A Thin Ghost and Others, Page 3

  AN EPISODE OF CATHEDRAL HISTORY

  There was once a learned gentleman who was deputed to examine andreport upon the archives of the Cathedral of Southminster. Theexamination of these records demanded a very considerable expenditureof time: hence it became advisable for him to engage lodgings in thecity: for though the Cathedral body were profuse in their offers ofhospitality, Mr. Lake felt that he would prefer to be master of hisday. This was recognized as reasonable. The Dean eventually wroteadvising Mr. Lake, if he were not already suited, to communicate withMr. Worby, the principal Verger, who occupied a house convenient tothe church and was prepared to take in a quiet lodger for three orfour weeks. Such an arrangement was precisely what Mr. Lake desired.Terms were easily agreed upon, and early in December, like another Mr.Datchery (as he remarked to himself), the investigator found himselfin the occupation of a very comfortable room in an ancient and"cathedraly" house.

  One so familiar with the customs of Cathedral churches, and treatedwith such obvious consideration by the Dean and Chapter of thisCathedral in particular, could not fail to command the respect of theHead Verger. Mr. Worby even acquiesced in certain modifications ofstatements he had been accustomed to offer for years to parties ofvisitors. Mr. Lake, on his part, found the Verger a very cheerycompanion, and took advantage of any occasion that presented itselffor enjoying his conversation when the day's work was over.

  One evening, about nine o'clock, Mr. Worby knocked at his lodger'sdoor. "I've occasion," he said, "to go across to the Cathedral, Mr.Lake, and I think I made you a promise when I did so next I would giveyou the opportunity to see what it looks like at night time. It isquite fine and dry outside, if you care to come."

  "To be sure I will; very much obliged to you, Mr. Worby, for thinkingof it, but let me get my coat."

  "Here it is, sir, and I've another lantern here that you'll findadvisable for the steps, as there's no moon."

  "Any one might think we were Jasper and Durdles, over again, mightn'tthey," said Lake, as they crossed the close, for he had ascertainedthat the Verger had read _Edwin Drood_.

  "Well, so they might," said Mr. Worby, with a short laugh, "though Idon't know whether we ought to take it as a compliment. Odd ways, Ioften think, they had at that Cathedral, don't it seem so to you, sir?Full choral matins at seven o'clock in the morning all the year round.Wouldn't suit our boys' voices nowadays, and I think there's one ortwo of the men would be applying for a rise if the Chapter was tobring it in--particular the alltoes."

  They were now at the south-west door. As Mr. Worby was unlocking it,Lake said, "Did you ever find anybody locked in here by accident?"

  "Twice I did. One was a drunk sailor; however he got in I don't know.I s'pose he went to sleep in the service, but by the time I got to himhe was praying fit to bring the roof in. Lor'! what a noise that mandid make! said it was the first time he'd been inside a church for tenyears, and blest if ever he'd try it again. The other was an oldsheep: them boys it was, up to their games. That was the last timethey tried it on, though. There, sir, now you see what we look like;our late Dean used now and again to bring parties in, but he preferreda moonlight night, and there was a piece of verse he'd coat to 'em,relating to a Scotch cathedral, I understand; but I don't know; Ialmost think the effect's better when it's all dark-like. Seems to addto the size and heighth. Now if you won't mind stopping somewhere inthe nave while I go up into the choir where my business lays, you'llsee what I mean."

  Accordingly Lake waited, leaning against a pillar, and watched thelight wavering along the length of the church, and up the steps intothe choir, until it was intercepted by some screen or other furniture,which only allowed the reflection to be seen on the piers and roof.Not many minutes had passed before Worby reappeared at the door of thechoir and by waving his lantern signalled to Lake to rejoin him.

  "I suppose it _is_ Worby, and not a substitute," thought Lake tohimself, as he walked up the nave. There was, in fact, nothinguntoward. Worby showed him the papers which he had come to fetch outof the Dean's stall, and asked him what he thought of the spectacle:Lake agreed that it was well worth seeing. "I suppose," he said, asthey walked towards the altar-steps together, "that you're too muchused to going about here at night to feel nervous--but you must get astart every now and then, don't you, when a book falls down or a doorswings to."

