This large oldfashioned room, commanding a view of Snakes Island, the fells, and the lake  somewhat vast and gloomy, and furnished in a stately old fashion  was said to be haunted, especially when the wind blew from the direction of Golden Friars, the point from which it blew on the night of her death in the lake; or when the sky was overcast, and thunder rolled among the lofty fells, and lightning gleamed on the wide sheet of water. It was on a night like this that a lady visitor, who long after that event occupied, in entire ignorance of its supernatural character, that large room; and being herself a lady of a picturesque turn, and loving the grander melodrama of Nature, bid her maid leave the shutters open, and watched the splendid effects from her bed, until, the storm being still distant, she fell asleep. It was travelling slowly across the lake, and it was the deepmouthed clangour of its near approach that startled her, at dead of night, from her slumber, to witness the same phenomena in the tremendous loudness and brilliancy of their near approach. At this magnificent spectacle she was looking with the awful ecstasy of an observer in whom the sense of danger is subordinated to that of the sublime, when she saw suddenly at the window a woman, whose long hair and dress seemed drenched with water. She was gazing in with a look of terror, and was shaking the sash of the window with vehemence. Having stood there for a few seconds, and before the lady, who beheld all this from her bed, could make up her mind what to do, the stormbeaten figure, wringing her hands, seemed to throw herself backward, and was gone. Possessed with the idea that she had seen some poor woman overtaken in the storm, who, failing to procure admission there, had gone round to some of the many doors of the mansion, and obtained an entry there, she again fell asleep. It was not till the morning, when she went to her window to look out upon the now tranquil scene, that she discovered what, being a stranger to the house, she had quite forgotten, that this room was at a great height  some thirty feet  from the ground. Another story was that of good old Mr. Randal Rymer, who was often a visitor at the house in the late Lady Mardykes day. In his youth he had been a campaigner; and now that he was a preacher he maintained his hardy habits, and always slept, summer and winter, with a bit of his window up. Being in that room in his bed, and after a short sleep lying awake, the moon shining softly through the window, there passed by that aperture into the room a figure dressed, it seemed to him, in gray that was nearly white. It passed straight to the hearth, where was an expiring wood fire; and cowering over it with outstretched hands, it appeared to be gathering what little heat was to be had. Mr. Rymer, amazed and awestruck, made a movement in his bed; and the figure looked round, with large eyes that in the moonlight looked like melting snow, and stretching its long arms up the chimney, they and the figure itself seemed to blend with the smoke, and so pass up and away. Sir Bale, I have said, did not like Feltram. His father, Sir William, had left a letter creating a trust, it was said, in favour of Philip Feltram. The document had been found with the will, addressed to Sir Bale in the form of a letter. That is mine, said the Baronet, when it dropped out of the will; and he slipped it into his pocket, and no one ever saw it after. But Mr. Charles Twyne, the attorney of Golden Friars, whenever he got drunk, which was pretty often, used to tell his friends with a grave wink that he knew a thing or two about that letter. It gave Philip Feltram two hundred ayear, charged on Harfax. It was only a direction. It made Sir Bale a trustee, however; and having made away with the letter, the Baronet had been robbing Philip Feltram ever since. Old Twyne was cautious, even in his cups, in his choice of an audience, and was a little enigmatical in his revelations. For he was afraid of Sir Bale, though he hated him for employing a lawyer who lived seven miles away, and was a rival. So people were not quite sure whether Mr. Twyne was telling lies or truth, and the principal fact that corroborated his story was Sir Bales manifest hatred of his secretary. In fact, Sir Bales retaining him in his house, detesting him as he seemed to do, was not easily to be accounted for, except on the principle of a tacit compromise  a miserable compensation for having robbed him of his rights. The battle about the banknote proceeded. Sir Bale certainly had doubts, and vacillated; for moral evidence made powerfully in favour of poor Feltram, though the evidence of circumstance made as powerfully against him. But Sir Bale admitted suspicion easily, and in weighing probabilities would count a virtue very lightly against temptation and opportunity; and whatever his doubts might sometimes be, he resisted and quenched them, and never let that ungrateful scoundrel Philip Feltram so much as suspect their existence. For two days Sir Bale had not spoken to Feltram. He passed by on stair and passage, carrying his head high, and with a thundrous countenance, rolling conclusions and revenges in his soul. Poor Feltram all this time existed in one long agony. He would have left Mardykes, were it not that he looked vaguely to some just power  to chance itself  against this hideous imputation. To go with this indictment ringing in his ears, would amount to a confession and flight. Mrs. Julaper consoled him with might and main. She was a sympathetic and trusting spirit, and knew poor Philip Feltram, in her simplicity, better than the shrewdest profligate on earth could have known him. She cried with him in his misery. She was fired with indignation by these suspicions, and still more at what followed. Sir Bale showed no signs of relenting. It might have been that he was rather glad of so unexceptionable an opportunity of getting rid of Feltram, who, people thought, knew something which it galled the Baronets pride that he should know. The Baronet had another shorter and sterner interview with Feltram in his study. The result was, that unless he restored the missing note before ten oclock next morning, he should leave Mardykes. To leave Mardykes was no more than Philip Feltram, feeble as he was of will, had already resolved. But what was to become of him? He did not very much care, if he could find any calling, however humble, that would just give him bread. There was an old fellow and his wife (an ancient dame,) who lived at the other side of the lake, on the old territories of the Feltrams, and who, from some tradition of loyalty, perhaps, were fond of poor Philip Feltram. They lived somewhat high up on the fells  about as high as trees would grow  and those which were clumped about their rude dwelling were nearly the last you passed in your ascent of the mountain. These people had a multitude of sheep and goats, and lived in their airy solitude a pastoral and simple life, and were childless. Philip Feltram was hardy and active, having passed his early days among that arduous scenery. Cold and rain did not trouble him; and these people being wealthy in their way, and loving him, would be glad to find him employment of that desultory pastoral kind which would best suit him. This vague idea was the only thing resembling a plan in his mind. When Philip Feltram came to Mrs. Julapers room, and told her that he had made up his mind to leave the house forthwith  to cross the lake to the Cloostedd side in Tom Marlins boat, and then to make his way up the hill alone to Trebecks lonely farmstead, Mrs. Julaper was overwhelmed. Yell do no such thing tonight, anyhow. Youre not to go like that. Yell come into the small room here, where he cant follow; and well sit down and talk it over a bit, and yell find twill all come straight; and this will be no night, anyhow, for such a march. Why, man,twould take an hour and more to cross the lake, and then a long uphill walk before ye could reach Trebecks place; and if the night should fall while you were still on the mountain, ye might lose your life among the rocks. It cant be tis come to that yet; and the call was in the air, Im told, all yesterday, and distant thunder today, travelling this way over Blarwyn Fells; and twill be a night no one will be out, much less on the mountain side. Chapter 9. The Crazy Parson Mrs. Julaper had grown weatherwise, living for so long among this noble and solitary scenery, where people must observe Nature or else nothing  where signs of coming storm or change are almost local, and record themselves on particular cliffs and mountainpeaks, or in the mists, or in mirrored tints of the familiar lake, and are easily learned or remembered. At all events, her presage proved too true. The sun had set an hour and more. It was dark; and an awful thunderstorm, whose march, like the distant reverberations of an invading army, had been faintly heard beyond the barriers of Blarwyn Fells throughout the afternoon, was near them now, and had burst in deepmouthed battle among the ravines at the other side, and over the broad lake, that glared like a sheet of burnished steel under its flashes of dazzling blue. Wild and fitful blasts sweeping down the hollows and cloughs of the fells of Golden Friars agitated the lake, and bent the trees low, and whirled away their sere leaves in melancholy drift in their tremendous gusts. And from the window, looking on a scene enveloped in more than the darkness of the night, you saw in the pulsations of the lightning, before the speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, the tossing trees and the flying foam and eddies on the lake. In the midst of the hurlyburly, a loud and long knocking came at the halldoor of Mardykes. How long it had lasted before a chance lull made it audible I do not know. There was nothing picturesquely poor, any more than there were evidences of wealth, anywhere in Sir Bale Mardykes household. He had no lack of servants, but they were of an inexpensive and homely sort; and the halldoor being opened by the son of an old tenant on the estate  the tempest beating on the other side of the house, and comparative shelter under the gables at the front  he saw standing before him, in the agitated air, a thin old man, who muttering, it might be, a benediction, stepped into the hall, and displayed long silver tresses, just as the storm had blown them, ascetic and eager features, and a pair of large light eyes that wandered wildly. He was dressed in threadbare black; a pair of long leather gaiters, buckled high above his knee, protecting his thin shanks through moss and pool; and the singularity of his appearance was heightened by a wideleafed felt hat, over which he had tied his handkerchief, so as to bring the leaf of it over his ears, and to secure it from being whirled from his head by the storm. This odd and stormbeaten figure  tall, and a little stooping, as well as thin  was not unknown to the servant, who saluted him with something of fear as well as of respect as he bid him reverently welcome, and asked him to come in and sit by the fire. Get you to your master, and tell him I have a message to him from one he has not seen for twoandforty years. As the old man, with his harsh old voice, thus spoke, he unknotted his handkerchief and bet the raindrops from his hat upon his knee. The servant knocked at the librarydoor, where he found Sir Bale. Well, whats the matter? cried Sir Bale sharply, from his chair before the fire, with angry eyes looking over his shoulder. Heres t sir cumman, Sir Bale, he answered. Sir, or the Sir, is still used as the clergymans title in the Northumbrian counties. What sir? Sir Hugh Creswell, if you please, Sir Bale. Ho!  mad Creswell?  