friend
left him. "Ay," he added, "there goes a real Christian, and a
true-hearted friend. Ah's me! I'll never see him more!"

Bax wandered slowly and without aim over the dark waste for some time.
Almost unintentionally he followed the path that led past the Checkers
of the Hope. A solitary light burned in one of the lower windows of the
old inn, but no sound of revelry issued from its doors. Leaving it
behind him, Bax soon found himself standing within a few yards of the
tombstone of the ill-fated Mary whose name he bore.

"Poor thing, 'twas a sad fate!" he murmured, as he contemplated the
grave of the murdered girl, who had been a cousin of his own
grandfather. "Poor Mary, you're at rest now, which is more than I am."

For some minutes Bax stood gazing dreamily at the grave which was barely
visible in the faint light afforded by a few stars that shone through
the cloudy sky. Suddenly he started, and every fibre of his strong
frame was shaken with horror as he beheld the surface of the grave move,
and saw, or fancied he saw, a dim figure raise itself partially from the
earth.

Bax was no coward in any sense of that word. Many brave men there are
who, although quite fearless in regard to danger and death, are the most
arrant cowards in the matter of superstition, and could be made to flee
before a mere fancy. But our hero was not one of these. His mind was
strong, like his body, and well balanced. He stood his ground and
prepared to face the matter out. He would indeed have been more than
human if such an unexpected sight, in such circumstances, had failed to
horrify him, but the effect of the shock soon passed away.

"Who comes here to disturb me?" said a weak voice that evidently
belonged to this ghost.

"Hallo! Jeph, is that you?" exclaimed Bax, springing forward and gazing
into the old man's face.

"Ay, it's me, and I'm sorry you've found me out, for I like to be let
alone in my grief."

"Why, Jeph, you don't need to be testy with your friend. I'll quit ye
this moment if you bid me; but I think you might find a warmer and more
fitting bed for your old bones than poor Mary Bax's grave. Come, let me
help you up."

Bax said this so kindly, that old Jeph's temporary anger at having been
discovered passed away.

"Well, well," said he, "the only two people who have found me out are
the two I like best, so it don't much matter."

"Indeed," exclaimed the young man in surprise, "who is number tw