  "No, Mr. Lake, I can't say I think much about noises, not nowadays:I'm much more afraid of finding an escape of gas or a burst in thestove pipes than anything else. Still there have been times, yearsago. Did you notice that plain altar-tomb there--fifteenth century wesay it is, I don't know if you agree to that? Well, if you didn't lookat it, just come back and give it a glance, if you'd be so good." Itwas on the north side of the choir, and rather awkwardly placed: onlyabout three feet from the enclosing stone screen. Quite plain, as theVerger had said, but for some ordinary stone panelling. A metal crossof some size on the northern side (that next to the screen) was thesolitary feature of any interest.

  Lake agreed that it was not earlier than the Perpendicular period:"but," he said, "unless it's the tomb of some remarkable person,you'll forgive me for saying that I don't think it's particularlynoteworthy."

  "Well, I can't say as it is the tomb of anybody noted in 'istory,"said Worby, who had a dry smile on his face, "for we don't own anyrecord whatsoever of who it was put up to. For all that, if you'vehalf an hour to spare, sir, when we get back to the house, Mr. Lake, Icould tell you a tale about that tomb. I won't begin on it now; itstrikes cold here, and we don't want to be dawdling about all night."

  "Of course I should like to hear it immensely."

  "Very well, sir, you shall. Now if I might put a question to you," hewent on, as they passed down the choir aisle, "in our little localguide--and not only there, but in the little book on our Cathedral inthe series--you'll find it stated that this portion of the buildingwas erected previous to the twelfth century. Now of course I should beglad enough to take that view, but--mind the step, sir--but, I put itto you--does the lay of the stone 'ere in this portion of the wall(which he tapped with his key) does it to your eye carry the flavourof what you might call Saxon masonry? No? I thought not; no more itdoes to me: now, if you'll believe me, I've said as much to thosemen--one's the librarian of our Free Libry here, and the other camedown from London on purpose--fifty times, if I have once, but I mightjust as well have talked to that bit of stonework. But there it is, Isuppose every one's got their opinions."

  The discussion of this peculiar trait of human nature occupied Mr.Worby almost up to the moment when he and Lake re-entered the former'shouse. The condition of the fire in Lake's sitting-room led to asuggestion from Mr. Worby that they should finish the evening in hisown parlour. We find them accordingly settled there some short timeafterwards.

  Mr. Worby made his story a long one, and I will not undertake to tellit wholly in his own words, or in his own order. Lake committed thesubstance of it to paper immediately after hearing it, together withsome few passages of the narrative which had fixed themselves_verbatim_ in his mind; I shall probably find it expedient to condenseLake's record to some extent.

  Mr. Worby was born, it appeared, about the year 1828. His fatherbefore him had been connected with the Cathedral, and likewise hisgrandfather. One or both had been choristers, and in later life bothhad done work as mason and carpenter respectively about the fabric.Worby himself, though possessed, as he frankly acknowledged, of anindifferent voice, had been drafted into the choir at about ten yearsof age.

  It was in 1840 that the wave of the Gothic revival smote the Cathedralof Southminster. "There was a lot of lovely stuff went then, sir,"said Worby, with a sigh. "My father couldn't hardly believe it when hegot his orders to clear out the choir. There was a new dean just comein--Dean Burscough it was--and my father had been 'prenticed to a goodfirm of joiners in the city, and knew what good work was when he sawit. Crool it was, he used to say: all that beautiful wainscot oak, asgood as the day it was put up, and garlands-like of folia
ge and fruit,and lovely old gilding work on the coats of arms and the organ pipes.All went to the timber yard--every bit except some little piecesworked up in the Lady Chapel, and 'ere in this overmantel. Well--I maybe mistook, but I say our choir never looked as well since. Stillthere was a lot found out about the history of the church, and nodoubt but what it did stand in need of repair. There were very fewwinters passed but what we'd lose a pinnicle." Mr. Lake expressed hisconcurrence with Worby's views of restoration, but owns to a fearabout this point lest the story proper should never be reached.Possibly this was perceptible in his manner.

