wanted to speak to Harrison, and, as our horses
were impatient, we rode on slowly before, leaving
Harrison to overtake us when his business was
done.

"'What on earth can be keeping Harrison!'
said one of my companions, after a time; 'we
shall lose our ride.'

"'Perhaps he had to turn back,' I replied.
'We had better ride on; mounted as he is, he
will soon come up with us.'

"We rode on, expecting every moment to see
him arrive, yet no sound of his horse's feet
reached us; and so time passed, and he came
not. At any other time I would have thought
nothing of it, except that pressing business
must have obliged him to return to the monastery,
but the disagreeable occurrences of the
previous week had rendered me unable to rid
myself of a certain dim, vague presentiment of
evil to come. Often and often since then have
I reproached myself for not having obeyed its
warning voice!

"A sudden turn in the road widened the
prospect before us, and we stopped again to
wait for Harrison, and to admire the spreading
country around. About two hundred yards
from us towards the abbey was the lake already
mentioned. We had not reined up many minutes,
when, in a voice of wonder and alarm, one of my
companions exclaimed,

"'There's Harrison! Good God! what is
he about?'

"We all looked in the direction to which he
pointed, and saw Harrison galloping at full
speed along the path which girded the lake.
The reins were loose upon the horse's neck;
the rider's hat had fallen off, and his hair, blown
about by the wind, gave a wild appearance to
his face. Before many seconds had elapsed, the
horse gave a sudden swerve, and galloped
straight into the lake. The waters gurgled for
a moment, and then both horse and rider
disappeared!

"A few minutes brought us to the monastery,
where we gave the alarm, and the men turned
out with ropes and poles and such rude drags
as they could lay hold upon. Not a trace of
Harrison or his horse could be discerned, and
for a full hour all our efforts to discover the
exact spot where they had sunk proved fruitless.
At last, one of our drags struck upon some
object, and first the horse and then Harrison
himself was pulled to shore. Both were dead, of
course, but never, to my own dying day, shall I
forget the peculiar expression that overshadowed
my friend's pale face. It was one of such
fearful agony, such intense anguish, that my
heart sickened, and though not a word was
said by those around me, I could perceive
that all were equally struck and confounded
by it. More dreadfully painful and mysterious
still, was the horror depicted over the face of
the horse.

"Slowly and sadly the body of Harrison was
brought home and laid on the bed he had so
lately occupied in life. As we undressed him, I
found in his bosom a small miniature likeness.
It was the picture of a fair young face; I knew
whose face, for Harrison had confided his
happiness to me. I bent over my friend, and
cutting off a lock of his dark hair, I wound
it gently round the little picture, and then
put them up in paper, and laid them carefully
aside.

"The evening came. All that remained to be
done for our lost comrade had been done, and
we—that is, I myself and a few of the others—
had gathered in his room to look over his effects,
and see whether he had left any memoranda of
wishes to be fulfilled. In his desk there was a
sealed letter to his mother, and another to the
original of the miniature; nothing else. That
night I resolved to pass in his room, with two
or three of my companions, keeping watch by
his body. A fearful gloom hung over us as we
sat there in silence beside our dead comrade,
the favourite of every man among us. We were
silent, near the window, when, just as the clock
struck twelve, the apparition—seen by all of us
—passed into the room, glided over to the
bedside, bent over the dead form, hissed into the
face, and vanished.

"Next day, the body of poor Harrison was
buried beneath a large spreading tree. I have
been at the funerals of many officers and
comrades, but never in my life have I attended one
so sad. That very day we began our march to
Lisbon, and before the end of the week
embarked on board the transports prepared for
us. Of the six men into whose faces the
apparition had hissed, or seemed to hiss, not
one reached England. One threw himself
overboard in a fit of madness, and five died on the
voyage.

"I have never been able to unravel the mystery
of Harrison's death. It will never be unravelled
now, I suppose, until the day when all secrets
are revealed."

NEW WORK
BY SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
On SATURDAY, 10th AUGUST,'
Will be commenced (to be completed in six months)
A STRANGE STORY,
BY THE
AUTHOR OF "MY NOVEL," "RIENZI," &c. &c.

Now ready, in 3 vols. post 8vo,
GREAT EXPECTATIONS.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.