J. S. Le Fanus Ghostly Tales, Volume 3 | Page 5

which commanded a view
of it, and saw several trunks cased in canvas pitched into the hall, and
by careful Tom and a boy lifted one on top of the other, behind the
corner of the banister. It would have been below the dignity of his cloth
to go out and read the labels on these, or the Doctor would have done
otherwise, so great was his curiosity.

CHAPTER III
Philip Feltram
The new guest was now in the hall of the George, and Doctor Torvey
could hear him talking with Mr. Turnbull. Being himself one of the
dignitaries of Golden Friars, the Doctor, having regard to first
impressions, did not care to be seen in his post of observation; and
closing the door gently, returned to his chair by the fire, and in an
under-tone informed his cronies that there was a new arrival in the
George, and he could not hear, but would not wonder if he were taking

a private room; and he seemed to have trunks enough to build a church
with.
"Don't be too sure we haven't Sir Bale on board," said Amerald, who
would have followed his crony the Doctor to the door--for never was
retired naval hero of a village more curious than he--were it not that his
wooden leg made a distinct pounding on the floor that was inimical, as
experience had taught him, to mystery.
"That can't be," answered the Doctor; "Charley Twyne knows
everything about it, and has a letter every second day; and there's no
chance of Sir Bale before the tenth; this is a tourist, you'll find. I don't
know what the d---l keeps Turnbull; he knows well enough we are all
naturally willing to hear who it is."
"Well, he won't trouble us here, I bet ye;" and catching deaf Mr.
Hollar's eye, the Captain nodded, and pointed to the little table beside
him, and made a gesture imitative of the rattling of a dice-box; at which
that quiet old gentleman also nodded sunnily; and up got the Captain
and conveyed the backgammon-box to the table, near Hollar's elbow,
and the two worthies were soon sinc-ducing and catre-acing, with the
pleasant clatter that accompanies that ancient game. Hollar had thrown
sizes and made his double point, and the honest Captain, who could
stand many things better than Hollar's throwing such throws so early in
the evening, cursed his opponent's luck and sneered at his play, and
called the company to witness, with a distinctness which a stranger to
smiling Hollar's deafness would have thought hardly civil; and just at
this moment the door opened, and Richard Turnbull showed his new
guest into the room, and ushered him to a vacant seat near the other
corner of the table before the fire.
The stranger advanced slowly and shyly, with something a little
deprecatory in his air, to which a lathy figure, a slight stoop, and a very
gentle and even heartbroken look in his pale long face, gave a more
marked character of shrinking and timidity.
He thanked the landlord aside, as it were, and took his seat with a
furtive glance round, as if he had no right to come in and intrude upon

the happiness of these honest gentlemen.
He saw the Captain scanning him from under his shaggy grey eyebrows
while he was pretending to look only at his game; and the Doctor was
able to recount to Mrs. Torvey when he went home every article of the
stranger's dress.
It was odd and melancholy as his peaked face.
He had come into the room with a short black cloak on, and a rather tall
foreign felt hat, and a pair of shiny leather gaiters or leggings on his
thin legs; and altogether presented a general resemblance to the
conventional figure of Guy Fawkes.
Not one of the company assembled knew the appearance of the Baronet.
The Doctor and old Mr. Peers remembered something of his looks; and
certainly they had no likeness, but the reverse, to those presented by the
new-comer. The Baronet, as now described by people who had chanced
to see him, was a dark man, not above the middle size, and with a
certain decision in his air and talk; whereas this person was tall, pale,
and in air and manner feeble. So this broken trader in the world's
commerce, with whom all seemed to have gone wrong, could not
possibly be he.
Presently, in one of his stealthy glances, the Doctor's eye encountered
that of the stranger, who was by this time drinking his tea--a thin and
feminine liquor little used in that room.
The stranger did not seem put out; and the Doctor, interpreting his look
as a permission to converse, cleared his voice, and said urbanely,
"We have had