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Title: Mr. Humphreys and his Inheritance
Author: James, Montague Rhodes (1862-1936)
Date of first publication: 1911
    [included in "More Ghost Stories of an Antiquary"]
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   "The Collected Ghost Stories of M. R. James"
   (New York: Longmans, Green;
   London: Edward Arnold, 1931)
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 31 January 2010
Date last updated: 31 January 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #470

This ebook was produced by:
David T. Jones, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net




MR. HUMPHREYS AND HIS INHERITANCE


About fifteen years ago, on a date late in August or early in
September, a train drew up at Wilsthorpe, a country station in Eastern
England. Out of it stepped (with other passengers) a rather tall and
reasonably good-looking young man, carrying a handbag and some papers
tied up in a packet. He was expecting to be met, one would say, from
the way in which he looked about him: and he was, as obviously,
expected. The stationmaster ran forward a step or two, and then,
seeming to recollect himself, turned and beckoned to a stout and
consequential person with a short round beard who was scanning the
train with some appearance of bewilderment. "Mr. Cooper," he called
out,--"Mr. Cooper, I think this is your gentleman"; and then to the
passenger who had just alighted, "Mr. Humphreys, sir? Glad to bid you
welcome to Wilsthorpe. There's a cart from the Hall for your luggage,
and here's Mr. Cooper, what I think you know." Mr. Cooper had hurried
up, and now raised his hat and shook hands. "Very pleased, I'm sure,"
he said, "to give the echo to Mr. Palmer's kind words. I should have
been the first to render expression to them but for the face not being
familiar to me, Mr. Humphreys. May your residence among us be marked
as a red-letter day, sir." "Thank you very much, Mr. Cooper," said
Humphreys, "for your good wishes, and Mr. Palmer also. I do hope very
much that this change of--er--tenancy--which you must all regret, I am
sure--will not be to the detriment of those with whom I shall be
brought in contact." He stopped, feeling that the words were not
fitting themselves together in the happiest way, and Mr. Cooper cut
in, "Oh, you may rest satisfied of that, Mr. Humphreys. I'll take it
upon myself to assure you, sir, that a warm welcome awaits you on all
sides. And as to any change of propriety turning out detrimental to
the neighbourhood, well, your late uncle----" And here Mr. Cooper also
stopped, possibly in obedience to an inner monitor, possibly because
Mr. Palmer, clearing his throat loudly, asked Humphreys for his
ticket. The two men left the little station, and--at Humphreys'
suggestion--decided to walk to Mr. Cooper's house, where luncheon was
awaiting them.

The relation in which these personages stood to each other can be
explained in a very few lines. Humphreys had inherited--quite
unexpectedly--a property from an uncle: neither the property nor the
uncle had he ever seen. He was alone in the world--a man of good
ability and kindly nature, whose employment in a Government office for
the last four or five years had not gone far to fit him for the life
of a country gentleman. He was studious and rather diffident, and had
few out-of-door pursuits except golf and gardening. To-day he had come
down for the first time to visit Wilsthorpe and confer with Mr.
Cooper, the bailiff, as to the matters which needed immediate
attention. It may be asked how this came to be his first visit? Ought
he not in decency to have attended his uncle's funeral? The answer is
not far to seek: he had been abroad at the time of the death, and his
address had not been at once procurable. So he had put off coming to
Wilsthorpe till he heard that all things were ready for him. And now
we find him arrived at Mr. Cooper's comfortable house, facing the
parsonage, and having just shaken hands with the smiling Mrs. and Miss
Cooper.

During the minutes that preceded the announcement of luncheon the
party settled themselves on elaborate chairs in the drawing-room,
Humphreys, for his part, perspiring quietly in the consciousness that
stock was being taken of him.

"I was just saying to Mr. Humphreys, my dear," said Mr. Cooper, "that
I hope and trust that his residence among us here in Wilsthorpe will
be marked as a red-letter day."

"Yes, indeed, I'm sure," said Mrs. Cooper heartily, "and many, many of
them."

Miss Cooper murmured words to the same effect, and Humphreys attempted
a pleasantry about painting the whole calendar red, which, though
greeted with shrill laughter, was evidently not fully understood. At
this point they proceeded to luncheon.

"Do you know this part of the country at all, Mr. Humphreys?" said
Mrs. Cooper, after a short interval. This was a better opening.

"No, I'm sorry to say I do _not_" said Humphreys. "It seems very
pleasant, what I could see of it coming down in the train."

"Oh, it _is_ a pleasant part. Really, I sometimes say I don't know a
nicer district, for the country; and the people round, too: such a
quantity always going on. But I'm afraid you've come a little late for
some of the better garden parties, Mr. Humphreys."

"I suppose I have; dear me, what a pity!" said Humphreys, with a gleam
of relief; and then, feeling that something more could be got out of
this topic, "But after all, you see, Mrs. Cooper, even if I could have
been here earlier, I should have been cut off from them, should I not?
My poor uncle's recent death, you know----"

"Oh dear, Mr. Humphreys, to be sure; what a dreadful thing of me to
say!" (And Mr. and Miss Cooper seconded the proposition
inarticulately.) "What must you have thought? I _am_ so sorry: you
must really forgive me."

