his
horse there by the bridle.

'Twas a coal-black horse, and the man wore a scarlet coat all powdered
with pilm; and as he opened the gate and came over the graves, father
saw that 'twas the dashing dragoon. His face was still a slaty-grey,
and clammy with sweat; and when he spoke, his voice was all of a
whisper, with a shiver therein.

"Bedman," says he, "go to the hedge and look down the road, and tell me
what you see."

My father went, with his knees shaking, and came back again.

"I see a woman," says he, "not fifty yards down the road. She is
dressed in black, an' has a veil over her face; an' she's comin' this
way."

"Bedman," answers the dragoon, "go to the gate an' look back along the
Plymouth road, an' tell me what you see."

"I see," says my father, coming back with his teeth chattering, "I see,
twenty yards back, a naked child comin'. He looks to be callin', but he
makes no sound."

"Because his voice is wearied out," says the dragoon. And with that he
faced about, and walked to the gate slowly.

"Bedman, come wi' me an' see the rest," he says, over his shoulder.

He opened the gate, unhitched the bridle and swung himself heavily up in
the saddle.

Now from the gate the bank goes down pretty steep into the road, and at
the foot of the bank my father saw two figures waiting. 'Twas the woman
and the child, hand in hand; and their eyes burned up like coals: and
the woman's veil was lifted, and her throat bare.

As the horse went down the bank towards these two, they reached out and
took each a stirrup and climbed upon his back, the child before the
dragoon and the woman behind. The man's face was set like a stone.
Not a word did either speak, and in this fashion they rode down the hill
towards Ruan sands. All that my father could mind, beyond, was that the
woman's hands were passed round the man's neck, where the rope had
passed round her own.

No more could he tell, being a stricken man from that hour. But Aunt
Polgrain, the house-keeper up to Constantine, saw them, an hour later,
go along the road below the town-place; and Jacobs, the smith, saw them
pass his forge towards Bodmin about midnight. So the tale's true
enough. But since that night no man has set eyes on horse or riders.

A BLUE PANTOMIME.

I.

HOW I DINED AT THE "INDIAN QUEENS."

The sensation was odd; for I could have made affidavit I had never
visited the place in my life, nor come within fifty miles of i