Chapter 8 continued 8

SWEDEN AND RUSSIA, 1892

Taking my experiences chronologically, I must now carry my readers back to England, where the autumn of this year found me in London.

I had been asked to recommend a house for paying guests, well situated, in the West End of London, and newly started by a lady who had been left a widow with very slender provision. Several kind women had interested themselves in the case, and had wisely suggested thinking out a means of livelihood in the future rather than merely supplying present wants.

It would be difficult to imagine a person less suited for the sort of employment chosen; but that is "another story."

I never care to recommend anything or anybody of which or of whom I have no personal knowledge; at the same time, I was anxious to help my kindly acquaintance in her philanthropy, and as I had arranged to spend some weeks in London that autumn-to be near an invalid brother-it struck me that I might stay at the house so strongly recommended, instead of taking private rooms as usual.

So I journeyed to Sussex Gardens, found a charming house, newly furnished and decorated, and as clean as the proverbial "new pin," and, moreover, a very good-looking mistress of the house, still a youngish woman of five or six and thirty.

She spoke most warmly of the kindness she had received from the lady who had given me her address, showed me some pleasant rooms, and the arrangement was quickly completed.

I chose a small sitting-room in addition to my bedroom, although, as a matter of fact, this was scarcely necessary, as I was the first guest received. Only one deaf old lady appeared upon the scene during the six weeks I spent there.

I had not been forty-eight hours in the house before I discovered that my hostess was a convinced and very remarkable psychic. Naturally she was delighted to find someone to whom she could speak of her various experiences without being laughed at or put down as a lunatic. At the same time I am bound to confess that Mrs Peters, although extremely interesting, was also rather agitating, and certainly much too erratic to make an entirely satisfactory Chatelaine. She was given to reading "Aurora Leigh," instead of ordering dinner, and had to be sent for occasionally to sit at the head of the table, with a volume of Browning or Tennyson firmly clutched in her reluctant hand. Even when duly "found and delivered," curious things happened during the meals-especially at dinner in the evening, when she often put down knife and fork and directed my attention to the far end of the handsome dining-room, where she was wont to see the ghost of her late husband.

"Look, dear Miss Bates! Surely you must see him-dear Henry, I mean. There he stands, beard and all, just between the sofa and the wall. I can see him as clearly as I see you!"

I am bound to say I never did see "dear Henry"; but the fine tabby cat certainly saw something in that corner, for it would rush most frantically to the sofa, jump on to one end, and sit staring at Henry (presumably), with its tail stuck out and its fur rising up, glaring into the corner with a look of combined fear and fascination.

My little sitting-room was invaded at all hours by my too interesting landlady, who would suddenly remember some thrilling experience, which she wished to share with me. At length I took to my bed for three days, not in the least ill, but simply for a much-needed rest in the midst of all these excitements.

A day or two after emerging from this haven of peace, I received a visit from a young lady, whose parents were well known to me in Yorkshire, and who had recently become engaged to a very rich man, many years her senior; in fact, considerably older than her own father, who had lately passed away. The daughters of this family were all devoted to their father, and most of the visit was occupied in giving me details of his last illness, and in my sympathising with her upon his loss. It was, in fact, far more a visit of condolence than of congratulation upon her future prospects of happiness. As to the latter, I found it difficult to be quite truthful and yet conventionally ecstatic.

To marry a man nearly old enough to be your grandfather struck me as risky, to say the least of it, even with all the emollients which riches and position undoubtedly add to domestic life.

The young woman in question did not at all resent my frankness on the subject, but assured me that her greatest consolation in thinking of her late father was the fact that she was about to make a marriage which he had always wished, and of which he had emphatically given his approval on his death-bed. "I told him I had decided upon it, just before he died, and he was so relieved and happy about it," she said simply as she turned to leave the room. Having mentioned that a younger sister was also in town, I sent a message to the latter, asking her to take early dinner with me on the following Sunday, which happened to be my only spare day just then.

On the evening of this visit from the coming bride, I had accepted an invitation to a large musical party in the house of the lady who had begged me to interest myself in Mrs Peters. It was within a stone's-throw of Sussex Gardens, and I came down to dinner at seven-thirty p.m., intending to dress later, and go round there about nine p.m.

For an hour or so before dinner I had been conscious of a growing despondency, to which I could attribute no cause, and this increased so much during the meal that Mrs Peters noticed it at last, and asked me if I were feeling unwell.

"No-not unwell-but I am absolutely miserable, and cannot imagine why."

"Then you have not had bad news?" was the next remark. "I feared you must have had, seeing you so silent and not able to eat anything."

