Etext of My Favorite Ghost Stories and Other Tales To be Told
Around a Campfire and on Halloween
Edited by David Reed

Contents
The Haunted Author by Marcus Clarke
The Damned Thing by Ambrose G. Bierce 
The Dancing Partner by  Jerome K. Jerome 
Fragment of a Novel By George Gordon (Lord Byron)
Dracula's Guest By Bram Stoker
An Egyptian Hornet by Algernon Blackwood
The Judge's House By Bram Stoker
The Mortal Immortal by Mary Shelley
Moxon's Master by Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce
The Night Wire by H. F. Arnold
The Truth about Pyecraft by H. G. Wells
Tobermory by Saki
The Facts in The Case of M. Valdemar By Edgar Allan Poe
Wake Not the Dead By Johann Ludwig Tieck
Banshees  From "True Irish Ghost Stories." 
The Plattner Story from Thirty Strange Stories By H.G. Wells
Killed at Resaca By Ambrose Bierce
The Blindman's World by Edward Bellamy 
With the Eyes Shut By Edward Bellamy 
To Whom this May Come by Edward Bellamy
The Mezzotint by M.R. James
"Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" by M.R. James
A School Story by M.R. James
The Monkey's Paw by W.W. Jacobs
Self-Help by W.W. Jacobs
The Toll-house by W.W. Jacobs

The Haunted Author by Marcus Clarke

'What can I do for you, sir?' I asked blandly, astonished. He was a
tall  broad-shouldered man in a rough pea-jacket, and scowled
portentously.

'Put me into an honest livelihood,' he answered. It was such a
strange request  that I could only stare. 'Don't you understand?' he
said, seating himself with  rough vehemence, 'I want to become a
reputable member of society. I want some  honest employment.'

'But, my good sir, why do you come to me? Your motive is most
excellent, but an  honest employment is the last thing at my
disposal.'

'That be blowed!' said he, 'you could give me a fortune if you liked,
you know  you could. But I don't want that. No, I'm fly to that
game! You'll have some  blessed elder brother, that nobody
knowed of, coming back from New Zealand and  succeeding to the
ancestral mansion; or you'll get me pitched out of my gilded 
chariot at the church door, and marry my wife, that ought to be, to
somebody  else. I know you. I only want a modest competence,
nobody interfers with that.'

'Your language is even more mysterious than your appearance, my
friend,' I said.

'Pshaw!' said he (I never heard a man outside a book said 'pshaw' --
never),  'don't you know me?'

I looked at him steadily, and it seemed that I ought to know him,
that hat, that  pea-jacket, that knotted scarf around his muscular
throat, those fierce eyes --  all were familiar to me. . .

'You don't happen to have any marks about you?' I asked, while a
cold sweat  broke out upon my brow.

He laughed -- that bitter laugh which I had described so often.

'I have a peculiar mole on the back of my neck, the tip of my left
ear is shot  away, my right side still bears the mark of Pompey's
claws when he defended his  young mistress Alice in the lonely
swamp. I have lost the little finger of my  right hand, and have
three pear-shaped wens, besides the usual allowance of  strawberry
marks.'

There was no mistaking him. It was my Villain! I knew his
bloodthirsty nature,  and dreaded the tremendous struggle which
experience told me was to follow.

'But why come here?' I urged.

'I am sick of it,' said my villain, doggedly. 'I ain't to be badgered
any more.

It ain't a respectable business. First I was Jabez Jamrack, then
Black Will the  Smuggler, then Curlewis Carleyon, then a Poacher,
then a Burglar, then an Unjust  Steward, and now I'm an Escaped
Convict.'

It was true. The unhappy creature before me had figured -- in my
world-renowned  novels -- in all those capacities. . .

'It ain't because I'm out all nights in all sorts of weather, mostly
thunderous.

It ain't because I'm often drunk, always in debt, and totally
disreputable. It  ain't because I've murdered a large variety of
mothers, and brought the grey  'airs of a corresponding number of
aged fathers with sorrow to the grave. It  ain't because my
langwidge is altogether ridiculous, and I leave out more "h"s'

and put in more oaths in my conversation than any natural man did
yet. It ain't  that. No!' he cried, waxing wroth, 'it's because I'm
always left at the end of  the third volume, if I'm still alive, without
hope of mercy or promise of  repentance.'

I shuddered.

'Take some brandy,' I said, and pushed him the decanter. He took
it, and filling  half-a-tumbler with neat spirit drained it at a gulp. I
knew he would. The Beast  -- under my direction -- invariably took
his liquor in that fashion . . .

'Is it right? Is it just, guvernor? . . . Your comic servant winds up
with the  chambermaid. Your aristocratic villain, the Marquis, my
master, who poisons his  niece, and shoots his aunt with an
air-gun, he's all right . . . he's never hung  in chains, or tuk to
Newgate, or starved to death in a deserted drive on the  diggings in
Bend-i-go. . . But why waste words? Are we not alone here? No
sound  but the whistling of the wind in the wide chimneys of the
moated grange; no  footsteps but that of the midnight mouser as
she creeps stealthily to her prey.

Ha, ha! Thou art mine, and --' . . .

Ha, ha, indeed! I guessed how it would happen. My experience as
a novel-writer  told me as much. Just as the enraged ruffian
advanced to seize me . . . a  new-comer appeared upon the scene.

By his wavy hair, square-toed Wellingtons, massive watch chain,
and handkerchief  that hung from the right hand pocket of his
shooting coat, I knew him at once.

He was Sir Aubrey de Briancourt.

'Assist me!' I exclaimed.

The look of scorn he gave me was sufficient to daunt a bolder
man, but I knew of  a spell by which I could compel him.

'Hist!' I said, in a thrilling whisper. 'Proud scion of a lordly house,
there is  another Sir Aubrey. Refuse me aid, and young Fairfield
will assume your name and  title. These minions are beyond my
power, but remember you are to be continued  in our next.'

The threat made pale the cheek even of one whose ancestors had
bled on Bosworth,  and the baronet waved a white hand towards
the back door.

'Take my cabriolet, dog!' he said, with that courtesy which
characterizes the  British aristocrat. . .

I need scarcely remark that I leapt into the cabriolet, and was soon
driving  with the rapidity of lightning towards Goodman's Gully.

Fast behind came the echo of hooves. The lightning flashed
incessantly, and the  negro who held the reins was white with fear.

All at once a man clad in a red shirt jumped from behind a bush
and seized the  head of the mare.

'Who are you?' I cried.

'The most abused of all,' said he. 'I am the Typical Digger! I am the
man whom  you and the others of your tribe have made to eat
banknotes as sandwiches. I  have shod my horse with gold and
swilled champagne -- which I detest -- out of  stable buckets. . .
Am I to pass my life in finding repeatedly gigantic nuggets,  and
being perpetually robbed of the same? Must I never shave? Shall
the tyranny  of the fictionmonger compel me to sleep in my
boots?'

'Calm yourself, my friend,' I said, 'There is not much harm done. I
know of some  poor fellows whom the fictionmongers have treated
much more rudely.'

At that instant, the demoniac howls of my pursuers were borne
upon the blast.

'That may be,' roared the Digger of Romance, 'But I will be
revenged on thee.

Come!'

The cabriolet disappeared in the distance -- there was never a
cabriolet yet  that did not do so under such circumstances -- and
my captor led me away.

He paused at the door of the usual bush inn (how well I knew it),
and striking  three blows upon the door (they invariably struck
three loud blows), we were  admitted into a long apartment. I
beheld with astonishment that all the  personages whom I had
imagined the creatures of my own too fertile brain were  there.

'Wretch!' cried the fair Madeline, 'why did you not unite me to the
Duke? You  know you only changed your mind at the last
moment.'

'Monster,' said the lovely Violet, 'You made me pass three nights
of horror in  the Red Farm, when one stroke of your pen would
have freed me.' . . .

'Christian dog!' roared Mordecai the Jew, 'I was born with
charitable impulses,  and should have lent in peace the humble
shilling upon the ragged coat of  poverty, had not your felon soul
plunged me into crime to gratify the tastes of  a blood-and-thunder
loving public.'

'And I,' remarked Henry Mortimer, with that cynical smile that I
had so often  depicted, curling his proud lip, 'did I wish to throw
my elder brother down a  well in order to succeed to his name and
heritage? No! I loved him fondly,  madly, as you took pains to state
in your earlier chapters.' . . .

'Away with him!' hissed Lady Millicent, the Poisoner. 'I knew not
of the deadly  power of strychnine until he told me.' . . .

''Twas he that let me linger in consumption for forty pages folio!'
cried  Coralie de Belleisle, the planter's daughter.

''Twas he that blighted my voluptous contours with an entirely
unnecessary  railway accident!' wept the lovely Geraldine.

'Away with him!'

'Mercy!' I cried, gazing in terror on their well-known lineaments.

'Mercy!' cried the Lost Heiress, Isabelle Beaumanoir, 'when for two
long hours  you deliberated whether my sainted mother or the
poacher's wife should give me  birth! Mercy for thee! Oh, no, no,
no!' . . .

I trembled over the abyss.

'Why seek to dispel my ennui with this espieglerie, mon ami,' said
the soft  tones of the Count in his native tongue. 'Sacre, let the
pauvre petit escape, my  dejeuner at the fourchette awaits. The
coup d'oeil is superb, the tout ensemble  all that could be desired.
Voila.'

The digger swung me over the yawning grave. All the buttons in
my waistcoat gave  way, and for an instant my life hung literally by
a thread.

'Will you make me respectable?' said the Villain.

'Never.'

The button cracked. I was going, going -- gone, when the
alarm-bell sounded, the  door was burst open, and"

. . . Bridget entered.

'It is the boy from the printers' for the proofs,' said she.

'Tell him to wait,' said I; and wiping the sweat from my intellectual
brow, I  seized my pen, and in ten lines had got my Villain
comfortably in irons at  Norfolk Island.

 The Damned Thing by Ambrose G. Bierce  CHAPTER I ONE
DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT WHAT IS ON THE TABLE  By the
light of a tallow candle which had been placed on one end of a
rough  table a man was reading something written in a book. It was
an old account book,  greatly worn; and the writing was not,
apparently, very legible, for the man  sometimes held the page
close to the flame of the candle to get a stronger light  on it. The
shadow of the book would then throw into obscurity a half of the 
rooms, darkening a number of faces and figures; for besides the
reader, eight  other men were present. Seven of them sat against
the rough log walls, silent,  motionless, and the room being small,
not very far from the table. By extending  an arm any one of them
could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table,  face
upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He was
dead.

The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke;
all seemed to be  waiting for something to occur; the dead man
only was without expectation. From  the bland darkness outside
came in, through the aperture that served for a  window, all the
ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness  the long 
nameless note of a distant coyote; the drone of great blundering
beetles, and  all that mysterious chorus of small sounds that seem
always to have been but  half heard when they have suddenly
ceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion.

But nothing of all this was noted in that company; its members
were not overmuch  addicted to idle interest in matters of no
practical importance; that was  obvious in every line of their
rugged facesobvious even in the dim light of  the single candle.
They were evidently men of the vicinityfarmers and  woodsmen.

The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of
him that he  was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his
attire which attested a  certain fellowship with the organisms of his
environment. His coat would hardly  have passed muster in San
Francisco; his foot-gear was not of urban origin, and  the hat that
lay by him on the floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such 
that if one had considered it as an article of mere personal
adornment he would  have missed its meaning. In countenance the
man was rather prepossessing, with  just a hint of sternness;
though that he may have assumed or cultivated, as  appropriate to
one in authority. For he was a coroner. It was by virtue of his 
office that he had possession of the book in which he was reading;
it had been  found among the dead man's effectsin his cabin, where
the inquest was now  taking place.

When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his
breast pocket. At  that moment the door was pushed open and a
young man entered. He, clearly, was  not of mountain birth and
breeding: he was clad as those who dwell in cities.

His clothing was dusty, however, as from travel. He had, in fact,
been riding  hard to attend the inquest.

The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him.

"We have waited for you," said the coroner. "It is necessary to have
done with  this business to-night."  The young man smiled. "I am
sorry to have kept you," he said. "I went away, not  to evade your
summons, but to post to my newspaper an account of what I
suppose  I am called back to relate."  The coroner smiled.

"The account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs,
probably,  from that which you will give here under oath."  "That,"
replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as you 
please. I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent. It
was not written  as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may
go as part of my testimony  under oath."  "But you say it is
incredible."  "That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is
true."  The coroner was silent for a time, his eyes upon the floor.

The men about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but
seldom withdrew  their gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently
the coroner lifted his eyes  and said: "We will resume the inquest." 
The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn.

"What is your name?" the coroner asked.

"William Harker."  "Age?"  "Twenty-seven."  "You knew the
deceased, Hugh Morgan?"  "Yes."  "You were with him when he
died?"  "Near him."  "How did that happenyour presence, I mean?" 
"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my
purpose,  however, was to study him and his odd, solitary way of
life. He seemed a good  model for a character in fiction. I
sometimes write stories."  "I sometimes read them."  "Thank you." 
"Stories in generalnot yours."  Some of the jurors laughed. Against
a sombre background humour shows high  lights. Soldiers in the
intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the  death chamber
conquers by surprise.

"Relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner.
"You may use  any notes or memoranda that you please."  The
witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he
held it  near the candle and turning the leaves until he found the
passage that he wanted  began to read.

