with a frank open manner of speech, now
looked anxious and careworn, and spoke in a
hesitating perplexed way which Charley could
not understand.

He apologised for calling at that late hour—
half-past nine—on the ground that he did not
wish his visit known, and, presently untying a
blue handkerchief which he carried in his hand,
placed upon the table something that had very
much the appearance of half a cold apple-tart.

"I wish you, sir," he said, "to be kind
enough to examine this, and tell me if 'tis
good for a Christian's dinner. If 'tis, why,
there's an end; if not, why then I've got
something more to say."

Tincture made him sit down, and retired to
his surgery, sending, in pursuance of an idea
that occurred to him, for myself, who happened
to be passing the evening in his neighbourhood.
Together we carefully analysed the viand, and,
applying the usual tests, detected the presence
of a certain vegetable poison, in sufficient
quantity to destroy a dozen human lives.

On hearing this result, Harper turned so white
and sick, that Charley had to administer a glass
of brandy, after which the worthy steward
commenced his tale, with the startling information
that the pastry we had had under our
consideration, together with numerous other
delicacies, similarly seasoned, formed the daily
bill of fare at Mournivale.

For a long time past—in fact, ever since the
arrival of the family—the steward's attention
had been from time to time attracted by a remarkable
proceeding on the part of Morgan le Fay.
Every dish, whether prepared by her own hands
or those of assistants, received a slight addition,
sometimes in a liquid, sometimes pulverine
form, the materials being obtained from a sort of
cabinet built into the wall, and secured with a
small but massive metal door, of which
Morgan le Fay always kept the key. This ceremony,
though not absolutely performed by stealth,
always seemed to be invested with a certain
degree of mystery. It was etiquette to notice
it as little as possible; but Harper could not
help observing that every dish, after undergoing
this singular preparation, was regarded with a
respect and tenderness almost reverential, was
handled with the extremest caution, and, when
returned disabled from the dinner-table, was
consigned by the high priestess, Morgan le Fay, to
a receptacle expressly constructed for the
purpose, from whence it never again emerged.

Perpetually haunted by this mystery, Harper
at length conceived an irresistible desire to
convince himself, by actual experiment, that
a strange and horrible fancy, that would
sometimes intrude itself into his mind, was erroneous
and absurd. One day, by great good fortune,
an opportunity occurred of securing a portion
of apple-tart that had been almost half
consumed in the parlour. Mr. Harper, possessing
himself of an unfortunate dog whose condition
of skin rendered his abrupt decease a matter of
congratulation both to himself and mankind,
presented him with a small portion of the pie, on
receipt of which the unfortunate animal uttered
one broken howl, stretched himself out, and
expired. Under the circumstances, Mr. Harper
at once secured the remainder of the tart in his
handkerchief, and hastened to submit it to
medical scrutiny.

The case was curious, and difficult. In
spite of the uncommon dietary, it was certain
that nothing had happened at Mournivale to
warrant legal interference. No enactment
restricts the indulgence in arsenic, or belladonna,
so long as they suit the constitution. It was
ultimately agreed to keep the matter quiet,
Harper undertaking to report to us, any new
incident of an unusual nature that might come
under his observation.

CHAPTER V.

IT was not very long before a new phenomenon
revealed itself. The summer was well
advanced, and had been unusually sultry. The
windows of Mournivale, like those of less
mysterious mansions, remained open, or, at least,
unshuttered, long after dark. It began to be
declared that the sounds and appearances
distinguishable through these windows, were not to be
accounted for by any rules of ordinary domestic
life. Regularly after nightfall—perhaps about
ten o'clock—(as the country people asserted)
the entire upper portion of the vast mansion
became suddenly illuminated with a mighty red
lustre, such as might proceed from the seething
crater of a volcano at the close of an eruption.
From thence were heard to issue loud and
agonising shrieks, varied with the notes of
some strange instrument of the trumpet kind,
now and then a clash of cymbals, and, not
unfrequently, a low horrible sound, which could
only be described as a lion imitating the laugh
of a man.

From midnight until one o'clock, the watchers
declared, there usually reigned a profound
silence. About the last-named hour, a long
hoarse cry, unlike the voice of man or animal,
pealed through the house, and, in a second, the
lights in every room were extinguished like one.
At that period, the rising ground planted by
Corsellis was not covered with wood of sufficient
growth to conceal the upper windows, and the
crimson glow proceeding from them was plainly
visible from the neighbouring village.

Speculation was busy over these strange
doings, when a new and important circumstance
occurred. Harper, having some business to
transact with his master, repaired to the
mansion one morning rather before his usual
hour. Sir George was out, on horseback. As
the steward retraced his steps through the hall,
a violent shriek, twice or thrice repeated, struck
his ear.

Yielding to the impulse of the moment, and
imagining, as he afterwards explained, that some
person's clothes had caught fire, he bounded up
the hitherto sacred stair, and stood at the door of
the first of the suite of apartments inhabited by
the family. It was from hence that the shrieks
had proceeded. The door was ajar. He pushed