We had to be back in town by the end of January, but it was settled that Ida should remain out with her sister for a week or two more. They both, I remember, came down to the station to see us off, and I am not likely to forget the last words that passed Oh, dont look so woebegone Jack, his wife had said; youll see me again before long. Then the fussy little mountain engine squeaked, as a puppy squeaks when its toe is trodden on, and we puffed our way up the pass. London was in its usual desperate February plight when we got back, full of fogs and stillborn frosts that seemed to produce a cold far more bitter than the piercing temperature of those sunny altitudes from which we had come. We both, I think, felt rather lonely, and even before we had got to our journeys end we had settled that for the present it was ridiculous that we should keep open two houses when one would suffice, and would also be far more cheerful for us both. So, as we both lived in almost identical houses in the same street in Chelsea, we decided to toss, live in the house which the coin indicated (heads mine, tails his) share expenses, attempt to let the other house, and, if successful, share the proceeds. A French fivefranc piece of the second empire told us it was heads. We had been back some ten days, receiving every day the most excellent accounts from Davos, when, first on him, then on me, there descended like some tropical storm, a feeling of indefinable fear. Very possibly this sense of apprehension (for there is nothing in the world so virulently infectious) reached me through him on the other hand both these attacks of vague foreboding may have come from the same source. But it is true that it did not attack me till he spoke of it, so the possibility perhaps inclines to my having caught it from him. He spoke of it first, I remember, one evening when we had met for a good night talk, after having come back from separate houses where we had dined. I have felt most awfully down all day, he said; and just after receiving this splendid account from Daisy, I cant think what is the matter. He poured himself out some whisky and soda as he spoke. Oh, touch of liver, I said. I shouldnt drink that if I were you. Give it me instead. I was never better in my life, he said. I was opening letters, as we talked, and came across one from the house agent, which, with trembling eagerness I read. Hurrah, I cried, offer of five guaswhy cant he write it in proper Englishfive guineas a week till Easter for number 31. We shall roll in guineas! Oh, but I cant stop here till Easter, he said. I dont see why not. Nor by the way does Daisy. I heard from her this morning, and she told me to persuade you to stop. Thats to say, if you like. It really is more cheerful for you here. I forgot, you were telling me something. The glorious news about the weekly guineas did not cheer him up in the least. Thanks awfully. Of course Ill stop. He moved up and down the room once or twice. No, its not me that is wrong, he said, its It, whatever It is. The terror by night. Which you are commanded not to be afraid of, I remarked. I know its easy commanding. Im frightened somethings coming. Five guineas a week are coming, I said. I shant sit up and be infected by your fears. All that matters, Davos, is going as well as it can. What was the last report? Incredibly better. Take that to bed with you. The infectionif infection it wasdid not take hold of me then, for I remember going to sleep feeling quite cheerful, but I awoke in some dark still hour and It, the terror by night, had come while I slept. Fear and misgiving, blind, unreasonable, and paralysing, had taken and gripped me. What was it? Just as by an aneroid we can foretell the approach of storm, so by this sinking of the spirit, unlike anything I had ever felt before, I felt sure that disaster of some sort was presaged. Jack saw it at once when we met at breakfast next morning, in the brown haggard light of a foggy day, not dark enough for candles, but dismal beyond all telling. So it has come to you too, he said. And I had not even the fightingpower left to tell him that I was merely slightly unwell. Besides, never in my life had I felt better. All next day, all the day after that fear lay like a black cloak over my mind; I did not know what I dreaded, but it was something very acute, something that was very near. It was coming nearer every moment, spreading like a pall of clouds over the sky; but on the third day, after miserably cowering under it, I suppose some sort of courage came back to me either this was pure imagination, some trick of disordered nerves or whatnot, in which case we were both disquieting ourselves in vain, or from the immeasurable waves of emotion that beat upon the minds of men, something within both of us had caught a current, a pressure. In either case it was infinitely better to try, however ineffectively, to stand up against it. For these two days I had neither worked nor played; I had only shrunk and shuddered; I planned for myself a busy day, with diversion for us both in the evening. We will dine early, I said, and go to the Man from Blankleys. I have already asked Philip to come, and he is coming, and I have telephoned for tickets. Dinner at seven. Philip, I may remark, is an old friend of ours, neighbour in this street, and by profession a muchrespected doctor. Jack laid down his paper. Yes, I expect youre right, he said. Its no use doing nothing, it doesnt help things. Did you sleep well? Yes, beautifully, I said rather snappishly, for I was all on edge with the added burden of an almost sleepless night. I wish I had, said he. This would not do at all. We have got to play up! I said. Here are we two strong and stalwart persons, with as much cause for satisfaction with life as any you can mention, letting ourselves behave like worms. Our fear may be over things imaginary or over things that are real, but it is the fact of being afraid that is so despicable. There is nothing in the world to fear except fear. You know that as well as I do. Now lets read our papers with interest. Which do you back, Mr. Druce, or the Duke of Portland, or the Times Book Club? That day, therefore, passed very busily for me; and there were enough events moving in front of that black background, which I was conscious was there all the time, to enable me to keep my eyes away from it, and I was detained rather late at the office, and had to drive back to Chelsea, in order to be in time to dress for dinner, instead of walking back as I had intended. Then the message, which for these three days, had been twittering in our minds, the receivers, just making them quiver and rattle came through. I found Jack already dressed, since it was within a minute or two of seven when I got in, and sitting in the drawingroom. The day had been warm and muggy, but