’I say they’ve both on ’em bin seed,’ exclaimed a third voice, which I recognised to be that of old Lantoff of the ’Fishing Smack’—­’leaseways, if they ain’t bin seed they’ve bin ’eeared.  One Saturday arternoon old Sal Gunn wur in the church a-cleanin’ The Hall brasses, an’ jist afore sundown, as she wur a-comin’ away, she ‘eeared a awful scrimmage an squealin’ in the crypt, and she ’eeared the v’ice o’ the Squoire a-callin’ out, and she ’eeared Tom Wynne’s v’ice a-cussin’ an’ a-swearin’ at ’im.  And more nor that, Sal told me that on the night when the Squoire wur buried, she seed Tom a-draggin’ the Squoire’s body along the churchyard to the cliff; only she never spoke on it at the time.  And Sal says she larnt in a dream that the moment as Tom went and laid ’is ’and on that ’ere dimind cross in the coffin, up springs Squoire and claps ‘old o’ Tom’s throat, and Tom takes ‘old on him, and drags him out o’ the church, meanin’ to chuck him over the cliffs, when God o’ mighty, as wur a-keepin’ ‘is eye on Tom all the time, he jist lets go o’ the cliffs and down they falls, and kills Tom, an’ buries him an’ Squoire tew.’

’Did you say Sal seed all that in a dream? or did she see it in ole ale, Muster Lantoff?’ said Shales.

‘Well,’ replied Lantoff, as the party turned past the bungalow, ’p’raps it wur ole ale as made me see in this very bungaler when I wur a bor the ghooast o’ the great Gypsy lady whose pictur hangs up at the Hall, her as they used to call the old Squoire’s Witch-wife.’  Soon the singing and laughing were renewed; and I stood and listened to the sounds till they died away in the distance.  Then I unlocked the church door and entered.

V

As I walked down an aisle, the echoes of my footsteps seemed almost loud enough to be heard on the Wilderness Road.  No one could have a more contemptuous disbelief in ghosts than I, and yet the man’s words about the ghost of Fenella Stanley haunted me.  When I reached the heavy nailed door leading down to the crypt, I lit the lantern.  The rusty key turned so stiffly in the lock, that, to relieve my hands (which were burdened with the implements I had brought), I slung the hair-chain of the cross around my neck, intending merely to raise the coffin-lid sufficiently high to admit of my slipping the amulet in.

Having, with much difficulty, opened the door, I entered the crypt.  The atmosphere, though not noisome, was heavy, and charged with an influence that worked an extraordinary effect upon my brain and nerves.  It was as though my personality were becoming dissipated, until at last it was partly the reflex of ancestral experiences.  Scarcely had this mood passed before a sensation came upon me of being fanned as if by clammy bat-like wings; and then the idea seized me that the crypt scintillated with the eyes of a malignant foe.  It was as if the curse which, until I heard Winnie a beggar singing in the street, had been to