The talk in the coffee-room had been of ghosts and apparitions, and
nearly everybody present had contributed his mite to the stock of
information upon a hazy and somewhat thread-bare subject. Opinions
ranged from rank incredulity to childlike faith, one believer going so
far as to denounce unbelief as impious, with a reference to the Witch
of Endor, which was somewhat marred by being complicated in an
inexplicable fashion with the story of Jonah.
“Talking of Jonah,” he said solemnly, with a happy disregard of the
fact that he had declined to answer several eager questions put to him
on the subject, “look at the strange tales sailors tell us.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to believe all those,” said a bluff,
clean-shaven man, who had been listening without speaking much. “You
see when a sailor gets ashore he’s expected to have something to tell,
and his friends would be rather disappointed if he had not.”
“It’s a well-known fact,” interrupted the first speaker firmly, “that
sailors are very prone to see visions.”
“They are,” said the other dryly, “they generally see them in pairs,
and the shock to the nervous system frequently causes headache next
morning.”
“You never saw anything yourself?” suggested an unbeliever.
“Man and boy,” said the other, “I’ve been at sea thirty years, and the
only unpleasant incident of that kind occurred in a quiet English
countryside.”
“And that?” said another man.
“I was a young man at the time,” said the narrator, drawing at his pipe
and glancing good-humouredly at the company. “I had just come back from
China, and my own people being away I went down into the country to
invite myself to stay with an uncle. When I got down to the place I
found it closed and the family in the South of France; but as they were
due back in a couple of days I decided to put up at the Royal George, a
very decent inn, and await their return.
“The first day I passed well enough; but in the evening the dulness of
the rambling old place, in which I was the only visitor, began to weigh
upon my spirits, and the next morning after a late breakfast I set out
with the intention of having a brisk day’s walk.
“I started off in excellent spirits, for the day was bright and frosty,
with a powdering of snow on the iron-bound roads and nipped hedges, and
the country had to me all the charm of novelty. It was certainly flat,
but there was plenty of timber, and the villages through which I passed
were old and picturesque.
“I lunched luxuriously on bread and cheese and beer in the bar of a
small inn, and resolved to go a little further before turning back.
When at length I found I had gone far enough, I turned up a lane at
right angles to the road I was passing, and resolved to find my way
back by another route. It is a long lane that has no turning, but this
had several, each of which had turnings of its own, which generally
led, as I found by trying two or three of them, into the open marshes.
Then, tired of lanes, I resolved to rely upon the small compass which
hung from my watch chain and go across country home.
“I had got well into the marshes when a white fog, which had been for
some time hovering round the edge of the ditches, began gradually to
spread. There was no escaping it, but by aid of my compass I was saved
from making a circular tour and fell instead into frozen ditches or
stumbled over roots in the grass. I kept my course, however, until at
four o’clock, when night was coming rapidly up to lend a hand to the
fog, I was fain to confess myself lost.
“The compass was now no good to me, and I wandered about miserably,
occasionally giving a shout on the chance of being heard by some
passing shepherd or farmhand. At length by great good luck I found my
feet on a rough road driven through the marshes, and by walking slowly
and tapping with my stick managed to keep to it. I had followed it for
some distance when I heard footsteps approaching me.
“We stopped as we met, and the new arrival, a sturdy-looking
countryman, hearing of my plight, walked back with me for nearly a
mile, and putting me on to a road gave me minute instructions how to
reach a village some three miles distant.
“I was so tired that three miles sounded like ten, and besides that, a
little way off from the road I saw dimly a lighted window. I pointed it
out, but my companion shuddered and looked round him uneasily.
“‘You won’t get no good there,’ he said, hastily.
“‘Why not?’ I asked.
“‘There’s a something there, sir,’ he replied, ‘what ’tis I dunno, but
the little ’un belonging to a gamekeeper as used to live in these parts
see it, and it was never much good afterward. Some say as it’s a poor
mad thing, others says as it’s a kind of animal; but whatever it is, it
ain’t good to see.’