O, the crazy parson. Well, tell Mrs. Julaper to let him have some supper  and  and to let him have a bed in some suitable place. Thats what he wants. These mad fellows know what they are about. No, Sir Bale Mardykes, that is not what he wants, said the loud wild voice of the daft sir over the servants shoulder. Often has Mardykes Hall given me share of its cheer and its shelter and the warmth of its fire; and I bless the house that has been an inn to the wayfarer of the Lord. But tonight I go up the lake to Pindars Bield, three miles on; and there I rest and refresh  not here. And why not here, Mr. Creswell? asked the Baronet; for about this crazy old man, who preached in the fields, and appeared and disappeared so suddenly in the orbit of his wide and unknown perambulations of those northern and border counties, there was that sort of superstitious feeling which attaches to the mysterious and the good  an idea that it was lucky to harbour and dangerous to offend him. No one knew whence he came or whither he went. Once in a year, perhaps, he might appear at a lonely farmstead door among the fells, salute the house, enter, and be gone in the morning. His life was austere; his piety enthusiastic, severe, and tinged with the craze which inspired among the rustic population a sort of awe. Ill not sleep at Mardykes tonight; neither will I eat, nor drink, nor sit me down  no, nor so much as stretch my hands to the fire. As the man of God came out of Judah to king Jeroboam, so come I to you, sent by a vision, to bear a warning; and as he said, If thou wilt give me half thy house, I will not go in with thee, neither will I eat bread nor drink water in this place, so also say I. Do as you please, said Sir Bale, a little sulkily. Say your say; and you are welcome to stay or go, if go you will on so mad a night as this. Leave us, said Creswell, beckoning the servant back with his thin hands; what I have to say is to your master. The servant went, in obedience to a gesture from Sir Bale, and shut the door. The old man drew nearer to the Baronet, and lowering his loud stern voice a little, and interrupting his discourse from time to time, to allow the near thunderpeals to subside, he said, Answer me, Sir Bale  what is this that has chanced between you and Philip Feltram? The Baronet, under the influence of that blunt and peremptory demand, told him shortly and sternly enough. And of all these facts you are sure, else ye would not blast your early companion and kinsman with the name of thief? I am sure, said Sir Bale grimly. Unlock that cabinet, said the old man with the long white locks. Ive no objection, said Sir Bale; and he did unlock an old oak cabinet that stood, carved in high relief with strange figures and gothic grotesques, against the wall, opposite the fireplace. On opening it there were displayed a system of little drawers and pigeonholes such as we see in more modern escritoires. Open that drawer with the red mark of a seal upon it, continued Hugh Creswell, pointing to it with his lank finger. Sir Bale did so; and to his momentary amazement, and even consternation, there lay the missing note, which now, with one of those sudden caprices of memory which depend on the laws of suggestion and association, he remembered having placed there with his own hand. That is it, said old Creswell with a pallid smile, and fixing his wild eyes on the Baronet. The smile subsided into a frown, and said he Last night I slept near Haworth Moss; and your father came to me in a dream, and said My son Bale accuses Philip of having stolen a banknote from his desk. He forgets that he himself placed it in his cabinet. Come with me. I was, in the spirit, in this room; and he led me to this cabinet, which he opened; and in that drawer he showed me that note. Go, said he, and tell him to ask Philip Feltrams pardon, else he will but go in weakness to return in power; and he said that which it is not lawful to repeat. My message is told. Now a word from myself, he added sternly. The dead, through my lips, has spoken, and under Gods thunder and lightning his words have found ye. Why so uppish wi Philip Feltram? See how ye threaped, and yet were wrong. Hes no tazzle  hes no taggelt. Ask his pardon. Ye must change, or he will no taggelt. Go, in weakness, come in power mark ye the words. Twill make a peal that will be heard in toon and desert, in the swirls o the mountain, through pikes and valleys, and mak a waaly man o thee. The old man with these words, uttered in the broad northern dialect of his common speech, strode from the room and shut the door. In another minute he was forth into the storm, pursuing what remained of his long march to Pindars Bield. Upon my soul! said Sir Bale, recovering from his sort of stun which the sudden and strange visit had left, thats a cool old fellow! Come to rate me and teach me my own business in my own house! and he rapped out a fierce oath. Change his mind or no, here he shant stay tonight  not an hour. Sir Bale was in the lobby in a moment, and thundered to his servants I say, put that fool out of the door  put him out by the shoulder, and never let him put his foot inside it more! But the old mans yea was yea, and his nay nay. He had quite meant what he said; and, as I related, was beyond the reach of the indignity of extrusion. Sir Bale on his return shut his door as violently as if it were in the face of the old prophet. Ask Feltrams pardon, by Jove! For what? Why, any jury on earth would have hanged him on half the evidence; and I, like a fool, was going to let him off with his liberty and my hundred poundnote! Ask his pardon indeed! Still there were misgivings in his mind; a consciousness that he did owe explanation and apology to Feltram, and an insurmountable reluctance to undertake either. The old dislike  a contempt mingled with fear  not any fear of his malevolence, a fear only of his carelessness and folly; for, as I have said, Feltram knew many things, it was believed, of the Baronets Continental and Asiatic life, and had even gently remonstrated with him upon the dangers into which he was running. A simple fellow like Philip Feltram is a dangerous depository of a secret. This Baronet was proud, too; and the mere possession of his secrets by Feltram was an involuntary insult, which Sir Bale could not forgive. He wished him far away; and except for the recovery of his banknote, which he could ill spare, he was sorry that this suspicion was cleared up. The thunder and storm were unabated; it seemed indeed that they were growing wilder and more awful. He opened the windowshutter and looked out upon that sublimest of scenes; and so intense and magnificent were its phenomena, that Sir Bale, for a while, was absorbed in this contemplation. When he turned about, the sight of his 100 note, still between his finger and thumb, made him smile grimly. The more he thought of it, the clearer it was that he could not leave matters exactly as they were. Well, what should he do? He would send for Mrs. Julaper, and tell her vaguely that he had changed his mind about Feltram, and that he might continue to stay at Mardykes Hall as usual. That would suffice. She could speak to Feltram. He sent for her; and soon, in the lulls of the great uproar without, he could hear the jingle of Mrs. Julapers keys and her light tread upon the lobby. Mrs. Julaper, said the Baronet, in his dry careless way, Feltram may remain; your eloquence has prevailed. What have you been crying about? he asked, observing that his housekeepers usually cheerful face was, in her own phrase, all cried. It is too late, sir; hes gone. And when did he go? asked Sir Bale, a little put out. He chose an odd evening, didnt he? So like him! He went about half an hour ago; and Im very sorry, sir; its a sore sight to see the poor lad going from the place he was reared in, and a hard thing, sir; and on such a night, above all. No one asked him to go tonight. Where is he gone to? I dont know, Im sure; he left my room, sir, when I was upstairs; and Janet saw him pass the window not ten minutes after Mr. Creswell left the house. Well, then, theres no good, Mrs. Julaper, in thinking more about it; he has settled the matter his own way; and as he so ordains it  amen, say I. Goodnight. Chapter 10. Adventure in Tom Marlins Boat Philip Feltram was liked very well  a gentle, kindly, and very timid creature, and, before he became so heartbroken, a fellow who liked a joke or a pleasant story, and could laugh heartily. Where will Sir Bale find so unresisting and respectful a butt and retainer? and whom will he bully now? Something like remorse was worrying Sir Bales heart a little; and the more he thought on the strange visit of Hugh Creswell that night, with its unexplained menace, the more uneasy he became. The storm continued; and even to him there seemed something exaggerated and inhuman in the severity of his expulsion on such a night. It was his own doing, it was true; but would people believe that? and would he have thought of leaving Mardykes at all if it had not been for his kinsmans severity? Nay, was it not certain that if Sir Bale had done as Hugh Creswell had urged him, and sent for Feltram forthwith, and told him how all had been cleared up, and been a little friendly with him, he would have found him still in the house?  for he had not yet gone for ten minutes after Creswells departure, and thus, all that was to follow might have been averted. But it was too late now, and Sir Bale would let the affair take its own course. Below him, outside the window at which he stood ruminating, he heard voices mingling with the storm. He could with tolerable certainty perceive, looking into the obscurity, that there were three men passing close under it, carrying some very heavy burden among them. He did not know what these three black figures in the obscurity were about. He saw them pass round the corner of the building toward the front, and in the lulls of the storm could hear their gruff voices talking. We have all experienced what a presentiment is, and we all know with what an intuition the faculty of observation is sometimes heightened. It was such an apprehension as sometimes gives its peculiar horror to a dream  a sort of knowledge that what those people were about was in a dreadful way connected with his own fate. He watched for a time, thinking that they might return; but they did not. He was in a state of uncomfortable suspense. If they want me, they wont have much trouble in finding me, nor any scruple, egad, in plaguing me; they never have. Sir Bale returned to his letters, a score of which he was that night getting off his conscience  an arrear which would not have troubled him had he not ceased, for two or three days, altogether to employ Philip Feltram, who had been accustomed to take all that sort of drudgery off his hands. All the time he was writing now he had a feeling that the shadows he had seen pass under his window were machinating some trouble for him, and an uneasy suspense made him lift his eyes now and then to the door, fancying sounds and footsteps; and after a resultless wait he would say to himself, If any one is coming, why the devil dont he come? and then he would apply himself again to his letters. But on a sudden he heard good Mrs. Julapers step trotting along the lobby, and the tiny ringing of her keys. Here was news coming; and the Baronet stood up looking at the door, on which presently came a hurried rapping; and before he had answered, in the midst of a long thunderclap that suddenly broke, rattling over the house, the good woman opened the door in great agitation, and cried with a tremulous uplifting of her hands. O, Sir Bale! O, la, sir! heres poor dear Philip Feltram come home dead! Sir Bale stared at her sternly for some seconds. Gome, now, do be distinct, said Sir Bale; what has happened? Hes lying on the sofer in the old stillroom. You never saw  my God!  