He would go in to win something handsome. He was in great force and full of confidence on the racecourse. He had no fears for the result. He bet heavily. There was a good margin still untouched of the Mardykes estate; and Sir Bale was a good old name in the county. He found a ready market for his offers, and had soon staked  such is the growing frenzy of that excitement  about twenty thousand pounds on his favourite, and stood to win seven. He did not win, however. He lost his twenty thousand pounds. And now the Mardykes estate was in imminent danger. Sir Bale returned, having distributed I O Us and promissory notes in all directions about him  quite at his wits end. Feltram was standing  as on the occasion of his former happier return  on the steps of Mardykes Hall, in the evening sun, throwing eastward a long shadow that was lost in the lake. He received him, as before, with a laugh. Sir Bale was too much broken to resent this laugh as furiously as he might, had he been a degree less desperate. He looked at Feltram savagely, and dismounted. Last time you would not trust him, and this time he would not trust you. Hes huffed, and played you false. It was not he. I should have backed that damned horse in any case, said Sir Bale, grinding his teeth. What a witch you have discovered! One thing is true, perhaps. If there was a Feltram rich enough, he might have the estate now; but there aint. They are all beggars. So much for your conjurer. He may make amends to you, if you make amends to him. He! Why, what can that wretched impostor do? Damn me, Im past helping now. Dont you talk so, said Feltram. Be civil. You must please the old gentleman. Hell make it up. Hes placable when it suits him. Why not go to him his own way? I hear you are nearly ruined. You must go and make it up. Make it up! With whom? With a fellow who cant make even a guess at whats coming? Why should I trouble my head about him more? No man, young or old, likes to be frumped. Why did you cross his fancy? He wont see you unless you go to him as he chooses. If he waits for that, he may wait till doomsday. I dont choose to go on that water  and cross it I wont, said Sir Bale. But when his distracting reminders began to pour in upon him, and the idea of dismembering what remained of his property came home to him, his resolution faltered. I say, Feltram, what difference can it possibly make to him if I choose to ride round to Cloostedd Forest instead of crossing the lake in a boat? Feltram smiled darkly, and answered. I cant tell. Can you? Of course I cant  I say I cant; besides, what audacity of a fellow like that presuming to prescribe to me! Utterly ludicrous! And he cant predict  do you really think or believe, Feltram, that he can? I know he can. I know he misled you on purpose. He likes to punish those who dont respect his will; and there is a reason in it, often quite clear  not illnatured. Now you see he compels you to seek him out, and when you do, I think hell help you through your trouble. He said he would. Then you have seen him since? Yesterday. He has put a pressure on you; but he means to help you. If he means to help me, let him remember I want a banker more than a seer. Let him give me a lift, as he did before. He must lend me money. Hell not stick at that. When he takes up a man, he carries him through. The races of Byermere  I might retrieve at them. But they dont come off for a month nearly; and what is a man like me to do in the meantime? Every man should know his own business best. Im not like you, said Feltram grimly. Now Sir Bales trouble increased, for some people were pressing. Something like panic supervened; for it happened that land was bringing just then a bad price, and more must be sold in consequence. All I can tell them is, I am selling land. It cant be done in an hour. Im selling enough to pay them all twice over. Gentlemen used to be able to wait till a man sold his acres for payment. Damn them! do they want my body, that they cant let me alone for five minutes? The end of it was, that before a week Sir Bale told Feltram that he would go by boat, since that fellow insisted on it; and he did not very much care if he were drowned. It was a beautiful autumnal day. Everything was bright in that mellowed sun, and the deep blue of the lake was tremulous with golden ripples; and crag and peak and scattered wood, faint in the distance, came out with a filmy distinctness on the fells in that pleasant light. Sir Bale had been ill, and sent down the night before for Doctor Torvey. He was away with a patient. Now, in the morning, he had arrived inopportunely. He met Sir Bale as he issued from the house, and had a word with him in the court, for he would not turn back. Well, said the Doctor, after his brief inspection, you ought to be in your bed; thats all I can say. You are perfectly mad to think of knocking about like this. Your pulse is at a hundred and ten; and, if you go across the lake and walk about Cloostedd, youll be raving before you come back. Sir Bale told him, apologetically, as if his life were more to his doctor than to himself, that he would take care not to fatigue himself, and that the air would do him good, and that in any case he could not avoid going; and so they parted. Sir Bale took his seat beside Feltram in the boat, the sail was spread, and, bending to the light breeze that blew from Golden Friars, she glided from the jetty under Mardykes Hall, and the eventful voyage had begun. Chapter 19. Mystagogus The sail was loosed, the boat touched the stone step, and Feltram sprang out and made her fast to the old iron ring. The Baronet followed. So! he had ventured upon that water without being drowned. He looked round him as if in a dream. He had not been there since his childhood. There were no regrets, no sentiment, no remorse; only an odd return of the associations and fresh feelings of boyhood, and a long reach of time suddenly annihilated. The little hollow in which he stood; the three hawthorn trees at his right; every crease and undulation of the sward, every angle and crack in the lichencovered rock at his feet, recurred with a sharp and instantaneous recognition to his memory. Many a time your brother and I fished for hours together from that bank there, just where the bramble grows. That bramble has not grown an inch ever since, not a leaf altered; we used to pick blackberries off it, with our rods stuck in the bank  it was later in the year than now  till we stript it quite bare after a day or two. The steward used to come over  they were marking timber for cutting and we used to stay here while they rambled through the wood, with an axe marking the trees that were to come down. I wonder whether the big old boat is still anywhere. I suppose she was broken up, or left to rot; I have not seen her since we came home. It was in the wood that lies at the right  the other wood is called the forest; they say in old times it was eight miles long, northward up the shore of the lake, and full of deer; with a forester, and a reeve, and a verderer, and all that. Your brother was older than you; he went to India, or the Colonies; is he living still? I care not. Thats goodnatured, at all events; but do you know? Not I; and what matter? If hes living, I warrant he has his share of the curse, the sweat of his brow and his bitter crust; and if he is dead, hes dust or worse, hes rotten, and smells accordingly. Sir Bale looked at him; for this was the brother over whom, only a year or two ago, Philip used to cry tears of pathetic longing. Feltram looked darkly in his face, and sneered with a cold laugh. I suppose you mean to jest? said Sir Bale. Not I; it is the truth. It is what youd say, if you were honest. If hes alive, let him keep where he is; and if hes dead, Ill have none of him, body or soul. Do you hear that sound? Like the wind moaning in the forest? Yes. But I feel no wind. Theres hardly a leaf stirring. I think so, said Feltram. Come along. And he began striding up the gentle slope of the glen, with many a rock peeping through its sward, and tufted ferns and furze, giving a wild and neglected character to the scene; the background of which, where the glen loses itself in a distant turn, is formed by its craggy and wooded side. Up they marched, side by side, in silence, towards that irregular clump of trees, to which Feltram had pointed from the Mardykes side. As they approached, it showed more scattered, and two or three of the trees were of grander dimensions than in the distance they had appeared; and as they walked, the broad valley of Cloostedd Forest opened grandly on their left, studding the sides of the valley with solitary trees or groups, which thickened as it descended to the broad level, in parts nearly three miles wide, on which stands the noble forest of Cloostedd, now majestically reposing in the stirless air, gilded and flushed with the melancholy tints of autumn. I am now going to relate wonderful things; but they rest on the report, strangely consistent, it is true, of Sir Bale Mardykes. That all his senses, however, were sick and feverish, and his brain not quite to be relied on at that moment, is a fact of which sceptics have a right to make all they please and can. Startled at their approach, a bird like a huge mackaw bounced from the boughs of the trees, and sped away, every now and then upon the ground, toward the shelter of the forest, fluttering and hopping close by the side of the little brook which, emerging from the forest, winds into the glen, and beside the course of which Sir Bale and Philip Feltram had ascended from the margin of the lake. It fluttered on, as if one of its wings were hurt, and kept hopping and bobbing and flying along the grass at its swiftest, screaming all the time discordantly. That must be old Mrs. Ameralds bird, that got away a week ago, said Sir Bale, stopping and looking after it. Was not it a mackaw? No, said Feltram; that was a gray parrot; but there are stranger birds in Cloostedd Forest, for my ancestors collected all that would live in our climate, and were at pains to find them the food and shelter they were accustomed to until they grew hardy  that is how it happens. By Jove, thats a secret worth knowing, said Sir Bale. That would make quite a feature. What a fat brute that bird was! and green and duskycrimson and yellow; but its head is white  age, I suspect; and what a broken beak  hideous bird! splendid plumage; something between a mackaw and a vulture. Sir Bale spoke jocularly, but with the interest of a birdfancier; a taste which, when young, he had indulged; and for the moment forgot his cares and the object of his unwonted excursion. A moment after, a lank slim bird, perfectly white, started from the same boughs, and winged its way to the forest. A kite, I think; but its body is a little too long, isnt it? said Sir Bale again, stopping and looking after its flight also. A foreign kite, I daresay? said Feltram. All this time there was hopping near them a jay, with the tameness of a bird accustomed to these solitudes. It peered over its slender wing curiously at the visitors; pecking here and nodding there; and thus hopping, it made a circle round them more than once. Then it fluttered up, and perched on a bough of the old oak, from the deep labyrinth of whose branches the other birds had emerged; and from thence it flew down and lighted on the broad druidic stone, that stood like a cyclopean table on its sunken stone props, before the snakelike roots of the oak. Across this it hopped conceitedly, as over a stage on which it figured becomingly; and after a momentary hesitation, with a little spring, it rose and winged its way in the same direction which the other birds had taken, and was quickly lost in thick forest to the left. Here, said Feltram, this is the tree. I remember it well! A gigantic trunk; and, yes, those marks; but I never before read them as