THE STORY-TELLER. Cowardice.

Evening Post, Volume LXIV, Issue 107, 1 November 1902, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY-TELLER. Cowardice.

By MRS. STEPHEN CRANE (Author of "Jose and the Saints," etc' lAll Rights Reserved.] Ib Avas in '95, the month of August, that I Avent broke; stony. No money U buy colours, or bread either, for thai matter, and without a shred of an idea : beyond that of a sign painter, hoAv tc use colours if I had suddenly fallen heii to enough, money to purchase them by the ton. I was not only penniless, but 1 Avaf stale, and I knew it. The noise of toAvii oKended me. The narrowness of life thfew; the never-failing floAv of meaning less commonplaces which one must lister to and accept as Avit; the .unceasing, useless babble from lips of self-satisfiec parrots; all these things had tired m« into a state bordering upon melancholia, 1 moved through the days as clumsily, mentally, as a tortoise, Avith life the shell clinging to my umvilling back. I decided to leave London, and tc fcury myse)f amid the solitude and mist: of the Sussex marshes. I had Avanted tc "do" the marshes in black-and-white foi years. So I sold my few sticks, and the result, three pounds seventeen shillings and sixpence three farthings, jangled ir my pockets. I had the Jew pay me ir small silver coin and pennies ; pennies anc email silver coins stick longer to one ; golc daintily rubs your fingers and passes on— this is true in my case, anyAvay. Mj pack Avas as light as I could make it, foi 'tis a long , tramp from London to the bussex coast. The Aveather was perfect. By day, the oky, a blue immeni3ity lined ■ with froth of blue and opal through Avhich the suu weaved dazzling threads of golden' ( light. As night approached, the blues became purples; reds softened to primrose; and the opal changed to dull slate. The threads of gold widened into a vast shimmer of copper hues as the sun leisurely sank to rest. The fragrant nights were more vronderful than the days. The 'sky became a sieve sifting the starlight upon the darkened earth, in the vari-coloured lights that appear in old burning shiptimbers, while the moon industriously silvereel every tree, branch, and leaf that it cSuld reach. Tavo nights of my tramp I slept under a hedgeroAv, and the touch of the soil lightened my load of illhealth and despondency. I was in no hurry, so it was not until noon, of the sixth day of my walking that I saw, outlined like giant teeth against the sky, the turrets of the old grey, house. I had just crossed the crown of a hill and had stopped to enjoy the landscape spreading before me. At the foot of the hill upon Avhich I stood was a wide belt of marsh land, divided into tAvo equal strips by a still, dark, ribbonlike river, kept Avithin bounds by sixToot dykes. Facing me Avas another hill rising abruptly from the far edge oi this 'mat land, clothed with trees in their matronly August foliage, and draped as for a harvest festival with ropes upon ropes of pungent hops. Ages ago, the sea, jealous of the friendship of these two hills, thrust forth a pernicious tongue to push them apart, and then, having accomplished its object, had AvithdraAvn the mischief-maker to itself again, leaving a water-soaked' trail upon the land to mark its spite for ever. The marsh looked a soft thick carpet of purple blues, and violet green. Here and there Avere patches of yellow, orange, md Avater-lilies, of the sort that thrives riotously with wet feet. These lilies and tall grasses, fringed with shades of many Dushes that bordered the river banks, last tiny shadoAvs upon the miniature {rass - carpeted plain. Hundreds of jhorn sheep apparently Avere glued to the sarth, so seldom did they move. A heron, his head pleated into his neck stork fashion, rested on one leg by the river. Overhead, small floating white clouds moved like , ducks upon a blue lake. 1 To the right the marsh faded into a grey line — the sea; to the left into another grey line, the far horizon clouds. A straight white road stretched from my feet doAvn the hill, across the marsh, and up the opposite hill into a small village. I could see the square tower of the ' ancient church — an enduring testimony of the indomitable character of those square-jawed, strong, determined JN,ormans — rising above the tree tops, and occasionally red tiles or a bit of taAvny thatch shone out through the leaves. In a slight dip to the right of the village, over what seemed a mass of cen-tury-forgotten and ragged hedge, peered the five turrets of the haunted house. A great span of tiles, Avaved and broidered with moss and lichen by Time's master brush, stretched betAveen these small toAVers. Tiny diamond - paned windows twinkled in the sunlight, as if to say to the world: "I defy time. There is life' in .me yet ! There is life in me yet !" As I gazed, a cloud passed before the sun, the windows of the house grew black, and a noble gothic door yaAvned kt me like a sleepy mouth, the face of the house became cold and stern. It was bored by my puny admiration. "What a place ! What a sky-line !" I exclaimed aloud. I Avanted to hasten; to get closer to this wonder of another age, but my feet seemed of lead. The place drew me and repelled me at the same time. The pulse of youth, of ambition, again sbirred my sluggish brain, and I felb that the power to move my felloAvs by my art had not departed from me for ever. The curtain of despondency Avas lifted; I could see and feel once agaim Yet as I stood there, warm with the fire of hope, a little chill ran down my back; a vague feeling of hesitation came over me. "Nerves," I said, as I shook mysell and started along the dusty road. Near the village I met a peasant of gichib stature, dressed in corduroys and a clean loosely-hanging smock of Avhite. In his ears were small rings of gold, such as seamen Avear. . He carried a rake over his shoulder. Hoav ridiculous, I thought, an agricultural smuggler. This weather-beaten Goliath Avith keen eyes under bristling dark broAV should be on horseback Avith a keg behind him. He was the perfect type of the sixteenthcentury smuggler; possibly a descendant of the famous HaAvkhurst gang. "Good-day," I said. "Can you direct me the nearest Avay to that, old grey house?" I pointed in the direction of the turrets noAv hidden from vieAv by a curve of the hill. ' He pulled his forelock, and regarded me with unblinking eyes for a moment, as if questioning my right to enquire about the place. There is a saying in Sussex that a man must be summered and wintered before he can be trusted ; this man seemed true to the tradition of doubt. Then he said : "Cross th 1 opfields doun ba Pick-Dick farm, an' yeu euros to 'er. 'Er bees the ghost-'ouse." "O, indeed," I said. "Who lives there? Can I get in!" "'El's bin empty cum these three 'undred years a-gone, save for June caretakers er late years." Here he shook his head. "There be one yon now, a lungis sure; 'c bees a resarve man 'ose

feared 0' work, 'c's — " and he rapped his forehead Avith great stone-like knuckles — "same as hall goes. Same as hall goes." "Do you mean that the caretaker is mad?" 1 askeci in astonishment. He lowered his voice a trifle, and 1 with . a cunning leer he said : "They hall bees ; ' cis a 'ungry ouse; a 'ungry ouse!" '"This man is the lunatic," I thought. "Will you shoAv me the nearest path?" I asked him. ' He moved on, Avagging his head and j. muttering, "I munt go there ; I munt go there !" ' I stared after him, exclaiming, "That's r a brave lump of nineteenth century clay B with a rare heritage of mediaeval supers stition." SloAvly and thoughtfully I made j my Avay as directed. , The only sign of life about the place " as I pushed my way through the tower•j ing and tangled hedge Avere some sheep, Avho came close and looked at me Avith [ Avondering eyes. The old house Avas 3 weather-AVorn and crumbling in places, and the noses of the gargoyles were flat- ' tened by centuries of rain tears that • had passed off the roof and through the hollow eyes. There were few lights left 3 in the leaded and iron-barred Avindows 3 -with their casings of Caen stone-work. j Weeds grew high against the Avails; ib r was silent, desolate — alone. 2 I climbed the steps leading into the s great porch with its tiny lodge to the 1 right, in Avhich the porter sat in the days 1 long passed, questioning all comers. With 1 my stick I pounded upon the iron1 studded, oaken door. The sound moaned - through the empty rooms. Presently f the door opened, and a Avoman's sharp 1* face peeped out. i "Will you be good enough to shoAV me over the house and tell me something of J its history?" I said. 1 She gave" a quick glance behind her, 1 and then, opening Avide the heavy door, • said, "Come in." I I explored every nook and corner of ■ the ancient building, including the room - with the time-blackened oak-tree beam r from Avhich a lord of the Manor in tho } fifteenth century was wont to hang his 7 wives. Had I doubted this legend, there 1 was the rust-eaten hook in the beam I overhead, and the mark in the beam at " the side where the pulley had been r worked, "to prove the truth of the tale," l» as the caretaker said. > Then the chapel, with its fine long 1 Gothic window of tlhree lights, still grasp- ' ing in the stone edges bits of coloured glass— the Arms of the Bluebeard. Then *■ the priest's room, a secret