminded me of how once in aforeign cathedral, when the processionfiled by the singing-men nudging eachother, the standard-bearers giggling,and the English tourists craning to seethe sight the face of one white-hairedold bishop beneath his canopytransformed for me a foolish piece ofmummery into a prayer in action. So it

was again, when the young strangerturned to us his pale clear-cut face,solemn with an awe as rapt as if heverily stood before the throne of Himhe called upon, and felt Its glorybeating on his face; then, by that oneearnest and believing presence, all wastransformed and redeemed; the oldemblems recovered their firstsignificance, the time-worn phrasesglowed with life again, and weourselves were altered our veryheaviness was pathetic: it was thelethargy of death itself, and our poorsleepy prayers the strain of manacledcaptives striving to be free.

The Canon's sermon did not maintain

this high-strung mood, though why notit would be difficult to say. Like all his,it was eloquent, brilliant even,declaimed by a fine voice of widecompass, whose varying tones he usedwith the skill of a practised orator. Thetext was "Our conversation is inHeaven," its theme the contrastbetween the man of this world, withhis heart fixed upon its pomps, itsvanities, its honours, and the believerindifferent to all these, esteeming themas dross merely compared to theheavenly treasure, the one thingneedful. Certainly the utterworthlessness of the prizes for whichmen labour and so late take rest, bartertheir happiness, their peace, their

honour, was never more scathinglydepicted. I remember the organ-likebass of his note in passages whichdenounced the grovelling worship ofearthly pre-eminence and riches, theclarion-like cry with which heconcluded a stirring eulogy of theChristian's nobler service of thingsunseen.

"Brethren, as His kingdom is not ofthis world, so too our kingdom is notof this world."

"I think you will admit, George," saidLady Atherley, as we left the church,"that you have had a good sermon to-day."

"Yes, indeed," heartily assentedAtherley. "It was excellent. Your unclecertainly knows his business, which ismore than can be said of mostpreachers. It was a really splendidperformance. But who on earth was hetalking about those wonderful peoplewho don't care for money or success, orthe best of everything generally I nevermet any like them."

"My dear George! How extraordinaryyou are! Any one could see, I shouldhave thought, that he meantChristians."

Atherley and the children walked home

while we waited for the Canon, whostayed behind to exchange a few wordsin the vestry with his old schoolfellow,Mr. Jackson.

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

"It really grieves me to see Jacksonwhere he is at his age. He deserves abetter living. He is an excellent fellow,and not without ability, but wanting,unfortunately, in tact and savoir-faire. Healways had an unhappy knack ofblurting out the truth in season and outof season. I did my best to get him agood living once a first-rate living in Sir

John Marsh's gift; and I warned himbefore he went to lunch with Sir Johnto be careful what he said. 'Sir John,' Isaid, 'is one of the old school; hethinks the Squire is pope of the parish,and you will have to humour him alittle. He will talk a great deal ofnonsense in this strain, and be carefulnot to contradict him, for he can't bearit.' But Jackson did contradict himflatly; he told me so himself, and, ofcourse, Sir John would have nothing tosay to him. 'But he made suchextravagant statements,' said Jackson. 'IfI had kept quiet he would have thoughtI agreed with him.' 'What did thatmatter ' I said. 'Once you were vicar youcould have shown him you didn't.' 'The

truth is,' said Jackson, 'I cannot sit byand hear black called white withoutprotesting.' That is Jackson all over! Aman of that kind will never get on.And then, such an imprudent marriagea woman without a penny!"

"I have never seen any one who woresuch extraordinary bonnets," said LadyAtherley.

"Who was that young man who bowedto the altar and crossed himself " askedthe Canon.

"I suppose that must be Mr. Austyn,curate in charge at Rood Warren. Hecomes over to help Mr. Jackson

sometimes, I believe. George has methim; I have not. I want to get him overto dinner. He is a nephew of Mr.Austyn of Temple Leigh."

"Oh, that family!" said the Canon. "Iam sorry he has taken up such anextreme line. It is a great mistake. In theChurch, preferment in these daysalways goes to the moderate men."

"Rood Warren is not far from here,"said Lady Atherley, "and he has aparishioner Oh, that reminds me. Mr.Lyndsay, would you be so kind as tolook out and tell the coachman to driveround by Monk's I want to leave somesoup."

"Monk, I presume, is a sick labourer "said the Canon. "I hope you are not asindiscriminate in your charities as mostLadies Bountiful."

"Mr. Jackson says this is a reallydeserving case. He knows all abouthim, though he really is in Mr. Austyn'sparish. Monk has never had anythingfrom the parish, and been working hardall his life, and he is past seventy. Hewas breaking stones on the road a fewweeks ago; but he caught a chill orsomething one very cold day, and hasbeen laid up ever since. This is thehouse. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay, you shouldnot trouble to get out. As you are so

kind, will you carry this in "

The interior of the tiny thatchedcottage was scrupulously clean andneat, as they nearly all are in the valley,but barer and more scantily furnishedthan most of them. No photographs orpictures decorated the white-washedwalls, no scraps of carpet or mattinghid the red-brick floor. The Monkswere evidently of the poorest. An oldpiece of faded curtain had been hungfrom a rope between the chimney-pieceand the door to shield the patient fromthe draught. He sat in a stiff woodenarm-chair near the fire, drawing hisbreath laboriously. "He was betternow," said his wife, a nurse as old and

as frail-looking as himself. "Nights wasthe worst." His shoulders were bent, hishair white with age, his witheredfeatures almost as coarse and asunshapely as the poor clothes he wore.The mask had been rough-hewn, tobegin with; time and exposure hadfurther defaced it. No gleam ofintellectual life transpierced andillumined all. It was the face of ananimal ugly, ignorant, honest, patient.As I looked at it there came over me arush of the pity I have so often felt forthis suffering of age in poverty sounpicturesque, so unwinning, toshallow sight so unpathetic and I putout my hand and let it rest for amoment on his own, knotted with

rheumatism, stained and seamed withtoil. Then he looked up at me fromunder his shaggy brows with haggard,wistful eyes, and gasped: "It's hardwork, sir; it's hard work." And I wentout into the sunshine, feeling that I hadheard the epitome of his life.

That night Mrs. Mallet surpassedherself by her rendering of a menu,especially composed by Atherley for thedelectation of their guest. Their painswere not wasted. The Canon'scommendation of each course and wetalked of little else, I remember, fromsoup to dessert was as discriminating asit was warm.

"I am glad you approve of our cook,Uncle," said Lady Atherley in thedrawing-room afterwards, "for she isonly a stop-gap. Our own cook left usquite suddenly the other day, and wehad such difficulty in finding this oneto take her place. No one can imaginehow inconvenient it is to have ahaunted house."

"My dear Jane, you don't mean to tellme you are afraid of ghosts "

"Oh no, Uncle."

"And I am sure your husband is not "

"No; but unfortunately cooks are."

"Eh! what "

Then Lady Atherley willingly repeatedthe story of her troubles.

"Preposterous! perfectly preposterous!"cried the Canon. "The Education Actin operation for all these years, and ourlower orders still believe in bogies andhobgoblins! And yet it is hardly to bewondered at; their social superiors arenot much wiser. The nonsense which istalked in society at present is perfectlyincredible. Persons who are supposedto be in their right mind gravely relateto me such incidents that I couldimagine myself transported to the

Middle Ages. I hear of miraculouscures, of spirits summoned from thedead, of men and women floating inthe air; and as to diabolic possession, itseems to have become as common ascolds in the head."

He had risen, and now addressed usfrom the hearthrug.

"Then Mrs. Molyneux and others comeand tell me about personal friends oftheir own who can foretell everythingthat is going to happen; who can readyour inmost thoughts; who can compelothers to do this and to do that,whether they like it or no; who, beingthemselves in one quarter of the globe,

constantly appear to their acquaintancesin another. 'What!' I say. 'They can be intwo places at once, then! Certainly noconjurer can equal that!'"

"And what do they say to that " askedAtherley.

"Oh, they assure me the extraordinarybeings who perform these marvels arenot impostors, but very superior andreligious characters. 'If they are notimpostors,' I say, 'then their right placeis the lunatic asylum.' 'Oh but, CanonVernade, you don't understand; it isonly our Western ignorance whichmakes such things seem astonishing!Far more marvellous things are going

on, and have been going on forcenturies, in the East; for instance, inthe Brotherhoods of I forget someunpronounceable name.' 'And how doyou know they have ' I ask. 'Oh, bytheir traditions, which have beenhanded on for generations.' 'That isvery reliable information indeed,' I say.'Pray, have you ever played a game ofRussian scandal ' 'Well; but, then, thereare the sacred books. There can be nomistake about them, for they have beentranslated by learned Europeanprofessors, who say the religioussentiments are perfectly beautiful.' 'Verypossibly,' I say. 'But it does not followthat the historical statements arecorrect.'"

"I gave my ladies' Bible-class a seriouslecture about it all the other day. I said:'Do, my dear ladies, get rid of thesechildish notions, these uncivilisedhankerings after marvels and magic,which make you the dupe of onecharlatan after another. Take up science,for a change; study natural philosophy;try and acquire accurate notions of thesystem under which we live; realise thatwe are not moving on the stage of aChristmas pantomime, but in a universegoverned by fixed laws, in which themiraculous performances you describeto me never can, and never could, havetaken place. And be sure of this, thatany book and any teacher, however

admirable their moral teaching, who tellyou that two and two make anythingbut four, are not inspired, so far asarithmetic and common sense areconcerned.'"

"Hear, hear!" cried Atherley heartily.

The Canon's brow contracted a little.

"I need hardly explain," he said, "thatwhat I said did not apply to revealedtruth. Jane, my dear, as I must leave byan early train to-morrow, I think I shallsay good-night."

