the corn on bleacres was rapidly ripening under the beams of the powerful sun. the manor-house was islanded amidst a golden sea of grain, the waves of which rolled up even to its ancient walls. the winding path to the boundary channel was still the sole means of approach, but few people came up this to the house, as the vands were not popular. henry certainly was approved of, on account of his manners, his affliction, and his violin-playing; but the neighbours, ignorant of the truth, could not forgive his wife for robbing bella of her inheritance. now that she was rich and re-married, it was mrs. vand's intention to become the great lady of the district, but hitherto she had not met with much success in her bid for popularity.

but, in spite of cold looks and significant speeches, mrs. vand went from house to house, talking of a harvest home fete, which she proposed to give as soon as the grain was reaped. her husband would not accompany her on these social visits, as he was shrewd enough to see that only time would ameliorate the bad impression which mrs. vand's callous conduct had created. in vain he tried to show his wife that it would be wise to retire for a short period. mrs. vand scorned such fabian tactics, and did her best to take by storm the position she felt that her wealth and personality deserved. the more she was snubbed, the more she persisted, and there was no doubt but what, in the end, she would gain what she wanted, by wearing down those who resented her conduct.

mrs. vand paid a visit even to dora ankers, choosing a saturday afternoon, when she knew that bella was walking on the common with her lover. the little school-mistress received her coldly, as she had never liked the woman from the first day she had set eyes on her. but mrs. vand, in the most flamboyant of costumes, was all smiles and small talk, refusing to see for one moment the chilly reception she was receiving.

"you really must come to our harvest home, miss ankers," she babbled; "what with henry's taste and my money, it will be wonderfully gay and bright and artistic. everyone will help to reap the corn, and in the evening we will have a ball, at which henry will play old english tunes, to which we shall dance. you must come. i shall take no refusal."

"how can i?" asked dora tartly, "seeing that your niece whom you have treated so badly, is stopping with me."

mrs. vand drew up her stout figure with great dignity. "that bella huxham left her home and my guardianship is purely her own fault," she replied. "i promised to look after her, at poor jabez's request. but she chose to behave in a way of which i did not approve, and to engage herself to a man, who is not the husband i should have picked for her."

"bella has every right to choose a husband for herself," retorted miss ankers.

"girls are not clever enough to choose the right man. and mr. lister——"

"you know nothing about him, mrs. vand."

"that is exactly what i complain of," said the other woman triumphantly, "he may be a rogue and a scamp."

"he may be, but he is not. mr. lister is a gentleman."

"that doesn't prevent his being a bad character."

"well," said dora, rising to terminate the visit, "i don't care about discussing my friends."

mrs. vand rose also. "let us shelve the subject," she said grandly, "and you can tell bella that i am willing to forgive and forget. if she likes to come to our harvest home, she can do so. i am not the one to bear malice. it is the last harvest home we shall have," prattled mrs. vand, as her hostess skilfully edged her towards the door. "henry does not intend to sow wheat again, and the grounds of bleacres will be thrown open to the public."

"people are not fond of wandering in marshes," said dora dryly. "if you want to please us, throw open the manor-house. that is interesting, if you like."

"and haunted," said the visitor in a thrilling whisper; "do you know of any sad legend connected with the manor-house, miss ankers?"

"no!" snapped dora, tartly; then her curiosity got the better of her dislike for mrs. vand. "is it really haunted?"

"there are footsteps, and whisperings, and rappings in the twilight. i told henry that if this sort of thing continued, i should leave the place."

privately, dora wished that she would, and thus rid the neighbourhood of a most undesirable presence, but aloud she merely remarked that the noises might be due to rats, a suggestion which mrs. vand scouted.

"it's a ghost, a ghost!" she insisted—"all old families have a ghost. but do not let us talk of it," she continued, looking round with a shudder; "already the thing has got on my nerves. to go to a more pleasant subject: let me invite you for a row on the water."

"a row on the water?" echoed dora, who knew of no lake in the neighbourhood.

"on the channel at the end of my grounds," explained mrs. vand. "henry has bought a rowing-boat, and takes me far into the country. you can almost reach the railway line before you get to the swamps. do come."