letters. Yes, H.F., so they are  very odd I should not have remarked them. They are so large, and so strangely drawnout in some places, and filledin in others, and distorted, and the moss has grown about them; I dont wonder I took them for natural cracks and chasms in the bark, said Sir Bale. Very like, said Feltram. Sir Bale had remarked, ever since they had begun their walk from the shore, that Feltram seemed to undergo a gloomy change. Sharper, grimmer, wilder grew his features, and shadow after shadow darkened his face wickedly. The solitude and grandeur of the forest, and the repulsive gloom of his companions countenance and demeanour, communicated a tone of anxiety to Sir Bale; and they stood still, side by side, in total silence for a time, looking toward the forest glades; between themselves and which, on the level sward of the valley, stood many a noble tree and fantastic group of forked birch and thorn, in the irregular formations into which Nature had thrown them. Now you stand between the letters. Cast your eyes on the stone, said Feltram suddenly, and his low stern tones almost startled the Baronet. Looking round, he perceived that he had so placed himself that his point of vision was exactly from between the two great letters, now halfobliterated, which he had been scrutinizing just as he turned about to look toward the forest of Cloostedd. Yes, so I am, said Sir Bale. There was within him an excitement and misgiving, akin to the sensation of a man going into battle, and which corresponded with the pale and sombre frown which Feltram wore, and the manifest change which had come over him. Look on the stone steadily for a time, and tell me if you see a black mark, about the size of your hand, anywhere upon its surface, said Feltram. Sir Bale affected no airs of scepticism now; his imagination was stirred, and a sense of some unknown reality at the bottom of that which he had affected to treat before as illusion, inspired a strange interest in the experiment. Do you see it? asked Feltram. Sir Bale was watching patiently, but he had observed nothing of the kind. Sharper, darker, more eager grew the face of Philip Feltram, as his eyes traversed the surface of that huge horizontal block. Now? asked Feltram again. No, he had seen nothing. Feltram was growing manifestly uneasy, angry almost; he walked away a little, and back again, and then two or three times round the tree, with his hands shut, and treading the ground like a man trying to warm his feet, and so impatiently he returned, and looked again on the stone. Sir Bale was still looking, and very soon said, drawing his brows together and looking hard, Ha!  yes  hush. There it is, by Jove!  wait  yes  there; it is growing quite plain. It seemed not as if a shadow fell upon the stone, but rather as if the stone became semitransparent, and just under its surface was something dark  a hand, he thought it  and darker and darker it grew, as if coming up toward the surface, and after some little wavering, it fixed itself movelessly, pointing, as he thought, toward the forest. It looks like a hand, said he. By Jove, it is a hand  pointing towards the forest with a finger. Dont mind the finger; look only on that black blurred mark, and from the point where you stand, taking that point for your direction, look to the forest. Take some tree or other landmark for an object, enter the forest there, and pursue the same line, as well as you can, until you find little flowers with leaves like woodsorrel, and with tall stems and a red blossom, not larger than a drop, such as you have not seen before, growing among the trees, and follow wherever they seem to grow thickest, and there you will find him. All the time that Feltram was making this little address, Sir Bale was endeavouring to fix his route by such indications as Feltram described; and when he had succeeded in quite establishing the form of a peculiar tree  a melancholy ash, one huge limb of which had been blasted by lightning, and its partly stricken arm stood high and barkless, stretching its white fingers, as it were, in invitation into the forest, and signing the way for him  I have it now, said he. Come Feltram, youll come a bit of the way with me. Feltram made no answer, but slowly shook his head, and turned and walked away, leaving Sir Bale to undertake his adventure alone. The strange sound they had heard from the midst of the forest, like the rumble of a storm or the faroff trembling of a furnace, had quite ceased. Not a bird was hopping on the grass, or visible on bough or in the sky. Not a living creature was in sight  never was stillness more complete, or silence more oppressive. It would have been ridiculous to give way to the old reluctance which struggled within him. Feltram had strode down the slope, and was concealed by a screen of bushes from his view. So alone, and full of an interest quite new to him, he set out in quest of his adventures. Chapter 20. The Haunted Forest Sir Bale Mardykes walked in a straight line, by bush and scaur, over the undulating ground, to the blighted ashtree; and as he approached it, its withered bough stretched more gigantically into the air, and the forest seemed to open where it pointed. He passed it by, and in a few minutes had lost sight of it again, and was striding onward under the shadow of the forest, which already enclosed him. He was directing his march with all the care he could, in exactly that line which, according to Feltrams rule, had been laid down for him. Now and then, having, as soldiers say, taken an object, and fixed it well in his memory, he would pause and look about him. As a boy he had never entered the wood so far; for he was under a prohibition, lest he should lose himself in its intricacies, and be benighted there. He had often heard that it was haunted ground, and that too would, when a boy, have deterred him. It was on this account that the scene was so new to him, and that he cared so often to stop and look about him. Here and there a vista opened, exhibiting the same utter desertion, and opening farther perspectives through the tall stems of the trees faintly visible in the solemn shadow. No flowers could he see, but once or twice a wood anemone, and now and then a tiny grove of woodsorrel. Huge oaktrees now began to mingle and show themselves more and more frequently among the other timber; and gradually the forest became a great oak wood unintruded upon by any less noble tree. Vast trunks curving outwards to the roots, and expanding again at the branches, stood like enormous columns, striking out their groining boughs, with the dark vaulting of a crypt. As he walked under the shadow of these noble trees, suddenly his eye was struck by a strange little flower, nodding quite alone by the knotted root of one of those huge oaks. He stooped and picked it up, and as he plucked it, with a harsh scream just over his head, a large bird with heavy beating wings broke away from the midst of the branches. He could not see it, but he fancied the scream was like that of the huge mackaw whose illpoised flight he had watched. This conjecture was but founded on the odd cry he had heard. The flower was a curious one  a stem fine as a hair supported a little bell, that looked like a drop of blood, and never ceased trembling. He walked on, holding this in his fingers; and soon he saw another of the same odd type, then another at a shorter distance, then one a little to the right and another to the left, and farther on a little group, and at last the dark slope was all over trembling with these little bells, thicker and thicker as he descended a gentle declivity to the bank of the little brook, which flowing through the forest loses itself in the lake. The low murmur of this forest stream was almost the first sound, except the shriek of the bird that startled him a little time ago, which had disturbed the profound silence of the wood since he entered it. Mingling with the faint sound of the brook, he now heard a harsh human voice calling words at intervals, the purport of which he could not yet catch; and walking on, he saw seated upon the grass, a strange figure, corpulent, with a great hanging nose, the whole face glowing like copper. He was dressed in a bottlegreen cutvelvet coat, of the style of Queen Annes reign, with a dusky crimson waistcoat, both overlaid with broad and tarnished gold lace, and his silk stockings on thick swollen legs, with great buckled shoes, straddling on the grass, were rolled up over his knees to his short breeches. This illfavoured old fellow, with a powdered wig that came down to his shoulders, had a dicebox in each hand, and was apparently playing his left against his right, and calling the throws with a hoarse cawing voice. Raising his black piggish eyes, he roared to Sir Bale, by name, to come and sit down, raising one of his diceboxes, and then indicating a place on the grass opposite to him. Now Sir Bale instantly guessed that this was the man, gipsy, warlock, call him what he might, of whom he had come in search. With a strange feeling of curiosity, disgust, and awe, he drew near. He was resolved to do whatever this old man required of him, and to keep him, this time, in good humour. Sir Bale did as he bid him, and sat down; and taking the box he presented, they began throwing turn about, with three dice, the copperfaced old man teaching him the value of the throws, as he proceeded, with many a curse and oath; and when he did not like a throw, grinning with a look of such real fury, that the master of Mardykes almost expected him to whip out his sword and prick him through as he sat before him. After some time spent at this play, in which guineas passed now this way, now that, chucked across the intervening patch of grass, or rather moss, that served them for a green cloth, the old man roared over his shoulder, Drink; and picking up a longstemmed conical glass which Sir Bale had not observed before, he handed it over to the Baronet; and taking another in his fingers, he held it up, while a very tall slim old man, dressed in a white livery, with powdered hair and cadaverous face, which seemed to run out nearly all into a long thin hooked nose, advanced with a flask in each hand. Looking at the unwieldly old man, with his heavy nose, powdered head, and all the bottlegreen, crimson, and gold about him, and the long slim serving man, with sharp beak, and white from head to heel, standing by him, Sir Bale was forcibly reminded of the great old macaw and the long and slender kite, whose colours they, after their fashion, reproduced, with something, also indescribable, of the air and character of the birds. Not standing on ceremony, the old fellow held up his own glass first, which the white lackey filled from the flask, and then he filled Sir Bales glass. It was a large glass, and might have held about half a pint; and the liquor with which the servant filled it was something of the colour of an opal, and circles of purple and gold seemed to be spreading continually outward from the centre, and running inward from the rim, and crossing one another, so as to form a beautiful rippling network. I drink to your better luck next time, said the old man, lifting his glass high, and winking with one eye, and leering knowingly with the other; and you know what I mean. Sir Bale put the liquor to his lips. Wine? Whatever it was, never had he tasted so delicious a flavour. He drained it to the bottom, and placing it on the grass beside him, and looking again at the old dicer, who was also setting down his glass, he saw, for the first time, the graceful figure of a young woman seated on the grass. She was dressed in deep mourning, had a black hood carelessly over her head, and, strangely, wore a black mask, such as are used at masquerades. So much of her throat and chin as he could see were beautifully white; and there was a prettiness in her air and figure which made him think what a beautiful creature she in all likelihood was. She was reclining slightly against the burly man in bottlegreen and gold, and her arm was round his neck, and her slender white hand showed itself over his shoulder. Ho! my little Geaiette, cried the old fellow hoarsely; it will be time that you and I should get home.  