O, sir  what is life? Damn it, cant you cry byandby, and tell me whats the matter now? A bit o fire there, as luck would have it; but what is hot or cold now? La, sir, theyre all doin what they can; hes drowned, sir, and Tom Warren is on the gallop down to Golden Friars for Doctor Torvey. Is he drowned, or is it only a ducking? Come, bring me to the place. Dead men dont usually want a fire, or consult doctors. Ill see for myself. So Sir Bale Mardykes, pale and grim, accompanied by the lightfooted Mrs. Julaper, strode along the passages, and was led by her into the old stillroom, which had ceased to be used for its original purpose. All the servants in the house were now collected there, and three men also who lived by the margin of the lake; one of them thoroughly drenched, with rivulets of water still trickling from his sleeves, water along the wrinkles and pockets of his waistcoat and from the feet of his trousers, and pumping and oozing from his shoes, and streaming from his hair down the channels of his cheeks like a continuous rain of tears. The people drew back a little as Sir Bale entered with a quick step and a sharp pallid frown on his face. There was a silence as he stooped over Philip Feltram, who lay on a low bed next the wall, dimly lighted by two or three candles here and there about the room. He laid his hand, for a moment, on his cold wet breast. Sir Bale knew what should be done in order to give a man in such a case his last chance for life. Everybody was speedily put in motion. Philips drenched clothes were removed, hot blankets enveloped him, warmingpans and hot bricks lent their aid; he was placed at the prescribed angle, so that the water flowed freely from his mouth. The old expedient for inducing artificial breathing was employed, and a lusty pair of bellows did duty for his lungs. But these helps to life, and suggestions to nature, availed not. Forlorn and peaceful lay the features of poor Philip Feltram; cold and dull to the touch; no breath through the blue lips; no sight in the fishlike eyes; pulseless and cold in the midst of all the hot bricks and warmingpans about him. At length, everything having been tried, Sir Bale, who had been directing, placed his hand within the clothes, and laid it silently on Philips shoulder and over his heart; and after a little wait, he shook his head, and looking down on his sunken face, he said, I am afraid hes gone. Yes, hes gone, poor fellow! And bear you this in mind, all of you; Mrs. Julaper there can tell you more about it. She knows that it was certainly in no compliance with my wish that he left the house tonight it was his own obstinate perversity, and perhaps  I forgive him for it  a wish in his unreasonable resentment to throw some blame upon this house, as having refused him shelter on such a night; than which imputation nothing can be more utterly false. Mrs. Julaper there knows how welcome he was to stay the night; but he would not; he had made up his mind, it seems, without telling any person. Had he told you, Mrs. Julaper? No, sir, sobbed Mrs. Julaper from the centre of a pockethandkerchief in which her face was buried. Not a human being an angry whim of his own. Poor Feltram! and heres the result, said the Baronet. We have done our best  done everything. I dont think the doctor, when he comes, will say that anything has been omitted; but all wont do. Does any one here know how it happened? Two men knew very well  the man who had been ducked, and his companion, a younger man, who was also in the stillroom, and had lent a hand in carrying Feltram up to the house. Tom Marlin had a queer old stone tenement by the edge of the lake just under Mardykes Hall. Some people said it was the stump of an old tower that had once belonged to Mardykes Castle, of which in the modern building scarcely a relic was discoverable. This Tom Marlin had an ancient right of fishing in the lake, where he caught pike enough for all Golden Friars; and keeping a couple of boats, he made money beside by ferrying passengers over now and then. This fellow, with a furrowed face and shaggy eyebrows, bald at top, but with long grizzled locks falling upon his shoulders, said, He wer wi me this mornin, sayin hed want t boat to cross the lake in, but he didnt say what hour; and when it came on to thunder and blow like this, ye guess I did not look to see him tonight. Well, my wife was just lightin a pigtail  tho light enough and to spare there was in the lift already  when who should come clatterin at the latchpin in the blow o thunder and wind but Philip, poor lad, himself; and an ill hour for him it was. Hes been some time in ill fettle, though he was never frowsy, not he, but always kind and dooce, and canty once, like anither; and he asked me to tak the boat across the lake at once to the Clough o Cloostedd at tother side. The woman took the pet and wodnt hear ot; and, Dall me, if I go tonight, quoth I. But he would not be put off so, not he; and dingdrive he went to it, cryin and putrein yed asaid, poor fellow, he was wrang i his garrets amost. So at long last I bethought me, theres nout o a sea to the north o Snakes Island, so Ill pull him by that side  for the storm is blowin right up by Golden Friars, ye mind  and when we get near the point, thinks I, hell see wi his een how the lake is, and gie it up. For I liked him, poor lad; and seein hed set his heart ont, I wouldnt vex nor frump him wi a no. So down we three  myself, and Bill there, and Philip Feltram  come to the boat; and we pulled out, keeping Snakes Island atwixt us and the wind. Twas smooth water wi us, for twas a scug there, but white enough was all beyont the point; and passing the fingerstone, not forty fathom from the shore o the island, Bill and me pullin and he sittin in the stern, poor lad, up he rises, a bit rabblin to himself, wi his hands lifted so. Look ahead! says I, thinkin something wos comin atort us. But twasnt that. The boat was quiet, for while we looked, ooer our shouthers, ooer her bows, we didnt pull, so she lay still; and lookin back again on Philip, he was rabblin on all the same. Its nobbut a prass wi himsel, poor lad, thinks I. But that wasnt it neither; for I sid something white come out o t water, by the gunwale, like a hand. By Jen! and he leans ooer and tuk it; and he sagged like, and so it drew him in, under the mere, before I cud du nout. There was nout to thraa tu him, and no time; down he went, and I followed; and thrice I dived before I found him, and brought him up by the hair at last; and there he is, poor lad! and all one if he lay at the bottom o t mere. As Tom Marlin ended his narrative  often interrupted by the noise of the tempest without, and the peals of thunder that echoed awfully above, like the chorus of a melancholy ballad  the sudden clang of the halldoor bell, and a more faintlyheard knocking, announced a new arrival. [Illustration I sid something white come out o t water, by the gunwale, like a hand.] Chapter 11. Sir Bales Dream It was Doctor Torvey who entered the old stillroom now, buttonedup to the chin in his greatcoat, and with a muffler of many colours wrapped partly over that feature. Well!  hey? So poor Feltrams had an accident? The Doctor was addressing Sir Bale, and getting to the bedside as he pulled off his gloves. I see youve been keeping him warm  thats right; and a considerable flow of water from his mouth; turn him a little that way. Hey? O, ho! said the Doctor, as he placed his hand upon Philip, and gently stirred his limbs. Its more than an hour since this happened. Im afraid theres very little to be done now; and in a lower tone, with his hand on poor Philip Feltrams arm, and so down to his fingers, he said in Sir Bale Mardykes ear, with a shake of his head, Here, you see, poor fellow, heres the cadaveric stiffness; its very melancholy, but its all over, hes gone; theres no good trying any more. Come here, Mrs. Julaper. Did you ever see any one dead? Look at his eyes, look at his mouth. You ought to have known that, with half an eye. And you know, he added again confidentially in Sir Bales ear, trying any more now is all my eye.


Then after a few more words with the Baronet, and having heard his narrative, he said from time to time, Quite right; nothing could be better; capital practice, sir, and so forth. And at the close of all this, amid the sobs of kind Mrs. Julaper and the general whimpering of the humbler handmaids, the Doctor standing by the bed, with his knuckles on the coverlet, and a glance now and then on the dead face beside him, said  by way of quieting mens minds, as the old tractwriters used to say  a few words to the following effect Everything has been done here that the most experienced physician could have wished. Everything has been done in the best way. I dont know anything that has not been done, in fact. If I had been here myself, I dont know  hot bricks  salt isnt a bad thing. I dont know, I say, that anything of any consequence has been omitted. And looking at the body, You see, and he drew the fingers a little this way and that, letting them return, as they stiffly did, to their former attitude, you may be sure that the poor gentleman was quite dead by the time he arrived here. So, since he was laid there, nothing has been lost by delay. And, Sir Bale, if you have any directions to send to Golden Friars, sir, I shall be most happy to undertake your message. Nothing, thanks; it is a melancholy ending, poor fellow! You must come to the study with me, Doctor Torvey, and talk a little bit more; and  very sad, doctor  and you must have a glass of sherry, or some port  the port used not to be bad here; I dont take it  but very melancholy it is  bring some port and sherry; and, Mrs. Julaper, youll be good enough to see that everything that should be done here is looked to; and let Marlin and the men have supper and something to drink. You have been too long in your wet clothes, Marlin. So, with gracious words all round, he led the Doctor to the library where he had been sitting, and was affable and hospitable, and told him his own version of all that had passed between him and Philip Feltram, and presented himself in an amiable point of view, and pleased the Doctor with his port and flatteries  for he could not afford to lose anyones good word just now; and the Doctor was a bit of a gossip, and in most houses in that region, in one character or another, every three months in the year. So in due time the Doctor drove back to Golden Friars, with a high opinion of Sir Bale, and higher still of his port, and highest of all of himself in the best possible humour with the world, not minding the storm that blew in his face, and which he defied in goodhumoured mockheroics spoken in somewhat thick accents, and regarding the thunder and lightning as a lively gala of fireworks; and if there had been a chance of finding his cronies still in the George and Dragon, he would have been among them forthwith, to relate the tragedy of the night, and tell what a good fellow, after all, Sir Bale was; and what a fool, at best, poor Philip Feltram. But the George was quiet for that night. The thunder rolled over voiceless chambers; and the lights had been put out within the windows, on whose multitudinous small panes the lightning glared. So the Doctor went home to Mrs. Torvey, whom he charmed into goodhumoured curiosity by the tale of wonder he had to relate. Sir Bales qualms were symptomatic of something a little less sublime and more selfish than conscience. He was not sorry that Philip Feltram was out of the way. His lips might begin to babble inconveniently at any time, and why should not his mouth be stopped? and what stopper so effectual as that plug of clay which fate had introduced? But he did not want to be charged with the odium of the catastrophe. Every man cares something for the opinion of his fellows. And seeing that Feltram had been well liked, and that his death had excited a vehement commiseration, Sir Bale did not wish it to be said that he had made the house too hot to hold him, and had so driven him to extremity. Sir