cupboard be- ' hind the oaken panels of linen-fold, and [ with staircase burroAved in the four-foot 1 Avail, leading from high in. the chimney 1 doAvn into the subterranean passages be- ' neath the house. Here in Cromwell's 5 time of cassock-hunting the household 5 priest could escape to safety. Next ' the tower-room above the dungeon, with the spot of blood upon the floor Avhich [ neither soap and water nor the footi prints of ages could Avear aAvay. It is in this room, when the Avind is high and [ the night is Avild, that fthe cries of children are heard : children killed and eaten I by Bluebeard, who, it is said, "lived upon ' human flesh, with a particular relish for • that of infants." Through the gloom of long passages I wandered, from empty I dusty room, the windows choked with ' ivy, to empty room, no two upon a • '. level ; from floor to floor, through shadows, and up and doAvn unexpected . staircases, the caifctaker's voice and the I hollow echo of our footfalls the only sounds to be heard. Even beneath the 1 house into the labyrinth of tunnels, one [ of which led to the river a mile aAvay, , and was used by smugglers long ago : the only men of their time to brave the [ ghost of Shene Place. : The caretaker told me that her name j Avas Brant ; thatf she Avas a Avidow and lived in lavo rooms on the ground floor ; with her son, Avho- had been a soldier in \ India for thirteen years. They had been 1 caretakers at Shene Place for three years, . but she Avas thinking of giving up the 1 place because of "worrit" over her son, 1 av4io had been acting "queer like" for some months past. It was the fault of 1 the tropical sun, she said, and the feversv , from which he had suffered while abroad. By Jove, I thought, I wonder if this ' woman will let me sling my hammock . in one of these empty rooms. That : tower-room had a splendid light. Surely 1 in this atmosphere impregnated Avit>h mys1 teries and poetry I could do great work. "Have you ever taken a lodger here?" I asked.' She looked at me in amazement at the ■ strangeness of my question, and answered, I "No ; there be no bed." "Don't you think that you could let me I sling my hammock in one of the empty 1 rooms? That room in the toAver Avith the ■ stain upon the floor Avill do. I'm not 1 afraid of ghosts, and could you give 1 me some tea, and cook me a chop each : day?" I said. She said, "I will see my son." 1 We now entered a room near the great ■ door. The floor Avas of stone ; heavy ■ black rafters crossed overhead. Three of the Avails Avere covered Avith small square oak panelling that whispered tales of the fourteenth century to the air spirits. In the fourth wall was a huge fireplace and a door. In this fireplace at each' end Avas a small bench. On one of these benches, warming himself at a scanty fire gloAving faintly under a sAvinging, blackened iron pot, sat a man Avhom I ; judged to be about forty years of age. ' He arose with a start as we entered, and gave me a quick military salute. I noted' that he Avas tall and spare and carried his head thrust forward as if he were ! always listening, Avatching, Avith every nerve and muscle tightly strained. His face Avas pale in spite of years under a tropical &un, and its high prominent cheek-bones seemed to be pushing the black eyes close together under the receding forehead, curtained by thin strands of lank broAvn haiv. The other features did not impress me at the time, but later I kneAV that the nose Avas long and pinched and that the mouth Avas weak and ill-shapen. The son made no objection, so ib was arranged that I should use the tOArerroom and have a key to the chapel door to come and go as it pleased me. Mrs. Brant was to cook for me — over the open fire, they had no stove— any food that I might bring to her. I SAVung my hummock in the toAverroom, set up my ea.sel, and "borroAved a chair, a tub, and a water-jug from Mrs. Branb. Thu-s commenced my life under that roof-tree. Never in my life have I Avorked as faithfully as I did the first feAV Aveeks I spent at Shene Place. I saw but little of the mother and her son, as their rooms were at the far side of the house from mine. When the days Avere Avarm the peace of a vast stillness Avas over all. With the rain came east Avinds that curled about the tortured corners and das'lied through the broken windoAvs Avith shrieks of triumph that died aAvay in low agony of sobs on finding that only desolation reigned in tho old house. Human voices in joy, in rage, in fear, in supplication, in all the misery of heart-

