Hambledon Lock, he was evidently under the
influence of strong mental excitement. As
we waited for the lock to open, he
shuddered, as if with cold, and, when we were
in the lock, he looked back more than once
towards the way we had come. As we
passed out, he gave a great sigh as of relief,
and as we made for Medmenham, at a good
pace—for it was getting dark—he seemed
to revive. By the time we reached Marlow
he was, but for his unaccustomed silence,
apparently at ease, and, as the evening
advanced, seemed to recover himself
completely.

It was very warm in our room, and as I
did not feel inclined for supper, I wandered
for some time about the pretty garden of
the inn, and leaning presently on the wall
overlooking the weir, filled my pipe and
began to smoke. It was a beautiful clear
moonlight night. The water at my feet
dashed in a mimic torrent over the weir
with a cool and pleasant sound; in the
shade beside me the river was dark enough,
but further on and past the lock it ran, a
stream of glittering silver, to the darkling
hills beyond. On my right a broad meadow
stretched away in the moonlight to the
glorious Bisham woods, and the smell of its
new-mown hay mingling with the pleasant
garden scents, loaded the warm air with
perfume. No sound but the rush of the water,
and now and then the distant barking of a
dog, broke the calm silence of the night. I
looked long upon the beautiful scene,
forgetting all but the sight before me, until I
was aroused from my reverie by a man who
came and leant upon the wall by my side.
It was Will Darton. He was calm enough
now, as he gazed out into the soft summer
night, but for some time he was still silent.
At last he spoke.

"Charley, old fellow, I beg your pardon
for my rudeness and ill manners to-day. I
had my reasons, believe me."

"Don't say another word on the subject,"
I said. " I saw you were ill, and thought
no more of it."

"I was well enough; as well as I am
now," he replied; "but I could not, hard
as I tried, shake it off."

"It?" I asked, curiously.

"The thought that——"  He broke off
for a moment, and looked intently over the
landscape; then resuming with a touch of
the irritability I had noticed in him in the
morning, said: " You heard Jack Long's
profession of faith in the matter of
apparitions?"

"Which you didn't seem to like? Yes."

"He said that he had never heard of a
ghost from the man who had seen it. Have
you ever heard of a ghost from the man
who had seen it?" I shook my head with
a smile. "Then you shall hear the story
now. I should not like to tell it to those
others; but I can tell it to you."

I was considerably startled. "Why, you
don't mean to tell me that you ever saw a
ghost?" I cried.

"That you shall judge of for yourself.
Listen."

You recollect my being engaged to make
those sketches of Thames scenery for that
boating-book, three years ago?—well, that
was the time. I had been idling down the
river for a couple of months, working hard
now and then, and taking spells of rest as
the fit took me, and at last had worked my
way down as far as Henley. I had a fancy
for being independent of railways and of all
sorts of locomotion not at my own control,
and I had bought a boat for my cruise,
roomy enough to hold all the materials I
wanted and to accommodate a friend or so
now and then. Often, during the earlier
part of my voyage I had had companions:
Jack Long was with me for two or three
days, and you joined us, if you remember,
for a week, idling about Streatley and
Pangbourne. I had a companion, too, on my
way from Mapledurham to Henley; I forget
who it was, no matter now, but he left me
at Henley, and I was alone. It was fine,
hot, June weather, very favourable for my
purpose, and I spent a week about the
reaches we passed to-day, hard at work. I
filled many sketch-books, and might have
filled many more, but my time was growing
short, and it was necessary that I should
make a move. All the time I had been at
Henley, some curious fascination seemed to
take me down to Regatta Island. Often
when I had planned a long day's work at
the picturesque bits about Marsh Mills and
the woods of Park-place, I felt an
irresistible impulse to turn back and to row
down the reach. I suppose I must have
painted that horrible old temple, and that
graceful clump of trees on Regatta Island a
dozen times more than there was any
occasion for me to do. I used to feel disgusted
with myself at the repetition of the same
views over and over again in my portfolio,
but somehow or another, I could not get
away from that part of the river.

At last my time at Henley was so nearly
up that I had made all my arrangements
for starting next day, when I received a