In answer to this I said that I had not even the excuse of hearing of other people's misfortunes, for a young lady had been calling upon me that afternoon, who was about to make what the world calls a very successful marriage. I did not, however, mention her name, as Mrs Peters knew none of my friends.

Dinner over, I felt still so unaccountably wretched that I determined to give up the evening party, and write my excuses. Mrs Peters did her best to combat this decision, fearing that her kind benefactress might be disappointed, and also urging that the evening's enjoyment would cheer me up. But finding me inexorable, she then said: "Well, if you have quite determined not to go, shall I come into your sitting-room and see if we can get any explanation of your curious feeling of depression?"

I closed with this suggestion, knowing Mrs Peters to be a really remarkable sensitive.

So we sat in the dark for a few minutes; and then I heard a soft frou-frou on Mrs Peters' silk gown, and knew she was tracing out words with her hand in a fashion of her own.

"It is a spirit that young lady brought with her," she announced at length. "The spirit has remained here with you, and is worried about this marriage you spoke of. She wants you to try and break it off. She seems to have been nearly related to the lady, or perhaps a godmother; anyway, she takes great interest in her."

"Will she give a name?" I asked.

"Eliza is all I get," Mrs Peters replied.

It then occurred to me that my young friend's name was Eliza, and that she had been so named after a great-aunt, to the best of my recollection; but as she was invariably called Elsa, by friends and relations alike, it was only by chance that I remembered hearing her teased about her far less romantic baptismal name.

I asked if no surname could be given, thinking at the moment that it would be Waverly-the family name; but my thought was evidently not transferred to Mrs Peters, who said she could not get the name accurately, but that it was certainly not Waverly. I found later that the Great-Aunt Eliza had a name entirely different from that of her descendants.

Nothing further happened on this occasion, except that I sent a message to "Great-Aunt Eliza" to say that nothing would induce me to take the responsibility of trying to break off any marriage, either by the advice of people in this sphere or in any other sphere. In this case I should have had neither the authority nor the influence to make any such unwise attempt.

Sunday came round in due course, and brought the bride's younger sister, then a girl of twenty-four or twenty-five. We discussed the usual midday Sunday dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, Mrs Peters sitting at the head of the table, I on her right hand, and Carrie Waverly next to me.

Suddenly realising that my remarks to the latter were receiving very scant attention, I looked up, and found the girl's black eyes fixed in a basilisk stare upon our unfortunate hostess, whose own eyes were cast down, but who appeared uneasy and troubled by the determined gaze of my guest. At length the poor woman threw down her knife and fork, rose hastily from the dining-table, and made her way eagerly to the sofa at the other end of the room, where she lay down at full length, murmuring: "I can't stand it any longer!"

Carrie Waverly was at length induced to come away to my sitting-room and leave the poor woman in peace, which she did, asserting her complete innocence, and assuring me she "only wanted to see if she could make Mrs Peters look up at her!"

I explained to her that "sensitives" may be as much upset by this sort of thing as another person would be by a blow on the back. She looked incredulous, and then said cheerfully: "Well, if it is as bad as that, don't you think you ought to go and see how she is?"

"Two for yourself and your own curiosity and one for her!" I thought; but I took the hint, and found Mrs Peters still prostrate on the sofa, but full of apologies for her sudden collapse:

"You must have thought me so very rude," etc., etc.

I reassured her on this point, and expressed regret that my visitor should have upset her so much by looking so fixedly at her.

"It was not her fault," said Mrs Peters eagerly. "It was the man standing over her. He had his hands upon her shoulders, and was trying so hard to influence her, and she was resisting it all the time, and the whole conflict of their wills was thrown upon me, and I could not stand it at last-that was why I left the table," she gasped out.

"Could you describe the man at all?"

"Quite clearly," she said. "I shall never forget his face-I saw him so distinctly." She then proceeded to describe in detail the very clear-cut features and bushy eyebrows of Carrie Waverly's father, giving also his colouring, which was very distinctive. I suggested trying to find out what he wanted to say to his daughter, but this distressed Mrs Peters so much that I was sorry to have made the suggestion.

"No! no! dear Miss Bates!-don't ask me to do that-dear Henry never likes my taking messages from strangers-I have promised him that I would never do it without his permission. It upsets me so much, and I feel so weak already."

So I came away, promising to look in later and see if I could do anything for her.

Carrie was naturally greatly interested by the accurate description given of her father, and was very impatient for me to pay Mrs Peters a second visit.

I went in presently, and found the latter standing up, and in a state of great excitement. She had, in fact, been on the point of coming to us when I entered.

"Dear Henry told me to take that message after all," were the words with which she greeted me. "There was some misunderstanding between the father and this daughter, and he wants her to know that it is all right now." (This seemed to me most improbable, as the devoted daughters and father were always on terms of the greatest harmony and mutual understanding. Yet it proved to be quite true.)

