THE DEAD MAN'S SPECS.

I   SUPPOSE if one talks of dead men at Christmas-time, one is expected to say something about ghosts; but I am not going to write about a Christmas ghost, or any other kind of ghost, though I am going to inform my readers about a dead man's spectacles — not their ghosts, but their very selves; how they came, after serving their owner some time, to an untimely end — yet not altogether an untimely one, seeing that they had done good honest service before they departed this life.

      You must know, then, good reader, that a certain young man, named Walter Cressy, was sitting in his easy chair in his college at Oxford, when his letters, six in number, arrived. There was first a long envelope to be opened, which contained a printed circular of the Pearl Diving Company, giving a most encouraging account of the expectations to be formed from the opening of one million oysters; and suggesting that the reader should on no account lose the chance of being a shareholder in the company, which, at the very least, must produce five hundred per cent.

      There was a circular from an insurance office, warning him of the uncertainty of life, and the claims of a wife and children; but as he had neither the one nor the other, he put that into the fire, as not concerning him at the present at least.

      Two, I am sorry to say, were from duns — i.e., gentlemen who had frequently requested payment of their accounts, and still kept on despairingly asking for them, in hope that for their importunity, if for nothing else, they should be heard. And last of all was a pink envelope, which was directed in a lady's hand — one not quite formed, but which showed, nevertheless, that the writer was no school-girl.

      This one alone seemed to have any charm for Walter Cressy. He kept it for the last, not because it was the least important in his eyes, but the most so. He wanted to be done with all the rest, before he entered on this.

      It was a letter from his only sister, a girl of seventeen; and Walter Cressy, anxious as he always was to read her letters, kept examining the envelope for some time before he opened it.

      "Bertington, Bertington I where is that? and what can Margie be doing there, wherever it is? With some old schoolfellow, I suppose. Bertington? But perhaps the letter will tell all about it." And the young man at last tore open the envelope.

      It was plain that, wherever Bertington was, the news that came from it was of no small interest; indeed the letter evidently soon proved itself to be absorbing. And no wonder; for it was one quite out of Margie Cressy's usual style, and about something quite out of the ordinary beat of things.

"The Old Grange, Bertington.       "October 20th, 1830.

      "MY DEAR WALTER, — You will open your eyes when you see the above address, and wonder where it is, and what brings me here, and you will open them wider when you read this letter.

      "In one week our whole life seems changed. Our old home is to be abandoned; and henceforth, we are to live here. Father told us nothing about it until it was all settled; and now it seems more like some fairy tale than anything else.

      "It seems that as long as six months ago an old gentleman named Rowel died here. Here he had lived for seventy years, and here he died. Father was found out by a young lawyer in a neighbouring town, who, no doubt expecting to be employed, took great trouble in hunting him up, and at lust succeeded in finding him.

      "All the lawyer knew about the matter was that, he had often heard from his father that long, long ago, when he managed Mr. Rowel's affairs, he heard him say that General Sibworth Cressy, of the Bengal Army, would be his heir-at-law if he died without any children or grandchildren.

      "Well, it seems the old man quarrelled with his lawyer years ago, since which time neither the lawyer nor anyone else got a sight of him. He shut himself up in the Grange some time after that; and no one of the outside world appears to have got a glimpse of him for years. The Grange gates were kept shut until they became rusty, the place-became over-grown with weeds, the old house filled up with dust; and altogether, things were in such a state here that, when we came, we could scarcely find a place where we could lie down for the night. Not but that there were plenty of beautiful rooms and beds. At one time grand folk must have lived here. In spite of the dust, there are splendid velvet hangings to be seen, and some glorious tapestry, and plenty of old swords and halberds, and ancient guns, of one kind and another, against the walls. But all are rusted — all neglected. And as to books, though I don't suppose you care much about them, there are plenty of them here, only such huge things, and all dust-covered too.

      "It is lucky for us that Mr. Rowel had that conversation with the lawyer before he quarrelled with him, and that he handed it down to his son, otherwise we might never have heard that this place, with its fine estate was to come to us; or at any rate, no one knows how long it would have been before we heard of it.

      "Father knew nothing of it. He did know that there was a Mr. Rowel, a connection of some kind of the family, but as he had spent all his life in India, he had heard no more of him than that; but during the last six weeks everything has been made clear, and we came down here to take possession.

-

"'O Margie, my child, if only your mother were alive!'"

      "Father brought me with him, and when we arrived here I threw my arms round his neck and wished him a life a thousand years long, if he could have it, to enjoy it all; and now I have to do my best to keep him up, for he is always saying, 'Oh, Margie, my child, if only your dear mother were alive and enjoying it all!' and I have to do all I can to cheer him up. But there will be no end of things to be done, and that will take his mind off fretting.

      "I am going through with it all; but the strangest part is to come. But I am determined to tell everything in its place, though I own I am in as great a hurry to tell you, as you can be to hear; only prepare yourself for a great surprise — as great a surprise to us, as our coming in for all this wealth.

      "Well, father and I got in a woman from the nearest cottage to attend to us, and from her we found out what little was to be known of old Mr. Rowel. He was reported to have had some dreadful misfortune, or something which made him shut himself up. He had no one in the house but an old woman, who had done for him for years; but she was as silent as the grave, and no one could ever find out anything from her, when she went to the deserted lodge, and fetched from there the few things which she wanted for their daily life. Things were left on a settle there, and fetched away. She was a tall, venerable-looking woman, with snow-white hair, and where she now is the woman could not tell. The parson and the lawyer had attended at the funeral, and seen her there; but no one has seen her since.

