 Dracula's Guest This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Robert White Dracula's Guest by Bram Stoker When we started for our drive the Sun was shining brightly on Munich and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer Just as we were about to depart Herr Delbruck, the Matreda Hotel of the Katrasasar, where I was staying, came down, bare-headed to the carriage and after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door. Remember, you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright, but there is a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But I am sure you will not be late. Here he smiled and added, for you know what night it is. Johann answered with an emphatic, Ja, mine hair, and touching his hat drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said after signaling to him to stop. Tell me, Johann, what is tonight? He crossed himself as he answered leconically, Valperges nackt. Then he took out his watch, a great old-fashioned German silver thing, as big as a turnip, and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered together and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realized that this was his way of respectfully protesting against the unnecessary delay and sank back in the carriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up their heads and sniff the air suspiciously. On such occasions, I often looked round in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, for we were traversing a sort of high windswept plateau. As we drove, I saw a road that looked but little used, and which seemed to dip through a little winding valley. It looked so inviting that even at the risk of offending him, I called Johann to stop, and when he had pulled up, I told him I would like to drive down that road. He made all sorts of excuses and frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He answered fencingly and repeated, looking at his watch in protest. Finally, I said, Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall not ask you to come unless you like. But tell me why you do not like to go. That is all I ask. For answer, he seemed to throw himself off the box, so quickly did he reach the ground. Then he stretched out his hands appealingly to me, and implored me not to go. There was just enough of English mixed with the German for me to understand the drift of his talk. He seemed always just about to tell me something. The very idea of which evidently frightened him, but each time he pulled himself up saying, as he crossed himself, Valpergas knacked. I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man when I did not know his language. The advantage certainly rested with him, for although he began to speak in English of a very crude and broken kind, he always got excited and broke into his native tongue, and every time he did so he looked at his watch. Then the horses became restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very pale, and looking around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward, took them by the bridles, and led them on some twenty feet. I followed and asked why he had done this. For answer he crossed himself, and pointed to the spot we had left, and drew his carriage in the direction of the other road, indicating a cross, and said, first in German, then in English, buried him, him what killed themselves. I remembered the old custom of burying suicides at the crossroads. Ah, I see! A suicide! How interesting! But for the life of me I could not make out why the horses were frightened. Whilst we were talking we heard a sort of sound between a yelp and a bark. It was far away, but the horses got very restless, and it took Johann all his time to quiet them. He was pale, and said, It sounds like a wolf, but yet there are no wolves here now. No? I said, questioning him. Isn't it long since the wolves were so near the city? Long, long he answered. In the spring and summer, but with the snow the wolves have been here not so long. While he was petting the horses and trying to quiet them, the dark clouds drifted rapidly across the sky. The sunshine passed away, and the breath of cold wind seemed to drift past us. It was only a breath, however, and more in the nature of a warning than a fact, for the sun came out brightly again. Johann looked under his lifted hand at the horizon and said, The storm of snow he comes before long time. Then he looked at his watch again and, straight away, holding his reins firmly, for the horses were still pouring the ground restlessly and shaking their heads. He climbed to his box, as though the time had come for proceeding on our journey. I felt a little obstinate and did not at once get into the carriage. Tell me, I said, About this place where the road leads, and I pointed down. Again he crossed himself and mumbled a prayer before he answered. It is unholy. What is unholy, I inquired. The village. Then there is a village. No, no. No one lives there. Hundreds of years. My curiosity was piqued. But you said there was a village. There was. Where is it now? Whereupon he burst out into a long story in German and English, so mixed up that I could not quite understand exactly what he said. But roughly I gathered that long ago, hundreds of years, men had died there and been buried in their graves, and sounds were heard under the clay. And when the graves were opened, men and women were found rosy with life, and their mouths red with blood. And so, in haste to save their lives, I, and their souls, and here he crossed himself. Those who were left fled away to other places, where the living lived, and the dead were dead, and not, not something. He was evidently afraid to speak the last words. As he proceeded with his narration, he grew more and more excited. It seemed as if imagination had got hold of him, and he ended in a perfect paroxysm of fear, white-faced, perspiring, trembling and looking round him, as if expecting that some dreadful presence would manifest itself there, in the bright sunshine on the open plain. Finally, in an agony of desperation, he cried. Valperga snacked, and pointed to the carriage for me to get in. All my English blood rose at this, and standing back, I said, You are afraid, Johan, you are afraid. Go home, I shall return alone. The walk will do me good. The carriage door was open. I took from the seat my oak walking stick, which I always carry on my holiday excursions, and closed the door, pointing back to Munich, and said, Go home, Johan. Valperga snacked doesn't concern Englishmen. The horses were near more restive than ever, and Johan was trying to hold them in, while excitedly imploring me not to do anything so foolish. I pitted the poor fellow, he was deeply in earnest, but all the same I could not help laughing. His English was quite gone now. In his anxiety, he had forgotten that his only means of making me understand was to talk my language, so he jabbered away in his native German. It began to be a little tedious. After giving the direction, home, I turned to go down the crossroad into the valley. With a despairing gesture, Johan turned his horses towards Munich. I leaned on my stick and looked after him. He went slowly along the road for a while. Then there came over the crest of the hill, a man tall and thin. I could see so much in the distance. When he drew near the horses, they began to jump and kick about, then to scream with terror. Johan could not hold them in. They bolted down the road, running away madly. I watched them out of sight, then looked for the stranger, but I found that he too was gone. With a light heart, I turned down the side road through the deepening valley to which Johan had objected. There was not the slightest reason that I could see for his objection. And I dare say I tramped for a couple of hours without thinking of time or distance, and certainly without seeing a person or a house. So far as the place was concerned, it was desolation itself. But I did not notice this particularly till, on turning a bend in the road, I came upon a scattered fringe of wood. Then I recognized that I had been impressed unconsciously by the desolation of the region through which I had passed. I sat down to rest myself and began to look around. It struck me that it was considerably colder than it had been at the commencement of my walk. A sort of sighing sound seemed to be around me, with, now and then, high overhead, a sort of muffled roar. Looking upwards, I noticed that great thick clouds were drifting rapidly across the sky from north to south at a great height. There were signs of coming storm in some lofty stratum of the air. I was a little chilly and thinking that it was the sitting still after the exercise of walking. I resumed my journey. The ground I passed over was now much more picturesque. There were no striking objects that the eye might single out, but in all there was a charm of beauty. I took little heed of time, and it was only when the deepening twilight forced itself upon me that I began to think of how I should find my way home. The brightness of the day had gone. The air was cold and the drifting of clouds high overhead was more marked. They were accompanied by a sort of far away rushing sound, through which seemed to come, at intervals, that mysterious cry which the driver had said came from a wolf. For a while I hesitated. I had said I would see the deserted village. So on I went and presently came on a wide stretch of open country, shut in by hills all around. Their sides were covered with trees, which spread down to the plain, dotting in clumps, the gentler slopes and hollows which showed here and there. I followed with my eye the winding of the road, and saw that it curved close to one of the densest of these clumps and was lost behind it. As I looked there came a cold shiver in the air, and the snow began to fall. I thought of the miles and miles of bleak country I had passed, and then hurried on to seek the shelter of the wood in front. Darker and darker grew the sky, and faster and heavier fell the snow, till the earth before and around me was a glistening white carpet the further edge of which was lost in misty vagueness. The road was here but crude, and when on the level its boundaries were not so marked, and when it passed through the cuttings and in a little while I found that I must have strayed from it, for I mist underfoot the hard surface, and my feet sank deeper in the grass and moss. Then the wind grew stronger and blew with ever-increasing force till I was feigned to run before it. The air became icy cold, and in spite of my exercise I began to suffer. The snow was now falling so thickly and whirling around me in such rapid eddies that I could hardly keep my eyes open. Every now and then the heavens were torn asunder by vivid lightning, and in the flashes I could see ahead of me a great mass of trees, chiefly you and Cyprus all heavily coated with snow. I was soon amongst the shelter of the trees, and there in comparative silence I could hear the rush of the wind high overhead. Presently the blackness of the storm had become merged in the darkness of the night. By and by the storm seemed to be passing away, it now only came in fierce puffs or blasts. At such moments the weird sound of the wolf appeared to be echoed by many similar sounds around me. Now and again through the black mass of drifting cloud came a straggling ray of moonlight which lit up the expanse and showed me that I was at the edge of a dense mass of Cyprus and new trees. As the snow had ceased to fall I walked out from the shelter and began to investigate more closely. It appeared to me that amongst so many old foundations as I had passed there might still be standing a house in which, though