Mr. Richard Weston was the only guest.
[CHAPTER III.]
ARRIVAL OF UNEXPECTED GUESTS.
Standing behind the twelve empty chairs, the attendants performed their duties with as much ceremony as could have been expected from them had they been waiting on the most exacting and punctilious guests; but it was not difficult to see that they did not like the service in which they were engaged. From time to time they gazed furtively at each other, and according to the susceptibility of their temperaments, were more or less disturbed by the strangeness of the scene. There was something so ghostlike in this silent dinner, that when the attendants moved they stepped lightly, as though they were fearful of raising the dead. The only persons who were not dismayed at the sight of the empty chairs were Mr. Weston, Mr. Steele, and the proprietor of the Silver Flagon. Indeed, that the chairs were empty appeared to afford satisfaction to at least one of the party--Mr. Weston.
"What has become of your unreasonable fancy?" asked Mr. Rowe.
"Gone, thank God!" replied Mr. Weston, with a sigh of relief, draining his glass. "But I had it very strong upon me. We cannot help these superstitious feelings, and in my case there is a distinct cause for them, in words once uttered by Reuben Thorne."
"Poor Reuben! He was the merriest soul I ever met."
"A careless, ne'er-do-well!" exclaimed Mr. Weston.
"No man's enemy but his own," added Mr. Rowe quickly. "The merriest part of the table was always where he sat, during the few years he was with us. What words do you refer to?"
"It was on the fourth anniversary of this day, and all the thirteen were present. Death had not taken one of our party. I was sitting next to Reuben, and the conversation was loud and jovial. All were in high spirits with the exception of three--Caroline Miller, Edward Blair, and Stephen Viner. But that it is incumbent upon us to speak gently of the dead, I could find it in my mind to couple the name of Stephen Winer with bitter words."