So, Bale Mardykes, I have nothing to object to you this time; youve crossed the lake, and youve played with me and won and lost, and drank your glass like a jolly companion, and now we know one another; and an acquaintance is made that will last. Ill let you go, and youll come when I call for you. And now youll want to know what horse will win next month at Rindermere races.  Whisper me, lass, and Ill tell him. So her lips, under the black curtain, crept close to his ear, and she whispered. Ay, so it will; roared the old man, gnashing his teeth; it will be Rainbow, and now make your best speed out of the forest, or Ill set my black dogs after you, ho, ho, ho! and they may chance to pull you down. Away! He cried this last order with a glare so black, and so savage a shake of his huge fist, that Sir Bale, merely making his general bow to the group, clapped his hat on his head, and hastily began his retreat; but the same discordant voice yelled after him Youll want that, you fool; pick it up. And there came hurtling after and beside him a great leather bag, stained, and stuffed with a heavy burden, and bounding by him it stopped with a little wheel that brought it exactly before his feet. He picked it up, and found it heavy. Turning about to make his acknowledgments, he saw the two persons in full retreat; the profane old scoundrel in the bottlegreen limping and stumbling, yet bowling along at a wonderful rate, with many a jerk and reel, and the slender lady in black gliding away by his side into the inner depths of the forest. So Sir Bale, with a strange chill, and again in utter solitude, pursued his retreat, with his burden, at a swifter pace, and after an hour or so, had recovered the point where he had entered the forest, and passing by the druidic stone and the mighty oak, saw down the glen at his right, standing by the edge of the lake, Philip Feltram, close to the bow of the boat. Chapter 21. Rindermere Feltram looked grim and agitated when Sir Bale came up to him, as he stood on the flatstone by which the boat was moored. You found him? said he. Yes. The lady in black was there? She was. And you played with him? Yes. And what is that in your hand? A bag of something, I fancy money; it is heavy; he threw it after me. We shall see just now; let us get away. He gave you some of his wine to drink? said Feltram, looking darkly in his face; but there was a laugh in his eyes. Yes; of course I drank it; my object was to please him. To be sure. The faint wind that carried them across the lake had quite subsided by the time they had reached the side where they now were. There was now not wind enough to fill the sail, and it was already evening. Give me an oar; we can pull her over in little more than an hour, said Sir Bale; only let us get away. He got into the boat, sat down, and placed the leather bag with its heavy freightage at his feet, and took an oar. Feltram loosed the rope and shoved the boat off; and taking his seat also, they began to pull together, without another word, until, in about ten minutes, they had got a considerable way off the Cloostedd shore. The leather bag was too clumsy a burden to conceal; besides, Feltram knew all about the transaction, and Sir Bale had no need to make a secret. The bag was old and soiled, and tied about the neck with a long leather thong, and it seemed to have been sealed with red wax, fragments of which were still sticking to it. He got it open, and found it full of guineas. Halt! cried Sir Bale, delighted, for he had half apprehended a trick upon his hopes; gold it is, and a lot of it, by Jove! Feltram did not seem to take the slightest interest in the matter. Sulkily and drowsily he was leaning with his elbow on his knee, and it seemed thinking of something far away. Sir Bale could not wait to count them any longer. He reckoned them on the bench, and found two thousand. It took some time; and when he had got them back into the leather bag, and tied them up again, Feltram, with a sudden start, said sharply, Come, take your oar  unless you like the lake by night; and see, a wind will soon be up from Golden Friars! He cast a wild look towards Mardykes Hall and Snakes Island, and applying himself to his oar, told Sir Bale to take his also; and nothing loath, the Baronet did so. It was slow work, for the boat was not built for speed; and by the time they had got about midway, the sun went down, and twilight and the melancholy flush of the sunset tints were upon the lake and fells. Ho! here comes the breeze  up from Golden Friars, said Feltram; we shall have enough to fill the sails now. If you dont fear spirits and Snakes Island, it is all the better for us it should blow from that point. If it blew from Mardykes now, it would be a stiff pull for you and me to get this tub home. Talking as if to himself, and laughing low, he adjusted the sail and took the tiller, and so, yielding to the rising breeze, the boat glided slowly toward still distant Mardykes Hall. The moon came out, and the shore grew misty, and the towering fells rose like sheeted giants; and leaning on the gunwale of the boat, Sir Bale, with the rush and gurgle of the water on the boats side sounding faintly in his ear, thought of his days adventure, which seemed to him like a dream  incredible but for the heavy bag that lay between his feet. As they passed Snakes Island, a little mist, like a fragment of a fog, seemed to drift with them, and Sir Bale fancied that whenever it came near the boats side she made a dip, as if strained toward the water; and Feltram always put out his hand, as if waving it from him, and the mist seemed to obey the gesture; but returned again and again, and the same thing always happened. It was three weeks after, that Sir Bale, sitting up in his bed, very pale and wan, with his silk nightcap nodding on one side, and his thin hand extended on the coverlet, where the doctor had been feeling his pulse, in his darkened room, related all the wonders of this day to Doctor Torvey. The doctor had attended him through a fever which followed immediately upon his visit to Cloostedd. And, my dear sir, by Jupiter, can you really believe all that delirium to be sober fact? said the doctor, sitting by the bedside, and actually laughing. I cant help believing it, because I cant distinguish in any way between all that and everything else that actually happened, and which I must believe. And, except that this is more wonderful, I can find no reason to reject it, that does not as well apply to all the rest. Come, come, my dear sir, this will never do  nothing is more common. These illusions accompanying fever frequently antedate the attack, and the man is actually raving before he knows he is ill. But what do you make of that bag of gold? Some one has lent it. You had better ask all about it of Feltram when you can see him; for in speaking to me he seemed to know all about it, and certainly did not seem to think the matter at all out of the commonplace. It is just like that fishermans story, about the hand that drew Feltram into the water on the night that he was nearly drowned. Every one can see what that was. Why of course it was simply the reflection of his own hand in the water, in that vivid lightning. When you have been out a little and have gained strength you will shake off these dreams. I should not wonder, said Sir Bale. It is not to be supposed that Sir Bale reported all that was in his memory respecting his strange vision, if such it was, at Cloostedd.


He made a selection of the incidents, and threw over the whole adventure an entirely accidental character, and described the money which the old man had thrown to him as amounting to a purse of five guineas, and mentioned nothing of the passages which bore on the coming race. Good Doctor Torvey, therefore, reported only that Sir Bales delirium had left two or three illusions sticking in his memory. But if they were illusions, they survived the event of his recovery, and remained impressed on his memory with the sharpness of very recent and accurately observed fact. He was resolved on going to the races of Rindermere, where, having in his possession so weighty a guarantee as the leather purse, he was determined to stake it all boldly on Rainbow  against which horse he was glad to hear there were very heavy odds. The race came off. One horse was scratched, another bolted, the rider of a third turned out to have lost a buckle and three halfpence and so was an ounce and a half under weight, a fourth knocked down the post near Rinderness churchyard, and was held to have done it with his left instead of his right knee, and so had run at the wrong side. The result was that Rainbow came in first, and I should be afraid to say how much Sir Bale won. It was a sum that paid off a heavy debt, and left his affairs in a much more manageable state. From this time Sir Bale prospered. He visited Cloostedd no more; but Feltram often crossed to that lonely shore as heretofore, and it is believed conveyed to him messages which guided his betting. One thing is certain, his luck never deserted him. His debts disappeared; and his love of continental life seemed to have departed. He became content with Mardykes Hall, laid out money on it, and although he never again cared to cross the lake, he seemed to like the scenery. In some respects, however, he lived exactly the same odd and unpopular life. He saw no one at Mardykes Hall. He practised a very strict reserve. The neighbours laughed at and disliked him, and he was voted, whenever any accidental contact arose, a very disagreeable man; and he had a shrewd and ready sarcasm that made them afraid of him, and himself more disliked. Odd rumours prevailed about his household. It was said that his old relations with Philip Feltram had become reversed; and that he was as meek as a mouse, and Feltram the bully now. It was also said that Mrs. Julaper had one Sunday evening when she drank tea at the Vicars, told his good lady very mysteriously, and with many charges of secrecy, that Sir Bale was none the better of his latefound wealth; that he had a load upon his spirits, that he was afraid of Feltram, and so was every one else, more or less, in the house; that he was either mad or worse; and that it was an eerie dwelling, and strange company, and she should be glad herself of a change. Good Mrs. Bedel told her friend Mrs. Torvey; and all Golden Friars heard all this, and a good deal more, in an incredibly short time. All kinds of rumours now prevailed in Golden Friars, connecting Sir Bales successes on the turf with some mysterious doings in Cloostedd Forest. Philip Feltram laughed when he heard these stories  especially when he heard the story that a supernatural personage had lent the Baronet a purse full of money. You should not talk to Doctor Torvey so, sir, said he grimly; hes the greatest tattler in the town. It was old Farmer Trebeck, who could buy and sell us all down here, who lent that money. Partly from goodwill, but not without acknowledgment. He has my hand for the first, not worth much, and yours to a bond for the two thousand guineas you brought home with you. It seems strange you should not remember that venerable and kind old farmer whom you talked with so long that day. His grandson, who expects to stand well in his will, being a trainer in Lord Varneys stables, has sometimes a tip to give, and he is the source of your information. By Jove, I must be a bit mad, then, thats all, said Sir Bale, with a smile and a shrug. Philip Feltram moped about the house, and did precisely what