when I looked in on the way up to my room, it seemed to me to have grown suddenly and bitterly cold, not with the dampness of English frost, but with the clear and stinging exhilaration of such days as we had recently spent in Switzerland. Fire was laid in the grate but not lit, and I went down on my knees on the hearthrug to light it. Why, its freezing in here, I said. What donkeys servants are! It never occurs to them that you want fires in cold weather, and no fires in hot weather. Oh, for heavens sake dont light the fire, said he, its the warmest muggiest evening I ever remember. I stared at him in astonishment. My hands were shaking with the cold. He saw this. Why, you are shivering! he said. Have you caught a chill? But as to the room being cold let us look at the thermometer. There was one on the writingtable. Sixtyfive, he said. There was no disputing that, nor did I want to, for at that moment, it suddenly struck us, dimly and distantly that It was coming through. I felt it like some curious internal vibration. Hot or cold, I must go and dress, I said. Still shivering, but feeling as if I was breathing some rarefied exhilarating air, I went up to my room. My clothes were already laid out, but, by an oversight, no hot water had been brought up, and I rang for my man. He came up almost at once, but he looked scared, or, to my alreadystartled senses, he appeared so. Whats the matter? I asked. Nothing, sir, he said, and he could hardly articulate the words. I thought you rang. Yes. Hot water. But whats the matter? He shifted from one foot to the other. I thought I saw a lady on the stairs, he said, coming up close behind me. And the front door bell hadnt rung that I heard. Where did you think you saw her? I asked. On the stairs. Then on the landing outside the drawingroom door, sir, he said. She stood there as if she didnt know whether to go in or not. Oneone of the servants, I said. But again I felt that It was coming through. No, sir. It was none of the servants, he said. Who was it then? Couldnt see distinctly sir, it was dimlike. But I thought it was Mrs. Lorimer. Oh, go and get me some hot water, I said. But he lingered; he was quite clearly frightened. At this moment the frontdoor bell rang. It was just seven, and already Philip had come with brutal punctuality while I was not yet halfdressed. Thats Dr. Enderly, I said. Perhaps if he is on the stairs you may be able to pass the place where you saw the lady. Then quite suddenly there rang through the house a scream, so terrible, so appalling in its agony and supreme terror, that I simply stood still and shuddered, unable to move. Then by an effort so violent that I felt as if something must break, I recalled the power of motion, and ran downstairs, my man at my heels, to meet Philip who was running up from the ground floor. He had heard it too. Whats the matter? he said. What was that? Together we went into the drawingroom, Jack was lying in front of the fireplace, with the chair in which he had been sitting a few minutes before overturned. Philip went straight to him and bent over him, tearing open his white shirt. Open all the windows, he said, the place reeks. We flung open the windows, and there poured in, so it seemed to me, a stream of hot air into the bitter cold. Eventually Philip got up. He is dead, he said. Keep the windows open. The place is still thick with chloroform. Gradually to my sense the room got warmer, to Philips the drugladen atmosphere dispersed. But neither my servant nor I had smelt anything at all. A couple of hours later there came a telegram from Davos for me. It was to tell me to break the news of Daisys death to Jack, and was sent by her sister. She supposed he would come out immediately. But he had been gone two hours now. I left for Davos next day, and learned what had happened. Daisy had been suffering for three days from a little abscess which had to be opened, and, though the operation was of the slightest, she had been so nervous about it that the doctor gave her chloroform. She made a good recovery from the anaesthetic, but an hour later had a sudden attack of syncope, and had died that night at a few minutes before eight, by central European time, corresponding to seven in English time. She had insisted that Jack should be told nothing about this little operation till it was over, since the matter was quite unconnected with her general health, and she did not wish to cause him needless anxiety. And there the story ends. To my servant there came the sight of a woman outside the drawingroom door, where Jack was, hesitating about her entrance, at the moment when Daisys soul hovered between the two worlds; to me there cameI do not think it is fanciful to suppose thisthe keen exhilarating cold of Davos; to Philip there came the fumes of chloroform. And to Jack, I must suppose, came his wife. So he joined her. The Thing in the Hall The following pages are the account given me by Dr. Assheton of the Thing in the Hall. I took notes, as copious as my quickness of hand allowed me, from his dictation, and subsequently read to him this narrative in its transcribed and connected form. This was on the day before his death, which indeed probably occurred within an hour after I had left him, and, as readers of inquests and such atrocious literature may remember, I had to give evidence before the coroners jury. Only a week before Dr. Assheton had to give similar evidence, but as a medical expert, with regard to the death of his friend, Louis Fielder, which occurred in a manner identical with his own. As a specialist, he said he believed that his friend had committed suicide while of unsound mind, and the verdict was brought in accordingly. But in the inquest held over Dr. Asshetons body, though the verdict eventually returned was the same, there was more room for doubt. For I was bound to state that only shortly before his death, I read what follows to him; that he corrected me with extreme precision on a few points of detail, that he seemed perfectly himself, and that at the end he used these words I am quite certain as a brain specialist that I am completely sane, and that these things happened not merely in my imagination, but in the external world. If I had to give evidence again about poor Louis, I should be compelled to take a different line. Please put that down at the end of your account, or at the beginning, if it arranges itself better so. There will be a few words I must add at the end of this story, and a few words of explanation must precede it. Briefly, they are these. Francis Assheton and Louis Fielder were up at Cambridge together, and there formed the friendship that lasted nearly till their death. In general attributes no two men could have been less alike, for while Dr. Assheton had become at the age of thirtyfive the first and final