in ruins, I could find some sort of shelter for a while. As I skirted the edge of the cops I found that a low wall encircled it, and following this I presently found an opening. Here the Cyprus formed an alley leading up to a square mass of some kind of building. Just as I caught sight of this, however, the drifting clouds obscured the moon and I passed up the path in darkness. The wind must have grown colder, for I felt myself shiver as I walked, but there was hope of shelter and I groped my way blindly on. I stopped, for there was a sudden stillness. The storm had passed and perhaps in sympathy with nature's silence, my heart seemed to cease to beat. But this was only momentarily, for suddenly the moonlight broke through the clouds showing me that I was in a graveyard and that the square object before me was a great massive tomb of marble as white as the snow that lay on and all around it. With the moonlight there came a fierce sigh of the storm, which appeared to resume its course with a long, low howl as of many dogs or wolves. I was awed and shocked, and felt the cold perceptibly grow upon me, till it seemed to grip me by the heart. Then while the flood of moonlight still fell on the marble tomb, the storm gave further evidence of renewing, as though it was returning on its track. Impelled by some sort of fascination I approached the sepulchre to see what it was and why such a thing stood alone in such a place. I walked around it and read over the doric door in German. Countess Dollingen of Graz, in Styria, sought and found death, 1801. On the top of the tomb, seemingly driven through the solid marble, for the structure was composed of a few vast blocks of stone, was a great iron spike or stake. On going to the back I saw Graven, in great Russian letters, the dead travel fast. There was something so weird and uncanny about the whole thing that it gave me a turn and made me feel quite faint. I began to wish for the first time that I had taken Johann's advice. Here a thought struck me, which came under almost mysterious circumstances, and with a terrible shock. This was Valpergus night. Valpergus night, when according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad, when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked, when all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very place the driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated village of centuries ago. This was where the suicide lay, and this was the place where I was alone, unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me. It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage, not to collapse in the paroxysm of fright. And now a perfect tornado burst upon me. The ground shook as though thousands of horses thundered across it, and this time the storm bore on its icy wings not snow, but great hail stones which drove with such violence that they might have come from the throngs of Belaeric singers, hail stones that beat down leaf and branch and made the shelter of the cypresses of no more avail than though their stems were standing corn. At the first I had rushed to the nearest tree, but I was soon feigned to leave it and seek the only spot that seemed to afford refuge, the deep Doric doorway of the marble tomb. There, crouching against the massive bronze door, I gained a certain amount of protection from the beating of the hail stones. For now they only drove against me as they ricocheted from the ground and the side of the marble. As I leaned against the door, it moved slightly and opened inwards. The shelter of even a tomb was welcome in that pitiless tempest, and I was about to enter it when there came a flash of forked lightning that lit up the whole expanse of the heavens. In the instant, as I am a living man, I saw as my eyes were turned into the darkness of the tomb a beautiful woman with rounded cheeks and red lips, seemingly sleeping on a bear. As the thunder broke overhead, I was grasped as by the hand of a giant and hurled out into the storm. The whole thing was so sudden that before I could realize the shock, moral as well as physical, I found the hail stones beating me down. At the same time, I had a strange dominating feeling that I was not alone. I looked towards the tomb. Just then there came another blinding flash, which seemed to strike the iron stake that surmounted the tomb and to pour through to the earth, blasting and crumbling the marble, as in the burst of flame. The dead woman rose for a moment of agony, while she was lapped in the flame, and her bitter scream of pain was drowned in the thunder crash. The last thing I heard was this mingling of dreadful sound, as again I was seized in the giant grasp and dragged away, while the hail stones beat on me, and the air around seemed reverberant with the howling of wolves. The last thing that I remembered was a vague, white, moving mass, as if all the graves around me had sent out the phantoms of their sheeted dead, and that they were closing in on me, through the white cloudiness of the driving hail. Gradually there came a sort of vague beginning of consciousness, then a sense of weariness that was dreadful. For a time I remembered nothing, but slowly my senses returned. My feet seemed positively wracked with pain, yet I could not move them. They seemed to be numbed. There was an icy feeling at the back of my neck and all down my spine, and my ears, like my feet, were dead, yet in torment. But there was in my breast a sense of warmth, which was, by comparison, delicious. It was a nightmare, a physical nightmare, if one may use such an expression. For some heavy weight on my chest made it difficult for me to breathe. This period of semi-lethargy seemed to remain a long time, and as it faded away I must have slept or swooned. Then came a sort of loathing, like the first stage of seasickness, and a wild desire to be free from something, I knew not what. A vast stillness enveloped me, as though all the world were asleep or dead, only broken by the low panting, as of some animal close to me. I felt a warm rasping at my throat. Then came a consciousness of the awful truth, which chilled me to the heart and sent the blood surging up through my brain. Some great animal was lying on me, and now licking my throat. I feared to stir, but some instinct of prudence bade me lie still. But the brute seemed to realize that there was now some change in me, for it raised its head. Through my eyelashes I saw above me the two great flaming eyes of a gigantic wolf, its sharp white teeth gleamed in the gaping red mouth, and I could feel its hot breath fierce and acrid upon me. For another spell of time I remembered no more, then I became conscious of a low growl, followed by a yelp, renewed again and again. Then seemingly very far away I heard a as of many voices calling in unison. Cautiously I raised my head and looked in the direction whence the sand came. But the cemetery blocked my view. The wolf still continued to yelp in a strange way, and a red glare began to move around the grove of cypresses as though following the sound. As the voices drew closer the wolf yelped faster and louder. I feared to make either sound or motion. Nearer came the red glow over the white pole which stretched into the darkness around me. Then all at once from beyond the trees there came at a trot a troop of horsemen bearing torches. The wolf rose from my breast and made for the cemetery. I saw one of the horsemen, soldiers by their caps and long military cloaks, raise his carbine and take aim. A companion knocked up his arm and I heard the ball whizz over my head. He had evidently taken my body for that of the wolf. Another sighted the animal as it slunk away and a shot followed. Then at a gallop the troop rode forward, some towards me, others following the wolf as it disappeared amongst the snow-clad cypresses. As they drew nearer I tried to move but was powerless, although I could see and hear all that went on around me. Two or three of the soldiers jumped from their horses and knelt beside me. One of them raised my head and placed his hand over my heart. Good news, comrades, he cried. His heart still beats. Then some brandy was poured down my throat. It put vigour into me and I was able to open my eyes fully and look around. Lights and shadows were moving among the trees and I heard men call to one another. They drew together, uttering frightened exclamations and the lights flashed as the others came pouring out of the cemetery palmel, like men possessed. When the further ones came close to us, those who were around me asked them eagerly, well, have you found him? The reply rang out hurriedly. No, no, come away quick, quick. This is no place to stay and on this of all nights. What is it? was a question asked in all manner of keys. The answer came variously and all indefinitely as though the men were moved by some common impulse to speak, yet were restrained by some common fear from giving their thoughts. It, it indeed, gibbered one whose wits had plainly given out for the moment. A wolf, and yet not a wolf, another put in shudderingly. No use trying for him without the sacred bullet, a third remarked in a more ordinary manner. Serve us right for coming out on this night. Truly we have earned our thousand marks with the ejaculations of a fourth. There was blood on the broken marble, another said after a pause. The lightning never bought that there, and for him, is he safe? Look at his throat. See, comrades, the wolf has been lying on him and keeping his blood warm. The officer looked at my throat and replied, He is all right. The skin is not pierced. What does it all mean? We should never have found him, but for the yelping of the wolf. What came of it? asked the man who was holding up my head, and who seen the least panic-stricken of the party, for his hands were steady and without tremor. On his sleeve was the chevron of a petty officer. It went to its home, answered the man whose long face was pallid, and who actually shook with terror as he glanced around him fearfully. There are graves enough there in which it may lie. Come, comrades, come quickly, let us leave this cursed spot! The officer raised me to a sitting posture, as he uttered a word of command. Then several men placed me upon a horse. He sprang to the saddle behind me, took me in his arms, gave the word to advance, and turning their faces away from the cypresses, we rode away in swift military order. As yet my tongue refused its office, and I was before silent, I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I remembered was finding myself standing up, supported by a soldier on each side of me. It was almost broad daylight, and to the north a red streak of sunlight was reflected like a path of blood over the waist of snow. The officer was telling the men to say nothing of what they had seen, except that they found an English stranger guarded by a large dog. Dog, that was no dog, cut in the man who had exhibited such fear. I think I know a wolf when I see one. The young officer answered calmly, I said dog, dog, reiterated the other ironically. It was evident that his courage was rising with the sun, and pointing to me he said, look at his throat, is that the work of a dog master? Instinctively I raised my hand to my throat, and as I touched it I cried out in pain. The men crowded round to look, some stooping down from their saddles, and again there came the calm voice of the young officer. A dog, as I said, if ought else were said, we should only be laughed at. I was then mounted behind a trooper, and we rode on into the suburbs of Munich. Here we came across a stray carriage, into which I was lifted, and it was driven off to the Katrasaison. The young officer accompanying