IN the winter of 18—, at the hearty invitation of a very old friend, I spent a holiday in the extreme northern part of Blankshire, a wild and rugged district through which flowed a magnificent trout stream that, together with many rippling tributaries, provided excellent sport during the summer months for the angler who could put up with the long walks over extremely rough ground that were necessarily entailed in getting at the best parts of the stream.

      I had previously visited the district upon trouting bent, and had thoroughly enjoyed a week amidst scenery of the most delightful description. Very frequently indeed were my piscatorial efforts suspended; often enough, just as I had made a cast over a rising fish, involuntarily my attention was taken from the fly that had alighted upon the surface of the stream, and became rivetted upon the majestic surroundings. One day I traced the course of the stream for several miles, and arrived at an immense dam that extended the whole width of the valley, truly a remarkable specimen of engineering skill and man's persistent efforts to convert Nature's available formations to his own purpose.

      The immense buttresses of smooth concrete and main structure of the same material, and the massive sluices, windlasses, handrails, and accessories of wrought iron — of course, painted the orthodox reddy-brown colour — at once convinced me that I had arrived at one of those necessary productions of civilisation — a reservoir. On the left side of the valley I noticed a winding pathway, with here and there a few primitive steps roughly formed where the character of the ground permitted it; and, resolved to have a look at the immense sheet of water there must be above, I clambered up the valley-side. It was a terribly tough job; but when I reached the top I was amply repaid for my trouble. Stretching before me — its upper end lost in the distance — was an imposing sheet of water, the appearance of which can only be expressed by the word — grand! On two shores the banks — which had originally been the valley-sides — were covered with trees and bushes of varied foliage; the hills on either side — imperceptibly reduced in height by the formation of the reservoir — looked down in quiet majesty upon the troubled waters; for I must here remark that, although below the dam I had hardly felt a breath of air in motion, above quite a strong wind was blowing, and miniature waves lashed the shores of the lake, and again and again dashed at the structure that held the vast volume of water back.

      From below, the dam had impressed me with its commanding appearance, but here its gigantic proportions were more clearly discernable, and a mighty structure it was!

      Of course, one of the first thoughts that struck me was, the reservoir must hold some big trout. The 10ft. 6in. fly rod I had with me I knew was of little or no use to fish such a large sheet of water, but I inwardly resolved to pay the reservoir another visit properly equipped.

      Time was flying on, and I turned away to retrace my steps. The afternoon was far advanced when I reached the dam, and the evening was now drawing near. And then it struck me for the first time that I must be some miles away from my friend's house, and had a long tramp in front of me. I looked round to see if there was any indication of a road leading in the desired direction, for I "backed" at the idea of walking through the valley the way I had come. Following some wheel-ruts leading from the dam I presently came to a rough, uneven road, but still a road. I had not gone far before I reached a small cottage, and standing in the doorway was a female past the middle age, neatly but poorly clad.

      "My good woman," I said, "can you direct me to H——?" mentioning my friend's house. To my surprise she answered my inquiry in the same way the one-eyed Irishman did the O'Flanaghan's — by asking another.

      "Have you been fishing?"

      I answered in the affirmative, and then repeated my inquiry.

      "They are devil's fish up yonder!" she said.

      I did not think proper to dispute this remarkable statement, but politely once again asked for the information I needed.

      "They are DEVIL'S fish!" she shouted, and went in and slammed the door to.

      We were fated to meet again!

      I thought her proceeding a peculiar one, but there was nothing left for me to do but continue my way along the rugged road. Another half-a-mile brought me to a wayside public-house. I did not stay to wonder what demand there was for a public-house in such an out-of-the-way place, but lifting the latch, entered, and found myself in one of the old-fashioned rooms, with sanded floor and rough deal tables and forms that are familiar to many anglers who fish in quiet country districts. Apparently I was the only customer, and it was some time before even I could get served. After repeated hammerings with my landing handle, a lad of about fourteen appeared, and I ordered a small Scotch whisky.

      "We ain't got no whisky!"

      "Then bring me a pint of ale."

      After some delay it was produced — a splendidly-conditioned beer, served in a clean earthenware mug.