authority on his subject, which was the functions and diseases of the brain, Louis Fielder at the same age was still on the threshold of achievement. Assheton, apparently without any brilliance at all, had by careful and incessant work arrived at the top of his profession, while Fielder, brilliant at school, brilliant at college and brilliant ever afterwards, had never done anything. He was too eager, so it seemed to his friends, to set about the dreary work of patient investigation and logical deductions; he was forever guessing and prying, and striking out luminous ideas, which he left burning, so to speak, to illumine the work of others. But at bottom, the two men had this compelling interest in common, namely, an insatiable curiosity after the unknown, perhaps the most potent bond yet devised between the solitary units that make up the race of man. Bothtill the endwere absolutely fearless, and Dr. Assheton would sit by the bedside of the man stricken with bubonic plague to note the gradual surge of the tide of disease to the reasoning faculty with the same absorption as Fielder would study Xrays one week, flying machines the next, and spiritualism the third. The rest of the story, I think, explains itselfor does not quite do so. This, anyhow, is what I read to Dr. Assheton, being the connected narrative of what he had himself told me. It is he, of course, who speaks. After I returned from Paris, where I had studied under Charcot, I set up practice at home. The general doctrine of hypnotism, suggestion, and cure by such means had been accepted even in London by this time, and, owing to a few papers I had written on the subject, together with my foreign diplomas, I found that I was a busy man almost as soon as I had arrived in town. Louis Fielder had his ideas about how I should make my dbut (for he had ideas on every subject, and all of them original), and entreated me to come and live not in the stronghold of doctors, Chloroform Square, as he called it, but down in Chelsea, where there was a house vacant next his own.  Who cares where a doctor lives, he said, so long as he cures people? Besides you dont believe in old methods; why believe in old localities? Oh, there is an atmosphere of painless death in Chloroform Square! Come and make people live instead! And on most evenings I shall have so much to tell you; I cant drop in across half London. Now if you have been abroad for five years, it is a great deal to know that you have any intimate friend at all still left in the metropolis, and, as Louis said, to have that intimate friend next door, is an excellent reason for going next door. Above all, I remembered from Cambridge days, what Louis dropping in meant. Towards bedtime, when work was over, there would come a rapid step on the landing, and for an hour, or two hours, he would gush with ideas. He simply diffused life, which is ideas, wherever he went. He fed ones brain, which is the one thing which matters. Most people who are ill, are ill because their brain is starving, and the body rebels, and gets lumbago or cancer. That is the chief doctrine of my work such as it has been. All bodily disease springs from the brain. It is merely the brain that has to be fed and rested and exercised properly to make the body absolutely healthy, and immune from all disease. But when the brain is affected, it is as useful to pour medicines down the sink, as make your patient swallow them, unlessand this is a paramount limitationunless he believes in them. I said something of the kind to Louis one night, when, at the end of a busy day, I had dined with him. We were sitting over coffee in the hall, or so it is called, where he takes his meals. Outside, his house is just like mine, and ten thousand other small houses in London, but on entering, instead of finding a narrow passage with a door on one side, leading into the diningroom, which again communicates with a small back room called the study, he has had the sense to eliminate all unnecessary walls, and consequently the whole ground floor of his house is one room, with stairs leading up to the first floor. Study, diningroom and passage have been knocked into one; you enter a big room from the front door. The only drawback is that the postman makes loud noises close to you, as you dine, and just as I made these commonplace observations to him about the effect of the brain on the body and the senses, there came a loud rap, somewhere close to me, that was startling.  You ought to muffle your knocker, I said, anyhow during the time of meals. Louis leaned back and laughed.  There isnt a knocker, he said. You were startled a week ago, and said the same thing. So I took the knocker off. The letters slide in now. But you heard a knock, did you?  Didnt you? said I.  Why, certainly. But it wasnt the postman. It was the Thing. I dont know what it is. That makes it so interesting. Now if there is one thing that the hypnotist, the believer in unexplained influences, detests and despises, it is the whole rootnotion of spiritualism. Drugs are not more opposed to his belief than the exploded, discredited idea of the influence of spirits on our lives. And both are discredited for the same reason; it is easy to understand how brain can act on brain, just as it is easy to understand how body can act on body, so that there is no more difficulty in the reception of the idea that the strong mind can direct the weak one, than there is in the fact of a wrestler of greater strength overcoming one of less. But that spirits should rap at furniture and divert the course of events is as absurd as administering phosphorus to strengthen the brain. That was what I thought then. However, I felt sure it was the postman, and instantly rose and went to the door. There were no letters in the box, and I opened the door. The postman was just ascending the steps. He gave the letters into my hand. Louis was sipping his coffee when I came back to the table.  Have you ever tried tableturning? he asked. Its rather odd.  No, and I have not tried violetleaves as a cure for cancer, I said.  Oh, try everything, he said. I know that that is your plan, just as it is mine. All these years that you have been away, you have tried all sorts of things, first with no faith, then with just a little faith, and finally with mountainmoving faith. Why, you didnt believe in hypnotism at all when you went to Paris. He rang the bell as he spoke, and his servant came up and cleared the table. While this was being done we strolled about the room, looking at prints, with applause for a Bartolozzi that Louis had bought in the New Cut, and dead silence over a Perdita which he had acquired at considerable cost. Then he sat down again at the table on which we had dined. It was round, and mahoganyheavy, with a central foot divided into claws.  