break— tones of the aged, tones of babes, that great human cry of loneliness — all Avere mingled in these Avind-darts, that came Avith loud shouts of warning, crying: "Remember 1 Remember! This life is but a moment of the soul's long life. Remember! One and all aie condemned to death in this life," and then faded aAvay in sighs at the deafness, the blindness of the humans it would fain help. A curious fact about the old house Avas that doors would not stay shut. The door of my room was fastened by a wooden latch on the inside, the leather latch-string passed through a hole in the door and hung on the outside. The latdh could only be lifted by some one pulling the string. Not only in the daytime would I look up and say, "Come in," as I heard the click of the latch, to find no one there, but occasionally at night I would be aArakened by the same noise. Axold puff of air Avould strike me as if shot from the nozzle of a garden hose. My door was at the head of a flight of stairs that led from the small room in the tower into a large room, lined Avith oak and mouldering tapestry, that once resounded Avith music and dancing. There Avas no way in which I could secure this door but by the latch ; however, I finally arranged a wooden bar across it. This bar did not rest tightly against the door, but still it would prevent its being opened Avidely enough for any one to enter. One night, late in September, I was awakened by the gush of cold air and the' click of the latch, and I distinctly saAv something black leaning above my hammock. I thought ib Brant, and said, "Whab is it? What is the matter?" I a-eached for the matches, and struck one on the side of the box. .There was no one there. The latch-string had •been pulled, and the door was opened as far as it Arould come. ■ The afternoon folloAving I took a long trudge over the fields to think it all out. No supernatural agency opened doors. Yet the only liA-ing creatures I had been able to discover wnenever I made quick rushes up the little stairs into the deserted ballroom Avhen my door opened in this mysterious manner, Avere a beautiful Avhite owl that frightened at the flicker of my candle-light had flattened itself against the Avail, and looked an exaggerated, harmless, night-moth, and a coiony of bats that would circle swiftly above my head. It Avas dark, and the air Avas chilled when I reached Shene Place after my walk. I Avent at once to the living room of the caretaker. Brant, Avas seated in a high-back arm-chair beside a round table in front of the fireplace. His body Avas in the zone of light cast by a shaded lamp Avhich Avas placed upon the table, but his head AA'as in the shadow. I had never exchanged a dozen Avords Avith this man, accepting as fact ,the information given me by my agricultural smuggler. To-night, hoAvever, i was impelled by some physical force to ask him questions ; to hear his story if he Avould tell it to me. That he had a story I felt sure. That he would or could tell it, I Avas not so sure. "Brant," I said, "have you ever slept in the tower room that I now use?" "I 'ay slept in every room in th' 'ouse," he replied. "In every room?" I exclaimed. "Ay, in every room. When I first cum 'ome from India I made lh' bet, and I Avon it ! and I Avon it." "Tell me about it. What was the bet?" I asked. Brant leaned forward in his chair grasping the arms tightly, as if he Avere afraid of falling out of it. "Well, you see, sir, there Avas talk about " here his voice broke and he stared across the table into the blackness beyond as if he expected to see some one there. Sloavly his eyes came back to the fire. He sighed and continued — "about the ghosts and the families er caretakers, small farmers, some er 'em, that had moved in all Mell end 'apuj an" glad of fiee rent an' the seven shillin' a Aveek same as mother gets an' as 'o\v they all cum ta grief, the black ox sleppin' on 'em all. Babies never livin, an' men goin' queer-like. Somethin' 'appeniug to every iamily as lived 'ere, an' us 'ow the gentry as own it, for four 'undred year never chansb it. None of th' country folk 'ud sleep 'ere for five 'undred pun, sir." "What Avas the bet?" I said. "Well, you see, sir, mother 'ad bin a-livin' 'ere for tAVo month afore I cum 'ome, and' sli6 neA-er seen nothin' or 'card nothin', but up' at the Pub, the first night 1 cum back, I 'card all about th' strange doin's 'ere an' 1 laughed a-cause I didn't b'liv in such things as — " he stopped and listened Avith his head poked lorAvard, and then Avhispered, "spirits a-Avalkin.' The men said that th' murdered people an' chiluns Avould let no one stay 'ere an' that th' ghost cast black shadows over th' people he Avants to die — an' it's true, it's true," he sobbed. I thought this man is sane enough, but he is ill and has brooded long in his laziness. "Of course, you laughed