I have headed this chapter an Interlude, for the following reason:—

It is the only one in this book which does not record a personal experience.

The opportunity came to me at Florence, two years ago, of hearing one of the best old-fashioned Christmas ghost stories I ever came across; also a ghost story which has two rather unique advantages. First, it has never been published before; secondly, the percipient was the matron of a boys' school (a well-known one), and wrote out her experiences within twelve hours of their occurrence.

Now, the matron of a large boys' school must, of necessity, be an exceptionally practical woman, and her daily experiences can scarcely tend to encourage undue Romance or Imagination.

When I add that this story was given to me, and a copy of the original letter placed in my hands, by a sister of two of the schoolboys who were under the matron's supervision, I shall have cleared the way for my ghost to appear upon the scene.

I must add, however, that I met this sister, a young widow, in Florence, two years ago. She then told me this story, finding that I was intimately acquainted both with the county and the small county town where it happened.

The matron had gone there for the prosaic purpose of taking the baths for her rheumatism.

The adventure took place in the early morning of 14th April 1875, and was recorded, within a few hours, in a long letter written by the percipient to a favourite cousin.

My friend, Mrs Barker's brothers being at school at the time, begged to be allowed to read this letter and take a copy of it. The copy was made by their sister—then a young girl—and I have it in my hands at the present moment of writing.

It is, of course, necessary to change the name of the county and town, as the old family mansion, let in lodgings in 1875, has since then been sold and turned into a boarding-house.

Mrs Barker's mother made an expedition to this town, a few years ago, to verify the facts, and went over the house, which has been considerably altered and reconstructed inside since 1875.

The small park mentioned in the story is now built over entirely, as the town has increased in popularity, owing to its baths, and the family portraits here mentioned have been removed since the house was sold.

I will now quote verbatim from the matron's letter, written on the morning of her experiences.

"The Priory, Grantwich.
"14th April 1875.

"My dear Edie,—When you asked me once for a ghost story, I daresay you as little expected, as I did, how soon I should have to reveal to you an experience which will doubtless give you, as it has me, much ground for thought and speculation about those mysterious laws which rule the spirit world.

"How true it is that Thought and Feeling annihilate Time and Space! Since last night, I seem to have lived through half a lifetime, such an effect have its events had upon my inner life. But before I begin to relate the strange circumstances I have to tell you, I must describe to you more particularly this house in which they happened.

"I think I told you that 'The Priory'—where I am now lodging—is an old mansion, belonging to the Carbury family. For some years past, it has been let to the present occupiers who make the rent by letting lodgings. Some ancient pieces of furniture remain, and a great many portraits, none of the earliest date, but a handsome and respectable collection—soldiers, bishops, and judges, in their uniforms, robes, and wigs, and ladies with powdered hair, hoops, and trains.

"Of these portraits, two have engaged my attention, especially, from the first moment of seeing them, but I am not going to speak of them yet; my first object is to give you an idea of the house, or rather that part of it with which my story is connected.

"I think I have told you that the grand staircase goes up from the inner hall, and that round the staircase runs a gallery; in this gallery and in the hall below, are hung most of the portraits.

"On the first turn and landing of the staircase, there is a door opening into a trellised walk which leads into the garden. On a level with this door is a large window which looks on to sweeps of soft turf, shaded by fine trees.

"Standing often to look from this window, as I passed up and down the staircase, one tree has always riveted my attention. It is a large old plane-tree, standing by itself, and having a strange, melancholy, decayed look about it. I noticed—why, I cannot imagine—that on one side of it the ground was bare and black, though everywhere else the grass was green and fresh. I mention this, because it had struck me before the strange events occurred which I am going to tell you.

"You must now go with me to the top of the staircase. Just at the top, on your right hand, hangs one of the portraits I mentioned. It is a life-sized painting of Captain Richard Carbury, who landed, on the 19th September 1738, in the Colony of Georgia, with General Oglethorpe's regiment.

"Opposite to this, on the other side of the gallery, is the portrait of a lady, with black, resolute brows and full, voluptuous mouth and chin. She has a high colour, an exquisite hand and arm, and an Amazonian bearing.

"Passing from the gallery, you enter a long passage, leading to other passages and staircases, with which we have nothing to do.