"i'll think about it," said miss ankers, only anxious to get her visitor out of the house before bella came back.

"do, dear, and come to our harvest home. it will be quite artistic: you have no idea of henry's perfect taste, and if bella comes i shall be glad to see her, in spite of her nasty behaviour, and—and——" mrs. vand could think of nothing more to say, so took herself off, with a gracious smile, quite sure that she had played the part of a great lady to perfection.

"ugh!" said dora, looking after the stout, gaudily-clothed figure, "you're a spiteful cat, if ever there was one. i shouldn't be surprised to hear that you had killed your brother yourself, in order to get the money."

unaware of this amiable speech, mrs. vand sailed grandly through the village, dispensing smiles and patronage. fortunately for herself, she was not a thought-reader, or her self-satisfaction might have received a severe reproof. she was considered to be considerably worse than jezebel, and in her stoutness was compared to the late mrs. manning, a notable murderess. to her face many were agreeable, but usually she was not received with the best grace. finally, towards the evening, she returned to the manor-house to report on her triumphs.

crossing the boundary-channel, she saw the boat which her husband had lately bought. it was a narrow but comfortable craft of a light build, and the water-way was quite broad enough to permit of its being rowed very comfortably, even though the oars occasionally touched the banks. mrs. vand looked at this boat with a singular expression, and then, stepping across the planks, walked up to her lordly abode. she found that her husband was absent, and had left word with the servant that he would not be back to dinner. mrs. vand was annoyed, as she did not like eating alone; but in her heart of hearts she was afraid of her quiet husband, even though he was considerably her junior, and made no comment. however, the servant who brought in the seven o'clock tea had much to say, and mrs. vand permitted her to talk, for, as usual, the sinister influence of the manor was getting on her healthy nerves.

"master's gone to the village, to see his ma," said the servant, who was small and elfish and somewhat brazen. "then he's going to see tunks."

"what's the matter with tunks?" asked mrs. vand, pouring out the tea.

"he's ill. he's been drinking hard for weeks, ever since that horrid murder, mum, and now the doctor says he's got delirious trimmings."

mrs. vand looked up sharply, and frowned. "he is raving?"

"raving hard, mum. but master will see that he is looked after."

"your master is very good," said mrs. vand, taking a piece of bread. "you can go, sarah."

the servant departed somewhat unwillingly, as she did not like the big, bare kitchen, and felt the influence of the unseen as did her mistress. but as yet, ghostly doings had not been sufficiently scaring to make her throw up a good situation. nevertheless, she shivered in the kitchen, and wished that tunks was present to keep her company, as he often did, at the evening meal. but tunks was raving at the present moment in the hut on the marshes, and there was no chance of anyone else coming to bleacres.

mrs. vand sat and shivered in the dining-room also. she lighted three lamps, and although the evening was warm, she set fire to the coals and wood in the large, old-fashioned grate. it seemed to her that she could not have enough light or warmth to ward off the cold, malicious influence, which seemed to spread a sinister atmosphere throughout the vast room. shivering at the head of the table, mrs. vand kept casting furtive looks here and there, as though she expected to see the blood-stained figure of her murdered brother appear like banquo's spectre. outside the twilight gradually deepened to luminous darkness, and although she had finished her tea, she did not feel inclined to move about the gloomy passages. again and again, she wished that henry would return.

at nine o'clock her nerves were still shaky, and she felt that she could not stand the dining-room any longer. ringing the bell, she took a lamp in each hand, and told sarah—who entered speedily—to take the other. the two women proceeded to the drawing-room, and mrs. vand, having pulled down the blinds, ordered sarah to bring her work and sit beside her. the servant was only too pleased to obey, and for the next half-hour the two sat in pleasant gossiping confabulation, mrs. vand knitting a silk tie for her husband, and sarah trimming a wonderful hat with aggressively brilliant flowers. there was no noise, as the wind had dropped, and everything was intensely still. mrs. vand and sarah chattered incessantly to keep up their courage in the ghostly atmosphere. suddenly—

"listen!" said mrs. vand, raising her hand. "do you hear?"

sarah turned white through her dingy skin, and held her breath. there came distinctly the sound of three knocks from somewhere near the fire-place; then a long, dreary sigh. the servant shrieked, and sprang for the door. but mrs. vand was after her in one moment, and seized her. "hold your tongue, you fool! it's only rats."

as if to give the lie to her statement, there came the swish, swish of silken skirts, and then the sigh again. this was too much for mrs. vand. she scuttled panic-stricken into the hall, followed by the shrieking sarah. at the same moment, as though it had been prearranged, the front door opened and vand appeared.