I fell asleep that night early, and dreamtthat I was sitting with Gladys in the

frescoed dining-room of an old Italianpalace. It was night, and through theopen window came one long shaft ofmoonlight, that vanished in the aureoleof the shaded lamp standing with wineand fruit upon the table between us.And I said in my dream

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

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

"What knock, my darling "

But even as I spoke I heard it, low and

penetrating, and I stretched out myarms imploringly towards Gladys; butshe only smiled, and the knock wasrepeated, and the whole scene dissolvedaround me, and I was sitting up in bedin semi-darkness, while somebody wastapping with a quick agitated touch atmy door. I remembered then that I hadforgotten to unlock it before I went tobed, and I rose at once and made hasteto open it, not without a passing thrillof unpleasant conjecture as to whatmight be behind it. It was a tall figurein a long grey garment, who carried alighted candle in his hand. For amoment, startled and stupefied as Iwas, I failed to recognise the livid face.

"Canon Vernade! You are ill "

Too ill to speak, it would seem, forwithout a word he staggered forwardand sank into a chair, letting the candlealmost drop from his hand on to thetable beside him; but when I put outmy hand to ring the bell, he stayed meby a gesture. I looked at him, deadlypale, with blue shadows about themouth and eyes, his head thrownhelplessly back, and then I rememberedsome brandy I had in my dressing-bag.He took the glass from me and raised itto his lips with a trembling hand. Istood watching him, debating withinmyself whether I should disobey himby calling for help or not; but presently,

to my great relief, I saw the stimulanttake effect, and life come slowly surgingback in colour to his cheeks, in strengthto his whole prostrate frame. Hestraightened himself a little, and turnedupon me a less distracted gaze thanbefore.

"Mr. Lyndsay, there is somethinghorrible in this house."

"Have you seen it "

He shook his head.

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

He shuddered.

I looked towards the grate. The fire hadlong been out, but the wood was stillunconsumed, and I managed,inexpertly enough, to relight it. When along blue flame sprang up, he drew hischair near the hearth and stretchedtowards the blaze his still tremuloushands.

"Mr. Lyndsay," he said, in a voice asstrangely altered as his wholeappearance, "may I sit here a little till itis light I dread to go back to that room.But don't let me keep you up."

I said, and in all honesty, that I had noinclination to sleep. I put on my

dressing-gown, threw a rug over hisknees, and took my place opposite tohim on the other side of the fire; andthus we kept our strange vigil, whileslowly above us broke the grim, colddawn of early spring-time, which eventhe birds do not brighten with theirbabble.

Silently staring into the fire, hevouchsafed no further explanations,and I did not venture to ask for any;but I doubt if even such language as hecould command would have been sofull of horrible suggestion as that greyset face, and the terror-stricken gaze,which the growing light made everyminute more distinct, more weird.

What had so suddenly and socompletely overthrown, not his ownstrength merely, but the defences of hisfaith He groped amongst them still, for,from time to time, I heard himmurmuring to himself familiar versesof prayer and psalm and gospel, as ifhe sought therewith to banish somehaunting fear, to quiet some torturingsuspicion. And at last, when the dullgrey day had fully broken, he turnedtowards me, and cried in tones moreheart-piercing than ever startled thegreat congregations in church orcathedral

"What if it were all a delusion, andthere be no Father, no Saviour "

And the horror of that abyss intowhich he looked, flashing from hismind to my own, left me silent andhelpless before him. Yet I longed togive him comfort; for, with the regalself-possession which had fallen fromhim, there had slipped from me toosome undefined instinct of distrustand disapproval. All that I felt now wasthe sad tie of brotherhood whichunited us, poor human atoms, strongonly in our capacity to suffer, tossedand driven, whitherward we knew not,in the purposeless play of soulless andunpitying forces.

CHAPTER V

AUSTYN'S GOSPEL

"He did not see the ghost, you say; heonly felt it I should think he did on hischest. I never heard of a clearer case ofnightmare. You must be careful whomyou tell the story to, old chap; for at thefirst go-off it sounds as if it was notmerely eating too much that was thematter. It was, however, indigestion sureenough. No wonder! If a man of hisage who takes no exercise will eat threesquare meals a day, what else can heexpect And Mallet is rather liberal withher cream."

Atherley it was, of course, whopropounded this simple interpretationof the night's alarms, as he sat in hissmoking-room reviewing his trout-fliesafter an early breakfast we had takenwith the Canon.

"You always account for themechanism, but not for the effect. Whyshould indigestion take that mentalform "

"Why, because indigestion constantlydoes in sleep, and out of it as well, forthat matter. A nightmare is not always asense of oppression on the chest only;it may be an overpowering dread of

something you dream you see.Indigestion can produce, waking orasleep, a very good imitation of what isexperienced in a blue funk. And there isanother kind of dream which isproduced by fasting that, I need hardlysay, I have never experienced. Indeed, Idon't dream."

"But the ghost the ghost he almostsaw."

"The sinking horror produced theghost, instead of vice versa, as you mightsuppose. It is like a dream. Inunpleasant dreams we fancy it is thedream itself which makes us feeluncomfortable. It is just the other way

round. It is the discomfort thatproduces the dream. Have you everdreamt you were tramping throughsnow, and felt cold in consequence Idid the other night. But I did not feelcold because I dreamt I was walkingthrough snow, but because I had notenough blankets on my bed; andbecause I felt cold I dreamt about thesnow. Don't you know the dream youmake up in a few moments about theknocking at the door when they callyou in the morning And ghosts areonly waking dreams."

"I wonder if you ever had an illusionyourself gave way to it, I mean. Youwere in love once twice," I added

hastily, in deference to Lady Atherley.

"Only once," said Atherley, calmly. "Doyou ever see her now, Lindy She hasgrown enormously fat. Certainly I havehad my illusions, and I don't object tothem when they are pleasant andharmless on the contrary. Now, fallingin love, if you don't fall too deep, ispleasant, and it never lasts long enoughto do much mischief. Marriage, ofcourse, you will say, may bemischievous only for the individual, itis useful for the race. What I object to isthe deliberate culture of illusionswhich are not pleasant but distinctlydepressing, like half your religiousbeliefs."

"George," said Lady Atherley, cominginto the room at this instant; "have youoh, dear! what a state this room is in!"

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

"And it was only dusted and tidied anhour ago. Mr. Lyndsay, did you ever seeanything like it "

I said "Never."

"If Lindy has a fault in this world, it isthat he is as pernickety, as my old nurseused to say as pernickety as an oldmaid. The stiff formality of his room

would give me the creeps, if anythingcould. The first thing I always want todo when I see it is to make hay in it."

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

"Jane, in Heaven's name leave thosethings alone! Is this sort of thing allyou came in for "

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

"No, I have not; her writing is too badfor anything. Besides, I know exactlywhat she has got to say. She has at last

found the religion which she has beenlooking for all her life, and she intendsto be whatever it is for evermore."

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

"What! Here Now Why, what oh, Iforgot the ghost! By Jove! You see, Jane,there are some advantages in havingone on the premises when it procuresyou a visit from a social star like Mrs.Molyneux. But where are you going toput her Not in the bachelor's room,where your poor uncle made such anight of it It wouldn't hold herdressing bag, let alone herself."

"Oh, but I hope the pink room will beready. The plasterer from Whitfordcame out yesterday to apologise, andsaid he had been keeping his birthday."

"Indeed! and how many times a yeardoes he have a birthday "

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

"When is she coming, then "

"To-morrow. You would have seen thatif you had read the letter. And there is amessage for you in it, too."

"Then find me the place, like an angel; Icannot wade through all these sheets ofhieroglyphics. In the postscript Let mesee: 'Tell Sir George I look forward toexplaining to him the religious teachingwhich I have been studying formonths.' Months! Come; there must besomething in a religion which Mrs.Molyneux sticks to for months at a time'studying for months under theguidance of its great apostle BaronZinkersen ' What is this name 'Thedeeper I go into it all the more I feel init that faith, satisfying to the reason aswell as to the emotions, for which Ihave been searching all my life. It iscertainly the religion of the future'

future underlined 'and I believe it willplease even Sir George, for it sodistinctly coincides with his ownfavourite theories.' Favourite theories,indeed! I haven't any. My mind is asopen as day to truth from any quarter.Only I distrust apostles with no vowelsin their names ever since that one, twoyears ago, made off with the spoons."

"No, George, he did not take any plate.It was money, and money Lucinda gavehim herself for bringing her lettersfrom her father."

"Where was her father, then " Iinquired, much interested.

"Well, he was a he was dead," answeredLady Atherley; "and after some time, avery low sort of person called uponLucinda and said she wrote all theletters; but Lucinda could not get themoney back without going to law, assome people wished her to do; but Iam glad she did not, as I think thepapers would have said very unpleasantthings about it."

"The apostle I liked best," said Atherley,"was the American one. I really admiredold Stamps, and old Stamps admiredme; for she knew I thoroughlyunderstood what an unmitigatedhumbug she was. She had a fine senseof humour, too. How her eyes used to

twinkle when I asked posers at herprayer-meetings!"

"Dreadful woman!" cried LadyAtherley. "Lucinda brought her tolunch once. Such black nails, and shesaid she could make the plates anddishes fly about the room, but I said Iwould rather not. I am thankful shedoes not want to bring this baron withher."

"I would not have him. I draw the linethere, and also at spiritual seances. I amtoo old for them. Do you rememberone I took you to at Mrs. Molyneux's,Lindy, five years ago, when they raisedpoor old Professor Delaine, and he

danced on the table and spelt bliss withone s I was haunted for weeksafterwards by the dread that there mightbe a future life, in which we shouldmake fools of ourselves in the sameway. What is this "

"It is the carriage just come back fromthe station. Mr. Lyndsay and the littleboys are going over to Rood Warrenwith a note for me. I hope you will seeMr. Austyn, Mr. Lyndsay, and persuadehim to come over to-morrow."

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

I thought so myself, but I was glad of

the excuse to see again the delicate,austere face. As we drove along, I triedto define to myself the quality whichmarked it out from others. Notsweetness, not marked benevolence, butthe repose of absolute spiritualconviction. Austyn's God can never bemy God, and in his heaven I shouldfind no rest; but, one among tenthousand, he believed in both, as themartyrs believed who perished in theflames, with a faith which would havestood the atheist's test; "We believe athing, when we are prepared to act as ifit were true."