  Worby hastened to reassure him, "Not but what I could carry on aboutthat topic for hours at a time, and do do when I see my opportunity.But Dean Burscough he was very set on the Gothic period, and nothingwould serve him but everything must be made agreeable to that. And onemorning after service he appointed for my father to meet him in thechoir, and he came back after he'd taken off his robes in the vestry,and he'd got a roll of paper with him, and the verger that was thenbrought in a table, and they begun spreading it out on the table withprayer books to keep it down, and my father helped 'em, and he saw itwas a picture of the inside of a choir in a Cathedral; and theDean--he was a quick spoken gentleman--he says, 'Well, Worby, what doyou think of that?' 'Why', says my father, 'I don't think I 'ave thepleasure of knowing that view. Would that be Hereford Cathedral, Mr.Dean?' 'No, Worby,' says the Dean, 'that's Southminster Cathedral aswe hope to see it before many years.' 'In-deed, sir,' says my father,and that was all he did say--leastways to the Dean--but he used totell me he felt really faint in himself when he looked round ourchoir as I can remember it, all comfortable and furnished-like, andthen see this nasty little dry picter, as he called it, drawn out bysome London architect. Well, there I am again. But you'll see what Imean if you look at this old view."

  Worby reached down a framed print from the wall. "Well, the long andthe short of it was that the Dean he handed over to my father a copyof an order of the Chapter that he was to clear out every bit of thechoir--make a clean sweep--ready for the new work that was beingdesigned up in town, and he was to put it in hand as soon as ever hecould get the breakers together. Now then, sir, if you look at thatview, you'll see where the pulpit used to stand: that's what I wantyou to notice, if you please." It was, indeed, easily seen; anunusually large structure of timber with a domed sounding-board,standing at the east end of the stalls on the north side of the choir,facing the bishop's throne. Worby proceeded to explain that during thealterations, services were held in the nave, the members of the choirbeing thereby disappointed of an anticipated holiday, and the organistin particular incurring the suspicion of having wilfully damaged themechanism of the temporary organ that was hired at considerableexpense from London.

  The work of demolition began with the choir screen and organ loft, andproceeded gradually eastwards, disclosing, as Worby said, manyinteresting features of older work. While this was going on, themembers of the Chapter were, naturally, in and about the choir a greatdeal, and it soon became apparent to the elder Worby--who could nothelp overhearing some of their talk--that, on the part of the seniorCanons especially, there must have been a good deal of disagreementbefore the policy now being carried out had been adopted. Some were ofopinion that they should catch their deaths of cold in thereturn-stalls, unprotected by a screen from the draughts in the nave:others objected to being exposed to the view of persons in the choiraisles, especially, they said, during the sermons, when they found ithelpful to listen in a posture which was liable to misconstruction.The strongest opposition, however, came from the oldest of the body,who up to the last moment objected to the removal of the pulpit. "Youought not to touch it, Mr. Dean," he said with great emphasis onemorning, when the two were standing before it: "you don't know whatmischief you may do." "Mischief? it's not a work of any particularmerit, Canon." "Don't call me Canon," said the old man with greatasperity, "that is, for thirty years I've been known as Dr. Ayloff,and I shall be obliged, Mr. Dean, if you would kindly humour me inthat matter. And as to the pulpit (which I've preached from for thirtyyears, though I don't insist on that) all I'll say is, I _know_ you'redoing wrong in moving it." "But what sense could there be, my dearDoctor, in leaving it where it is, when we're fitting up the rest ofthe choir in a totally different _style_? What reason could begiven--apart from the look of the thing?" "Reason! reason!" said oldDr. Ayloff; "if you young men--if I may say so without any disrespect,Mr. Dean--if you'd only listen to reason a little, and not be alwaysasking for it, we should get on better. But there, I've said my say."The old gentleman hobbled off, and as it proved, never entered theCathedral again. The season--it was a hot summer--turned sickly on asudden. Dr. Ayloff was one of the first to go, with some affection ofthe muscles of the thorax, which took him painfully at night. And atmany services the number of choirmen and boys was very thin.