Mrs Peters continued: "He is very much upset about this marriage. He tells me he was so anxious for it when on this side, but now he sees all the difficulties and possible dangers. But he says it is too late to reconsider the step now; only he is so very anxious to secure the interests of his daughter before she marries. He wishes to know whether her settlement is signed. It is not one of which he would have approved. And he says there are two houses, and one ought to be settled upon her-you must ask about it, dear Miss Bates. He is most decided and so dreadfully upset about it all, because he says it was he who urged the marriage upon her."

I spent the following fifteen or twenty minutes as a sort of messenger-boy between Mrs Peters in the dining-room and Carrie Waverly in my sitting-room. Needless to say, I knew nothing at all about the settlements or how many houses the prospective bridegroom might possess, and having no sort of curiosity about the financial affairs of my neighbours, it was not at all pleasant to be employed in this way.

Mrs Peters, on the contrary, seemed to know everything connected with the estate and the marriage settlement, except the fact that the latter had not yet been signed, although reluctantly "passed" by both the lady's trustees. Wherefore this special limitation in the father's knowledge it is impossible to say. He certainly showed no limitation in his knowledge of the bridegroom's character and disposition, and gave the most elaborate and detailed instructions as to how his daughter should behave towards her husband, and where she might, with advantage, cultivate tact and patience.

My advice to Miss Waverly was to say nothing on the subject to her sister, but she wisely, as it turned out, determined to take the responsibility of telling her everything. She telegraphed to me next day, asking if she might come and see Mrs Peters and bring the bride with her.

This was done, and they arrived, with several photographs, large and small, of the father, and also of the bridegroom, for identification. Carrie, in fact, tried-a little unfairly perhaps-to make Mrs Peters identify the wrong person by forcing into notice a large photograph of the bridegroom (some years senior to the father), and saying carelessly: "There, Mrs Peters-that is the face you saw yesterday of my father, is it not?" But Mrs Peters would have none of it. She looked staggered for a moment, then caught sight of the second picture, and turned to it with relief: "This is the face I saw, whether it is your father or not," she answered, with decision.

The bride begged for a private interview with Mrs Peters, which lasted for a considerable time. Of course, I knew nothing of this interview, nor should I feel at liberty to speak of it if I did know. I may, however, be permitted to say that I have the bride's own assurance that the accurate knowledge then given her of her future husband's characteristics physical and mental, and the best way of dealing with them, "made all the difference in her married life."

During that interview Mrs Peters also told her the number of years she would be married; and the prophecy was accurately fulfilled, which is the more remarkable, because, as a rule, it seems impossible to predicate time, even when events can be foreseen.

I am happy to add that the marriage turned out a complete success, and that a marriage settlement was made more in accordance with the father's wishes, although neither trustees nor principal in the transaction, had any idea that the actual arrangements were in any way due to the strongly expressed wishes of a discarnate spirit.

If this book should ever fall into their hands, and they should trace the story in spite of the thick veil I have thrown over all the circumstances, I can only trust that, in gratitude for the results, they may become reconciled with the channel through which these were made possible.

People may say: "What a terrible idea that a father or a husband should trouble himself about such sordid details as money, houses, etc."

But this is an extremely foolish remark, although it may appear very spiritual on the surface. It is surely the most natural thing in the world that a near relation-if permitted-should endeavour to secure comfort and happiness for a dearly loved wife or daughter; especially when, as in the above case, he felt mainly responsible for a state of affairs which might have turned out so disastrously, save for his loving care and foresight, exercised as these were from the other side of the veil.

At anyrate it disposes once for all of the weary old "Cui Bono" argument, which is so futile, and yet so constantly and triumphantly quoted by stupid people, who seem to took upon it as a patent extinguisher for any psychic gifts or experiences.

It is mainly in order to meet this senseless observation that I have included this story in my reminiscences.

Most of us are debarred from answering the "Cui Bono" bray, by the fact that our most helpful experiences are generally of a too intimate and often sacred nature to be given to a scoffing world.

But this instance has the advantage of dealing entirely with material matters, and thus being on a level with the ordinary intelligence.

Nobody can say in this case no good was done. It only remains to be deeply shocked by the undignified, "nay, almost blasphemous," intervention in mundane affairs of a spirit "who should certainly have had some more worthy occupation."

It is another case of the old man and the donkey. If discarnate spirits don't trouble about the personal affairs of those on earth, the "Cui Bono" argument is hurled at them. If they do, they are called blasphemous and irreverent!