Rood Warren lay in a little hollowbeside an armlet of the stream that

waters all the valley. The hamletconsisted of a tiny church and a groupof labourers' cottages, in one of which,presumably because there was no otherhabitation for him, the curate in chargemade his home. An apple-faced oldwoman received me at the door, andhospitably invited me to wait within forMr. Austyn's return from morningservice, which I did, while the carriage,with the little boys and Tip in it, droveup and down before the door. Theroom in which I waited, evidently theone sitting-room, was destitute ofluxury or comfort as a monk's cell.

Profusion there was in one thing onlybooks. They indeed furnished the

room, clothing the walls and coveringthe table; but ornaments there werenone, not even sacred or symbolical,save, indeed, one large and beautifully-carved crucifix over a mantelpiececovered with letters and manuscripts. Ihave thought of this early home ofAustyn's many a time as dignities havebeen literally thrust upon him by aworld which since then has discoveredhis intellectual rank. He will end hisdays in a palace, and, one mayconfidently predict of him, remain asabsolutely indifferent to hissurroundings as in the little cottage atRood Warren.

But he did not come, and presently his

housekeeper came in with manyapologies to explain he would not beback for hours, having started afterservice on a round of parish visitinginstead of first returning home, as shehad expected. She herself was plainlydepressed by the fact. "I did hope hewould have come in for a bit of lunchfirst," she said, sadly.

All I could do was to leave the note, towhich late in the day came an answer,declining simply and directly on theground that he did not dine out inLent.

"I cannot see why," observed LadyAtherley, as we sat together over the

drawing-room fire after tea, "because itis possible to have a very nice dinnerwithout meat. I remember one we hadabroad once at an hotel on GoodFriday. There were sixteen courses,chiefly fish, no meat even in the soup,only cream and eggs and that sort ofthing, all beautifully cooked withexquisite sauces. Even George said hewould not mind fasting in that way. Itwould have been nice if he could havecome to meet Mrs. Molyneux to-morrow. I am sure they must beconnected in some way, because Lord "

And then my mind wandered whilstLady Atherley entered into somegenealogical calculations, for which she

has nothing less than a genius. Myattention was once again captured bythe name de Noel, how introduced Iknow not, but it gave me an excuse forasking

"Lady Atherley, what is Mrs. de Noellike "

"Cecilia She is rather tall and rather fair,with brown hair. Not exactly pretty, butvery ladylike-looking. I think she wouldbe very good-looking if she thoughtmore about her dress."

"Is she clever "

"No, not at all; and that is very strange,

for the Atherleys are such a cleverfamily, and she has quite the ways of aclever person, too; so odd, and sostupid about little things that anyonecan remember. I don't believe she couldtell you, if you asked her, what relationher husband was to Lord Stowell."

"She seems a great favourite."

"Oh, no one could possibly help likingher. She is the most good-naturedperson; there is nothing she would notdo to help one; she is a dear thing, butmost odd, so very odd. I often think itis so fortunate that she married a sailor,because he is so much away fromhome."

"Don't they get on, then "

"Oh dear, yes; they are devoted to eachother, and he thinks everything shedoes quite perfect. But then he is verydifferent from most men; he thinks solittle about eating, and he takeseverything so easy; I don't think hecares what strange people Cecilia asksto the house."

"Strange people!"

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

"Do you mean poor people from theEast End "

"Oh no; some of them are quite rich.She had an idiot there with his motheronce who was heir to a very largefortune in the Colonies somewhere;but of course nobody else would havehad them, and I think it must havebeen very uncomfortable. And thenonce she actually had a woman whohad taken to drinking. I did not see her,I am thankful to say, but there was adeformed person once staying there, Isaw him being wheeled about thegarden. It was very unpleasant. I thinkpeople like that should always live shutup."

There was a little pause, and then LadyAtherley added

"Cecilia has never been the same sinceher baby died. She used to have such abright colour before that. He was notquite two years old, but she felt itdreadfully; and it was a great pity, for ifhe had lived he would have come in forall the Stowell property."

The door opened.

"Why, George; how late you are, andhow wet! Is it raining "

"Yes; hard."

"Have you bought the ponies "

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

"Mr. Austyn!"

"Yes; I found him by the roadside notfar from Monk's cottage, where he hadbeen visiting, looking sadly at a spring-cart, which the owner thereof, one ofthe Rood Warren farmers, had managedto upset and damage considerably. Hewas giving Austyn a lift home when thespill took place. So, remembering your

hankering and Lindy's for the societyof this young Ritualist, I persuadedhim that instead of tramping six milesthrough the wet he should come hereand put up for the night with us; so,leaving the farmer free to get home onhis pony, I clinched the matter bypromising to send him back to-morrowin time for his eight o'clock service."

"Oh dear! I wish I had known he wascoming. I would have ordered a dinnerhe would like."

"Judging by his appearance, I shouldsay the dinner he would like will beeasily provided."

Atherley was right. Mr. Austyn's dinnerconsisted of soup, bread, and water. Hewould not even touch the fish or theeggs elaborately prepared for hisespecial benefit. Yet he was far frombeing a skeleton at the feast, to whoseimmaterial side he contributed a gooddeal not taking the lead in conversation,but readily following whosoever did,giving his opinions on one topic afteranother in the manner of a man wellinformed, cultured, thoughtful, originaleven, and at the same time with nowarmer interest in all he spoke of thanthe inhabitant of another planet mighthave shown.

Atherley was impressed and even

surprised to a degree unflattering to therural clergy.

"This is indeed a rara avis of a countrycurate," he confided to me after dinner,while Lady Atherley was unravellingwith Austyn his connection withvarious families of her acquaintance."We shall hear of him in time to come,if, in the meanwhile, he does not starvehimself to death. By the way, I lay youodds he sees the ghost. To begin with;he has heard of it everybody has in thisneighbourhood; and then St. Anthonyhimself was never in a more favourablecondition for spiritual visitations. Lookat him; he is blue with asceticism. Buthe won't turn tail to the ghost; he'll

hold his own. There's metal in him."

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

"No; that is, I don't feel any fear now.Whether I should do so if face to facewith one, is another question. Thishouse has the reputation of beinghaunted, I believe. Have you seen theghost yourself "

"No, but I have seen others who did, orthought they did. Do you believe inghosts "

"I do not know that I have considered

the subject sufficiently to say whether Ido or not. I see no prima facie objectionto their appearance. That it would besupernatural offers no difficulty to aChristian whose religion is founded on,and bound up with, the supernatural."

"If you do see anything, I should liketo know."

I went away, wondering why he repelledas well as attracted me; what it wasbehind the almost awe-inspiring purityand earnestness I felt in him that leftme with a chill sense ofdisappointment The question was soperplexing and so interesting that Idetermined to follow it up next day,

and ordered my servant to call me asearly as Mr. Austyn was wakened.

In the morning I had just finisheddressing, but had not put out mycandles, when a knock at the door wasfollowed by the entrance of Austynhimself.

"I did not expect to find you up, Mr.Lyndsay; I knocked gently, lest youshould be asleep. In case you were not,I intended to come and tell you that Ihad seen the ghost."

"Breakfast is ready," said a servant at thedoor.

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

We went down through staircase andhall, still plunged in darkness, to thedining-room, where lamps and fireburned brightly. Their glow falling onAustyn's face showed me how pale itwas, and worn as if from watching.

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

"But tell me what you saw."

"I must have slept two or three hourswhen I awoke with the feeling thatthere was someone besides myself in

the room. I thought at first it was theremains of a dream and would quicklyfade away; but it did not, it grewstronger. Then I raised myself in bedand looked round. The space betweenthe sash of the window and thecurtains my shutters were not closedallowed one narrow stream ofmoonlight to enter and lie across thefloor. Near this, standing on the brinkof it, as it were, and rising dark againstit, was a shadowy figure. Nothing wasclearly outlined but the face; that I sawonly too distinctly. I rose and remainedup for at least an hour before itvanished. I heard the clock outsidestrike the hour twice. I was not lookingat it all this time on the contrary, my

hands were clasped across my closedeyes; but when from time to time Iturned to see if it was gone, it wasreminded me of a wild beast waiting tospring, and I seemed to myself to beholding it at bay all the time with agreat strain of the will, and, of course"he hesitated for an instant, and thenadded "in virtue of a higher power."

The reserve of all his school forbadehim to say more, but I understood aswell as if he had told me that he hadbeen on his knees, praying all the time,and there rose before my mind apicture of the scene moonlight,kneeling saint, and watching demon,which the leaf of some illustrated

missal might have furnished.

The bronze timepiece over the fireplacestruck half-past six.

"I wonder if the carriage is at thedoor," said Austyn, rather anxiously. Hewent into the hall and looked outthrough the narrow windows. Therewas no carriage visible, and I deeplyregretted the second interruption thatmust follow when it did come.

"Let us walk up the hill and on a littleway together. The carriage will overtakeus. My curiosity is not yet satisfied."

"Then first, Mr. Lyndsay, you must go

back and drink some coffee; you arenot strong as I am, or accustomed to goout fasting into the morning air."

Outside in the shadow of the hill,where the fog lay thick and white, thegloom and the cold of the night stilllingered, but as we climbed the hill weclimbed, too, into the brightness of asunny morning brilliant, amber-tintedabove the long blue shadows.

* * * * *

I had to speak first.

"Now tell me what the face was like."

"I do not think I can. To begin with, Ihave a very indistinct remembrance ofeither the form or the colouring. Evenat the time my impression of both wasvery vague; what so overwhelmed andtransfixed my attention, to the exclusionof everything besides itself, was thelook upon the face."