  Meanwhile the pulpit had been done away with. In fact, thesounding-board (part of which still exists as a table in asummer-house in the palace garden) was taken down within an hour ortwo of Dr. Ayloff's protest. The removal of the base--not effectedwithout considerable trouble--disclosed to view, greatly to theexultation of the restoring party, an altar-tomb--the tomb, of course,to which Worby had attracted Lake's attention that same evening. Muchfruitless research was expended in attempts to identify the occupant;from that day to this he has never had a name put to him. Thestructure had been most carefully boxed in under the pulpit-base, sothat such slight ornament as it possessed was not defaced; only on thenorth side of it there was what looked like an injury; a gap betweentwo of the slabs composing the side. It might be two or three inchesacross. Palmer, the mason, was directed to fill it up in a week'stime, when he came to do some other small jobs near that part of thechoir.

  The season was undoubtedly a very trying one. Whether the church wasbuilt on a site that had once been a marsh, as was suggested, or forwhatever reason, the residents in its immediate neighbourhood had,many of them, but little enjoyment of the exquisite sunny days andthe calm nights of August and September. To several of the olderpeople--Dr. Ayloff, among others, as we have seen--the summer proveddownright fatal, but even among the younger, few escaped either asojourn in bed for a matter of weeks, or at the least, a broodingsense of oppression, accompanied by hateful nightmares. Graduallythere formulated itself a suspicion--which grew into a conviction--thatthe alterations in the Cathedral had something to say in the matter.The widow of a former old verger, a pensioner of the Chapter ofSouthminster, was visited by dreams, which she retailed to herfriends, of a shape that slipped out of the little door of the southtransept as the dark fell in, and flitted--taking a fresh directionevery night--about the close, disappearing for a while in house afterhouse, and finally emerging again when the night sky was paling. Shecould see nothing of it, she said, but that it was a moving form: onlyshe had an impression that when it returned to the church, as itseemed to do in the end of the dream, it turned its head: and then,she could not tell why, but she thought it had red eyes. Worbyremembered hearing the old lady tell this dream at a tea-party in thehouse of the chapter clerk. Its recurrence might, perhaps, he said, betaken as a symptom of approaching illness; at any rate before the endof September the old lady was in her grave.

  The interest excited by the restoration of this great church was notconfined to its own county. One day that summer an F.S.A., of somecelebrity, visited the place. His business was to write an account ofthe discoveries that had been made, for the Society of Antiquaries,and his wife, who accompanied him, was to make a series ofillustrative drawings for his report. In the morning she employedherself in making a general sketch of the choir; in the afternoon shedevoted herself to details. She first drew the newly exposedaltar-tomb, and when that was finished, she called her husband'sattention to a beautiful piece of diaper-ornament on the screen justbehind it, which had, like the tomb itself, been completely concealedby the pulpit. Of course, he said, an illustration of that must bemade; so she seated herself on the tomb an
d began a careful drawingwhich occupied her till dusk.

  Her husband had by this time finished his work of measuring anddescription, and they agreed that it was time to be getting back totheir hotel. "You may as well brush my skirt, Frank," said the lady,"it must have got covered with dust, I'm sure." He obeyed dutifully;but, after a moment, he said, "I don't know whether you value thisdress particularly, my dear, but I'm inclined to think it's seen itsbest days. There's a great bit of it gone." "Gone? Where?" said she."I don't know where it's gone, but it's off at the bottom edge behindhere." She pulled it hastily into sight, and was horrified to find ajagged tear extending some way into the substance of the stuff; verymuch, she said, as if a dog had rent it away. The dress was, in anycase, hopelessly spoilt, to her great vexation, and though they lookedeverywhere, the missing piece could not be found. There were manyways, they concluded, in which the injury might have come about, forthe choir was full of old bits of woodwork with nails sticking out ofthem. Finally, they could only suppose that one of these had causedthe mischief, and that the workmen, who had been about all day, hadcarried off the particular piece with the fragment of dress stillattached to it.

  It was about this time, Worby thought, that his little dog began towear an anxious expression when the hour for it to be put into theshed in the back yard approached. (For his mother had ordained that itmust not sleep in the house.) One evening, he said, when he was justgoing to pick it up and carry it out, it looked at him "like aChristian, and waved its 'and, I was going to say--well, you know 'owthey do carry on sometimes, and the end of it was I put it under mycoat, and 'uddled it upstairs--and I'm afraid I as good as deceived mypoor mother on the subject. After that the dog acted very artful with'iding itself under the bed for half-an-hour or more before bed-timecame, and we worked it so as my mother never found out what we'ddone." Of course Worby was glad of its company anyhow, but moreparticularly when the nuisance that is still remembered inSouthminster as "the crying" set in.