The mention of the Waverly family reminds me of an incident which took place when I was staying in their house in the country, a year or two earlier than the time of which I am writing. I have reserved it purposely as a sequel to this last story, which is in its proper chronological setting.

In the year 1889 I was spending a pleasant fortnight with the Waverlys in Yorkshire, at the very time when a dear old friend of mine (Mrs Tennant) was dying in London. I had seen her only a week or two before, but had no knowledge of her illness, as we were not in constant correspondence, although there was a deep and strong affection between us.

I did not even hear of her death, in fact, till a few weeks after it took place, having missed the announcement in the papers. When Mrs Tennant's sister, Mrs Lane, wrote me the details, I had left Yorkshire, and was staying with cousins in Worcestershire. Thinking over the dates mentioned in describing the illness, I realised with a shock of pained surprise that the final state of unconsciousness must have set in the very evening when I was enjoying myself in Yorkshire, at a large dinner-party given by my host and hostess.

It seemed terrible to think that my dear and much loved friend should have been lying unconscious upon her death-bed, and that no word or sign should have come to me.

Then suddenly I remembered a curious little incident connected with that dinner-party.

I had been admiring a pretty little slate-coloured kitten belonging to the house, which was calmly sitting upon the grand piano after dinner, when the ladies were alone in the drawing-room. After the gentlemen joined us, I was deep in conversation with my host (a remarkably interesting and intelligent man), when I noticed a small black kitten run past my dress. Probably I should have remarked upon it had we been less occupied in talking, for I am extremely fond of cats and animals in general. I did glance up, as a matter of fact, and satisfied myself that it was not the little slate-coloured kitty, which sat in still triumph on the piano. Besides, this kitten was black, not slate. I thought no more of it until the guests had left and Mrs Waverly and I were going upstairs to bed. She and I were very affinitive, but neither she nor her family had any special interest in psychology.

On this occasion, however, she said rather mysteriously: "I think something will happen to-night to you." A good many jokes had been made about the probably uncanny atmosphere of my room, and the various spooks who were doubtless sharing it with me, so I laughed, thinking this was only the usual family joke. But Mrs Waverly was quite in earnest. At first she would give no reason for her remark, "fearing I should tell her daughters," and that she would be laughed at in consequence.

Reassured on this point, she said to me quite seriously:

"Whilst you were talking to my husband this evening I saw a black kitten run straight across your dress-just opposite to me."

"Well, of course, I saw the kitten!" I answered, to her surprise; "but there is nothing very remarkable about a black kitten in the house."

"But we have no black kitten in the house, or anywhere on the premises. Where did it go to? You never saw it again? No; it was not an ordinary kitten, and I did not suppose till this moment that anyone had seen it but myself."

It was a fact that no one but Mrs Waverly and I had seen any kitten but the slate-coloured one already mentioned.

Thinking over this in the light of the sad news of my dear old friend's death, and noting the correspondence in time between her loss of consciousness and the appearance of the mysterious black kitten-seen only by Mrs Waverly and myself-it was impossible not to ask in the depths of my heart whether, perchance, the spirit of my faithful friend had been trying to send me some symbol of her approaching death.

It may be objected that black cats are generally connected with good luck. Well, I think my dear "London mother," as she called herself sometimes, would have explained this apparent contradiction very simply. She had lived through much sorrow, and was often oppressed by sore doubts of the Cosmic Love. I never knew any woman with such strong and passionate human sympathy, and to such fine spirits, the world, under present conditions, must always offer terrible problems. Her sympathies were sometimes too keen for that robust faith which can always say: "God's in His heaven! All's right with the world!" Yet her last words were: "I am so tired, and God will understand; and I am so glad to go."

To finish my chapter on a merrier note, I will mention an amusing episode connected with the evening of the black kitten's appearance.

Amongst the guests invited to that dinner-party was a clergyman-squire, a man of some means who had taken orders. A "squarson" is the "portmanteau name" for such a gentleman in Yorkshire, I believe; one who combines squire and parson.

This particular specimen of the genus was both a vegetarian and a celibate. The latter fact had been made clear to me by the many regrets expressed in the neighbourhood that he had remained a bachelor owing to religious scruples. The vegetarianism was equally certain, for I had heard orders given for special dishes to be prepared for this guest; and sitting next to him at the dinner-table, I knew that he had not touched either meat or game, although it was not a fast day.

After dinner, when the gentlemen had joined us in the drawing-room, the conversation turned upon psychic matters and my experiences in America of a few years before. This extreme High Churchman denounced all these, "lock, stock, and barrel."

He believed that everything might have happened as described, but was equally certain that the devil alone could have had a hand in "such goings on"! Perhaps it will be wise to explain that he did not make use of this latter expression!