Try its weight, he said; see if you can push it about. So I held the edge of it in my hands, and found that I could just move it. But that was all; it required the exercise of a good deal of strength to stir it.  Now put your hands on the top of it, he said, and see what you can do. I could not do anything, my fingers merely slipped about on it. But I protested at the idea of spending the evening thus.  I would much sooner play chess or noughts and crosses with you, I said, or even talk about politics, than turn tables. You wont mean to push, nor shall I, but we shall push without meaning to. Louis nodded.  Just a minute, he said, let us both put our fingers only on the top of the table and push for all we are worth, from right to left. We pushed. At least I pushed, and I observed his fingernails. From pink they grew to white, because of the pressure he exercised. So I must assume that he pushed too. Once, as we tried this, the table creaked. But it did not move. Then there came a quick peremptory rap, not I thought on the front door, but somewhere in the room.  Its the Thing, said he. Today, as I speak to you, I suppose it was. But on that evening it seemed only like a challenge. I wanted to demonstrate its absurdity.  For five years, on and off, Ive been studying rank spiritualism, he said. I havent told you before, because I wanted to lay before you certain phenomena, which I cant explain, but which now seem to me to be at my command. You shall see and hear, and then decide if you will help me.  And in order to let me see better, you are proposing to put out the lights, I said.  Yes; you will see why.  I am here as a sceptic, said I.  Scep away, said he. Next moment the room was in darkness, except for a very faint glow of firelight. The windowcurtains were thick, and no streetillumination penetrated them, and the familiar, cheerful sounds of pedestrians and wheeled traffic came in muffled. I was at the side of the table towards the door; Louis was opposite me, for I could see his figure dimly silhouetted against the glow from the smouldering fire.  Put your hands on the table, he said, quite lightly, andhow shall I say itexpect. Still protesting in spirit, I expected. I could hear his breathing rather quickened, and it seemed to me odd that anybody could find excitement in standing in the dark over a large mahogany table, expecting. Thenthrough my fingertips, laid lightly on the table, there began to come a faint vibration, like nothing so much as the vibration through the handle of a kettle when water is beginning to boil inside it. This got gradually more pronounced and violent till it was like the throbbing of a motorcar. It seemed to give off a low humming note. Then quite suddenly the table seemed to slip from under my fingers and began very slowly to revolve.  Keep your hands on it and move with it, said Louis, and as he spoke I saw his silhouette pass away from in front of the fire, moving as the table moved. For some moments there was silence, and we continued, rather absurdly, to circle round keeping step, so to speak, with the table. Then Louis spoke again, and his voice was trembling with excitement.  Are you there? he said. There was no reply, of course, and he asked it again. This time there came a rap like that which I had thought during dinner to be the postman. But whether it was that the room was dark, or that despite myself I felt rather excited too, it seemed to me now to be far louder than before. Also it appeared to come neither from here nor there, but to be diffused through the room. Then the curious revolving of the table ceased, but the intense, violent throbbing continued. My eyes were fixed on it, though owing to the darkness I could see nothing, when quite suddenly a little speck of light moved across it, so that for an instant I saw my own hands. Then came another and another, like the spark of matches struck in the dark, or like fireflies crossing the dusk in southern gardens. Then came another knock of shattering loudness, and the throbbing of the table ceased, and the lights vanished. Such were the phenomena at the first sance at which I was present, but Fielder, it must be remembered, had been studying, expecting, he called it, for some years. To adopt spiritualistic language (which at that time I was very far from doing), he was the medium, I merely the observer, and all the phenomena I had seen that night were habitually produced or witnessed by him. I make this limitation since he told me that certain of them now appeared to be outside his own control altogether. The knockings would come when his mind, as far as he knew, was entirely occupied in other matters, and sometimes he had even been awakened out of sleep by them. The lights were also independent of his volition. Now my theory at the time was that all these things were purely subjective in him, and that what he expressed by saying that they were out of his control, meant that they had become fixed and rooted in the unconscious self, of which we know so little, but which, more and more, we see to play so enormous a part in the life of a man. In fact, it is not too much to say that the vast majority of our deeds spring, apparently without volition, from this unconscious self. All hearing is the unconscious exercise of the aural nerve, all seeing of the optic, all walking, all ordinary movement seem to be done without the exercise of will on our part. Nay more, should we take to some new form of progression, skating, for instance, the beginner will learn with falls and difficulty the outside edge, but within a few hours of his having learned his balance on it, he will give no more thought to what he learned so short a time ago as an acrobatic feat, than he gives to the placing of one foot before the other. But to the brain specialist all this was intensely interesting, and to the student of hypnotism, as I was, even more so, for (such was the conclusion I came to after this first sance), the fact that I saw and heard just what Louis saw and heard was an exhibition of thoughttransference which in all my experience in the Charcotschools I had never seen surpassed, if indeed rivalled. I knew that I was myself extremely sensitive to suggestion, and my part in it this evening I believed to be purely that of the receiver of suggestions so vivid that I visualised and heard these phenomena which existed only in the brain of my friend. We talked over what had occurred upstairs. His view was that the Thing was trying to communicate with us. According to him it was the Thing that moved the table and tapped, and made us see streaks of light.  