Bales first agitation had subsided. It was now late, he had written many letters, and he was tired. It was not wonderful, then, that having turned his loungingchair to the fire, he should have fallen asleep in it, as at last he did. The storm was passing gradually away by this time. The thunder was now echoing among the distant glens and gorges of Daulness Fells, and the angry roar and gusts of the tempest were subsiding into the melancholy soughing and piping that soothe like a lullaby. Sir Bale therefore had his unpremeditated sleep very comfortably, except that his head was hanging a little uneasily; which, perhaps, helped him to this dream. It was one of those dreams in which the continuity of the waking state that immediately preceded it seems unbroken; for he thought that he was sitting in the chair which he occupied, and in the room where he actually was. It seemed to him that he got up, took a candle in his hand, and went through the passages to the old stillroom where Philip Feltram lay. The house seemed perfectly still. He could hear the chirp of the crickets faintly from the distant kitchen, and the tick of the clock sounded loud and hollow along the passage. In the old stillroom, as he opened the door, was no light, except what was admitted from the candle he carried. He found the body of poor Philip Feltram just as he had left it  his gentle face, saddened by the touch of death, was turned upwards, with white lips with traces of suffering fixed in its outlines, such as caused Sir Bale, standing by the bed, to draw the coverlet over the dead mans features, which seemed silently to upbraid him. Gone in weakness! said Sir Bale, repeating the words of the daft sir, Hugh Creswell; as he did so, a voice whispered near him, with a great sigh, Come in power! He looked round, in his dream, but there was no one; the light seemed to fail, and a horror slowly overcame him, especially as he thought he saw the figure under the coverlet stealthily beginning to move. Backing towards the door, for he could not take his eyes off it, he saw something like a huge black ape creep out at the foot of the bed; and springing at him, it griped him by the throat, so that he could not breathe; and a thousand voices were instantly round him, holloaing, cursing, laughing in his ears; and in this direful plight he waked. Was it the ring of those voices still in his ears, or a real shriek, and another, and a long peal, shriek after shriek, swelling madly through the distant passages, that held him still, freezing in the horror of his dream? I will tell you what this noise was. Chapter 12. Marcella Bligh and Judith Wale Keep Watch After his bottle of port with Sir Bale, the Doctor had gone down again to the room where poor Philip Feltram lay. Mrs. Julaper had dried her eyes, and was busy by this time; and two old women were making all their arrangements for a nightwatch by the body, which they had washed, and, as their phrase goes, laid out in the humble bed where it had lain while there was still a hope that a spark sufficient to rekindle the fire of life might remain. These old women had points of resemblance they were lean, sallow, and wonderfully wrinkled, and looked each malign and ugly enough for a witch. Marcella Blighs thin hooked nose was now like the beak of a bird of prey over the face of the drowned man, upon whose eyelids she was placing pennypieces, to keep them from opening; and her one eye was fixed on her work, its sightless companion showing white in its socket, with an ugly leer. Judith Wale was lifting the pail of hot water with which they had just washed the body. She had long lean arms, a hunched back, a great sharp chin sunk on her hollow breast, and small eyes restless as a ferrets; and she clattered about in great bowls of shoes, old and clouted, that were made for a foot as big as two of hers. The Doctor knew these two old women, who were often employed in such dismal offices. How does Mrs. Bligh? See me with half an eye? Hey  thats rhyme, isnt it?  And, Judy lass  why, I thought you lived nearer the town  here making poor Mr. Feltrams last toilet. You have helped to dress many a poor fellow for his last journey. Not a bad notion of drill either  they stand at attention stiff and straight enough in the sentrybox. Your recruits do you credit, Mrs. Wale. The Doctor stood at the foot of the bed to inspect, breathing forth a vapour of very fine old port, his hands in his pockets, speaking with a lazy thickness, and looking so comfortable and facetious, that Mrs. Julaper would have liked to turn him out of the room. But the Doctor was not unkind, only extremely comfortable. He was a goodnatured fellow, and had thought and care for the living, but not a great deal of sentiment for the dead, whom he had looked in the face too often to be much disturbed by the spectacle. Youll have to keep that bandage on. You should be sharp; you should know all about it, girl, by this time, and not let those muscles stiffen. I need not tell you the mouth shuts as easily as this snuffbox, if you only take it in time.  I suppose, Mrs. Julaper, youll send to Jos Fringer for the poor fellows outfit. Fringer is a very proper man  there aint a properer undaker in England. I always remmend Fringer  in Churchstreet in Golden Friars. You know Fringer, I daresay. I cant say, sir, Im sure. That will be as Sir Bale may please to direct, answered Mrs. Julaper. Youve got him very straight  straighter than I thought you could; but the large joints were not so stiff. A very little longer wait, and youd hardly have got him into his coffin. Hell want a vrrry long one, poor lad. Short cake is life, maam. Sad thing this. Theyll open their eyes, I promise you, down in the town. Twill be cool enough, Id shay, affre all ththunrthunnle, you know. I think Ill take a nip, Mrs. Joolfr, if you wouldnt mine makin me out a thimmleful branbandbranrandandy, eh, Mishs Joolfr? And the Doctor took a chair by the fire; and Mrs. Julaper, with a dubious conscience and dry hospitality, procured the brandyflask and wineglass, and helped the physician in a thin hesitating stream, which left him ample opportunity to cry Hold  enough! had he been so minded. But that able physician had no confidence, it would seem, in any dose under a bumper, which he sipped with commendation, and then fell asleep with the firelight on his face  to tenderhearted Mrs. Julapers disgust  and snored with a sensual disregard of the solemnity of his situation; until with a profound nod, or rather dive, toward the fire, he awoke, got up and shook his ears with a kind of start, and standing with his back to the fire, asked for his muffler and horse; and so took his leave also of the weird sisters, who were still pottering about the body, with croak and whisper, and nod and ogle. He took his leave also of good Mrs. Julaper, who was completing arrangements with teapot and kettle, spiced elderberry wine, and other comforts, to support them through their proposed vigil. And finally, in a sort of way, he took his leave of the body, with a long businesslike stare, from the foot of the bed, with his short hands stuffed into his pockets. And so, to Mrs. Julapers relief, this unseemly doctor, speaking thickly, departed. And now, the Doctor being gone, and all things prepared for the wake to be observed by withered Mrs. Bligh of the one eye, and yellow Mrs. Wale of the crooked back, the house grew gradually still. The thunder had by this time died into the solid boom of distant battle, and the fury of the gale had subsided to the long sobbing wail that is charged with so eerie a melancholy. Within all was stirless, and the two old women, each a Mrs. by courtesy, who had not much to thank Nature or the world for, sad and cynical, and in a sort outcasts told off by fortune to these sad and grizzly services, sat themselves down by the fire, each perhaps feeling unusually at home in the others society; and in this soured and forlorn comfort, trimming their fire, quickening the song of the kettle to a boil, and waxing polite and chatty; each treating the other with that deprecatory and formal courtesy which invites a return in kind, and both growing strangely happy in this little world of their own, in the unusual and momentary sense of an importance and consideration which were delightful. The old stillroom of Mardykes Hall is an oblong room wainscoted. From the door you look its full length to the wide stoneshafted Tudor window at the other end. At your left is the ponderous mantelpiece, supported by two spiral stone pillars; and close to the door at the right was the bed in which the two crones had just stretched poor Philip Feltram, who lay as still as an uncoloured waxwork, with a heavy pennypiece on each eye, and a bandage under his jaw, making his mouth look stern. And the two old ladies over their tea by the fire conversed agreeably, compared their rheumatisms and other ailments wordily, and talked of old times, and early recollections, and of sickbeds they had attended, and corpses that you would not know, so pined and windered were they; and others so fresh and canny, youd say the dead had never looked so bonny in life. Then they began to talk of people who grew tall in their coffins, of others who had been buried alive, and of others who walked after death. Stories as true as holy writ. Were you ever down by Hawarth, Mrs. Bligh  hard by Dalworth Moss? asked crookbacked Mrs. Wale, holding her spoon suspended over her cup. Neea whaar sooa far south, Mrs. Wale, maam; but ma father was off times down thar cuttin peat. Ah, then yell not a kenned farmer Dykes that lived by the Lintree Scaur. Tweer I that laid him out, poor aad fellow, and a dow man he was when aught went cross wi him; and he cursed and sweared, twad gar ye dodder to hear him. They said he was a hard man wi some folk; but he kep a good house, and liked to see plenty, and many a time when I was swaimous about my food, hed clap t meat on ma plate, and mak me eat ma fill. Na, na  there was good as well as bad in farmer Dykes. It was a year after he deed, and Tom Ettles was walking home, down by the Birken Stoop one night, and not a soul nigh, when he sees a big ball, as high as his knee, whirlin and spangin away before him on the road. What it wer he could not think; but he never consayted there was a freet or a bo thereaway; so he kep near it, watching every spang and turn it took, till it ran into the gripe by the roadside. There was a gravel pit just there, and Tom Ettles wished to take another gliff at it before he went on. But when he keeked into the pit, what should he see but a man attoppa a horse that could not get up or on and says he, I think ye be at a deadlift there, gaffer. And wi the word, up looks the man, and who sud it be but farmer Dykes himsel; and Tom Ettles saw him plain eneugh, and kenned the horse too for Black Captain, the farmers aad beast, that broke his leg and was shot two years and more before the farmer died. Ay, says farmer Dykes, lookin very bad; forsettandbacksett, yell tak me oot, Tom Ettles, and clap ye doun behint me quick, or Ill claw hod o thee. Tom felt his hair risin stiff on his heed, and his tongue so fast to the roof o his mouth he could scarce get oot a word; but says he, If Black Jack cant do it o noo, hell neer dot and carry double. I ken my ain business best, says Dykes. If ye gar me gie ye a look, twill gie ye the creepins while ye live; so git ye doun, Tom; and with that the dobby lifts its neaf, and Tom saw there was a red light round horse and man, like the glow of a peat fire. And says Tom, In the name o God, yell let me pass; and with the word the gooast draws itsel doun, all acreaked, like a man wi a sudden pain; and Tom Ettles took to his heels more deed than alive. They had approached their heads, and the story had sunk to that mysterious murmur that thrills the listener, when in the brief silence that followed they heard