CHAPTER II WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD
OATS "...The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We
were looking for quail,  each with a shotgun, but we had only one
dog. Morgan said that our best ground  was beyond a certain ridge
that he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail  through the
chaparral. On the other side was comparatively level ground,
thickly  covered with wild oats. As we emerged from the chaparral
Morgan was but a few  yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at a
little distance to our right and  partly in front, a noise as of some
animal thrashing about in the bushes, which  we could see were
violently agitated.

"'We've started a deer,' I said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle.'

"Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated
chaparral, said  nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun and
was holding it in readiness  to aim. I thought him a trifle excited,
which surprised me, for he had a  reputation for exceptional
coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent  peril.

"'Oh, come,' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with
quailshot, are  you?'

"Still he did not reply; but catching sight of his face as he turned it
slightly  toward me I was struck by the intensity of his look. Then I
understood that we  had serious business in hand, and my first
conjecture was that we had 'jumped' a  grizzly. I advanced to
Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I moved.

"The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, but
Morgan was as  attentive to the place as before.

"'What is it? What the devil is it?' I asked.

"'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His
voice was husky  and unnatural. He trembled visibly.

"I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near
the place of  the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way.
I can hardly describe it.

It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only bent it,
but pressed  it downcrushed it so that it did not rise; and this
movement was slowly  prolonging itself directly toward us.

"Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this
unfamiliar  and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to
recall any sense of fear. I  rememberand tell it here because,
singularly enough, I recollected it then that once in looking
carelessly out of an open window I momentarily mistook a  small
tree close at hand for one of a group of larger trees at a little
distance  away. It looked the same size as the others, but being
more distinctly and  sharply defined in mass and detail seemed out
of harmony with them. It was a  mere falsification of the law of
aerial perspective, but it startled, almost  terrified me. We so rely
upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws  that any
seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, as 
warning of unthinkable calamity. So now the apparent causeless
movement of the  herbage and the slow, undeviating approach of
the line of disturbance were  distinctly disquieting. My companion
appeared actually frightened, and I could  hardly credit my senses
when I saw him suddenly throw his gun to his shoulder  and fire
both barrels at the agitated grain! Before the smoke had cleared
away I  heard a loud savage crya scream like that of a wild
animaland flinging his  gun upon the ground Morgan sprang away
and ran swiftly from the spot. At the  same instant I was thrown
violently to the ground by the impact of something  unseen in the
smokesome soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown against me 
with great force.

"Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which
seemed to have been  struck from my hands, I heard Morgan
crying out as if in mortal agony, and  mingling with his cries were
such hoarse, savage sounds as one hears from  fighting dogs.
Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to my feet and looked in the 
direction of Morgan's retreat; and may Heaven in mercy spare me
from another  sight like that! At a distance of less than thirty yards
was my friend, down  upon one knee, his head thrown back at a
frightful angle, hatless, his long hair  in disorder and his whole
body in violent movement from side to side, backward  and
forward. His right arm was lifted and seemed to lack the handat
least, I  could see none. The other arm was invisible. At times, as
my memory now reports  this extraordinary scene, I could discern
but a part of his body; it was as if  he had been partly blotted outI
cannot otherwise express itthen a shifting  of his position would
bring it all into view again.

"All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time
Morgan  assumed all the postures of a determined wrestler
vanquished by superior weight  and strength. I saw nothing but him
and not always distinctly. During the entire  incident his shouts and
curses were heard, as if through an enveloping uproar of  such
sounds of rage and fury as I had never heard from the throat of
man or  brute!  "For a moment only I stood irresolute, then
throwing down my gun I ran forward  to my friend's assistance. I
had a vague belief that he was suffering from a  fit, or some form
of convulsion. Before I could reach his side he was down and 
quiet. All sounds had ceased, but with a feeling of such terror as
even these  awful events had not inspired I now saw again the
mysterious movement of the  wild oats, prolonging itself from the
trampled area about the prostrate man  toward the edge of a wood.
It was only when it had reached the wood that I was  able to
withdraw my eyes and look at my companion. He was dead." 
CHAPTER III A MAN THOUGH NAKED MAY BE IN RAGS
The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man.
Lifting an edge of  the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire
body, altogether naked and  showing in the candle- light a clay-like
yellow. It had, however, broad  maculations of bluish black,
obviously caused by extravasated blood from  contusions. The
chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with a  bludgeon.
There were dreadful lacerations; the skin was torn in strips and 
shreds.

The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk
handkerchief  which had been passed under the chin and knotted
on the top of the head. When  the handkerchief was drawn away it
exposed what had been the throat. Some of the  jurors who had
risen to get a better view repented their curiosity and turned  away
their faces. Witness Harker went to the open window and leaned
out across  the sill, faint and sick. Dropping the handkerchief upon
the dead man's neck the  coroner stepped to an angle of the room
and from a pile of clothing produced one  garment after another,
each of which he held up a moment for inspection. All  were torn,
and stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a closer inspection.

They seemed rather uninterested. They had, in truth, seen all this
before; the  only thing that was new to them being Harker's
testimony.

"Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I
think. Your duty has  been already explained to you; if there is
nothing you wish to ask you may go  outside and consider your
verdict."  The foreman rosea tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely
clad.

"I shall like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What
asylum did this  yer last witness escape from?"  "Mr. Harker," said
the coroner gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylum did you  last
escape?"  Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the
seven jurors rose and  solemnly filed out of the cabin.

"If you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and
the officer  were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at
liberty to go?"  "Yes."  Harker started to leave, but paused, with his
hand on the door latch. The habit  of his profession was strong in
himstronger than his sense of personal  dignity. He turned about
and said:  "The book you have thereI recognize it as Morgan's
diary. You seemed greatly  interested in it; you read in it while I
was testifying. May I see it? The  public would like"  "The book
will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official, slipping it 
into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were made before the
writer's  death."  As Harker passed out of the house the jury
re-entered and stood about the table,  on which the now covered
corpse showed under the sheet with sharp definition.

The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced from his
breast pocket a  pencil and scrap of paper and wrote rather
laboriously the following verdict,  which with various degrees of
effort all signed:  "We, the jury, do find that the remains come to
their death at the hands of a  mountain lion, but some of us thinks,
all the same, they had fits."  CHAPTER IV AN EXPLANATION
FROM THE TOMB  In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are
certain interesting entries having,  possibly, a scientific value as
suggestions. At the inquest upon his body the  book was not put in
evidence; possibly the coroner thought it not worth while to 
confuse the jury. The date of the first of the entries mentioned
cannot be  ascertained; the upper part of the leaf is torn away; the
part of the entry  remaining follows:  "...would run in a half-circle,
keeping his head turned always toward the  centre, and again he
would stand still, barking furiously. At last he ran away  into the
brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that he had gone
mad,  but on returning to the house found no other alteration in his
manner than what  was obviously due to fear of punishment.

"Can a dog see with his nose? Do odours impress some cerebral
centre with images  of the thing that emitted them? ...

"Sept. 2.Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crest
of the  ridge east of the house, I observed them successively
disappearfrom left to  right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and
only a few at a time, but along the  entire length of the ridge all
that were within a degree or two of the crest  were blotted out. It
was as if something had passed along between me and them;  but I
could not see it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its 
outline. Ugh! don't like this."  Several weeks' entries are missing,
three leaves being torn from the book.

"Sept. 27.It has been about here againI find evidences of its
presence  every day. I watched again all last night in the same
cover, gun in hand,  double-charged with buckshot. In the morning
the fresh footprints were there, as  before. Yet I would have sworn
that I did not sleepindeed, I hardly sleep at  all. It is terrible,
insupportable! If these amazing experiences are real I  shall go
mad; if they are fanciful I am mad already.

"Oct. 3.I shall not goit shall not drive me away. No, this is my
house, my  land. God hates a coward....

"Oct. 5.I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to pass a few
weeks  with mehe has a level head. I can judge from his manner if
he thinks me mad.

"Oct. 7.I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me last night
suddenly, as by revelation. How simplehow terribly simple! 
"There are sounds we cannot hear. At either end of the scale are
notes that stir  no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human
ear. They are too high or too  grave. I have observed a flock of
blackbirds occupying an entire tree-topthe  tops of several treesand
all in full song. Suddenlyin a momentat  absolutely the same
instantall spring into the air and fly away. How? They  could not
all see one anotherwhole tree-tops intervened. At no point could a 
leader have been visible to all. There must have been a signal of
warning or  command, high and shrill above the din, but by me
unheard. I have observed, too,  the same simultaneous flight when
all were silent, among not only blackbirds,  but other birdsquail,
for example, widely separated by busheseven on  opposite sides of
a hill.

"It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting
on the  surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the
earth between, will  sometimes dive at the same instantall gone out
of sight in a moment. The  signal has been soundedtoo grave for
the ear of the sailor at the masthead  and his comrades on the
deckwho nevertheless feel its vibrations in the ship  as the stones
of a cathedral are stirred by the bass of the organ.

"As with sounds, so with colours. At each end of the solar
spectrum the chemist  can detect the presence of what are known
as 'actinic' rays. They represent  coloursintegral colours in the
composition of lightwhich we are unable to  discern. The human
eye is an imperfect instrument; its range is but a few  octaves of
the real 'chromatic scale.' I am not mad; there are colours that we 
cannot see.

"And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a colour!" 

The Dancing Partner  from Novel Notes, London by  Jerome K.
Jerome  1893  "This story," commenced MacShaugnassy, "comes
from Furtwangen, a small town in  the Black Forest. There lived
there a very wonderful old fellow named Nicholaus  Geibel. His
business was the making of mechanical toys, at which work he had 
acquired an almost European reputation. He made rabbits that
would emerge from  the heart of a cabbage, flop their ears, smooth
their whiskers, and disappear  again; cats that would wash their
faces, and mew so naturally that dogs would  mistake them for real
cats and fly at them; dolls with phonographs concealed  within
them, that would raise their hats and say, 'Good morning; how do
you do?'

and some that would even sing a song.



"But, he was something more than a mere mechanic; he was an
artist. His work was  with him a hobby, almost a passion. His shop
was filled with all manner of  strange things that never would, or
could, be sold -- things he had made for the  pure love of making
them. He had contrived a mechanical donkey that would trot  for
two hours by means of stored electricity, and trot, too, much faster
than  the live article, and with less need for exertion on the part of
the driver, a  bird that would shoot up into the air, fly round and
round in a circle, and drop  to earth at the exact spot from where it
started; a skeleton that, supported by  an upright iron bar, would
dance a hornpipe, a life-size lady doll that could  play the fiddle,
and a gentleman with a hollow inside who could smoke a pipe and 
drink more lager beer than any three average German students put
together, which  is saying much.



"Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel could make a
man capable  of doing everything that a respectable man need
want to do. One day he made a  man who did too much, and it
came about in this way: 

 "Young Doctor Follen had a baby, and the baby had a birthday. Its
first birthday  put Doctor Follen's household into somewhat of a
flurry, but on the occasion of  its second birthday, Mrs. Doctor
Follen gave a ball in honour of the event. Old  Geibel and his
daughter Olga were among the guests.



"During the afternoon of the next day some three or four of Olga's
bosom  friends, who had also been present at the ball, dropped in
to have a chat about  it. They naturally fell to discussing the men,
and to criticizing their dancing.

Old Geibel was in the room, but he appeared to be absorbed in his
newspaper, and  the girls took no notice of him.



"'There seem to be fewer men who can dance at every ball you go
to,' said one of  the girls.



"'Yes, and don't the ones who can give themselves airs,' said
another; 'they  make quite a favor of asking you.'



"'And how stupidly they talk,' added a third. 'They always say
exactly the same  things: "How charming you are looking
to-night." "Do you often go to Vienna? Oh,  you should, it's
delightful." "What a charming dress you have on." "What a warm 
day it has been." "Do you like Wagner?" I do wish they'd think of
something  new.'



"'Oh, I never mind how they talk,' said a forth. 'If a man dances
well he may be  a fool for all I care.'



"'He generally is,' slipped in a thin girl, rather spitefully.



"'I go to a ball to dance,' continued the previous speaker, not
noticing the  interruption. 'All I ask is that he shall hold me firmly,
take me round  steadily, and not get tired before I do.'



"'A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,' said the girl who
had  interrupted.



"'Bravo!' cried one of the others, clapping her hands, 'what a capital
idea!'



"'What's a capital idea?' they asked.



"'Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that would go by
electricity  and never run down.'



"The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm.



"'Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,' said one; 'he would
never kick you,  or tread on your toes.'



"'Or tear your dress,' said another.



"'Or get out of step.'



"'Or get giddy and lean on you.'



"'And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief.
I do hate to  see a man do that after every dance.'



"'And wouldn't want to spend the whole evening in the
supper-room.'



"'Why, with a phonograph inside him to grind out all the stock
remarks, you  would not be able to tell him from a real man,' said
the girl who had first  suggested the idea.



"Oh yes, you would,' said the thin girl, 'he would be so much
nicer.'



"Old Geibel had laid down his paper, and was listening with both
his ears. On  one of the girls glancing in his direction, however, he
hurriedly hid himself  again behind it.



"After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, where Olga
heard him  walking up and down, and every now and then
chuckling to himself; and that night  he talked to her a good deal
about dancing and dancing men -- asked what dances  were most
popular -- what steps were gone through, with many other
questions  bearing on the subject.