he pleased. The change which had taken place in him became more and more pronounced. Dark and stern he always looked, and often malignant. He was like a man possessed of one evil thought which never left him. There was, besides, the good old Gothic superstition of a bargain or sale of the Baronets soul to the archfiend. This was, of course, very cautiously whispered in a place where he had influence. It was only a coarser and directer version of a suspicion, that in a more credulous generation penetrated a level of society quite exempt from such follies in our day. One evening at dusk, Sir Bale, sitting after his dinner in his window, saw the tall figure of Feltram, like a dark streak, standing movelessly by the lake. An unpleasant feeling moved him, and then an impatience. He got up, and having primed himself with two glasses of brandy, walked down to the edge of the lake, and placed himself beside Feltram. Looking down from the window, said he, nerved with his Dutch courage, and seeing you standing like a post, do you know what I began to think of? Feltram looked at him, but answered nothing. I began to think of taking a wife  marrying. Feltram nodded. The announcement had not produced the least effect. Why the devil will you make me so uncomfortable! Cant you be like yourself  what you were, I mean? I wont go on living here alone with you. Ill take a wife, I tell you. Ill choose a good churchgoing woman, that will have every man, woman, and child in the house on their marrowbones twice a day, morning and evening, and three times on Sundays. How will you like that? Yes, you will be married, said Feltram, with a quiet decision which chilled Sir Bale, for he had by no means made up his mind to that desperate step. Feltram slowly walked away, and that conversation ended. Now an odd thing happened about this time. There was a family of Feltram  county genealogists could show how related to the vanished family of Cloostedd  living at that time on their estate not far from Carlisle. Three coheiresses now represented it. They were great beauties  the belles of their county in their day. One was married to Sir Oliver Haworth of Haworth, a great family in those times. He was a knight of the shire, and had refused a baronetage, and, it was said, had his eye on a peerage. The other sister was married to Sir William Walsingham, a wealthy baronet; and the third and youngest, Miss Janet, was still unmarried, and at home at Cloudesly Hall, where her aunt, Lady Harbottle, lived with her, and made a dignified chaperon. Now it so fell out that Sir Bale, having business at Carlisle, and knowing old Lady Harbottle, paid his respects at Cloudesly Hall; and being no less than fiveandforty years of age, was for the first time in his life, seriously in love. Miss Janet was extremely pretty  a fair beauty with brilliant red lips and large blue eyes, and ever so many pretty dimples when she talked and smiled. It was odd, but not perhaps against the course of nature, that a man, though so old as he, and quite blas, should fall at last under that fascination. But what are we to say of the strange infatuation of the young lady? No one could tell why she liked him. It was a craze. Her family were against it, her intimates, her old nurse  all would not do; and the oddest thing was, that he seemed to take no pains to please her. The end of this strange courtship was that he married her; and she came home to Mardykes Hall, determined to please everybody, and to be the happiest woman in England. With her came a female cousin, a good deal her senior, past thirty  Gertrude Mainyard, pale and sad, but very gentle, and with all the prettiness that can belong to her years. This young lady has a romance. Her hero is far away in India; and she, content to await his uncertain return with means to accomplish the hope of their lives, in that frail chance has long embarked all the purpose and love of her life. When Lady Mardykes came home, a new leaf was, as the phrase is, turned over. The neighbours and all the country people were willing to give the Hall a new trial. There was visiting and returning of visits; and young Lady Mardykes was liked and admired. It could not indeed have been otherwise. But here the improvement in the relations of Mardykes Hall with other homes ceased. On one excuse or another Sir Bale postponed or evaded the hospitalities which establish intimacies. Some people said he was jealous of his young and beautiful wife. But for the most part his reserve was set down to the old inhospitable cause, some ungenial defect in his character; and in a little time the tramp of horses and roll of carriagewheels were seldom heard up or down the broad avenue of Mardykes Hall. Sir Bale liked this seclusion; and his wife, so infatuated with her idolatry of that graceless old man, as surrounding young ladies said, that she was well content to forego the society of the county people for a less interrupted enjoyment of that of her husband. What she could see in him to interest or amuse her so, that for his sake she was willing to be buried alive in that lonely place, the same critics were perpetually wondering. A year and more passed thus; for the young wife, happily  very happily indeed, had it not been for one topic on which she and her husband could not agree. This was Philip Feltram; and an odd quarrel it was. Chapter 22. Sir Bale is Frightened To Feltram she had conceived, at first sight, a horror. It was not a mere antipathy; fear mingled largely in it. Although she did not see him often, this restless dread grew upon her so, that she urged his dismissal upon Sir Bale, offering to provide, herself, for him a handsome annuity, charged on that part of her property which, by her marriage settlement, had remained in her power. There was a time when Sir Bale was only too anxious to get rid of him. But that was changed now. Nothing could now induce the Baronet to part with him. He at first evaded and resisted quietly. But, urged with a perseverance to which he was unused, he at last broke into fury that appalled her, and swore that if he was worried more upon the subject, he would leave her and the country, and see neither again. This exhibition of violence affrighted her all the more by reason of the contrast; for up to this he had been an uxorious husband. Lady Mardykes was in hysterics, and thoroughly frightened, and remained in her room for two or three days. Sir Bale went up to London about business, and was not home for more than a week. This was the first little squall that disturbed the serenity of their sky. This point, therefore, was settled; but soon there came other things to sadden Lady Mardykes. There occurred a little incident, soon after Sir Bales return from London, which recalled the topic on which they had so nearly quarrelled. Sir Bale had a dressingroom, remote from the bedrooms, in which he sat and read and sometimes smoked. One night, after the house was all quiet, the Baronet being still up, the bell of this dressingroom rang long and furiously. It was such a peal as a person in extreme terror might ring. Lady Mardykes, with her maid in her room, heard it; and in great alarm she ran in her dressinggown down the gallery to Sir Bales room. Mallard the butler had already arrived, and was striving to force the door, which was secured. It gave way just as she reached it, and she rushed through. Sir Bale was standing with the bellrope in his hand, in the extremest agitation, looking like a ghost; and Philip Feltram was sitting in his chair, with a dark smile fixed upon him. For a minute she thought he had attempted to assassinate his master. She could not otherwise account for the scene. There had been nothing of the kind, however; as her husband assured her again and again, as she lay sobbing on his breast, with her arms about his neck. To her dying hour, she afterwards said to her cousin, she never could forget the dreadful look in Feltrams face. No explanation of that scene did she ever obtain from Sir Bale, nor any clue to the cause of the agony that was so powerfully expressed in his countenance. Thus much only she learned from him, that Feltram had sought that interview for the purpose of announcing his departure, which was to take place within the year. You are not sorry to hear that. But if you knew all, you might. Let the curse fly where it may, it will come back to roost. So, darling, let us discuss him no more. Your wish is granted, dis iratis. Some crisis, during this interview, seemed to have occurred in the relations between Sir Bale and Feltram. Henceforward they seldom exchanged a word; and when they did speak, it was coldly and shortly, like men who were nearly strangers. One day in the courtyard, Sir Bale seeing Feltram leaning upon the parapet that overlooks the lake, approached him, and said in a low tone, Ive been thinking if we  that is, I do owe that money to old Trebeck, it is high time I should pay it. I was ill, and had lost my head at the time; but it turned out luckily, and it ought to be paid. I dont like the idea of a bond turning up, and a lot of interest. The old fellow meant it for a present. He is richer than you are; he wished to give the family a lift. He has destroyed the bond, I believe, and in no case will he take payment. No fellow has a right to force his money on another, answered Sir Bale. I never asked him. Besides, as you know, I was not really myself, and the whole thing seems to me quite different from what you say it was; and, so far as my brain is concerned, it was all a phantasmagoria; but, you say, it was he. Every man is accountable for what he intends and for what he thinkshe does, said Feltram cynically. Well, Im accountable for dealing with that wicked old dicer I thoughtI saw  isnt that it? But I must pay old Trebeck all the same, since the money was his. Can you manage a meeting? Look down here. Old Trebeck has just landed; he will sleep tonight at the George and Dragon, to meet his cattle in the morning at Golden Friars fair. You can speak to him yourself. So saying Feltram glided away, leaving Sir Bale the task of opening the matter to the wealthy farmer of Cloostedd Fells. A broad night of steps leads down from the courtyard to the level of the jetty at the lake and Sir Bale descended, and accosted the venerable farmer, who was bluff, honest, and as frank as a man can be who speaks a patois which hardly a living man but himself can understand. Sir Bale asked him to come to the Hall and take luncheon; but Trebeck was in haste. Cattle had arrived which he wanted to look at, and a pony awaited him on the road, hard by, to Golden Friars; and the old fellow must mount and away. Then Sir Bale, laying his hand upon his arm in a manner that was at once lofty and affectionate, told in his ears the subject on which he wished to be understood. The old farmer looked hard at him, and shook his head and laughed in a way that would have been insupportable in a house, and told him, I hev narra bond o thoine, mon. I know how that is; so does Philip Feltram. Well? Well, I must replace the money. The old man laughed again, and in his outlandish dialect told him to wait till he asked him. Sir Bale pressed it, but the old fellow put it off with outlandish banter; and as the Baronet grew testy, the farmer only waxed more and more hilarious, and at last, mounting his shaggy pony, rode off, still laughing, at a canter to Golden Friars; and when he reached Golden Friars, and got into the hall of the George and Dragon, he asked Richard Turnbull with a chuckle if he ever knew a man refuse an offer of money, or a man want to pay who did not owe; and inquired whether the Squire down at Mardykes Hall mightnt be a bit wrang in t garrets. All this, however, other people said, was intended merely to conceal the fact that he really had, through sheer loyalty, lent the money, or rather bestowed it, thinking the old family