"And that "

"And that I literally cannot describe. Iknow no words that could depict it, noimages that could suggest it; you mightas well ask me to tell you what a newcolour was like if I had seen it in mydreams, as some people declare theyhave done. I could convey some faint

idea of it by describing its effect uponmyself, but that, too, is very difficultthat was like nothing I have ever feltbefore. It was the realisation of muchwhich I have affirmed all my life, andsteadfastly believed as well, but onlywith what might be called a notionalassent, as the blind man might believethat light is sweet, or one who hadnever experienced pain might believe itwas something from which the sensesshrink. Every day that I have recited thecreed, and declared my belief in theLife Everlasting, I have by implicationconfessed my entire disbelief in anyother. I knew that what seemed so solidis not solid, so real is not real; that thelife of the flesh, of the senses, of

things seen, is but the "stuff thatdreams are made of" "a dream within adream," as one modern writer hascalled it; "the shadow of a dream," asanother has it. But last night "

He stood still, gazing straight beforehim, as if he saw something that Icould not see.

"But last night," I repeated, as wewalked on again.

"Last night I not only believed, I saw, Ifelt it with a sudden intuition conveyedto me in some inexplicable manner bythe vision of that face. I felt the utterinsignificance of what we name

existence, and I perceived too behind itthat which it conceals from us the realLife, illimitable, unfathomable, theelement of our true being, with itseternal possibilities of misery or joy."

"And all this came to you throughsomething of an evil nature "

"Yes; it was like the effect of lightningoh a pitch-dark night the same vividand lurid illumination of thingsunperceived before. It must be like therevelation of death, I should think,without, thank God, that fearful senseof the irrevocable which death mustbring with it. Will you not rest here "

For we had reached Beggar's Stile. But Iwas not tired for once, so keen, so life-giving was the air, sparkling with thatfine elixir whereby morning braces usfor the day's conflict. Below, throughslowly-dissolving mists, the villageshowed as if it smiled, each littlecottage hearth lifting its soft spiral ofsmoke to a zenith immeasurably deep,immaculately blue.

"But the ghost itself " I said, lookingup at him as we both rested our armsupon the gate. "What do you think ofthat "

"I am afraid there is no possible doubtwhat that was. Its face, as I tell you, was

a revelation of evil evil and itspunishment. It was a lost soul."

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

"Not in physical torment, certainly; thatwould be a very material interpretationof the doctrine. Besides, the Churchhas always recognised degree anddifference in the punishment of thelost. This, however, they all have incommon eternal separation from theDivine Being."

"Even if they repent and desire to bereunited to Him "

"Certainly; that must be part of theirsuffering."

"And yet you believe in a good God "

"In what else could I believe, evenwithout revelation But goodness,divine goodness, is far from excludingseverity and wrath, and even vengeance.Here the witness of science and ofhistory are in accord with that of theChristian Church; their firstmanifestation of God is always of 'onethat is angry with us and threatensevil.'"

The carriage had overtaken us andstopped now close to us. I rose to say

good-bye. Austyn shook me by thehand and moved towards the carriage;then, as if checked by a suddenthought, returned upon his steps andstood before me, his earnest eyes fixedupon me as if the whole self-denyingsoul within him hungered to wakenmine.

"I feel I must speak one word before Ileave you, even if it be out of season.With the recollection of last night stillso fresh, even the serious things of lifeseem trifles, far more its smallconventionalities. Mr. Lyndsay, yourfriend has made his choice, but you aredallying between belief and unbelief.Oh, do not dally long! We need no

spirit from the dead to tell us life isshort. Do we not feel it passing quickerand quicker every year The one thingthat is serious in all its shows anddelusions is the question it puts to eachone of us, and which we answer to oureternal loss or gain. Many differentvoices call to us in this age of falseprophets, but one only threatens as wellas invites. Would it not be only wise,prudent even, to give the preference tothat Mr. Lyndsay, I beseech you, acceptthe teaching of the Church, which isone with that of conscience and ofnature, and believe that there is a God, aSovereign, a Lawgiver, a Judge."

He was gone, and I still stood thinking

of his words, and of his gaze while hespoke them.

The mists were all gone, now, leavingbehind them in shimmering dewdropsan iridescent veil on mead and copseand garden; the river gleamed indiamond curves and loops, while in thecovert near me the birds were singing asif from hearts that over-brimmed withjoy.

And slowly, sadly, I repeated to myselfthe words Sovereign, Lawgiver, Judge.

I was hungering for bread; I was givena stone.

CHAPTER VI

MRS. MOLYNEUX'S GOSPEL

"The room is all ready now," said LadyAtherley, "but Lucinda has neverwritten to say what train she is comingby."

"A good thing, too," said Atherley; "weshall not have to send for her. Thoseunlucky horses are worked off theirlegs already. Is that the carriage comingback from Rood Warren Harold, runand stop it, and tell Marsh to driveround to the door before he goes to the

stables. I may as well have a lift downto the other end of the village."

"What do you want to do at the otherend of the village "

"I don't want to do anything, but myunlucky fate as a landowner compelsme to go over and look at an eel-weirwhich has just burst. Lindy, come alongwith me, and cheer me up with one ofyour ghost stories. You are as good as aChristmas annual."

"And on your way back," said LadyAtherley, "would you mind the carriagestopping to leave some brandy atMonk's Mr. Austyn told me last night

he was so weak, and the doctor hasordered him brandy every hour."

Atherley was disappointed with whathe called my last edition of the ghost;he complained that it was little moredefinite than the Canon's.

"Your last two stories are toohighflown for my simple tastes. I wanta good coherent description of theghost himself, not the particularemotions he excited. I had expectedbetter things from Austyn. Upon myword, as far as we have gone, old AuntEleanour's is the best. I think Austyn,with his mediaeval turn of mind andhis quite mediaeval habit of living

upon air, might have managed to raisesomething with horns and hoofs. It is acurious thing that in the dark ages thedevil was always appearing tosomebody. He doesn't make himself socheap now. He has evidently more todo; but there is a fashion in ghosts as inother things, and that reminds me ourghost, from all we hear of it, isdecidedly rococo. If you study thereports of societies that hunt thesupernatural, you will find that thelatest thing in ghosts is very quiet andcommonplace. Rattling chains and bluelights, and even fancy dress, have quitegone out. And the people who see theghosts are not even startled at firstsight; they think it is a visitor, or a man

come to wind the clocks. In fact, thechic thing for a ghost in these days is tobe mistaken for a living person."

"What puzzles me is that a sceptic likeyou can so easily swallow theastonishing coincidence of thesedifferent people all having imagined theghost in the same house."

"Why, the coincidence is not a bit moreastonishing than several people in thesame place having the same fever.Nothing in the world is so infectious asghost-seeing. The oftener a ghost isseen, the oftener it will be seen. In thissort of thing particularly, one foolmakes many. No, don't wait for me.

Heaven only knows when I shall bereleased."

The door of Monk's cottage was open,but no one was to be seen within, andno one answered to my knock, so,anxious to see him again, I groped myway up the dark ladder-like stairs to theroom above. The first thing I saw wasthe bed where Monk himself was lying.They had drawn the sheet across hisface: I saw what had happened. Hiswife was standing near, looking not somuch grieved as stunned and tired."Would you like to see him, sir " sheasked, stretching out her withered handto draw the sheet aside. I was gladafterwards I had not refused, as, but for

fear of being ungracious, I would havedone.

Since then I have seen death "in state"as it is called invested with more thanroyal pomp, but I have never felt hispresence so majestic as in that poorlittle garret. I know his seal may bepainful, grotesque even: here it waswholly benign and beautiful. Alldiscolorations had disappeared in aneven pallor as of old ivory; all furrowsof age and pain were smoothed away,and the rude peasant face wastransfigured, glorified, by that smile ofineffable and triumphant repose.

Many times that day it rose before me,

never more vividly than when, atdinner, Mrs. Molyneux, in colours asbrilliant as her complexion, and jewelsas sparkling as her eyes, recounted inher silvery treble the latest flowers offashionable gossip. I am always glad tobe one of any audience which Mrs.Molyneux addresses, not so much outof admiration for the discourse itself,as for the charm of gesture andintonation with which it is delivered.But the main question the subject ofAtherley's conversion she did notapproach till we were in the drawing-room, luxuriously established in deepand softly-cushioned chairs. Then, nearthe fire, but turned away from it so asto face us all, and in the prettiest of

attitudes, she began, gracefullyemphasising her more important pointsby movements of her spangled fan.

"I do not mention the name of thereligion I wish to speak to you about,because now I hope you won't beangry, but I am going to be quitehorribly rude because Sir George iscertain to be so prejudiced against ohyes, Sir George, you are; everybody is atfirst. Even I was, because it has been sohorribly misrepresented by people whoreally know nothing about it. Forinstance, I have myself heard it saidthat it was only a kind of spiritualism.On the contrary, it is very muchopposed to it, and has quite convinced

me for one of the wickedness anddanger of spiritualism."

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

"And then, people said it was veryimmoral. Far from that; it has a veryhigh ethical standard indeed a verymoral aim. One of its chief objects isto establish a universal brotherhoodamongst men of all nations and sects."

"A what " asked Atherley.

"A universal brotherhood."

"My dear Mrs. Molyneux, you don't

mean to seriously offer that as a novelty.I never heard anything so hackneyed inmy life. Why, it has been preached adnauseam for centuries!"

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

"Oh, but excuse me; that is not thequestion. If your religion is as brand-new as you gave me to understand,there has been no time for practice. Itmust be all theory, and I hoped I wasgoing to hear something original."

"Oh really, Sir George, you are quite toonaughty. How can I explain things if

you are so flippant and impatient Inone sense, it is a very old religion; it isthe truth which is in all religions, andsome of its interesting doctrines weretaught ages before Christianity was everheard of, and proved, too, by miraclesfar far more wonderful than any in theNew Testament. However, it is no goodtalking to you about that; what I reallywanted you to understand is howinfinitely superior it is to all otherreligions in its theological teaching. Youknow, Sir George, you are alwaysfinding fault with all the ChristianChurches and even with theMahommedans too, for that matterbecause they are so anthropomorphic,because they imply that God is a

personal being. Very well, then, youcannot say that about this religion,because this is what is so remarkableand elevated about it it has nothing todo with God at all."