      "But this was not all she had to tell us. 'I hope she ain't been and made away with herself, miss; for one ghost about the place is enough. Old Mr. Rowel will be sure to walk. He's safe to, sooner or later. Folks that live like he, don't always rest quiet in their graves. And, miss, he kept an imp, a black creature, with him, and if a white ghost and a black imp be seen going about that old place of a night, 'twill be too much, miss, for any mortal man. He'll go off at once, depend upon it; and anyhows, he'll have a fit.'

      "Well, I asked the good woman about the imp; but before she answered me she began about the 'old lady,' as she called her, who had waited on Mr. Rowel.

      "'And suppose, miss, that she's gone too. Deary me I to see all three of them walking of a night! the old man with his long beard, the woman with her high white cap, and the imp, miss, the imp in black. But maybe, miss, the imp would be white too if she was a ghost; only imps can't die, and so can't become ghosts; and that's all the worst, for the ghost will be white, and the black imp by the side of it will be awful.

      "'But I forgot; these things makes one's mind wander. You were asking about the imp, miss: well, all I know about it is that, my husband, who made bold enough one moonlight night in summer time to try a short cut in the park, saw old Mr. Rowel — leastwise a man, and who could it be but him? — walking up and down the terrace in front of the house, and with him was something in black. And my husband runs for it like mad, and never stops till he comes home; and it took three basins of tea, miss, and a roasted mushroom to bring him round. You wouldn't believe it, miss, but 'twas the mushroom did it. When I found that he did not come to as he ought, I knew he was that fond of mushrooms that, if anything would make him come to himself a roasted mushroom would, so I roasted one on a fork, and says "A routed mushroom, Jimmy," and he opens his eyes halfway, and says, "Oh, Mary!" and opens his mouth, and I puts it in, and he swallows it, and I says, "Isn't it good?" and he says, "Wonderful!" and opens his eyes, and comes to at once.

      "'There's no more, miss; that I can tell you about that imp, no, not if you were to question me till to-morrow; only that a couple of poaching lads believe they see'd it, and we all knows 'tis there.'

      "Now, Watty, you know your sister Margie is not a coward, and you know father has faced the enemy too often to be afraid of anything; still, we could not get the white-haired woman with the tall white cap, and the black imp out of our heads. We had both to confess that we lay awake most of the night; and that every board that creaked, and every bit of twig that knocked against the windows made us feel queer. I owned to father at breakfast that I burned a candle all night; and though he looked a little queer when I said it, he called me over to him and said, 'Margie, I want to whisper you a secret,' and when I put my ear down to his mouth, he says, 'So did I;' and I kissed him a dozen times and said, 'Oh, you coward!" but he didn't laugh as I expected him to do; but looked grave, and said, 'Margie, where there's smoke there's often fire; there's a something, depend on it, here; though I don't say 'tis a ghost, or an imp, or pretend to make a guess about it. Something has been seen, that I believe, though I don't of course know what. Let us wait — it will be sure to turn up.'

      "'I hope not, father,' said I.

      "'But I hope it will,' said he, 'for I don't like any secrets or things lurking about; meanwhile we'll keep our eyes about us.'

      "And, Watty, it did turn up, and that sooner than we expected; and I own I shook like an aspen leaf, and 'tis my firm belief that father shook too.

      "That very evening after tea, father says to me, 'Margie, are you afraid?' and I said, 'No, father — are you?'

      "'Not I,' said father.

      "'Ah, but if you were tried,' said father; 'now, Margie, would you go all over the house. by yourself? You know you wouldn't.'

      "'Well, father, I'll go, at any rate, if you'll come with me.'

      "'Done,' said he; and up we got, and started for our walk. Well, we went here, and there, and everywhere. Father, I believe, thought he would give me a good lesson in courage, and we had gone, as we thought, to the last room in the east wing, when father leant his back against the wall, and immediately made a spring forward. The panel he had leant against had slowly given way, and we saw for the first time that we had never really come to the end of the house at all — that there was a long corridor leading somewhere.

      "The moonlight shone full in upon it, so that we could see its length.

-

"They stood silently before us."

      "We stood looking down it, half wishing to go on — and, if the truth were known, half afraid — when, slowly and silently, a door opened, and there glided towards us a tall woman with white hair, and with a high cap, and by her side was a smaller figure in black, just as the woman from the cottage had described.

      "I will own to it, Watty, that I shook from head to foot; and, though you must never breathe a word of it as long as you live, I saw that father shook too.

      "She was a stately woman, and seemed to glide rather than walk; and the nearer she came, the more I could see father shake; and, I will own to it, the more I shook too. I believe if father, who never turned his back upon the enemy, could have run with any decent excuse, he would have done so; I know I should.

      "On came the tall figure and the black one by her side; and, as she came nearer, we could see that she was a woman of about sixty-five years of age; and by her side was a girl in black, about seventeen. They stood silently; before us for I suppose full two minutes — and that is a long time when people are in a fright — and we had time, in spite of our terror, to note what they were like. The tall woman was very noble looking, with hair as white as snow. She looked as if she had a great weight of some kind upon her mind, and some sadness that had, I may almost say, eaten into her. Both father and I thought she looked on us as intruders, as if really we had no right in the place at all; but she never said a word about that, even if she really felt it.