  "Night after night," said Worby, "that dog seemed to know it wascoming; he'd creep out, he would, and snuggle into the bed and cuddleright up to me shivering, and when the crying come he'd be like a wildthing, shoving his head under my arm, and I was fully near as bad. Sixor seven times we'd hear it, not more, and when he'd dror out his 'edagain I'd know it was over for that night. What was it like, sir?Well, I never heard but one thing that seemed to hit it off. Ihappened to be playing about in the Close, and there was two of theCanons met and said 'Good morning' one to another. 'Sleep well lastnight?' says one--it was Mr. Henslow that one, and Mr. Lyall was theother--'Can't say I did,' says Mr. Lyall, 'rather too much of Isaiah34. 14 for me.' '34. 14,' says Mr. Henslow, 'what's that?' 'You callyourself a Bible reader!' says Mr. Lyall. (Mr. Henslow, you must know,he was one of what used to be termed Simeon's lot--pretty much what weshould call the Evangelical party.) 'You go and look it up.' I wantedto know what he was getting at myself, and so off I ran home and gotout my own Bible, and there it was: 'the satyr shall cry to hisfellow.' Well, I thought, is that what we've been listening to thesepast nights? and I tell you it made me look over my shoulder a time ortwo. Of course I'd asked my father and mother about what it could bebefore that, but they both said it was most likely cats: but theyspoke very short, and I could see they was troubled. My word! that wasa noise--'ungry-like, as if it was calling after some one thatwouldn't come. If ever you felt you wanted company, it would be whenyou was waiting for it to begin again. I believe two or three nightsthere was men put on to watch in different parts of the Close; butthey all used to get together in one corner, the nearest they could tothe High Street, and nothing came of it.

  "Well, the next thing was this. Me and another of the boys--he's inbusiness in the city now as a grocer, like his father before him--we'dgone up in the Close after morning service was over, and we heard oldPalmer the mason bellowing to some of his men. So we went up nearer,because we knew he was a rusty old chap and there might be some fungoing. It appears Palmer'd told this man to stop up the chink in thatold tomb. Well, there was this man keeping on saying he'd done it thebest he could, and there was Palmer carrying on like all possessedabout it. 'Call that making a job of it?' he says. 'If you had yourrights you'd get the sack for this. What do you suppose I pay you yourwages for? What do you suppose I'm going to say to the Dean andChapter when they come round, as come they may do any time, and seewhere you've been bungling about covering the 'ole place with messand plaster and Lord knows what?' 'Well, master, I done the best Icould,' says the man; 'I don't know no more than what you do 'ow itcome to fall out this way. I tamped it right in the 'ole,' he says,'and now it's fell out,' he says, 'I never see.'

  "'Fell out?' says old Palmer, 'why it's nowhere near the place. Blowedout, you mean,' and he picked up a bit of plaster, and so did I, thatwas laying up against the screen, three or four feet off, and not dryyet; and old Palmer he looked at it curious-like, and then he turnedround on me and he says, 'Now then, you boys, have you been up to someof your games here?' 'No,' I says, 'I haven't, Mr. Palmer; there'snone of us been about here till just this minute,' and while I wastalking the other boy, Evans, he got looking in through the chink, andI heard him draw in his breath, and he came away sharp and up to us,and says he, 'I believe there's something in there. I saw somethingshiny.' 'What! I daresay,' says old Palmer; 'Well, I ain't got time tostop about there. You, William, you go off and get some more stuff andmake a job of it this time; if not, there'll be trouble in my yard,'he says.

