Thou comest from
Rome, and wilt shortly return thither. Bid the pious monks and nuns
there pray for my soul, and for the soul of my lover." "Spirit, thy request is granted, and if my own weak prayers may serve in
any way to relieve thy torments, they, too, shall be added." A smile of the most ineffable sweetness and gratitude, more eloquent
than words, spread over the face of the decapitated. She pressed my hand
fervently with her pale, icy-cold fingers, and gradually faded from my
gaze. When she had vanished, it was already daybreak. Sleep had deserted my
eyelids, and as I tossed restlessly in my bed I kept wondering to myself
whether what I had seen and heard could be a dream, or whether I really
and truly had held converse with a ghost. The rest of the time, with the exception of a short doze I took previous
to rising this morning, I spent in prayer for the release of the soul of
the headless lady from purgatory, and likewise that of her lover. *       *       *       *       *

I leave the reader to imagine the sensation our artist's spiritual
visitation excited at the breakfast-table before the members of the
Wonder Club, whose thirst for the marvellous and supernatural was
insatiable. Second and third-hand ghost stories are common enough, and
are generally taken for what they are worth; but here was the case of a
ghost story told by the ghost seer himself, who had seen and spoken to
the ghost only the night before; in the very house, too, in which they
had all been sleeping. Then, added to that, was the manner of the
narrator, which alone bore the stamp of truth on it. The quick roll of
his eye, when he was describing the excited state of his feelings at the
time, the involuntary shudder, and the furtive glance which he from time
to time would give over his shoulder; all signs of a nervous system that
has received some great shock--to say nothing of his worn and disordered
appearance, as might be expected in a man that has seen a ghost. All this enhanced the power of his words immensely. Then there was the
strange fact to be borne in mind that no one had informed him that the
house was haunted. No one could say that his imagination had been unduly
excited by any story concerning the house previous to his going to
sleep. He had retired to rest calmly, without any fear of a spiritual
visitation. And how could it all be a dream? For the landlord now
distinctly remembered that all our artist had related was exactly what
had been told him by his grandfather. Various were the exclamations of wonderment from the guests at the
breakfast-table. They gazed with awe on the narrator, then at each
other, then at the narrator again. Our artist had won the esteem of the
whole club. Breakfast being finished, our friends drew round the fire, and the
landlord left the room, looking grave and shaking his head. McGuilp's
strange adventure had furnished food for comment for two or three hours
afterwards. The whole forenoon nothing was talked of but the ghost. At length a lull occurred in the conversation, and someone recollected
that it was Professor Cyanite's turn to tell a story. At that moment our
host's pretty daughter, Helen, a blooming girl of sixteen, entered with
the lunch. Our artist was enraptured with the golden hair, blue eyes, and rosy
cheeks of the maiden, after the swarthy beauties of Italy; but, above
all, with her innocent, modest, and half-bashful manner. "Well, Helen," said Mr. Oldstone, "has your father told you about the
ghost?" "Oh, yes, sir," replied the girl, her merry expression changing suddenly
to a look of awe; "he did frighten me so; I am sure I shall never be
able to sleep again in this house." "This is the gentleman who saw the ghost, Helen," cried one of the other
members, pointing to our artist. The maiden turned and saw a fresh face in the club. Our artist was the
youngest, by many years, of any of the other gentlemen present, besides
which he was decidedly good looking. He gazed into the eyes of the girl
till the poor child blushed crimson and looked down abashed. "Ho! ho! Helen, my girl," said Mr. Crucible, one of the oldest members
of the club, "you don't blush like that when you look at us old
fogies--what is the matter, eh?" A general laugh ensued, much to the confusion of poor Helen, and our
artist himself felt not a little confused at having produced such an
impression on the girl in the presence of so many others of his own sex. "What ho! Helen, bring another log; we're freezing," cried Professor
Cyanite, changing the conversation, much to the relief of the girl, who
was glad to escape from the banter of the club by quitting the room. Our guests began their repast of cold meat and pickles, bread and
cheese, and home-brewed ale. After they had finished the daughter of the
landlord re-entered with a large log, which she placed on the fire. "That's right, my girl," said Mr. Oldstone, drawing his chair up to the
fire; "now bring us pipes." The girl left the room, and soon returned with a bundle of long clay
pipes, already waxed, which she distributed amongst the company,
receiving a chuck under the chin from one; a gentle pat on the cheek
from another; from a third, a stroke on the head; from a fourth, a
squeeze of the hand; a fifth placed his arm round her waist; while a
sixth pretended to kiss her, but no further harm was done. Our artist
placed a chair for her next to himself, round the fire, and asked her if
she were fond of hearing stories. The maiden blushed and smiled and said that she was. "Bravo, Helen," said Mr. Oldstone; "remain with us and hear a fresh
story. Professor Cyanite is just going to favour us." A circle was formed round the fire; Helen seating herself modestly by
the side of the artist, while the professor, sitting back in his chair,
and stretching out his legs towards the fire, stroked his ample
forehead, and with a puff at his pipe, commenced the following story. CHAPTER VI. THE DEMON GUIDE; OR, THE GNOME OF THE MOUNTAIN.--THE GEOLOGIST'S STORY. Some twenty years ago, when I was on a scientific tour in the mountains
of Switzerland with a friend of mine, who travelled with the same object
as myself, a strange incident occurred to me, which I have never been
able satisfactorily to explain. We journeyed in each other's company
daily, each carrying with him a geologist's hammer and a light
travelling bag slung round one shoulder, for the purpose of collecting
specimens of various minerals, fossils, etc., that we might find during
our march. We jogged along merrily enough together, each day bringing home some
rare specimen or other. We were both in full vigour of health, and both
capital climbers. Mountain air and exercise had given us marvellous
appetites, and I never remember being in better spirits in my life.