Yes, but the Thing, I interrupted, what do you mean? Is it a greatuncleoh, I have seen so many relatives appear at sances, and heard so many of their dreadful platitudesor what is it? A spirit? Whose spirit? Louis was sitting opposite to me, and on the little table before us there was an electric light. Looking at him I saw the pupil of his eye suddenly dilate. To the medical manprovided that some violent change in the light is not the cause of the dilationthat meant only one thing, terror. But it quickly resumed its normal proportion again. Then he got up, and stood in front of the fire.  No, I dont think it is greatuncle anybody, he said, I dont know, as I told you, what the Thing is. But if you ask me what my conjecture is, it is that the Thing is an Elemental.  And pray explain further. What is an Elemental? Once again his eye dilated.  It will take two minutes, he said. But, listen. There are good things in this world, are there not, and bad things? Cancer, I take it is bad, andand fresh air is good; honesty is good, lying is bad. Impulses of some sort direct both sides, and some power suggests the impulses. Well, I went into this spiritualistic business impartially. I learned to expect, to throw open the door into the soul, and I said, Anyone may come in. And I think Something has applied for admission, the Thing that tapped and turned the table and struck matches, as you saw, across it. Now the control of the evil principle in the world is in the hands of a power which entrusts its errands to the things which I call Elementals. Oh, they have been seen; I doubt not that they will be seen again. I did not, and do not ask good spirits to come in. I dont want The Churchs one foundation played on a musical box. Nor do I want an Elemental. I only threw open the door. I believe the Thing has come into my house, and is establishing communication with me. Oh, I want to go the whole hog. What is it? In the name of Satan, if necessary, what is it? I just want to know. What followed I thought then might easily be an invention of the imagination, but what I believed to have happened was this. A piano with music on it was standing at the far end of the room by the door, and a sudden draught entered the room, so strong that the leaves turned. Next the draught troubled a vase of daffodils, and the yellow heads nodded. Then it reached the candles that stood close to us, and they fluttered, burning blue and low. Then it reached me, and the draught was cold, and stirred my hair. Then it eddied, so to speak, and went across to Louis, and his hair also moved, as I could see. Then it went downwards towards the fire, and flames suddenly started up in its path, blown upwards. The rug by the fireplace flapped also.  Funny, wasnt it? he asked.  And has the Elemental gone up the chimney? said I.  Oh, no, said he, the Thing only passed us. Then suddenly he pointed at the wall just behind my chair, and his voice cracked as he spoke.  Look, whats that? he said. There on the wall. Considerably startled I turned in the direction of his shaking finger. The wall was pale grey in tone, and sharpcut against it was a shadow that, as I looked, moved. It was like the shadow of some enormous slug, legless and fat, some two feet high by about four feet long. Only at one end of it was a head shaped like the head of a seal, with open mouth and panting tongue. Then even as I looked it faded, and from somewhere close at hand there sounded another of those shattering knocks. For a moment after there was silence between us, and horror was thick as snow in the air. But, somehow neither Louis or I were frightened for more than one moment. The whole thing was so absorbingly interesting.  Thats what I mean by its being outside my control, he said. I said I was ready for anyany visitor to come in, and by God, weve got a beauty. Now I was still, even in spite of the appearance of this shadow, quite convinced that I was only taking observations of a most curious case of disordered brain accompanied by the most vivid and remarkable thoughttransference. I believed that I had not seen a sluglike shadow at all, but that Louis had visualised this dreadful creature so intensely that I saw what he saw. I found also that his spiritualistic trashbooks which I thought a truer nomenclature than textbooks, mentioned this as a common form for Elementals to take. He on the other hand was more firmly convinced than ever that we were dealing not with a subjective but an objective phenomenon. For the next six months or so we sat constantly, but made no further progress, nor did the Thing or its shadow appear again, and I began to feel that we were really wasting time.


Then it occurred to me, to get in a socalled medium, induce hypnotic sleep, and see if we could learn anything further. This we did, sitting as before round the diningroom table. The room was not quite dark, and I could see sufficiently clearly what happened. The medium, a young man, sat between Louis and myself, and without the slightest difficulty I put him into a light hypnotic sleep. Instantly there came a series of the most terrific raps, and across the table there slid something more palpable than a shadow, with a faint luminance about it, as if the surface of it was smouldering. At the moment the mediums face became contorted to a mask of hellish terror; mouth and eyes were both open, and the eyes were focused on something close to him. The Thing waving its head came closer and closer to him, and reached out towards his throat. Then with a yell of panic, and warding off this horror with his hands, the medium sprang up, but It had already caught hold, and for the moment he could not get free. Then simultaneously Louis and I went to his aid, and my hands touched something cold and slimy. But pull as we could we could not get it away. There was no firm handhold to be taken; it was as if one tried to grasp slimy fur, and the touch of it was horrible, unclean, like a leper. Then, in a sort of despair, though I still could not believe that the horror was real, for it must be a vision of diseased imagination, I remembered that the switch of the four electric lights was close to my hand. I turned them all on. There on the floor lay the medium, Louis was kneeling by him with a face of wet paper, but there was nothing else there. Only the collar of the medium was crumpled and torn, and on his throat were two scratches that bled. The medium was still in hypnotic sleep, and I woke him. He felt at his collar, put his hand to his throat and found it bleeding, but, as I expected, knew nothing whatever of what had passed. We told him that there had been an unusual manifestation, and he had, while in sleep, wrestled with something. We had got the result we wished for, and were much obliged to him. I never saw him again. A week after that he died of bloodpoisoning. From that evening dates the second stage of this adventure. The Thing had materialised (I use again spiritualistic language which I still did not use at the time). The huge slug, the Elemental, manifested itself no longer by