"Nothing to do with what did you say "asked Lady Atherley, diverted by thislast remark from a long row of loopsupon an ivory needle which sheappeared to be counting.

"Nothing to do with God."

"Do you know, Lucinda," said LadyAtherley, "if you would not mind, Ifancy the coffee is just coming in, andperhaps it would be as well just to wait

for a little, you know just till theservants are out of the room Theymight perhaps think it a little odd."

"Yes," said Atherley, "and evenunorthodox."

Mrs. Molyneux submitted to thisinterruption with the greatest sweetnessand composure, and dilated on thebeauty of the new chair-covers tillCastleman and the footman had retired,when, with a coffee-cup instead of afan in her exquisite hand, she took upthe thread of her exposition.

"As I was saying, the distinction of thisreligion is that it has nothing to do with

God. Of course it has other greatadvantages, which I will explain later,like its cultivation of a sixth sense, forinstance "

"Do you mean common sense "

"Jane, what am I to do with Sir GeorgeHe is really incorrigible. How can Ipossibly explain things if you will notbe serious "

"I never was more serious in my life.Show me a religion which cultivatescommon sense, and I will embrace it atonce."

"It is just because I knew you would go

on in this way that I do not attempt tosay anything about the supernaturalside of this religion, though it is veryimportant and most extraordinary. Iassure you, my dear Jane, the powersthat people develop under it are reallymarvellous. I have friends who can seeinto another world as plainly as you cansee this drawing-room, and talk aseasily with spirits as I am talking withyou."

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

"Unfortunately, for that kind of thing

you require to undergo such severetreatment; my health would not stand it;the London season itself is almost toomuch for me. It is a pity, for they all sayI have great natural gifts that way, and Ishould have so loved to have taken itup; but to begin with, one must haveno animal food and no stimulants, andthe doctors always tell me I require agreat deal of both."

"Besides, le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle,"said Atherley, "if the spirits you are toconverse with are anything like thosewe used to meet in your drawing-room."

"That is not the same thing at all; these

were only spooks."

"Only what "

"No, I will not explain; you only meanto make fun of it, and there is nothingto laugh at. What I am trying to showyou is that side of the religion you willreally approve the unanthropomorphicside. It is not anything like atheism, youknow, as some ill-natured people havesaid; it does not declare there is noGod; it only declares that it is worsethan useless to try and think of Him,far less pray to Him because it is simplyimpossible. And that is quite scientificand philosophical, is it not For all thegreat men are agreed now that the

conditioned can know nothing of theunconditioned, and the finite can knownothing of the infinite. It is quiteabsurd to try, you know; and it isequally absurd to say anything aboutHim. You can't call Him Providence,because, as the universe is governed byfixed laws, there is nothing for him toprovide; and we have no business tocall Him Creator, because we don'treally know that things were created.Besides," said Mrs. Molyneux, resumingher fan, which she furled and unfurledas she continued, "I was reading in adelightful book the other day I can'tremember the author's name, but Ithink it begins with K or P. It explainedso clearly that if the universe was

created at all, it was created by thehuman mind. Then you can't call HimFather it is quite blasphemous; and it isalmost as bad to say He is merciful orloving, or anything of that kind,because mercy and love are only humanattributes; and so is consciousness too,therefore we know He cannot beconscious; and I believe, according tothe highest philosophical teaching, Hehas not any Being. So that altogether itis impossible, without being irreverent,to think of Him, far less speak to Himor of Him, because we cannot do sowithout ascribing to Him someconceivable quality and He has not any.Indeed, even to speak of Him as He isnot right; the pronoun is very

anthropomorphic and misleading. So,when you come to consider all thiscarefully, it is quite evident though itsounds rather strange at first that theonly way you can really honour andreverence God is by forgetting Himaltogether."

Here Mrs. Molyneux paused, pantingprettily for breath; but quicklyrecovering herself, proceeded: "So infact, it is just the same, practicallyspeaking remember I say onlypractically speaking as if there were noGod; and this religion "

"Excuse me," said Atherley; "but if, asyou have so forcibly explained to us,

there is, practically speaking, no God,why should we hamper ourselves withany religion at all "

"Why, to satisfy the universal cravingafter an ideal; the yearning forsomething beyond the sordid realitiesof animal existence and of daily life; tocomfort, to elevate "

"No, no, my dear Mrs. Molyneux;pardon me, but the sooner we get ridof all this sort of rubbish the better. Itis the indulgence they have given tosuch feelings that has made all thereligions such a curse to the world. Idon't believe, to begin with, that theyare universal. I never experienced any

such cravings and yearnings exceptwhen I was out of sorts; and I nevermet a thoroughly happy or healthyperson who did. If people keep theirbodies in good order and their mindswell employed, they have no time foryearnings. It was bad enough whenthere was some pretext for them; whenwe imagined there was a God and aworld which was better than this one.But now we know there is not theslightest ground for supposinganything of the kind, we had betterhave the courage of our opinions, andlive up to them, or down to them. As tothe word 'ideal,' it ought to beexpunged from the vocabulary; I wouldlike to make it penal to pronounce, or

write, or print the word for a century.Why, we have been surfeited with theideal by the Christian Churches; that'swhy we find the real so little to ourtaste. We've been so long fed uponsweet trash, we can't relish wholesomefood. The cure for that is to takewholesome food or starve, not provideanother sickly substitute. Pray, let ushave no more religions. On thecontrary, our first duty is to be asirreligious as possible to believe in aslittle as we can, to trust in nobody butourselves, to hope for nothing but theactual, to get rid of all high-flownnotions of human beings and theirdestiny, and, above all, to avoid aspoison the ideal, the sublime, the "

His words were drowned at last inmusical cries of indignation from Mrs.Molyneux. I remember no more of thediscussion, except that Atherleycontinued to reiterate his doctrine indifferent words, and Mrs. Molyneux todenounce it with unabated fervour.

My thoughts wandered I heard nomore. I was tired and depressed, andfelt grateful to Lady Atherley when,with invariable punctuality, at a quarterto eleven, she interrupted thesymposium by rising and proposingthat we should all go to bed.

My last distinct recollection of that

evening is of Mrs. Molyneux, with thefolds of her gown in one hand, and abedroom candlestick in the other,mounting the dark oak stairs, andcalling out fervently as she went

"Oh, how I pray that I may see theghost!"

The night was stormy, and I could notsleep. The wind wailed fitfully outsidethe house, while within doors andwindows rattled, and on the stairs andin the passages wandered strange andunaccountable noises, like stealthyfootsteps or stifled voices. To thisdreary accompaniment, as I lay awakein the darkness, I heard the lessons of

the last few days repeated: witness afterwitness rose and gave his varyingtestimony; and when, before thediscord and irony of it all, I bitterlyrepeated Pilate's question, the smile onthat dead face would rise before me,and then I hoped again.

Between three and four the wind fellduring a short space, and all responsivenoises ceased. For a few minutesreigned absolute silence, then it wasbroken by two piercing cries the criesof a woman in terror or in pain.

They disturbed even the sleepers, it wasevident; for when I reached the end ofmy passage I heard opening doors,

hurrying footsteps, and bells ringingviolently in the gallery. After a little thestir was increased, presumably byservants arriving from the farther wing;but no one came my way till Atherleyhimself, in his dressing-gown, wenthurriedly downstairs.

"Anything wrong " I called as he passedme.

"Only Mrs. Molyneux's prayer has beengranted."

"Of course she was bound to see it,"he said next day, as we sat together overa late breakfast. "It would have been amiracle if she had not; but if I had

known the interview was to befollowed by such unpleasantconsequences I shouldn't have askedher down. I was wandering about forhours looking for an imaginary bottleof sal-volatile Jane described as beingin her sitting-room: and Jane herselfwas up till late or rather early thismorning, trying to soothe Mrs.Molyneux, who does not appear tohave found the ghost quite suchpleasant company as she expected. Ohyes, Jane is down; she breakfasted in herown room. I believe she is orderingdinner at this minute in the next room."

Hardly had he said the words whenoutside, in the hall, resounded a

prolonged and stentorian wail.

"What on earth is the matter now " saidAtherley, rising and making for thedoor. He opened it just in time for usto see Mrs. Mallet go by Mrs. Malletbathed in tears and weeping as I neverhave heard an adult weep before orsince in a manner which is graphicallyand literally described by the phrase"roaring and crying."

"Why, Mrs. Mallet! What on earth is thematter "

"Send for Mrs. de Noel," cried Mrs.Mallet in tones necessarily raised to ahigh and piercing key by the sobs with

which they were accompanied. "Sendfor Mrs. de Noel; send for that dearlady, and she will tell you whether aword has been said against my charactertill I come here, which I never wish todo, being frightened pretty nigh todeath with what one told me and theother; and if you don't believe me, askMrs. Stubbs as keeps the little sweet-shop near the church, if any one in thevillage will so much as come up theavenue after dark; and says to me, thevery day I come here, 'You have anerve,' she says; 'I wouldn't sleep thereif you was to pay me,' she says; and Isays, not wishing to speak against afamily that was cousin to Mrs. de Noel,'Noises is neither here nor there,' I says,

'and ghostisses keeps mostly to thegentry's wing,' I says. And then to say asI put about that they was all over thehouse, and frighten the London lady'smaid, which all I said was and Hanncan tell you that I speak the truth, forshe was there 'some says one thing,' saysI, 'and some says another, but I takesno notice of nothink.' But put up witha deal, I have more than ever I told asoul since I come here, which Ipromised Mrs. de Noel when she askedme to oblige her; which the blue lights Ihave seen a many times, and tapping ofcoffin-nails on the wall, and never closemy eyes for nights sometimes, but amentirely wore away, and my nerve thatweak; and then to be so hurt in my

feelings, and spoke to as I am notaccustomed, but always treatedeverywhere I goes with the greatest ofkindness and respect, which ask Mrs. deNoel she will tell you, since ever I was awidow; but pack my things I will, andwalk every step of the way, if it waspouring cats and dogs, I would, ratherthan stay another minute here to be soput upon; and send for Mrs. de Noel ifyou don't believe me, and she will tellyou the many high families sherecommended me, and always givesatisfaction. Send for Mrs. de Noel "

The swing door closed behind her, andthe sounds of her grief and herreiterated appeals to Mrs. de Noel died

slowly away in the distance.