in jeopardy, and meaning a gift, was determined to hear no more about it. I cant say; I only know people held, some by one interpretation, some by another. As the caterpillar sickens and changes its hue when it is about to undergo its transformation, so an odd change took place in Feltram. He grew even more silent and morose; he seemed always in an agitation and a secret rage. He used to walk through the woodlands on the slopes of the fells above Mardykes, muttering to himself, picking up the rotten sticks with which the ground was strewn, breaking them in his hands, and hurling them from him, and stamping on the earth as he paced up and down. One night a thunderstorm came on, the wind blowing gently up from Golden Friars. It was a night black as pitch, illuminated only by the intermittent glare of the lightning. At the foot of the stairs Sir Bale met Feltram, whom he had not seen for some days. He had his cloak and hat on. I am going to Cloostedd tonight, he said, and if all is as I expect, I shant return. We remember all, you and I. And he nodded and walked down the passage. Sir Bale knew that a crisis had happened in his own life. He felt faint and ill, and returned to the room where he had been sitting. Throughout that melancholy night he did not go to his bed. In the morning he learned that Marlin, who had been out late, saw Feltram get the boat off, and sail towards the other side. The night was so dark that he could only see him start; but the wind was light and coming up the lake, so that without a tack he could easily make the other side. Feltram did not return. The boat was found fast to the ring at Cloostedd landingplace. Lady Mardykes was relieved, and for a time was happier than ever. It was different with Sir Bale; and afterwards her sky grew dark also. Chapter 23. A Lady in Black Shortly after this, there arrived at the George and Dragon a stranger. He was a man somewhat past forty, embrowned by distant travel, and, his years considered, wonderfully goodlooking. He had good eyes; his darkbrown hair had no sprinkling of gray in it; and his kindly smile showed very white and even teeth. He made inquiries about neighbours, especially respecting Mardykes Hall; and the answers seemed to interest him profoundly. He inquired after Philip Feltram, and shed tears when he heard that he was no longer at Mardykes Hall, and that Trebeck or other friends could give him no tidings of him. And then he asked Richard Turnbull to show him to a quiet room; and so, taking the honest fellow by the hand, he said, Mr. Turnbull, dont you know me? No, sir, said the host of the George and Dragon, after a puzzled stare, I cant say I do, sir. The stranger smiled a little sadly, and shook his head and with a gentle laugh, still holding his hand in a very friendly way, he said, I should have known you anywhere, Mr. Turnbull  anywhere on earth or water. Had you turned up on the Himalayas, or in a junk on the Canton river, or as a dervish in the mosque of St. Sophia, I should have recognised my old friend, and asked what news from Golden Friars. But of course Im changed. You were a little my senior; and one advantage among many you have over your juniors is that you dont change as we do. I have played many a game of handball in the innyard of the George, Mr. Turnbull. You often wagered a pot of ale on my play; you used to say Id make the best player of fives, and the best singer of a song, within ten miles round the meer. You used to have me behind the bar when I was a boy, with more of an appetite than I have now. I was then at Mardykes Hall, and used to go back in old Marlins boat. Is old Marlin still alive? Ay, that  he  is, said Turnbull slowly, as he eyed the stranger again carefully. I dont know who you can be, sir, unless you are  the boy  William Feltram. La! he was seven or eight years younger than Philip. But, lawk!  Well  By Jen, and be you Willie Feltram? But no, you cant! Ay, Mr. Turnbull, that very boy  Willie Feltram  even he, and no other; and now youll shake hands with me, not so formally, but like an old friend. Ay, that I will, said honest Richard Turnbull, with a great smile, and a hearty grasp of his guests hand; and they both laughed together, and the younger mans eyes, for he was an affectionate fool, filled up with tears. And I want you to tell me this, said William, after they had talked a little quietly, now that there is no one to interrupt us, what has become of my brother Philip? I heard from a friend an account of his health that has caused me unspeakable anxiety. His health was not bad; no, he was a hardy lad, and liked a walk over the fells, or a pull on the lake; but he was a bit daft, every one said, and a changed man; and, in troth, they say the air o Mardykes dont agree with every one, no more than him. But thats a tale thats neither here nor there. Yes, said William, that was what they told me  his mind affected. God help and guard us! I have been unhappy ever since; and if I only knew it was well with poor Philip, I think I should be too happy. And where is Philip now? He crossed the lake one night, having took leave of Sir Bale. They thought he was going to old Trebecks up the Fells. He likes the Feltrams, and likes the folk at Mardykes Hall  though those two families was not always oer kind to one another. But Trebeck seed nowt o him, nor no one else; and what has gone wi him no one can tell. I heard that also, said William with a deep sigh. But I hoped it had been cleared up by now, and something happier been known of the poor fellow by this time. Id give a great deal to know  I dont know what Iwould not give to know  Im so unhappy about him. And now, my good old friend, tell your people to get me a chaise, for I must go to Mardykes Hall; and, first, let me have a room to dress in. At Mardykes Hall a pale and pretty lady was looking out, alone, from the stoneshafted drawingroom window across the courtyard and the balustrade, on which stood many a great stone cup with flowers, whose leaves were half shed and gone with the winds  emblem of her hopes. The solemn melancholy of the towering fells, the ripple of the lonely lake, deepened her sadness. The unwonted sound of carriagewheels awoke her from her reverie. Before the chaise reached the steps, a hand from its window had seized the handle, the door was thrown open, and William Feltram jumped out. She was in the hall, she knew not how; and, with a wild scream and a sob, she threw herself into his arms. Here at last was an end of the long waiting, the dejection which had reached almost the point of despair. And like two rescued from shipwreck, they clung together in an agony of happiness. William had come back with no very splendid fortune. It was enough, and only enough, to enable them to marry. Prudent people would have thought it, very likely, too little. But he was now home in England, with health unimpaired by his long sojourn in the East, and with intelligence and energies improved by the discipline of his arduous struggle with fortune. He reckoned, therefore, upon one way or other adding something to their income; and he knew that a few hundreds a year would make them happier than hundreds of thousand could other people. It was five years since they had parted in France, where a journey of importance to the Indian firm, whose right hand he was, had brought him. The refined tastes that are supposed to accompany gentle blood, his love of art, his talent for music and drawing, had accidentally attracted the attention of the little travellingparty which old Lady Harbottle chaperoned. Miss Janet, now Lady Mardykes, learning that his name was Feltram, made inquiry through a common friend, and learned what interested her still more about him. It ended in an acquaintance, which his manly and gentle nature and his entertaining qualities soon improved into an intimacy. Feltram had chosen to work his own way, being proud, and also prosperous enough to prevent his pride, in this respect, from being placed under too severe a pressure of temptation. He heard not from but of his brother, through a friend in London, and more lately from Gertrude, whose account of him was sad and even alarming. When Lady Mardykes came in, her delight knew no bounds. She had already formed a plan for their future, and was not to be put off  William Feltram was to take the great grazing farm that belonged to the Mardykes estate; or, if he preferred it, to farm it for her, sharing the profits. She wanted something to interest her, and this was just the thing. It was hardly halfamile away, up the lake, and there was such a comfortable house and garden, and she and Gertrude could be as much together as ever almost; and, in fact, Gertrude and her husband could be nearly always at Mardykes Hall. So eager and entreating was she, that there was no escape. The plan was adopted immediately on their marriage, and no happier neighbours for a time were ever known. But was Lady Mardykes content? was she even exempt from the heartache which each mortal thinks he has all to himself? The longing of her life was for children; and again and again had her hopes been disappointed. One tiny pretty little baby indeed was born, and lived for two years, and then died; and none had come to supply its place and break the childless silence in the great old nursery. That was her sorrow; a greater one than men can understand. Another source of grief was this that Sir Bale Mardykes conceived a dislike to William Feltram that was unaccountable. At first suppressed, it betrayed itself negatively only; but with time it increased; and in the end the Baronet made little secret of his wish to get rid of him. Many and ingenious were the annoyances he contrived; and at last he told his wife plainly that he wished William Feltram to find some other abode for himself. Lady Mardykes pleaded earnestly, and even with tears; for if Gertrude were to leave the neighbourhood, she well knew how utterly solitary her own life would become. Sir Bale at last vouchsafed some little light as to his motives. There was an old story, he told her, that his estate would go to a Feltram. He had an instinctive distrust of that family. It was a feeling not given him for nothing; it might be the means of defeating their plotting and strategy. Old Trebeck, he fancied, had a finger in it. Philip Feltram had told him that Mardykes was to pass away to a Feltram. Well, they might conspire; but he would take what care he could that the estate should not be stolen from his family. He did not want his wife stript of her jointure, or his children, if he had any, left without bread. All this sounded very like madness; but the idea was propounded by Philip Feltram. His own jealousy was at bottom founded on superstition which he would not avow and could hardly define. He bitterly blamed himself for having permitted William Feltram to place himself where he was. In the midst of these annoyances William Feltram was seriously thinking of throwing up the farm, and seeking similar occupation somewhere else. One day, walking alone in the thick wood that skirts the lake near his farm, he was discussing this problem with himself; and every now and then he repeated his question, Shall I throw it up, and give him the lease back if he likes? On a sudden he heard a voice near him say Hold it, you fool!  hold hard, you fool!  hold it, you fool! The situation being lonely, he was utterly puzzled to account for the interruption, until on a sudden a huge parrot, green, crimson, and yellow, plunged from among the boughs over his head to the ground, and partly flying, and partly hopping and tumbling along, got lamely, but swiftly, out of sight among the thick underwood; and he could neither start it nor hear it any more. The interruption reminded him of that which befel Robinson Crusoe. It was more singular, however; for he owned no such bird; and its strangeness impressed the omen