  "So the man he went off, and Palmer too, and us boys stopped behind,and I says to Evans, 'Did you really see anything in there?' 'Yes,' hesays, 'I did indeed.' So then I says, 'Let's shove something in andstir it up.' And we tried several of the bits of wood that was layingabout, but they were all too big. Then Evans he had a sheet of musiche'd brought with him, an anthem or a service, I forget which it wasnow, and he rolled it up small and shoved it in the chink; two orthree times he did it, and nothing happened. 'Give it me, boy,' Isaid, and I had a try. No, nothing happened. Then, I don't know why Ithought of it, I'm sure, but I stooped down just opposite the chinkand put my two fingers in my mouth and whistled--you know the way--andat that I seemed to think I heard something stirring, and I says toEvans, 'Come away,' I says; 'I don't like this.' 'Oh, rot,' he says,'Give me that roll,' and he took it and shoved it in. And I don'tthink ever I see any one go so pale as he did. 'I say, Worby,' hesays, 'it's caught, or else some one's got hold of it.' 'Pull it outor leave it,' I says, 'Come and let's get off.' So he gave a goodpull, and it came away. Leastways most of it did, but the end wasgone. Torn off it was, and Evans looked at it for a second and then hegave a sort of a croak and let it drop, and we both made off out ofthere as quick as ever we could. When we got outside Evans says to me,'Did you see the end of that paper.' 'No,' I says, 'only it was torn.''Yes, it was,' he says, 'but it was wet too, and black!' Well, partlybecause of the fright we had, and partly because that music was wantedin a day or two, and we knew there'd be a set-out about it with theorganist, we didn't say nothing to any one else, and I suppose theworkmen they swept up the bit that was left along with the rest of therubbish. But Evans, if you were to ask him this very day about it,he'd stick to it he saw that paper wet and black at the end where itwas torn."

  After that the boys gave the choir a wide berth, so that Worby was notsure what was the result of the mason's renewed mending of the tomb.Only he made out from fragments of conversation dropped by the workmenpassing through the choir that some difficulty had been met with, andthat the governor--Mr. Palmer to wit--had tried his own hand at thejob. A little later, he happened to see Mr. Palmer himself knocking atthe door of the Deanery and being admitted by the butler. A day or soafter that, he gathered from a remark his father let fall at breakfastthat something a little out of the common was to be done in theCathedral after morning service on the morrow. "And I'd just as soonit was to-day," his father added, "I don't see the use of runningrisks." "'Father,' I says, 'what are you going to do in the Cathedralto-mor
row?' and he turned on me as savage as I ever see him--he was awonderful good-tempered man as a general thing, my poor father was.'My lad,' he says, 'I'll trouble you not to go picking up your elders'and betters' talk: it's not manners and it's not straight. What I'mgoing to do or not going to do in the Cathedral to-morrow is none ofyour business: and if I catch sight of you hanging about the placeto-morrow after your work's done, I'll send you home with a flea inyour ear. Now you mind that.' Of course I said I was very sorry andthat, and equally of course I went off and laid my plans with Evans.We knew there was a stair up in the corner of the transept which youcan get up to the triforium, and in them days the door to it waspretty well always open, and even if it wasn't we knew the key usuallylaid under a bit of matting hard by. So we made up our minds we'd beputting away music and that, next morning while the rest of the boyswas clearing off, and then slip up the stairs and watch from thetriforium if there was any signs of work going on.

  "Well, that same night I dropped off asleep as sound as a boy does,and all of a sudden the dog woke me up, coming into the bed, andthought I, now we're going to get it sharp, for he seemed morefrightened than usual. After about five minutes sure enough came thiscry. I can't give you no idea what it was like; and so neartoo--nearer than I'd heard it yet--and a funny thing, Mr. Lake, youknow what a place this Close is for an echo, and particular if youstand this side of it. Well, this crying never made no sign of an echoat all. But, as I said, it was dreadful near this night; and on thetop of the start I got with hearing it, I got another fright; for Iheard something rustling outside in the passage. Now to be sure Ithought I was done; but I noticed the dog seemed to perk up a bit, andnext there was some one whispered outside the door, and I very nearlaughed out loud, for I knew it was my father and mother that had gotout of bed with the noise. 'Whatever is it?' says my mother. 'Hush! Idon't know,' says my father, excited-like, 'don't disturb the boy. Ihope he didn't hear nothing.'