      "But, Watty, how can I tell you about the girl by her side? We don't know anything about her yet; but she was a beautiful creature to look at in the moonlight, and the light was almost as bright as by day.

      "If she has anything to do with the Rowels, there must have been good blood amongst them, for her features are those just such as a sculptor would chisel.

      "I could see her face had a touch of sadness in it too — something of what was in her old companion's, but there was also a noble look of dignity; and hers was such an innocent, trustful face that I longed, even if she were an imp, to take her as a bosom friend for ever.

      "You know what a polished gentleman father is; and he did not forget his manners, even in the presence of a ghost, and an imp. I laugh heartily now, and I almost laughed then, when I saw him make a bow, and heard him say, 'Your most obedient, madam. May I ask whom have the pleasure of addressing?'

      "She said, 'It does not matter what my name is. You may call me White from this, — and she pointed to her snow-white hair.

      "'And the young lady?'

      "'Black. That is not her name, but you may call her black from that' — and she pointed to the deep mourning in which the girl was.

      "'I fear, madam,' said father, 'that the fall of that panel must have disturbed you, or perhaps frightened you.'

      "Disturbed, sir, but not frightened. We are not so easily frightened; in fact, sir, we fear neither any person nor anything — at least, I do not; and I trust I have succeeded in teaching that child not to do so either. We fear God — no one else.'

      "Father told me afterwards that he would have given anything for a thousand men as brave, when he led the forlorn hope at Bulpore; and it rushed into his mind even then, for you know he is a true soldier.

      "I think that made him, if possible. still more deferential to the old lady; for he bowed again, much lower than he generally does, and said:

      "'You, no doubt, know, madam, the circumstances under which my daughter and myself are here. We are not acquainted with all the affairs connected with this property, and its late owner. There may be much we ought to know — perhaps something which you can inform us about; so if you will permit me, I shall have the honour of renewing our acquaintance in the morning, at any hour, and in any place you are pleased to name; and I shall receive gratefully any information you may be pleased to communicate to me.'

      "The old lady seemed, I thought, struck by father's deferential way of speaking; seeing he is master here, and suddenly finds people he knew nothing of in the house. But she did not unbend at all. She said, however, courteously, in return, 'Tomorrow week — not to-morrow — in this corridor, and at this hour.'

      "And this is all I can tell you at present, for I know no more myself; only, Watty, what a girl! There must be a wonderful soul in her, if one is I to judge by its outlooking from her eyes. You shall hear from me all that goes on, but there is no use in expecting a letter until after father has seen the old lady. How she lives we don't know. Father asked her if he could procure anything for her; but she only smiled, and said their wants were few, and she had all she required.

      "I must tell you, however, that father has gone round the back parts of the house since all this has happened, where we thought there were some old barns and stables; and now he sees the corridor; and not only that, but also two or three rooms beyond; but he will not allow me to go round, or the woman from the cottage, so I can tell you no more about this until next week.

      "We are like people in a dream, but we shall find out all by-and-bye.

"Your loving sister, "MARGIE."

      Here was a help to Master Watty Cressy's studies! Here was a nice preparation for his day's work! This news, and the remaining fuddledom of an entertainment last evening, were good helps for the work he ought to cram into the day; for he had let study run into terrible arrears, and was in imminent danger of being plucked with as little mercy as a chicken is in Leadenhall Market.

      Here was a property suddenly come into the family. Ah! if only he were the eldest son, then he need not trouble over logic or anything else; but there was an eldest son in the army in India. The property would go to him; and even if Mr. Watty did come into a little more, he must still work. A property, a half-ghost, a wonderful girl — one white, one black. The syllogisms which Mr. Cressy attempted that day were perfectly awful —

Man is an animal — Animals eat grass; Therefore an animal is a man. An oyster has fins — A whale also has fins; Therefore a whale is an oyster.

He did nothing more sensible than this, good reader, all that day; and made no progress whatever towards coming out first-class in honours.
 

      Now, good reader, you must pick up the thread of this story as best you can from letters; and here is the next that Walter Cressy got from his sister — it found him in a very feverish state of excitement about the whole matter, and was eagerly torn open, this time not the last but the first of the batch which the post brought.

      "MY DEAR WATTY! — What a dream we are living in in this place! I have not known what to do with father all this week — ever since I wrote to you. I can't keep him still for half-an-hour together. He has taken it into his head that, he ought not to be here. He sits down upon a chair, and when he has been there five minutes, he says, 'Perhaps I have no business to be here.' Up he gets and lies on the sofa, and settles himself for a nap, and I put his rug over him and say, 'There now, there's a dear! have just ten winks, for you know you have not had a proper night's sleep.' Well, I think he's off, but in ten minutes' time up he jumps, sends the railway rug flying to the end of the room, and cries out what seems to have got possession of his mind — that he has no business there. Sometimes you'd think he had sat down on the point of a pin instead of upon an easy chair, for he jumps up the moment he sits down, and tries three or four chairs one after another. He says there are no ghosts in the house — that he knows; but somehow he's haunted, and it is with this idea.