My host, instead of coming to the rescue, which he might have done, as one of "the Cloth"; looked much amused when I fielded most of my adversary's theological balls.

At length, being unaccustomed to such irreverent handling, my enemy lost his temper, and, as usual on such occasions, he tried to "take my wicket" by quoting texts against me!

"Well, all I can say is that everything you have told us is in direct opposition to Holy Writ. In fact, we are specially warned in the Scriptures that in the latter days seducing spirits shall arise."

At this fatal moment, when the Theological Closure was descending upon my unhappy head, a really brilliant thought occurred to me.

Was it a seducing spirit or a friendly intelligence who reminded me that my opponent had only quoted half the text-the half that suited him?

I pointed this fact out meekly.

He looked puzzled, and probably had honestly forgotten what he did not wish to remember.

"Finish the text? What do you mean?" he said irritably.

So I finished it for him:

"In the latter days seducing spirits shall arise, forbidding to marry and commanding to abstain from meats."

He had pressed me very hard and rather unfairly. Still, the counsel of perfection would have been to refrain from the comment that, if I were a celibate and vegetarian, it was not the text I should have chosen with which to clinch an argument!

* * *

AN INTERLUDE

I have headed this chapter an Interlude, for the following reason:-

It is the only one in this book which does not record a personal experience.

The opportunity came to me at Florence, two years ago, of hearing one of the best old-fashioned Christmas ghost stories I ever came across; also a ghost story which has two rather unique advantages. First, it has never been published before; secondly, the percipient was the matron of a boys' school (a well-known one), and wrote out her experiences within twelve hours of their occurrence.

Now, the matron of a large boys' school must, of necessity, be an exceptionally practical woman, and her daily experiences can scarcely tend to encourage undue Romance or Imagination.

When I add that this story was given to me, and a copy of the original letter placed in my hands, by a sister of two of the schoolboys who were under the matron's supervision, I shall have cleared the way for my ghost to appear upon the scene.

I must add, however, that I met this sister, a young widow, in Florence, two years ago. She then told me this story, finding that I was intimately acquainted both with the county and the small county town where it happened.

The matron had gone there for the prosaic purpose of taking the baths for her rheumatism.

The adventure took place in the early morning of 14th April 1875, and was recorded, within a few hours, in a long letter written by the percipient to a favourite cousin.

My friend, Mrs Barker's brothers being at school at the time, begged to be allowed to read this letter and take a copy of it. The copy was made by their sister-then a young girl-and I have it in my hands at the present moment of writing.

It is, of course, necessary to change the name of the county and town, as the old family mansion, let in lodgings in 1875, has since then been sold and turned into a boarding-house.

Mrs Barker's mother made an expedition to this town, a few years ago, to verify the facts, and went over the house, which has been considerably altered and reconstructed inside since 1875.

The small park mentioned in the story is now built over entirely, as the town has increased in popularity, owing to its baths, and the family portraits here mentioned have been removed since the house was sold.

I will now quote verbatim from the matron's letter, written on the morning of her experiences.

"The Priory, Grantwich.

"14th April 1875.

"My dear Edie,-When you asked me once for a ghost story, I daresay you as little expected, as I did, how soon I should have to reveal to you an experience which will doubtless give you, as it has me, much ground for thought and speculation about those mysterious laws which rule the spirit world.

"How true it is that Thought and Feeling annihilate Time and Space! Since last night, I seem to have lived through half a lifetime, such an effect have its events had upon my inner life. But before I begin to relate the strange circumstances I have to tell you, I must describe to you more particularly this house in which they happened.

"I think I told you that 'The Priory'-where I am now lodging-is an old mansion, belonging to the Carbury family. For some years past, it has been let to the present occupiers who make the rent by letting lodgings. Some ancient pieces of furniture remain, and a great many portraits, none of the earliest date, but a handsome and respectable collection-soldiers, bishops, and judges, in their uniforms, robes, and wigs, and ladies with powdered hair, hoops, and trains.

"Of these portraits, two have engaged my attention, especially, from the first moment of seeing them, but I am not going to speak of them yet; my first object is to give you an idea of the house, or rather that part of it with which my story is connected.

"I think I have told you that the grand staircase goes up from the inner hall, and that round the staircase runs a gallery; in this gallery and in the hall below, are hung most of the portraits.

"On the first turn and landing of the staircase, there is a door opening into a trellised walk which leads into the garden. On a level with this door is a large window which looks on to sweeps of soft turf, shaded by fine trees.

"Standing often to look from this window, as I passed up and down the staircase, one tree has always riveted my attention. It is a large old plane-tree, standing by itself, and having a strange, melancholy, decayed look about it. I noticed-why, I cannot imagine-that on one side of it the ground was bare and black, though everywhere else the grass was green and fresh. I mention this, because it had struck me before the strange events occurred which I am going to tell you.

