the rain had washed away some of the earth. He stooped, and picked it
up. It was a slip of white paper, about five inches long, and perhaps
three inches in width, quite blank, but with a very apparent watermark,
consisting of a number of parallel waving lines, close together, running
across the surface. Although the watermark was an unusual one, it seemed
strangely familiar to Colwyn, who tried to recall where he had seen it
before. But memory is a tricky thing. Although Colwyn's memory instantly
recognised the watermark on the paper, he could not, for the moment,
recollect where he had seen it, though it seemed as familiar to him as
the face of some old acquaintance whose name he had temporarily
forgotten. Colwyn ultimately gave up the effort for the time being, and
placed the piece of paper in his pocket-book, knowing that his memory
would, sooner or later, perform unconsciously the task it refused to
undertake when asked.

Colwyn spent the afternoon in another solitary walk, and darkness had
set in before he returned to the village. As he reached the inn he
glanced towards the hut circles, and was startled to see something white
move slowly along by the edge of the Shrieking Pit and vanish in the
wood. There was something so weird and ghostly in the spectacle that
Colwyn was momentarily astounded by it. Then his eye fell on the sea
mist which covered the marshes in a white shroud, and he smiled
slightly. It was not the White Lady of the Shrieking Pit he had seen,
but a spiral of mist, floating across the rise.

The sight brought back to his mind the stories he had heard that day,
and when he was seated at dinner a little later he casually asked
Charles if he believed in ghosts. The fat man, with a sudden uplifting
of his black eyes, as though to ascertain whether Colwyn was speaking
seriously, replied that he did not.

"I'm surprised to hear of your scepticism, Charles, for I'm told that
the apparition from the pit--the White Lady, as she is called--has
favoured you with a special appearance," said Colwyn, in a bantering
tone.

"I see what you mean now, sir. I didn't understand you at first. It was
like this: some of the villagers were talking about this ghost in the
bar a few nights back, and one or two of the villagers, who all firmly
believed in it, declared that they had heard her wandering about the
previous night, moaning and shrieking, as is supposed to be her custom.
I, more by way of a joke than anythi