"oh, henry! henry!" gasped his wife, and clung to him.

the young man shook her off. "what is the matter?" he asked in calm tones. but mrs. vand being too terrified to answer, sarah did so for her. "the ghost! the ghost! the ghost!"

"what rubbish!" said vand, easily; "there is no ghost, you silly girl, and if there is, here is one who can lay it."

he stepped aside, and granny tunks, lean and weird-looking, appeared at the door. she had a white cloak over her fantastic dress, and looked more witch-like than ever. mrs. vand stared at the woman in surprise. "why have you left your grandson?" she asked, and glancing at henry.

"he's sound asleep, deary, the fit having passed. a gal o' mine, of the true romany breed, looking after him. your sweet husband here"—she waved a skinny hand towards vand—"asked me to come and see what i could do to lay this unquiet spirit who walks."

"rubbish! rubbish!" said mrs. vand, now feeling more confident in company.

"it's not rubbish, deary," said mrs. tunks, mysteriously; "the dead walk."

"the dead?"

"your poor brother, as is uneasy at having been pitched out of life so cruel. he's walking," and she nodded weirdly.

on hearing this statement, sarah whimpered and clutched at mrs. vand's dress, whereupon that lady who was extremely pale herself—shook her off. "go to bed, sarah," she commanded.

"me!" screeched the girl, "and when there's ghosts walking! i'd scream myself into fits if i went up-stairs."

mrs. vand appealed to her husband. "henry, make her go."

the young man took the girl by the shoulders, and propelled her towards the foot of the stairs, but sarah resisted wildly, and finally made a bolt for the still open front door. "i'll go home to mother," she cried hysterically, and disappeared into the darkness.

"there," said mrs. vand, angrily, to granny tunks. "see what you've done. the house will get a bad name. i'll give that minx warning in the morning."

vand, seeing that it was useless to run after the terrified sarah, who by this time was half-way to marshely, closed the door, and shrugged his shoulders. "come into the drawing-room," he said to mrs. tunks.

"no, no!" cried his wife, shaking; "the ghost is there. i heard the rapping and the sighing and the——"

"yes, yes, yes!" interrupted vand, with less than his usual coolness; "that is why i have brought granny. there is an evil influence in this house, and i want her to find out what it is."

"do you believe in such rubbish?"

"you seemed to believe in it just now," said the cripple drily. "yes, i do believe in the unseen, as i have had too much proof not to believe."

"then get a priest, get a priest!" cried mrs. vand wildly, and looking twice her age. "what is the use of this old fool?"

granny tunks laughed in an elfish manner when she heard herself spoken of thus, and seemed very little put out. "a fool can do what a wise woman can't," she croaked; "your husband's wiser nor you, deary. he knows."

"knows what?" asked mrs. vand, turning on the ancient gipsy fiercely.

"that there's danger coming to you and him."

mrs. vand cast one scared and indignant look on the withered face, and ran into the drawing-room. henry had preceded her here, and was standing by the table looking round the room in an inquiring manner, evidently on the alert for the mysterious sounds. mrs. vand caught his arm. "do you hear what this woman says?" she asked, shaking him.

"as the door was open i did hear," he replied coolly; "don't be a fool, rosamund. i brought her here to see what she can tell us."

"about?—" mrs. vand faltered and broke down.

"hold your tongue!" said henry with an angry hiss like that of a serpent.

usually the young man wore a mild and gentle expression, but on this night his face was haggard and his eyes were wild. he had all his wits about him, however, and forced his wife into a chair, where she sat trembling violently. "i've had enough of these ghostly pranks," he said in a fierce undertone, "and as granny undoubtedly possesses clairvoyant powers, i wish her to learn all she can. come in, mrs. tunks!" he added, raising his voice, and the old witch-wife entered the room, looking singularly weird in her white cloak.