a low odd laugh near the door. In that direction each lady looked aghast, and saw Feltram sitting straight up in the bed, with the white bandage in his hand, and as it seemed, for one foot was below the coverlet, near the floor, about to glide forth. Mrs. Bligh, uttering a hideous shriek, clutched Mrs. Wale, and Mrs. Wale, with a scream as dreadful, gripped Mrs. Bligh; and quite forgetting their somewhat formal politeness, they reeled and tugged, wrestling towards the window, each struggling to place her companion between her and the dobby, and both uniting in a direful peal of yells. This was the uproar which had startled Sir Bale from his dream, and was now startling the servants from theirs. Chapter 13. The Mist on the Mountain Doctor Torvey was sent for early next morning, and came full of wonder, learning and scepticism. Seeing is believing, however; and there was Philip Feltram living, and soon to be, in all bodily functions, just as usual. Upon my soul, Sir Bale, I couldnt have believed it, if I had not seen it with my eyes, said the Doctor impressively, while sipping a glass of sherry in the breakfast parlour, as the great panelled and pictured room next the diningroom was called. I dont think there is any similar case on record  no pulse, no more than the poker; no respiration, by Jove, no more than the chimneypiece; as cold as a lead image in the garden there. Well, youll say all that might possibly be fallacious; but what will you say to the cadaveric stiffness? Old Judy Wale can tell you; and my friend Marcella  Monocula would be nearer the mark  Mrs. Bligh, she knows all those common, and I may say up to this, infallible, signs of death, as well as I do. There is no mystery about them; theyll depose to the literality of the symptoms. You heard how they gave tongue. Upon my honour, Ill send the whole case up to my old chief, Sir Hervey Hansard, to London. Youll hear what a noise it will make among the profession. There never was  and it aint too much to say there never will beanother case like it. During this lecture, and a great deal more, Sir Bale leaned back in his chair, with his legs extended, his heels on the ground, and his arms folded, looking sourly up in the face of a tall lady in white satin, in a ruff, and with a bird on her hand, who smiled down superciliously from her frame on the Baronet. Sir Bale seemed a little bit high and dry with the Doctor. You physicians are unquestionably, he said, a very learned profession. The Doctor bowed. But theres just one thing you know nothing about  Eh? Whats that? inquired Doctor Torvey. Medicine, answered Sir Bale. I was aware you never knew what was the matter with a sick man; but I didnt know, till now, that you couldnt tell when he was dead. Ha, ha!  well  ha, ha!  yes  well, you see, you  ha, ha!  you certainly have me there. But its a case without a parallel  it is, upon my honour. Youll find it will not only be talked about, but written about; and, whatever papers appear upon it, will come to me; and Ill take care, Sir Bale, you shall have an opportunity of reading them. Of which I shant avail myself, answered Sir Bale. Take another glass of sherry, Doctor. The Doctor made his acknowledgments and filled his glass, and looked through the wine between him and the window. Ha, ha!  see there, your port, Sir Bale, gives a fellow such habits  looking for the beeswing, by Jove. It isnt easy, in one sense at least, to get your port out of a fellows head when once he has tasted it. But if the honest Doctor meant a hint for a glass of that admirable bin, it fell pointless; and Sir Bale had no notion of making another libation of that precious fluid in honour of Doctor Torvey. And I take it for granted, said Sir Bale, that Feltram will do very well; and, should anything go wrong, I can send for you  unless he should die again; and in that case I think I shall take my own opinion. So he and the Doctor parted. Sir Bale, although he did not consult the Doctor on his own case, was not particularly well. That lonely place, those frightful mountains, and that damp black lake which features in the landscape he cursed all round are enough to give any man blue devils; and when a fellows spirits go, hes all gone. Thats why Im dyspeptic  that and those damned debts  and the post, with its flight of croaking and screeching letters from London. I wish there was no post here. I wish it was like Sir Amyralds time, when they shot the York mercer that came to dun him, and no one ever took anyone to task about it; and now they can pelt you at any distance they please through the post; and fellows lose their spirits and their appetite and any sort of miserable comfort that is possible in this odious abyss. Was there gout in Sir Bales case, or vapours? I know not what the faculty would have called it; but Sir Bales mode of treatment was simply to work off the attack by long and laborious walking. This evening his walk was upon the Fells of Golden Friars  long after the landscape below was in the eclipse of twilight, the broad bare sides and angles of these gigantic uplands were still lighted by the misty western sun. There is no such sense of solitude as that which we experience upon the silent and vast elevations of great mountains. Lifted high above the level of human sounds and habitations, among the wild expanses and colossal features of Nature, we are thrilled in our loneliness with a strange fear and elation  an ascent above the reach of lifes vexations or companionship, and the tremblings of a wild and undefined misgiving. The filmy disc of the moon had risen in the east, and was already faintly silvering the shadowy scenery below, while yet Sir Bale stood in the mellow light of the western sun, which still touched also the summits of the opposite peaks of Morvyn Fells. Sir Bale Mardykes did not, as a stranger might, in prudence, hasten his descent from the heights at which he stood while yet a gleam of daylight remained to him. For he was, from his boyhood, familiar with those solitary regions; and, beside this, the thin circle of the moon, hung in the eastern sky, would brighten as the sunlight sank, and hang like a lamp above his steps. There was in the bronzed and resolute face of the Baronet, lighted now in the parting beams of sunset, a resemblance to that of Charles the Second  not our merry ideal, but the more energetic and saturnine face which the portraits have preserved to us. He stood with folded arms on the side of the slope, admiring, in spite of his prejudice, the unusual effects of a view so strangely lighted  the sunset tints on the opposite peaks, lost in the misty twilight, now deepening lower down into a darker shade, through which the outlines of the stone gables and tower of Golden Friars and the light of fire or candle in their windows were dimly visible. As he stood and looked, his more distant sunset went down, and sudden twilight was upon him, and he began to remember the beautiful Homeric picture of a landscape coming out, rock and headland, in the moonlight. There had hung upon the higher summits, at his right, a heavy fold of white cloud, which on a sudden broke, and, like the smoke of artillery, came rolling down the slopes toward him. Its principal volume, however, unfolded itself in a mighty flood down the side of the mountain towards the lake; and that which spread towards and soon enveloped the ground on which he stood was by no means so dense a fog. A thick mist enough it was; but still, to a distance of twenty or thirty yards, he could discern the outline of a rock or scaur, but not beyond it. There are few sensations more intimidating than that of being thus enveloped on a lonely mountainside, which, like this one, here and there breaks into precipice. There is another sensation, too, which affects the imagination. Overtaken thus on the solitary expanse, there comes a new chill and tremour as this treacherous medium surrounds us, through which unperceived those shapes which fancy conjures up might approach so near and bar our path. From the risk of being reduced to an actual standstill he knew he was exempt. The point from which the wind blew, light as it was, assured him of that. Still the mist was thick enough seriously to embarrass him. It had overtaken him as he was looking down upon the lake; and he now looked to his left, to try whether in that direction it was too thick to permit a view of the nearest landmarks. Through this white film he saw a figure standing only about fiveandtwenty steps away, looking down, as it seemed, in precisely the same direction as he, quite motionless, and standing like a shadow projected upon the smoky vapour. It was the figure of a slight tall man, with his arm extended, as if pointing to a remote object, which no mortal eye certainly could discern through the mist. Sir Bale gazed at this figure, doubtful whether he were in a waking dream, unable to conjecture whence it had come; and as he looked, it moved, and was almost instantly out of sight. He descended the mountain cautiously. The mist was now thinner, and through the haze he was beginning to see objects more distinctly, and, without danger, to proceed at a quicker pace. He had still a long walk by the uplands towards Mardykes Hall before he descended to the level of the lake. The mist was still quite thick enough to circumscribe his view and to hide the general features of the landscape; and well was it, perhaps, for Sir Bale that his boyhood had familiarised him with the landmarks on the mountainside. He had made nearly four miles on his solitary homeward way, when, passing under a ledge of rock which bears the name of the Cats Skaitch, he saw the same figure in the short cloak standing within some thirty or forty yards of him  the thin curtain of mist, through which the moonlight touched it, giving to it an airy and unsubstantial character. Sir Bale came to a standstill. The man in the short cloak nodded and drew back, and was concealed by the angle of the rock. Sir Bale was now irritated, as men are after a start, and shouting to the stranger to halt, he slapped after him, as the northern phrase goes, at his best pace. But again he was gone, and nowhere could he see him, the mist favouring his evasion. Looking down the fells that overhang Mardykes Hall, the mountainside dips gradually into a glen, which, as it descends, becomes precipitous and wooded. A footpath through this ravine conducts the wayfarer to the level ground that borders the lake; and by this dark pass Sir Bale Mardykes strode, in comparatively clear air, along the rocky path dappled with moonlight. As he emerged upon the lower ground he again encountered the same figure. It approached. It was Philip Feltram. Chapter 14. A New Philip Feltram The Baronet had not seen Feltram since his strange escape from death. His last interview with him had been stern and threatening; Sir Bale dealing with appearances in the spirit of an incensed judge, Philip Feltram lamenting in the submission of a helpless despair. Feltram was full in the moonlight now, standing erect, and smiling cynically on the Baronet. There was that in the bearing and countenance of Feltram that disconcerted him more than the surprise of the sudden meeting. He had determined to meet Feltram in a friendly way, whenever that not very comfortable interview became inevitable. But he was confused by the suddenness of Feltrams appearance; and the tone, cold and stern, in which he had last spoken to him came first, and he spoke in it after a brief silence. I fancied, Mr. Feltram, you were in your bed; I little expected to find you here. I think the Doctor gave very particular directions, and said that you were to remain perfectly quiet. But I know more than the Doctor, replied Feltram, still smiling unpleasantly. I think, sir, you would have been better in your bed, said Sir Bale loftily. Come, come, come, come! exclaimed Philip Feltram contemptuously. [Illustration