Pelham | Page 9

One morning, chance threw into my way une bonne fortune, which I
took care to improve. From that time the family of a farmer Sinclair,
(one of Sir Lionel's tenants) was alarmed by strange and supernatural
noises: one apartment in especial, occupied by a female member of the
household, was allowed, even by the clerk of the parish, a very bold
man, and a bit of a sceptic, to be haunted; the windows of that chamber
were wont to open and shut, thin airy voices confabulate therein, and
dark shapes hover thereout, long after the fair occupant had, with the
rest of the family, retired to repose. But the most unaccountable thing
was the fatality which attended me, and seemed to mark me out, nolens
volens, for an untimely death. I, who had so carefully kept out of the
way of gunpowder as a sportsman, very narrowly escaped being twice
shot as a ghost. This was but a poor reward for a walk more than a mile
long, in nights by no means of cloudless climes and starry skies;
accordingly I resolved to "give up the ghost" in earnest rather than in
metaphor, and to pay my last visit and adieus to the mansion of Farmer
Sinclair. The night on which I executed this resolve was rather
memorable in my future history.
The rain had fallen so heavily during the day, as to render the road to
the house almost impassable, and when it was time to leave, I inquired
with very considerable emotion, whether there was not an easier way to
return. The answer was satisfactory, and my last nocturnal visit at
Farmer Sinclair's concluded.

CHAPTER VI.
Why sleeps he not, when others are at rest? --Byron.
According to the explanation I had received, the road I was now to
pursue was somewhat longer, but much better, than that which I
generally took. It was to lead me home through the churchyard of--, the
same, by the by, which Lord Vincent had particularized in his anecdote
of the mysterious stranger. The night was clear, but windy: there were a

few light clouds passing rapidly over the moon, which was at her full,
and shone through the frosty air, with all that cold and transparent
brightness so peculiar to our northern winters. I walked briskly on till I
came to the churchyard; I could not then help pausing (notwithstanding
my total deficiency in all romance) to look for a few moments at the
exceeding beauty of the scene around me. The church itself was
extremely old, and stood alone and grey, in the rude simplicity of the
earliest form of gothic architecture: two large dark yew-trees drooped
on each side over tombs, which from their size and decorations,
appeared to be the last possession of some quondam lords of the soil.
To the left, the ground was skirted by a thick and luxuriant copse of
evergreens, in the front of which stood one tall, naked oak, stern and
leafless, a very token of desolation and decay; there were but few grave
stones scattered about, and these were, for the most part, hidden by the
long wild grass which wreathed and climbed round them. Over all, the
blue skies and still moon shed that solemn light, the effect of which,
either on the scene or the feelings, it is so impossible to describe.
I was just about to renew my walk, when a tall, dark figure, wrapped up,
like myself, in a large French cloak, passed slowly along from the other
side of the church, and paused by the copse I have before mentioned. I
was shrouded at that moment from his sight by one of the yew trees; he
stood still only for a few moments; he then flung himself upon the earth,
and sobbed, audibly even at the spot where I was standing. I was in
doubt whether to wait longer or to proceed; my way lay just by him,
and it might be dangerous to interrupt so substantial an apparition.
However, my curiosity was excited, and my feet were half frozen, two
cogent reasons for proceeding; and, to say truth, I was never very much
frightened by any thing dead or alive.
Accordingly I left my obscurity, and walked slowly onwards. I had not
got above three paces before the figure rose, and stood erect and
motionless before me. His hat had fallen off, and the moon shone full
upon his countenance; it was not the wild expression of intense anguish
which dwelt on those hueless and sunken features; nor their quick
change to ferocity and defiance, as his eyes fell upon me, which made
me start back and feel my heart stand still! Notwithstanding the fearful

ravages graven in that countenance, then so brilliant with the graces of