me, whilst the trooper followed with his horse, and the others rode off to their barracks. When we arrived, Herr Delbruck rushed so quickly down the steps to meet me, that it was apparent he had been watching within. Taking me by both hands he solicitously led me in. The officer saluted me, and was turning to withdraw when I recognized his purpose, and insisted that he should come to my rooms. Over a glass of wine I warmly thanked him and his brave comrades for saving me. He replied simply that he was more than glad, and that Herr Delbruck had at first taken steps to make all the searching party pleased, at which ambiguous utterance the Matruder Hotel smiled, while the officer pleaded duty, and withdrew. But Herr Delbruck, I inquired, how and why was it that soldiers searched for me? He shrugged his shoulders as if in depreciation of his own deed, as he replied. I was so fortunate as to obtain leave from the commander of the regiment in which I served, to ask for volunteers. But how did you know I was lost, I asked. The driver came hither with the remains of his carriage, which had been upset when the horses ran away. But surely you would not send a search party of soldiers merely on his account. Oh no, he answered. But even before the coachman arrived, I had this telegram from the boyar whose guest you are, and he took from his pocket a telegram, which he handed to me, and I read. Be strits. Be careful of my guest, his safety is most precious to me. Should all happen to him or if he be missed, spend nothing to find him and ensure his safety. He is English and therefore adventurous. There are often dangers from snow and wolves at night. Lose not a moment if you suspect harm to him. I answer your zeal with my fortune. Dracula. As I held the telegram in my hand, the room seemed to whirl around me, and if the attentive Matruder Hotel had not caught me, I think I should have fallen. There was something so strange in all this, something so weird and impossible to imagine, that there grew on me a sense of my being in some way the sport of opposite forces, the mere vague idea of which seemed in a way to paralyze me. I was certainly under some form of mysterious protection. From a distant country had come in the very nick of time, a message that took me out of the danger of the snow-sleep and the jaws of the wolf. End of Dracula's Guest. Recording by Robert White. When the time for his examination drew near, Malcolm Malcolmson made up his mind to go somewhere to read by himself. He feared the attractions of the seaside, and also he feared completely rural isolation, for of old he knew it charms, and so he determined to find some unpretentious little town where there would be nothing to distract him. He refrained from asking suggestions from any of his friends, for he argued that each would recommend some place of which he had knowledge, and where he had already acquaintances. As Malcolmson wished to avoid friends, he had no wish to encumber himself with the attention of friends' friends, and so he determined to look out for a place for himself. He packed a portmanteau with some clothes and all the books he required, and then took ticket for the first name on the local timetable which he did not know. When, at the end of three hours' journey, he alighted at Ben Church, he felt satisfied that he had so far obliterated his tracks as to be sure of having a peaceful opportunity of pursuing his studies. He went straight to the one inn which the sleeper little pace contained, and put up for the night. Ben Church was a market town, and once in three weeks was crowded to excess, but for the remainder of the twenty-one days it was as attractive as a desert. Malcolmson looked around the day after his arrival to try to find quarters more isolated than even so quiet an inn as the good traveller afforded. There was only one place which took his fancy, and it certainly satisfied his wildest ideas regarding quiet. In fact, quiet was not the proper word to apply to it. Desolation was the only term conveying any suitable idea of its isolation. It was an old, rambling, heavy-built house of the Jacobean style with heavy gables and windows, unusually small, and set higher than was customary in such houses, and was surrounded with a hybrid wall massively built. Indeed, on examination it looked more like a fortified house than an ordinary dwelling. But all these things pleased Malcolmson. Here he thought, is the very spot I have been looking for, and if I can get opportunity of using it I shall be happy. His joy was increased when he realised beyond doubt that it was not at present inhabited. From the post office he got the name of the agent who was really surprised at the application to rent a part of the old house. Mr. Conford, the local lawyer and agent, was a genuine old gentleman, and frankly confessed his delight at anyone being willing to live in the house. To tell you the truth, said he, I should be only too happy on behalf of the owners, to let anyone have the house rent free for a term of years if only to accustom the people here to see it inhabited. It has been so long empty that some kind of absurd prejudice has grown up about it, and this can be best put down by its occupation. If only, he added with a sly glance at Malcolmson, by a scholar like yourself, who wants it quiet for a time. Malcolmson thought it needless to ask the agent about the absurd prejudice. He knew he would get more information if he should require it on that subject from other quarters. He paid his three months rent, got a receipt, and the name of an old woman who would probably undertake to do for him, and came away with the keys in his pocket. He then went to the landlady of the inn, who was a cheerful and most kindly person, and asked her advice as to such stores and provisions as he would be likely to require. She threw up her hands in amazement when he told her where he was going to settle himself. Not in the judge's house, she said, and grew pale as she spoke. He explained the locality of the house, saying that he did not know its name. When it finished, she answered, Aye, sure enough, sure enough, the very place. It is the judge's house, sure enough. He asked her to tell him about the place, why so-called, and what there was against it. She told him that it was so-called locally, because it had been many years before, how long she could not say, as she was herself from another part of the country, but she thought it must have been a hundred years or more. The abode of a judge who was held in great terror, an account of his harsh sentences and his hostility to prisoners at Assizes. As to what there was against the house itself, she could not tell. She had often asked, but no one could inform her, but there was a general feeling that there was something, and for her own part she would not take all the money and drink water's bank and stay in the house an hour by herself. Then she apologized to Markamson for her disturbing talk. It is too bad of me, sir, and you, and a young gentleman too, if you will pardon me saying it, going to live there all alone. If you are my boy, and you'll excuse me for saying it, you won't sleep there a night, not if I had to go there myself and pull the big arm-bell that's on the roof. The good creature was so manifestly and earnest, and was so kindly in her intentions that Markamson, although amused, was touched. He told her kindly how much he appreciated her interest in him, and added, but my dear, this is with him. Indeed, you need not be concerned about me. A man who is reading for the mathematical tripos has too much to think of to be disturbed by any of these mysterious some things, and his work is of too exact and prosaic a kind, to allow as if hanging any corner of his mind for mysteries of any kind. Harmonical progression, permutations, and combinations, and elliptic functions have sufficient mysteries for me. Mrs. Withham kindly undertook to see after his commissions, and he went himself to look for the old woman who had been recommended to him. When he returned to the judge's house with her, after an interval of a couple of hours, he found Mrs. Withham herself waiting with several men and boys carrying parcels, and an upholsterer's man with a bed and a car. For, she said, though tables and chairs might be all very well, a bed that hadn't been aired for may have fifty years was not proper for young bones to lie on. She was evidently curious to see the inside of the house, and though manifestly so afraid of the some things that at the slightest sound she clutched on to Markinson, who she never left for a moment, went over the whole place. After his examination of the house, Markinsons had decided to take up his abode in the great dining-room, which was big enough to serve for all his requirements, and Mrs. Withham, with the aid of the charwoman, Mrs. Dempster, proceeded to arrange matters. When the hampers were brought in and unpacked, Markinsons saw that with much kind forethought, she had sent from her own kitchen sufficient provisions to last for a few days. Before going, she expressed all sorts of kind wishes. Another door turned and said, And perhaps, sir, as the room is big and draughty, it might be well to have one of those big screens put round your bed at night, though truth to tell, I would die myself if I were to be so shut in with all kinds of things that put their heads round the sides or over the top and look on me. The image which she had called up was too much for her nerves, and she fled incontinently. Mrs. Dempster sniffed in a superior manner as the landlady disappeared, and remarked that for her own part she wasn't afraid of all the bogies in the kingdom. I'll tell you what it is, sir, she said, Bogies is all kinds and sorts of things, except bogies. Rats and mice and beetles, and creaky doors and loose slates, and broken panes and stiff draw handles, stay out when you pull them and then fall down in the middle of the night. Look at the waynscape of the room. It is old, hundreds of years old. Do you think there's no rats and beetles there? And do you imagine, sir, that you haven't seen none of them? Rats is bogies, I tell you, and bogies is rats. And don't you get to think anything else? Mrs. Dempster said, Markamson gravely making her a polite bow. You know more than a senior wrangler, and let me say that, as a mark of esteem for your indubitable soundness of head and heart, I shall, when I go, give you possession of this house, and let you stay here by yourself for the last two months of my tenancy, for four weeks will serve my purpose. Thank you kindly, sir, she answered, but I can't sleep away from home a night. I'm in greenhouse charity, and if I slept a night away from my rooms, I should lose all I've got to live on. The rules is very strict, and there's too many watching for a vacancy, for me to run any risks in the matter. And for that, sir, I'd gladly come here and attend on your all together during your stay. My good woman, said Markamson hastily, I have come here on purpose to obtain solitude, and believe me that I am grateful to the late greenhouse for having so organised his admirable charity, whatever it is, that I am perforce denied the opportunity of suffering from such a form of temptation, said Anthony himself could not be more rigid on the point. The old woman laughed harshly. You young gentleman, she said, you don't fear for naught, and be like you'll get all the solitude you want here. She said to work with her cleaning, and by nightfall, when Markamson returned from his walk, he always had one of his books to study as he walked. He found the room swept and tidied, a fire burning in the old hearth, the lamp lit, and a table spread for supper with