      "Where is your father, my lad?" I queried.

      "Out at work on the farm."

      "Mother at home?"

      "No; she's gone to the village."

      "Any brothers or sisters at home?"

      "Ain't got no brothers nor sisters."

      "No one at home but yourself?"

      "Not no one!" Then, after a pause: "Bin fishin'?"

      I nodded.

      "Then you want some more beer!" and he took up my mug and departed, shortly returning with the measure re-filled. I resumed the conversation.

      "Am I right for H——?" He nodded. "How far is it?"

      "Under four mile."

      I finished my beer, and turned to depart. Suddenly I thought of the elderly female I had seen at the cottage door.

      "Who lives in the cottage up the road?" I queried.

      "Oh! that's Mad Madge. 'Ave ye seed 'er?"

      I replied in the affirmative, but could gain no further information from the lad other than "She'd lived there for ever, and was mad and 'orrid!" So I resumed my walk to H——.

      It was dark when I reached my friend's house, and he was getting a bit worried about my long absence. I told him what little I had to tell, and then we had dinner — a good hearty meal. Over our pipes that evening I learnt that the reservoir contained some pike, but few trout. When I asked my friend how he could account for that, he remarked —

      "Oh, probably at some time a few pike have got in, in some way, and they have gradually increased the while the trout have been exterminated. That is my theory. There is another reason assigned to it by the few local inhabitants; but, as that has to do with Mad Madge's history, I must hold it over until to-morrow evening — it's too late now for a rather long tale. Have a turn at the pike to-morrow. I have some rough tackle you can use. You might run against a large trout with a live-bait, and, if you do, you will admit that uglier specimens never existed than those of Broadyke Reservoir. That also has to do with Mad Madge's tale, so you have a treat in store for to-morrow evening."

      You can gather from this I had been questioning my friend about the strange female I had seen that day. All the information I got that evening however, was contained in the above remarks. I retired to rest, and dreamed of leviathan pike and enormous trout, the latter for the most part being hideously ugly. But the stay with my friend was brought to an abrupt conclusion. The following morning the post brought a letter informing me I was wanted on urgent business matters, so I had to depart. My friend drove me to the nearest railway-station, I was soon being whirled to the south, and my day among the pike at Broadyke Reservoir and the history of Mad Madge had to stand over.

      We all know that the time for pike fishing is during the winter months, and, therefore, when my friend repeated his kind invitation the following winter, I availed myself of his offer, and, as I have previously said, spent my holiday at his house. I had an idea I could somehow manage to capture some of those big pike, and looked forward to several profitable days. I took with me quite an array of spinning-flights, paternosters, and live-bait hooks, and, on the off-chance of getting them there alive, several dozen of splendid live dace.

      Arrived at the end of the journey by rail, I found my friend awaiting my appearance, walking up and down the platform, and stamping his feet the while; for it was a bitterly cold day. To my delight, the baits were as lively as possible, and we soon had them transferred to the dog-cart, together with my rods, tackle, and travelling impedimenta. A drive through the clear, frosty air of that part of Blankshire gave me an appetite that took some time in satisfying; but this desirable conclusion arrived at, once more our pipes were lit, and the master of H—— and myself indulged in a long chat upon various matters. Many minor topics were disposed of, and then my friend satisfied my curiosity about Mad Madge; but I little knew that I should take such a prominent part in that strange creature's latter history; that, in fact, I should be immediately concerned in the ultimate fulfilment of ——    but, I am running in front of my story. This is what my friend knew of Mad Madge's early history, so far as he had been able to gather it from the local inhabitants.

