“I will convince you,” said Aggie, taking my hand as she spoke. “Feel all along the verandah. Are the railings broken?”
I did as she bade me. No, though very wet, and clammy, the railing was intact!
“Where is the broken place?” she asked, imperatively.
Where, indeed?
“Now,” she continued, “since you will not come in, look over, and you will see something more presently.”
Shivering with fear, and the cold, drifting rain, I gazed down as she bade me, and there, far below, I saw lights moving rapidly to and fro, evidently in search of something. After a little delay they congregated in one place. There was a low, buzzing murmur—they had found him—and presently they commenced to ascend the hill, with the “hum-hum” of coolies carrying a burden. Nearer and nearer the lights and sounds came; up to the very brink of the khud, past the end of the verandah. Many steps and many torches—faint blue torches held by invisible hands—invisible but heavy-footed bearers carried their burden slowly upstairs, and along the passage, and deposited it with a dump in Aggie’s bedroom! As we stood clasped in one another’s arms, and shaking all over, the steps descended, the ghostly lights passed up the avenue, and gradually disappeared in the gathering darkness. The repetition of the tragedy was over for that day.
“Have you heard it before?” I asked with chattering teeth, as I bolted the drawing-room window.
“Yes, the evening of the picnic, and twice since. That is the reason I have always tried to stay out till late, and to keep you out. I was hoping and praying you might never hear it. It always happens just before dark: I am afraid you have thought me very queer of late. I have told no end of stories to keep you and the children from harm. I have——”
“I think you have been very kind,” I interrupted. “Oh, Aggie, shall you ever get that crash, and that awful cry out of your head?”
“Never!” hastily lighting the candles as she spoke.