      "This is the way things were all the week, until the evening came for the interview with the old lady. I asked to be allowed to go with father to it, but I was not allowed. However, I believe he has told me most of what took place; and since then, though it was only yesterday, I believe he has been over every room in the house, except whatever may be at the end of the corridor; and he's more than ever muttering here, and there, and everywhere, 'There's a great wrong done.' It was what he heard front the old lady.

      "It seems when he went to the corridor, he found two chairs ready placed, one for him and one for her. He said, for a long time he did not know how to begin, but she never broke the silence by a word, or gave him the least help.

      "Poor father! I pitied him when I heard of the interview. At last father said, 'Madam, I need not say your appearance, and that of the young lady with you, the other evening has made me very anxious. I am here, as perhaps you know, as the heir-at-law of the late Mr. Rowel, and as, I am informed, heir to this property; and if there is any mistake — any secret — anything I ought to know — if there is any other heir, and you know about the matter, pray let me know all about it, that I may put the rightful owner in possession at once. Madam, I am at your command,' and father rose and made a bow.

      "He told me that an awful look came into the old lady's face when he said 'he was heir-at-law to the late Mr. Rowel' — a kind of spasm — and that when he asked her 'if there were any other heir to let him know,' she squeezed her lips together as though, even if she did know anything, she would never reveal it.

      "Father says, he's sure there's something or other, but he has no means at all of finding out. He talks of advertising in every paper in the world, and nobody knows what; but I'm sure he'll never be happy here, until he comes to the bottom of things.

      "'Well, father,' I said, 'is that all?'

      "'That's nearly all,' said he. 'I made a few more trials to come at the bottom of things, but they might aa well have no bottom, for the good I did. The one answer I got to everything was, "There's a great wrong done," and I declare I believe it; and if only I could find it out, I'd put it 'right at any price.'

      "'And what is going to become of them? I wish we could keep that sweet girl here for ever.'

      "'Well, my child, make your mind easy on that subject — at least, so far as I am concerned, for I said to the old lady, "Madam, as long as I am the owner of this place, let me assure you that it will double my pleasure in it, if you will inhabit such a portion of it as you make use of now. Whatever we have here is at your command. Your privacy will be respected to the uttermost."'

      "And, Watty, you will be glad to hear they are going to stay — at least, we believe they are. Anyhow, they are not going now. And perhaps you'll see that sweet child when you come: child, or girl, I don't know exactly what to call her yet; only, Watty, I am, so to speak, entirely in love with her. I suppose it is a kind of mesmerism; or perhaps you'll laugh, and say it is the moon, as it was by moonlight we met; but laughing or not, my heart has gone out to her, and I'll have her for a sister if by any means I can.

      "Father has taken to muttering ever so much to himself, as well as jumping about from chair to chair, not resting anywhere, and keeps saying, 'I must keep touch of them; I must keep touch of them.'

      "I asked him what this meant, and he said, ''Tis a phrase we use in war about the enemy. It means we mustn't let them get away so far from us that we lose all knowledge of them;' and so he is well pleased they are going to stay. But it is entirely well understood that no one goes near them-that, all is to be as it had been before we found them out. As soon as anything else is known you shall hear.

"Ever your own sister,            
"M."      

      I wish I could give a better account of Walter Cressy than I can. He was a fine fellow in many respects. He was brave, and generous, and a faithful friend, and he had very good abilities if he chose to use them But he was entangled with a bad set at Oxford, and they had led him far, far away from the path in which his sister would have had him walk. He was one of those unhappy men who are their own enemy; but with all that, he was not an ingrained man of vice. At times he loathed himself, and then rushed into the same excess of riot again.

      And now the young man fell to musing very much over this letter. The strange things recorded in it had I had all their due share in his thoughts and wonder, but they did not occupy all his mind. Here he was, going in a short time to that new home, and what if he should meet those eyes before which nothing impure or bad could abide? A sister's love he had cajoled, and put off many a time, though it made him uncomfortable, and often resolve with all his might to change; but what if he should meet other eyes, which perhaps would make him wither by their goodness? even though they did not intend it. There was a very serious side to the appearance of this girl in black, as well as to that of the old woman in white.

      One good friend Walter Cressy had at Oxford, a fast friend, though much older than himself; a gentleman named Bursted, a man of perhaps two or three and thirty.

      Horace Bursted was a solicitor, but his progress having been so marked in certain departments of the law, the I firm to which he belonged advised him to go to the bar; and as he determined to proceed in all regular order if he went at all, he had matriculated at Oxford, and was now about to take his degree.

      Horace Bursted had rightly read Walter Cressy's character; he saw the good in him, and never deserted him because of the evil. And despite the. difference between them, Walter Cressy made Horace Bursted his chief friend; indeed, in his heart of hearts he looked upon him as the only real friend he had.

-

"To him, therefore, he went, and confided the contents of those recent letters."

      To him, therefore, he went and confided the contents of those recent letters. "You're always thinking, thinking, thinking," said Walter, "and I wish you'd think something out of this."

      "Ah, and I wish you would be sometimes thinking, thinking, thinking," said Mr. Bursted, laying his hand on Watty's shoulder and looking him straight in the face — "and something something good would come out of you."