Mrs Witham's excellent fare. This is comfort indeed, he said, as he rubbed his hands. When he had finished his supper, and lifted the tray to the other end of the great oak dining table, he got out his books again, put fresh wood on the fire, trimmed his lamp, and set himself down to a spell of real hard work. He went on without pause till about eleven o'clock, when he knocked off for a bit to fix his fire and lamp, and to make himself a cup of tea. He'd always been a tea-drinker, and during his college life had sat later work and had taken tea late. The rest was a greatly luxury to him, and he enjoyed it with a sense of delicious voluptuous ease. The renewed fire leaped and sparkled, and threw quaint shadows through the great old room. And as he sipped his hot tea, he reveled in the sense of isolation from his kind. Then it was that he began to notice for the first time what a noise the rats were making. Surely, he thought, they cannot have been at it all the time I was reading. Had they been, I must have noticed it. Presently, when the noise increased, he satisfied himself that it was really new. It was evident that at first the rats had been frightened at the presence of a stranger, and the light of fire and lamp. But that as the time went on, they had grown bolder, and were now desporting themselves as was their want. How busy they were, and how up to the strange noises! Up and down, behind the old wainscot, over the ceiling, and under the floor they raced and gnawed and scratched. Markinson smiled to himself as a recall to mind a saying of Mrs. Dempster's, bogies his rats, and rats his bogies. The tea began to have its effect of intellectual and nervous stimulus. He saw with joy another long spell of work to be done before the night was passed, and in the sense of security which it gave him, he allowed himself the luxury of a good look around the room. He took his lamp in one hand, and went all around, wondering that so quaint and beautiful an old house had been so long neglected. The carving of the oak on the panels of the wainscot was fine, and on and round the doors and windows it was beautiful and of rare merit. There were some old pictures on the walls, but they were coated so thick with dust and dirt that he could not distinguish any detail of them, though he held his lamp as high as he could over his head. Here and there, as he went round, he saw some crack or hole blocked for a moment by the face of a rat, with its bright eyes glittering in the light, but in an instant it was gone, and a squeak and a scamper followed. The thing that most struck him, however, was the rope of the great alarm bell on the roof, which hung down in a corner of the room on the right-hand side of the fireplace. He pulled up close to the hearth a great high-backed carved oak chair, and sat down to his last cup of tea. When this was done, he made up the fire and went back to his work, sitting at the corner of the table, having the fire to his left. For a little while the rats disturbed him some more with their perpetual scampering, but he got accustomed to the noise as one does to the ticking of a clock or to the roar of moving water, and it became so immersed in his work that everything in the world, except the problem which he was trying to solve, passed away from him. He suddenly looked up. His problem was still unsolved, and there was in the air that sense of the arrow before the dawn which is so dread to doubtful life. The noise of the rats had ceased. Indeed, it seemed to him that it must have ceased but lately, and that it was the sudden cessation which had disturbed him. The fire had fallen low, but still it threw out a deep red glow. As he looked, he started in spite of his sang-froid. There, on the great high-backed carved oak chair by the right side of the fireplace, sat an enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with baleful eyes. He made a motion to it as though to hunt it away, but it did not stir. Then he made the motion of throwing something. Still, it did not stir, but showed its great white teeth angrily, and its cruel eyes shone in the lamp-light with an added vindictiveness. Mackensen felt amazed, and seizing the poker from the hearth ran at it to kill it. Before, however, he could strike it, the rat, with a squeak that sounded like the concentration of hate, jumped upon the floor, and, running up the rope of the alarm bell, disappeared in the darkness beyond the range of the green-shaded lamp. Instantly, strange to say, the noisy scampering of the rats in the windscop began again. By this time, Mackensen's mind was quite off the problem, and as a shrill cop-crow outside told him of the approach of mourning, he went to bed, and to sleep. He slept so sound, that he was not even awaked by Mrs. Dempster coming in to make up his room. It was only when she had tidied up the place, and got his breakfast ready, and tapped on the screen which closed in his bed that he woke. He was a little tired still after his night's hard work, but a strong cup of tea soon freshened him up, and, taking his book, he went out for his morning walk, bringing with him a few sandwiches lest he should not care to return till dinnertime. He found a quiet walk between high elms some way outside the town, and here he spent the greater part of the day studying his laplace. On his return, he looked in to see Mrs. Witham, and to thank her for her kindness. When she saw him coming through the diamond-pained bay window of her sanctum, she came out to meet him and asked him in. She looked at him, searchingly, and shook her head as she said, He must not overdo it, sir. You are paler this morning than you should be. Two late hours and too hard work on the brain isn't good for any man. But tell me, sir, how did you pass the night? Well, I hope, but my heart's that I was glad when Mrs. Dempster told me this morning that you were right in sleeping sound when she went in. Oh, I was all right, he answered smiling. The some things didn't worry me as yet. Only the rats. And they had a circus, I tell you, all over the place. There was one wicked-looking old devil that sat up on my own chair by the fire, and wouldn't go till I took the poker to him, and then he ran up the rope of the alarm bell and got to somewhere up the wall or the ceiling. I couldn't see where it was so dark. Mercy on us, said Mrs. Witham. An old devil, and sitting on a chair by the fire-side. Take care, sir, take care. There's many a true word spoken in jest. How do you mean? Upon my word, I don't understand. An old devil? The old devil, perhaps. There, sir, you needed a laugh, for Markinson had broken into a hearty peel. You young folks think it's easy to laugh at things that make all the ones shudder. Never mind, sir, never mind. Please, God, you'll laugh all the time. It's what I wish you myself. And the good lady beamed all over in sympathy with his enjoyment. Have his gone for a moment. Oh, forgive me, said Markinson presently. Don't think me rude, but the idea was too much for me. That the old devil himself was on the chair last night, and at the thought he laughed again. Then he went home to dinner. This evening the scampering of the rats began earlier. Indeed, it had been going on before his arrival, and only ceased whilst his presence by its freshness disturbed them. After dinner he sat by the fire for a while and had a smoke, and then, having cleared his table, began to work as before. Tonight the rats disturbed him more than they had done on the previous night, how they scampered up and down and under and over, how they squeaked and scratched and gnawed, how they, getting bolder by degrees, came to the mouths of their holes and to the chinks and cracks and crannies in the wainscotting till their eyes shone like tiny lamps as the firelight rose and fell. But to him, now doubtless accustomed to them, their eyes were not wicked. Only their playfulness touched him. Sometimes the boldest of them made sallies out on the floor or along the mouldings of the wainscot. Now and again as they disturbed him, Markensen made a sound of fright in them, smiting the table with his hand, or giving a fierce shh shh, so that they fled straight away to their holes. And so the early part of the night wore on, and, despite the noise, Markensen got more and more immersed in his work, all at once he stopped, as on the previous night being overcome by a sudden sense of silence. There was not the faintest sound of gnaw, or scratch, or squeak. The silence was as of the grave. He remembered the odd occurrence of the previous night, and instinctively he looked at the chest and enclosed by the fireside, and then a very odd sensation thrilled through him. There, on the great old high-backed carved oak chair beside the fireplace, sat the same enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with baleful eyes. Instinctively he took the nearest thing to his hand, a book of logarithms, and flung it at it. The book was badly aimed, and the rat did not stir, so again the poker performance of the previous night was repeated, and again the rat, being closely pursued, fled up the rope of the alarm bell. Strangely too, the departure of this rat was instantly followed by the renewal of the noise made by the general rat community. On this occasion, as on the previous one, Markinson could not see at what part of the room the rat disappeared, for the green shade of his lamp left the upper part of the room in darkness, and the fire had burned low. On looking at his watch he found it was close on midnight, and, not sorry for the divertismo, he made up his fire and made himself his nightly pot of tea. He had got through a good spell of work, and thought himself entitled to a cigarette, as though he sat on the great oak chair before the fire and enjoyed it. Whilst smoking, he began to think that he would like to know where the rat disappeared to, for he had certain ideas for the morrow not entirely disconnected with a rat trap. Accordingly he lit another lamp and placed it so that it would shine well into the right-hand corner of the wall by the fireplace. Then he got all the books he had with him, and placed them handy to throw at the vermin. Finally he lifted the rope of the alarm bell, and placed the end of it on the table, fixing the extreme end under the lamp. As he handled it, he could not help noticing how pliable it was, especially for so strong a rope, and one not in use. You could hang a man with it, he thought to himself. When his preparations were made, he looked around and said complacently, Then I'll, my friend, I think we shall learn something of you this time. He began his work again, and though as before somewhat disturbed at first by the noise of the rats, soon lost himself in his propositions and problems. Again he was called to his immediate surrounding suddenly. This time it might not have been the sudden silence only which took his attention. There was a slight movement of the rope, and the lamp moved. Without stirring he looked to see if his pile of books was within range, and then cast his eye along the rope. As he looked he saw the great rat drop from the rope on the oak armchair, and sit there glaring at him. He raised a book in his right hand, and taking careful aim flung it at the rat, the latter with a quick movement sprang aside and dodged the missile. He then took another book and a third, and flung them one after another at the rat, but each time unsuccessfully. At last as he stood with the book poised in his hand to throw, the rat squeaked and seemed afraid. This made Malcolm some more than ever eager to strike, and the book flew and struck the rat a resounding blow. It gave a terrified squeak, and turning on his pursuer a look of terrible