"I only want you now to become acquainted with my own rooms. As you enter the passage from the gallery, two doors open, one on either hand. To the right is my sitting-room, a square, cheerful room, looking on the street; to the left is my bedroom, which will require a more particular description.

"It is a large, low room. As you enter from the passage, the window, which looks into the garden, is opposite to you. In the middle of the wall to your right hand stands the bed, and opposite to that, the fireplace, and, as you will see, if you have taken in my description, just at the back of the portrait of the lady with the black eyebrows, is another door. Opposite to this last is yet another, which caught my attention when I first entered the room from a peculiarity about it. The upper part of this door is of glass, rendered opaque by being washed or lined with some red substance.

"As soon as I was alone in the room I tried to open this door, but it was firmly fastened. I don't know why I should have felt disquieted by this circumstance, but certainly I did feel annoyed. I thought at first that it probably opened into a dressing-room. There must have been a strong light behind it, for a red light always fell on that side of the room through the coloured glass, and I could see that red light in the morning, before any light penetrated the window-blind.

"I think I have now told you all that is necessary for understanding my experience.

"I must ask you to remember that yesterday was the thirteenth of April. I went to bed about eleven o'clock, and soon fell asleep. I could not, however, have slept long before I woke with an unusual feeling that something strange was going to happen.

"I awoke, not as one does in the morning, with a drowsy resolve not to go to sleep again because it is time to get up, but as one awakes when a journey or some similar event is imminent, for which one's faculties have to be clear, and one's body active and alert. I was rather wondering at and enjoying the unusual clearness and energy of thought of which I felt capable, when the clock in the hall began striking, and, almost at the same moment, the clock of the old Church of St Andrew began striking also.

"I knew that both were striking twelve, though I did not count the blows, but just as the last stroke of the church clock died away, another sound caught my ear.

"The door by the fireplace gave a loud crack and then opened, as if with some difficulty.

"The red door at the same time rattled, as if someone were trying vainly to open it. The room had previously been dark, but I now plainly saw a tall figure come through the doorway and stand near the foot of the bed. There was a dull, yellowish light round the figure, which illumined it, leaving the rest of the room in darkness; but this yellow light, I perceived, became red at one point of the figure's left side, and shone down on the floor with a red glow, like that which came through the opposite door.

"The apparition stood quite silent whilst I looked at it. The features and figure were familiar to me for they were those of Captain Richard Carbury, in the portrait, who had gone out to Georgia with the regiment of His Excellency, General Oglethorpe!

"As soon as I was sure of this, I said: 'You are Captain Richard Carbury?'

"The apparition nodded.

"'Why do you come to me?' I said. 'Cannot you speak?'

"He seemed to have some difficulty in doing so, but after two or three efforts, such as one makes to move a rusty hinge, he parted his lips, and said: 'Yes! I am Richard Carbury, and I am come to make you a witness.'

"'A witness of what?' I said. 'Can I be of use to you? You come from the spirit world. Is it then permitted to mortals to have personal intercourse with spirits?'

"He held up his hand as if to silence me.

"'Listen to me,' he said. 'You are not frightened of me?'

"'No,' I replied; nor did I feel the slightest awe or fear. I felt stimulated, a kind of electricity ran through my veins—I longed earnestly to learn something of the mysterious realm from which he came, but I had no vulgar or superstitious fear.

"'Nor need you have any dread,' he returned. 'I have no wish nor power to hurt you, but you must listen to my story. Once in fifty years I am allowed to leave my grave and revisit the scene of my tragical death, and this must always be on the 14th of April, which is the anniversary of the event.[4] I am also permitted to recount my story if I find anyone sleeping in this room who is willing to listen to me. Are you willing?'

"I replied that I should gladly hear what he had to tell, but would he allow me to ask him one question?

"He inclined his head in assent, and I said I had always thought that the spirits of the dead, if they were allowed to appear on earth, came with shadowy and skeleton forms. Why did he appear with flesh like a living man?

"'Ah!' he said, 'that is owing to the peculiarity of my grave. I am buried in salt.'

"' Have you anything more to ask?' said my visitor.

"'Nothing more at present,' I replied. 'I am ready now to hear your story.'

"'I will make it as short as possible and not detain you long. You have noticed my portrait in the gallery?'

"'Yes.'

"'And that of the lady opposite, my cousin, Lucretia Carbury?'

"'Certainly.' (Here the red door was violently shaken).

