ing near the speaker, leaning in a familiar
way on one of the side projections of the pulpit. Gabriel knew
Hotchkiss, but the man who was speaking was a stranger. He was flushed
as with wine, and appeared to have no control of his hands, for he flung
them about wildly.

Gabriel crept closer, and climbed a small tree, in the hope that he
might hear what the stranger was saying, but listen as he might, no
sound of the stranger's voice came to Gabriel. The church was full of
negroes, and a strange silence had fallen on them. He marvelled somewhat
at this, for the night was pleasant, and every window was open. The
impression made upon the young fellow was very peculiar. Here was a man
flinging his arms about in the heat and ardour of argument or
exhortation, and yet not a sound came through the windows.

Suddenly, while Gabriel was leaning forward trying in vain to hear the
words of the speaker, a tall, white figure, mounted on a tall white
horse, emerged from the copse at the rear of the church. At the first
glance, Gabriel found it difficult to discover what the figures were,
but as horse and rider swerved in the direction of the church, he saw
that both were clad in white and flowing raiment. While he was gazing
with all his eyes, another figure emerged from the copse, then another,
and another, until thirteen white riders, including the leader, had come
into view. Following one another at intervals, they marched around the
church, observing the most profound silence. The hoofs of their horses
made no sound. Three times this ghostly procession marched around the
church. Finally they paused, each horseman at a window, save the leader,
who, being taller than the rest, had stationed himself at the door.

He was the first to break the silence. "Brothers, is all well with you?"
his voice was strong and sonorous.

"All is not well," replied twelve voices in chorus.

"What do you see?" the impressive voice of the leader asked.

"Trouble, misery, blood!" came the answering chorus.

"Blood?" cried the leader.

"Yes, blood!" was the reply.

"Then all is well!"

"So mote it be! All is well!" answered twelve voices in chorus.

Once more the ghostly procession rode round and round the church, and
then suddenly disappeared in the darkness. Gabriel rubbed his eyes. For
an instant he believed that he had been dreaming. If ever there were
goblins, these were they. The figures on horseback were so closely
draped in white that