Part 10

But what a splendid moorland supper it was! Bacon and eggs and fried potatoes, bannocks with butter, heather honey and milk.

'What luck!' I murmured in Sandie's ear, 'to be hopelessly lost, and to find this!' and I stretched forth my legs at glorious ease. 'Shifty eyes' now produced a 'cutty' and suggested a smoke, which Sandie and I were thinking was the one thing left to complete our satisfaction. Suddenly and without warning I heard a creak behind my chair, but I took no heed. Then a further creaking and a grinding noise--and I looked round. I saw the coffin-lid lift upward and a white shroud show below. Slowly the shrouded corpse rose with creaking bones before my staring eyes--rose to a sitting posture, and sat still. The coffin-lid clanged to the ground; then all was still, an awful silence filled the room. A moment more, and a cry of terror rose to the roof, for the man beside me was down on his knees before the corpse in an ecstasy of terror. 'Never accuse me, Ephraim! Dinnot terrify us that gate, feyther!' he cried in anguish. 'Poor Jean just happened an accident--fell and was drowned in the river.' The man's face held me rigid. Never had I seen mortal fear like this. Suddenly I heard a louder voice beside me, for Sandie--moved by an uncontrollable impulse--shot forth an accusing arm, and cried accusingly, 'She lies in the Black Linn pool--her head knocked in--a stone fast to her feet.' The man's face turned to ashes. Awfully he twisted his head about to the voice. He could not remove his eyes from Sandie's accusing countenance, spittle dropped from his bloodless lips, his eyes were like to pillars. Then he began to shuffle off--still upon his knees--away from Sandie and towards the door--with his face twisted over his shoulder as if it were made of stone.

He shuffled a little faster--still upon his knees--his head still twisted over his shoulder 'thrawn' in terror of Sandie and the accusing corpse. He reached the door, groped for the handle, opened it, then shambled to his feet, passed through the outer door, and so into the black night.

I saw the lightning swoop down upon the moorland. I caught a glimpse of a man running as one blinded--his hands above his head to protect himself--vaguely through the inky peat-hags. Then I turned to look on Sandie who was also gazing into the darkness--his face like the archangel Michael's. I had not yet found my voice, and could not speak for tension, when I heard a foolish titter from the girl beside me who was suddenly overcome with laughter.

'Tee hee,' she went, 'tee hee! What a funny face Tom had on him. Tee hee!'

Then I heard a voice from the bed speaking composedly. 'Ay, I aye kenned he'd murdered puir Jeannie. Whaur wast ye fund my puir lassie?' she asked Sandie.

As Sandie replied to her I looked at the fearful figure of the shrouded corpse that sat upright facing the doorway, whence his son-in-law had fled, and wondered if there could be any spark of life left within. As I looked the composed voice spoke again, 'Dinna be fieyed! Puir Ephraim's been ill-steekit. It's twa-three days since the doctor certifiedst him; noo his muscles hae stiffened and raxed him up. Ye mun lay him doon again, Maisters, for I'll no can sleep wi' him glowering that gate.'

The speaker in the night mutch was the only one of us who seemed unaffected by the extraordinary events we had just witnessed. Her eyes gleamed a trifle more brightly than before. That was the only difference.

I looked at Sandie in dismay at the task assigned to us, but he had risen, and now beckoned me to the coffin side. Handling the poor corpse as reverently as we could we found it very difficult to re-confine it to its resting-place, for the muscles had turned so stiff and rigid that we had to exert force, and seek heavy stones from outside to keep the lid shut down securely.

This done, and the door fastened against the return of the fugitive, at the old woman's command, though I felt sure in my own mind that the man would never come back again of his own accord, Sandie and I took the battered sconce and dying wick and went up to the bedroom above.

We sat upon the bed, smoked another pipe and conversed about the soul-stirring incidents we had just been witnesses of.

'Do you remember,' asked Sandie, 'the mediæval legend of the dead man's wounds bleeding afresh in the presence of his murderer? I believe that the spirit of the dead man down below us must have been moved by the presence of his daughter's murderer.'

'To think of our having come across in such a mysterious and fortuitous way the poor daughter--Jean!' I said, occupied by another aspect of these extraordinary occurrences.

As we smoked and talked thus our dip went out, which was an intimation that we had better try to sleep.

We slept but fitfully, and rose early to help prepare our breakfast. Scarcely had we finished our repast when a neighbour arrived with a cart and horse wherewith he had promised to 'lift' the corpse and convey it over the rough track down the valley to the spot where the hearse from Middleton was to meet it.

We found a rope and bound the coffin-lid lightly down, and having given our promise to our hostess to recover, if we could, the body of her daughter Jean and give it proper burial, we bade her good-bye for the present and set off to the inn where the 'Dean' would be anxiously expecting us.

We related our experiences to the 'Dean,' we got the Inspector to come up, but failed entirely to discover the body in the Linn. For my part I thought the thunderstorm might be accountable for the disappearance, but Sandie had his own opinion on this matter. As to the criminal, some say he escaped the country, but I firmly believe he perished in a peat-hag, and to this day haunts the bleak spaces of Cross Fell.

THE COCK-CROW

A cloud hung over the bishopric--the ancient patrimony of Saint Cuthbert.

Bishop van Mildert had died and, sede vacante, great changes were impending, for Parliament was about to shear off a large portion of the privileges of the ancient franchise, to reduce the endowments, and to hand over the mines to the Ecclesiastical Commission.

* * * * *

The Reverend Arthur Egglestone--the youngest of the 'Golden Canons' and Lord of the Manor of Midhope, high up in Weardale--sat in his spacious, oak-panelled dining-room above the Wear, discussing the situation with his two companions over a very recherché supper prepared by the French chef of the Dean and Chapter.

The time was Lent, the eve of Good Friday, but the 'Golden Canon' had forgotten the season in his perturbation and his desire to show hospitality to a distant cousin newly arrived from America, who was full of curiosity and admiration of the city and cathedral of Saint Cuthbert.

His other guest was a Minor Canon who had just been appointed to instruct and train the choir-boys of the cathedral.

The 'Golden Canon' was of an imposing figure, a fine type of the English country gentleman of the old school--admirably fitted for the post of Chairman of Quarter Sessions.

It was not that he had mistaken his vocation so much as that his vocation had mistaken the canon, for owing to the death of his two elder brothers--one by an accident out hunting, one by drowning at sea when admiral--he had unexpectedly succeeded to the family seat and rich possessions.

On this very day he had driven himself into his prebend's house in the close in his four-in-hand to welcome his young American cousin.

The 'Golden Canon' was of a sturdy build, fair of complexion, a lover of field sports, and an excellent judge of a horse and good claret.