itself into two huge eyes, red and menacing.  The sight was so unexpected, and, by reason of its intense malignity, so appalling, that I was simply dumbfounded.  I could do nothing but stare at the Thing—­paralysed and speechless.  I made a desperate effort to get back my self-possession; I strove with all my might to reason with myself, to assure myself that this was the supreme moment of my life, the moment I had so long and earnestly desired.  But it was in vain; I was terrified—­helplessly, hopelessly terrified.  The eyes moved, they drew nearer and nearer to me, and as they did so they became more and more hostile.  I opened my mouth to shout for help, I could feel my lungs bursting under the tension; not a sound came; and then—­then, as the eyes closed on me, and I could feel the cold, clammy weight pressing me down, there rang out, loud and clear, in the keen and cutting air of the spring evening, a whole choir of voices—­the village choral society.

I am not particularly fond of music—­certainly not of village music, however well trained it may be; but I can honestly affirm that, at that moment, no sounds could have been more welcome to me than those old folk-songs piped by the rustics, for the instant they commenced the spell that so closely held me prisoner was broken, my faculties returned, and reeling back out of the clutches of the hateful Thing, I joyfully turned and fled.

I related my adventure to the Colonel, and he told me that the cave was generally deemed to be the most haunted spot in the grounds, that no one cared to venture there alone after dark.

“I have myself many times visited the cave at night—­in the company of others,” he said, “and we have invariably experienced sensations of the utmost horror and repulsion, though we have seen nothing.  It must be a devil.”

I thought so, too, and exclaimed with some vehemence that the proper course for him to pursue was to have the cave filled in or blasted.  That night I awoke at about one o’clock with the feeling very strong on me that something was prowling about under my window.  For some time I fought against the impulse to get out of bed and look, but at last I yielded.  It was bright moonlight—­every obstacle in the grounds stood out with wonderful clearness—­and directly beneath the window, peering up at me, were the eyes—­red, lurid, satanical.  A dog barked, and they vanished.  I did not sleep again that night, not until the daylight broke, when I had barely shut my eyes before I was aroused by decidedly material bangings on the doors and hyper-boisterous Easter greetings.

After breakfast a few of the party went to church, a few into the nursery to romp with the children, whilst the rest dispersed in different directions.  At luncheon all met again, and there was much merry-making over the tansy cakes—­very foolish, no doubt, but to me at least very delightful, and perhaps a wise practice, at times, even for the most prosaic.  In the afternoon the Colonel took me for a drive to a charmingly picturesque village in the Chilterns, whence we did not set out on our way back till it was twilight.