"Then for a couple of weeks he kept much to his factory, and was
very thoughtful  and busy, though prone at unexpected moments to
break into a quiet low laugh, as  if enjoying a joke that nobody else
knew of.



"A month later another ball took place in Furtwangen. On this
occasion it was  given by old Wenzel, the wealthy timber
merchant, to celebrate his niece's  betrothal, and Geibel and his
daughter were again among the invited.



"When the hour arrived to set out, Olga sought her father. Not
finding him in  the house, she tapped at the door of his workshop.
He appeared in his  shirt-sleeves, looking hot but radiant.



"Don't wait for me,' he said, 'you go on, I'll follow you. I've got
something to  finish.'



"As she turned to obey he called after her, 'Tell them I'm going to
bring a  young man with me -- such a nice young man, and an
excellent dancer. All the  girls will like him.' Then he laughed and
closed the door.



"Her father generally kept his doings secret from everybody, but
she had a  pretty shrewd suspicion of what he had been planning,
and so, to a certain  extent, was able to prepare the guests for what
was coming. Anticipation ran  high, and the arrival of the famous
mechanist was eagerly awaited.



"At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, followed by a
great commotion  in the passage, and old Wenzel himself, his jolly
face red with excitement and  suppressed laughter, burst into the
room and announced in stentorian tones: 

 "'Herr Geibel -- and a friend.'



"Herr Geibel and his 'friend' entered, greeted with shouts of
laughter and  applause, and advanced to the centre of the room.



"'Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,' said Herr Geibel, 'to introduce
you to my  friend, Lieutenant Fritz. Fritz, my dear fellow, bow to
the ladies and  gentlemen.'



"Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz's shoulder, and the
Lieutenant  bowed low, accompanying the action with a harsh
clicking noise in his throat,  unpleasantly suggestive of a
death-rattle. But that was only a detail.



"'He walks a little stiffly' (old Geibel took his arm and walked him
forward a  few steps. He certainly did walk stiffly), 'but then,
walking is not his forte.

He is essentially a dancing man. I have only been able to teach him
the waltz as  yet, but at that he is faultless. Come, which of you
ladies may I introduce him  to as a partner? He keeps perfect time;
he never gets tired; he won't kick you  or trad on your dress; he
will hold you as firmly as you like, and go as quickly  or a slowly
as you please; he never gets giddy; and he is full of conversation.

Come, speak up for yourself, my boy.'



"The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons at the back of his
coat, and  immediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in thin tones
that appeared to proceed  from the back of his head, remarked
suddenly, 'May I have the pleasure?' and  then shut his mouth again
with a snap.



"That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression on the
company was  undoubted, yet none of the girls seemed inclined to
dance with him. They looked  askance at his waxen face, with its
staring eyes and fixed smile, and shuddered.

At last old Geibel came to the girl who had conceived the idea.



"'It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,' said Geibel,
'an  electric dancer. You owe it to the gentleman to give him a
trial.'



"She was a bright, saucy little girl, fond of a frolic. Her host added
his  entreaties, and she consented.



"Her Geibel fixed the figure to her. Its right arm was screwed
round her waist,  and held her firmly; its delicately jointed left
hand was made to fasten upon  her right. The old toymaker showed
her how to regulate its speed, and how to  stop it, and release
herself.



"'It will take you round in a complete circle,' he explained; 'be
careful that  no one knocks against you, and alters its course.'



"The music struck up. Old Geibel put the current in motion, and
Annette and her  strange partner began to dance.



"For a while everyone stood watching them. The figure performed
its purpose  admirably. Keeping perfect time and step, and holding
its little partner tight  clasped in an unyielding embrace, it
revolved steadily, pouring forth at the  same time a constant flow
of squeaky conversation, broken by brief intervals of  grinding
silence.

"'How charming you are looking tonight,' it remarked in its thin,
far-away  voice. 'What a lovely day it has been. Do you like
dancing? How well our steps  agree. You will give me another,
won't you? Oh, don't be so cruel. What a  charming gown you have
on. Isn't waltzing delightful? I could go on dancing for  ever -- with
you. Have you had supper?'



"As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, the girl's
nervousness  wore off, and she entered into the fun of the thing.



"'Oh, he's just lovely,' she cried, laughing; 'I could go on dancing
with him  all my life.'



"Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all the dancers in
the room were  whirling round behind them. Nicholaus Geibel
stood looking on, beaming with  childish delight at his success.



"Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered something in his ear.
Geibel laughed  and nodded, and the two worked their way quietly
towards the door.



"'This is the young people's house to-night,' said Wenzel, as soon
as they were  outside; 'you and I will have a quiet pipe and glass of
hock, over in the  counting-house.'



"Meanwhile the dancing grew more fast and furious. Little Annette
loosened the  screw regulating her partner's rate of progress, and
the figure flew round with  her swifter and swifter. Couple after
couple dropped out exhausted, but they  only went the faster, till at
length they remained dancing alone.



"Madder and madder became the waltz. The music lagged behind:
the musicians,  unable to keep pace, ceased, and sat staring. The
younger guests applauded, but  the older faces began to grow
anxious.



"'Hadn't you better stop, dear,' said one of the women, 'you'll make
yourself so  tired.'



"But Annette did not answer.



"'I believe she's fainted,' cried out a girl who had caught sight of
her face as  it was swept by.



"One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, but its
impetus threw  him down on to the floor, where its steel-cased feet
laid bare his cheek. The  thing evidently did not intend to part with
its prize so easily.



"Had any one retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help
thinking, might  easily have been stopped. Two or three men
acting in concert might have lifted  it bodily off the floor, or have
jammed it into a corner. But few human heads  are capable of
remaining cool under excitement. Those who are not present think 
how stupid must have been those wh were; those who are reflect
afterwards how  simple it would have been to do this, that, or the
other, if only they had  thought of it at the time.



"The women grew hysterical. The men shouted contradictory
directions to one  another. Tow of them made a bungling rush at
the figure, which had the end  result of forcing it out of its orbit at
the centre of the room, and sending it  crashing against the walls
and furniture. A stream of blood showed itself down  the girl's
white frock, and followed her along the floor. The affair was 
becoming horrible. The women rushed screaming from the room.
The men followed  them.



"One sensible suggestion was made: 'Find Geibel -- fetch Geibel.'



"No one had noticed him leave the room, no one knew where he
was. A party went  in search of him. The others, too unnerved to
go back into the ballroom, crowded  outside the door and listened.
They could hear the steady whir of the wheels  upon the polished
floor as the thing spun round and round; the dull thud as  every
now and again it dashed itself and its burden against some
opposing object  and ricocheted off in a new direction.



"And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, repeating
over and over  the same formula: 'How charming you look to-night.
What a lovely day it has  been. Oh, don't be so cruel. I could go on
dancing for ever -- with you. Have  you had supper?'



"Of course they sought Geibel everywhere but where he was. They
looked in every  room in the house, then they rushed off in a body
to his own place, and spent  precious minutes waking up his deaf
old housekeeper. At last it occurred to one  of the party that
Wenzel was missing also, and then the idea of the  counting-house
across the yard presented itself to them, and there they found  him.



"He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel
forced their  way through the crowd of guests gathered outside,
and entered the room, and  locked the door behind them.



"From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and
quick steps,  followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence,
then the low voices again.



 "After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward
to enter, but  old Wenzel's broad head and shoulders barred the
way.



"I want you -- and you, Bekler,' he said, addressing a couple of the
elder men.

His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white. 'The rest of
you, please go  -- get the women away as quickly as you can.'



"From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the
making of mechanical  rabbits, and cats that mewed and washed
their faces." 

Fragment of a Novel By George Gordon (Lord Byron) "June 17,
1816. "In the year 17 , having for some time determined on a
journey through countries  not hitherto much frequented by
travellers, I set out, accompanied by a friend,  whom I shall
designate by the name of Augustus Darvell. He was a few years my 
elder, and a man of considerable fortune and ancient family,
advantages which an  extensive capacity prevented him alike from
undervaluing and overrating. Some  peculiar circumstances in his
private history had rendered him to me an object  of attention, of
interest, and even of regard, which neither the reserve of his 
manners, nor occasional indication of an inquietude at times
approaching to  alienation of mind, could extinguish.

"I was yet young in life, which I had begun early; but my intimacy
with him was  of a recent date: we had been educated at the same
schools and university; but  his progress through these had
preceded mine, and he had been deeply initiated  into what is
called the world, while I was yet in my novitiate. While thus 
engaged, I heard much both of his past and present life; and,
although in these  accounts there were many and irreconcilable
contradictions, I could still gather  from the whole that he was a
being of no common order, and one who, whatever  pains he might
take to avoid remark, would still be remarkable. I had cultivated 
his acquaintance subsequently, and endeavoured to obtain his
friendship, but  this last appeared to be unattainable: whatever
affections he might have  possessed seemed now, some to have
been extinguished, and others to be  concentred: that his feelings
were acute, I had sufficient opportunities of  observing; for,
although he could control, he could not altogether disguise  them;
still he had a power of giving to one passion the appearance of
another,  in such a manner that it was difficult to define the nature
of what was working  within him; and the expressions of his
features would vary so rapidly, though  slightly, that it was useless
to trace them to their sources. It was evident  that he was a prey to
some cureless disquiet; but whether it arose from  ambition, love,
remorse, grief, from one or all of these, or merely from a  morbid
temperament akin to disease, I could not discover: there were 
circumstances alleged which might have justified the application
to each of  these causes; but, as I have before said, these were so
contradictory and  contradicted, that none could be fixed upon
with accuracy. Where there is  mystery, it is generally supposed
that there must also be evil: I know not how  this may be, but in
him there certainly was the one, though I could not  ascertain the
extent of the otherand felt loth, as far as regarded himself,  to
believe in its existence. My advances were received with sufficient
coldness:  but I was young, and not easily discouraged, and at
length succeeded in  obtaining, to a certain degree, that
common-place intercourse and moderate  confidence of common
and every-day concerns, created and cemented by similarity  of
pursuit and frequency of meeting, which is called intimacy, or
friendship,  according to the ideas of him who uses those words to
express them.

"Darvell had already travelled extensively; and to him I had
applied for  information with regard to the conduct of my intended
journey. It was my secret  wish that he might be prevailed on to
accompany me; it was also a probable hope,  founded upon the
shadowy restlessness which I observed in him, and to which the 
animation which he appeared to feel on such subjects, and his
apparent  indifference to all by which he was more immediately
surrounded, gave fresh  strength. This wish I first hinted, and then
expressed: his answer, though I had  partly expected it, gave me all
the pleasure of surprisehe consented; and,  after the requisite
arrangement, we commenced our voyages. After journeying 
through various countries of the south of Europe, our attention was
turned  towards the East, according to our original destination; and
it was in my  progress through these regions that the incident
occurred upon which will turn  what I may have to relate.

"The constitution of Darvell, which must from his appearance have
been in early  life more than usually robust, had been for some
time gradually giving away,  without the intervention of any
apparent disease: he had neither cough nor  hectic, yet he became
daily more enfeebled; his habits were temperate, and he  neither
declined nor complained of fatigue; yet he was evidently wasting
away:  he became more and more silent and sleepless, and at
length so seriously  altered, that my alarm grew proportionate to
what I conceived to be his danger.

"We had determined, on our arrival at Smyrna, on an excursion to
the ruins of  Ephesus and Sardis, from which I endeavoured to
dissuade him in his present  state of indispositionbut in vain: there
appeared to be an oppression on his  mind, and a solemnity in his
manner, which ill corresponded with his eagerness  to proceed on
what I regarded as a mere party of pleasure little suited to a 
valetudinarian; but I opposed him no longerand in a few days we
set off  together, accompanied only by a serrugee and a single
janizary.

"We had passed halfway towards the remains of Ephesus, leaving
behind us the  more fertile environs of Smyrna, and were entering
upon that wild and tenantless  tract through the marshes and
defiles which lead to the few huts yet lingering  over the broken
columns of Dianathe roofless walls of expelled Christianity,  and
the still more recent but complete desolation of abandoned
mosqueswhen  the sudden and rapid illness of my companion
obliged us to halt at a Turkish  cemetery, the turbaned tombstones
of which were the sole indication that human  life had ever been a
sojourner in this wilderness. The only caravansera we had  seen
was left some hours behind us, not a vestige of a town or even
cottage was  within sight or hope, and this 'city of the dead'
appeared to be the sole refuge  of my unfortunate friend, who
seemed on the verge of becoming the last of its  inhabitants.

"In this situation, I looked round for a place where he might most
conveniently  repose: contrary to the usual aspect of Mahometan
burial-grounds, the cypresses  were in this few in number, and
these thinly scattered over its extent; the  tombstones were mostly
fallen, and worn with age: upon one of the most  considerable of
these, and beneath one of the most spreading trees, Darvell 
supported himself, in a half-reclining posture, with great difficulty.
He asked  for water. I had some doubts of our being able to find
any, and prepared to go  in search of it with hesitating
despondency: but he desired me to remain; and  turning to
Suleiman, our janizary, who stood by us smoking with great 
tranquility, he said, 'Suleiman, verbana su,' (i.e. 'bring some
water,') and  went on describing the spot where it was to be found
with great minuteness, at a  small well for camels, a few hundred
yards to the right: the janizary obeyed. I  said to Darvell, 'How did
you know this?' He replied, 'From our situation; you  must perceive
that this place was once inhabited, and could not have been so 
without springs: I have also been here before.'