"What on earth have you been saying toher " said Atherley to his wife, who hadcome out into the hall.

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

"But she can cook. Pray what are we todo for dinner "

"I am sure I don't know. I never knewanything so unlucky as it all is, and

Lucinda looking so ill."

"Well, you had better send for thedoctor."

"She won't hear of it. She says nobodycould do her any good but Cecilia."

"What! 'Send for Mrs. de Noel ' PoorCissy! What do these excited femalesimagine she is going to do "

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

"But she is in London, is she not, withAunt Henrietta "

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

"Well, I will tell you what we might doif you want her badly. Telegraph to herto London and ask her to come straighton here."

"I suppose she is sure to come "

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

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

"Yes, and say the carriage shall meet the5.15 at Whitford station, and then shewill feel bound to come. And as I shallnot be back in time, send Lindy to meet

her. It will do him good. He looks as ifhe had been sitting up all night with theghost."

It was a melancholy day. The wind wasquieter, but the rain still fell. Indoorswe were all in low spirits, not evenexcepting the little boys, muchconcerned about Tip, who was not hisusual brisk and complacent self. Hisnose was hot, his little stump of a tailwas limp, he hid himself under chairsand tables, whence he turned upon ussorrowful and beseeching eyes, and,most alarming symptom of all, refusedsweet biscuits. During the afternoon hewas confided to me by his little masterswhile they made an expedition to the

stables, and I was sitting reading by thelibrary fire with the invalid beside mewhen Lady Atherley came in to proposeI should go into the drawing-room andtalk to Mrs. Molyneux, who had justcome down.

"Did she ask to see me "

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

I did as I was asked to do, but withsome misgivings. It was one of the fewoccasions when my misfortune becamean advantage. No one, especially nowoman, was likely to rebuff too sharplythe intruder who dragged himself into

her presence. So far from that, Mrs.Molyneux, who was leaning against themantelpiece and looking down listlesslyinto the fire, moved to welcome mewith a smile and to offer me a handstartlingly cold. But after that sheresumed her first attitude and made noattempt to converse she, the most ready,the most voluble of women. Thenfollowed an awkward pause, which Idesperately broke by saying I was afraidshe was not better.

"Better! I was not ill," she answered,almost impatiently, and walked awaytowards the other side of the room. Iunderstood that she wished to bealone, and was moving towards the

door as quietly as possible when I wassuddenly checked by her hand uponmy elbow.

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

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

"You are not intruding; please stay."

"I would gladly stay if I could helpyou."

"Can any one help me, I wonder " She

went slowly back to the fire and satdown upon the fender-stool, andresting her chin upon her hand, andlooking dreamily before her, repeated

"Can any one help me, I wonder "

I sat down on a chair near her and said

"Do you think it would help you to talkof what has frightened you "

"I don't think I can. I would tell you,Mr. Lyndsay, if I could tell any one; foryou know what it is to be weak andsuffering; you are as sympathetic as awoman, and more merciful than somewomen. But part of the horror of it all

is that I cannot explain it. Words seemto be no good, just because I have usedthem so easily and so meaninglessly allmy life just as words and nothingmore."

"Can you tell me what you saw "

"A face, only a face, when I woke upsuddenly. It looked as if it were paintedon the darkness. But oh, thedreadfulness of it and what it broughtwith it! Do you remember the line,'Bring with you airs from heaven orblasts from hell' Yes, it was in hell,because hell is not a great gulf, likeDante described, as I used to think; it isno place at all it is something we make

ourselves. I felt all this as I saw the face,for we ourselves are not what we think.Part of what I used to play with wastrue enough; it is all Maya, a delusion,this sense life it is no life at all. Theactual life is behind, under it all; it goesdeep deep down, it stretches on, on andyet it has nothing to do with space ortime. I feel as if I were beating myselfagainst a stone wall. My words can haveno sense for you any more than theywould have had for me yesterday."

"But tell me, why should this discoveryof this other life make you so miserable"

"Oh, because it brings such a want with

it. How can I explain It is like a poorwretch stupefied with drink. Don't youknow the poor creatures in the Eastendsometimes drink just that they may notfeel how hungry and how cold they are'They remember their misery no more.'Is the life of the world and of outwardthings like that, if we live too much init I used to be so contented with it allits pleasures, its little triumphs, even itsgossip; and what I called my aspirationsI satisfied with what was nothing morethan phrases. And now I have foundmy real self, now I am awake, I wantmuch more, and there is nothing only agreat silence, a great loneliness like thatin the face. And the theories I talkedabout are no comfort any more; they

are just what pretty speeches would beto a person in torture. Oh, Mr. Lyndsay,I always feel that you are real, that youare good; tell me what you know. Isthere nothing but this dark voidbeyond when life falls away from us "

She lifted towards me a face quiveringwith excitement, and eyes that waitedwild and famished for my answer theanswer I had not for her, and thenindeed I tasted the full bitterness of thecup of unbelief.

"No," she said presently, "I knew it; noone can do me any good but Cecilia deNoel."

"And she believes "

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

She rested her head upon her hand andlooked musingly towards the window,down which the drops were trickling,and said

"Ever since I have known Cecilia I havealways felt that if all the world failedthis would be left. Not that I reallyimagined the world would fail me, butyou know how one imagines things,how one asks oneself questions. If Iwas like this, if I was like that, whatshould I do I used to say to myself, if

the very worst happened to me, if I wasill of some loathsome disease fromwhich everybody shrank away, or if mymind was unhinged and I was temptedwith horrible temptations like I haveread about, I would go to Cecilia. Shewould not turn from me; she wouldrun to meet me as the father in theparable did, not because I was herfriend but because I was in trouble. Allwho are in trouble are Cecilia's friends,and she feels to them just as otherpeople feel towards their own children.And I could tell her everything, showher everything. Others feel the same; Ihave heard them say so men as well aswomen. I know why Cecilia's pity is soreverent, so pure. A great London

doctor said to me once, 'Remember,nothing is shocking or disgusting to adoctor.' That is like Cecilia. Nosuffering could ever be disgusting orshocking to Cecilia, nor ridiculous, norgrotesque. The more humiliating it was,the more pitiful it would be to her.Anything that suffers is sacred toCecilia. She would comfort, as if shewent on her knees to one; and hertouch on one's wounds, one's ugliestwounds, would be like," she hesitatedand looked about her in quest of acomparison, then, pointing to a pictureover the door, a picture of theMagdalene, kissing the bleeding feetupon the Cross, ended, "like that."

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

The door opened and Castlemanentered.

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

CHAPTER VII

CECILIA'S GOSPEL

The rain gradually ceased falling as wedrove onward and upward to thestation. It stood on high ground,

overlooking a wide sweep of downlandand fallow, bordered towards the westby close-set woodlands, purple thatevening against a sky of limpid gold,which the storm-clouds discovered asthey lifted.

I had not long to wait, for, punctual toits time, the train steamed into thestation. From that part of the train towhich I first looked, four or fivepassengers stepped out; not one ofthem certainly the lady that I waited for.Glancing from side to side I saw,standing at the far end of the platform,two women; one of them was tall;could this be Mrs. de Noel And yet no,I reflected as I went towards them, for

she held a baby in her arms a babymoreover swathed, not in white andlaces, but in a tattered and discolouredshawl: while her companion, lifting outbaskets and bundles from a third-classcarriage, was poorly and evenlymiserably clad. But again, as I drewnearer, I observed that the long finehand which supported the child wasdelicately gloved, and that the cloakwhich swung back from the encirclingarm was lined and bordered with verycostly fur. This and something in thewhole outline

"Mrs. de Noel " I murmuredinquiringly.

Then she turned towards me, and I sawher, as I often see her now in dreams,against that sunset background ofaerial gold which the artist ofcircumstance had painted behind her,like a new Madonna, holding the childof poverty to her heart, pressing hercheek against its tiny head with agesture whose exquisite tenderness, forat least that fleeting instant, seemed tobridge across the gulf which still yawnsbetween Dives and Lazarus. Sostanding, she looked at me with twosoft brown eyes, neither large norbeautiful, but in their outlook directand simple as a child's. Remembering asI met them what Mrs. Molyneux hadsaid, I saw and comprehended as well

what she meant. Benevolence is butfaintly inscribed, on the faces of mostmen, even of the better sort. "I willlove you, my neighbour," we thereondecipher, "when I have attended to myown business, in the first place; if youare lovable, or at least likeable, in thesecond." But in the transparent gazethat Cecilia de Noel turned upon herfellows beamed love poured forthwithout stint and without condition. Itwas as if every man, woman, and childwho approached her became instantlyto her more interesting than herself,their defects more tolerable, their wantsmore imperative, their sorrows moremoving than her own. In this lay thesource of that mysterious charm so

many have felt, so few haveunderstood, and yielding to which eventhose least capable of appreciating herconfessed that, whatever her conductmight be, she herself was irresistiblylovable. A kind of dream-like hazeseemed to envelop us as I introducedmyself, as she smiled upon me, as sheresigned the child to its mother and bidthem tenderly farewell; but the clear airof the real became distinct again whenthere stood suddenly before us a fatelderly female, whose countenance wasflushed with mingled anxiety anddispleasure.

"Law bless me, mem!" said thenewcomer, "I could not think wherever

you could be. I have been looking upand down for you, all through the first-class carriages."