      "Twenty-five years ago there was not a prettier lass in all Blankshire than Merry Madge Manton. She was the pride of the little village just below, as well she might be, and sad havoc she played with the hearts of the youths in the district; not intentionally, for Madge was never a flirt even, much less a coquette. She could not prevent her conquests, and I am told often enough she was really grieved at the disastrous effect her good looks and winning ways had among the male inhabitants whose years numbered from eighteen into the twenties. The only child of her parents — and she even never putting in an appearance until they had passed the fourteenth anniversary of their wedding-day — need I say she was spoiled? — that is, so far as such a true-hearted lass could be spoiled. Vicious neighbours were known to assert that Madge was not the offspring of the Mantons at all, but really an adopted child. I rather fancy our old doctor could tell a different tale. Be this as it may, Madge grew in good looks year by year, until when she reached the age of eighteen, as I have already said, a prettier lass it would be difficult to find. Offers of marriage she had in plenty, but to all applicants the same answer was given — No! Less attractive damsels would observe she ought to get married, and probably from their point of view she ought. But Madge had not yet met a man she could accept as a husband, although her wish in the matter was very simple; she told her friends 'she must love him, whoever he was.'

      "At that time the stream running through the valley was literally full of fat trout, and it was an easy matter to catch a basketful. It will interest you to learn that Madge had a great love for angling, and with the rough appliances available proved a match for many a pound and pound-and-a-half fish. It was her unfortunate love for the sport — for unfortunate it proved to be — that induced the Mantons to purchase a little cottage that used to be snugly ensconsed in the valley just below the reservoir. Oh! by the by, that reminds me. A Broadyke Reservoir existed then, but was not such an extensive affair as the present one, although its dimensions were very considerable.

      "Well, as I have said, the Mantons purchased the cottage in the valley, and shortly after went there to live. Individuals were not wanting who asserted that 'one of these days the old dam will give way and Manton's cottage will be swept away'; but Manton himself laughed at the idea. 'It has stood for fourteen years,' he would say; 'and I don't think it will give way now, just to spite me and mine!' I am given to understand the old man had implicit confidence in the stability of the structure, and ninety-nine out of a hundred persons would have supported him in his confidence.

      "Within three months of the Mantons settling in their new home there came to Broadyke a tourist angler, a fine stalwart young fellow, with plenty of money, heaps of fishing tackle, and more than the ordinary share of good looks. It was a rare thing to get anglers this way then, and his appearance in the district created quite a sensation. He stayed at the village inn for some days, where he not only made himself comfortable, but very soon became immensely popular. With song and story he entertained the frequenters of the Broadyke Arms as they had never been entertained before, and during the last few days of his stay at the inn he introduced trout suppers, free to all-comers. You may depend upon it these 'went down' immensely, for not only were the trout of his own catching, but the drinks also were supplied at his expense. And here I should tell you that Harold Hartnup — that was his name — proved to be the best angler that had set foot in the valley within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. He soon found out the best trout were to be caught in the old Broadyke Reservoir, and the manner in which he caught 1½lb. and 2lb. trout there was a caution. He used to stand about mid-way on the old dam, and wielding a 12ft. fly rod cast a clean line far out into the reservoir, and rise, hook, play and land his fish just like shelling peas! It was his favourite spot, and although he frequently fished the stream below the dam, as evening drew near you might safely rely upon seeing him there.

      "There was something else you could safely rely upon! — that was, Madge Manton would not be a hundred miles away! Hartnup had openly expressed his decision to stay a month or more in the valley; but it was no particular surprise to the villagers when he shifted his quarters from the Broadyke Arms to the Mantons' cottage below the dam; and I suppose you can pretty well guess what followed. Madge and Hartnup were constantly seen together, and it was evident the latter was not only instructing his companion in the intricate art of fly-fishing for trout, but that both were very busy falling head over heels in love. Then it was noticed that Madge was wearing a valuable diamond ring, and soon it became known that Harold Hartnup had asked Merry Madge Manton to become his wife, and she had said, 'Yes!' It was all fair and above-board, for the young fellow called at the Broadyke Arms, and invited those present to congratulate him, and drink long life and happiness to his future wife.

      "But it's getting somewhat late; don't you think we had better go to bed? Old Hicks — the man at the public-house you called at on your way from the reservoir when you were there in the summer — can finish the tale much better than I can, for he was present upon the occasion that Madge went mad."

      It was a great shame for my friend to thus suddenly break the thread of his story, but he would not continue it; so we finished our pipes and sought repose, which for my part was very acceptable after the long journey of that day.