" 'You have been here before! How came you never to mention this
to me? and what  could you be doing in a place where no one
would remain a moment longer than  they could help it?'

"To this question I received no answer. In the mean time Suleiman
returned with  the water, leaving the serrugee and the horses at the
fountain. The quenching of  his thirst had the appearance of
reviving him for a moment; and I conceived  hopes of his being
able to proceed, or at least to return, and I urged the  attempt. He
was silentand appeared to be collecting his spirits for an effort  to
speak. He began " 'This is the end of my journey, and of my life; I
came here to die; but I have  a request to make, a commandfor
such my last words must be.You will  observe it?'

" 'Most certainly; but I have better hopes.'

" 'I have no hopes, nor wishes, but thisconceal my death from
every human  being.'

" 'I hope there will be no occasion; that you will recover, and  '

" 'Peace! it must be so: promise this.'

" 'I do.'

" 'Swear it, by all that  ' He here dictated an oath of great
solemnity.

" 'There is no occasion for this. I will observe your request; and to
doubt me  is  '

" 'It cannot be helped, you must swear.'

"I took the oath, it appeared to relieve him. He removed a seal ring
from his  finger, on which were some Arabic characters, and
presented it to me. He  proceeded " 'On the ninth day of the month,
at noon precisely (what month you please, but  this must be the
day), you must fling this ring into the salt springs which run  into
the Bay of Eleusis; the day after, at the same hour, you must repair
to the  ruins of the temple of Ceres, and wait one hour.'

" 'Why?'

" 'You will see.'

" 'The ninth day of the month, you say?'

" 'The ninth.'

"As I observed that the present was the ninth day of the month, his
countenance  changed, and he paused. As he sat, evidently
becoming more feeble, a stork, with  a snake in her beak, perched
upon a tombstone near us; and, without devouring  her prey,
appeared to be steadfastly regarding us. I know not what impelled
me  to drive it away, but the attempt was useless; she made a few
circles in the  air, and returned exactly to the same spot. Darvell
pointed to it, and smiled he spokeI know not whether to himself or
to mebut the words were only,  'Tis well!'

" 'What is well? What do you mean?'

" 'No matter; you must bury me here this evening, and exactly
where that bird is  now perched. You know the rest of my
injunctions.'

"He then proceeded to give me several directions as to the manner
in which his  death might be best concealed. After these were
finished, he exclaimed, 'You  perceive that bird?'

" 'Certainly.'

" 'And the serpent writhing in her beak?'

" 'Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural
prey. But it is  odd that she does not devour it.'

"He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said faintly. 'It is not yet time!'
As he  spoke, the stork flew away. My eyes followed it for a
momentit could hardly  be longer than ten might be counted. I felt
Darvell's weight, as it were,  increase upon my shoulder, and,
turning to look upon his face, perceived that he  was dead!  "I was
shocked with the sudden certainty which could not be mistakenhis 
countenance in a few minutes became nearly black. I should have
attributed so  rapid a change to poison, had I not been aware that
he had no opportunity of  receiving it unperceived. The day was
declining, the body was rapidly altering,  and nothing remained but
to fulfil his request. With the aid of Suleiman's  ataghan and my
own sabre, we scooped a shallow grave upon the spot which
Darvell  had indicated: the earth easily gave way, having already
received some Mahometan  tenant. We dug as deeply as the time
permitted us, and throwing the dry earth  upon all that remained of
the singular being so lately departed, we cut a few  sods of greener
turf from the less withered soil around us, and laid them upon  his
sepulchre.

"Between astonishment and grief, I was tearless.""

 Dracula's Guest By Bram Stoker When we started for our drive
the sun was shining brightly on Munich and the air  was full of the
joyousness of early summer.

Just as we were about to depart, Herr Delbruck (the maitre d'hotel
of the Quatre  Saisons, where I was staying) came down,
bareheaded, to the carriage and, after  wishing me a pleasant drive,
said to the coachman, still holding his hand on the  handle of the
carriage door: "Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks 
bright but there is a shiver in the north wind that says there may be
a sudden  storm. But I am sure you will not be late." Here he
smiled and added, "for you  know what night it is."  Johann
answered with an emphatic, "Ja, mein Herr," and, touching his hat,
drove  off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, after
signalling him to stop:  "Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?"  He
crossed himself as he answered laconically: "Walpurgisnacht."
Then he took  out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver
thing as big as a turnip,  and looked at it, with his eyebrows
gathered together and a little impatient  shrug of his shoulders. I
realized that this was his way of respectfully  protesting against the
unnecessary delay and sank back in the carriage, merely 
motioning him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up
for lost  time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up
their heads and sniffed  the air suspiciously. On such occasions I
often looked round in alarm. The road  was pretty bleak, for we
were traversing a sort of high, wind-swept plateau. As  we drove, I
saw a road that looked but little used and which seemed to dip 
through a little, winding valley. It looked so inviting that, even at
the risk  of offending him, I called Johann to stopand when he had
pulled up I told him  I would like to drive down that road. He
made all sorts of excuses and  frequently crossed himself as he
spoke. This somewhat piqued my curiosity, so I  asked him various
questions. He answered fencingly and repeatedly looked at his 
watch in protest. Finally I said: "Well, Johann, I want to go down
this road. I  shall not ask you to come unless you like; but tell me
why you do not like to  go, that is all I ask." For answer he seemed
to throw himself off the box, so  quickly did he reach the ground.
Then he stretched out his hands appealingly to  me and implored
me not to go. There was just enough of English mixed with the 
German for me to understand the drift of his talk. He seemed
always just about  to tell me somethingthe very idea of which
evidently frightened him, but each  time he pulled himself up,
saying, as he crossed himself: "Walpurgisnacht!"  I tried to argue
with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man when I did  not
know his language. The advantage certainly rested with him, for
although he  began to speak in English, a very crude and broken
kind, he always got excited  and broke into his native tongueand
every time he did so he looked at his  watch. Then the horses
became restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very  pale and,
looking around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward,
took  them by the bridles and led them on some twenty feet. I
followed and asked why  he had done this. For answer he crossed
himself, pointed to the spot we had left  and drew his carriage in
the direction of the other road, indicating a cross,  and said, first in
German, then in English: "Buried himhim what killed 
themselves."  I remembered the old custom of burying suicides at
cross-roads: "Ah! I see, a  suicide. How interesting!" But for the
life of me I could not make out why the  horses were frightened.

Whilst we were talking we heard a sort of sound between a yelp
and a bark. It  was far away, but the horses got very restless and it
took Johann all his time  to quiet them. He was pale and said, "It
sounds like a wolfbut yet there are  no wolves here now."  "No?" I
said, questioning him; "isn't it long since the wolves were so near
the  city?"  "Long, long," he answered, "in the spring and summer,
but with the snow the  wolves have been here not so long."  Whilst
he was petting the horses and trying to quiet them, dark clouds
drifted  rapidly across the sky. The sunshine passed away and a
breath of cold wind  seemed to drift past us. It was only a breath,
however, and more in the nature  of a warning than a fact, for the
sun came out brightly again. Johann looked  under his lifted hand
at the horizon and said: "The storm of snow, he comes  before long
time." Then he looked at his watch again and, straightway, holding 
his reins firmlyfor the horses were still pawing the ground
restlessly and  shaking their headshe climbed to his box as though
the time had come for  proceeding on our journey.

I felt a little obstinate and did not at once get into the carriage.

"Tell me," I said, "about this place where the road leads," and I
pointed down.

Again he crossed himself and mumbled a prayer before he
answered, "It is  unholy."  "What is unholy?" I enquired.

"The village."  "Then there is a village?"  "No, no. No one lives
there hundreds of years."  My curiosity was piqued, "But you said
there was a village." "There was."  "Where is it now?"  Whereupon
he burst out into a long story in German and English, so mixed up
that  I could not quite understand exactly what he said, but roughly
I gathered that  long ago, hundreds of years, men had died there
and been buried in their graves;  and sounds were heard under the
clay and when the graves were opened, men and  women were
found rosy with life, and their mouths red with blood. And so, in 
haste to save their lives (aye, and their souls!here he crossed
himself)  those who were left fled away to other places, where the
living lived and the  dead were dead and notnot something. He was
evidently afraid to speak the  last words. As he proceeded with his
narration he grew more and more excited. It  seemed as if his
imagination had got hold of him and he ended in a perfect 
paroxysm of fearwhite-faced, perspiring, trembling and looking
round him as  if expecting that some dreadful presence would
manifest itself there in the  bright sunshine on the open plain.
Finally, in an agony of desperation, he  cried: "Walpurgisnacht!"
and pointed to the carriage for me to get in. All my  English blood
rose at this and, standing back, I said: "You are afraid, Johann you
are afraid. Go home, I shall return alone; the walk will do me
good." The  carriage door was open. I took from the seat my oak
walking-stickwhich I  always carry on my holiday excursionsand
closed the door, pointing back to  Munich, and said, "Go home,
JohannWalpurgisnacht doesn't concern Englishmen." 

The horses were now more restive than ever and Johann was trying
to hold them  in, while excitedly imploring me not to do anything
so foolish. I pitied the  poor fellow, he was deeply in earnest, but
all the same I could not help  laughing. His English was quite gone
now. In his anxiety he had forgotten that  his only means of
making me understand was to talk in my language, so he  jabbered
away in his native German. It began to be a little tedious. After 
giving the direction, "Home!" I turned to go down the cross-road
into the  valley.

With a despairing gesture, Johann turned his horses towards
Munich. I leaned on  my stick and looked after him. He went
slowly along the road for a while: then  there came over the crest
of the hill a man tall and thin. I could see so much  in the distance.
When he drew near the horses, they began to jump and kick  about,
then to scream with terror. Johann could not hold them in; they
bolted  down the road, running away madly. I watched hem out of
sight, then looked for  the stranger, but I found that he, too, was
gone.

With a light heart I turned down the side road through the
deepening valley to  which Johann had objected. There was not the
slightest reason, that I could see,  for his objection, and I daresay I
tramped for a couple of hours without  thinking of time or
distance, and certainly without seeing a person or a house.

So far as the place was concerned it was desolation itself. But I did
not notice  this particularly till, on turning a bend in the road, I
came upon a scattered  fringe of wood; then I recognized that I had
been impressed unconsciously by the  desolation of the region
through which I had passed.

I sat down to rest myself and began to look around. It struck me
that it was  considerably colder than it had been at the
commencement of my walka sort of  sighing sound seemed to be
around me, with, now and then, high overhead, a sort  of muffled
roar. Looking upwards I noticed that great thick clouds were
drifting  rapidly across the sky from north to south at a great
height. There were signs  of coming storm in some lofty stratum of
the air. I was a little chilly and,  thinking that it was the sitting still
after the exercise of walking, I resumed  my journey.

The ground I passed over was now much more picturesque. There
were no striking  objects that the eye might single out, but in all
there was a charm of beauty. I  took little heed of time and it was
only when the deepening twilight forced  itself upon me that I
began to think of how I should find my way home. The  brightness
of the day had gone. The air was cold and the drifting of clouds
high  overhead was more marked. They were accompanied by a
sort of far-away rushing  sound, through which seemed to come at
intervals that mysterious cry which the  driver had said came from
a wolf. For a while I hesitated. I had said I would  see the deserted
village, so on I went and presently came on a wide stretch of  open
country, shut in by hills all around. Their sides were covered with
trees  which spread down to the plain, dotting, in clumps, the
gentler slopes and  hollows which showed here and there. I
followed with my eye the winding of the  road and saw that it
curved close to one of the densest of these clumps and was  lost
behind it.

As I looked there came a cold shiver in the air and the snow began
to fall. I  thought of the miles and miles of bleak country I had
passed and then hurried on  to seek the shelter of the wood in
front. Darker and darker grew the sky and  faster and heavier fell
the snow, till the earth before and around me was a  glistening
white carpet, the farther edge of which was lost in misty
vagueness.

The road was here but crude and when on the level its boundaries
were not so  marked, as when it passed through the cuttings; and in
a little while I found  that I must have strayed from it, for I missed
underfoot the hard surface and my  feet sank deeper in the grass
and moss. Then the wind grew strong and blew with  ever
increasing force, till I was fain to run before it. The air became icy
cold  and in spite of my exercise I began to suffer. The snow was
now falling so  thickly and whirling around me in such rapid
eddies that I could hardly keep my  eyes open. Every now and then
the heavens were torn asunder by vivid lightning,  and in the
flashes I could see ahead of me a great mass of trees, chiefly yew 
and cypress, all heavily coated with snow.

I was soon amongst the shelter of the trees, and there, in
comparative silence,  I could hear the rush of the wind high
overhead. Presently the blackness of the  storm had become
merged in the darkness of the night. By and by the storm seemed 
to be passing away: it now only came in fierce puffs or blasts. At
such moments  the weird sound of the wolf appeared to be echoed
by many similar sounds around  me.

