ce. Then, after
dark, the Hall was lighted up with an extra supply of candles round the
room--though the powerful blaze of the mighty wood fire in the open
chimney rendered these almost unnecessary, and another feast was
instituted under the name of supper, though it commenced at the early
hour of six o'clock.

At this feast there was some speechifying--partly humorous and partly
touching--and it remains a disputed point to this day whether the
touching was more humorous or the humorous more touching. I therefore
refrain from perplexing the reader with the speeches in detail. Only
part of one speech will I refer to, as it may be said to have had a sort
of prophetic bearing on our tale. It fell from the lips of Lumley.

"My friends," he said, with that grave yet pleasant urbanity which I
have before said was so natural to him, "there is only one regret which
I will venture to express on this happy day, and it is this, that some
of those who were wont to enliven us with their presence at Fort
Wichikagan, are not with us to-night. I really do not think there would
be a single element wanting in the joy which it has pleased a loving God
to send me, if I could only have had my dear young friend, George Maxby,
to be my best man--"

He had to pause a few moments at this point, because of noisy
demonstrations of assent.

"And I am quite sure," he continued, "that it would have afforded as
much satisfaction to you as it would to my dear wife and me, if we could
only have had our sedate friend, Big Otter--"

Again he had to pause, for the shouting with which this name was
received not only made the rafters ring, but caused the very candles on
the walls to wink.

"If we could only have had Big Otter," repeated Lumley, "to dance at our
wedding. But it is of no use to sigh after the impossible. The days of
miracles are over, and--"

As he spoke the hall door slowly opened, and a sight appeared which not
only bereft the speaker of speech, but for a few minutes absolutely
petrified all the rest of the company. It was the face and figure of a
man--tall, gaunt and worn.

Now, good reader, as Lumley said (without very good authority!) the days
of miracles are over, yet I venture to think that many events in this
life do so much resemble miracles that we could not distinguish them
from such unless the keys to their solution were given to us.

I give you the key to the supposed miracle now in hand, by asking you to
acco