      And Mr. Bursted did think, think, and for a long time his thoughts often recurred to this subject, and certain ideas and speculations began to evolve in his mind, whether by any chance the pure and holy influence which it was evident from Miss Cressy' s letter this girl could bring into exercise, could be brought to bear on the young friend to whom he was so much attached, and whom he would so joyfully see leading another and a better life. But from the state of things at the new place, it was very doubtful whether this could ever be; evidently the mystery, whatever it was, was connected with thoughts of great displeasure in the old lady's mind, and she would not let her ward, or whatever relation she might be, have any intercourse perhaps with any member of the family, who evidently must be more or less distasteful to her. What could he himself do? Just nothing — he must wait to see what time brought forth, and be helpful if an opportunity should occur.

      Everything was in favour of Walter Cressy those Christmas holidays. Of course he was, at Bertington Granse; and was himself now on the very scene of all the strange things which had recently come to pass. He saw with his own eyes the place where the panel was. He saw the general, his father, always on the go; he heard. him muttering; he even took it upon himself to tell him that all was right, and lecture him in a mild way as to the necessity of enjoying what you had while you had it; but his homilies were of no effect, and the general had not, and would not have peace.

      Moreover things were altered in the management of the house, for the only attendant in the place was still the woman from the village; the general would not hear of any outsiders coming to the house; and what did he want of them, when for all he knew he may soon have to go, although there was nothing whatever to make him think that? He himself was an old soldier, and could put up with anything, and his daughter had for the present, at least, such comforts as were absolutely necessary. It would be time enough to bring his establishment to the place by-and-bye.

      There was plenty of shooting at Bertington, and so enough to occupy Walter Cressy's time, but his mind was not set as much as it ought to have been on pheasants and hares. His one thought was to get a glimpse of the girl in black. And to that end, he confined himself chiefly in the shooting expeditions to the vicinity of that part of the house where he knew she was. But day after day passed and he saw nothing. In this world, however, it is well never to despair our help is sometimes nearer to us than we suppose.

      It was so with our friend. It was deep twilight one evening, as he was strolling with his gun not far from the back part of the Grange, when he heard a loud cry — the cry of some one that was hurt. The sound did not come from far off, yet from a sufficient distance to make it hard to find out where the hurt person was; and perhaps the young man could not have found the sufferer, however hard he tried, if he had not heard voices which guided him to the spot where the injured person was. Two persons were there, and when they discerned him, they cowered quite down as though to escape observation — but he was too close to them now for that — and there before him was the woman with the white hair, and the girl in black; only the latter was wrapped in a cloak which he saw in a moment was costly fur, and the former had her hair mostly hidden by the tall hood which stood up like a monk's cowl high over her head.

      The state of the case was plain enough. The young girl had slipped and sprained her ankle; and that so badly, that she could not stand. What was to be done! every attempt to move was vain; to remain where she was would be to perish with cold! dreadful as it undoubtedly seemed to the lady in white, there was nothing for it but to allow the young man to lift the girl in his strong arms, and carry her to the house.

      Walter Cressy never felt so strong in his life as he did during the few minutes he was carrying that precious burden, and he never felt so small, or to have done so little for any one, as when he laid her down on the sofa in the mysterious room, into which hitherto no one in the house had penetrated.

      Will it be believed that, when eagerly questioned by his sister as to the room, and what was in it, and all about it, Walter Cressy could not tell her anything? Really, he had been hurried off with so many thanks, no doubt, but also with such speed, by the woman with the white hair, that but little time or chance had been given him to see anything.

      Alas! for poor Walter Cressy! But this sort of thing will always go awry. Time was up; the very last day for returning to Oxford had come. He was in such robust health that it would be too absurd to pretend he was ill, and must stay at home to be nursed. Alma Mater saw him returning to her bosom unwillingly indeed, still up to time; and if she only knew it, a more thoughtful young man than when she saw him last. Unlike the poet who declared that his "only books were woman's looks, and folly all they taught him," this book of a woman's look — so pure, so sweet, so gracious, so thankful, so above what had too often been the low level of the young man's life — had taught him much in but a little time. It takes but a moment to press the seal upon the hot wax, and it will leave an image of itself. It was a beautiful impression that was left upon the often wild young man — quick, sharp-cut, binding his heart as by a bond and royal seal to a higher and a better life.

      In this life of shadows and mists, of complex motives, with hearts sealed to some influences and open to others, we are led by ways which we know not. We open one with one key, and one with another; what will make one laugh will make another weep. But there is One above ourselves Who knows what instruments to use, and how and when to use them. And many a one in life has been won to virtue, by the presentation before him of the human being who was above vice. The beautiful may be, — nay, can be, but an instrument; but such it has often been.

      Walter Creasy felt that henceforth old ways were past for him. He had managed to laugh off a sister's influence and love, but he had had no opportunity to laugh off the new influence, which, how, or why, he could not tell, had bound him hand and foot. He tried to laugh once, but failed so lamentably that he but bent beneath the new power of his life more entirely than before. Good influences are none the less from above because they use human instruments; an influence — an instrument, and this young man, were now brought together.

      Walter's only chance now was what he could hear by a letter; and he soon got one; and from it and one or two other letters, you, good reader, must pick up the thread of this story.

      At last the long-looked-for letter came, and it ran thus:—

      "Who'd have believed it, Watty? the lady with the white hair appeared in the hall yesterday evening at twilight. She asked to see father: and after many obeisances had passed between them, she said, evidently with great reluctance, what she came for.

      "The girl in black does not get well under her doctoring. She thought only a tendon was strained, and that she could cure her by rest, and some simples of her own; but she says now, that she fears some small bone must be broken in the ankle. Father has persuaded her to allow a doctor. to be called in; but it was tremendous hard work.