Now and again, through the black mass of drifting cloud, came a
straggling ray  of moonlight, which lit up the expanse and showed
me that I was at the edge of a  dense mass of cypress and yew
trees. As the snow had ceased to fall, I walked  out from the shelter
and began to investigate more closely. It appeared to me  that,
amongst so many old foundations as I had passed, there might be
still  standing a house in which, though in ruins, I could find some
sort of shelter  for a while. As I skirted the edge of the copse I
found that a low wall  encircled it, and following it I presently
found an opening. Here the cypresses  formed an alley leading up
to a square mass of some kind of building. Just as I  caught sight of
this, however, the drifting clouds obscured the moon and I  passed
up the path in darkness. The wind must have grown colder, for I
felt  myself shiver as I walked; but there was hope of shelter and I
groped my way  blindly on.

I stopped, for there was a sudden stillness. The storm had passed
and, perhaps  in sympathy with nature's silence, my heart seemed
to cease to beat. But this  was only momentarily, for suddenly the
moonlight broke through the clouds,  showing me that I was in a
graveyard and that the square object before me was a  massive
tomb of marble, as white as the snow that lay on and all around it.
With  the moonlight there came a fierce sigh of the storm, which
appeared to resume  its course with a long, low howl, as of many
dogs or wolves. I was awed and  shocked and felt the cold
perceptibly grow upon me till it seemed to grip me by  the heart.
Then, while the flood of moonlight still fell on the marble tomb,
the  storm gave further evidence of renewing, as though it was
returning on its  track. Impelled by some sort of fascination I
approached the sepulchre to see  what it was and why such a thing
stood alone in such a place. I walked around it  and read, over the
Doric door, in German: COUNTESS DOLINGEN OF GRATZ IN
STYRIA SOUGHT AND FOUND DEATH 1801 On the top of the
tomb, seemingly driven through the solid marblefor the  structure
was composed of a few vast blocks of stonewas a great iron spike
or  stake. On going to the back I saw, graven in great Russian
letters: THE DEAD TRAVEL FAST. There was something so
weird and uncanny about the whole thing that it gave me a  turn
and made me feel quite faint. I began to wish, for the first time,
that I  had taken Johann's advice. Here a thought struck me, which
came under almost  mysterious circumstances and with a terrible
shock. This was Walpurgis Night!  Walpurgis Night, when,
according to the belief of millions of people, the devil  was
abroadwhen the graves were opened and the dead came forth and
walked.

When evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very
place the  driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated
village of centuries ago.

This was where the suicide lay; and this was the place where I was
alone unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a
wild storm gathering  again upon me! It took all my philosophy, all
the religion I had been taught,  all my courage, not to collapse in a
paroxysm of fright.

And now a perfect tornado burst upon me. The ground shook as
though thousands of  horses thundered across it, and this time the
storm bore on its icy wings, not  snow, but great hailstones which
drove with such violence that they might have  come from the
thongs of Balearic slingershailstones that beat down leaf and 
branch and made the shelter of the cypresses of no more avail than
though their  stems were standing corn. At the first I had rushed to
the nearest tree, but I  was soon fain to leave it and seek the only
spot that seemed to afford refuge,  the deep Doric doorway of the
marble tomb. There, crouching against the massive  bronze door, I
gained a certain amount of protection from the beating of the 
hailstones, for now they only drove against me as they ricocheted
from the  ground and the side of the marble.

As I leaned against the door it moved slightly and opened inwards.
The shelter  of even a tomb was welcome in that pitiless tempest
and I was about to enter  when there came a flash of forked
lightning that lit up the whole expanse of the  heavens. In the
instant, as I am a living man, I saw, as my eyes were turned  into
the darkness of the tomb, a beautiful woman with rounded cheeks
and red  lips, seemingly sleeping on a bier. As the thunder broke
overhead I was grasped  as by the hand of a giant and hurled out
into the storm. The whole thing was so  sudden that, before I could
realize the shock, moral as well as physical, I  found the hailstones
beating me down. At the same time I had a strange,  dominating
feeling that I was not alone. I looked towards the tomb. Just then 
there came another blinding flash, which seemed to strike the iron
stake that  surmounted the tomb and to pour through to the earth,
blasting and crumbling the  marble, as in a burst of flame. The
dead woman rose for a moment of agony, while  she was lapped in
the flame, and her bitter scream of pain was drowned in the 
thundercrash. The last thing I heard was this mingling of dreadful
sound, as  again I was seized in the giant-grasp and dragged away,
while the hailstones  beat on me, and the air around seemed
reverberant with the howling of wolves.

The last sight that I remembered was a vague, white, moving mass,
as if all the  graves around me had sent out phantoms of their
sheeted dead, and that they were  closing in on me through the
white cloudiness of the driving hail. 





 Gradually there came a sort of vague beginning of consciousness,
then a sense of  weariness that was dreadful. For a time I
remembered nothing, but slowly my  senses returned. My feet
seemed positively racked with pain, yet I could not  move them.
They seemed to be numbed. There was an icy feeling at the back
of my  neck and all down my spine, and my ears, like my feet,
were dead, yet in  torment; but there was in my breast a sense of
warmth which was, by comparison,  delicious. It was a nightmarea
physical nightmare, if one may use such an  expressionfor some
heavy weight on my chest made it difficult for me to  breathe.

This period of semi-lethargy seemed to remain a long time, and as
it faded away  I must have slept or swooned. Then came a sort of
loathing, like a first stage  of sea-sickness, and a wild desire to be
free from somethingI knew not what.

A vast stillness enveloped me, as though all the world were asleep
or dead only broken by the low panting as of some animal close to
me. I felt a warm  rasping at my throat, then came a consciousness
of the awful truth, which  chilled me to the heart and sent the
blood surging up through my brain. Some  great animal was lying
on me and now licking my throat. I feared to stir, for  some instinct
of prudence bade me lie still, but the brute seemed to realize  that
there was now some change in me, for it raised its head. Through
my  eyelashes I saw above me the two great flaming eyes of a
gigantic wolf. Its  sharp white teeth gleamed in the gaping red
mouth and I could feel its hot  breath fierce and acrid upon me.

For another spell of time I remembered no more. Then I became
conscious of a low  growl, followed by a yelp, renewed again and
again. Then, seemingly very far  away, I heard a "Holla! holla!" as
of many voices all calling out in unison.

Cautiously I raised my head and looked in the direction whence
the sound came,  but the cemetery blocked my view. The wolf still
continued to yelp in a strange  way and a red glare began to move
round the grove of cypresses, as though  following the sound. As
the voices drew closer, the wolf yelped faster and  louder. I feared
to make either sound or motion. Nearer came the red glow, over 
the white pall which stretched into the darkness around me. Then
all at once  from beyond the trees there came at a trot a troop of
horsemen bearing torches.

The wolf rose from my breast and made for the cemetery. I saw
one of the  horsemen (soldiers, by their caps and their long military
cloaks) raise his  carbine and take aim. A companion knocked up
his arm, and I heard the ball whizz  over my head. He had
evidently taken my body for that of the wolf. Another  sighted the
animal as it slunk away and a shot followed. Then, at a gallop, the 
troop rode forwardsome towards me, others following the wolf as
it  disappeared amongst the snow-clad cypresses.

As they drew nearer I tried to move, but was powerless, although I
could see and  hear all that went on around me. Two or three of the
soldiers jumped from their  horses and knelt beside me. One of
them raised my head and placed his hand over  my heart.

"Good news, comrades!" he cried. "His heart still beats!"  Then
some brandy was poured down my throat; it put vigour into me
and I was able  to open my eyes fully and look around. Lights and
shadows were moving among the  trees and I heard men call to one
another. They drew together, uttering  frightened exclamations,
and the lights flashed as the others came pouring out  of the
cemetery pell-mell, like men possessed. When the farther ones
came close  to us, those who were around me asked them eagerly:
"Well, have you found him?"  The reply rang out hurriedly: "No!
no! Come away quickquick! This is no place  to stay, and on this
of all nights!"  "What was it?" was the question, asked in all
manner of keys. The answer came  variously and all indefinitely as
though the men were moved by some common  impulse to speak,
yet were restrained by some common fear from giving their 
thoughts.

"Ititindeed!" gibbered one, whose wits had plainly given out for the 
moment.

"A wolfand yet not a wolf!" another put in shudderingly.

"No use trying for him without the sacred bullet," a third remarked
in a more  ordinary manner.

"Serve us right for coming out on this night! Truly we have earned
our thousand  marks!" were the ejaculations of a fourth.

"There was blood on the broken marble," another said after a
pause"the  lightning never brought that there. And for himis he
safe? Look at his  throat! See, comrades, the wolf has been lying
on him and keeping his blood  warm."  The officer looked at my
throat and replied: "He is all right, the skin is not  pierced. What
does it all mean? We should never have found him but for the 
yelping of the wolf."  "What became of it?" asked the man who
was holding up my head and who seemed the  least panic stricken
of the party, for his hands were steady and without tremor.

On his sleeve was the chevron of a petty officer.

"It went to its home," answered the man, whose long face was
pallid and who  actually shook with terror as he glanced around
him fearfully. "There are graves  enough there in which it may lie.
Come, comrades  come quickly! Let us leave  this cursed spot." 
The officer raised me to a sitting posture, as he uttered a word of
command,  then several men placed me upon a horse. He sprang to
the saddle behind me, took  me in his arms, gave the word to
advance and, turning our faces away from the  cypresses, we rode
away in swift, military order.

As yet my tongue refused its office and I was perforce silent. I
must have  fallen asleep, for the next thing I remembered was
finding myself standing up,  supported by a soldier on each side of
me. It was almost broad daylight and to  the north a red streak of
sunlight was reflected, like a path of blood, over the  waste of
snow. The officer was telling the men to say nothing of what they
had  seen, except that they found an English stranger, guarded by a
large dog.

"Dog! that was no dog," cut in the man who had exhibited such
fear. "I think I  know a wolf when I see one."  The young officer
answered calmly: "I said a dog."  "Dog!" reiterated the other
ironically. It was evident that his courage was  rising with the sun
and, pointing to me, he said, "Look at his throat. Is that  the work
of a dog, master?"  Instinctively I raised my hand to my throat, and
as I touched it I cried out in  pain. The men crowded round to look,
some stooping down from their saddles, and  again there came the
calm voice of the young officer: "A dog, as I said. If  aught else
were said we should only be laughed at."  I was then mounted
behind a trooper and we rode on into the suburbs of Munich.

Here we came across a stray carriage, into which I was lifted, and
it was driven  off to the Quatre Saisonsthe young officer
accompanying me, whilst a trooper  followed with his horse and
the others rode off to their barracks.

When we arrived, Herr Delbruck rushed so quickly down the steps
to meet me that  it was apparent he had been watching within.
Taking me by both hands he  solicitously led me in. The officer
saluted me and was turning to withdraw when  I recognized his
purpose, and insisted that he should come to my rooms. Over a 
glass of wine I warmly thanked him and his brave comrades for
saving me. He  replied simply that he was more than glad and that
Herr Delbruck had at the fist  taken steps to make all the searching
party pleased; at which ambiguous  utterance the maitre d'hotel
smiled, while the officer pleaded duty and  withdrew.

"But Herr Delbruck," I enquired, "how and why was it that the
soldiers searched  for me?"  He shrugged his shoulders, as if in
depreciation of his own deed, as he replied:  "I was so fortunate as
to obtain leave from the commander of the regiment in  which I
served, to ask for volunteers."  "But how did you know I was lost?"
I asked.

"The driver came hither with the remains of his carriage, which
had been upset  when the horses ran away."  "But surely you would
not send a search-party of soldiers merely on this  account?"  "Oh,
no!" he answered, "but even before the coachman arrived I had this
telegram  from the Boyar whose guest you are," and he took from
his pocket a telegram  which he handed to me, and I read: 
BISTRITZ"

Be careful of my guesthis safety is most precious to me. Should
aught"

happen to him, or if he be missed, spare nothing to find him and
ensure his"

safety. He is English and therefore adventurous. There are often
dangers"

from snow and wolves and night. Lose not a moment if you
suspect harm to"

him. I answer your zeal with my fortune.

DRACULA As I held the telegram in my hand the room seemed to
whirl around me, and if the  attentive maitre d'hotel had not caught
me I think I should have fallen. There  was something so strange in
all this, something so weird and impossible to  imagine, that there
grew on me a sense of my being in some way the sport of 
opposing forcesthe mere vague idea of which seemed in a way to
paralyze me. I  was certainly under some form of mysterious
protection. From a distant country  had come, in the very nick of
time, a message that took me out of the danger of  the snow-sleep
and the jaws of the wolf.

 An Egyptian Hornet by Algernon Blackwood The word has an
angry, malignant sound that brings the idea of attack vividly  into
the mind. There is a vicious sting about it somewhere -- even a
foreigner,  ignorant of the meaning, must feel it. A hornet is
wicked; it darts and stabs;  it pierces, aiming without provocation
for the face and eyes. The name suggests  a metallic droning of
evil wings, fierce flight, and poisonous assault. Though  black and
yellow, it sounds scarlet. There is blood in it. A striped tiger of  the
air in concentrated form! There is no escape -- if it attacks.

In Egypt an ordinary bee is the size of an English hornet, but the
Egyptian  hornet is enormous. It is truly monstrous -- an ominous,
dying terror. It shares  that universal quality of the land of the
Sphinx and Pyramids -- great size. It  is a formidable insect, worse
than scorpion or tarantula. The Rev. James  Milligan, meeting one
for the first time, realized the meaning of another word  as well, a
word he used prolifically in his eloquent sermons -- devil.