"'She cannot open it,' said Captain Carbury, 'it is sealed.'

"'When I went out to Georgia,' he resumed, 'in 1738, I was engaged to be married to her; we had been betrothed by our parents in our childhood, and family reasons made it almost a necessity that we should be united, but as we grew up neither of us was very anxious to fulfil the engagement, and, to tell the truth, I was glad of the summons to join my regiment. However, after three years in that distant colony, I came home, having made up my mind I would marry Lucretia and settle down on the family property—which could only be enjoyed by that means—for we were the only representatives of the family, and the property was so left by our fathers that only by marrying could we enter into possession. Either by marrying or by the death of one of us; when the whole of the property would go to the other. I knew that Lucretia was at the old house at Grantwich, and I came straight to her.

"'I had written to say when she might expect me, and she received me with apparent kindness and agreed to all my propositions about our marriage. I arrived late at night, and she let me into the house herself and got food for me. We supped together, and she pledged me in a cup, which I now know was drugged to make me sleep heavily.

"'I then retired to my room—this room, this bed, on which you now lie!

"'What I am now going to tell you has been made clear to me since; at the time I was conscious of nothing. As soon as I got into bed, I fell asleep, and whilst I thus slept Lucretia came through that door (pointing to the red door opposite), and stabbed me to the heart. I will show you the instrument with which she did it, if you like.'

"'Pray do,' I said, and he unbuttoned his scarlet uniform coat and drew from his left side a slender dagger or stiletto.

"I looked at it with great interest and asked if I might take it in my hand.

"'Certainly, if you wish it,' he said, 'but I do not advise you to touch it. It is rusty now from the salt, but I assure you it was bright and keen when she drove it into my heart. The stroke was so cleverly aimed that I died instantly. Lucretia then made a signal, which was answered by the entrance of a man, and between them they carried my body through the door by which I entered to-night.'

"He paused, and I thought he looked more ghastly. 'Is anything the matter?' I asked.

"'I am thinking,' he answered, 'that I can show you the rest, if you will follow me, but I must tell you that when we leave this room and enter the gallery, it is possible the murderess will follow us. Shall you be afraid?'

"'Not in the least,' I said, 'I will follow you with pleasure, but you must allow me to put something on, as I am suffering from rheumatism, and am afraid of the cold and damp.'

"'By all means,' said Captain Carbury. 'I will wait for you in the gallery.'

"I then got up and put on my dressing-gown and slippers. Whilst I was doing so, I heard a rustling in the passage as of a woman passing slowly along. I found Captain Carbury, and followed him along the gallery without looking round, but when we reached the end of the gallery and turned to go down the first flight of stairs, I saw the lady with the black brows—whom I now knew to be Lucretia Carbury, the murderess—standing in the doorway, between the gallery and the passage.

"'I do not think she can come any farther,' said my guide, and he opened the door leading from the staircase into the garden.

"'I am showing you just where they brought me,' said he.

"'Who was the man?' I asked.

"'I never knew his name, but she married him afterwards.'

"He then moved across the lawn to the bare spot under the plane-tree. Here he stopped, and, pointing downwards, showed me on the bare ground an exact outline of the dagger which he had drawn from his side.

"'Here they dug my grave and here they buried me; a salt spring washes over me.'

"At this moment the great clock of St Andrew struck one.

"'All that you have told me is very sad and strange,' I said, 'but now, will you allow me to ask you why you have appeared to me? Is there anything you want done on earth that I can do? Is there any restitution to be made, or justice to be administered? Anything that you require, I am ready to do, if you will grant me one favour when you return to the spirit realm.'

"I had been speaking with my eyes fixed on the ground, but now, happening to raise them, I was surprised to see that my companion appeared to be sinking into the ground.

"'My time is up,' he said. 'Remember!'—and, as his head disappeared, his words came in a hollow, sepulchral voice from beneath that spot of black earth—'remember you are my witness!'

"I was left standing alone under the plane-tree, with the thought, that in returning to my room, I might probably meet the restless spirit of Lucretia Carbury.

"Nothing of the kind, however, occurred. I passed through the doors that had opened at the touch of Captain Carbury, and I noticed that they closed behind me without any effort on my part. I regained my bed, and almost immediately fell asleep. All had passed so naturally, and as a matter of course, that only when I woke this morning, and thought over the events of the night, did I realise that I had passed through such an experience as is given to few human beings.