It was the figure of a slight tall man, with his arm extended, as if pointing to a remote object.] It seems to me, said Sir Bale, a good deal astonished, you rather forget yourself. Easier to forget oneself, Sir Bale, than to forgive others, at times, replied Philip Feltram in his unparalleled mood. Thats the way fools knock themselves up, continued Sir Bale. Youve been walking ever so far  away to the Fells of Golden Friars. It was you whom I saw there. What damned folly! What brought you there? To observe you, he replied. And have you walked the whole way there and back again? How did you get there? Pooh! how did I come  how did you come  how did the fog come? From the lake, I suppose. We all come up, and then down. So spoke Philip Feltram, with serene insolence. You are pleased to talk nonsense, said Sir Bale. Because I like it  with a meaning. Sir Bale looked at him, not knowing whether to believe his eyes and ears. He did not know what to make of him. I had intended speaking to you in a conciliatory way; you seem to wish to make that impossible Philip Feltrams face wore its repulsive smile; and in fact I dont know what to make of you, unless you are ill; and ill you well may be. You cant have walked much less than twelve miles. Wonderful effort for me! said Feltram with the same sneer. Rather surprising for a man so nearly drowned, answered Sir Bale Mardykes. A dip you dont like the lake, sir; but I do. And so it is as Antaeus touched the earth, so I the water, and rise refreshed. I think youd better get in and refresh there. I meant to tell you that all the unpleasantness about that banknote is over. Is it? Yes. It has been recovered by Mr. Creswell, who came here last night. Ive got it, and youre not to blame, said Sir Bale. But some one is to blame, observed Mr. Feltram, smiling still. Well, you are not, and that ends it, said the Baronet peremptorily. Ends it? Really, how good! how very good! Sir Bale looked at him, for there was something ambiguous and even derisive in the tone of Feltrams voice. But before he could quite make up his mind, Feltram spoke again. Everything is settled about you and me? There is nothing to prevent your staying at Mardykes now, said Sir Bale graciously. I shall be with you for two years, and then I go on my travels, answered Feltram, with a saturnine and somewhat wild look around him. Is he going mad? thought the Baronet. But before I go, Im to put you in a way of paying off your mortgages. That is my business here. Sir Bale looked at him sharply. But now there was not the unpleasant smile, but the darkened look of a man in secret pain. You shall know it all by and by. And without more ceremony, and with a darkening face, Philip Feltram made his way under the boughs of the thick oaks that grew there, leaving on Sir Bales mind an impression that he had been watching some one at a distance, and had gone in consequence of a signal. In a few seconds he followed in the same direction, halloaing after Feltram; for he did not like the idea of his wandering about the country by moonlight, or possibly losing his life among the precipices, and bringing a new discredit upon his house. But no answer came; nor could he in that thick copse gain sight of him again. When Sir Bale reached Mardykes Hall he summoned Mrs. Julaper, and had a long talk with her. But she could not say that there appeared anything amiss with Philip Feltram; only he seemed more reserved, and as if he was brooding over something he did not intend to tell. But, you know, Sir Bale, what happened might well make a thoughtful man of him. If hes ever to think of Death, it should be after looking him so hard in the face; and Im not ashamed to say, Im glad to see he has grace to take the lesson, and I hope his experiences may be sanctified to him, poor fellow! Amen. Very good song, and very well sung, said Sir Bale; but it doesnt seem to me that he has been improved, Mrs. Julaper.


He seems, on the contrary, in a queer temper and anything but a heavenly frame of mind; and I thought Id ask you, because if he is ill  I mean feverish  it might account for his eccentricities, as well as make it necessary to send after him, and bring him home, and put him to bed. But I suppose it is as you say  his adventure has upset him a little, and hell sober in a day or two, and return to his old ways. But this did not happen. A change, more comprehensive than at first appeared, had taken place, and a singular alteration was gradually established. He grew thin, his eyes hollow, his face gradually forbidding. His ways and temper were changed he was a new man with Sir Bale; and the Baronet after a time, people said, began to grow afraid of him. And certainly Feltram had acquired an extraordinary influence over the Baronet, who a little while ago had regarded and treated him with so much contempt. Chapter 15. The Purse of Gold The Baronet was very slightly known in his county. He had led a reserved and inhospitable life. He was pressed upon by heavy debts; and being a proud man, held aloof from society and its doings. He wished people to understand that he was nursing his estate; but somehow the estate did not thrive at nurse. In the country other peoples business is admirably well known; and the lord of Mardykes was conscious, perhaps, that his neighbours knew as well he did, that the utmost he could do was to pay the interest charged upon it, and to live in a frugal way enough. The lake measures some four or five miles across, from the little jetty under the walls of Mardykes Hall to Cloostedd. Philip Feltram, changed and morose, loved a solitary row upon the lake; and sometimes, with no one to aid him in its management, would take the little sailboat and pass the whole day upon those lonely waters. Frequently he crossed to Cloostedd; and mooring the boat under the solemn trees that stand reflected in that dark mirror, he would disembark and wander among the lonely woodlands, as people thought, cherishing in those ancestral scenes the memory of ineffaceable injuries, and the wrath and revenge that seemed of late to darken his countenance, and to hold him always in a moody silence. One autumnal evening Sir Bale Mardykes was sourly ruminating after his solitary meal. A very red sun was pouring its last low beams through the valley at the western extremity of the lake, across its elsewhere sombre waters, and touching with a sudden and bloodred tint the sail of the skiff in which Feltram was returning from his lonely cruise. Here comes my domestic waterfiend, sneered Sir Bale, as he lay back in his cumbrous armchair. Cheerful place, pleasant people, delicious fate! The place alone has been enough to set that fool out of his little senses, damn him! Sir Bale averted his eyes, and another subject not pleasanter entered his mind. He was thinking of the races that were coming off next week at Heckleston Downs, and what sums of money might be made there, and how hard it was that he should be excluded by fortune from that brilliant lottery. Ah, Mrs. Julaper, is that you? Mrs. Julaper, who was still at the door, curtsied, and said, I came, Sir Bale, to see whether youd please to like a jug of mulled claret, sir. Not I, my dear. Ill take a mug of beer and my pipe; that homely solace better befits a ruined gentleman. Hm, sir; youre not that, Sir Bale; youre no worse than half the lords and great men that are going. I would not hear another say that of you, sir. Thats very kind of you, Mrs. Julaper; but you wont call me out for backbiting myself, especially as it is true, damned true, Mrs. Julaper! Look ye; there never was a Mardykes here before but he could lay his hundred or his thousand pounds on the winner of the Heckleston Cup; and what could I bet? Little more than that mug of beer I spoke of. It was my greatgrandfather who opened the course on the Downs of Heckleston, and now I cant show there! Well, what must I do? Grin and bear it, thats all. If you please, Mrs. Julaper, I will have that jug of claret you offered. I want spice and hot wine to keep me alive; but Ill smoke my pipe first, and in an hours time it will do. When Mrs. Julaper was gone, he lighted his pipe, and drew near the window, through which he looked upon the now fading sky and the twilight landscape. He smoked his pipe out, and by that time it had grown nearly dark. He was still looking out upon the faint outlines of the view, and thinking angrily what a little bit of luck at the races would do for many a man who probably did not want it half so much as he. Vague and sombre as his thoughts were, they had, like the darkening landscape outside, shape enough to define their general character. Bitter and impious they were  as those of egotistic men naturally are in suffering. And after brooding, and muttering by fits and starts, he said How many tens and hundreds of thousands of pounds will change hands at Heckleston next week; and not a shilling in all the change and shuffle will stick to me! How many a fellow would sell himself, like Dr. Faustus, just for the knowledge of the name of the winner! But hes no fool, and does not buy his own. Something caught his eye; something moving on the wall. The fire was lighted, and cast a flickering and gigantic shadow upward; the figure of a man standing behind Sir Bale Mardykes, on whose shoulder he placed a lean hand. Sir Bale turned suddenly about, and saw Philip Feltram. He was looking dark and stern, and did not remove his hand from his shoulder as he peered into the Baronets face with his deepset mad eyes. Ha, Philip, upon my soul! exclaimed Sir Bale, surprised. How time flies! It seems only this minute since I saw the boat a mile and a half away from the shore. Well  yes; there has been time; it is dark now. Ha, ha! I assure you, you startled me. Wont you take something? Do. Shall I touch the bell? You have been troubled about those mortgages. I told you I should pay them off, I thought. Here there was a pause, and Sir Bale looked hard in Feltrams face. If he had been in his ordinary spirits, or perhaps in some of his haunts less solitary than Mardykes, he would have laughed; but here he had grown unlike himself, gloomy and credulous, and was, in fact, a nervous man. Sir Bale smiled, and shook his head dismally. It is very kind of you, Feltram; the idea shows a kindly disposition. I know you would do me a kindness if you could. As Sir Bale, each looking in the others eyes, repeated in this sentence the words kind, kindly, kindness, a smile lighted Feltrams face with at each word an intenser light; and Sir Bale grew sombre in its glare; and when he had done speaking, Feltrams face also on a sudden darkened. I have found a fortuneteller in Cloostedd Wood. Look here. And he drew from his pocket a leathern purse, which he placed on the table in his hand; and Sir Bale heard the pleasant clink of coin in it. A fortuneteller! You dont mean to say she gave you that? said Sir Bale. Feltram smiled again, and nodded. It was the custom to give the fortuneteller a trifle. It is a great improvement making her fee you, observed Sir Bale, with an approach to his old manner. He put that in my hand with a message, said Feltram. He? O, then it was a male fortuneteller! Gipsies go in gangs, men and women. He might lend, though she told fortunes, said Feltram. Its the first time I ever heard of gipsies lending money; and he eyed the purse with a whimsical smile. With his lean fingers still holding it, Feltram sat down at the table. His face contracted as if in cunning thought, and his chin sank upon his breast as he leaned back. I think, continued Sir Bale, ever since they were spoiled, the Egyptians have been a little shy of lending, and leave that branch of business to the Hebrews. What would you give to know, now, the winner at Heckleston races? said Feltram suddenly, raising his eyes. Yes; that would be worth something, answered Sir Bale, looking at him with more interest than