      The following day proved a perfect one for pike fishing. Frosty, but clear, and just a nice wind blowing. My friend agreed to drive me to the reservoir, and in the evening fetch me back. On the way we picked up Hicks, and he proved to be a fair specimen of the Blankshire type. I soon learned that he gained his livelihood principally by looking after the Broadyke Dam, adjusting sluices, &c., and pursuing farming in a small way. The public-house was merely kept just for the convenience of passers-by and the few labourers who were nearer to it than to the one in the village. Arrived at the reservoir, my friend left us, and Hicks proceeded to unfasten a substantial but somewhat clumsy boat, while I put my tackle together. We soon made a start, and hardly had the dace been in the water three minutes before — bang! went the float, and striking I found I had hooked a fish. It fought fairly well, but when gaffed and in the boat proved a big-headed lean and ill-conditioned beast. It weighed about 5lb., and should have weighed 15lb. At that time of the year — the latter end of January — pike are in their prime, and the condition of this fish prompted me to ask Hicks a question.

      "Do you often get pike from here at this time of the year in such bad condition?"

      "Lor' bless you, sir! they're allus the same, winter and summer. Never no different." And then, in a lower tone, "And I don't believe they ever will be!"

      "How do you account for it?"

      "Well, sir, p'r'aps it is there ain't enough feed for 'em, and p'r'aps it ain't. What allus licks me is, they're all about the same size — allus 'ave been — that is to say, ever since the new dam was finished. There didn't use to be any jacks in the old reservoir. I've 'ad the mindin' of this crib the last ten year. The first jack ever caught was the picter of that 'ere one. I've seen scores caught in my time, but they're all about the same size and all as bad-lookin'."

      "What! do you mean to say small fish are never caught?"

      "That's it, sir; and, in my opinion, never will be. 'Ow they got 'ere at all is a licker. There ain't none up, above, and there never was any in the old reservoir. Mind ye, sir, I ain't superstitious; but I'm darn'd if I don't believe Madge Manton's right!"

      And then I remembered my companion was the man who could finish telling me of Madge. So I at once started the subject. The earlier part of the poor creature's story was much the same as told me by my friend overnight, so I shall pick up the thread here where he had dropped it. I may remark I have altered Hicks' phraseology, but not in the slightest otherwise interfered with his story. I may also say that the while the tale was told I continued fishing, although I must confess my attention was principally drawn to the story, and that I caught two more pike (!) both the "picter" of the first, thus bearing out my companion's assertion so far.

      "Very proud were the old people, sir, their only child had not only made such an excellent match, but also obtained a lover who would beyond doubt make her a good husband, for if ever two young people loved each other they did. It was settled they should be married from the cottage in the valley, and one day Mr. Harold went away to fetch his mother and sister to the wedding. He was to meet them at L——, for the little station below was not then in existence. Old Mr. Hartnup, we learned, had been dead some few years, and the only relatives of Mr. Harold's who would attend his wedding were his mother and sister. Through some delay, somehow or other, it happened that Mrs. and Miss Hartnup could not get through till the following day, and a telegram awaited Mr. Harold at L——, telling him so. Instead of waiting in the town, he did as most young men would do under like circumstances, drove back to Broadyke; and got there in time to start fishing in the evening at his favourite spot on the old dam, which for some time back I had mistrusted. I told the Water Works Company, I told old Mr. Manton, and I told Mr. Harold. But they all laughed at my fears. The company said if there was anything wrong with it they couldn't see where; but that, as they shortly intended to build a much larger one just below, it would last for a certainty a sufficient time. That they did intend erecting the present structure, there is no doubt, for Manton had notice to get out of his cottage, as the ground it stood on would be wanted for the job.

      "Well, this particular evening the reservoir was full, and the water in the overflow channels running a torrent; the wind, too, was pretty rough. I happened to be up at the dam that evening, and my old fear possessed me strongly. Shouting loudly, so that my voice could be heard above the wind, I begged Mr. Harold to come off the treacherous structure; but he only shouted back his usual 'Oh, it's all right!' and went on with his fishing. Well, I was somewhat annoyed, sir, and turned and walked back in the direction of home. Nearly a mile down the road I met Miss Madge, and we had a little talk. I told her of my fears, as I had done many a time before, but she only laughed and called me an old stupid. By this time it was blowing a hurricane, and as the pretty miss left me it was as much as she could do to face the wind. I turned and offered her my arm, which she accepted, and we struggled along the road towards her home. Presently we heard a sullen roar above the howling of the wind, and in a frightened manner my charge asked me what it was. I told her I didn't know; but I dared not tell her what I thought — nay, felt convinced it was!"