"I am so sorry, Parkins," said Mrs. deNoel penitently; "I ought to have letyou know that I changed my carriage atCarchester. I wanted to nurse a babywhose mother was looking ill and tired.I saw them on the platform, and thenthey got into a third-class carriage, so Ithought the best way would be to get inwith them."

"And where, if you please, mem,"inquired Parkins, in an icy tone andwith a face stiffened by represseddispleasure "where do you think you

have left your dressing-bag andhumbrella "

Mrs. de Noel fixed her sweet eyes uponthe speaker, as if striving to recollectthe answer to this question and thenreplied

"She told me she lived quite near thestation. I wish I had asked her how far.She is much too weak to walk anydistance. I might have found a fly forher, might I not "

Upon which Parkins gave a snort ofirrepressible exasperation, and,evidently renouncing her mistress asbeyond hope, forthwith departed in

search of the missing property. Iaccompanied her, and, with the aid ofthe guard, we speedily found andsecured both bag and umbrella, and, asthe train steamed off, returned withthese treasures to Mrs. de Noel, still onthe same spot and in the same attitudeas we had left her, and all that she saidwas

"It was so stupid, so forgetful, so justlike me not to have asked her moreabout it. She had been ill; the journeyitself was more than she could stand;and then to have to carry the baby! Shesaid it was not far, but perhaps she onlysaid that to please me. Poor people areso afraid of distressing one; they often

make themselves out better off thanthey really are, don't they "

I was embarrassed by this question, towhich my own experience did notauthorise me to answer yes; but Ievaded the difficulty by consulting aporter, who fortunately knew thewoman, and was able to assure us thather cottage was barely a stone's throwfrom the station. When I had conveyedto Mrs. de Noel this information,which she received with an eagergratitude that the recovery of her bagand umbrella had failed to rouse, weleft the station to go to the carriage, andthen it was that, pausing suddenly, shecried out in dismay

"Ah, you are hurt! you "

She stopped abruptly; she had divinedthe truth, and her eyes grew softer withsuch tender pity as not yet had shonefor me motherless, sisterless on anywoman's face. As we drove home thatevening she heard the story that neverhad been told before.

"You may have your faults, Cissy," saidAtherley, "but I will say this for you forsmoothing people down when theyhave been rubbed the wrong way, younever had your equal."

He lay back in a comfortable chair

looking at his cousin, who, sitting on alow seat opposite the drawing-roomfire, shaded her eyes from the glare witha little hand-screen.

"Mrs. Molyneux, I hear, has gone tosleep," he went on; "and Mrs. Mallet isunpacking her boxes. The only personwho does not seem altogether happy ismy old friend Parkins. When I inquiredafter her health a few minutes ago hermanner to me was barely civil."

"Poor Parkins is rather put out," saidMrs. de Noel in her slow gentle way. "Itis all my fault. I forgot to pack up thebodice of my best evening gown, andParkins says it is the only one I look fit

to be seen in."

"But, my dear Cecilia," said LadyAtherley, looking up from the workwhich she pursued beside a shadedlamp, "why did not Parkins pack it upherself "

"Oh, because she had some shoppingof her own to do this forenoon, so sheasked me to finish packing for her, andof course I said I would; and Ipromised to try and forget nothing; andthen, after all, I went and left the bodicein a drawer. It is provoking! The fact is,James spoils me so when he is at home.He remembers everything for me, andwhen I do forget anything he never

scolds me."

"Ah, I expect he has a nice time of it,"said Atherley. "However, it is not myfault. I warned him how it would bewhen he was engaged. I said: 'I hope,for one thing, you can live on air, oldchap for you will get nothing more fordinner if you trust to Cissy to order it.'"

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

"No, dear Jane; of course he did not.He was very much pleased with ourmarriage. He said James was the onlyman he ever knew who was fit to marryme."

"So he was," agreed Atherley; "the onlyman whose temper could stand all hewould have to put up with. We hadgood proof of that even on thewedding-day, when you kept himkicking his heels for half an hour in thechurch while you were admiring theeffect of your new finery in the glass."

"What!" cried Lady Atherleyincredulously.

"What really did happen, Jane," saidMrs. de Noel, "was that when EdithMolyneux was trying on my wreathbefore a looking-glass over thefireplace, she unfortunately dropped it

into the grate, and got it in such a mess.It took us a long time to get the blackoff, and some of the sprays were sospoiled, we had to take them out. Andit was very unpleasant for Edith, asAunt Henrietta was extremely angry,because the wreath was her present, youknow, and it was very expensive; and asto Parkins, poor dear, she was so vexedshe positively cried. She said I was themost trying lady she had ever waitedupon. She often says so. I am afraid it istrue."

"Not a doubt of it," said Atherley.

"Do not believe him, Cecilia," said LadyAtherley: "he thinks there is no one in

the world like you."

"Fortunately for the world," saidAtherley; "any more of the sort wouldspoil it. But I am not going to stay hereto be bullied by two women at once.Rather than that, I will go and writeletters."

He went, and soon afterwards LadyAtherley followed him.

Then the two little boys came in withTip.

"We are not allowed to take himupstairs," explained Harold, "so wethought he might stay with you and Mr.

Lyndsay for a little, till Charles comesfor him."

"If you would let him lie upon yourdress, Aunt Cissy," suggested Denis; "hewould like that."

Accordingly he was carefully settled onthe outspread folds of the serge gown;and after the little boys had condoledwith him in tones so melancholy thathe was affected almost to tears, theywent off to supper and to bed.

Silence followed, broken only by theticking of the clock and the wailing ofthe wind outside. Mrs. de Noel gazedinto the fire with intent and unseeing

eyes. Its warm red light softly illuminedher whole face and figure, for in herabstraction she had let the hand-screenfall, and was stroking mechanically thelittle sleek head that nestled against her.Meantime I stared attentively at her,thinking I might do so without offence,seeing she had forgotten me and all elsearound her. Once, indeed, as if risingfor a minute to the surface, with eyesthat appeared to waken, she looked upand encountered my earnest gaze, butwithout shade of displeasure ordiscomfiture. She only smiled upon me,placidly as a sister might smile upon abrother, benignly as one might smileupon a child, and fell into her dreamagain. It was a wonderful look,

especially from a woman, as unique inits complete unconsciousness as in itswarm goodwill; it was as soothing asthe touch of her fine soft fingers musthave been on Tip's hot head. I felt Icould have curled myself up, as he did,at her feet and slept on for ever. But,alas! the clock was checking the flyingminutes and chanting the departingquarters, and presently the dressing-bellrang, Mrs. de Noel stirred, gave a longsigh, and, plainly from the fulness ofher heart and of the thoughts she hadso long been following, said

"Mr. Lyndsay, is it not strange So manypeople from the great world come andask me if there is any God. Really good

people, you know, so honourable, sogenerous, so self-sacrificing. It is justthe same to me as if they should askme whether the sun was shining, whenall the time I saw the sunshine on theirfaces."

"By the way," said Atherley that nightafter dinner, when Mrs. Molyneux wasnot present, "where are you going toput Cissy to-night Are you going tomake a bachelor of her too "

"Oh, such an uncomfortablearrangement!" said Lady Atherley. "ButLucinda has set her heart on havingCecilia near her; so they have put up alittle bed in the dressing-room for her."

"Cissy is to keep the ghost at bay, is she" said Atherley. "I hope she may. I don'twant another night as lively as the last."

"Who else has seen the ghost " askedMrs. de Noel, thoughtfully. "Has Mr.Lyndsay "

"No, Lindy will never see the ghost; heis too much of a sceptic. Even if hesaw it he would not believe in it, andthere is nothing a ghost hates like that.But he has seen the people who saw theghost, and he tells their several storiesvery well."

"Would you tell me, Mr. Lyndsay "

asked Mrs. de Noel.

I could do nothing but obey her wish;still I secretly questioned the wisdomof doing so, especially when, as I wenton, I observed stealing over herlistening face the shadow of somedisturbing thought.

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

"It is no good saying so to Lucinda,"said Lady Atherley, as we all rose,"because it only puts her out; but Ishall always feel certain myself it was amouse; because I remember in the

house we had at Bournemouth twoyears ago there was a mouse in myroom which often made such a noiseknocking down the plaster inside thewall, it used to quite startle me."

That night the storm finally subsided.When the morning came the rain fellno longer, the cry of the wind hadceased, and the cloud-curtain above uswas growing lighter and softer as ifpenetrated and suffused by the growingsunshine behind it.

I was late for breakfast that day.

"Mr. Lyndsay, Tip is all right again,"cried Denis at sight of me. "Mrs. Mallet

says it was chicken bones he stole fromthe cat's dish."

"Is that all " observed Atherleysardonically; "I thought he must haveseen the ghost. By the bye, Cissy, didyou see it "

"Yes," said Mrs. de Noel simply, atwhich Atherley visibly started, andinstantly began talking of somethingelse.

Mrs. Molyneux was to leave by anafternoon train, but, to the relief ofeverybody, it was discovered that Mrs.Mallet had indefinitely postponed herdeparture. She remained in the mildest

of humours and in the mostphilosophical of tempers, as I myselfcan testify; for, meeting her by accidentin the hall, I was encouraged by theamiability of her simper to say that Ihoped we should have no more troublewith the ghost, when she answered inwords I have often since admiringlyquoted

"Perhaps not, sir, but I don't seem tocare even if we do; for I had a dreamlast night, and a spirit seemed towhisper in my ear, 'Don't be afraid; it isonly a token of death.'"

After Mrs. Molyneux had started, withMrs. de Noel as her companion as far

as the station, and all the rest of theparty had gone out to sun themselvesin the brightness of the afternoon, Iworked through a long arrears ofcorrespondence: and I was justfinishing a letter, when Atherley, whomI supposed to be far distant, came intothe library.

"I thought you had gone to pay callswith Lady Atherley "

"Is it likely Look here, Lindy, it is quitehot out of doors. Come, and let me tugyou up the hill to meet Cissy cominghome from the station, and then Ipromise you a rare treat."

