"'I have been having an awful time,' he wrote. 'My darling Beryl has
been frightfully ill. On Monday night we gave up all hope of her
recovery, but at twelve o'clock, when the doctor bid us prepare for the
end, the most extraordinary thing happened. Turning over in bed, she
distinctly called out your name, and rallied. And now, thank God, she is
completely out of danger. The doctor says it is the most astonishing
recovery he has ever known.' *       *       *       *       *

"That is twenty years ago, and I've not seen the phantom rider since. Nor do I fancy he will appear again, for when I look into the eyes of
the picture in the hall, they are no longer wandering, but at rest." *       *       *       *       *

Perhaps, one of the most interesting accounts of the phantasm of a horse
in my possession is that recorded by C.E. G----, a friend of my boyhood. Writing to me from the United States some months ago, he says:

"Knowing how interested you are in all cases of hauntings, and in those
relating to animal ghosts especially, I am sending you an account of an
'experience' that happened to my uncle, Mr. John Dale, about six months
ago. He was returning to his home in Bishopstone, near Helena, Montana,
shortly after dark, and had arrived at a particularly lonely part of the
road where the trees almost meet overhead, when his horse showed signs
of restlessness. It slackened down, halted, shivered, whinnied, and kept
up such a series of antics, that my uncle descended from the trap to see
if anything was wrong with it. He thought that, perhaps, it was going to
have some kind of fit, or an attack of ague, which is not an uncommon
complaint among animals in his part of the country, and he was preparing
to give it a dose of quinine, when suddenly it reared up violently, and
before he could stop it, was careering along the road at lightning
speed. My uncle was now in a pretty mess. He was stranded in a forest
without a lantern, ten miles, at least, from home. Feeling too depressed
to do anything, he sat down by the roadside, and seriously thought of
remaining there till daybreak. A twinge of rheumatism, however, reminded
him the ground was little warmer than ice, and made him realize that
lying on it would be courting death. Consequently, he got up, and
setting his lips grimly, struck out in the direction of Bishopstone. At
every step he took the track grew darker. Shadows of trees and
countless other things, for which he could see no counterpart, crept out
and rendered it almost impossible for him to tell where to tread. A
peculiar, indefinable dread also began to make itself felt, and the
darkness seemed to him to assume an entirely new character. He plodded
on, breaking into a jog-trot every now and then, and whistling by way of
companionship. The stillness was sepulchral--he strained his ears, but
could not even catch the sound of those tiny animals that are usually
heard in the thickets and furze-bushes at night; and all his movements
were exaggerated, until their echoes seemed to reverberate through the
whole forest. A turn of the road brought him into view of something that
made his heart throb with delight. Standing by the wayside was an
enormous coach with four huge horses pawing the ground impatiently. My
uncle rushed up to the driver, who was so enveloped in wraps, he could
not see his face, and in a voice trembling with emotion begged for the
favour of a lift--if not to Helena itself, as far in that direction as
the coach was going. The driver made no reply, but with his hand
motioned my uncle to get in. The latter did not need a second bidding,
and the moment he was seated, the vehicle started off. It was a large,
roomy conveyance, but had a stifling atmosphere about it that struck my
uncle as most unpleasant; and although he could see no one, he
intuitively felt he was not alone, and that more than one pair of eyes
were watching him. "The coach did not go as fast as my uncle expected, but moved with a
curious gliding motion, and the wheels made no noise whatever. This
added to my uncle's apprehensions, and he almost made up his mind to
open the carriage door and jump out. Something, however, which he could
not account for restrained him, and he maintained his seat. Outside, all
was still profoundly dark. The trees were scarcely distinguishable as
deeper masses of shadow, and were recognizable only by the resinous
odour, that, from time to time, sluggishly flowed in at the open window
as the coach rolled on. "At length they overtook some other vehicle, and for the first time for
some hours my uncle heard the sound of solid wheels, which were as
welcome to him as any joy bells. Just as they were passing the
conveyance--a small wagonette drawn by a pair of horses, the latter took
fright; there were loud shouts and a great stampede, and my uncle, who
leaned out of the coach window, caught a glimpse of the vehicle dashing
along ahead of them at a frightful speed. The driver of the coach,
apparently totally unconcerned, continued his journey at the same
regular, mechanical pace. "Presently my uncle heard the sound of rushing water, and knew they must
be nearing the Usk, a tributary of the Battle, which was only five miles
from his house. "The forest now ceased, and they crossed the road over the bridge in a
brilliant burst of moonlight. About a mile or so further on the coach
halted, and, to my uncle's surprise, he found himself in front of a
house he had no recollection of seeing before. He got out, and to his
horror saw that instead of riding in a coach he had been riding in a
hearse, and that the horses had on their heads gigantic sable plumes. "While he was standing gazing at the extraordinary equipage, the door of
the house slowly opened, and two figures came out carrying a small
coffin, which they placed inside the vehicle. He then heard loud peals
of mad, hilarious laughter, and coach and horses immediately vanished. My uncle arrived home safely, but the shock of what he had experienced
kept him in bed for some days. He learned that a phantom coach similar
to the one he had ridden in had been seen in the forest twenty years
previously, and that it was supposed to be a prognostication of some
great misfortune, which supposition, in my uncle's case at least, proved
true, as his wife died of apoplexy a few days after this adventure." Yet another case of haunting by the phantasms of a horse comes to me
from a gentleman in Marseilles, who told it me thus:--

"It was 9 p.m. when I left my friend Maitland's hotel in Châteauborne,
and, facing north, set out on my way to Liffre, where my headquarters
had been for the past fortnight. Liffre is in the hills, and the road
which separated it from Châteauborne, wild and lonely enough in daylight
and when the weather is fair, is almost untraversable in winter.