“Let us call up the ghost.”
Responsive knocks came, loud and marked. A system of communication was promptly established. Two raps for yes, one for no. Then the questioning began.
With much laughter and some agreeable tremors, it was ascertained that the monk-ghost belonged to the community which had dwelt so long at the Abbey; that he was dissatisfied with his present place of burial, which was outside the old monks’ burying-ground, now a part of the actual garden.
It is always safe, as I have said, to question a ghost on this point. Now, however, some difficulty ensued when, through the limited medium, the rapping spirit endeavoured to specify the spot of its present abode, and the field was too wide for exactness—until a young sailor cousin intervened. He had been playing, in mere idleness and utter scepticism, the rather gruesome game. But at this point he roused himself, interested to put the matter to the proof. He fetched pencil and paper, and drew up a scheme of latitude and longitude with reference to the garden walls; and finally determined the position where the discontented ghost announced that his bones were actually reposing.
With professional neatness he made a plan of the shrubbery, marked the grave thereon, and the whole party resolved to sally forth with spades “to see if the old ghost spoke the truth.” The sailor cousin was particularly jocose in unbelief.
LAID AT LAST
Yet truly, the next day, in the very place designated, they came upon bones—to be exact, upon a skeleton complete save for the skull. The sailor was the first to rush back to the Abbey and collect a circle for a fresh séance. And once more the phantom monk rapped out latitude and longitude in connexion with his skull; once more he was found to be a ghost of the most complete veracity. And the end of this true story is that the skeleton, complete with its cranium, was laid duly and reverently in the old consecrated ground in the garden. And the monk appeared no more in the Lavender Room.
XXXV
I promised to return to gardens, and here I am. What a garden that was! Not a bit uncomfortable in spite of its company of departed friars. The monk’s old Yew Walk was there; such a one as has not its match in the kingdom, I believe. There too were fields of “Malmaison” Carnations. Never have I beheld such lavishness before or since. The scent of the things! It was our hostess’s rather extravagant fancy. I don’t know that I exactly envy it. It was almost too much, but yet it was a wonder!