  "So, me knowing they were just outside, it made me bolder, and Islipped out of bed across to my little window--giving on theClose--but the dog he bored right down to the bottom of the bed--and Ilooked out. First go off I couldn't see anything. Then right down inthe shadow under a buttress I made out what I shall always say was twospots of red--a dull red it was--nothing like a lamp or a fire, butjust so as you could pick 'em out of the black shadow. I hadn't butjust sighted 'em when it seemed we wasn't the only people that hadbeen disturbed, because I see a window in a house on the left-handside become lighted up, and the light moving. I just turned my head tomake sure of it, and then looked back into the shadow for those twored things, and they were gone, and for all I peered about and stared,there was not a sign more of them. Then come my last fright thatnight--something come against my bare leg--but that was all right:that was my little dog had come out of bed, and prancing about, makinga great to-do, only holding his tongue, and me seeing he was quite inspirits again, I took him back to bed and we slept the night out!

  "Next morning I made out to tell my mother I'd had the dog in my room,and I was surprised, after all she'd said about it before, how quietshe took it. 'Did you?' she says. 'Well, by good rights you ought togo without your breakfast for doing such a thing behind my back: but Idon't know as there's any great harm done, only another time you askmy permission, do you hear?' A bit after that I said something to myfather about having heard the cats again. '_Cats_,' he says, and helooked over at my poor mother, and she coughed and he says, 'Oh! ah!yes, cats. I believe I heard 'em myself.'

  "That was a funny morning altogether: nothing seemed to go right. Theorganist he stopped in bed, and the minor Canon he forgot it was the19th day and waited for the _Venite_; and after a bit the deputy heset off playing the chant for evensong, which was a minor; and thenthe Decani boys were laughing so much they couldn't sing, and when itcame to the anthem the solo boy he got took with the giggles, and madeout his nose was bleeding, and shoved the book at me what hadn'tpractised the verse and wasn't much of a singer if I had known it.Well, things was rougher, you see, fifty years ago, and I got a nipfrom the counter-tenor behind me that I remembered.

  "So we got through somehow, and neither the men nor the boys weren'tby way of waiting to see whether the Canon in residence--Mr. Henslowit was--would come to the vestries and fine 'em, but I don't believehe did: for one thing I fancy he'd read the wrong lesson for the firsttime in his life, and knew it. Anyhow Evans and me didn't find nodifficulty in slipping up the stairs as I told you, and when we got upwe laid ourselves down flat on our stomachs where we could juststretch our heads out over the old tomb, and we hadn't but just doneso when we heard the verger that was then, first shutting the ironporch-gates and locking the south-west door, and then the transeptdoor, so we knew there was something up, and they meant to keep thepublic out for a bit.

  "Next thing was, the Dean and the Canon come in by their door on thenorth, and then I see my father, and old Palmer, and a couple of theirbest men, and Palmer stood a talking for a bit with the Dean in themiddle of the choir. He had a coil of rope and the men had crows. Allof 'em looked a bit nervous. So there they stood talking, and at lastI heard the Dean say, 'Well, I've no time to waste, Palmer. If youthink this'll satisfy Southminster people, I'll permit it to be done;but I must say this, that never in the whole course of my life have Iheard such arrant nonsense from a practical man as I have from you.Don't you agree with me, Henslow?' As far as I could hear Mr. Henslowsaid something like 'Oh! well we're told, aren't we, Mr. Dean, not tojudge others?' and the Dean he gave a kind of sniff, and walkedstraight up to the tomb, and took his stand behind it with his back tothe screen, and the others they come edging up rather gingerly.Henslow, he stopped on the south side and scratched on his chin, hedid. Then the Dean spoke up: 'Palmer,' he says, 'which can you doeasiest, get the slab off the top, or shift one of the side slabs?'

  "Old Palmer and his men they pottered about a bit looking round theedge of the top slab and sounding the sides on the south and east andwest and everywhere but the north. Henslow said something about itbeing better to have a try at the south side, because there was morelight and more room to move about in. Then my father, who'd beenwatching of them, went round to the north side, and knelt down andfelt of the slab by the chink, and he got up and dusted his knees andsays to the Dean: 'Beg pardon, Mr. Dean, but I think if Mr. Palmer'lltry this here slab he'll find it'll come out easy enough. Seems to meone of the men could prize it out with his crow by means of thischink.' 'Ah! thank you, Worby,' says the Dean; 'that's a goodsuggestion. Palmer, let one of your men do that, will you?'