malevolence, ran up the chair-back, and made a great jump to the rope of the alarm bell, and ran up it like lightning. The lamp rocked under the sudden strain, but it was a heavy one and did not topple over. Malcolm some kept his eyes on the rat, and saw it by the light of the second lamp leaked to a moulding of the wane-skirt, and disappear through a hole in one of the great pictures which hung on the wall, obscured and invisible through its coating of dirt and dust. I shall look up my friend's habitation in the morning, so that the student as he went over to collect his books. The third picture from the fireplace. I shall not forget. He picked up the books one by one, commenting on them as he lifted them. Conic sections, he does not mind, nor Cycloidal oscillations, nor the Principia, nor Quaternions, nor Thermodynamics, now for the book that fetched him. Malcolm some took it up and looked at it. As he did so, he started, and a sudden pallor overspread his face. He looked round uneasily and shivered slightly as he murmured to himself, the Bible my mother gave me. What an odd coincidence. He sat down to work again, and the rats in the wane-skirt renewed their gambles. They did not disturb him, however. Somehow their presence gave him the sense of companionship. But he could not attend to his work, and after striving to mafter the subject on which he was engaged, gave it up in despair, and went to bed as the first streak of dawn stolen through the eastern window. He slept heavily, but uneasily, and dreamed much, and when Mrs Dempster woke him late in the morning, he seemed ill at ease, and for a few minutes did not seem to realise exactly where he was. His first request, rather surprised the servant. Mrs Dempster, when I am out today, I wish you would get the steps, and dust or wash those pictures, especially that one the third from the fireplace. I want to see what they are. Late in the afternoon, Malcolm some worked at his books in the Shaded Walk, and the cheerfulness of the previous day came back to him as the day wore on, and he found that his reading was progressing well. He had worked out to a satisfactory conclusion all the problems which had had as yet baffled him, and it was in a state of jubilation that he paid a visit to Mrs Witham at the Good Traveller. He found a stranger in the cosy sitting-room with a landlady who was introduced to him as Dr Thornhill. She was not quite at ease, and this, combined with the doctors plunging at once into a series of questions, made Malcolm some come to the conclusion that his presence was not an accident. So without preliminary, he said, Dr Thornhill, I shall with pleasure answer you any question you may choose to ask me, if you will answer me one question first. The doctor seemed surprised, but he smiled and answered at once. Done. What is it? Did Mrs Witham ask you to come here and see me and advise me? Dr Thornhill for a moment was taken aback, and Mrs Witham got fiery red and turned away, but the doctor was a frank and ready man, and he answered at once and openly. She did, but she didn't intend you to know it. I suppose it was my clumsy haste that made you suspect. She told me that she did not like the idea of your being in that house all by yourself, and that she thought you took too much strong tea. In fact, she wants me to advise you, if possible, to give up the tea in the very late hours. I was a keen student in my time, so I suppose I might take the liberty of a college man, and without offence advise you not quite as a stranger. Malkinson, with a bright smile, held out his hand. Shake, as they say in America, he said, I must thank you for your kindness, and Mrs Witham too, and your kindness deserves a return on my part. I promise to take no more strong tea. No tea at all till you let me, and I shall go to bed tonight at one o'clock at latest. Will that do? Capital, said the doctor. Now, tell us all that you noticed, in the old house, and so Malkinson then and there told in minute detail all that had happened in the last two nights. He was interrupted every now and then by some exclamation from Mrs Witham, till finally, when he told of the episode of the Bible, the landlady's pent-up emotions found vent in a shriek, and it was not till a stiff glass of brandy and water had been administered that she grew composed again. Dr Thornhill listened with a face of growing gravity, and when the narrative was complete, and Mrs Witham had been restored, he asked, the rat always went up the rope of the alarm bell. Always, I suppose you know, said the doctor after a pause, what the rope is. No. It is, said the doctor slowly, the very rope which the hangman used for all the victims of the judge's judicial ranker. Here he was interrupted by another scream from Mrs Witham, and steps had to be taken for her recovery. Malkinson, having looked at his watch and found that it was close to his dinner hour, had gone home before her complete recovery. When Mrs Witham was herself again, she almost assailed the doctor with angry questions as to what he meant by putting such horrible ideas into the poor young man's mind. He has quite enough there already to upset him, she added. Dr Thornhill replied, My dear madam, I had a distinct purpose in it. I wanted to draw his attention to the bell rope and to fix it there. It may be that he is in a highly overwrought state, and has been studying too much, although I am bound to say that he seems a sound and healthy young man, mentally and bodily as ever I saw. But then the rats, and that suggestion of the devil, the doctor shook his head and went on. I would have offered to go and stay the first night with him, but that I felt sure it would have been a cause of offence. It may get in the night some strange fright or hallucination, and if it does, I want him to pull that rope. All alone as he is it will give us warning, and we may reach him in time to be of service. I shall be sitting up pretty late tonight and shall keep my ears open. Do not be alarmed if Ben Church gets a surprise before morning. A doctor? What do you mean? What do you mean? I mean this, that possibly, no, more probably, visually the great alarm bell from the judge's house tonight, and the doctor made about as effective an exit as could be thought of. When Markhamson arrived home, he found that he was a little after his usual time, and Mrs. Dempster had gone away. The rules of greenhouse charity were not to be neglected. He was glad to see that the place was bright and tidy with a cheerful fire and a well-tuned lamp. The evening was colder than might have been expected in April, and a heavy wind was blowing with such rapidly increasing strength that there was every promise of a storm during the night. For a few minutes after his entrance the noise of the rats ceased, but so soon as they became accustomed to his presence they began again. He was glad to hear them, for he felt once more the feeling of companionship in the noise, and his mind ran back to the strange fact that they only ceased to manifest themselves when that other, the great rat with the baleful eyes, came upon the scene. The reading-lump only was lit, and its green shade kept the ceiling the upper part of the room in darkness, so that the cheerful light from the hearth spreading over the floor and shining on the white cloth laid over the end of the table was warm and cheery. Markhamson sat down to his dinner with a good appetite and a buoyant spirit. After his dinner and a cigarette he sat steadily down to work, determined not to let anything disturb him, for he remembered his promise to the doctor, and made up his mind to make the best of the time at his disposal. For an hour or so he worked all right, and then his thoughts began to wander from his books. The actual circumstances around him, the cause and his physical attention, and his nervous susceptibility were not to be denied. By this time the wind had become a gale, and the gale a storm. The old house, solid though it was, seemed to shake to its foundations, and a storm roared and raged through its many chimneys and its queer old gables, producing strange unearthly sounds in the empty rooms and corridors. Even the greater alarm bell on the roof must have fought the force of the wind, for the rope rose and fell slightly, as though the bell were moved a little from time to time, and the limber rope fell on the oak floor with a hard and hollow sound. As Markhamson listened to it, he befought himself of the doctor's words. It is the rope which the hangman used for the victims of the judge's judicial ranker, and he went over to the corner of the fireplace and took it in his hand to look at it. There seemed a sort of deadly interest in it, and as he stood there he lost himself for a moment in speculation as to who these victims were, and the grim wish of the judge to have such a ghastly relic ever under his eyes. As he stood there the swaying of the bell on the roof still lifted the rope now and again, but presently there came a new sensation, a sort of tremor in the rope, as though something was moving along it. Looking up instinctively, Markhamson saw the great rat coming slowly down towards him, glaring at him steadily. He dropped the rope and started back with a muttered curse, and the rat turning ran up the rope again and disappeared, and at the same instant Markhamson became consciousness that the noise of the rats, which he ceased for a while, began again. All this set him thinking, and it occurred to him that he had not investigated the layer of the rat, or looked at the pictures as he had intended. He lit the other lamp without the shade, and, holding it up, went and stood opposite the third picture from the fireplace on the right-hand side, where he had seen the rat disappear on the previous night. At the first glance he started back so suddenly that he almost dropped the lamp in a deadly pallor overspread his face. His knees shook, and heavy drops of sweat came on his forehead, and he trembled like an aspen. But he was young and plucky, and pulled himself together, and after the pause of a few seconds stepped forward again, raised the lamp, and examined the picture which had been dusted and washed, and now stood out clearly. It was of a judge, dressed in his robes of scarlet and ermine. His face was strong and merciless, evil, crafty, and vindictive, with a sensual mouth, hooked nose of ruddy colour, and shaped like the beak of a bird of prey. The rest of the face was of a cadaverous colour. The eyes were of peculiar brilliance, and with a terribly malignant expression. As he looked at them, Markinson grew cold. For he saw there the very counterpart of the eyes of the great rat. The lamp almost fell from his hand. He saw the rat with its baleful eyes peering out through the hole in the corner of the picture, and noted the sudden cessation of the noise of the other rats. However, he pulled himself together, and went on with his examination of the picture. The judge was seated in a great high-backed carved oak chair on the right-hand side of a great stone fireplace, where, in the corner, a rope hung down from the ceiling, its end lying coiled on the floor. With a feeling of something like horror, Markinson recognised the scene of the room as it stood, and gazed around him in an awestruck manner, as though he expected to find some strange presence behind him. Then he looked over to the corner of the fireplace, and with a loud cry he let the lamp fall from his hand. There, in the judge's armchair, with a rope hanging behind, sat the rat with the judge's baleful eyes, now intensified in with a fiendish lear. Say, for the howling of the storm without, there was silence. The fallen lamp recalled Markinson to himself. Fortunately, it