      The roaring increased, and telling Madge I must hurry to ascertain the cause, I left her struggling forward, and forced myself along the road in the direction of the dam. Arrived at the corner just before you reach it, I heard the roar of rushing water only too plainly, and when I sighted the old reservoir, my worst fears were realised. The dam had burst! One of Manton's labourers was standing by horror-struck, and I hurriedly asked him for the information I tremblingly feared to learn. Yes! Mr. Harold was fishing when it burst; as one enormous mass fell forward he had made a terrific leap to another, which in its turn fell away as he alighted on it! He was swept out of sight instantly. My informant hardly had time to tell me this, when Miss Madge came up breathless. As she looked upon the rushing water in a dazed manner, I suddenly realised the awful fact that her parent's cottage was undoubtedly washed away in the roaring torrent, and clasping her in my arms, I carried her away from the terrible scene. I felt her pretty head drop on my shoulder and her whole form go limp, and I knew she had fainted. It was a terrible night, sir, one I shall never, never forget!

      "The villagers from below swarmed up, but nothing could be done. Our old doctor came to my house, and tended the sweet little creature who had lost all that night, but he could do little for her. From one faint she went into another, then had hysterics, and then got a bit calm and began talking silly like, the while she turned his ring round and round on her finger and gently murmured his name. I asked our old doctor, and he told me, 'Of course she has realised what has happened, and God have pity on the poor child; it has driven her mad!

      "'Did we find the bodies?' Yes, sir, and terribly mangled they were. Yes, all three — poor old Manton and his wife and young Mr. Hartnup. A sad job the old doctor had when he went to L—— to meet old Mrs. Hartnup and her daughter. They came back with him, and such a grief-stricken party I hope I shall never see again. Poor Madge, of course, could not recognise Mrs. and Miss Hartnup, and the way she kept calling for Harold only made them sob and take on the more. Yes, they wanted to take her away with them, but a team of horses would not have dragged her from Broadyke. They could not bear to live in the district, or I verily believe they would have done so. So they bought the little cottage where Mad Madge now lives, and settled enough money on her — in my hands — to keep her in comfort. They come two or three times a year to see her, but of course she knows nothing of them; and it's a melancholy scene at such times, I assure you, sir.

      "Well, after a bit, Madge got that she could be trusted about; and there she has been wandering ever since. She goes out and comes home like any other person might; but she is mad, sir, there's no doubt; melancholy mad generally, but at times very excitable. I can always soothe her; and there are times when I believe she actually remembers me.

      "Well, when they were building the new dam, she would constantly go out and curse the workmen, the dam, the reservoir, and even the fish in it. The men got used to her after a bit; leastway, most of them did; some left the job a few days after they started work. Often she got fearfully excited; but I was generally at hand. In her calmer moments she tells me often that he will come back to her. She always calls the fish in the reservoir 'devil's fish,' and will constantly go out evening-time and call for her lost lover at the top of her voice; and this has been going on for near fifteen years now, sir."

      Hicks finished his story, and looked at me as if expecting I should ask him something; which I did.

      "And so, I suppose, you really believe that Mad Madge has cursed the fish in the reservoir, and hence their ungainly form?"

      "Yes, I DO, sir; and what's more, I believe the dam is cursed, too, and that 'er lover will come to 'er; and, mark my words, something awful will yet 'appen before the 'istory of Mad Madge is finished! As for the fish being cursed, you should see the trout that are sometimes caught 'ere, and then you would p'r'aps think so too. Why, the jacks are 'andsome put alongside 'em!"