      "The doctor has been; says it will be weeks before she can get off the sofa-says she has run down very low, and must have some one to cheer her up. The old lady fought hard against this idea, the doctor told us, but had to give in; but whom they will get I don't know — at any rate, you shall hear."

      The next letter bore more extraordinary tidings still.

      "The lady with the white hair appeared again in the hall, and this time with a request which could never have been expected from her. It was that I should go and see — what shall I call her, her daughter, or what? I don't know. She sees she must have human company. I shall keep a journal of all that happens, and let you know — at least anything which is not a secret; but you know a woman never lets out secrets!"

      And thus the journal ran — at least such parts as we have space for here — and I fear Walter Cressy would have stood a better examination in that journal, and been more likely to come off with honours in it, than in any of his ordinary college readings.

      "February 3rd. — At 4 o'clock was met by the O. L. (old lady, for shortness' sake) at the beginning of the corridor, and at the other end was ushered into a good-sized room; there I saw the G. B. (girl in black for shortness' sake) lying on a sofa. She is as beautiful as an angel; perhaps that is why she is hidden away. Her hair was all over the pillow in long wavy curls, her hands were transparent and thin, I suppose from illness. The O. L. somehow didn't half seem as if she liked to see me there, and went into the next room, leaving me with the G. B. alone. No wonder she did not say much; only let me hold her hand, and she seemed to think it enough to look at me. She does not seem to remember having seen any one, except the O. L. and old Mr. Rowel; we were the first she ever saw in the corridor that night, and you are the only young man she has ever seen. (I am glad the first specimen was so good).

      "February 4th — G. B. sweeter than ever — O. L. still out of the way. G. B. says it seems so strange to her to see people in flesh and blood: except O. L and. Mr. Rowel she has seen nobody. She asks me all sorts of questions.

      "February 5th. — O. L. must be a wonderful old lady. I find G. B., though she has seen nothing, knows a great many things. Depend upon it, there is a great deal in that O. L., and whatever G. B. is to her, she has done all she can to teach her; but she is like a person who has never seen any one but in a picture.

      "February 10th. — Several days have now passed. I am a regular visitor. I have a thousand questions to answer every day; and I am repaid by such grateful looks, and such a sweet kiss before I leave. I have been asked ever so many questions, too, about you. I suppose G. B. had so little chance of ever seeing a young gentleman that, it never entered into O. L.'s head to caution her that, it would be very wrong to ask questions about a young Dian at college; but she is full of questions. She wants to know what you do, and what you think, and supposes you are going to be a great hero of some kind, such as she has read of in her books. All this I suppose is from being shut up so long — at any rate, her telling me is. She wonders if O. L. will let you come and see her whenever you return."

      And so the journal ran, and was kept up, and transmitted to Walter Cressy, until it was time for him to come home for the long vacation, for until then his father forbad his returning to the Grange.

      That vacation he determined not to spend with a tutor at the Lakes reading for honours, but down at the Old Grange.

      And in truth there was much to attract him. there. Time does wonders — a loving heart does many too; and by the time this vacation had arrived the invalid was well; and things had so crept on, that the girl in black was now allowed to be with her friend about the Grange as much as she pleased. And there she was, when Waiter Cressy came home for his long vacation. No doubt the O. L. ought to have shut her up at once, when the young man returned, or else been always herself upon the scene; but she did neither; she herself was ailing now, and though she kept her room for the most part, she would not allow her young companion to be always with her. There was a touch of deep human sympathy in her voice, when she said, "Child, if I need you, I will tell you; but you have lost enough of life already. The General has offered to be a father to you, and his daughter like a sister." Poor soul! She did not say what Waiter was to be.

      But that vacation settled the Question — as I dare say you, good readers, have settled it already in your own mind — it settled this, that Walter Cressy determined that no other woman would he ever wed but that girl in black, with or without her mystery; and as to the mysterious key which she used to wear about her neck, but which now hung with her chatelaine by her side, if it were the key of a cupboard, where, as a female Blue Beard, she had the heads of ten former husbands, he would, if need be, be the eleventh, and contribute his head to the collection too. And she — her mind was made up too. She felt that, so to speak, knowing nothing of who, or whence, she was, she now had some anchorage in life.

      She entered — thus far, at least — into the ordinary path of life, and it was a great relief. one does not feel comfortable at being a mystery, and little else.

      The college vacation ended, and Walter Creasy had to return to his work, which he now was determined to go at like a man. He had sloughed of£ all the old companions, and if he was to marry the girl in black, it must be to bring her to a home such as he would see her in. He had plenty of brains, that he knew, and that his friend, Horace Bursted, knew; and in full sympathy with all his younger friend's hopes, he was directing him to the law as a career in which he felt sure he would prosper.

      "I wish I could help you to unravel the mystery about this young lady," said the barrister, as the Christmas holidays came on. "If your father will have me at the Grange for the Christmas vacation, I will try and find some clue to it if I can. We lawyers sometimes pick up a good deal from very little shreds, and we piece things together in a wonderful way. Anyhow, I can think, think, think, and a great deal, you know, comes from thinking."