"You must now go with me to the top of the staircase. Just at the top, on your right hand, hangs one of the portraits I mentioned. It is a life-sized painting of Captain Richard Carbury, who landed, on the 19th September 1738, in the Colony of Georgia, with General Oglethorpe's regiment.

"Opposite to this, on the other side of the gallery, is the portrait of a lady, with black, resolute brows and full, voluptuous mouth and chin. She has a high colour, an exquisite hand and arm, and an Amazonian bearing.

"Passing from the gallery, you enter a long passage, leading to other passages and staircases, with which we have nothing to do.

"I only want you now to become acquainted with my own rooms. As you enter the passage from the gallery, two doors open, one on either hand. To the right is my sitting-room, a square, cheerful room, looking on the street; to the left is my bedroom, which will require a more particular description.

"It is a large, low room. As you enter from the passage, the window, which looks into the garden, is opposite to you. In the middle of the wall to your right hand stands the bed, and opposite to that, the fireplace, and, as you will see, if you have taken in my description, just at the back of the portrait of the lady with the black eyebrows, is another door. Opposite to this last is yet another, which caught my attention when I first entered the room from a peculiarity about it. The upper part of this door is of glass, rendered opaque by being washed or lined with some red substance.

"As soon as I was alone in the room I tried to open this door, but it was firmly fastened. I don't know why I should have felt disquieted by this circumstance, but certainly I did feel annoyed. I thought at first that it probably opened into a dressing-room. There must have been a strong light behind it, for a red light always fell on that side of the room through the coloured glass, and I could see that red light in the morning, before any light penetrated the window-blind.

"I think I have now told you all that is necessary for understanding my experience.

"I must ask you to remember that yesterday was the thirteenth of April. I went to bed about eleven o'clock, and soon fell asleep. I could not, however, have slept long before I woke with an unusual feeling that something strange was going to happen.

"I awoke, not as one does in the morning, with a drowsy resolve not to go to sleep again because it is time to get up, but as one awakes when a journey or some similar event is imminent, for which one's faculties have to be clear, and one's body active and alert. I was rather wondering at and enjoying the unusual clearness and energy of thought of which I felt capable, when the clock in the hall began striking, and, almost at the same moment, the clock of the old Church of St Andrew began striking also.

"I knew that both were striking twelve, though I did not count the blows, but just as the last stroke of the church clock died away, another sound caught my ear.

"The door by the fireplace gave a loud crack and then opened, as if with some difficulty.

"The red door at the same time rattled, as if someone were trying vainly to open it. The room had previously been dark, but I now plainly saw a tall figure come through the doorway and stand near the foot of the bed. There was a dull, yellowish light round the figure, which illumined it, leaving the rest of the room in darkness; but this yellow light, I perceived, became red at one point of the figure's left side, and shone down on the floor with a red glow, like that which came through the opposite door.

"The apparition stood quite silent whilst I looked at it. The features and figure were familiar to me for they were those of Captain Richard Carbury, in the portrait, who had gone out to Georgia with the regiment of His Excellency, General Oglethorpe!

"As soon as I was sure of this, I said: 'You are Captain Richard Carbury?'

"The apparition nodded.

"'Why do you come to me?' I said. 'Cannot you speak?'

"He seemed to have some difficulty in doing so, but after two or three efforts, such as one makes to move a rusty hinge, he parted his lips, and said: 'Yes! I am Richard Carbury, and I am come to make you a witness.'

"'A witness of what?' I said. 'Can I be of use to you? You come from the spirit world. Is it then permitted to mortals to have personal intercourse with spirits?'

"He held up his hand as if to silence me.

"'Listen to me,' he said. 'You are not frightened of me?'

"'No,' I replied; nor did I feel the slightest awe or fear. I felt stimulated, a kind of electricity ran through my veins-I longed earnestly to learn something of the mysterious realm from which he came, but I had no vulgar or superstitious fear.

"'Nor need you have any dread,' he returned. 'I have no wish nor power to hurt you, but you must listen to my story. Once in fifty years I am allowed to leave my grave and revisit the scene of my tragical death, and this must always be on the 14th of April, which is the anniversary of the event.[4] I am also permitted to recount my story if I find anyone sleeping in this room who is willing to listen to me. Are you willing?'

[4] There is evidently some mistake here in the figures given by the ghost or received by the matron. If his death took place in 1741 (three years after landing in Georgia), his first spirit return was due in 1791, the second, 1841, and the third, not till 1891. It appears to have been anticipated by sixteen years, if the dates given are correct. A friend suggests that "once in fifty years" does not necessitate exact intervals of fifty years.