"You see, dear Edie, that my narrative has taken so long to write that I have no time to speak of other things, even if I could bring my mind to think of anything else, which, I confess, I should have great difficulty in doing.—Ever your very affectionate, "M. Porter."

Copied verbatim from Miss Porter's letter, written on the morning of 14th April 1875.

So ends the story, with apologies to the S.P.R.!

I claim nothing for it beyond the following facts:

The Priory still exists at Grantwich, and is known to have been the family mansion of the Carbury family.

Miss Porter was undoubtedly matron of the school where my friend's brothers were educated. She was a woman of unblemished character and truthfulness, and would certainly not have invented this long and detailed account of her personal experiences within a few hours of their occurrence.

My friend most certainly copied this letter, which her brothers had obtained leave to read, from their school matron—Miss Porter herself.

Lastly, my friend, Mrs Barker's mother (who is still alive), verified the existence of the Priory (as I have called it) in the town of Grantwich, and it had been turned into a boarding-house at the time of her visit, having been previously let in lodgings. Also she found that Captain Richard Carbury was supposed to have died in Georgia in the year 1741, as is inferred in the story.

As the murderess and her accomplice alone seem to have been aware of his return on that fateful night, this would be the natural opinion of the world.

As an old associate of the S.P.R., and quite conversant with their methods, two criticisms of the story at once suggest themselves, in addition to the confusion of dates, which might perhaps be excused, owing to the abnormal nature of the interview described. But the obvious Podmorian remark would be that the whole adventure was a dream on the part of Miss Porter, induced by her interest in the two family portraits she had seen, and the curious sensations she had experienced in looking at a specially gloomy tree in the park.

This would certainly cover the ground, but it proves, perhaps, rather too much.

It requires very robust "Faith in Unfaith" to suppose that a sensible, practical woman, suffering from rheumatism, should carry her dream to the verge of following her dream man into the garden and grounds of the house. It may be urged that she dreamt all this also, but "that way madness lies." We must be able to formulate that certain acts of ours took place during full consciousness, or daily life would become impossible and moral responsibility would cease.

Miss Porter might have been in a dream all through the night—granted.

But in these cases it is the "morning that brings counsel." We are all aware of the extraordinary lifelike dreams which, with the return of normal memory, we recognise as dream visions, no matter how vivid and credible they may have appeared to us in the night.

But with Miss Porter this normal process was reversed. She went to sleep quite calmly, and first realised, upon waking in the morning, how thoroughly abnormal her experiences had been.

I pass on to the next criticism, which a little "editing" on my part could have averted:

"Is it credible that a woman, only just recovering from the surprise and marvel of such an experience, should write about it, within a few hours, to a favourite cousin, as if she were preparing a story for The Family Herald?"

I confess that this was my own feeling when the record was placed in my hands.

We must, however, remember—first, that the percipient was obviously a lady of great courage, or she would not have followed her ghost into the garden; secondly, that she was a keen observer and very accurate in details. Probably, many generations of schoolboys, passing through her hands, may have quickened her perceptions in both these ways.

As for the stilted style, that presents little difficulty, when one remembers that people of a certain rank in life never use a short word when a long one will answer the purpose!

I claim nothing for the story, beyond the points already mentioned. These are matters of fact.

Each one must interpret it according to his own views and prejudices.

It is quite enough for me to be responsible for the truth and accuracy of my own experiences, to which we will now return.

Note.—Since writing the above I have consulted the "Century EncyclopÆdia," and find there:

"Oglethorpe—James Edward, born in London, December 21st, 1696, died at Cranham Hall, Essex, England, 1785. An English General and Philanthropist. He projected the Colony of Georgia for insolvent debtors, and persecuted Protestants; conducted the expedition for its settlement, 1733, and returned to England, 1743."

The apparent discrepancy between the date 1733 given in the EncyclopÆdia, and the 1738 of Captain Carbury's ghostly narrative, may be due to one of two causes:

The young girl copying Miss Porter's letter may have mistaken a three for an eight rather easily.

Again, Captain Carbury did not state that he landed with General Oglethorpe, 19th September 1738, but with General Oglethorpe's regiment. This latter may have been a reinforcement sent out to the General after his first landing in the Colony.