“‘Well, I’ll keep on, then,’ I said. ‘Goodnight.’
“He went back whistling cheerily until his footsteps died away in the
distance, and I followed the road he had indicated until it divided
into three, any one of which to a stranger might be said to lead
straight on. I was now cold and tired, and having half made up my mind
walked slowly back toward the house.
“At first all I could see of it was the little patch of light at the
window. I made for that until it disappeared suddenly, and I found
myself walking into a tall hedge. I felt my way round this until I came
to a small gate, and opening it cautiously, walked, not without some
little nervousness, up a long path which led to the door. There was no
light and no sound from within. Half repenting of my temerity I
shortened my stick and knocked lightly upon the door.
“I waited a couple of minutes and then knocked again, and my stick was
still beating the door when it opened suddenly and a tall bony old
woman, holding a candle, confronted me.
“‘What do you want?’ she demanded gruffly.
“‘I’ve lost my way,’ I said, civilly; ‘I want to get to Ashville.’
“‘Don’t know it,’ said the old woman.
“She was about to close the door when a man emerged from a room at the
side of the hall and came toward us. An old man of great height and
breadth of shoulder.
“‘Ashville is fifteen miles distant,’ he said slowly.
“‘If you will direct me to the nearest village, I shall be grateful,’ I
remarked.
“He made no reply, but exchanged a quick, furtive glance with the
woman. She made a gesture of dissent.
“‘The nearest place is three miles off,’ he said, turning to me and
apparently trying to soften a naturally harsh voice; ‘if you will give
me the pleasure of your company, I will make you as comfortable as I
can.’
“I hesitated. They were certainly a queer-looking couple, and the
gloomy hall with the shadows thrown by the candle looked hardly more
inviting than the darkness outside.
“‘You are very kind,’ I murmured, irresolutely, ‘but—’
“‘Come in,’ he said quickly; ‘shut the door, Anne.’
“Almost before I knew it I was standing inside and the old woman,
muttering to herself, had closed the door behind me. With a queer
sensation of being trapped I followed my host into the room, and taking
the proffered chair warmed my frozen fingers at the fire.
“‘Dinner will soon be ready,’ said the old man, regarding me closely.
‘If you will excuse me.’
“I bowed and he left the room. A minute afterward I heard voices; his
and the old woman’s, and, I fancied, a third. Before I had finished my
inspection of the room he returned, and regarded me with the same
strange look I had noticed before.
“‘There will be three of us at dinner,’ he said, at length. ‘We two and
my son.’
“I bowed again, and secretly hoped that that look didn’t run in the
family.
“‘I suppose you don’t mind dining in the dark,’ he said, abruptly.
“‘Not at all,’ I replied, hiding my surprise as well as I could, ‘but
really I’m afraid I’m intruding. If you’ll allow me—’
“He waved his huge gaunt hands. ‘We’re not going to lose you now we’ve
got you,’ he said, with a dry laugh. ‘It’s seldom we have company, and
now we’ve got you we’ll keep you. My son’s eyes are bad, and he can’t
stand the light. Ah, here is Anne.’
“As he spoke the old woman entered, and, eyeing me stealthily, began to
lay the cloth, while my host, taking a chair the other side of the
hearth, sat looking silently into the fire. The table set, the old
woman brought in a pair of fowls ready carved in a dish, and placing
three chairs, left the room. The old man hesitated a moment, and then,
rising from his chair, placed a large screen in front of the fire and
slowly extinguished the candles.
“‘Blind man’s holiday,’ he said, with clumsy jocosity, and groping his
way to the door opened it. Somebody came back into the room with him,
and in a slow, uncertain fashion took a seat at the table, and the
strangest voice I have ever heard broke a silence which was fast
becoming oppressive.
“‘A cold night,’ it said slowly.