One morning in April, when the heat began to bring the insects
out, he rose as  usual betimes and went across the wide stone
corridor to his bath. The desert  already glared in through the open
windows. The heat would be afflicting later  in the day, but at this
early hour the cool north wind blew pleasantly down the  hotel
passages. It was Sunday, and at half-past eight o'clock he would
appear to  conduct the morning service for the English visitors.
The floor of the  passage-way was cold beneath his feet in their
thin native slippers of bright  yellow. He was neither young nor
old; his salary was comfortable; he had a  competency of his own,
without wife or children to absorb it; the dry climate  had been
recommended to him; and -- the big hotel took him in for next to 
nothing. And he was thoroughly pleased with himself, for he was a
sleek, vain,  pompous, well-advertised personality, but mean as a
rat. No worries of any kind  were on his mind as, carrying sponge
and towel, scented soap and a bottle of  Scrubb's ammonia, he
travelled amiably across the deserted, shining corridor to  the
bathroom. And nothing went wrong with the Rev. James Milligan
until he  opened the door, and his eye fell upon a dark,
suspicious-looking object  clinging to the window-pane in front of
him.

And even then, at first, he felt no anxiety or alarm, but merely a
natural  curiosity to know exactly what it was -- this little clot of
an odd-shaped,  elongated thing that stuck there on the wooden
framework six feet before his  aquiline nose. He went straight up
to it to see -- then stopped dead. His heart  gave a distinct,
unclerical leap. His lips formed themselves into unregenerate 
shape. He gasped: "Good God! What is it?" For something unholy,
something wicked  as a secret sin, stuck there before his eyes in
the patch of blazing sunshine.

He caught his breath.

For a moment he was unable to move, as though the sight half
fascinated him.

Then, cautiously and very slowly -- stealthily, in fact -- he
withdrew towards  the door he had just entered. Fearful of making
the smallest sound, he retraced  his steps on tiptoe. His yellow
slippers shuffled. His dry sponge fell, and  bounded till it settled,
rolling close beneath the horribly attractive object  facing him.
From the safety of the open door, with ample space for retreat 
behind him, he paused and stared. His entire being focussed itself
in his eyes.

It was a hornet that he saw. It hung there, motionless and
threatening, between  him and the bathroom door.

And at first he merely exclaimed -- below his breath -- "Good God!
It's an  Egyptian hornet!"  Being a man with a reputation for
decided action, however, he soon recovered  himself. He was well
schooled in self-control. When people left his church at  the
beginning of the sermon, no muscle of his face betrayed the
wounded vanity  and annoyance that burned deep in his heart. But
a hornet sitting directly in  his path was a very different matter. He
realized in a flash that he was poorly  clothed -- in a word, that he
was practically half naked.

From a distance he examined this intrusion of the devil. It was
calm and very  still. It was wonderfully made, both before and
behind. Its wings were folded  upon its terrible body. Long,
sinuous things, pointed like temptation, barbed as  well, stuck out
of it. There was poison, and yet grace, in its exquisite 
presentment. Its shiny black was beautiful, and the yellow stripes
upon its  sleek, curved abdomen were like the gleaming ornaments
upon some feminine body  of the seductive world he preached
against. Almost, he saw an abandoned dancer  on the stage. And
then, swiftly in his impressionable soul, the simile changed,  and
he saw instead more blunt and aggressive forms of destruction.
The  well-filled body, tapering to a horrid point, reminded him of
those perfect  engines of death that reduce hundreds to annihilation
unawares -- torpedoes,  shells, projectiles, crammed with secret,
desolating powers. Its wings, its  awful, quiet head, its delicate,
slim waist, its stripes of brilliant saffron --  all these seemed the
concentrated prototype of abominations made cleverly by the 
brain of man, and beautifully painted to disguise their invisible
freight of  cruel death.

"Bah!" he exclaimed, ashamed of his prolific imagination. "It's
only a hornet  after all -- an insect!" And he contrived a hurried,
careful plan. He aimed a  towel at it, rolled up into a ball -- but did
not throw it. He might miss. He  remembered that his ankles were
unprotected. Instead, he paused again, examining  the black and
yellow object in safe retirement near the door, as one day he 
hoped to watch the world in leisurely retirement in the country. It
did not  move. It was fixed and terrible. It made no sound. Its
wings were folded. Not  even the black antennae, blunt at the tips
like clubs, showed the least stir or  tremble. It breathed, however.
He watched the rise and fall of the evil body; it  breathed air in and
out as he himself did. The creature, he realized, had lungs  and
heart and organs. It had a brain! Its mind was active all this time. It
knew  it was being watched. It merely waited. Any second, with a
whiz of fury, and  with perfect accuracy of aim, it might dart at
him and strike. If he threw the  towel and missed -- it certainly
would.

There were other occupants of the corridor, however, and a sound
of steps  approaching gave him the decision to act. He would lose
his bath if he hesitated  much longer. He felt ashamed of his
timidity, though "pusillanimity" was the  word thought selected
owing to the pulpit vocabulary it was his habit to prefer.

He went with extreme caution towards the bathroom door, passing
the point of  danger so close that his skin turned hot and cold. With
one foot gingerly  extended, he recovered his sponge. The hornet
did not move a muscle. But -- it  had seen him pass. It merely
waited. All dangerous insects had that trick. It  knew quite well he
was inside; it knew quite well he must come out a few minutes 
later; it also knew quite well that he was -- naked.

Once inside the little room, he closed the door with exceeding
gentleness, lest  the vibration might stir the fearful insect to attack.
The bath was already  filled, and he plunged to his neck with a
feeling of comparative security. A  window into the outside
passage he also closed, so that nothing could possibly  come in.
And steam soon charged the air and left its blurred deposit on the 
glass. For ten minutes he could enjoy himself and pretend that he
was safe. For  ten minutes he did so. He behaved carelessly, as
though nothing mattered, and as  though all the courage in the
world were his. He splashed and soaped and  sponged, making a
lot of reckless noise. He got out and dried himself. Slowly  the
steam subsided, the air grew clearer, he put on dressing-gown and
slippers.

It was time to go out.

Unable to devise any further reason for delay, he opened the door
softly half an  inch -- peeped out -- and instantly closed it again
with a resounding bang. He  had heard a drone of wings. The
insect had left its perch and now buzzed upon  the floor directly in
his path. The air seemed full of stings; he felt stabs all  over him;
his unprotected portions winced with the expectancy of pain. The
beast  knew he was coming out, and was waiting for him. In that
brief instant he had  felt its sting all over him, on his unprotected
ankles, on his back, his neck,  his cheeks, in his eyes, and on the
bald clearing that adorned his Anglican  head. Through the closed
door he heard the ominous, dull murmur of his striped  adversary
as it beat its angry wings. Its oiled and wicked sting shot in and out 
with fury. Its deft legs worked. He saw its tiny waist already
writhing with the  lust of battle. Ugh! That tiny waist! A moment's
steady nerve and he could have  severed that cunning body from
the directing brain with one swift, well-directed  thrust. But his
nerve had utterly deserted him.

Human motives, even in the professedly holy, are an involved
affair at any time.

Just now, in the Rev. James Milligan, they were inextricably
mixed. He claims  this explanation, at any rate, in excuse of his
abominable subsequent behaviour.

For, exactly at this moment, when he had decided to admit
cowardice by ringing  for the Arab servant, a step was audible in
the corridor outside, and courage  came with it into his
disreputable heart. It was the step of the man he  cordially
"disapproved of," using the pulpit version of "hated and despised."
He  had overstayed his time, and the bath was in demand by Mr.
Mullins. Mr. Mullins  invariably followed him at seven-thirty; it
was now a quarter to eight. And Mr.

Mullins was a wretched drinking man -- "a sot."  In a flash the plan
was conceived and put into execution. The temptation, of  course,
was of the devil. Mr. Milligan hid the motive from himself,
pretending  he hardly recognized it. The plan was what men call a
dirty trick; it was also  irresistibly seductive. He opened the door,
stepped boldly, nose in the air,  right over the hideous insect on the
floor, and fairly pranced into the outer  passage. The brief transit
brought a hundred horrible sensations -- that the  hornet would rise
and sting his leg, that it would cling to his dressing-gown  and stab
his spine, that he would step upon it and die, like Achilles, of a
heel  exposed. But with these, and conquering them, was one other
stronger emotion  that robbed the lesser terrors of their potency --
that Mr. Mullins would run  precisely the same risks five seconds
later, unprepared. He heard the gloating  insect buzz and scratch
the oilcloth. But it was behind him. He was safe!  "Good morning
to you, Mr. Mullins," he observed with a gracious smile. "I trust  I
have not kept you waiting."  "Mornin'!" grunted Mullins sourly in
reply, as he passed him with a distinctly  hostile and contemptuous
air. For Mullins, though depraved, perhaps, was an  honest man,
abhorring parsons and making no secret of his opinions -- whence
the  bitter feeling.

All men, except those very big ones who are supermen, have
something  astonishingly despicable in them. The despicable thing
in Milligan came  uppermost now. He fairly chuckled. He met the
snub with a calm, forgiving smile,  and continued his shambling
gait with what dignity he could towards his bedroom  opposite.
Then he turned his head to see. His enemy would meet an
infuriated  hornet -- an Egyptian hornet! -- and might not notice it.
He might step on it.

He might not. But he was bound to disturb it, and rouse it to attack.
The  chances were enormously on the clerical side. And its sting
meant death.

"May God forgive me!" ran subconsciously through his mind. And
side by side with  the repentant prayer ran also a recognition of the
tempter's eternal skill: "I  hope the devil it will sting him!"  It
happened very quickly. The Rev. James Milligan lingered a
moment by his door  to watch. He saw Mullins, the disgusting
Mullins, step blithely into the  bathroom passage; he saw him
pause, shrink back, and raise his arm to protect  his face. He heard
him swear aloud: "What's the d_____d thing doing here? Have I 
really got 'em again?" And then he heard him laugh -- a hearty,
guffawing laugh  of genuine relief -- "It's real!"  The moment of
revulsion was overwhelming. It filled the churchly heart with 
anguish and bitter disappointment. For a space he hated the whole
race of men.

For the instant Mr. Mullins realized that the insect was not a fiery
illusion of  his disordered nerves, he went forward without the
smallest hesitation. With his  towel he knocked down the flying
terror. Then he stooped. He gathered up the  venomous thing his
well-aimed blow had stricken so easily to the floor. He  advanced
with it, held at arm's length, to the window. He tossed it out 
carelessly. The Egyptian hornet flew away uninjured, and Mr.
Mullins -- the Mr.

Mullins who drank, gave nothing to the church, attended no
services, hated  parsons, and proclaimed the fact with enthusiasm
-- this same Mr. Mullins went  to his unearned bath without a
scratch. But first he saw his enemy standing in  the doorway across
the passage, watching him -- and understood. That was the  awful
part of it. Mullins would make a story of it, and the story would go
the  round of the hotel.

The Rev. James Milligan, however, proved that his reputation for
self-control  was not undeserved. He conducted morning service
half an hour later with an  expression of peace upon his handsome
face. He conquered all outward sign of  inward spiritual vexation;
the wicked, he consoled himself, ever flourished like  green bay
trees. It was notorious that the righteous never have any luck at all! 
That was bad enough. But what was worse -- and the Rev. James
Milligan  remembered for very long -- was the superior ease with
which Mullins had  relegated both himself and hornet to the same
level of comparative  insignificance. Mullins ignored them both --
which proved that he thought  himself superior. Infinitely worse
than the sting of any hornet in the world: he  really was superior.

 The Judge's House By Bram Stoker

When the time for his examination drew near Malcolm
Malcolmson made up his mind  to go somewhere to read by
himself. He feared the attractions of the seaside,  and also he
feared completely rural isolation, for of old he knew its charms, 
and so he determined to find some unpretentious little town where
there would be  nothing to distract him. He refrained from asking
suggestions from any of his  friends, for he argued that each would
recommend some place of which he had  knowledge, and where he
had already acquaintances. As Malcolmson wished to avoid 
friends he had no wish to encumber himself with the attention of
friends'

friends and so he determined to look out for a place for himself.
He packed a  portmanteau with some clothes and all the books he
required, and then took  ticket for the first name on the local
time-table which he did not know.

When at the end of three hours' journey he alighted at Benchurch,
he felt  satisfied that he had so far obliterated his tracks as to be
sure of having a  peaceful opportunity of pursuing his studies. He
went straight to the one inn  which the sleepy little place
contained, and put up for the night. Benchurch was  a market
town, and once in three weeks was crowded to excess, but for the 
reminder of the twenty-one days it was as attractive as a desert.
Malcolmson  looked around the day after his arrival to try to find
quarters more isolated  than even so quiet an inn as "The Good
Traveller" afforded. There was only one  place which took his
fancy, and it certainly satisfied his wildest ideas  regarding quiet;
in fact, quiet was not the proper word to apply to it --  desolation
was the only term conveying any suitable idea of its isolation. It 
was an old, rambling, heavy-built house of the Jacobean style, with
heavy gables  and windows, unusually small, and set higher than
was customary in such houses,  and was surrounded with a high
brick wall massively built. Indeed, on  examination, it looked more
like a fortified house than an ordinary dwelling.

But all these things pleased Malcolmson. "Here," he thought, "is
the very spot I  have been looking for, and if I can only get
opportunity of using it I shall be  happy." His joy was increased
when he realized beyond doubt that it was not at  present
inhabited.

