“About four o’clock the following afternoon I received a cablegram from Malta.  Intuition warned me to prepare for the worst.  Its contents were unpleasantly short and pithy—­’Hal drowned at two o’clock this morning.—­Dick.’

“Two years passed—­again an August night, hot and oppressive as before, and again—­though surely against my will, my better judgment, if you like—­I visited the wood.  Horse’s hoofs just the same as before.  The same galloping, the same figure, the same EYES! the same mad, panic-stricken flight home, and, early in the succeeding afternoon, a similar cablegram—­this time from Sicily.  ’Dick died at midnight.  Dysentery.—­Andrews.’

“Jack Andrews was Dick’s pal—­his bosom friend.  So once again the phantom rider had brought its grisly message—­played its ghoulish role.  My brothers were both dead now, and only Beryl remained.  Another year sped by and the last night in October—­a Monday—­saw me, impelled by a fascination I could not resist, once again in the wood.  Up to a point everything happened as before.  As the monotonous church clock struck twelve, from afar came the sound of hoofs.  Nearer, nearer, nearer, and then with startling abruptness the rider shot into view.  And now, mixed with the awful, indescribable terror the figure always conveyed with it, came a feeling of intense rage and indignation.  Should Beryl—­Beryl whom I loved next best to my wife—­be torn from me even as Dick and Hal had been?  No!  Ten thousand times no!  Sooner than that I would risk anything.  A sudden inspiration, coming maybe from the whispering leaves, or from the elm, or from the mysterious flickering moonbeams, flashed through me.  Could I not intercept the figures, drive them back?  By doing so something told me Beryl might be saved.  A terrible struggle at once took place within me, and it was only after the most desperate efforts that I at length succeeded in fighting back my terror and flung myself out into the middle of the drive.  No words of mine can describe all I went through as I stood there anticipating the arrival of the phantoms.  At length they came, right up to me; and as, with frantic resolution, I screwed up courage to plant myself directly in their path, and stared up into the rider’s eyes, the huge steed halted, gave one shrill neigh, and turning round, galloped back again, disappearing whither it had emerged.

“Two days afterwards I received a letter from my brother-in-law.

“‘I have been having an awful time,’ he wrote.  ’My darling Beryl has been frightfully ill.  On Monday night we gave up all hope of her recovery, but at twelve o’clock, when the doctor bid us prepare for the end, the most extraordinary thing happened.  Turning over in bed, she distinctly called out your name, and rallied.  And now, thank God, she is completely out of danger.  The doctor says it is the most astonishing recovery he has ever known.’

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