Certainly to meet Mrs. de Noelanywhere might be so considered, but Idid not ask if that was what he meant.It was milder; one felt it more at everystep upward. The sun, low as it was,shone warmly as well as brilliantlybetween the clouds that he had thrustasunder and scattered in wild andbeautiful disorder. It was one of thoseincredible days in early spring, balmy,tender, which our island summercannot always match.

We went on till we reached Beggar'sStile.

"Sit down," said Atherley, tossing on tothe wet step a coat he carried over his

arm. "And there is a cigarette; you mustsmoke, if you please, or at least pretendto do so."

"What does all this mean What are youup to, George "

"I am up to a delicate psychicalinvestigation which requires thegreatest care. The medium is made ofsuch uncommon stuff; she has not aparticle of brass in her composition. Soshe requires to be carefully isolatedfrom all disturbing influences. I allowyou to be present at the experiment,because discretion is one of yourstrongest points, and you always knowwhen to hold your tongue. Besides, it

will improve your mind. Cissy's story iscertain to be odd, like herself, and willillustrate what I am always saying thatHere she is."

He went forward to meet and to stopthe carriage, out of which, at hissuggestion, Mrs. de Noel readily camedown to join us.

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

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

She rested her arms upon the gate andlooked downwards.

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

"Cissy," said Atherley, his arms on thegate, his eyes staring straight towardsthe opposite horizon, "tell us about theghost; were you frightened "

There was a certain tension in the pausewhich followed. Would she tell us ornot I almost felt Atherley's rebound ofsatisfaction as well as my own at thesound of her voice. It was uncertainand faint at first, but by degrees grewfirm again, as timidity was lost in the

interest of what she told:

"Last night I sat up with Mrs.Molyneux, holding her hand till she fellasleep, and that was very late, and thenI went to the dressing-room, where Iwas to sleep; and as I undressed, Ithought over what Mr. Lyndsay hadtold us about the ghost; and the more Ithought, the more sad and strange itseemed that not one of those who sawit, not even Aunt Eleanour, who is sokind and thoughtful, had had onepitying thought for it. And we whoheard about it were just the same, for itseemed to us quite natural and evenright that everybody should shrinkaway from it because it was so horrible;

though that should only make them themore kind; just as we feel we must bemore tender and loving to any one whois deformed, and the more shocking hisdeformity the more tender and loving.And what, I thought, if this poor spirithad come by any chance to ask forsomething; if it were in pain andlonged for relief, or sinful and longedfor forgiveness How dreadful then thatother beings should turn from it,instead of going to meet it and comfortit so dreadful that I almost wished thatI might see it, and have the strength tospeak to it! And it came into my headthat this might happen, for often andoften when I have been very anxious toserve some one, the wish has been

granted in a quite wonderful way. Sowhen I said my prayers, I askedespecially that if it should appear tome, I might have strength to forget allselfish fear and try only to know what itwanted. And as I prayed the foolishshrinking dread we have of such thingsseemed to fade away; just as when Ihave prayed for those towards whom Ifelt cold or unforgiving, the hardnesshas all melted away into love towardsthem. And after that came to me thatlovely feeling which we all havesometimes in church, or when we arepraying alone, or more often in theopen air, on beautiful summer dayswhen it is warm and still; as if one'sheart were beating and overflowing

with love towards everything in thisworld and in all the worlds; as if thevery grasses and the stones were clear,but dearest of all, the creatures that stillsuffer, so that to wipe away their tearsforever, one feels that one would die ohdie so gladly! And always as if this weresomething not our own, but part ofthat wonderful great Love above us,about us, everywhere, clasping us all sotenderly and safely!"

Here her voice trembled and failed; shewaited a little and then went on, "Ah, Iam too stupid to say rightly what Imean, but you who are clever willunderstand.

"It was so sweet that I knelt on,drinking it in for a long time; notpraying, you know, but just resting, andfeeling as if I were in heaven, till all atonce, I cannot explain why, I movedand looked round. It was there at theother end of the room. It was ... muchworse than I had dreaded it would be;as if it looked out of some greathorror deeper than I could understand.The loving feeling was gone, and I wasafraid so much afraid, I only wanted toget out of sight of it. And I think Iwould have gone, but it stretched outits hands to me as if it were asking forsomething, and then, of course, I couldnot go. So, though I was trembling alittle, I went nearer and looked into its

face. And after that I was not afraid anymore, I was too sorry for it; its poorpoor eyes were so full of anguish. Icried: 'Oh, why do you look at me likethat Tell me what I shall do.'

"And directly I spoke I heard it moan.Oh, George, oh, Mr. Lyndsay, how canI tell you what that moaning was like!Do you know how a little change in theface of some one you love, or a littletremble in his voice, can make you seequite clearly what nobody, not even thegreat poets, had been able to show youbefore

"George, do you remember the day thatgrandmother died, when they all broke

down and cried a little at dinner, allexcept Uncle Marmaduke He sat uplooking so white and stern at the endof the table. And I, foolish little child,thought he was not so grieved as theothers that he did not love his motherso much. But next day, quite by chance,I heard him, all alone, sobbing over hercoffin. I remember standing outside thedoor and listening, and each sob wentthrough my heart with a little stab, andI knew for the first time what sorrowwas. But even his sobs were not sopitiful as the moans of that poor spirit.While I listened I learnt that in anotherworld there may be worse for us to bearthan even here sorrow more hopeless,more lonely. For the strange thing was,

the moaning seemed to come from sofar far away; not only from somewheremillions and millions of miles away,but this is the strangest of all as if itcame to me from time long since past,ages and ages ago. I know this soundslike nonsense, but indeed I am trying toput into words the weary long distancethat seemed to stretch between us, likeone I never should be able to cross. Atlast it spoke to me in a whisper which Icould only just hear; at least it was morelike a whisper than anything else I canthink of, and it seemed to come like themoaning from far far away. It thankedme so meekly for looking at it andspeaking to it. It told me that by sinscommitted against others when it was

on earth it had broken the bondbetween itself and all other creatures.While it was what we call alive, it didnot feel this, for the senses confuse usand hide many things from the good,and so still more from the wicked; butwhen it died and lost the body bywhich it seemed to be kept near toother beings, it found itself imprisonedin the most dreadful lonelinessloneliness which no one in this worldcan even imagine. Even the pain ofsolitary confinement, so it told me,which drives men mad, is only like ashadow or type of this loneliness ofspirits. Others there might be, but itknew nothing of them nothing besidesthis great empty darkness everywhere,

except the place it had once lived in,and the people who were movingabout it; and even those it could onlyperceive dimly as if looking through amist, and always so unutterably awayfrom them all. I am not giving its ownwords, you know, George, because Icannot remember them. I am notcertain it did speak to me; the thoughtsseemed to pass in some strange wayinto my mind; I cannot explain how, forthe still far-away voice did not reallyspeak. Sometimes, it told me, theloneliness became agony, and it longedfor a word or a sign from some otherbeing, just as Dives longed for the dropof cold water; and at such times it wasable to make the living people see it.

But that, alas! was useless, for it onlyalarmed them so much that the bravestand most benevolent rushed away interror or would not let it come nearthem. But still it went on showing itselfto one after another, always hoping thatsome one would take pity on it andspeak to it, for it felt that if comfortever came to it, it must be through aliving soul, and it knew of none savethose in this world and in this place.And I said: 'Why did you not turn forhelp to God '

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

"And when I heard these words there

came over me a wild kind of pity, suchas I used to feel when I saw my littlechild struggling for breath when he wasill, and I held out my arms to this poorlonely thing, but it shrank back, crying:

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

"But I said: 'No Death can kill the lifein me, even though it kill my body.Dear fellow-spirit, I cannot tell youwhat I know; but let me take you in myarms; rest for an instant on my heart,and perhaps I may make you feel whatI feel all around us.'

"And as I spoke I threw my armsaround the shadowy form and strainedit to my breast. And I felt as if I werepressing to me only air, but air colderthan any ice, so that my heart seemed tostop beating, and I could hardlybreathe. But I still clasped it closer andcloser, and as I grew colder it seemed togrow less chill.

"And at last it spoke, and the whisperwas not far away, but near. It said:

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

"After that I remember nothing more,

till I woke up and found myself lyingon the floor beside the bed. It wasmorning, and the spirit was not there;but I have a strong feeling that I havebeen able to help it, and that it willtrouble you no more.

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

* * * * *

Neither of us spoke; neither of usstirred; when the sound of her lightfootfall was heard no more, there wascomplete silence. Below, the mists hadgathered so thickly that now they

spread across the valley one dead whitesea of vapour in which village andwoods and stream were all buried allexcept the little church spire, that, stillunsubmerged, pointed triumphantly tothe sky; and what a sky! For that whichyesterday had steeped us in cold anddarkness, now, piled even to the zenithin mountainous cloud-masses, wasdyed, every crest and summit of it, incrimson fire, pouring from a greatfount of colour, where, to the west, theheavens opened to show that wonder-world whence saints and singers havedrawn their loveliest images of the Restto come.

But perhaps I saw all things irradiated

by the light which had risen upon mydarkness the light that never was onland or sea, but shines reflected in thehuman face.

* * * * *

"George, I am waiting for yourinterpretation."

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

But there was a tone in his voice I hadheard once and only once before,when, through the first terrible hoursthat followed my accident, he satpatiently beside me in the darkenedroom, holding my hot hand in his

broad cool palm.

"It is very simple. It is the most easilyexplained of all the accounts. It was adream from beginning to end. She fellasleep praying, thinking, as she says;what was more natural or inevitablethan that she should dream of theghost And it all confirms what I say:that visions are composed by theperson who sees them. Nothing couldbe more characteristic of Cissy than thestory she has just told us."

"And let it be a dream," I said. "It is ofno consequence, for the dreamerremains, breathing and walking on thissolid earth. I have touched her hand, I

have looked into her face. Thank God!she is no vision, the woman who coulddream this dream! George, how do youexplain the miracle of her existence "

But Atherley was silent.

THE END

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

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