      And so when Christmas came, with it came Mr. Horace Bursted to the hall. Had he any objection to sleeping in what had been old Mr. Rowel's room? Not he I nothing would he desire so much as an interview with old Mr. Rowel himself, if such a thing could be brought about. He should like to examine him; and cross-examine him, and re-examine him too. But old Mr. Rowel he was never destined to see; however, he came across what answered his purpose quite as well.

      All dinner-time it was observed that the barrister was more occupied with looking at the portraits opposite him than with his dinner, and his attention seemed more taken up with them, and looking at the girl in black, than with what he ought to be doing — indeed, so much so that he once or twice made a trifling mistake between his mouth and his eye, and was very near giving the latter some soup and cayenne pepper. Yes! the young ladies pronounced Mr. Bursted a very unsociable gentleman; but they had no cause to make this complaint a little farther on, for the young lady in black asked her companion if all gentlemen asked so many questions of people, about all they knew about themselves, and remembered about what they saw, and heard, when they were children.

      "And, would you believe it?" said she, "he actually asked me to let him look at me, first side face, then front face, and at last said, 'Young lady, please excuse me, but I am a great studier, sometimes, of hands; would you object to laying yours for a moment flat on the table and letting me look at your finger tip?

      "'Just so,' he said, when he had finished his look; just so; thank you — that will do.'"

      When Mr. Horace Bursted retired for the. night, and his big fire was made up, and his candles lit on a little table thereby, he began to hold a conversation with a large log thereon — at least, as in a conversation there must be two, and the log never answered, as may be expected, it will be more proper to say Mr. Horace B. addressed the log, and it was in this fashion:—

      "My lord, let me draw your attention to the remarkable likeness of this young girl to the pictures now produced in court. I shall ask you to observe the extraordinary similarity in the curve of the mouth immediately below the nostrils in the young lady, to that of several of the family portraits of the Rowels. I should say it was most remarkable, even if I were not urging it as a point on behalf of my client. Again, I shall have to ask your lordship to note the peculiarity of the fingers. Six of the Rowels' family pictures — happily for us — have the hands, and it will be found that they have a peculiar upturn of the thumb, which will be found in my client. The evidence may be taken for what it is worth, but it will no doubt impress itself upon your lordship as at least remarkable. It was to be found in Admiral Sir Thomas Rowel, in Lady Jane Vere, his granddaughter, thirty years after, in General Rowel forty years after that, in Miss Elspeth Rowel ten years after that, in Doctor Charles Rowel twenty years after that, and finally in the portrait of the deceased gentleman, when a young man, whose property we now claim."

      And then he knocked the judge over with a crack of the poker, and sent his lordship to finish his luminous career amid the ashes of the grate.

      "Yes," said Mr. Bursted, "there's a mystery here; I'll never let it go until I get it clear," and so saying he began to prowl about the room, touching this and that, as though they could be nudged into revealing something, until at last he came to the old bookcase, where the deceased gentleman had kept his books in most constant use.

      There were some classics, an old Bible, a few mathematical and historical books; and, whew! what's this? a book of hieroglyphics?

      " Let us have a look at it," said the Lawyer, and down he sat by the fire to investigate the fat volume, which was all hieroglyphics indeed.

      And they would have remained so but for a curious incident. At the last page of writing, marking, as it were, the book, was a pair of old spectacles, ever so old-fashioned. They were just as the writer left them, for it will be remembered that he died suddenly.

      Mr. Horaee Bursted, tired of trying to decipher the hieroglyphics, put on the specs at last, more as a piece of amusement than otherwise. He was half asleep with the overstrain of his eyes, in trying to make out the contortions and twists of the strange book.

      He never knew, and I suppose never will know, how long exactly those spectacles were upon his nose, or, to speak more correctly, how long he was looking through them at the book. Suffice it to say, that he was finally startled by the sound of a smash, and there on the hearth lay the spectacles, the glasses in fifty pieces; and there was he like a crazy man, throwing up his arms, and crying out quite loud:—

      "I have it all; a wonderful story; she shall have her rights, my lord in this case."

      The lawyer rubbed his eyes; he looked bewildered about him; he put his hands to his forehead; then he gathered every bit of glass together, hoping to find one piece at least large enough to read through, but it was hopeless.

      If the glasses had really told him anything, he could — now never find out. They and they only, by actual experiment, could tell, and they could never be so tried; they were practically out of existence. True, the frame was there, a heavy old-fashioned silver frame, but what could it tell? People don't read through the shanks of their spectacles.

      But whatever Mr. Horace Bursted had seen, or fancied he had seen, through those glasses, he begged as a particular favour that he might have the loan of that book, which he would return safely.

      And so the visit ended, and the lawyer went off to London again, having carefully put up every scrap of the old specs, as if any optician could ever put them together again, or they could, by any possibility, do him any good.

"From Horace Bursted, "Lincoln's Inn, to "General Cressy, "Bertington Grange.

      "MY DEAR SIR, — I should take my pen in hand with some feelings of regret for your sake, seeing that what it writes must dispossess you of your newly acquired property, if it were not that I am well assured, from what I heard from yourself during the short time I enjoyed your kind hospitality at Christmas, that you would give it all to unravel the mystery of the charming young lady I met under your roof.

      "I had strong suspicions, though I said nothing about it, that she was a member of the Rowel family — possibly the heiress to the estates: though that could only be a surmise.

      "I was confirmed in the certainty that she had been a Rowel by my examination of the family portraits, and certain minute peculiarities in them, which I had traced in the young lady herself.