      I was curious enough to want to catch one of those trout, and feeling sure from the sample I had that the pike in the reservoir from some cause were an ill-conditioned lot, I attached a spinning trace and flight to my line, and baiting with the smallest dace I had, started to spin for one of the "devil's fish." But my efforts were fruitless; evening was drawing near when I gave it up for a bad job, and told Hicks to pull to the shore. We fastened up the boat, packed the tackle up, and wended our way to Hicks' house, where I was to meet my friend, and where the lad had asserted that I must want some more beer, because I had been fishing! We passed Mad Madge's cottage on our way, and I could but gaze curiously upon the home of the woman with such a strangely unfortunate history. I asked my companion if ever Madge spoke of her parents.

      "No, sir," he replied, "she 'as entirely forgotten 'em. She never speaks of nothin' but 'er lost lover. My old 'ooman takes on at 'er sometimes about it; but, poor creature, she can't 'elp it."

      I had some cold meat, pickles, and beer, at Hicks', and very well they went down, too! By the time I had finished my frugal meal it had turned quite dark. What possessed me I know not, but as my friend from H—— had not yet arrived, I made an excuse to Hicks, and lighting my pipe went out into the open air, and strolled in the direction of the dam. The story of Mad Madge troubled me more than I cared to confess to myself, the minutes flew by, and presently I found myself at the cottage. I felt a strong temptation to knock at the door — there was a light within — but refrained from doing so, and continued my walk right up to the reservoir. I stood looking upon the magnificent stretch of water that was dimly discernible in the semi-darkness for some seconds, and then turned my gaze towards the dam itself. Very, weird it appeared, and its massive front and buttresses stood out boldly white. As I looked I noticed a queer sort of yellowy light appear about mid-way across the dam. I rubbed my eyes, but there was no mistaking the fact. Gradually the light became larger, and then quite strong, and in the brightest part I could plainly see the form of a nude male figure hazily outlined, but, nevertheless, certainly a human form! I tried to shout, but found I was unable to articulate a sound. I gazed spell-bound at what I could but acknowledge was not of this world. And then — horror of horrors! — A wild shriek close beside me.

      "He has come! He has COME, my love is here!"

      A grip of iron on my arm, and turning round I found myself face to face with Mad Madge! A second after once more I was looking in the direction of the dam. The figure had disappeared. Cold night as it was, the perspiration poured from every pore, in my skin. With a mighty effort I threw off the unnatural feeling that had held me spell-bound, and turned my attention to Madge; and only just in time. In another second she would have cast herself into the valley below the dam, but exercising the strength of desperation I forcibly held her back. At that moment I heard a shout, and looking round I saw Hicks and my friend close at hand, and I inwardly thanked God for it.

      Of our short journey back to Hicks' house (Madge came with us); of the many questions asked by my friend; of the terrible ravings of that poor mad creature on the way; of Hicks' solemn and awed reception of my version of the strange occurrence at the dam; of the silent drive to H—— with my friend, I can tell but little. To me it was as a dream. Not until we got into the snug smoking-room at H—— did I begin to feel anything like my ordinary self. Even then mechanically I drew my chair towards the fire, lit my pipe, and sat smoking in silence for some time. My friend looked curiously at me, and suggested that the meeting with Madge had influenced me, and I only imagined I had seen the phantom on the dam.

      "But, my dear sir," I said, "I saw the — something — before I knew Madge was anywhere near, and I had no more been thinking of ghosts than you had. I was as cool as a cucumber when I reached the reservoir, and distinctly saw the spirit develop on the dam. Moreover, I am no believer in ghosts; I have always argued the ordinary ghost appears clothed or accompanied by something mundane, and that if the spirits of the departed can appear to us in some form, that at any rate clothes, hats, and other manufactured articles have no spirit, and therefore cannot. Now the spirit on the dam developed from a spectral light, and I watched it as it gradually assumed the form of a nude human figure. I am as sure that I really saw it, and that it was really there, as I am that you and I are sitting here now!"

      And nothing my friend could say altered this conviction on my part. We retired to rest; tired and strained nature could stand no more, and I slept as sound as a rock.

