ot more
than a haffen-mile off, an' a cornsider'ble passel o' folks hev
been buried thar off an' on, an' the foot-bredge ain't in nowise
ill-convenient ter them."

Thus demonstrating the spectral resources of the locality, he rode his
horse well into the stream as he spoke, and dropped the reins that the
animal's impatient lips might reach the water. He sat fac-, ing the
foot-bridge, flecked with the alternate shifting of the sunshine and the
shadows of the tremulous firs that grew on either side of the high
banks on the ever-ascending slope, thus arching both above and below
the haunted bridge. His companion had joined him in the centre of
the stream; but while the horses drank, the stranger's eyes were
persistently bent on the concentric circles of the water that the
movement of the animals had set astir in the current, as if he feared
that too close or curious a gaze might discern some pilgrim, whom he
cared not to see, traversing that shadowy quivering foot-bridge. He
was mounted on a strong, handsome chestnut, as marked a contrast to his
guide's lank and trace-galled sorrel as were the two riders. A slender
gloved hand had fallen with the reins to the pommel of the saddle. His
soft felt hat, like a sombrero, shadowed his clear-cut face. He was
carefully shaven, save for a long drooping dark mustache and imperial.
His suit of dark cloth was much concealed by a black cloak, one end of
which thrown back across his shoulder showed a bright blue lining, the
color giving a sudden heightening touch to his attire, as if he were "in
costume." It was a fleeting fashion of the day, but it added a certain
picturesqueness to a horseman, and seemed far enough from the times
that produced the square-tailed frock-coat which the mountaineer wore,
constructed of brown jeans, the skirts of which stood stiffly out on
each side of the saddle, and gave him, with his broad-brimmed hat, a
certain Quakerish aspect.

"I dun'no' why folks be so 'feared of 'em," Rox-by remarked,
speculatively. "The dead ain't so oncommon, nohow. Them ez hev been
in the war, like you an' me done, oughter be in an' 'bout used ter
corpses-though I never seen none o' 'em afoot agin. Lookin' at a smit
field o' battle, arter the rage is jes' passed, oughter gin a body a
realizin' sense how easy the sperit kin flee, an' what pore vessels fur
holdin' the spark o' life human clay be."

Simeon Roxby had a keen, not unkindly face, and he had that look of
extreme int