“I replied in the affirmative, and light or no light, fell to with an
appetite which had only been sharpened by the snack in the middle of
the day. It was somewhat difficult eating in the dark, and it was
evident from the behaviour of my invisible companions that they were as
unused to dining under such circumstances as I was. We ate in silence
until the old woman blundered into the room with some sweets and put
them with a crash upon the table.
“‘Are you a stranger about here?’ inquired the curious voice again.
“I replied in the affirmative, and murmured something about my luck in
stumbling upon such a good dinner.
“‘Stumbling is a very good word for it,’ said the voice grimly. ‘You
have forgotten the port, father.’
“‘So I have,’ said the old man, rising. ‘It’s a bottle of the
“Celebrated” to-day; I will get it myself.’
“He felt his way to the door, and closing it behind him, left me alone
with my unseen neighbour. There was something so strange about the
whole business that I must confess to more than a slight feeling of
uneasiness.
“My host seemed to be absent a long time. I heard the man opposite lay
down his fork and spoon, and half fancied I could see a pair of wild
eyes shining through the gloom like a cat’s.
“With a growing sense of uneasiness I pushed my chair back. It caught
the hearthrug, and in my efforts to disentangle it the screen fell over
with a crash and in the flickering light of the fire I saw the face of
the creature opposite. With a sharp catch of my breath I left my chair
and stood with clenched fists beside it. Man or beast, which was it?
The flame leaped up and then went out, and in the mere red glow of the
fire it looked more devilish than before.
“For a few moments we regarded each other in silence; then the door
opened and the old man returned. He stood aghast as he saw the warm
firelight, and then approaching the table mechanically put down a
couple of bottles.
“‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, reassured by his presence, ‘but I have
accidentally overturned the screen. Allow me to replace it.’
“‘No,’ said the old man, gently, ‘let it be.
“‘We have had enough of the dark. I’ll give you a light.’
“He struck a match and slowly lit the candles. Then—I saw that the man
opposite had but the remnant of a face, a gaunt wolfish face in which
one unquenched eye, the sole remaining feature, still glittered. I was
greatly moved, some suspicion of the truth occurring to me.
“‘My son was injured some years ago in a burning house,’ said the old
man. ‘Since then we have lived a very retired life. When you came to
the door we—’ his voice trembled, ‘that is-my son—’
“‘I thought,” said the son simply, ‘that it would be better for me not
to come to the dinner-table. But it happens to be my birthday, and my
father would not hear of my dining alone, so we hit upon this foolish
plan of dining in the dark. I’m sorry I startled you.’
“‘I am sorry,’ said I, as I reached across the table and gripped his
hand, ‘that I am such a fool; but it was only in the dark that you
startled me.’
“From a faint tinge in the old man’s cheek and a certain pleasant
softening of the poor solitary eye in front of me I secretly
congratulated myself upon this last remark.
“‘We never see a friend,’ said the old man, apologetically, ‘and the
temptation to have company was too much for us. Besides, I don’t know
what else you could have done.’
“‘Nothing else half so good, I’m sure,’ said I.
“‘Come,’ said my host, with almost a sprightly air. ‘Now we know each
other, draw our chairs to the fire and let’s keep this birthday in a
proper fashion.’
“He drew a small table to the fire for the glasses and produced a box
of cigars, and placing a chair for the old servant, sternly bade her to
sit down and drink. If the talk was not sparkling, it did not lack for
vivacity, and we were soon as merry a party as I have ever seen. The
night wore on so rapidly that we could hardly believe our ears when in
a lull in the conversation a clock in the hall struck twelve.
“‘A last toast before we retire,’ said my host, pitching the end of his
cigar into the fire and turning to the small table.
“We had drunk several before this, but there was something impressive
in the old man’s manner as he rose and took up his glass. His tall
figure seemed to get taller, and his voice rang as he gazed proudly at
his disfigured son.
“‘The health of the children my boy saved!’ he said, and drained his
glass at a draught.”