"I replied that I should gladly hear what he had to tell, but would he allow me to ask him one question?

"He inclined his head in assent, and I said I had always thought that the spirits of the dead, if they were allowed to appear on earth, came with shadowy and skeleton forms. Why did he appear with flesh like a living man?

"'Ah!' he said, 'that is owing to the peculiarity of my grave. I am buried in salt.'

"' Have you anything more to ask?' said my visitor.

"'Nothing more at present,' I replied. 'I am ready now to hear your story.'

"'I will make it as short as possible and not detain you long. You have noticed my portrait in the gallery?'

"'Yes.'

"'And that of the lady opposite, my cousin, Lucretia Carbury?'

"'Certainly.' (Here the red door was violently shaken).

"'She cannot open it,' said Captain Carbury, 'it is sealed.'

"'When I went out to Georgia,' he resumed, 'in 1738, I was engaged to be married to her; we had been betrothed by our parents in our childhood, and family reasons made it almost a necessity that we should be united, but as we grew up neither of us was very anxious to fulfil the engagement, and, to tell the truth, I was glad of the summons to join my regiment. However, after three years in that distant colony, I came home, having made up my mind I would marry Lucretia and settle down on the family property-which could only be enjoyed by that means-for we were the only representatives of the family, and the property was so left by our fathers that only by marrying could we enter into possession. Either by marrying or by the death of one of us; when the whole of the property would go to the other. I knew that Lucretia was at the old house at Grantwich, and I came straight to her.

"'I had written to say when she might expect me, and she received me with apparent kindness and agreed to all my propositions about our marriage. I arrived late at night, and she let me into the house herself and got food for me. We supped together, and she pledged me in a cup, which I now know was drugged to make me sleep heavily.

"'I then retired to my room-this room, this bed, on which you now lie!

"'What I am now going to tell you has been made clear to me since; at the time I was conscious of nothing. As soon as I got into bed, I fell asleep, and whilst I thus slept Lucretia came through that door (pointing to the red door opposite), and stabbed me to the heart. I will show you the instrument with which she did it, if you like.'

"'Pray do,' I said, and he unbuttoned his scarlet uniform coat and drew from his left side a slender dagger or stiletto.

"I looked at it with great interest and asked if I might take it in my hand.

"'Certainly, if you wish it,' he said, 'but I do not advise you to touch it. It is rusty now from the salt, but I assure you it was bright and keen when she drove it into my heart. The stroke was so cleverly aimed that I died instantly. Lucretia then made a signal, which was answered by the entrance of a man, and between them they carried my body through the door by which I entered to-night.'

"He paused, and I thought he looked more ghastly. 'Is anything the matter?' I asked.

"'I am thinking,' he answered, 'that I can show you the rest, if you will follow me, but I must tell you that when we leave this room and enter the gallery, it is possible the murderess will follow us. Shall you be afraid?'

"'Not in the least,' I said, 'I will follow you with pleasure, but you must allow me to put something on, as I am suffering from rheumatism, and am afraid of the cold and damp.'

"'By all means,' said Captain Carbury. 'I will wait for you in the gallery.'

"I then got up and put on my dressing-gown and slippers. Whilst I was doing so, I heard a rustling in the passage as of a woman passing slowly along. I found Captain Carbury, and followed him along the gallery without looking round, but when we reached the end of the gallery and turned to go down the first flight of stairs, I saw the lady with the black brows-whom I now knew to be Lucretia Carbury, the murderess-standing in the doorway, between the gallery and the passage.

"'I do not think she can come any farther,' said my guide, and he opened the door leading from the staircase into the garden.

"'I am showing you just where they brought me,' said he.

"'Who was the man?' I asked.

"'I never knew his name, but she married him afterwards.'

"He then moved across the lawn to the bare spot under the plane-tree. Here he stopped, and, pointing downwards, showed me on the bare ground an exact outline of the dagger which he had drawn from his side.

"'Here they dug my grave and here they buried me; a salt spring washes over me.'

"At this moment the great clock of St Andrew struck one.

"'All that you have told me is very sad and strange,' I said, 'but now, will you allow me to ask you why you have appeared to me? Is there anything you want done on earth that I can do? Is there any restitution to be made, or justice to be administered? Anything that you require, I am ready to do, if you will grant me one favour when you return to the spirit realm.'

"I had been speaking with my eyes fixed on the ground, but now, happening to raise them, I was surprised to see that my companion appeared to be sinking into the ground.

"'My time is up,' he said. 'Remember!'-and, as his head disappeared, his words came in a hollow, sepulchral voice from beneath that spot of black earth-'remember you are my witness!'