  "So the man come round, and put his bar in and bore on it, and justthat minute when they were all bending over, and we boys got our headswell out over the edge of the triforium, there come a most fearfulcrash down at the west end of the choir, as if a whole stack of bigtimber had fallen down a flight of stairs. Well, you can't expect meto tell you everything that happened all in a minute. Of course therewas a terrible commotion. I heard the slab fall out, and the crowbaron the floor, and I heard the Dean say 'Good God!'

  "When I looked down again I saw the Dean tumbled over on the floor,the men was making off down the choir, Henslow was just going to helpthe Dean up, Palmer was going to stop the men, as he said afterwards,and my father was sitting on the altar step with his face in hishands. The Dean he was very cross. 'I wish to goodness you'd lookwhere you're coming to, Henslow,' he says. 'Why you should all taketo your heels when a stick of wood tumbles down I cannot imagine,' andall Henslow could do, explaining he was right away on the other sideof the tomb, would not satisfy him.

  "Then Palmer came back and reported there was nothing to account forthis noise and nothing seemingly fallen down, and when the Deanfinished feeling of himself they gathered round--except my father, hesat where he was--and some one lighted up a bit of candle and theylooked into the tomb. 'Nothing there,' says the Dean, 'what did I tellyou? Stay! here's something. What's this: a bit of music paper, and apiece of torn stuff--part of a dress it looks like. Both quitem
odern--no interest whatever. Another time perhaps you'll take theadvice of an educated man'--or something like that, and off he went,limping a bit, and out through the north door, only as he went hecalled back angry to Palmer for leaving the door standing open. Palmercalled out 'Very sorry, sir,' but he shrugged his shoulders, andHenslow says, 'I fancy Mr. Dean's mistaken. I closed the door behindme, but he's a little upset.' Then Palmer says, 'Why, where's Worby?'and they saw him sitting on the step and went up to him. He wasrecovering himself, it seemed, and wiping his forehead, and Palmerhelped him up on to his legs, as I was glad to see.

  "They were too far off for me to hear what they said, but my fatherpointed to the north door in the aisle, and Palmer and Henslow both ofthem looked very surprised and scared. After a bit, my father andHenslow went out of the church, and the others made what haste theycould to put the slab back and plaster it in. And about as the clockstruck twelve the Cathedral was opened again and us boys made the bestof our way home.

  "I was in a great taking to know what it was had given my poor fathersuch a turn, and when I got in and found him sitting in his chairtaking a glass of spirits, and my mother standing looking anxious athim, I couldn't keep from bursting out and making confession where I'dbeen. But he didn't seem to take on, not in the way of losing histemper. 'You was there, was you? Well did you see it?' 'I seeeverything, father,' I said, 'except when the noise came.' 'Did yousee what it was knocked the Dean over?' he says, 'that what come outof the monument? You didn't? Well, that's a mercy.' 'Why, what was it,father?' I said. 'Come, you must have seen it,' he says. '_Didn't_you see? A thing like a man, all over hair, and two great eyes to it?'

  "Well, that was all I could get out of him that time, and later on heseemed as if he was ashamed of being so frightened, and he used to putme off when I asked him about it. But years after, when I was got tobe a grown man, we had more talk now and again on the matter, and healways said the same thing. 'Black it was,' he'd say, 'and a mass ofhair, and two legs, and the light caught on its eyes.'

  "Well, that's the tale of that tomb, Mr. Lake; it's one we don't tellto our visitors, and I should be obliged to you not to make any use ofit till I'm out of the way. I doubt Mr. Evans'll feel the same as Ido, if you ask him."

  This proved to be the case. But over twenty years have passed by, andthe grass is growing over both Worby and Evans; so Mr. Lake felt nodifficulty about communicating his notes--taken in 1890--to me. Heaccompanied them with a sketch of the tomb and a copy of the shortinscription on the metal cross which was affixed at the expense of Dr.Lyall to the centre of the northern side. It was from the Vulgate ofIsaiah xxxiv., and consisted merely of the three words--

  IBI CUBAVIT LAMIA.

  THE STORY OF A DISAPPEARANCEAND AN APPEARANCE