at them?" I said. "Yes, I laughed, an' they bet me as I wouldn't sleep six nights runnin' in every room in th 1 'ouse, an' I bet tAvo pun that I would, and I Avon the bet, I Avon the bet." I placed another stick upon the fire, for the chill of the night had crept into the room. The rising Avind seemed filled Avith music ; spirit fingers played upon innumerable harps, it Avas the overture to the tragedy to follow accompanied by a roar Avhich Avind catches alone -from the sea. In the fitful blaze of the crackling fire, Brant appeared altogether bloodless; a mummy. A door slammed' in some distant room. We' both jumped. "'Ear that?" said Brant, ''yer can't keep 'em closed. I've tried an' tried ; i've tied 'em Avith rope, but they lifts th' latches." "vVho lifts the latches, man? My door lias that trick, too. I barred it Jasfc , night, but I awakened to find some one had pulled the latch string, and the door open as far as the bar Avould let it come." Brant leaned fonvard in his chair again, and said quickly, "Did you see anything? Were you cold, too?" "Yes," I replied. "I Avas cold. There is a strong draught that comes through the latch hole. I rode a night-mare and fancied that a shapeless thing of black leaned over me, but Avhen I lighted my candle there Avas nothing there. It Avas a phantsy-phantsy of a man living aloue, but tell me about your beb.'" In a monotone as if he were umvilling yet forced to tell the truth, Brant began. "I've stayed six nights runnin' in every room, but I did not sleep long. I'd cavt a mattress and a blanket in an' go to sleep all right, then, every single night I Avould Avake up a-hearin* the latch lift, an' with a puff er cold air a striken' me like a bullet. Then somethin' black leaned over me, sometimes it id touch me. First I thought some one from th' village avuz try in' ter fright me, an' I lay fer em Avith my gun. I tell yer, I shot at th' thing, an' hit it tAvice, too, but both times it fell on me like a heavy cloth curtain that '.id been soaked in ieed-Avater, an' nearly smothered me — it made no noise. I allus knoAv Avhen its near, cause a puff er cold air strikes th' back er my neck, an' goes doAvn mv back in- little wave

chills^ same as when people as 'as 'em says, 'some one is Av.ilkin' over my grave In the gullows-room, 1 Avoked up to find th' black thing swingin' over my 'cad. In th' chapel I saAv nothm' but 'card sighs an' moans all night. Its supposed to rise there every night at 12 o'clock, sir. In th' room you 'am, I 'card a child cry so that 1 called mother, an' she 'card it, too. I told th' rector' bout it, an' he told me 'bout th' Eumenidas, Avhich aa-uz supposed to Avear black robes an' ad serpents in place er 'air, an' claAvs fur 'ands, an' 'ad long red tongues stickin 'out, and their eyes dripped blood instead er tears. They Avere leeches, folk thought, an' Avhen they 'ad sucked enough blood from people it streamed down their necks, an' Avhen they avuz angry a poison oozed from 'em an' caused leprosy-like to th' ground an' made it barren. He told me that after awhile the folk understood that there wuzu'b no such Black things, an' that it avuz only bad consciences. But this didn't 'elp matters none. Do you knoAV, sir, I sometimes think as th' Giant's spirit "as entered into me an' that I must die to save 'im from 'ell." "Whab rubbish," I said. "What makes you dAvell upon this silly tale of a ghost? ii r ou Avill go mad, you Avill gc — " as I sat watchiug and talking to Brant, as cool and rational and as sceptical as ever, there suddenly appeared in the thick blackness above his head — dead Avhite, as that of a corpse with eyes staring fixedly at me — my own face ! I was conscious of my jaw relaxing as I stared back at the aAvtul thing. Brant crouched in his chair, and Avhimpered like a dog as he watched me, for hours it seemed, though it could not have been more .than a feAV ieconds, before the face faded into the surrounding darkness. The blood pounded in my ears until ib drowned all sound of the storm. My hands and feet seemed bound by invisible ropes; 1 could not move. 1 was in an agony of cowardice. Brant still whimpered, rocking himself and Avringing Ins hands the Avhile. At last I managed to stand up. At my moving Brant drew his knees up to his chin and Avith chattering teeth cried : "I Avill save 'im, 0 God, 1 Avill!" I took the lamp, throAving aside the shade, examined every corner of the room, even looking under tables and behind chairs. There AA'as no one there but Brant and myself. Mrs. B^aut had gone to the village to nur^e a sick child. A poAverful gust of Avind came Avith a bang against) tne house, and the door of the room opened a, trifle. I placed