From the post-office he got the name of the agent, who was rarely
surprised at  the application to rent a part of the old house. Mr.
Carnford, the local lawyer  and agent, was a genial old gentleman,
and frankly confessed his delight at  anyone being willing to live in
the house.

"To tell you the truth," said he, "I should be only too happy, on
behalf of the  owners, to let anyone have the house rent free, for a
term of years if only to  accustom the people here to see it
inhabited. It has been so long empty that  some kind of absurd
prejudice has grown up about it, and this can be best put  down by
its occupation -- if only," he added with a sly glance at
Malcolmson,  "by a scholar like yourself, who wants its quiet for a
time."  Malcolmson thought it needless to ask the agent about the
"absurd prejudice"; he  knew he would get more information, if he
should require it, on that subject  from other quarters. He paid his
three months' rent, got a receipt, and the name  of an old woman
who would probably undertake to "do" for him, and came away
with  the keys in his pocket. He then went to the landlady of the
inn, who was a  cheerful and most kindly person, and asked her
advice as to such stores and  provisions as he would be likely to
require. She threw up her hands in amazement  when he told her
where he was going to settle himself.

"Not in the Judge's House!" she said, and grew pale as she spoke.
He explained  the locality of the house, saying that he did not
know its name. When he had  finished she answered:  "Aye, sure
enough -- sure enough the very place! It is the Judge's House sure 
enough." He asked her to tell him about the place, why so called,
and what there  was against it. She told him that it was so called
locally because it had been  many years before -- how long she
could not say, as she was herself from another  part of the country,
but she thought it must have been a hundred years or more  -- the
abode of a judge who was held in great terror on account of his
harsh  sentences and his hostility to prisoners at Assizes. As to
what there was  against the house she could not tell. She had often
asked, but no one could  inform her, but there was a general
feeling that there was something, and for  her own part she would
not take all the money in Drinkwater's Bank and stay in  the house
an hour by herself. Then she apologized to Malcolmson for her 
disturbing talk.

"It is too bad of me, sir, and you -- and a young gentleman, too -- if
you will  pardon me saying it, going to live there all alone. If you
were my boy -- and  you'll excuse me for saying it -- you wouldn't
sleep there a night, not if I had  to go there myself and pull the big
alarm bell that's on the roof!" The good  creature was so manifestly
in earnest, and was so kindly in her intentions, that  Malcolmson,
although amused, was touched. He told her kindly how much he 
appreciated her interest in him, and added:  "But, my dear Mrs.
Witham, indeed you need not be concerned about me! A man who 
is reading for the Mathematical Tripos has too much to think of to
be disturbed  by any of these mysterious 'somethings,' and his work
is of too exact and  prosaic a kind to allow of his having any order
in his mind for mysteries of any  kind. Harmonical Progression,
Permutations and Combinations, and Elliptic  Functions have
sufficient mysteries for me!" Mrs. Witham kindly undertook to see 
after his commissions, and he went himself to look for the old
woman who had  been recommended to him. When he turned to
the Judge's House with her, after an  interval of a couple of hours,
he found Mrs. Witham herself waiting with several  men and boys
carrying parcels, and an upholsterer's man with a bed in a cart,  for
she said, though table and chairs might be all very well, a bed that
hadn't  been aired for maybe fifty years was not proper for young
ones to lie on. She  was evidently curious to see the inside of the
house, and though manifestly so  afraid of the 'somethings' that at
the slightest sound she clutched on to  Malcolmson, whom she
never left for a moment, went over the whole place.

After his examination of the house, Malcolmson decided to take
up his abode in  the great dining-room, which was big enough to
serve for all his requirements,  and Mrs. Witham, with the aid of
the charwoman, Mrs. Dempster, proceeded to  arrange matters.
When the hampers were brought in and unpacked, Malcolmson
saw  that with much kind forethought she had sent from her own
kitchen sufficient  provisions to last for a few days. Before going
she expressed all sorts of kind  wishes, and at the door turned and
said:  "And perhaps, sir, as the room is big and draughty it might
be well to have one  of those big screens put round your bed at
night -- though truth to tell, I  would die myself if I were to be so
shut in with all kinds of -- of 'things,'

that put their heads round the sides or over the top, and look on
me!" The image  which she had called up was too much for her
nerves and she fled incontinently.

Mrs. Dempster sniffed in a superior manner as the landlady
disappeared, and  remarked that for her own part she wasn't afraid
of all the bogies in the  kingdom.

"I'll tell you what it is, sir," she said, "bogies is all kinds and sorts
of  things -- except bogies! Rats and mice, and beetles and creaky
doors, and loose  slates, and broken panes, and stiff drawer
handles, that stay out when you pull  them and then fall down in
the middle of the night. Look at the wainscot of the  room! It is old
-- hundreds of years old! Do you think there's no rats and  beetles
there? And do you imagine, sir, that you won't see none of them?
Rats is  bogies, I tell you, and bogies is rats, and don't you get to
think anything  else!"  "Mrs. Dempster," said Malcolmson gravely,
making her a polite bow, "you know  more than a Senior
Wrangler! And let me say that, as a mark of esteem for your 
indubitable soundness of head and heart, I shall, when I go, give
you possession  of this house, and let you stay here by yourself for
the last two months of my  tenancy, for four weeks will serve my
purpose."  "Thank you kindly, sir!" she answered, "but I couldn't
sleep away from home a  night. I am in Greenhow's Charity, and if
I slept a night away from my rooms I  should lose all I have got to
live on. The rules is very strict, and there's too  many watching for
a vacancy for me to run any risks in the matter. Only for  that, sir,
I'd gladly come here and attend on you altogether during your
stay."  "My good woman," said Malcolmson hastily, "I have come
here on a purpose to  obtain solitude, and believe me that I am
grateful to the late Greenhow for  having organized his admirable
charity -- whatever it is -- that I am perforce  denied the
opportunity of suffering from such a form of temptation! Saint 
Anthony himself could not be more rigid on the point!"  The old
woman laughed harshly. "Ah, you young gentlemen," she said,
"you don't  fear for nought, and belike you'll get all the solitude
you want here." She set  to work with her cleaning, and by
nightfall, when Malcolmson returned from his  walk -- he always
had one of his books to study as he walked -- he found the  room
swept and tidied, a fire burning on the old hearth, the lamp lit, and
the  table spread for supper with Mrs. Witham's excellent fare.
"This is comfort  indeed," he said, and rubbed his hands.

When he had finished his supper, and lifted the tray to the other
end of the  great oak dining-table, he got out his books again, put
fresh wood on the fire,  trimmed his lamp, and set himself down to
a spell of real hard work. He went on  without a pause till about
eleven o'clock, when he knocked off for a bit to fix  his fire and
lamp, and to make himself a cup of tea. He had always been a 
tea-drinker, and during his college life had sat late at work and had
taken tea  late. The rest was a great luxury to him, and he enjoyed
it with a sense of  delicious voluptuous ease. The renewed fire
leaped and sparkled, and threw  quaint shadows through the great
old room, and as he sipped his hot tea he  revelled in the sense of
isolation from his kind. Then it was that he began to  notice for the
first time what a noise the rats were making.

"Surely," he thought, "they cannot have been at it all the time I was
reading.

Had they been, I must have noticed it!" Presently, when the noise
increased, he  satisfied himself that it was really new. It was
evident that at first the rats  had been frightened at the presence of
a stranger, and the light of fire and  lamp, but that as the time went
on they had grown bolder and were now disporting  themselves as
was their wont.

How busy they were -- and hark to the strange noises! Up and
down the old  wainscot, over the ceiling and under the floor they
raced, and gnawed, and  scratched! Malcolmson smiled to himself
as he recalled to mind the saying of  Mrs. Dempster, "Bogies is
rats, and rats is bogies!" The tea began to have its  effect of
intellectual and nervous stimulus, he saw with joy another long
spell  of work to be done before the night was past, and in the
sense of security which  it gave him, he allowed himself the luxury
of a good look round the room. He  took his lamp in one hand, and
went all round, wondering that so quaint and  beautiful an old
house had been so long neglected. The carving of the oak on the 
panels of the wainscot was fine, and on and round the doors and
windows it was  beautiful and of rare merit. There were some old
pictures on the walls, but they  were coated so thick with dust and
dirt that he could not distinguish any detail  of them, though he
held his lamp as high as he could over his head. Here and  there as
he went round he saw some crack or hole blocked for a moment by
the  face of a rat with its bright eyes glittering in the light, but in an
instant it  was gone, and a squeak and a scamper followed. The
thing that most struck him,  however, was the rope of the great
alarm bell on the roof, which hung down in a  corner of the room
on the right-hand side of the fireplace. He pulled up close  to the
hearth a great high-backed carved oak chair, and sat down to his
last cup  of tea. When this was done he made up the fire, and went
back to his work,  sitting at the corner of the table, having the fire
to his left. For a little  while the rats disturbed him somewhat with
their perpetual scampering, but he  got accustomed to the noise as
one does to the ticking of the clock or to the  roar of moving water,
and he became so immersed in his work that everything in  the
world, except the problem which he was trying to solve, passed
away from  him.

He suddenly looked up, his problem was still unsolved, and there
was in the air  that sense of the hour before the dawn, which is so
dread to doubtful life. The  noise of the rats had ceased. Indeed it
seemed to him that it must have ceased  but lately and that it was
the sudden cessation which had disturbed him. The  fire had fallen
low, but still it threw out a deep red glow. As he looked he  started
in spite of his sang froid.

There, on the great high-backed carved oak chair by the right side
of the  fire-place sat an enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with
baleful eyes. He  made a motion to it as though to hunt it away, but
it did not stir. Then he made  the motion of throwing something.
Still it did not stir, but showed its great  white teeth angrily, and its
cruel eyes shone in the lamplight with an added  vindictiveness.

Malcolmson felt amazed, and seizing the poker from the hearth ran
at it to kill  it. Before, however, he could strike it the rat, with a
squeak that sounded like  the concentration of hate, jumped upon
the floor, and, running up the rope of  the alarm bell, disappeared
in the darkness beyond the range of the green-shaded  lamp.
Instantly, strange to say, the noisy scampering of the rats in the 
wainscot began again.

By this time Malcolmson's mind was quite off the problem, and as
a shrill  cock-crow outside told him of the approach of morning, he
went to bed and to  sleep.

He slept so sound that he was not even waked by Mrs. Dempster
coming in to make  up his room. It was only when she had tided up
the place and got his breakfast  ready and tapped on the screen
which closed in his bed that he woke. He was a  little tired still
after his night's hard work, but a strong cup of tea soon  freshened
him up and, taking his book, he went out for his morning walk, 
bringing with him a few sandwiches lest he should not care to
return till  dinner-time. He found a quiet walk between high elms
some way outside the town,  and here he spent the greater part of
the day studying his Laplace. On his  return he looked in to see
Mrs. Witham and to thank her for her kindness. When  she saw
him coming through the diamond-paned bay window of her
sanctum she came  out to meet him and asked him in. She looked
at him searchingly and shook her  head as she said:  "You must not
overdo it, sir. You are paler this morning than you should be. Too 
late hours and too hard work on the brains isn't good for any man!
But tell me,  sir, how did you pass the night? Well, I hope? But, my
heart! sir, I was glad  when Mrs. Dempster told me this morning
that you were all right and sleeping  sound when she went in." 
"Oh, I was all right," he answered smiling, "The 'somethings' didn't
worry me,  as yet. Only the rats, and they had a circus, I tell you,
all over the place.

There was one wicked-looking old devil that sat up on my own
chair by the fire,  and wouldn't go till I took the poker to him, and
then he ran up the rope of the  alarm bell and got to somewhere up
the wall or the ceiling -- I couldn't see  where, it was so dark." 
"Mercy on us," said Mrs. Witham, "an old devil, and sitting on a
chair by the  fireside! Take care, sir! take care! There's many a true
word spoken in jest."  "How do you mean? 'Pon my word, I don't
understand."  "An old devil! The old devil, perhaps. There! sir, you
needn't laugh," for  Malcolmson had broken into a hearty peal.
"You young folks think it easy to  laugh at things that makes older
ones shudder. Never mind, sir! never mind!  Please God, you'll
laugh all the time. It's what I wish you myself!" and the  good lady
beamed all over in sympathy with his enjoyment, her fears gone
for a  moment.

"Oh, forgive me," said Malcolmson presently. "Don't think me
rude, but the idea  was too much for me -- that the old devil
himself was on the chair last night!"  And at the thought he
laughed again. Then he went home to dinner.

This evening the scampering of the rats began earlier, indeed it
had been going  on before his arrival, and only ceased whilst his
presence by its freshness  disturbed them. After dinner he sat by
the fire for a while and had a smoke, and  then, having cleared his
table, began to work as before. To-night the rats  disturbed him
more than they had done on the previous night.

How they scampered up and down and under and over! How they
squeaked and  scratched and gnawed! How they, getting bolder by
degrees, came to the mouths of  their holes and to the chinks and
cracks and crannies in the wainscoting till  their eyes shone like
tiny lamps as the firelight rose and fell. But to him, now  doubtless
accustomed to them, their eyes were not wicked, only their
playfulness  touched him. Sometimes the boldest of them made
sallies out on the floor or  along the mouldings of the wainscot.
Now and again as they disturbed him  Malcolmson made a sound
to frighten them, smiting the table with his hand or  giving a fierce
"Hsh, hsh," so that they fled straightway to their holes.