      It is wonderful what a good night's rest and the appearance of daylight will do to dispel superstitious tendencies. When I awoke in the morning, and drew back the blinds at my bedroom window, I felt almost inclined to pooh-pooh my impressions of the previous evening. A hearty breakfast, the bracing drive to Hicks', and a long draught of his grand ale, pulled me quite together again, and the phantom of the dam almost became a thing of the past with me. Not so Hicks. He received us in solemn silence, and seemed amazed at my hilarity. 'Pon my soul, I rather fancy it was somewhat forced myself! We drove up to the reservoir, and once more my friend left us to proceed with our sport. The boat was got ready.

      "Jacks to-day, sir?" said Hicks.

      "No; trout!"

      And all through that day I persevered in every conceivable way to capture one of the "devil's fish." At mid-day we noticed Mad Madge on the bank, and at my suggestion Hicks pulled ashore. She came towards us quietly enough and for some little time conversed quite rationally with Hicks. Evidently she did not recognise me, for she utterly ignored my presence. Presently she started off, and we resumed fishing. It was late in the afternoon when I turned to my companion, and remarked, "Another run, and I suppose another big-headed pike." For, be it understood, while spinning I had run several of those fish, and they all turned out just about the same as the first one I had caught. This time, however, the fish showed more sport, and I was just thinking I had at last hooked a well-conditioned pike, when my quarry gave in, and upon being brought to the gaff I found I had at last caught one of those "devil's fish." And an ugly brute it proved to be — about 7lb. in weight, black as a thunder-cloud, and with such a head and hook bill — well, I never saw such a beast in my life!

      "Curse it!" I said.

      And threw the wretched thing back into the reservoir. Without a word my companion rowed ashore; and then suddenly there arose a terrific storm of rain and wind.

      "There allus does, when any of those fish are caught," Hicks remarked.

      I took little notice of what he said, for an uncanny feeling suddenly possessed me, and I eagerly availed myself of the opportunity to get back to the inn, where I found my friend from H—— awaiting me.

      The following morning the whole of the surrounding country was covered with a white mantle of snow; large flakes were still falling, and I determined to give up the idea of fishing that day; in fact, I had a great mind to abandon all attempts to catch any more fish from Broadyke Reservoir, for I felt convinced that the water held very little else — if anything — than the terribly ill-conditioned pike and repulsive-looking trout I had already caught specimens of. In the afternoon the snow ceased falling, and I walked to the village and called in at the Broadyke Arms. In the parlour I found several local "authorities" discussing a "ghost" that had appeared last night and the night before at the dam. Some little sensation was created when they found I was the very person who had seen it two nights ago, and of course I was plied with many questions. In the course of conversation I found it was currently reported that the "ghost" of Harold Hartnup had been seen fishing from the dam on the previous evening, and that Mad Madge had deliberately walked along the top of the dam and stood by his side, as she used to do many years back.

      As even a ghost could not fish without a rod, and as I did not believe in the ghosts of fishing rods, I put the report down to exaggeration; nevertheless when I left the inn and walked back to H——, I could but help thinking there might be something in it, and I determined to pay Hicks a visit that evening, and hear what he had to say. I did not tell my friend of my intention, but after dinner, simply saying I was going for a stroll, I put my best leg foremost, and soon reached Hicks' quiet little inn. I say soon reached — by that I mean the time flew rapidly, and although I had a rough walk through the freshly-fallen snow, I arrived at Hicks' seemingly in "no time." I found him at home, and he very mysteriously beckoned me into an inner room, closed the door, and thus addressed me:—

      "Sir, it's somethin' awful. I can't stand it much longer. Last night I went up to the dam, and saw Madge quietly waiting there. When I asked 'er what brought 'er out such a rough night, she turned to me and said, 'I'm waiting to see 'im; 'e'll be 'ere presently!' She spoke to me by name, sir, and was as sane as I am! Then she went on to say, 'The end would soon come,' and a lot of other awful sayin's. And while I stood by 'er side, as true's I'm a livin' man, I saw a livin' figger on the middle part of the dam! The figger was about Mr. Harold's height, and the face was 'is. My 'air must 'ave stood upright, and I trembled like a leaf. Madge quietly said, 'I'm going to 'im, 'Icks,' and before I could stop 'er, she sprung on to the dam; and a minute after I saw 'er by 'is side! It was awful, sir; and before I, knew where I was the figger 'ad disappeared, Madge was back by my side, and together we walked to 'er cottage, me being dumb and like a child all the way!"