the incredulity he affected would quite warrant. And this money I have power to lend you, to make your game. Do you mean that really? said Sir Bale, with a new energy in tone, manner, and features. Thats heavy; there are some guineas there, said Feltram with a dark smile, raising the purse in his hand a little, and letting it drop upon the table with a clang. There is something there, at all events, said Sir Bale. Feltram took the purse by the bottom, and poured out on the table a handsome pile of guineas. And do you mean to say you got all that from a gipsy in Cloostedd Wood? A friend, who is  myself, answered Philip Feltram. Yourself! Then it is yours  you lend it? said the Baronet, amazed; for there was no getting over the heap of guineas, and the wonder was pretty equal whence they had come. Myself, and not myself, said Feltram oracularly; as like as voice and echo, man and shadow. Had Feltram in some of his solitary wanderings and potterings lighted upon hidden treasure? There was a story of two Feltrams of Cloostedd, brothers, who had joined the kings army and fought at Marston Moor, having buried in Cloostedd Wood a great deal of gold and plate and jewels. They had, it was said, intrusted one tried servant with the secret; and that servant remained at home. But by a perverse fatality the three witnesses had perished within a month the two brothers at Marston Moor; and the confidant, of fever, at Cloostedd. From that day forth treasureseekers had from time to time explored the woods of Cloostedd; and many a tree of mark was dug beside, and the earth beneath many a stone and scar and other landmark in that solitary forest was opened by night, until hope gradually died out, and the tradition had long ceased to prompt to action, and had become a story and nothing more. The image of the nurserytale had now recurred to Sir Bale after so long a reach of years; and the only imaginable way, in his mind, of accounting for penniless Philip Feltram having all that gold in his possession was that, in some of his lonely wanderings, chance had led him to the undiscovered hoard of the two Feltrams who had died in the great civil wars. Perhaps those gipsies you speak of found the money where you found them; and in that case, as Cloostedd Forest, and all that is in it is my property, their sending it to me is more like my servants handing me my hat and stick when Im going out, than making me a present. You will not be wise to rely upon the law, Sir Bale, and to refuse the help that comes unasked. But if you like your mortgages as they are, keep them; and if you like my terms as they are, take them; and when you have made up your mind, let me know. Philip Feltram dropped the heavy purse into his capacious coatpocket, and walked, muttering, out of the room. Chapter 16. The Message from Cloostedd Come back, Feltram; come back, Philip! cried Sir Bale hastily. Let us talk, cant we? Come and talk this odd business over a little; you must have mistaken what I meant; I should like to hear all about it. All is not much, sir, said Philip Feltram, entering the room again, the door of which he had half closed after him. In the forest of Cloostedd I met today some people, one of whom can foretell events, and told me the names of the winners of the first three races at Heckleston, and gave me this purse, with leave to lend you so much money as you care to stake upon the races. I take no security; you shant be troubled; and youll never see the lender, unless you seek him out. Well, those are not bad terms, said Sir Bale, smiling wistfully at the purse, which Feltram had again placed upon the table. No, not bad, repeated Feltram, in the harsh low tone in which he now habitually spoke. Youll tell me what the prophet said about the winners; I should like to hear their names. The names I shall tell you if you walk out with me, said Feltram. Why not here? asked Sir Bale. My memory does not serve me here so well. Some people, in some places, though they be silent, obstruct thought. Come, let us speak, said Philip Feltram, leading the way. Sir Bale, with a shrug, followed him. By this time it was dark. Feltram was walking slowly towards the margin of the lake; and Sir Bale, more curious as the delay increased, followed him, and smiled faintly as he looked after his tall, gaunt figure, as if, even in the dark, expressing a ridicule which he did not honestly feel, and the expression of which, even if there had been light, there was no one near enough to see. When he reached the edge of the lake, Feltram stooped, and Sir Bale thought that his attitude was that of one who whispers to and caresses a reclining person. What he fancied was a dark figure lying horizontally in the shallow water, near the edge, turned out to be, as he drew near, no more than a shadow on the elsewhere lighter water; and with his change of position it had shifted and was gone, and Philip Feltram was but dabbling his hand this way and that in the water, and muttering faintly to himself. He rose as the Baronet drew near, and standing upright, said, I like to listen to the ripple of the water among the grass and pebbles; the tongue and lips of the lake are lapping and whispering all along. It is the merest poetry; but you are so romantic, you excuse me. There was an angry curve in Feltrams eyebrows, and a cynical smile, and something in the tone which to the satirical Baronet was almost insulting. But even had he been less curious, I dont think he would have betrayed his mortification; for an odd and unavowed influence which he hated was gradually establishing in Feltram an ascendency which sometimes vexed and sometimes cowed him. You are not to tell, said Feltram, drawing near him in the dusk. The secret is yours when you promise. Of course I promise, said Sir Bale. If I believed it, you dont think I could be such an ass as to tell it; and if I didnt believe it, Id hardly take the trouble. Feltram stooped, and dipping the hollow of his hand in the water, he raised it full, and said he, Hold out your hand  the hollow of your hand  like this. I divide the water for a sign  share to me and share to you. And he turned his hand, so as to pour half the water into the hollow palm of Sir Bale, who was smiling, with some uneasiness mixed in his mockery. Now, you promise to keep all secrets respecting the teller and the finder, be that who it may? Yes, I promise, said Sir Bale. Now do as I do, said Feltram. And he shed the water on the ground, and with his wet fingers touched his forehead and his breast; and then he joined his hand with Sir Bales, and said, Now you are my safe man. Sir Bale laughed. Thats the game they call grand mufti, said he. Exactly; and means nothing, said Feltram, except that some day it will serve you to remember by. And now the names. Dont speak; listen  you may break the thought else. The winner of the first is Beeswing; of the second, Falcon; and of the third, Lightning. He had stood for some seconds in silence before he spoke; his eyes were closed; he seemed to bring up thought and speech with difficulty, and spoke faintly and drowsily, both his hands a little raised, and the fingers extended, with the groping air of a man who moves in the dark. In this odd way, slowly, faintly, with many a sigh and scarcely audible groan, he gradually delivered his message and was silent. He stood, it seemed, scarcely half awake, muttering indistinctly and sighing to himself. You would have said that he was exhausted and suffering, like a man at his last hour resigning himself to death. At length he opened his eyes, looked round a little wildly and languidly, and with another great sigh sat down on a large rock that lies by the margin of the lake, and sighed heavily again and again. You might have fancied that he was a second time recovering from drowning. Then he got up, and looked drowsily round again, and sighed like a man worn out with fatigue, and was silent. Sir Bale did not care to speak until he seemed a little more likely to obtain an answer. When that time came, he said, I wish, for the sake of my believing, that your list was a little less incredible. Not one of the horses you name is the least likely; not one of them has a chance. So much the better for you; youll get what odds you please. You had better seize your luck; on Tuesday Beeswing runs, said Feltram. When you want money for the purpose, Im your banker  here is your bank. He touched his breast, where he had placed the purse, and then he turned and walked swiftly away. Sir Bale looked after him till he disappeared in the dark. He fluctuated among many surmises about Feltram. Was he insane, or was he practising an imposture? or was he fool enough to believe the predictions of some real gipsies? and had he borrowed this money, which in Sir Bales eyes seemed the greatest miracle in the matter, from those thriving shepherd mountaineers, the old Trebecks, who, he believed, were attached to him? Feltram had, he thought, borrowed it as if for himself; and having, as Sir Bale in his egotism supposed, a sneaking regard for him, had meant the loan for his patron, and conceived the idea of his using his revelations for the purpose of making his fortune. So, seeing no risk, and the temptation being strong, Sir Bale resolved to avail himself of the purse, and use his own judgment as to what horse to back. About eleven oclock Feltram, unannounced, walked, with his hat still on, into Sir Bales library, and sat down at the opposite side of his table, looking gloomily into the Baronets face for a time. Shall you want the purse? he asked at last. Certainly; I always want a purse, said Sir Bale energetically. The condition is, that you shall back each of the three horses I have named. But you may back them for much or little, as you like, only the sum must not be less than five pounds in each hundred which this purse contains. That is the condition, and if you violate it, you will make some powerful people very angry, and you will feel it. Do you agree? Of course; five pounds in the hundred  certainly; and how many hundreds are there? Three. Well, a fellow with luck may win something with three hundred pounds, but it aint very much. Quite enough, if you use it aright. Three hundred pounds, repeated the Baronet, as he emptied the purse, which Feltram had just placed in his hand, upon the table; and contemplating them with grave interest, he began telling them off in little heaps of fiveandtwenty each. He might have thanked Feltram, but he was thinking more of the guineas than of the grizzly donor. Ay, said he, after a second counting, I think there are exactly three hundred. Well, so you say I must apply three times five  fifteen of these. It is an awful pity backing those queer horses you have named; but if I must make the sacrifice, I must, I suppose? he added, with a hesitating inquiry in the tone. If you dont, youll rue it, said Feltram coldly, and walked away. Penny in pockets a merry companion, says the old English proverb, and Sir Bale felt in better spirits and temper than he had for many a day as he replaced the guineas in the purse. It was long since he had visited either the racecourse or any other place of amusement. Now he might face his kind without fear that his pride should be mortified, and dabble in the fascinating agitations of the turf once more. Who knows how this little venture may turn out? he thought. It is time the luck should turn. My last summer in Germany, my last winter in Paris  damn me, Im owed something. Its time I should win a bit. Sir Bale had suffered the indolence of a solitary and discontented life imperceptibly to steal upon him. It would not do to appear for the first time on Heckleston Lea with any of those signs of negligence which, in his case, might easily be taken for poverty. All his appointments, therefore, were carefully looked after; and on the Monday following, he, followed by his groom, rode away for the