all the more. He related it when he got home to his wife; and as people when living a solitary life, and also suffering, are prone to superstition, she did not laugh at the adventure, as in a healthier state of spirits, I suppose, she would. They continued, however, to discuss the question together; and all the more industriously as a farm of the same kind, only some fifteen miles away, was now offered to all bidders, under another landlord. Gertrude, who felt Sir Bales unkindness all the more that she was a distant cousin of his, as it had proved on comparing notes, was very strong in favour of the change, and had been urging it with true feminine ingenuity and persistence upon her husband. A very singular dream rather damped her ardour, however, and it appeared thus She had gone to her bed full of this subject; and she thought, although she could not remember having done so, had fallen asleep. She was still thinking, as she had been all the day, about leaving the farm. It seemed to her that she was quite awake, and a candle burning all the time in the room, awaiting the return of her husband, who was away at the fair near Haworth; she saw the interior of the room distinctly. It was a sultry night, and a little bit of the window was raised. A very slight sound in that direction attracted her attention; and to her surprise she saw a jay hop upon the windowsill, and into the room. Up sat Gertrude, surprised and a little startled at the visit of so large a bird, without presence of mind for the moment even to frighten it away, and staring at it, as they say, with all her eyes. A sofa stood at the foot of the bed; and under this the bird swiftly hopped. She extended her hand now to take the bellrope at the left side of the bed, and in doing so displaced the curtains, which were open only at the foot. She was amazed there to see a lady dressed entirely in black, and with the oldfashioned hood over her head. She was young and pretty, and looked kindly at her, but with now and then a slight contraction of lips and eyebrows that indicates pain. This little twitching was momentary, and recurred, it seemed, about once or twice in a minute. How it was that she was not frightened on seeing this lady, standing like an old friend at her bedside, she could not afterwards understand. Some influence besides the kindness of her look prevented any sensation of terror at the time. With a very white hand the young lady in black held a white handkerchief pressed to her bosom at the top of her bodice. Who are you? asked Gertrude. I am a kinswoman, although you dont know me; and I have come to tell you that you must not leave Faxwell (the name of the place) or Janet. If you go, I will go with you; and I can make you fear me. Her voice was very distinct, but also very faint, with something undulatory in it, that seemed to enter Gertrudes head rather than her ear. Saying this she smiled horribly, and, lifting her handkerchief, disclosed for a moment a great wound in her breast, deep in which Gertrude saw darkly the head of a snake writhing. Hereupon she uttered a wild scream of terror, and, diving under the bedclothes, remained more dead than alive there, until her maid, alarmed by her cry, came in, and having searched the room, and shut the window at her desire, did all in her power to comfort her. If this was a nightmare and embodied only by a form of expression which in some states belongs to the imagination, a leading idea in the controversy in which her mind had long been employed, it had at least the effect of deciding her against leaving Faxwell. And so that point was settled; and unpleasant relations continued between the tenants of the farm and the master of Mardykes Hall. To Lady Mardykes all this was very painful, although Sir Bale did not insist upon making a separation between his wife and her cousin. But to Mardykes Hall that cousin came no more.


Even Lady Mardykes thought it better to see her at Faxwell than to risk a meeting in the temper in which Sir Bale then was. And thus several years passed. No tidings of Philip Feltram were heard; and, in fact, none ever reached that part of the world; and if it had not been highly improbable that he could have drowned himself in the lake without his body sooner or later having risen to the surface, it would have been concluded that he had either accidentally or by design made away with himself in its waters. Over Mardykes Hall there was a gloom  no sound of childrens voices was heard there, and even the hope of that merry advent had died out. This disappointment had no doubt helped to fix in Sir Bales mind the idea of the insecurity of his property, and the morbid fancy that William Feltram and old Trebeck were conspiring to seize it; than which, I need hardly say, no imagination more insane could have fixed itself in his mind. In other things, however, Sir Bale was shrewd and sharp, a clear and rapid man of business, and although this was a strange whim, it was not so unnatural in a man who was by nature so prone to suspicion as Sir Bale Mardykes. During the years, now seven, that had elapsed since the marriage of Sir Bale and Miss Janet Feltram, there had happened but one event, except the death of their only child, to place them in mourning. That was the decease of Sir William Walsingham, the husband of Lady Mardykes sister. She now lived in a handsome old dowerhouse at Islington, and being wealthy, made now and then an excursion to Mardykes Hall, in which she was sometimes accompanied by her sister Lady Haworth. Sir Oliver being a Parliamentman was much in London and deep in politics and intrigue, and subject, as convivial rogues are, to occasional hard hits from gout. But change and separation had made no alteration in these ladies mutual affections, and no three sisters were ever more attached. Was Lady Mardykes happy with her lord? A woman so gentle and loving as she, is a happy wife with any husband who is not an absolute brute. There must have been, I suppose, some good about Sir Bale. His wife was certainly deeply attached to him. She admired his wisdom, and feared his inflexible will, and altogether made of him a domestic idol. To acquire this enviable position, I suspect there must be something not essentially disagreeable about a man. At all events, what her neighbours goodnaturedly termed her infatuation continued, and indeed rather improved by time. Chapter 24. An Old Portrait Sir Bale  whom some remembered a gay and convivial man, not to say a profligate one  had grown to be a very gloomy man indeed. There was something weighing upon his mind; and I daresay some of the good gossips of Golden Friars, had there been any materials for such a case, would have believed that Sir Bale had murdered Philip Feltram, and was now the victim of the worm and fire of remorse. The gloom of the master of the house made his very servants gloomy, and the house itself looked sombre, as if it had been startled with strange and dismal sights. Lady Mardykes was something of an artist. She had lighted lately, in an outoftheway room, upon a dozen or more old portraits. Several of these were fulllengths; and she was  with the help of her maid, both in long aprons, amid sponges and basins, soft handkerchiefs and varnishpots and brushes  busy in removing the dust and smokestains, and in layingon the varnish, which brought out the colouring, and made the transparent shadows yield up their longburied treasures of finished detail. Against the wall stood a fulllength portrait as Sir Bale entered the room; having for a wonder, a word to say to his wife. O, said the pretty lady, turning to him in her apron, and with her brush in her hand, we are in such in pickle, Munnings and I have been cleaning these old pictures. Mrs. Julaper says they are the pictures that came from Cloostedd Hall long ago. They were buried in dust in the dark room in the clocktower. Here is such a characteristic one. It has a long powdered wig  George the First or Second, I dont know which  and such a combination of colours, and such a face. It seems starting out of the canvas, and all but speaks. Do look; that is, I mean, Bale, if you can spare time. Sir Bale abstractedly drew near, and looked over his wifes shoulder on the fulllength portrait that stood before him; and as he did so a strange expression for a moment passed over his face. The picture represented a man of swarthy countenance, with signs of the bottle glowing through the dark skin; small fierce pig eyes, a rather flat pendulous nose, and a grim forbidding mouth, with a large wart a little above it. On the head hung one of those fullbottomed powdered wigs that look like a cloud of cottonwadding; a lace cravat was about his neck; he wore short blackvelvet breeches with stockings rolled over them, a bottlegreen coat of cut velvet and a crimson waistcoat with long flaps; coat and waistcoat both heavily laced with gold. He wore a sword, and leaned upon a crutchhandled cane, and his figure and aspect indicated a swollen and gouty state. He could not be far from sixty. There was uncommon force in this fierce and forbiddinglooking portrait. Lady Mardykes said, What wonderful dresses they wore! How like a fine magiclantern figure he looks! What gorgeous colouring! it looks like the plumage of a mackaw; and what a claw his hand is! and that huge broken beak of a nose! Isnt he like a wicked old mackaw? Where did you find that? asked Sir Bale. Surprised at his tone, she looked round, and was still more surprised at his looks. I told you, dear Bale, I found them in the clocktower. I hope I did right; it was not wrong bringing them here? I ought to have asked. Are you vexed, Bale? Vexed! not I. I only wish it was in the fire. I must have seen that picture when I was a child. I hate to look at it. I raved about it once, when I was ill. I dont know who it is; I dont remember when I saw it. I wish youd tell them to burn it. It is one of the Feltrams, she answered. Sir Hugh Feltram is on the frame at the foot; and old Mrs. Julaper says he was the father of the unhappy lady who was said to have been drowned near Snakes Island. Well, suppose he is; theres nothing interesting in that. It is a disgusting picture. I connect it with my illness; and I think it is the kind of thing that would make any one half mad, if they only looked at it often enough. Tell them to burn it; and come away, come to the next room; I cant say what I want here. Sir Bale seemed to grow more and more agitated the longer he remained in the room. He seemed to her both frightened and furious; and taking her a little roughly by the wrist, he led her through the door. When they were in another apartment alone, he again asked the affrighted lady who had told her that picture was there, and who told her to clean it. She had only the truth to plead. It was, from beginning to end, the merest accident. If I thought, Janet, that you were taking counsel of others, talking me over, and trying clever experiments  he stopped short with his eyes fixed on hers with black suspicion. His wifes answer was one pleading look, and to burst into tears. Sir Bale letgo her wrist, which he had held up to this; and placing his hand gently on her shoulder, he said, You must not cry, Janet; I have given you no excuse for tears. I only wished an answer to a very harmless question; and I am sure you would tell me, if by any chance you have lately seen Philip Feltram; he is capable of arranging all that. No one knows him as I do. There, you must not cry any more; but tell me truly, has he turned up? is he at Faxwell? She denied all this with perfect truth; and after a hesitation of some time, the matter ended. And as soon as she and he were more themselves, he had something quite different to tell her. Sit down, Janet; sit down, and forget that vile picture and all I have been saying. What I came to tell you, I think you will like; I am sure it will please