of inspecting this museum.
After I had seen most of the sculptured stones, the coffins, rings,
coins, and fragments of tessellated pavement which the place contains, I
was shown a small square pillar of white stone, which had been recently
discovered in the wood of which I have been speaking, and, as I found on
inquiry, in that open space where the Roman road broadens out. On one
side of the pillar was an inscription, of which I took a note. Some of
the letters have been defaced, but I do not think there can be any doubt
as to those which I supply. The inscription is as follows:

DEVOMNODENT_i_
FLA_v_IVSSENILISPOSSV_it_
PROPTERNVP_tias_
_qua_SVIDITSVBVMB_ra_

'To the great god Nodens (the god of the Great Deep or Abyss) Flavius
Senilis has erected this pillar on account of the marriage which he saw
beneath the shade.'

The custodian of the museum informed me that local antiquaries were much
puzzled, not by the inscription, or by any difficulty in translating it,
but as to the circumstance or rite to which allusion is made.

* * * * *

... And now, my dear Clarke, as to what you tell me about Helen Vaughan,
whom you say you saw die under circumstances of the utmost and almost
incredible horror. I was interested in your account, but a good deal,
nay all, of what you told me I knew already. I can understand the
strange likeness you remarked both in the portrait and in the actual
face; you have seen Helen's mother. You remember that still summer night
so many years ago, when I talked to you of the world beyond the shadows,
and of the god Pan. You remember Mary. She was the mother of Helen
Vaughan, who was born nine months after that night.

Mary never recovered her reason. She lay, as you saw her, all the while
upon her bed, and a few days after the child was born she died. I fancy
that just at the last she knew me; I was standing by the bed, and the
old look came into her eyes for a second, and then she shuddered and
groaned and died. It was an ill work I did that night when you were
present; I broke open the door of the house of life, without knowing or
caring what might pass forth or enter in. I recollect your telling me at
the time, sharply enough, and rightly enough too, in one sense, that I
had ruined the reason of a human being by a foolish experiment, based on
an absurd theory. You did well to blame me, but my theory was not all
absurdity. What I said Mary would