"is that the only reason that you have asked granny here?" demanded mrs. vand, in a low voice. "sarah told me that her grandson had been raving."

"you fool!" snarled the cripple. "will you hold your tongue? i have another purpose, which you will find out shortly. granny," he pointed to a chair, "sit down and tell us what influences are about."

mrs. tunks sat in the indicated chair, and lay back with closed eyes. vand and his wife remained perfectly still, the latter gazing at the old witch in a terrified manner, as though dreading what she would say and do. the room was filled with shadows, even though three lamps were lighted, and the silence became quite oppressive. mrs. vand was a healthy animal, and not in the least imaginative, but after a time she felt that some evil influence was in the room, and tightly gripped her husband's hand. the perspiration broke out on her forehead. henry gave her no comfort, not even by pressing her hand. his eyes were fixed on the perfectly expressionless and still face of granny tunks. the séance had all the elements of terror about it.

the gipsy lay as still as though carved out of stone, and the watchers could scarcely see the rise and fall of her breath. deeper and deeper grew the stillness, so that even the fall of a pin could have been heard, had one been dropped. apparently the body of granny lay supine in the chair, but her spirit was far away—roaming the house, maybe. after a long pause, the woman began to speak in a low, expressionless voice, and almost without moving her withered lips.

"gems," she said softly, "rare gems, blue and red and green; jewels of price and pearls of the ocean. they are in an ivory box. long ago the woman who is standing near me"—mrs. vand started, looked, but could see nothing, yet the monotonous voice went on, as though the speaker really saw the form described—"wore those jewels. she has the face of a roman empress. in africa, many centuries ago—yes, in africa, and she sinned to get those jewels. now she laments that she has lost them."

"how did she lose them?" asked vand almost in a whisper, as though fearful of breaking the charm. apparently—as mrs. vand guessed—this was not the first time he had assisted at so weird a ceremony.

"fierce warriors in green turbans took them—warriors of arabia. the jewels travel south, still with the warriors. there are many fights. the jewels pass from one hand to another, still in the ivory box. now a savage has them—a savage, in a wild forest. they are buried in the earth at the place where victims are sacrificed to the gods. long years pass: centuries glide by. the box of jewels is found: it is in the hands of another savage, who wears european clothes. he gives the jewels to a white man for services rendered."

mrs. vand interrupted with a strangled cry of terror. "jabez—is he jabez?"

"he is not jabez huxham, but a man called maxwell faith. but see"—the dull voice of the gipsy suddenly became emotional and loud—"they pass into the hands of jabez huxham, and the hands that bear away the jewels are stained with blood. the jewels pass with him across the sea to this land. in london first; then in this house. they are placed in a carved chest; it is in the attic. now they are in the safe in the study, and now——"

vand interrupted. "how did they pass out of huxham's possession?"

granny tunks did not reply for a few minutes, during which mrs. vand clutched her husband's hand still tighter, and passed her tongue over her dry lips. "they pass from jabez huxham, as they came to him—by murder," went on the clairvoyant. "i see the study. huxham is at the desk, and the ivory box of jewels is before him. there is a knife on the floor by the door, and the knife is bloody."

"but huxham is not dead," said vand, quickly and softly.

"there is blood on the knife," said mrs. tunks, without taking any notice of the question. "huxham is so engaged in looking at the jewels that he does not see the door softly open. a man enters. he sees the knife and picks it up. he glided behind huxham, who suddenly turns. now—now the blow has fallen, and the jewels, the jewels——" she paused.

"what more?" gasped mrs. vand. "what more, in god's name?"

"there is no god here, but only evil," came the reply. "i can see no more. i see, however, that the man who struck the blow is a cripple, and——"

there came a cry, apparently from behind the wall. vand and his wife turned astonished and terror-struck. on the left of the fire-place a sliding panel was pushed back, and they beheld bella, pale but triumphant.

"so you murdered captain huxham!" she cried, "you and your wife. o god——"

"there is no god here," breathed mrs. tunks again, "only evil."