      "Tell me, Hicks, had Mr. Hartnup his fishing-rod with him?"

      "Fishin'-rod! Sir, 'ow can you ask such a question? The figger was naked!"

      And a cold chill run through me as Hicks made this statement.

      "Hicks," I said, "I'll wait to-night, and we will go together to the dam."

      And we did. When we reached it we were not at all surprised to find Mad Madge waiting. Mad, did I say? why she turned and conversed with us as rationally as possible. True, her statement (quietly made) that she was waiting for Harold, might seem a peculiar one under ordinary circumstances, but under those prevailing then it was not. For he came. The spectral light appeared on the dam, and (as before) it gradually developed into a human form, nude. But this time it raised one arm and beckoned. We did not attempt to interfere with Madge, who quickly walked along the top of the dam and joined her departed lover.

      To say I was not fearfully frightened would be foolish. Yet the fear that possessed me was very different to that I experienced upon the first occasion — a sort of awed feeling. I felt lifted from my ordinary existence, and watched coolly and quietly the two on the dam. Then the spirit form disappeared, and Madge was by our side. In silence we wended our way back. Madge left us at her cottage, and went in as though nothing had happened out of the common. At Hicks' house I found my friend from H——, and as we drove home I told him of the re-appearance of the spirit of Harold Hartnup upon the dam.

"H——,      "February 22, 18—.

      "MY DEAR FRIEND, — I am glad to know you have quite become yourself again, and that you propose breaking your journey on your way home, and staying a day or so with me. I may tell you now that I think it quite as well you left us as you did, for some few nights after your departure Hartnup's ghost haunted Broadyke Dam, and the whole village became demoralised. Mad Madge prophesied the speedy approaching 'of the end,' though what she meant by that I am at a loss to understand.

      "During the past fortnight the 'ghost' has entirely disappeared, and as I know you would like to see the dam in its present form, I repeat I am glad you are coming. The severe frost we have had has completely frozen up the whole stream; the cascades, and especially the main fall from the dam, are simply a magnificent sight, and will well repay a visit. Let me know by what train you will arrive, and I will meet you. — Yours as ever, ——."

      Three days after the receipt of the above letter I was at the little station below Broadyke. My friend met me, and as we drove in the direction of H——, he remarked —

      "I'm very glad to see you, old chap; but you are too late for the fairy-like appearance of the valley and dam. The sudden thaw that set in yesterday has caused a total collapse, and it's nothing but sludge and ice-water now!"

      It was getting dark when we drove into Broadyke, and we soon noticed that something of an extremely exciting nature had occurred. We were not long in learning the cause. "The water is coming over the dam a perfect deluge," we were told; "and, strong as it is, it's doubtful if it can stand the immense pressure."

      My friend and myself knew the fallacy of this assertion, but we decided to drive up to the reservoir, and on the way it struck me that such a thing was possible as the dam giving way. We all know the action a severe and prolonged frost and then a sudden thaw may have upon concrete, and massive as it was, it was quite possible that one of the most powerful forces of Nature could burst it. We called at Hicks', and learned he was up at the reservoir, so we drove on. We had hardly reached the corner when we heard a shout:—

      "It's giving way!"

      Leaping from the dog-cart, we hurried towards the dam, which we reached just in time to notice the vast volume of water pouring over it perceptibly shelve off, as an enormous mass of the dam gave way, and fell with a thundering crash into the valley below. The remainder quickly followed, and the terrific roar and rush of the water was deafening.

      My friend, Hicks, myself and several villagers stood looking on awe-struck. And then above the roar of the boiling waters a piercing shriek was heard:—

      "I come, Harold! I am here!"

      And there rushed by us the form of Mad Madge! One terrific leap she made — such a leap as no ordinary mortal could accomplish; right out into the foaming torrent she leapt.

      A powerful light hovered over the spot where the dam had been; in its centre could be seen the nude form of Harold Hartnup, and Mad Madge was received in the outstretched arms of "The Phantom Angler of Broadyke Dam!"