was of metal, and so the oil was not spilt. However, the practical need of attending to it settled at once his nervous apprehensions. When he had turned it out, he wiped his brow, and thought for a moment. This will not do, he said to himself, if I go on like this, I shall become a crazy fool. This must stop. I promised the doctor I would not take tea. Faith, he was pretty right. My nerves must have been getting into a queer state. Funny, I did not notice it. I never felt better in my life. However, it is all right now, and I shall not be such a fool again. Then he mixed himself a good stiff glass of brandy and water, and resolutely sat down to his work. It was nearly an hour when he looked up from his book, disturbed by the sudden stillness. Without, the wind howled and roared louder than ever, and the rain drove in sheets against the windows beating like hail on the glass. But within, there was no sound, whatever, save the echo of the wind as it roared in the grape chimney, and now in there an hiss, as a few raindrops found their way down the chimney in a lull of the storm. The fire had fallen low, and had ceased to flame, though it threw out a red glow. Markinson listened attentively, and presently heard a thin, squeaking noise, very faint. It came from the corner of the room where the rope hung down, and he thought it was the creaking of the rope on the floor, as the swaying of the bell raised and lowered it. Looking up, however, he saw in the dim light the great rat clinging to the rope and gnawing it. The rope was already nearly gnawed through. He could see the lighter colour where the strands were laid bare. As he looked, the job was completed, and the severed end of the rope fell clattering on the oaken floor, whilst for an instant the great rat remained like a knob or tassel at the end of the rope, which now began to sway to and fro. Markinson felt for a moment another pang of terror, as he thought that now the possibility of calling the outwell to his assistance was cut off. But an intense anger took its place, and seizing the book he was reading, he hurled it at the rat. The blow was well aimed. But before the missile could reach him, the rat dropped off and struck the floor with a soft thud. Markinson instantly rushed over towards him, but it darted away and disappeared in the darkness of the shadows of the room. Markinson felt that his work was over for the night, and determined then and there to vary the monotony of the proceedings by a hunt for the rat, and took off the green shade of the lamp so as to ensure a wider spreading light. As he did so, the gloom of the upper part of the room was relieved, and in the new flood of light, great by comparison with the previous darkness, the pictures on the wall stood out boldly. From where he stood, Markinson saw right opposite to him the third picture on the wall from the right of the fireplace. He rubbed his eyes in surprise, and then a great fear began to come upon him. In the centre of the picture was a great irregular patch of brown canvas, as fresh as when it was stretched on the frame, but the background was as before, with chair and chimney corner and rope. But the figure of the judge had disappeared. Markinson, almost in a chill of horror, turned slowly round, and then he began to shake and tremble like a man in a palsy. His strength seemed to have left him, and he was incapable of action or movement, hardly even of thought. He could only see and hear. There, on the great, high-backed, carved oak chair, sapped the judge in his robes of scarlet and ermine, with his baleful eyes glaring vindictively, and a smile of triumph on the resolute, cruel mouth as he lifted with his hands a black cap. Markinson felt as if the blood was running from his heart as one does in moments of prolonged suspense. There was a singing in his ears. Without, he could hear the roar and howl of the tempest, and through it, swept on the storm, came the striking of midnight by the great chimes in the marketplace. He stood for a space of time that seemed to him endless, still as a statue, and with wide-open, horror-struck eyes, breathless, as the clock struck. So the smile of triumph on the judge's face intensified, and at the last stroke of midnight he placed the black cap on his head. Slowly and deliberately the judge rose from his chair, and picked up the piece of the rope of the alarm bell which lay on the floor, drew it through his hands as if he enjoyed its touch, and then deliberately began to knot one end of it, fashioning it into a noose. This he tightened and tested with his foot, pulling hard at it till he was satisfied, and then making a running noose of it which he held in his hand. Then he began to move along the table on the opposite side to Malcomson, keeping his eyes on him until he passed him, when with a quick movement he stood in front of the door. Malcomson then began to feel that he was trapped, and tried to think of what he should do. There was some fascination in the judge's eyes which he never took off him, and he had perforced to look. He saw the judge approach, still keeping between him and the door, and raised the noose and threw it towards him as if to entangle him. With a great effort he made a quick movement to one side, and saw the rope fall beside him and heard it strike the open floor. Again the judge raised the noose and tried to ensnare him, ever keeping his baleful eyes fixed on him, and each time by a mighty effort the student just managed to evade it. So this went on for many times, the judge seeming never discouraged nor discomposed at failure, but playing as a cat does with a mouse. At last in despair, which had reached its climax, Malcomson cast a quick glance around him. The lamp seemed to have blazed up, and there was a fairly good light in the room. At the many rat holes and the chinks and crannies of the wainscote he saw the rats out, a mis-aspect that was purely physical gave him a gleam of comfort. He looked around, and saw that the rope of the greater lawn-bell was laden with rats. Every inch of it was covered with them, and more and more were pouring through the small circular hole in the ceiling whence it emerged, so that with their weight the bell was beginning to sway. Hark! it had swayed till the clapper had touched the bell. The sound was but a tiny one, but the bell was only beginning to sway, and it would increase. At the sound the judge, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on Malcomson, looked up, and a scowl of diabolical anger overspread his face. His eyes fairly glowed like hot coals, and he stamped his foot with a sound that seemed to make the house shake. A dreadful peel of thunder broke overhead as he raised the rope again, whilst the rats kept running up and down the rope as they were working against time. This time, instead of throwing it, he drew close to his victim, and held open the noose as he approached. As he came closer they seemed something paralyzing in his very presence, and Malcomson stood rigid as a corpse. He felt the judge's icy fingers touch his throat as he adjusted the rope. The noose tightened, tightened. Then the judge, taking the rigid form of the student in his arms, carried him over, and placed him, standing, in the oak chair, and stepping up beside him, put his hand up and caught the end of the swaying rope of the alarm bell. As he raised his hands the rats fled, squeaking, and disappeared through the hole in the ceiling. Taking the end of the noose which was round Malcomson's neck, he tied it to the hanging bell-rope, and then, descending, pulled away the chair. When the alarm bell of the judge's house began to sound, a crowd soon assembled. Lights and torches of various kinds appeared, and soon a silent crowd was hurrying to the spot. They knocked loudly at the door. But there was no reply. Then they burst in at the door and poured into the great dining-room the doctor at the head. There, at the end of the rope of the great alarm bell hung the body of the student, and on the face of the judge in the picture was a malignant smile. End of the judge's house. Irving and up and playing fowst, and the very name of the old town was hardly known to the great bulk of the traveling public. My wife and I, being in the second week of our honeymoon, naturally wanted someone else to join our party, so that when the cheery stranger, Elias B. Hutchison, hailing from Ismian City, Bleeding Gulch, Maple Tree County, Nebraska, turned up at the station at Frankfurt, and casually remarked that he was going on to see the most all-fired old Methuselah of the town in Europe, and that he guessed that so much traveling alone was enough to send an intelligent, active citizen to the melancholy ward of a daft house, we took the pretty broad hint and suggested that we should join forces. We found, on comparing notes afterwards, that we had each intended to speak with some diffidence or hesitation, so as not to appear too eager, such not being a good compliment to the success of our married life. But the effect was entirely marred by our both beginning to speak at the same instant, stopping simultaneously and then going on together again. Anyhow, no matter how it was done, and Elias B. Hutchison became one of our party, straight away Amelia and I found the pleasant benefit, instead of quarreling, as we had been doing, we found that the restraining influence of a third party was such that we now took every opportunity of spooning in odd corners. Amelia declares that ever since she has, as a result of her experience, advised all her friends to take a friend on the honeymoon. Well, we did, Nuremberg together, and much enjoyed the racy remarks of our transatlantic friend, who, from his quaint speech and his wonderful stalk of adventures, might have stepped out of a novel. We heard from the last object of interest in the city to be visited the bird, and on the day appointed for the visit, strolled around the outer wall of the city by the eastern side. The burg is seated on a rock dominating the town, and an immensely deep frost guards it on the northern side. Nuremberg has been happy in that it was never sacked, had it been, it would certainly not be so spick and span, perfect as it is at present. The ditch has not been used for centuries, and now its base is spread with tea gardens and orchards, of which some of the trees are of quite respectable growth. As we wandered round the wall, dawdling in the hot July sunshine, we often paused to admire the views spread before us, and in a special, the great plain covered with towns and villages, and bounded with a blue line of hills, like a landscape of Claude Lorraine. From this we always turn with new delight to the city itself, with its myriad of quaint bold gables and acre-wide red roofs dotted with dormer windows, tier upon tier. A little to our right runs the towers of the burg, and nearer still, standing grim, the torture tower, which was, and is perhaps, the most interesting place in the city. For centuries, the tradition of the Iron Virgin of Nuremberg has been handed down as an instance of the horrors of cruelty of which man is capable. We had long looked forward to seeing it, and here, at last, was its home. In one of our pauses, we leaned over the wall of the mountain and looked down. The garden seemed quite fifty or sixty feet below us, and the sun pouring into it with an intense, moveless heat like that of an oven. Beyond rose the garden, grim wall, seemingly of endless height, and losing itself right and left in the angles of bastion and counterscarp. Trees and bushes crowned the wall, and above again towered the lofty houses on whose massive beauty, time, has only set the hand of approval. The sun was hot and we