"I was left standing alone under the plane-tree, with the thought, that in returning to my room, I might probably meet the restless spirit of Lucretia Carbury.

"Nothing of the kind, however, occurred. I passed through the doors that had opened at the touch of Captain Carbury, and I noticed that they closed behind me without any effort on my part. I regained my bed, and almost immediately fell asleep. All had passed so naturally, and as a matter of course, that only when I woke this morning, and thought over the events of the night, did I realise that I had passed through such an experience as is given to few human beings.

"You see, dear Edie, that my narrative has taken so long to write that I have no time to speak of other things, even if I could bring my mind to think of anything else, which, I confess, I should have great difficulty in doing.-Ever your very affectionate, "M. Porter."

Copied verbatim from Miss Porter's letter, written on the morning of 14th April 1875.

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So ends the story, with apologies to the S.P.R.!

I claim nothing for it beyond the following facts:

The Priory still exists at Grantwich, and is known to have been the family mansion of the Carbury family.

Miss Porter was undoubtedly matron of the school where my friend's brothers were educated. She was a woman of unblemished character and truthfulness, and would certainly not have invented this long and detailed account of her personal experiences within a few hours of their occurrence.

My friend most certainly copied this letter, which her brothers had obtained leave to read, from their school matron-Miss Porter herself.

Lastly, my friend, Mrs Barker's mother (who is still alive), verified the existence of the Priory (as I have called it) in the town of Grantwich, and it had been turned into a boarding-house at the time of her visit, having been previously let in lodgings. Also she found that Captain Richard Carbury was supposed to have died in Georgia in the year 1741, as is inferred in the story.

As the murderess and her accomplice alone seem to have been aware of his return on that fateful night, this would be the natural opinion of the world.

As an old associate of the S.P.R., and quite conversant with their methods, two criticisms of the story at once suggest themselves, in addition to the confusion of dates, which might perhaps be excused, owing to the abnormal nature of the interview described. But the obvious Podmorian remark would be that the whole adventure was a dream on the part of Miss Porter, induced by her interest in the two family portraits she had seen, and the curious sensations she had experienced in looking at a specially gloomy tree in the park.

This would certainly cover the ground, but it proves, perhaps, rather too much.

It requires very robust "Faith in Unfaith" to suppose that a sensible, practical woman, suffering from rheumatism, should carry her dream to the verge of following her dream man into the garden and grounds of the house. It may be urged that she dreamt all this also, but "that way madness lies." We must be able to formulate that certain acts of ours took place during full consciousness, or daily life would become impossible and moral responsibility would cease.

Miss Porter might have been in a dream all through the night-granted.

But in these cases it is the "morning that brings counsel." We are all aware of the extraordinary lifelike dreams which, with the return of normal memory, we recognise as dream visions, no matter how vivid and credible they may have appeared to us in the night.

But with Miss Porter this normal process was reversed. She went to sleep quite calmly, and first realised, upon waking in the morning, how thoroughly abnormal her experiences had been.

I pass on to the next criticism, which a little "editing" on my part could have averted:

"Is it credible that a woman, only just recovering from the surprise and marvel of such an experience, should write about it, within a few hours, to a favourite cousin, as if she were preparing a story for The Family Herald?"

I confess that this was my own feeling when the record was placed in my hands.

We must, however, remember-first, that the percipient was obviously a lady of great courage, or she would not have followed her ghost into the garden; secondly, that she was a keen observer and very accurate in details. Probably, many generations of schoolboys, passing through her hands, may have quickened her perceptions in both these ways.

As for the stilted style, that presents little difficulty, when one remembers that people of a certain rank in life never use a short word when a long one will answer the purpose!

I claim nothing for the story, beyond the points already mentioned. These are matters of fact.

Each one must interpret it according to his own views and prejudices.

It is quite enough for me to be responsible for the truth and accuracy of my own experiences, to which we will now return.

* * *

Note.-Since writing the above I have consulted the "Century Encyclop?dia," and find there:

"Oglethorpe-James Edward, born in London, December 21st, 1696, died at Cranham Hall, Essex, England, 1785. An English General and Philanthropist. He projected the Colony of Georgia for insolvent debtors, and persecuted Protestants; conducted the expedition for its settlement, 1733, and returned to England, 1743."

The apparent discrepancy between the date 1733 given in the Encyclop?dia, and the 1738 of Captain Carbury's ghostly narrative, may be due to one of two causes:

The young girl copying Miss Porter's letter may have mistaken a three for an eight rather easily.

Again, Captain Carbury did not state that he landed with General Oglethorpe, 19th September 1738, but with General Oglethorpe's regiment. This latter may have been a reinforcement sent out to the General after his first landing in the Colony.

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