knocks and waltzing tables, nor yet by shadows. It was there in a form that could be seen and felt. But it stillthis was my strong pointwas only a thing of twilight; the sudden kindling of the electric light had shown us that there was nothing there. In this struggle perhaps the medium had clutched his own throat, perhaps I had grasped Louis sleeve, he mine. But though I said these things to myself, I am not sure that I believed them in the same way that I believe the sun will rise tomorrow. Now as a student of brainfunctions and a student in hypnotic affairs, I ought perhaps to have steadily and unremittingly pursued this extraordinary series of phenomena. But I had my practice to attend to, and I found that with the best will in the world, I could think of nothing else except the occurrence in the hall next door. So I refused to take part in any further sance with Louis. I had another reason also. For the last four or five months he was becoming depraved. I have been no prude or Puritan in my own life, and I hope I have not turned a Pharisaical shoulder on sinners. But in all branches of life and morals, Louis had become infamous. He was turned out of a club for cheating at cards, and narrated the event to me with gusto. He had become cruel; he tortured his cat to death; he had become bestial. I used to shudder as I passed his house, expecting I knew not what fiendish thing to be looking at me from the window. Then came a night only a week ago, when I was awakened by an awful cry, swelling and falling and rising again. It came from next door. I ran downstairs in my pyjamas, and out into the street. The policeman on the beat had heard it too, and it came from the hall of Louis house, the window of which was open. Together we burst the door in. You know what we found. The screaming had ceased but a moment before, but he was dead already. Both jugulars were severed, torn open. It was dawn, early and dusky when I got back to my house next door. Even as I went in something seemed to push by me, something soft and slimy. It could not be Louis imagination this time. Since then I have seen glimpses of it every evening. I am awakened at night by tappings, and in the shadows in the corner of my room there sits something more substantial than a shadow. Within an hour of my leaving Dr. Assheton, the quiet street was once more aroused by cries of terror and agony. He was already dead, and in no other manner than his friend, when they got into the house. Ghost Stories By E. F. Benson. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. 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Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint The Room in the Tower The DustCloud Gavons Eve The Confession of Charles Linkworth At Abdul Alis Grave The Shootings of Achnaleish How Fear Departed from the Long Gallery Caterpillars The Cat The BusConductor The Man Who Went Too Far Between the Lights Outside the Door The Terror by Night The Other Bed The Thing in the Hall The House with the Brickkiln And the Dead Spake The Outcast The HorrorHorn Machaon Negotium Perambulans.  At the Farmhouse Inscrutable Decrees The Gardener Mr. Tillys Sance Mrs. Amworth In the Tube Rodericks Story Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks Ghost Stories


I 1801.I have just returned from a visit to my landlordthe solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropists heaven and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name. Mr. Heathcliff? I said. A nod was the answer. Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir, he interrupted, wincing. I should not allow anyone to inconvenience me, if I could hinder itwalk in! The walk in was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, Go to the Deuce! even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. When he saw my horses breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the courtJoseph, take Mr. Lockwoods horse; and bring up some wine. Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose, was the reflection suggested by this compound order. No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedgecutters. Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. The Lord help us! he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent. Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliffs dwelling. Wuthering being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones. Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date 1500, and the name Hareton Earnshaw. I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium. One stop brought us into the family sittingroom, without any introductory lobby or passage they call it here the house preeminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been underdrawn its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horsepistols and, by way of ornament, three gaudilypainted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, highbacked, primitive structures, painted green one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, livercoloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses. The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in kneebreeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his armchair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a darkskinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of feelingto manifestations of mutual kindliness. Hell love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again. No, Im running on too fast I bestow my own attributes overliberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a wouldbe acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar my dear mother used to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one. While enjoying a month of fine weather at the seacoast, I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I never told my love vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears she understood me at last, and looked a returnthe sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shameshrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate. I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl. Youd better let the dog alone, growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. Shes not accustomed to be spoilednot kept for a pet. Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, Joseph! Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me visvis the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheepdogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding aroused the whole hive halfadozen fourfooted fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coatlaps peculiar subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in reestablishing peace. Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm I dont think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more despatch a lusty dame, with tuckedup gown, bare arms, and fireflushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a fryingpan and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene. What the devil is the matter? he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could ill endure, after this inhospitable treatment. What the devil, indeed! I muttered. The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers! They wont meddle with persons who touch nothing, he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table. The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine? No, thank you. Not bitten, are you? If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter. Heathcliffs countenance relaxed into a grin. Come, come, he said, you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir? I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs; besides, I felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his humour took that turn. Heprobably swayed by prudential consideration of the folly of offending a good tenantrelaxed a little in the laconic style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to mea discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit tomorrow. He evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him. II Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.I dine between twelve and one oclock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five)on mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servantgirl on her knees surrounded by brushes and coalscuttles, and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a fourmiles walk, arrived at Heathcliffs gardengate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snowshower. On that bleak hilltop the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberrybushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled. Wretched inmates! I ejaculated, mentally, you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in the daytime. I dont careI will get in! So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegarfaced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn. What are ye for? he shouted. T maisters down i t fowld. Go round by th end o t laith, if ye went to spake to him. Is there nobody inside to open the door? I hallooed, responsively. Theres nobbut t missis; and shooll not oppen t an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght. Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph? Norne me! Ill hae no hend wit, muttered the head, vanishing. The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a washhouse, and a paved area containing a coalshed, pump, and pigeoncot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the missis, an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute. Rough weather! I remarked. Im afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants leisure attendance I had hard work to make them hear me. She never opened her mouth. I staredshe stared also at any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable. Sit down, said the young man, gruffly. Hell be in soon. I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance. A beautiful animal! I commenced again. Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam? They are not mine, said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied. Ah, your favourites are among these? I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats. A strange choice of favourites! she observed scornfully. Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the evening. You should not have come out, she said, rising and reaching from the chimneypiece two of the painted canisters. Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood an admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me as a miser might turn if anyone attempted to assist him in counting his gold. I dont want your help, she snapped; I can get them for myself. I beg your pardon! I hastened to reply. Were you asked to tea? she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot. I shall be glad to have a cup, I answered. Were you asked? she repeated. No, I said, half smiling. You are the proper person to ask me. She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red underlip pushed out, like a childs ready to cry. Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed none of a domestics assiduity in attending on the lady of the house. In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state. You see, sir, I am come, according to promise! I exclaimed, assuming the cheerful; and I fear I shall be weatherbound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter during that space. Half an hour? he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; I wonder you should select the thick of a snowstorm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can tell you there is no chance of a change at present. Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might stay at the Grange till morningcould you spare me one? No, I could not. Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sagacity. Umph! Are you going to mak the tea? demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady. Is he to have any? she asked, appealing to Heathcliff. Get it ready, will you? was the answer, uttered so savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the preparations were finished, he invited me withNow, sir, bring forward your chair. And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round the table an austere silence prevailing while we discussed our meal. I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however illtempered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was their everyday countenance. It is strange, I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving anotherit is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, Ill venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart My amiable lady! he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. Where is shemy amiable lady? Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean. Well, yesoh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it? Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen. Then it flashed upon meThe clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her husband Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pityI must beware how I cause her to regret her choice. The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive. Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughterinlaw, said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction a look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul. Ah, certainlyI see now you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy, I remarked, turning to my neighbour. This was worse than before the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf which, however, I took care not to notice. Unhappy in your conjectures, sir, observed my host; we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughterinlaw therefore, she must have married my son. And this young man is Not my son, assuredly. Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him. My name is Hareton Earnshaw, growled the other; and Id counsel you to respect it! Ive shown no disrespect, was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself. He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. I dont think it possible for me to get home now without a guide, I could not help exclaiming. The roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance. Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. Theyll be covered if left in the fold all night and put a plank before them, said Heathcliff. How must I do? I continued, with rising irritation. There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimneypiece as she restored the teacanister to its place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated outAw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i idleness un war, when all on ems goan out! Bud yahre a nowt, and its no use talkingyahll niver mend oyer ill ways, but goa raight to t divil, like yer mother afore ye! I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence was addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her answer. You scandalous old hypocrite! she replied. Are you not afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devils name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me, or Ill ask your abduction as a special favour! Stop! look here, Joseph, she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; Ill show you how far Ive progressed in the Black Art I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didnt die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among providential visitations! Oh, wicked, wicked! gasped the elder; may the Lord deliver us from evil! No, reprobate! you are a castawaybe off, or Ill hurt you seriously! Ill have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the first who passes the limits I fix shallIll not say what he shall be done tobut, youll see! Go, Im looking at you! The little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying, and ejaculating wicked as he went. I thought her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her in my distress. Mrs. Heathcliff, I said earnestly, you must excuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, Im sure you cannot help being goodhearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get to London! Take the road you came, she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her. It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give. Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full of snow, your conscience wont whisper that it is partly your fault? How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldnt let me go to the end of the garden wall. You! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my convenience, on such a night, I cried. I want you to tell me my way, not to show it or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide. Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I. Which would you have? Are there no boys at the farm? No; those are all. Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay. That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to do with it. I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on these hills, cried Heathcliffs stern voice from the kitchen entrance. As to staying here, I dont keep accommodations for visitors you must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do. I can sleep on a chair in this room, I replied. No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor it will not suit me to permit anyone the range of the place while I am off guard! said the unmannerly wretch. With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each other. At first the young man appeared about to befriend me. Ill go with him as far as the park, he said. Youll go with him to hell! exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. And who is to look after the horses, eh? A mans life is of more consequence than one evenings neglect of the horses somebody must go, murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected. Not at your command! retorted Hareton. If you set store on him, youd better be quiet. Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin, she answered, sharply. Hearken, hearken, shoos cursing on em! muttered Joseph, towards whom I had been steering. He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern. Maister, maister, hes staling t lanthern! shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat. Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey Wolf, holld him, holld him! On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning, and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me then, hatless and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me outon their peril to keep me one minute longerwith several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear. The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I dont know what would have concluded the scene, had there not been one person at hand rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel. Well, Mr. Earnshaw, she cried, I wonder what youll have agait next? Are we going to murder folk on our very doorstones? I see this house will never do for melook at t poor lad, hes fair choking! Wisht, wisht; you munnt go on so. Come in, and Ill cure that there now, hold ye still. With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr. Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment expiring quickly in his habitual moroseness. I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was somewhat revived, ushered me to bed. III While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious. Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothespress, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of oldfashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and everyone else. The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and smallCatherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton. In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine EarnshawHeathcliffLinton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectresthe air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candlewick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calfskin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty a flyleaf bore the inscriptionCatherine Earnshaw, her book, and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took up another and another, till I had examined all.