the lamp, Avithoub the shade, upon the table ; closed the door, and sat down again on a bench in the fireplace. Brant had new placed ins feet upon die floor and Avas sitting bolt upright in his' chair. All trace of tear, had vanished like magic jrom his face. His look Avas that of a devotee gazing at the figure of some saint in Avhose great love and help he trusted. The quick change, from the cringing, miserable Avretch, grovelling in the chair from fear, into this confident creature, Avas startling. He might have posed for an early (Jnristian martyr. I rubbed my eyes to see* if I Avere aAvake. Brant turned a face shining Avith happiness toAvaids me and said: "I shall neA'er be afeared again, sir, an' I, as 'cv stood agin shot ,an' shell an' nigger's knives, too, Avithout bein' much afeard, 'aA'e: suffered 'ere." "Why don't you chuck it, and leave here? Go to AA'ork at some place. Why have you remained here if you feel this way about it?" "Leave 'ere? Leave 'ere? Why, sir, I cian't leave 'ere. I've walked 'undred er miles 'ere; up an' doAvn, up an' do-vvn, an' it's a-pleadin' constant fer rest. 0, I'm tired er Avalkin' an'— think 'oav tired 'c must be !" Brant got up from his chair and came close to me; he stopped and Avhispered in- my ear. "It's me 'as ell save 'im from 'ell." "Noav, look here, Brant,," I said, "this is all damn nonsense. Go to bed and sleep, and i will see if I cannot get some friends of mine to get you Avork in toAvn, Just you quit all tliis ghost business, it's rot, 1 tell you." I stood up, straightening my back Avith a stretch, and looked him squarely in the eyes. He smiled back at me, his under lip trembling as a child's does Avhen the little one is undecided Avhether to laugh or cry, buf all he said Avas x : "I shall save 'im from 'ell !" I Avent to my room. I threAV open my casement to admit the air, but syrupy darkness rushed in and closed it quickly. The storm had Avorked itself into a fury, and iioav the Avind clragged itself over the earth, groaning at the tiresome, endless fight. 1 pulled off my boots and tumbled into my hammock Avith my clothes on. I could not sleep. My reason told me that it was a tired brain that had caused me to see the reflection of my oAA'n face, but still the Avonder of it and of my talk AAith Brant kept me aAvake. I SAvore at my hammock because ib ay<is not a bed; I SAvore at my" past follies that had driven me to this part of the Avorld; I SAvore at myself, at this heritage of fear for the "unknoAvn" which, in^spite of my reason, I confessed to myself, possessed me. I SAvore myself into a condition akin to courage, then tried to sleep. It Avas out of the question, so I lighted my candle and tried to read. Brant's idiotic ideas of saving ghosts seemed Avritten in red letters upon every page, so I threAV the book aAvay. 1 suddenly remembered that upon a shelf on the far side of the caretaker's living-room I had seen a bottle of Avhisky. That will fix me, I thought, and I' jumped up and started in my stocking-teet to get. tinAvhisky. My candlestick Avas an. old beer-bottle, and it happened that the candle Avas not securely fastened 1 in it. As I started doAvn a Avinding staircase, it fell out of the bottle and clattered doAvn the stairs, making a horrible din, I fancied. I feared that it would aAvaken Brant. I did not mind being left in darkness, for by this time I kneAV every turning of the old house, so .1 kept on my way to- the Arhisky. The door of the room Avas closed. 1 felt around until I caught hold of the string, pulled the latch, and entered. 'Ilia lire upon tne hearthstone Ava« as grey as an old man's beard. The k ± gave three or four convulsive splutters and Avent out. I started to guide myself by the furniture to the shelf at the opposite side of the room, and had almost reached it when 1 looked up to discover if I could see the bottle. What I did see, Avas a face Avith sbaring eyes '. I jumped back. "My face again !" 1 cried. No, no! It Avas not mine, but Brant's! Brant, sticking his tongue out at me ! 1 shut my eyes and opened them again. yes, it Avas Brant's face. 'Brant, 1 screamed. "For God's sake stop. Brant !" Then— something blacker than the night appeared under the face. It Avas coming at me. I remembered tuat Brant said it Avas a curtain-thing Avet and cold." I shrieked with fear. I— l hit at it Avith all my strength. ItsAvunc away from me, then came back avM such force as almost to knock me doAvn 1 fought the thing, I tell you, fought it and it ahvays fought me back. It was a duel between a living and a dead victim of the human heritage of CoAvardice. A. : "They say he comes from a good family." B. : What a long Avuy he must have travelled !"