      "But matters might have remained for ever a mystery had it not been that, most happily (for I am sure you will consider it so) the merest accident has insured certainty in this matter.

      "I have — been at great pains to have that book deciphered, feeling sure that it must contain something which would give a clue to this young lady's history. And at last I have succeeded.

      "By the help of an officer of the Government, whose business deciphering Is — and, indeed, I may say no less than three other experts — I have come to what is practically the whole history of the affairs connected with Bertington Grange and the young lady, who, I may as well tell you at once, is the heiress to it.

      "The book is nothing less than a journal kept by old Mr. Rowel, the last proprietor of the Grange. He was in the habit of writing in it his family affairs, and his own private thoughts; and though in parts fragmentary, I think I can give you an outline of circumstances as they are to be gathered from that book.

      "It seems that the old gentleman had once a son who was no credit to him, and after a short career of vice in early manhood, died by his own hand.

      "There was one other child, a girl, and on her the old man evidently fixed his heart, and made her an idol. She would never leave him! She would be the light of his life! She would give herself up to him, and never care for any one but him! The journal was blotted evidently here and there with tears, hastily rubbed off, it would seem; but enough can be made out to give you a very fair idea of the general aspect of things.

      "All that money could buy appears to have been got for this girl, but the old gentleman seems to have been so jealous of her whole love, that he would not allow her to go anywhere except to service on a Sunday — to the small church which is on the edge of the grounds.

      "Thus things went on for a long time, until at last there came to the little church one day a man unlike all the village folk. He appears to have been young, and to have settled down at the neighbouring inn for purposes of art.

      "Need I spend much time over the result? He was described in the journal as 'a snake whose colours are beautiful, but whose sting is poisonous;' from this I conceive he must have been a fascinating man, for the journal says, 'his cursed fascinating eye.'

      "It was the old story of the little bird, which leaps down the serpent's throat under the spell.

      "They were married — married privately. I am sorry for it, very sorry. But my business is to tell not what I wish, but what happened.

      "Then come the father's curses; they are horrible. He seems to have put down whatever came into his mind, sure that no one would ever read them. but there they are now in the naked light.

      "And she went abroad, to Florence; there her husband supported her well until he died. The old man had a secret agent there who kept him informed of everything.

      "The wife pined and died too, leaving a young child. And then it seems the old man went himself to Florence and brought back the child to England.

      "To that child he transferred to some extent the almost frantic love that he bore to her mother. But he was now, I should say from his journal, not altogether of a sound mind. There are entries in the journal which show that, he was subject to paroxysms of anger; now he loved, and now he hated. He swore the child should never see anyone; and, probably, if you can get the lady with the white hair to tell you all she knows, you will find that, practically that girl has never seen any one, or scarce anyone, except yourselves.

      "I gather that that lady was old Mr. Rowel's sister, and that she has spent a life of devotion to him, for his sake immuring herself in that old place, and conforming to all his whims, and being a menial to him, and really a governess too to that child.

      "It seems that in his wrath the old man swore that no child of his daughter should ever inherit Bertington; and though he often apparently repented of his oath, and cursed himself for having made it, he nevertheless held to it, and purposely died without a will. He threatened to reappear to his sister if she ever revealed who that young girl was, so that the property might just fall to the heir-at-law, which has proved to be yourself.

      "That lady, I think you will find, is under the spell of that fear, which must be broken before her lips can be. unsealed, and the secret divulged, which I am full sure she can tell.

      "The mystery of the key which was seen round the young lady's neck when first met is also solved here.

      "The old man, mad with himself for dooming his grandchild to poverty, saved all the Bertington rents for her. the securities which they purchased are at Messrs. Burton and Scott's. He hung that key by a ribbon round her neck when she was a child, with directions that she was never to be without it, and the bankers, it would seem, have directions never to surrender the contents of the safe to any one but the person who. can produce that key. They have its fellow. It was kind indeed of your excellent daughter to have it gilt and made into a kind of ornament, for it would not have been pleasant for a young lady to go through life with a mystery like this hanging about her.

      "I cannot say what these securities represent, but they must now be a large sum.

"Yours faithfully,            
"HORACE BURSTED."      

      There is much more to tell, but, good reader, there is little space in which to tell it. Suffice it to say that there was a great commotion at Messrs. Burton and Scott's, the bankers, when, accompanied by the General and Mr. Bursted, the girl in black opened the box with the gilt key, and proved herself the owner of £80,000 in securities; that there was great commotion in Bertington Grange when the old lady, being persuaded by the clergyman that she need have no fear of her brother's uncanny reappearance on earth, revealed the whole story of what was indeed but a repetition of what was in the hieroglyphic book; and owned that the girl in black was the heiress to the Bertington estates.

      There was further great commotion in the heart of the girl in black, who found she had so much to give, and in that of poor Walter Cressy, who found he had so little; but the girl in black took upon herself to settle how the something of one, and the nothing of another, were just the thing for two, when they by matrimony had been made one. There was further great commotion in the whole neighbourhood when the double wedding took place of Walter Cressy and the girl in black, and Mr. Horace Bursted and Margie Cressy.

      As to the General and the whitehaired old lady. Calmly and peacefully they spent the rest of their days, amid many stately courtesies, at the Grange; and both slept at last, side by side, near the little old church, from the eventful meeting at which comes this Christmas story of

"THE DEAD MAN'S SPECS."