"Not as it'll be much use again' a ghost," said he, with a gloomy shake
of the head, "but a pistol's a comfortable thing to 'ave in a lonely
place—'specially if that place be very dark." Which last, if
something illogical, may be none the less true.
So, having shaken each by the hand, I bade them good night, and set off
along the darkening road.
CHAPTER XXVII
WHICH TELLS HOW AND IN WHAT MANNER I SAW THE GHOST
Now, as I went, my mind was greatly exercised as to a feasible
explanation of what I had just heard. That a man so old as the Ancient
should "see things" I could readily believe, by reason of his years,
for great age is often subject to such hallucinations, but with Simon,
a man in the prime of his life, it was a different matter altogether.
That he had been absolutely sincere in his story I had read in his
dilating eye and the involuntary shiver that had passed over him while
he spoke. Here indeed, though I scouted all idea of supernatural
agency, there lay a mystery that piqued my curiosity not a little.
Ghosts!—pshaw! What being, endowed with a reasoning mind, could allow
himself to think, let alone believe in such folly?
Ghosts—fiddle-de-dee, Sir!
Yet here, and all at once, like an enemy from the dark, old stories
leaped at and seized me by the throat: old tales of spectres grim and
bloody, of goblins, and haunted houses from whose dim desolation
strange sounds would come; tales long since heard, and forgot—till now.
Ghosts! Why, the road was full of them; they crowded upon my heels,
they peered over my shoulders; I felt them brush my elbows, and heard
them gibbering at me from the shadows.
And the sun was setting already!
Ghosts! And why not? "There are more things in heaven and earth than
are dreamed of in your philosophy."
Involuntarily I hastened my steps, but the sun had set ere I reached
the Hollow. Yes, the sun had set, and the great basin below me was
already brimful of shadows which, as I watched, seemed to assume
shapes—vast, nebulous, and constantly changing—down there amid the
purple gloom of the trees. Indeed, it looked an unholy place in the
half light, a pit framed for murders, and the safe hiding of tell-tale
corpses, the very haunt of horrid goblins and spectres, grim and
ghastly.
So evilly did the place impress me that it needed an effort of will ere
I could bring myself to descend the precipitous slope. Bats flitted to
and fro across my path, now and then, emitting their sharp, needlelike
note, while, from somewhere in the dimness beyond, an owl hooted.
By the time I reached the cottage, it had fallen quite dark, here in
the Hollow, though the light still lingered in the world above. So I
took out my tinder-box, and one of the candles, which, after several
failures, I succeeded in lighting, and, stepping into the cottage,
began to look about me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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