you. And with this little preface he placed his arm about her neck, and kissed her tenderly. She certainly was pleased; and when his little speech was over, she, smiling, with her tears still wet upon her cheeks, put her arms round her husbands neck, and in turn kissed him with the ardour of gratitude, kissed him affectionately; again and again thanking him all the time. It was no great matter, but from Sir Bale Mardykes it was something quite unusual. Was it a sudden whim? What was it? Something had prompted Sir Bale, early in that dark shrewd month of December, to tell his wife that he wished to call together some of his county acquaintances, and to fill his house for a week or so, as near Christmas as she could get them to come. He wished her sisters  Lady Haworth (with her husband) and the Dowager Lady Walsingham  to be invited for an early day, before the coming of the other guests, so that she might enjoy their society for a little time quietly to herself before the less intimate guests should assemble. Glad was Lady Mardykes to hear the resolve of her husband, and prompt to obey. She wrote to her sisters to beg them to arrange to come, together, by the tenth or twelfth of the month, which they accordingly arranged to do. Sir Oliver, it was true, could not be of the party. A minister of state was drinking the waters at Bath; and Sir Oliver thought it would do him no harm to sip a little also, and his fashionable doctor politely agreed, and ordered to those therapeutic springs the knight of the shire, who was consumedly vexed to lose the Christmas with that jolly dog, Bale, down at Mardykes Hall. But a fellow must have a stomach for his Christmas pudding, and politics takes it out of a poor gentleman deucedly; and healths the first thing, egad! So Sir Oliver went down to Bath, and I dont know that he tippled much of the waters, but he did drink the burgundy of that haunt of the ailing; and he had the honour of making a fourth not unfrequently in the secretary of states whistparties. It was about the 8th of December when, in Lady Walsinghams carriage, intending to post all the way, that lady, still young, and Lady Haworth, with all the servants that were usual in such expeditions in those days, started from the great Dower House at Islington in high spirits. Lady Haworth had not been very well  low and nervous; but the clear frosty sun, and the pleasant nature of the excursion, raised her spirits to the point of enjoyment; and expecting nothing but happiness and gaiety  for, after all, Sir Bale was but one of a large party, and even he could make an effort and be agreeable as well as hospitable on occasion  they set out on their northward expedition. The journey, which is a long one, they had resolved to break into a four days progress; and the inns had been written to, bespeaking a comfortable reception. Chapter 25. Through the Wall On the third night they putup at the comfortable old inn called the Three Nuns. With an effort they might easily have pushed on to Mardykes Hall that night, for the distance is not more than fiveandthirty miles. But, considering her sisters health, Lady Walsingham in planning their route had resolved against anything like a forced march. Here the ladies took possession of the best sittingroom; and, notwithstanding the fatigue of the journey, Lady Haworth sat up with her sister till near ten oclock, chatting gaily about a thousand things. Of the three sisters, Lady Walsingham was the eldest. She had been in the habit of taking the command at home; and now, for advice and decision, her younger sisters, less prompt and courageous than she, were wont, whenever in her neighbourhood, to throw upon her all the cares and agitations of determining what was best to be done in small things and great. It is only fair to say, in addition, that this submission was not by any means exacted; it was the deference of early habit and feebler will, for she was neither officious nor imperious. It was now time that Lady Haworth, a good deal more fatigued than her sister, should take leave of her for the night. Accordingly they kissed and bid each other goodnight; and Lady Walsingham, not yet disposed to sleep, sat for some time longer in the comfortable room where they had taken tea, amusing the time with the book that had, when conversation flagged, beguiled the weariness of the journey. Her sister had been in her room nearly an hour, when she became herself a little sleepy. She had lighted her candle, and was going to ring for her maid, when, to her surprise, the door opened, and her sister Lady Haworth entered in a dressinggown, looking frightened. My darling Mary! exclaimed Lady Walsingham, what is the matter? Are you well? Yes, darling, she answered, quite well; that is, I dont know what is the matter  Im frightened. She paused, listening, with her eyes turned towards the wall. O, darling Maud, I am so frightened! I dont know what it can be. You must not be agitated, darling; theres nothing. You have been asleep, and I suppose you have had a dream. Were you asleep? Lady Haworth had caught her sister fast by the arm with both hands, and was looking wildly in her face. Have you heard nothing? she asked, again looking towards the wall of the room, as if she expected to hear a voice through it. Nonsense, darling; you are dreaming still. Nothing; there has been nothing to hear. I have been awake ever since; if there had been anything to hear, I could not have missed it. Come, sit down. Sip a little of this water; you are nervous, and overtired; and tell me plainly, like a good little soul, what is the matter; for nothing has happened here; and you ought to know that the Three Nuns is the quietest house in England; and Im no witch, and if you wont tell me whats the matter, I cant divine it. Yes, of course, said Mary, sitting down, and glancing round her wildly. I dont hear it now; you dont? Do, my dear Mary, tell me what you mean, said Lady Walsingham kindly but firmly. Lady Haworth was holding the still untasted glass of water in her hand. Yes, Ill tell you; I have been so frightened! You are right; I had a dream, but I can scarcely remember anything of it, except the very end, when I wakened. But it was not the dream; only it was connected with what terrified me so. I was so tired when I went to bed, I thought I should have slept soundly; and indeed I fell asleep immediately; and I must have slept quietly for a good while. How long is it since I left you? More than an hour. Yes, I must have slept a good while; for I dont think I have been ten minutes awake. How my dream began I dont know. I remember only that gradually it came to this I was standing in a recess in a panelled gallery; it was lofty, and, I thought, belonged to a handsome but oldfashioned house. I was looking straight towards the head of a wide staircase, with a great oak banister. At the top of the stairs, as near to me, about, as that window there, was a thick short column of oak, on top of which was a candlestick. There was no other light but from that one candle; and there was a lady standing beside it, looking down the stairs, with her back turned towards me; and from her gestures I should have thought speaking to people on a lower lobby, but whom from my place I could not see. I soon perceived that this lady was in great agony of mind; for she beat her breast and wrung her hands every now and then, and wagged her head slightly from side to side, like a person in great distraction. But one word she said I could not hear. Nor when she struck her hand on the banister, or stamped, as she seemed to do in her pain, upon the floor, could I hear any sound. I found myself somehow waiting upon this lady, and was watching her with awe and sympathy. But who she was I knew not, until turning towards me I plainly saw Janets face, pale and covered with tears, and with such a look of agony as  O God!  I can never forget. Pshaw! Mary darling, what is it but a dream! I have had a thousand more startling; it is only that you are so nervous just now. But that is not all  nothing; what followed is so dreadful; for either there is something very horrible going on at Mardykes, or else I am losing my reason, said Lady Haworth in increasing agitation. I wakened instantly in great alarm, but I suppose no more than I have felt a hundred times on awakening from a frightful dream. I sat up in my bed; I was thinking of ringing for Winnefred, my heart was beating so, but feeling better soon I changed my mind. All this time I heard a faint sound of a voice, as if coming through a thick wall. It came from the wall at the left side of my bed, and I fancied was that of some woman lamenting in a room separated from me by that thick partition. I could only perceive that it was a sound of crying mingled with ejaculations of misery, or fear, or entreaty. I listened with a painful curiosity, wondering who it could be, and what could have happened in the neighbouring rooms of the house; and as I looked and listened, I could distinguish my own name, but at first nothing more. That, of course, might have been an accident; and I knew there were many Marys in the world besides myself. But it made me more curious; and a strange thing struck me, for I was now looking at that very wall through which the sounds were coming. I saw that there was a window in it. Thinking that the rest of the wall might nevertheless be covered by another room, I drew the curtain of it and looked out. But there is no such thing. It is the outer wall the entire way along. And it is equally impossible of the other wall, for it is to the front of the house, and has two windows in it; and the wall that the head of my bed stands against has the gallery outside it all the way; for I remarked that as I came to you. Tut, tut, Mary darling, nothing on earth is so deceptive as sound; this and fancy account for everything. But hear me out; I have not told you all. I began to hear the voice more clearly, and at last quite distinctly. It was Janets, and she was conjuring you by name, as well as me, to come to her to Mardykes, without delay, in her extremity; yes, you, just as vehemently as me. It was Janets voice. It still seemed separated by the wall, but I heard every syllable now; and I never heard voice or words of such anguish. She was imploring of us to come on, without a moments delay, to Mardykes; and crying that, if we were not with her, she should go mad. Well, darling, said Lady Walsingham, you see Im included in this invitation as well as you, and should hate to disappoint Janet just as much; and I do assure you, in the morning you will laugh over this fancy with me; or rather, she will laugh over it with us, when we get to Mardykes. What you do want is rest, and a little salvolatile. So saying she rang the bell for Lady Haworths maid. Having comforted her sister, and made her take the nervous specific she recommended, she went with her to her room; and taking possession of the armchair by the fire, she told her that she would keep her company until she was asleep, and remain long enough to be sure that the sleep was not likely to be interrupted. Lady Haworth had not been ten minutes in her bed, when she raised herself with a start to her elbow, listening with parted lips and wild eyes, her trembling fingers behind her ears. With an exclamation of horror, she cried, There it is again, upbraiding us! I cant stay longer. She sprang from the bed, and rang the bell violently. Maud, she cried in an ecstasy of horror, nothing shall keep me here, whether you go or not. I will set out the moment the horses are put to. If you refuse to come, Maud, mind the responsibility is yours  listen! and with white face and starting eyes she pointed to the wall. Have you ears; dont you hear? The sight of a person in extremity of terror so mysterious, might have unnerved a ruder system than Lady Walsinghams. She was pale as she replied; for