Saracens Head at Heckleston, where he was to put up, for the races that were to begin on the day following, and presented as handsome an appearance as a peer in those days need have cared to show. Chapter 17. On the Course  Beeswing, Falcon, and Lightning As he rode towards Golden Friars, through which his route lay, in the early morning light, in which the mists of night were clearing, he looked back towards Mardykes with a hope of speedy deliverance from that hated imprisonment, and of a return to the continental life in which he took delight. He saw the summits and angles of the old building touched with the cheerful beams, and the grand old trees, and at the opposite side the fells dark, with their backs towards the east; and down the side of the wooded and precipitous clough of Feltram, the light, with a pleasant contrast against the beetling purple of the fells, was breaking in the faint distance. On the lake he saw the white speck that indicated the sail of Philip Feltrams boat, now midway between Mardykes and the wooded shores of Cloostedd. Going on the same errand, thought Sir Bale, I should not wonder. I wish him the same luck. Yes, hes going to Cloostedd Forest. I hope he may meet his gipsies there  the Trebecks, or whoever they are. And as a momentary sense of degradation in being thus beholden to such people smote him, Well, thought he, who knows? Many a fellow will make a handsome sum of a poorer purse than this at Heckleston. It will be a light matter paying them then. Through Golden Friars he rode. Some of the spectators who did not like him, wondered audibly at the gallant show, hoped it was paid for, and conjectured that he had ridden out in search of a wife. On the whole, however, the appearance of their Baronet in a smarter style than usual was popular, and accepted as a change to the advantage of the town. Next morning he was on the racecourse of Heckleston, renewing old acquaintance and making himself as agreeable as he could  an object, among some people, of curiosity and even interest. Leaving the carriagesides, the hoods and bonnets, Sir Bale was soon among the betting men, deep in more serious business. How did he make his book? He did not break his word. He backed Beeswing, Falcon, and Lightning. But it must be owned not for a shilling more than the five guineas each, to which he stood pledged. The odds were fortyfive to one against Beeswing, sixty to one against Lightning, and fifty to one against Falcon. A pretty lot to choose! exclaimed Sir Bale, with vexation. As if I had money so often, that I should throw it away! The Baronet was testy thinking over all this, and looked on Feltrams message as an impertinence and the money as his own. Let us now see how Sir Bale Mardykes pocket fared. Sulkily enough at the close of the week he turned his back on Heckleston racecourse, and took the road to Golden Friars. He was in a rage with his luck, and by no means satisfied with himself; and yet he had won something. The result of the racing had been curious. In the three principal races the favourites had been beaten one by an accident, another on a technical point, and the third by fair running. And what horses had won? The names were precisely those which the fortuneteller had predicted. Well, then, how was Sir Bale in pocket as he rode up to his ancestral house of Mardykes, where a few thousand pounds would have been very welcome? He had won exactly 775 guineas; and had he staked a hundred instead of five on each of the names communicated by Feltram, he would have won 15,500 guineas. He dismounted before his halldoor, therefore, with the discontent of a man who had lost nearly 15,000 pounds. Feltram was upon the steps, and laughed dryly. What do you laugh at? asked Sir Bale tartly. Youve won, havent you? Yes, Ive won; Ive won a trifle. On the horses I named? Well, yes; it so turned out, by the merest accident. Feltram laughed again dryly, and turned away. Sir Bale entered Mardykes Hall, and was surly. He was in a much worse mood than before he had ridden to Heckleston. But after a week or so ruminating upon the occurrence, he wondered that Feltram spoke no more of it. It was undoubtedly wonderful. There had been no hint of repayment yet, and he had made some hundreds by the loan; and, contrary to all likelihood, the three horses named by the unknown soothsayer had won. Who was this gipsy? It would be worth bringing the soothsayer to Mardykes, and giving his people a camp on the warren, and all the poultry they could catch, and a pig or a sheep every now and then. Why, that seer was worth the philosophers stone, and could make Sir Bales fortune in a season. Some one else would be sure to pick him up if he did not. So, tired of waiting for Feltram to begin, he opened the subject one day himself. He had not seen him for two or three days; and in the wood of Mardykes he saw his lank figure standing among the thick trees, upon a little knoll, leaning on a staff which he sometimes carried with him in his excursions up the mountains. Feltram! shouted Sir Bale. Feltram turned and beckoned. Sir Bale muttered, but obeyed the signal. I brought you here, because you can from this point with unusual clearness today see the opening of the Clough of Feltram at the other side, and the clump of trees, where you will find the way to reach the person about whom you are always thinking. Who said I am always thinking about him? said the Baronet angrily; for he felt like a man detected in a weakness, and resented it. I say it, because I know it; and you know it also. See that clump of trees standing solitary in the hollow? Among them, to the left, grows an ancient oak. Cut in its bark are two enormous letters H F; so large and bold, that the rugged furrows of the oak bark fail to obscure them, although they are ancient and spread by time. Standing against the trunk of this great tree, with your back to these letters, you are looking up the Glen or Clough of Feltram, that opens northward, where stands Cloostedd Forest spreading far and thick. Now, how do you find our fortuneteller? That is exactly what I wish to know, answered Sir Bale; because, although I cant, of course, believe that hes a witch, yet he has either made the most marvellous fluke Ive heard of, or else he has got extraordinary sources of information; or perhaps he acts partly on chance, partly on facts. Be it which you please, I say hes a marvellous fellow; and I should like to see him, and have a talk with him; and perhaps he could arrange with me. I should be very glad to make an arrangement with him to give me the benefit of his advice about any matter of the same kind again. I think hes willing to see you; but hes a fellow with a queer fancy and a pighead. Hell not come here; you must go to him; and approach him his own way too, or you may fail to find him. On these terms he invites you. Sir Bale laughed. He knows his value, and means to make his own terms. Well, theres nothing unfair in that; and I dont see that I should dispute it. How is one to find him? Stand, as I told you, with your back to those letters cut in the oak. Right before you lies an old Druidic altarstone. Cast your eye over its surface, and on some part of it you are sure to see a black stain about the size of a mans head. Standing, as I suppose you, against the oak, that stain, which changes its place from day to day, will give you the line you must follow through the forest in order to light upon him. Take carefully from it such trees or objects as will guide you; and when the forest thickens, do the best you can to keep to the same line. You are sure to find him. Youll come, Feltram. I should lose myself in that wilderness, and probably fail to discover him, said Sir Bale; and I really wish to see him. When two people wish to meet, it is hard if they dont. I can go with you a bit of the way; I can walk a little through the forest by your side, until I see the small flower that grows peeping here and there, that always springs where those people walk; and when I begin to see that sign, I must leave you. And, first, Ill take you across the lake. By Jove, youll do no such thing! said Sir Bale hastily. But that is the way he chooses to be approached, said Philip Feltram. I have a sort of feeling about that lake; its the one childish spot that is left in my imagination. The nursery is to blame for it  old stories and warnings; and I cant think of that. I should feel I had invoked an evil omen if I did. I know it is all nonsense; but we are queer creatures, Feltram. I must only ride there. Why, it is fiveandtwenty miles round the lake to that; and after all were done, he would not see you. He knows what hes worth, and hell have his own way, answered Feltram. The sun will soon set. See that withered branch, near Snakes Island, that looks like fingers rising from the water? When its points grow tipped with red, the sun has but three minutes to live. That is a wonder which I cant see; it is too far away. Yes, the lake has many signs; but it needs sight to see them, said Feltram. So it does, said the Baronet; more than most men have got. Ill ride round, I say; and I make my visit, for this time, my own way. Youll not find him, then; and he wants his money. It would be a pity to vex him. It was to you he lent the money, said Sir Bale. Yes. Well, you are the proper person to find him out and pay him, urged Sir Bale. Perhaps so; but he invites you; and if you dont go, he may be offended, and you may hear no more from him. Well try. When can you go? There are races to come off next week, for once and away, at Langton. I should not mind trying my luck there. What do you say? You can go there and pay him, and ask the same question  what horses, I mean, are to win. All the county are to be there; and plenty of money will change hands. Ill try, said Feltram. When will you go? Tomorrow, he answered. I have an odd idea, Feltram, that you are really going to pay off those cursed mortgages. He laid his hand with at least a gesture of kindness on the thin arm of Feltram, who coldly answered, So have I; and walked down the side of the little knoll and away, without another word or look. Chapter 18. On the Lake, at Last Next day Philip Feltram crossed the lake; and Sir Bale, seeing the boat on the water, guessed its destination, and watched its progress with no little interest, until he saw it moored and its sail drop at the rude pier that affords a landing at the Clough of Feltram. He was now satisfied that Philip had actually gone to seek out the cunning man, and gather hints for the next race. When that evening Feltram returned, and, later still, entered Sir Bales library, the master of Mardykes was gladder to see his face and more interested about his news than he would have cared to confess. Philip Feltram did not affect unconsciousness of that anxiety, but, with great directness, proceeded to satisfy it. I was in Cloostedd Forest today, nearly all day  and found the old gentleman in a wax. He did not ask me to drink, nor show me any kindness. He was huffed because you would not take the trouble to cross the lake to speak to him yourself. He took the money you sent him and counted it over, and dropped it into his pocket; and he called you hard names enough and to spare; but I brought him round, and at last he did talk. And what did he say? He said that the estate of Mardykes would belong to a Feltram. He might have said something more likely, said Sir Bale sourly. Did he say anything more? Yes. He said the winner at Langton Lea would be Silver Bell. Any other name? No. Silver Bell? Well, thats not so odd as the last. Silver Bell stands high in the list. He has a good many backers  long odds in his favour against most of the field. I should not mind backing Silver Bell. The fact is, that he had no idea of backing any other horse from the moment he heard the soothsayers prediction. He made up his mind to no half measures this time.