Thus oddly encouraged, William again recounted his strange story, and unfolded something of the horror with which his doubts were fraught.
“You said nothing?” asked the parson.
“Nothing.”
“Ha! It is the very best case I ever heard of or read. Everyone knows, in fact, there have been such things. I believe in apparitions. I don’t put them in my sermons, though, because so many people don’t, and it weakens one’s influence to run unnecessarily into disputed subjects, and it is time enough to talk of such things when people are visited, as you have been. You must not be frightened, though; you’ve no need. If these things be, they form part of the great scheme of nature, and any evil that may befall you in consequence is as much a subject for legitimate prayer as sickness or any other affliction; indeed, more obviously so, because we are furnished with no other imaginable means than prayer alone, and a life conformable to God’s will, to resist them. Poor little thing! She talked very flightily. I had a great deal of conversation, and latterly she listened, and I had hoped with some effect. Especially I urged her to clear her mind of all idea of spiritual action, except such as is presented for our comfort and warning in the Holy Scriptures. But here, you see, she, poor little thing, is restless, and you troubled. It’s the oddest case I ever heard of.”
“Pray don’t mention what I’ve told you, Sir, to anyone.”
“Certainly not, for the world—not a human being, not even my sister. By-the-bye, couldn’t you come over and dine with us, and sleep? you must sleep to-night by way of experiment.”
So William promised, well pleased, and went; but, alas! this was a day of disappointments. Violet had gone again to make a short stay at the Mainwarings.
“What can the Mainwarings want of her? She’s always going there; what is there about them so charming?” demanded William of himself; and an outline of the military son of the family, Captain Mainwaring, possibly on leave and at home, disturbed him.
Now, to the further wonderment, and even delight of Doctor Wagget, a very curious result followed from the “experiment” of William’s one night sojourn at the Rectory. At his host’s request, he had locked his bed-room door, just as he had done at Gilroyd, and in the morning he found his stick, which he had left in the hall, tied fast in the loops in which in the daytime the curtains were gathered. There it hung across the bed over his head, an image, as it seemed to him, of suspended castigation.
The doctor was early at William’s door, and found his guest’s toilet half completed. In real panic, Maubray pointed out the evidence of this last freak.