And so the early part of the night wore on, and despite the noise
Malcolmson got  more and more immersed in his work.

All at once he stopped, as on the previous night, being overcome
by a sudden  silence. There was not the faintest sound of gnaw, or
scratch, or squeak. The  silence was as of the grave.

He remembered the odd occurrence of the previous night, and
instinctively he  looked at the chair standing close by the fireside.
And then a very odd  sensation thrilled through him.

There, on the great old high-backed carved oak chair beside the
fireplace sat  the same enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with
baleful eyes.

Instinctively he took the nearest thing to his hand, a book of
logarithms, and  flung it at it. The book was badly aimed and the
rat did not stir, so again the  poker performance of the previous
night was repeated, and again the rat, being  closely pursued, fled
up the rope of the alarm bell. Strangely, too, the  departure of this
rat was instantly followed by the renewal of the noise made by  the
general rat community. On this occasion, as on the previous one,
Malcolmson  could not see at what part of the room the rat
disappeared, for the green shade  of his lamp left the upper part of
the room in darkness and the fire had burned  low.

On looking at his watch he found it was close on midnight, and,
not sorry for  the divertissement, he made up his fire and made
himself his nightly pot of tea.

He had got through a good spell of work, and thought himself
entitled to a  cigarette, and so he sat on the great carved oak chair
before the fire and  enjoyed it. Whilst smoking he began to think
that he would like to know where  the rat disappeared to, for he
had certain ideas for the morrow not entirely  disconnected with a
rat-trap. Accordingly he lit another lamp and placed it so  that it
would shine well into the right-hand corner of the wall by the 
fireplace. Then he got all the books he had with him, and placed
them handy to  throw at the vermin. Finally he lifted the rope of
the alarm bell and placed the  end of it on the table, fixing the
extreme end under the lamp. As he handled it  he could not help
noticing how pliable it was, especially for so strong a rope  and
one not in use. "You could hang a man with it," he thought to
himself. When  his preparations were made he looked around, and
said complacently:  "There now, my friend, I think we shall learn
something of you this time!" He  began his work again, and
though, as before, somewhat disturbed at first by the  noise of the
rats, soon lost himself in his proposition and problems.

Again he was called to his immediate surroundings suddenly. This
time it might  not have been the sudden silence only which took
his attention; there was a  slight movement of the rope, and the
lamp moved. Without stirring, he looked to  see if his pile of books
was within range, and then cast his eye along the rope.

As he looked he saw the great rat drop from the rope on the oak
arm-chair and  sit there glaring at him. He raised a book in his
right hand, and taking careful  aim, flung it at the rat. The latter,
with a quick movement, sprang aside and  dodged the missile.
Then he took another book, and a third, and flung them one  after
the other at the rat, but each time unsuccessfully. At last, as he
stood  with a book poised in his hand to throw, the rat squeaked
and seemed afraid.

This made Malcolmson more than ever eager to strike, and the
book flew and  struck the rat a resounding blow. It gave a terrified
squeak, and turning on his  pursuer a look of terrible malevolence,
ran up the chair- back and made a great  jump to the rope of the
alarm bell and ran up it like lightning. The lamp rocked  under the
sudden strain, but it was a heavy one and did not topple over.

Malcolmson kept his eyes on the rat, and saw it by the light of the
second lamp  leap to a moulding of the wainscot and disappear
through a hole in one of the  great pictures which hung on the wall,
obscured and invisible through its  coating of dirt and dust.

"I shall look up my friend's habitation in the morning," said the
student, as he  went over to collect his books. "The third picture
from the fireplace, I shall  not forget." He picked up the books one
by one, commenting on them as he lifted  them. Conic Sections he
does not mind, nor Cycloid Oscillations, nor the  Principia, nor
Quaternions, nor Thermodynamics. Now for a look at the book
that  fetched him!" Malcolmson took it up and looked at it. As he
did so he started,  and a sudden pallor overspread his face. He
looked round uneasily and shivered  slightly, as he murmured to
himself:  "The Bible my mother gave me! What an odd
coincidence." He sat down to work  again, and the rats in the
wainscot renewed their gambols. They did not disturb  him,
however; somehow their presence gave him a sense of
companionship. But he  could not attend to his work, and after
striving to master the subject on which  he was engaged gave it up
in despair, and went to bed as the first streak of  dawn stole in
through the eastern window.

He slept heavily but uneasily, and dreamed much, and when Mrs.
Dempster woke him  late in the morning he seemed ill at ease, and
for a few minutes did not seem to  realize exactly where he was.
His first request rather surprised the servant.

"Mrs. Dempster, when I am out to-day I wish you would get the
steps and dust or  wash those pictures -- specially that one the third
from the fireplace -- I want  to see what they are."  Late in the
afternoon Malcolmson worked at his books in the shaded walk,
and the  cheerfulness of the previous day came back to him as the
day wore on, and he  found that his reading was progressing well.
He had worked out to a satisfactory  conclusion all the problems
which had as yet baffled him, and it was in a state  of jubilation
that he paid a visit to Mrs. Witham at "The Good Traveller." He 
found a stranger in the cosy sitting-room with the landlady, who
was introduced  to him as Dr. Thornhill. She was not quite at ease,
and this, combined with the  doctor's plunging at once into a series
of questions, made Malcolmson come to  the conclusion that his
presence was not an accident, so without preliminary he  said: 
"Dr. Thornhill, I shall with pleasure answer you any question you
may choose to  ask me if you will answer me one question first." 
The doctor seemed surprised, but he smiled and answered at once,
"Done! What is  it?"  "Did Mrs. Witham ask you to come here and
see me and advise me?"  Dr. Thornhill for a moment was taken
aback, and Mrs. Witham got fiery red and  turned away, but the
doctor was a frank and ready man, and he answered at once  and
openly:  "She did, but she didn't intend you to know it. I suppose it
was my clumsy haste  that made you suspect. She told me that she
did not like the idea of your being  in that house all by yourself,
and that she thought you took too much strong  tea. In fact, she
wants me to advise you, if possible, to give up the tea and  the very
late hours. I was a keen student in my time, so I suppose I may
take  the liberty of a college man, and without offence, advise you
not quite as a  stranger."  Malcolmson with a bright smile held out
his hand. "Shake -- as they say in  America," he said. "I must thank
you for your kindness, and Mrs. Witham too, and  your kindness
deserves a return on my part. I promise to take no more strong tea 
-- no tea at all till you let me -- and I shall go to bed to-night at one 
o'clock at latest. Will that do?"  "Capital," said the doctor. "Now
tell us all that you noticed in the old house,"  and so Malcolmson
then and there told in minute detail all that had happened in  the
last two nights. He was interrupted every now and then by some
exclamation  from Mrs. Witham, till finally when he told of the
episode of the Bible the  landlady's pent-up emotions found vent in
a shriek, and it was not till a stiff  glass of brandy and water had
been administered that she grew composed again.

Dr. Thornhill listened with a face of growing gravity, and when the
narrative  was complete and Mrs. Witham had been restored he
asked:  "The rat always went up the rope of the alarm bell?" 
"Always."  "I suppose you know," said the Doctor after a pause,
"what that rope is?"  "No?"  "It is," said the Doctor slowly, "the
very rope which the hangman used for all  the victims of the
Judge's judicial rancour!" Here he was interrupted by another 
scream from Mrs. Witham, and steps had to be taken for her
recovery. Malcolmson  having looked at his watch, and found that
it was close to his dinner-hour, had  gone home before her
complete recovery.

When Mrs. Witham was herself again she almost assailed the
Doctor with angry  questions as to what he meant by putting such
horrible ideas into the poor young  man's mind. "He has quite
enough there already to upset him," she added.

Dr. Thornhill replied:  "My dear madam, I had a distinct purpose in
it! I wanted to draw his attention  to the bell-rope, and to fix it
there. It may be that he is in a highly  over-wrought state, and has
been studying too much, although I am bound to say  that he seems
as sound and healthy a young man, mentally and bodily, as ever I 
saw -- but then the rats -- and that suggestion of the devil." The
doctor shook  his head and went on. "I would have offered to go
and stay the first night with  him but that I felt sure it would have
been a cause of offence. He may get in  the night some strange
fright or hallucination, and if he does I want him to  pull that rope.
All alone as he is it will give us warning, and we may reach him 
in time to be of service. I shall be sitting up pretty late to-night and
shall  keep my ears open. Do not be alarmed if Benchurch gets a
surprise before  morning."  "Oh, Doctor, what do you mean? What
do you mean?"  "I mean this, that possibly -- nay, more probably --
we shall hear the great  alarm-bell from the Judge's House
to-night," and the Doctor made about an  effective an exit as could
be thought of.

When Malcolmson arrived home he found that it was a little after
his usual time,  and Mrs. Dempster had gone away -- the rules of
Greenhow's Charity were not to  be neglected. He was glad to see
that the place was bright and tidy with a  cheerful fire and a
well-trimmed lamp. The evening was colder than might have  been
expected in April, and a heavy wind was blowing with such 
rapidly-increasing strength that there was every promise of a storm
during the  night. For a few minutes after his entrance the noise of
the rats ceased, but so  soon as they became accustomed to his
presence they began again. He was glad to  hear them, for he felt
once more the feeling of companionship in their noise,  and his
mind ran back to the strange fact that they only ceased to manifest 
themselves when the other -- the great rat with the baleful eyes --
came upon  the scene. The reading- lamp only was lit and its green
shade kept the ceiling  and the upper part of the room in darkness
so that the cheerful light from the  hearth spreading over the floor
and shining on the white cloth laid over the end  of the table was
warm and cheery. Malcolmson sat down to his dinner with a good 
appetite and a buoyant spirit. After his dinner and a cigarette he sat
steadily  down to work, determined not to let anything disturb him,
for he remembered his  promise to the doctor, and made up his
mind to make the best of the time at his  disposal.

For an hour or so he worked all right, and then his thoughts began
to wander  from his books. The actual circumstances around him,
and the calls on his  physical attention, and his nervous
susceptibility were not to be denied. By  this time the wind had
become a gale, and the gale a storm. The old house, solid  though
it was, seemed to shake to its foundation, and the storm roared and
raged  through its many chimneys and its queer old gables,
producing strange, unearthly  sounds in the empty rooms and
corridors. Even the great alarm-bell on the roof  must have felt the
force of the wind, for the rope rose and fell slightly, as  though the
bell were moved a little from time to time, and the limber rope fell 
on the oak floor with a hard and hollow sound.

As Malcolmson listened to it he bethought himself of the doctor's
words, "It is  the rope which the hangman used for the victims of
the Judge's judicial  rancour," and he went over to the corner of the
fireplace and took it in his  hand to look at it. There seemed a sort
of deadly interest in it, and as he  stood there he lost himself for a
moment in speculation as to who these victims  were, and the grim
wish of the Judge to have such a ghastly relic ever under his  eyes.
As he stood there the swaying of the bell on the roof still lifted the 
rope now and again, but presently there came a new sensation -- a
sort of tremor  in the rope, as though something was moving along
it.

Looking up instinctively Malcolmson saw the great rat coming
slowly down towards  him, glaring at him steadily. He dropped the
rope and started back with a  muttered curse, and the rat turning
ran up the slope again and disappeared, and  at the same instant
Malcolmson became conscious that the noise of the other  rats,
which had ceased for a while, began again.

All this set him thinking, and it occurred to him that he had not
investigated  the lair of the rat or looked at the pictures, as he had
intended. He lit the  other lamp without the shade, and, holding it
up went and stood opposite the  third picture from the fireplace on
the right-hand side where he had seen the  rat disappear on the
previous night.

At the first glance he started back so suddenly that he almost
dropped the lamp,  and a deadly pallor overspread his face.

His knees shook, and heavy drops of sweat came on his forehead,
and he trembled  like an aspen. But he was young and plucky, and
pulled himself together, and  after the pause of a few seconds
stepped forward again, raised the lamp, and  examined the picture
which had been dusted and washed, and now stood out  clearly.

It was of a judge dressed in his robes of scarlet and ermine. His
face was  strong and merciless, evil, crafty and vindictive, with a
sensual mouth, hooked  nose of ruddy colour, and shaped like the
beak of a bird of prey. The rest of  the face was of a cadaverous
colour. The eyes were of peculiar brilliance and  with a terribly
malignant expression. As he looked at them, Malcolmson grew 
cold, for he saw there the very counterpart of the eyes of the great
rat. The  lamp almost fell from his hand, he saw the rat with its
baleful eyes peering out  through the hole in the corner of the
picture, and noted the sudden cessation of  the noise of the other
rats. However, he pulled himself together, and went on  with his
examination of the picture.

The Judge was seated in a great high-backed carved oak chair, on
the right-hand  side of a great stone fireplace where, in the corner,
a rope hung down from the  ceiling, its end lying coiled on the
floor. With a feeling of something like  horror, Malcolmson
recognized the scene of the room as it stood, and gazed  around
him in an awestruck manner as though he expected to find some
strange  presence behind him. Then he looked over to the corner of
the fireplace -- and  with a loud cry he let the lamp fall from his
hand.

There, in the judge's arm-chair, with the rope hanging behind, sat
the rat with  the Judge's baleful eyes, now intensified as with