“Now, look here, you know—­this won’t do,” said Trenholme, in loud authoritative tones; so transported was he by the disagreeableness of his situation that, for the moment, he supposed himself speaking to the man with whom he had just spoken.  Then, realising that that man, although gone, was yet probably within call, he set down the lamp hastily and ran out.

It seemed to him remarkable that Saul and the oxen could have gone so far along the road, although of course they were still plainly in sight.  He shouted, but received no answer.  He raised his voice and shouted again and again, with force and authority.  He ran, as he shouted, about twenty paces.  In return he only heard Saul’s own commands to his oxen.  Whether the man was making so much noise himself that he could not hear, or whether he heard and would not attend, Trenholme could not tell, but he felt at the moment too angry to run after him farther.  It was not his place to wait upon this carter and run his errands!  Upon this impulse he turned again.

However, as he walked back, the chill frost striking his bare head, he felt more diffidence and perplexity about his next action than was at all usual to him.  He knew that he had no inclination to investigate the contents of the box.  All the curiosity stirred within him still failed to create the least desire to pry further; but, on the other hand, he could not think it right to leave the matter as it was.  A strong feeling of duty commanding him to open the coffin and see that all was right, and a stout aversion to performing this duty, were the main elements of his consciousness during the minutes in which he retraced his steps to the house.

He had set down the lamp on a package just within the baggage-room door, so that his own room, by which he entered, was pretty dark, save for the fire showing through the damper of the stove.  Trenholme stopped in it just one moment to listen; then, unwilling to encourage hesitation in himself, went through the next door.  His hand was outstretched to take the lamp, his purpose was clearly defined—­to go to the far corner and examine the coffin-lid.  Hand and thought arrested, he stopped on the threshold, for the lid was thrown off the coffin, and beside it stood a figure.

The lamp, which did not throw very much light across the comparatively large empty room, was so placed that what light there was came directly in Trenholme’s eyes.  Afterwards he remembered this, and wondered whether all that he thought he saw had, in fact, been clearly seen; but at the moment he thought nothing of the inadequacy of light or of the glare in his eyes; he only knew that there, in the far corner beside the empty coffin, stood a white figure—­very tall to his vision, very lank, with white drapery that clothed it round the head like a cowl and spread upon the floor around its feet.  But all that was not what arrested his attention and chilled his strong courage, it was the eyes of the figure, which