“It was a cloudy night in March, with scud and a fitful moon, and there was a sloop in the offing, and under the shore a loaded boat that had just pulled in with muffled rowlocks.  Out of this Dark Dignum was the first to sling hisself a brace of rundlets; and my grandfather followed with two more.  They made softly for the cliff path—­began the ascent—­was half-way up.

“Whiz!—­a stone of chalk went by them with a skirl, and slapped into the rubble below.

“‘Some more of St. Dunstan’s gravel!’ cried Dignum, pantin’ out a reckless laugh under his load; and on they went again.

“Hwish!—­a bigger lump came like a thunderbolt, and the wind of it took the bloody smuggler’s hat and sent it swooping into the darkness like a bird.

“‘Thunder!’ said Dignum; ‘the cliff’s breaking away!’

“The words was hardly out of his mouth, when there flew such a volley of chalk stones as made my grandfather, though none had touched him, fall upon the path where he stood, and begin to gabble out what he could call to mind of the prayers for the dying.  He was in the midst of it, when he heard a scream come from his companion as froze the very marrow in his bones.  He looked up, thinkin’ his hour had come.

“My God!  What a sight he saw!  The moon had shone out of a sudden, and the light of it struck down on Dignum’s face, and that was the colour of dirty parchment.  And he looked higher, and give a sort of sob.

“For there, stickin’ out of the cliff side, was half the body of Exciseman Jones, with its arms stretched abroad, and it was clawin’ out lumps of chalk and hurling them down at Dignum!

“And even as he took this in through his terror, a great ball of white came hurtling, and went full on to the man’s face with a splash—­and he were spun down into the deep night below, a nameless thing.”

The old creature came to a stop, his eyes glinting with a febrile excitement.

“And so,” I said, “Exciseman Jones was true to his word?”

The tension of memory was giving—­the spring slowly uncoiling itself.

“Ay,” he said doubtfully.  “The cliff had flaked away by degrees to his very grave.  They found his skelington stickin’ out of the chalk.”

“His skeleton?" said I, with the emphasis of disappointment.

“The first, sir, the first.  Ay, his was the first.  There’ve been a many exposed since.  The work of decay goes on, and the bones they fall into the sea.  Sometimes, sailing off shore, you may see a shank or an arm protrudin’ like a pigeon’s leg from a pie.  But the wind or the weather takes it and it goes.  There’s more to follow yet.  Look at ’em! look at these bents!  Every one a grave, with a skelington in it.  The wear and tear from the edge will reach each one in turn, and then the last of the ungodly will have ceased from the earth.”

“And what became of your grandfather?”

“My grandfather?  There were something happened made him renounce the devil.  He died one of the elect.  His youth were heedless and unregenerate; but, ’tis said, after he were turned thirty he never smiled agen.  There was a reason.  Did I ever tell you the story of Dark Dignum and Exciseman Jones?”