they found themselves in a little low room, with a
vaulted ceiling, and one tiny grated window.
Imbedded in the wall was a huge iron ring, and chained
to it was a gaunt skeleton, that was stretched out
at full length on the stone floor, and seemed to be
trying to grasp with its long fleshless fingers an
old-fashioned trencher and ewer, that were placed just
out of its reach. The jug had evidently been
once filled with water, as it was covered inside with
green mould. There was nothing on the trencher
but a pile of dust. Virginia knelt down beside
the skeleton, and, folding her little hands together,
began to pray silently, while the rest of the party
looked on in wonder at the terrible tragedy whose secret
was now disclosed to them.
[Illustration: “Chained to it
was A gaunt skeleton”]
“Hallo!” suddenly exclaimed one of the
twins, who had been looking out of the window to try
and discover in what wing of the house the room was
situated. “Hallo! the old withered almond-tree
has blossomed. I can see the flowers quite plainly
in the moonlight.”
“God has forgiven him,” said Virginia,
gravely, as she rose to her feet, and a beautiful
light seemed to illumine her face.
“What an angel you are!” cried the young
Duke, and he put his arm round her neck, and kissed
her.
[Illustration: “By the side
of the hearse and the coaches
walked the servants with lighted
torches”]
Four days after these curious incidents, a funeral
started from Canterville Chase at about eleven o’clock
at night. The hearse was drawn by eight black
horses, each of which carried on its head a great tuft
of nodding ostrich-plumes, and the leaden coffin was
covered by a rich purple pall, on which was embroidered
in gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By the
side of the hearse and the coaches walked the servants
with lighted torches, and the whole procession was
wonderfully impressive. Lord Canterville was
the chief mourner, having come up specially from Wales
to attend the funeral, and sat in the first carriage
along with little Virginia. Then came the United
States Minister and his wife, then Washington and
the three boys, and in the last carriage was Mrs.
Umney. It was generally felt that, as she had
been frightened by the ghost for more than fifty years
of her life, she had a right to see the last of him.
A deep grave had been dug in the corner of the churchyard,
just under the old yew-tree, and the service was read
in the most impressive manner by the Rev. Augustus
Dampier. When the ceremony was over, the servants,
according to an old custom observed in the Canterville
family, extinguished their torches, and, as the coffin
was being lowered into the grave, Virginia stepped
forward, and laid on it a large cross made of white
and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so, the
moon came out from behind a cloud, and flooded with
its silent silver the little churchyard, and from
a distant copse a nightingale began to sing.
She thought of the ghost’s description of the
Garden of Death, her eyes became dim with tears, and
she hardly spoke a word during the drive home.