under certain circumstances those terrors which deal with the supernatural are more contagious than any others. Lady Walsingham still, in terms, held to her opinion; but although she tried to smile, her face showed that the panic had touched her. Well, dear Mary, she said, as you will have it so, I see no good in resisting you longer. Here, it is plain, your nerves will not suffer you to rest. Let us go then, in heavens name; and when you get to Mardykes Hall you will be relieved. All this time Lady Haworth was getting on her things, with the careless hurry of a person about to fly for her life; and Lady Walsingham issued her orders for horses, and the general preparations for resuming the journey. It was now between ten and eleven; but the servant who rode armed with them, according to the not unnecessary usage of the times, thought that with a little judicious bribing of postboys they might easily reach Mardykes Hall before three oclock in the morning. When the party set forward again, Lady Haworth was comparatively tranquil. She no longer heard the unearthly mimickry of her sisters voice; there remained only the fear and suspense which that illusion or visitation had produced. Her sister, Lady Walsingham, after a brief effort to induce something like conversation, became silent. A thin sheet of snow had covered the darkened landscape, and some light flakes were still dropping. Lady Walsingham struck her repeater often in the dark, and inquired the distances frequently. She was anxious to get over the ground, though by no means fatigued. Something of the anxiety that lay heavy at her sisters heart had touched her own. Chapter 26. Perplexed The roads even then were good, and very good horses the postinghouses turned out; so that by dint of extra pay the rapid rate of travelling undertaken by the servant was fully accomplished in the first two or three stages. While Lady Walsingham was continually striking her repeater in her ear, and as they neared their destination, growing in spite of herself more anxious, her sisters uneasiness showed itself in a less reserved way; for, cold as it was, with snowflakes actually dropping, Lady Haworths head was perpetually out at the window, and when she drew it up, sitting again in her place, she would audibly express her alarms, and apply to her sister for consolation and confidence in her suspense. Under its thin carpet of snow, the pretty village of Golden Friars looked strangely to their eyes. It had long been fast asleep, and both ladies were excited as they drew up at the steps of the George and Dragon, and with bell and knocker roused the slumbering household. What tidings awaited them here? In a very few minutes the door was opened, and the porter staggered down, after a word with the driver, to the carriagewindow, not half awake. Is Lady Mardykes well? demanded Lady Walsingham. Is Sir Bale well? Are all the people at Mardykes Hall quite well? With clasped hands Lady Haworth listened to the successive answers to these questions which her sister hastily put. The answers were all satisfactory. With a great sigh and a little laugh, Lady Walsingham placed her hand affectionately on that of her sister; who, saying, God be thanked! began to weep. When had you last news from Mardykes? asked Lady Walsingham. A servant was down here about four oclock. O! no one since? said she in a disappointed tone. No one had been from the great house since, but all were well then. They are early people, you know, dear; and it is dark at four, and that is as late as they could well have heard, and nothing could have happened since  very unlikely. We have come very fast; it is only a few minutes past two, darling. But each felt the chill and load of their returning anxiety. While the people at the George were rapidly getting a team of horses to, Lady Walsingham contrived a moment for an order from the other window to her servant, who knew Golden Friars perfectly, to knockup the people at Doctor Torveys, and to inquire whether all were well at Mardykes Hall. There he learned that a messenger had come for Doctor Torvey at ten oclock, and that the Doctor had not returned since. There was no news, however, of any ones being ill; and the Doctor himself did not know what he was wanted about. While Lady Haworth was talking to her maid from the window next the steps, Lady Walsingham was, unobserved, receiving this information at the other. It made her very uncomfortable. In a few minutes more, however, with a team of fresh horses, they were again rapidly passing the distance between them and Mardykes Hall. About two miles on, their drivers pulledup, and they heard a voice talking with them from the roadside. A servant from the Hall had been sent with a note for Lady Walsingham, and had been ordered, if necessary, to ride the whole way to the Three Nuns to deliver it. The note was already in Lady Walsinghams hand; her sister sat beside her, and with the corner of the open note in her fingers, she read it breathlessly at the same time by the light of a carriagelamp which the man held to the window. It said My dearest love  my darling sister  dear sisters both!  in Gods name, lose not a moment. I am so overpowered and terrified. I cannot explain; I can only implore of you to come with all the haste you can make. Waste no time, darlings. I hardly understand what I write. Only this, dear sisters; I feel that my reason will desert me, unless you come soon. You will not fail me now. Your poor distracted JANET The sisters exchanged a pale glance, and Lady Haworth grasped her sisters hand. Where is the messenger? asked Lady Walsingham. A mounted servant came to the window. Is any one ill at home? she asked. No, all were well  my lady, and Sir Bale  no one sick. But the Doctor was sent for; what was that for? I cant say, my lady. You are quite certain that no one  think  no one is ill? There is no one ill at the Hall, my lady, that I have heard of. Is Lady Mardykes, my sister, still up? Yes, my lady; and her maid is with her. And Sir Bale, are you certain he is quite well? Sir Bale is quite well, my lady; he has been busy settling papers tonight, and was as well as usual. That will do, thanks, said the perplexed lady; and to her own servant she added, On to Mardykes Hall with all the speed they can make. Ill pay them well, tell them. And in another minute they were gliding along the road at a pace which the muffled beating of the horses hoofs on the thin sheet of snow that covered the road showed to have broken out of the conventional trot, and to resemble something more like a gallop. And now they were under the huge trees, that looked black as hearseplumes in contrast with the snow. The cold gleam of the lake in the moon which had begun to shine out now met their gaze; and the familiar outline of Snakes Island, its solemn timber bleak and leafless, standing in a group, seemed to watch Mardykes Hall with a dismal observation across the water. Through the gate and between the huge files of trees the carriage seemed to fly; and at last the steaming horses stood panting, nodding and snorting, before the steps in the courtyard. There was a light in an upper window, and a faint light in the hall, the door of which was opened; and an old servant came down and ushered the ladies into the house. Chapter 27. The Hour Lightly they stepped over the snow that lay upon the broad steps, and entering the door saw the dim figure of their sister, already in the large and faintlylighted hall. One candle in the hand of her scared maid, and one burning on the table, leaving the distant parts of that great apartment in total darkness, touched the figures with the odd sharp lights in which Schalken delights; and a streak of chilly moonlight, through the open door, fell upon the floor, and was stretched like a white sheet at her feet. Lady Mardykes, with an exclamation of agitated relief, threw her arms, in turn, round the necks of her sisters, and hugging them, kissed them again and again, murmuring her thanks, calling them her blessed sisters, and praising God for his mercy in having sent them to her in time, and altogether in a rapture of agitation and gratitude. Taking them each by a hand, she led them into a large room, on whose panels they could see the faint twinkle of the tall gilded frames, and the darker indication of the old portraits, in which that interesting house abounds. The moonbeams, entering obliquely through the Tudor stoneshafts of the window and thrown upon the floor, reflected an imperfect light; and the candle which the maid who followed her mistress held in her hand shone dimly from the sideboard, where she placed it. Lady Mardykes told her that she need not wait. They dont know; they know only that we are in some great confusion; but  God have mercy on me!  nothing of the reality. Sit down, darlings; you are tired. She sat down between them on a sofa, holding a hand of each. They sat opposite the window, through which appeared the magnificent view commanded from the front of the house in the foreground the solemn trees of Snakes Island, one great branch stretching upward, bare and moveless, from the side, like an arm raised to heaven in wonder or in menace towards the house; the lake, in part swept by the icy splendour of the moon, trembling with a dazzling glimmer, and farther off lost in blackness; the Fells rising from a base of gloom, into ribs and peaks white with snow, and looking against the pale sky, thin and transparent as a haze. Right across to the storied woods of Cloostedd, and the old domains of the Feltrams, this view extended. Thus alone, their mufflers still on, their hands clasped in hers, they breathlessly listened to her strange tale. Connectedly told it amounted to this Sir Bale seemed to have been relieved of some great anxiety about the time when, ten days before, he had told her to invite her friends to Mardykes Hall. This morning he had gone out for a walk with Trevor, his understeward, to talk over some plans about thinning the woods at this side; and also to discuss practically a proposal, lately made by a wealthy merchant, to take a very long lease, on advantageous terms to Sir Bale as he thought, of the old park and chase of Cloostedd, with the intention of building there, and making it once more a handsome residence. In the improved state of his spirits, Sir Bale had taken a shrewd interest in this negotiation; and was actually persuaded to cross the lake that morning with his adviser, and to walk over the grounds with him. Sir Bale had seemed unusually well, and talked with great animation. He was more like a young man who had just attained his majority, and for the first time grasped his estates, than the grim elderly Baronet who had been moping about Mardykes, and as much afraid as a cat of the water, for so many years. As they were returning toward the boat, at the roots of that same scathed elm whose barkless bough had seemed, in his former visit to this old wood, to beckon him from a distance, like a skeleton arm, to enter the forest, he and his companion on a sudden missed an old map of the grounds which they had been consulting. We must have left it in the corner tower of Cloostedd House, which commands that view of the grounds, you remember; it would not do to lose it. It is the most accurate thing we have. Ill sit down here and rest a little till you come back. The man was absent little more than twenty minutes. When he returned, he found that Sir Bale had changed his position, and was now walking to and fro, around and about, in what, at a distance, he fancied was mere impatience, on the open space a couple of hundred paces nearer to the turn in the valley towards the boat. It was not impatience. He was agitated. He looked pale, and he took his companions arm  a thing he had never thought of doing before  and said, Let us away quickly. Ive something to tell at home  and I forgot it.