were lazy. Time was our own, and we lingered, leaning on the wall. Just below us was a pretty sight. A great black cat, lying stretched in the sun, whilst round her gambled pretty a tiny black kitten. The mother would wave her tail for the kitten to play with, or would raise her feet and push away the little one, as an encouragement to further play. They were just at the foot of the wall, and Elias P. Hutchison, in order to help her play, stooped and took from the walk a moderate-sized pebble. See, he said, I will drop it near the kitten, and they will both wonder where it came from. Oh, be careful, said my wife. You might hit the dear little thing. Not me, ma'am, said Elias P. While I'm as tender as a main cherry tree, lower bless you. I wouldn't hurt the poor, putty little critter more than I'd scalp a baby. And you may bet your very gayed socks on that. See, I'll drop it fur away on the outsides so it's not to go so near. Thus saying, he leaned over and held his arm out at full length, and dropped the stone. It may be that there is some attractive force which draws lesser matters to greater, or more probably that the wall was not plumb but sloped to its base. We not noticing the inclination from above, but the stone fell with a sickening thud that came up to us through the hot air, right on the kitten's head, and shattered out its little brains then and there. The black cat cast a swift upward glance, and we saw her eyes like green fire fixed an instant on Elias P. Hutchison, and then her attention was given to the kitten, which lay still with just a quiver of her tiny limbs, whilst a thin red stream trickled from a gaping wound. With a muffled cry, such as a human being might give, she bent over the kitten licking its wounds and moaning. Suddenly she seemed to realize it was dead, and again threw up her eyes at us. I shall never forget the sight, for she looked the perfect incarnation of hate, her green eyes blazed with lurid fire, and the white, sharp teeth seemed to almost shine through the blood which dabbled her mouth in whiskers. She gnashed her teeth, and a claws stood out stark and at full length on every paw. Then she made a wild rush up the wall as if to reach us. When the momentum ended fell back, and further added to her horrible appearance where she fell upon the kitten, and rose with her black fur smeared with its brains and blood. Amelia turned quite faint, and I had to lift her back from the wall. There was a seat close by in shade of a spreading plain tree, and here I placed her while she composed herself. Then I went back to Hutchison, who stood without moving, looking down on the angry cat below. As I joined him, he said, Well I guess that era of the savages beast I ever see, set once when Apache squad had an edge on a half-breed, which they nicknamed splinters, because the way he fixed up her papoose, which he stole on a raid just to show they appreciated the way they had given his mother the fire torture. She got that kind of look so set on her face that it just seemed to grow there. She follows splinters more than three years till last the braids got him and handed him over to her. They did say that no man, white nor engine, had ever been so long a dime under the tortures of the Apaches. The only time I ever seen her smile was when I wiped her out. I came on the camp just in time to see splinters passing in his checks, and it wasn't sorry to go either. He was a hard citizen, though I never could shake with him after that papoose business, what was bitter bad, and it should have been a white man before he looked like one. I see he got pay out in full during me, but I took a piece of his hide from one of his skin and posts and had it made into a pocketbook. It's here now. And he slapped the breast pocket of his coat. Will Steele speaking, the cat was continuing her frantic efforts to get up the wall. She would take a run back and then charge up, sometimes reaching an incredible height. She did not seem to mind the heavy fall, which she had each time but started with renewed vigor, and at every tumble her appearance became more horrible. Hutchison was a kindhearted man. My wife and I had both noticed little acts of kindness to animals as well as to persons, and he seemed concerned at the state of fury to which the cat had wrought herself. While now, he said, I do declare that our poor career seems quite desperate. There, there, poor thing, it was all an accident, though that won't bring back your little one to you. Say, I wouldn't have had such a thing happen for a thousand. Just shows what a clumsy fool of a man can do when he tries to play. Seems I'm too darn slipper-handed to even play with a cat. Say, Colonel, it was a pleasant way he had to bestow titles freely. I hope your wife don't hold no grudge against me on account of this unpleasantness. Why, I wouldn't have had it occur on no account. He came over to Amelia and apologized profusely, and she, with her usual kindness of heart, hastened to assure him that she quite understood that it was an accident. Then we all went again to the wall and looked over. The cat missing Hutchison's face had drawn back across the note and was sitting on her haunches as though ready to spring. Indeed, the very instant she saw him, she did spring, with a blind and reasoning fury which would have been grotesque, only that it was so frightfully real. She did not try to run up the wall, but simply launched herself at him as though hate and fury could lead her wings to pass straight through the great distance between them. Amelia, womanlike, but quite concerned, had said to the life's pee in a warning voice, Oh, you must be very careful. That animal would try to kill you if you were here. Her eyes looked like positive murder. He laughed out jovially. Excuse me, ma'am, he said. I can't help but laughing. Fancy a man that has caught grizzlies and engines being careful of being murdered by a cat. When the cat heard him laugh, her whole demeanor seemed to change. She no longer tried to jump or run up the wall, but went quietly over and sitting again beside the dead kitten began to lick and farm with as though it were alive. See, said I, the effect of a really strong man, even that animal in the midst of her fury, recognized as the voice of a master and bousgeon. Like a squall was the only comment of Elias P. Hutchison, as we moved on our way around the city false. Every now and then we looked over the wall and each time we saw the cat following us. At first she had kept going back to the dead kitten, and then as the distance grew greater, took it into her mouth and so followed. After a while, however, she abandoned this, for we saw her following all along. She had evidently hidden the body somewhere. Amelia's alarm grew at the cat's persistence, and more than once she repeated her warning, but the American always laughed with amusement till finally, seeing that she's beginning to be worried, he said, I say ma'am, you needn't be scared over that cat. I go healed, I do. Here he slapped his pistol pocket at the back of his lumber region. Why, I soon have you worried. I'll shoot the critter right here, and risk the police interfere him with the citizen of the United States for carrying arms contrary to regulations. As he spoke, he looked over the wall, but the cat on seeing him retreated with a growl into a bed of tall flowers, and was hidden. He went on, blessed that our critter ain't got no more sense of what is good for her than most Christians. I guess we've seen the last of her. You bet she'll go back now to that busted kitten and have a private funeral of it, all or herself. Amelia did not want to say more, lest he might, in mistaken kindness to her, fulfill his threat of shooting the cat. And so she went on across the little wooden bridge, leading to the gateway, once ran the steep paved roadway between the burg and the pentagonal torture tower. As we crossed the bridge, we saw the cat again down below us. When she saw us, her fury seemed to return, and she made frantic efforts to get up the steep wall. Hutchison laughed as he looked down at her and said, Goodbye, old girl. Sorry, I injure your feelings, but you'll get over it in time, so long. And then we passed through the long, dim archway and came to the gate of the burg. When we came out again, our survey of this most beautiful old place, which not even the well-intentioned efforts the Gothic restorers of 40 years ago have been able to spoil, though their restoration was then glaring white, we seem to have forgotten the unpleasant episode of the morning. The old lime tree with its great trunk gnarled with the pressing of nearly nine centuries, the deep well cut through the heart of the rock by those captives of old, and the lovely view from the city wall, once we heard, spread over almost a full quarter of an hour, the multitudinous chimes of the city, had all helped to wipe out from our minds the incident of the slain kitten. We were the only visitors who had entered the torture tower that morning, so at least said the old custodian, and as we had the place all to ourselves were able to make a minute and more satisfactory survey than when it had otherwise been possible. The custodian, looking to us as a sole source of his gains for the day, was willing to meet our wishes in any way. The torture tower is truly a grim place, even now when many thousands of visitors have sent a stream of life, and the joy that follows life into the place. But at the time I mentioned, it wore its grimest and most gruesome aspect. The dust of ages seemed to have settled on it, and the darkness and the horror of its memories seemed to have become sentient in a way that would have satisfied the pantheistic souls of Filo or Spinoza. The lower chamber where we entered was seemingly, in its normal state, filled with incarnate darkness. Even the hot sunlight streaming in through the door seemed to be lost in the vast thickness of the walls, and only showed the masonry rough as when the builder scaffolding had come down. But coated with dust and marked here and there with patches of dark stain, which, if walls could speak, could have given their own dread memories of fear and pain. We were glad to pass up the dusty wooden staircase, the custodian leaving the outer door open to light us somewhat on our way. For to our eyes, the one long wicked, evil-smelling candle stuck in a sconce on the wall gave an inadequate life. When we came up through the open door trap in the corner of the chamber overhead, Amelia held on to me so tightly that I could actually feel her heart beat. I must say that, for my own part, that I was not surprised at her fear, for this room was even more gruesome than that below. Here there was certainly more light, but only just sufficient to realize the horrible surroundings of the place. The builders of the tower had evidently intended that only they should gain the top, should any have the joys of light and prospect. There, as we had noticed from below, were ranges of windows, albeit of medieval smallness, but elsewhere on the tower were only a few very narrow slits such as were habitual in places of medieval defense. A few of these things only lit the chamber, and those so high up in the wall that from no part could the sky be seen through the thickness of the walls. In racks and leaning in disorder against the walls were a number of headsman swords, great double-handed weapons with broad blade and keen edge. Hard by were several blocks whereupon the next of the victims had lame, with here and there are deep notches where the steel had bitten through the guard of flesh and shored into the wood. Round the chamber, placed in all sorts of irregular ways, were many implements of torture, which made one's heart ache to see. Chairs and couches with dull mobs whose torture was seemingly less, but which, though slower, were equally efficacious. Racks, belts, boots, gloves, collars, all made for compressing out wheel, steel baskets in which the head could be slowly crushed into a pulp if necessary, watchmen's hooks with long handle and knife that cut at resistance. This is specialty of the Old Nuremberg police system, and many, many other devices from Anne's injury to Man. Amelia grew quite pale at the horror of these things, but fortunately did not faint. For being a little overcome she sat down on a torture chair, but jumped up again with a shriek, all tendency to faint gone. We both pretended that it was the injury done to her grasp by the dust of the chair, and the rusty spikes which had upset her, and Mr. Hutchison acquiesced in accepting the explanation with a crying heart at last. But the central object in the whole of this chamber of pores was the engine known as the Iron Virgin, which stood near the center of the room. It was a rudely shaped figure of a woman, something of the bell order, or to make a closer comparison of the figure of Mrs. Noah in the children's art, but without that slimness of waist and perfect rondeur of hip, which marks the aesthetic type of the Noah family. One would have hardly recognized it as intended for a human figure at all, had not the founder shaped on the forehead a rude semblance of a woman's face. This machine was coated with rust without and covered with dust. A rope was fastened to a ring in the front of the figure, about where the waist should have been, and was drawn through a pulley fastened on the wooden pillar which sustained the flooring above. The custodian pulling this rope showed the dissection of the front was hinged like a door at one side. We then saw that the engine was of considerable thickness, leaving just room enough inside for a man to be placed. The door was of equal thickness and of great weight, for it took the custodian all his strength aided though he was by the contrivance of the pulley to open it. This way it was partly due to the fact that the door was of manifest purpose, hung so as to throw its weight downwards, so that it might shut of its own accord when the strain was released. The inside was honeycomb with rust. Nay more, the rust alone that comes through time would hardly have eaten so deep into the iron walls. The rust of the cruel stains was deep indeed. It was only however when we came to look at the inside of the door that the diabolical intention was manifest to the full. Here were several long spikes, square and massive, broad at the base and sharp at the points, placed in such a position that when the door should close the upper ones would pierce the eyes of the victim and the lower ones his heart and vitals. The site was too much for poor Amelia and this time she painted dead off and I had to carry her down the stairs and place her on a bench at sides when she recovered. Then she felt it to the quick was afterwards shown by the fact that my eldest son bears to this day a rude birthmark on his breast which was by family consent being accepted as representing the Nuremberg Virgin. When we got back to the chamber we found Hutchison still opposite the Iron Virgin. He had been evidently philosophizing and now gave us the benefit of his thought in the shape of the sword of Exordium. While I guess I've been learning something here while Madown has been getting over her fate, here's to me that we're a long way behind the times on our side of the big dream. We used to think out in the plains that the engine gave us points in trying to make a man uncomfortable but I guess your old medieval law and order party could raise him every time. Blinters were pretty good in his bluff on the squaw but this here young mistress held a straight flush all high on him. The points of them spikes are sharp enough still though even the edge is airy now by whilst there be on them. It'd be a good thing for Indian section to get some specimens of here play toy to send them around the reservations just to knock the stuffing out of the box and the squaw's too by showing them as how old civilization lays over them at their best. Guess I'll get mad box a minute just to see how it feels. Oh no no said Amelia it is too terrible. Guess ma'am nothing's too terrible to explore on mine. I've been in some queer places my time spent a night inside a dead horse while a prairie fire slept over me in the tannin territory and another time slept inside a dead buffalo when the Comachias was on a war path and I didn't care to leave my cured on them. I've been two days in a carved-in tunnel in the Billy Bronco gold mine in New Mexico and was one of the four shut up to three parts of the day in the case him would slid over her thigh when she was sent in the foundation of the Buffalo bridge. I'm not funk to not experience yet and I don't propose to begin now. We saw he was set on the experiment so I said well hurry up old man and get through it quick. All right general said he but I calculate we ain't quite ready yet the gentleman in my predecessors with student that there canister didn't volunteer for the office not much and I guess there was some ornamental tie-up before the big stroke was made. I want to go into the sink fair and square so I might get fixed up proper first. I dare say this old glute can raise some string and tie me up a quorum to a sample. This was said interrogatively to the old custodian but the latter who understood the drift of this speech though perhaps not appreciating to the full the niceties of dialect and imagery shook his head. His protest was however only formal and made to be overcome. The American thrust a gold piece into his hand saying take it powered it's your pot don't be scared this ain't no necktie part of that you asked his assistant. He produced some thin frayed rope and proceeded to bind our companion with sufficient strictness for the purpose. When the upper part of his body was bound Hutchinson said hold on a moment judge guess I'm too heavy for you to talk on the canister you just let me walk in and then you wash up regard my legs. Will speaking he had backed himself into the opening which was just enough to hold him. It was close fit and no mistake Amelia looked on with fear in her eyes but she evidently did not like to say anything. Then the custodian pleaded his task by tying the Americans feet together so that he was now absolutely helpless and fixed in a voluntary prison. He seemed to really enjoy it and the incipient smile which was habitual to his face blossomed into actuality as he said. Guess this here eve was made out of the rib of a dwarf. There ain't much room for full-grown citizens of the United States to hustle. We used to make coffins more roomier in Idaho territory. Now judge you just begin to let this door down slow on to me. I want to feel the same pleasure as the other jades have when those spikes began to move toward their eyes. Oh no no no broken Amelia hysterically it is too terrible I can't bear to see it I can't I can't but the American was accurate. Say Colonel said he why not take me down for a little promenade. I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world but now that I'm here having come 8,000 miles wouldn't it be hard to give up the very experience I'm pen and pen for. A man can't get to experience like canned goods every time. Me and the judge here will fix up the scene in no time and then you'll come back and we'll be all laughing together. Once more the resolution that is born of curiosity triumphed. An Amelia stayed holding tight to my arm and shivering whilst the custodian began to slacken slowly inch by inch the rope to help back the iron door. Hutchins' eyes were positively radiant as his eyes followed the first movement of the spikes. While he said I guess I've not had enjoyment like this since I left New York bar a scrap with a French sailor whooping and that wasn't much of a picnic neither. I've not had show for real pleasure in this dog-ridden continent where there ain't no bars nor engines and we're nary mangos healed. Slow there judge don't you rush this business I want to show for my money this game I do. Custodian must have had in him some of the blood of his predecessors in that ghastly tower for he worked the engine with a deliberate and excruciating slowness which after five minutes which the outer edge of the door had not moved half as many inches began to overcome Amelia. I saw her lips whitening. I felt her hold upon my arm relax. I looked around an instant for a place where I pond to lay her and when I looked at her again found that her eyes had become fixed on the side of the virgin. Following his direction I saw the black cat crouching out of sight. Her green eyes shone like danger lamps in the gloom of the place and their color was heightened by the blood which still smeared her coat red in her mouth. I cried out. The cat. Look out for the cat. For even then she sprang out before the engine. At this moment she looked like a triumphant demon. Her eyes blazed with ferocity. Her hair bristled out till she seemed twice her normal size and her tail lashed about as does a tiger's when the quarry is behind it. Elias P. Hutchinson when he saw her was amused and his eyes positively sparkled with fun as he said. Darn of the squire had gone on all her warping. Just give her a shove off she comes near any tricks on me and I'm so fixed everlastingly by the boss that during my skin if I can keep my eyes from her she wants them. Easy there judge. Don't you slack that out rope or I'm yukered. At this moment Emilia completed her faint and I had to clutch hold of her around the waist or she would have fallen to the floor. Whilst attending to her I saw the black cat crouching for a spring and jumped up to turn the creature out. But at that instant with a sort of hellish scream she hurled herself not as we expected at Hutchinson but straight at the face of the custodian. Her claws seemed to be tearing wildly as one sees of the Chinese drawings of the dragon rampant and as I looked I saw one of them light on the poor man's eye and actually tear through and down his cheek leaving a wide band of red where the blood seemed to spurt from every vein. With the yellow sheer terror which came quicker than even his sense of pain the man leapt back dropping as he did so the rope which held back the iron door. I jumped for it but was too late. The cord ran like the lightning through the pulley block and the heavy mask fell forward from its own weight. As the door closed I caught a glimpse of our poor companion's face. He seemed frozen with terror. His eyes stared with a horrible anguish as if days no sound came from his lips and then the spikes did their work. Happily the end was quick for when I wrenched open the door they appeared so deep that they had locked in the bones and the skull through which they had crushed and actually tore him it out of his iron prison till, bound as he was, he fell at length with his sickly thought upon the floor the face turning upward as he fell. I rushed to my wife lifted her up and carried her out for I feared for her very reason if she would wake from her faint to such a scene. I laid her on the bench outside and ran back. Leaning against the wooden column was custodian moaning in pain whilst he held his reddening handkerchief to his eyes and sitting on the head of the poor American was the cat purring loudly as she licked the blood which trickled through the gash socket of his eyes. I think no one will call me cruel because I seized one of the old executioner's swords and shore her in two as she sat. End of The Squaw