"Not at all, Mrs. Cooper, I assure you. I can't honestly assert that
my uncle's death was a great grief to me, for I had never seen him.
All I meant was that I supposed I shouldn't be expected to take part
for some little time in festivities of that kind."

"Now, really it's very kind of you to take it in that way, Mr.
Humphreys, isn't it, George? And you _do_ forgive me? But only fancy!
You never saw poor old Mr. Wilson!"

"Never in my life; nor did I ever have a letter from him. But, by the
way, you have something to forgive _me_ for. I've never thanked you,
except by letter, for all the trouble you've taken to find people to
look after me at the Hall."

"Oh, I'm sure that was nothing, Mr. Humphreys; but I really do think
that you'll find them give satisfaction. The man and his wife whom
we've got for the butler and housekeeper we've known for a number of
years: such a nice respectable couple, and Mr. Cooper, I'm sure, can
answer for the men in the stables and gardens."

"Yes, Mr. Humphreys, they're a good lot. The head gardener's the only
one who's stopped on from Mr. Wilson's time. The major part of the
employees, as you no doubt saw by the will, received legacies from the
old gentleman and retired from their posts, and as the wife says, your
housekeeper and butler are calculated to render you every
satisfaction."

"So everything, Mr. Humphreys, is ready for you to step in this very
day, according to what I understood you to wish," said Mrs. Cooper.
"Everything, that is, except company, and there I'm afraid you'll find
yourself quite at a standstill. Only we did understand it was your
intention to move in at once. If not, I'm sure you know we should have
been only too pleased for you to stay here."

"I'm quite sure you would, Mrs. Cooper, and I'm very grateful to you.
But I thought I had really better make the plunge at once. I'm
accustomed to living alone, and there will be quite enough to occupy
my evenings--looking over papers and books and so on--for some time to
come. I thought if Mr. Cooper could spare the time this afternoon to
go over the house and grounds with me----"

"Certainly, certainly, Mr. Humphreys. My time is your own, up to any
hour you please."

"Till dinner-time, father, you mean," said Miss Cooper. "Don't forget
we're going over to the Brasnetts'. And have you got all the garden
keys?"

"Are you a great gardener, Miss Cooper?" said Mr. Humphreys. "I wish
you would tell me what I'm to expect at the Hall."

"Oh, I don't know about a _great_ gardener, Mr. Humphreys: I'm very
fond of flowers--but the Hall garden might be made quite lovely, I
often say. It's very old-fashioned as it is: and a great deal of
shrubbery. There's an old temple, besides, and a maze."

"Really? Have you explored it ever?"

"No-o," said Miss Cooper, drawing in her lips and shaking her head.
"I've often longed to try, but old Mr. Wilson always kept it locked.
He wouldn't even let Lady Wardrop into it. (She lives near here, at
Bentley, you know, and she's a _great_ gardener, if you like.) That's
why I asked father if he had all the keys."

"I see. Well, I must evidently look into that, and show you over it
when I've learnt the way."

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Humphreys! Now I shall have the laugh of
Miss Foster (that's our rector's daughter, you know; they're away on
their holiday now--such nice people). We always had a joke between us
which should be the first to get into the maze."

"I think the garden keys must be up at the house," said Mr. Cooper,
who had been looking over a large bunch. "There is a number there in
the library. Now, Mr. Humphreys, if you're prepared, we might bid
good-bye to these ladies and set forward on our little tour of
exploration."

    *    *    *    *    *

As they came out of Mr. Cooper's front gate, Humphreys had to run the
gauntlet--not of an organized demonstration, but of a good deal of
touching of hats and careful contemplation from the men and women who
had gathered in somewhat unusual numbers in the village street. He
had, further, to exchange some remarks with the wife of the
lodge-keeper as they passed the park gates, and with the lodge-keeper
himself, who was attending to the park road. I cannot, however, spare
the time to report the progress fully. As they traversed the half-mile
or so between the lodge and the house, Humphreys took occasion to ask
his companion some question which brought up the topic of his late
uncle, and it did not take long before Mr. Cooper was embarked upon a
disquisition.

"It is singular to think, as the wife was saying just now, that you
should never have seen the old gentleman. And yet--you won't
misunderstand me, Mr. Humphreys, I feel confident, when I say that in
my opinion there would have been but little congeniality betwixt
yourself and him. Not that I have a word to say in deprecation--not a
single word. I can tell you what he was," said Mr. Cooper, pulling up
suddenly and fixing Humphreys with his eye. "Can tell you what he was
in a nutshell, as the saying goes. He was a complete, thorough
valentudinarian. That describes him to a T. That's what he was, sir, a
complete valentudinarian. No participation in what went on around him.
I did venture, I think, to send you a few words of cutting from our
local paper, which I took the occasion to contribute on his decease.
If I recollect myself aright, such is very much the ghist of them. But
don't, Mr. Humphreys," continued Cooper, tapping him impressively on
the chest,--"don't you run away with the impression that I wish to say
aught but what is most creditable--_most_ creditable--of your
respected uncle and my late employer. Upright, Mr. Humphreys--open as
the day; liberal to all in his dealings. He had the heart to feel and
the hand to accommodate. But there it was: there was the
stumbling-block--his unfortunate health--or, as I might more truly
phrase it, his _want_ of health."

"Yes, poor man. Did he suffer from any special disorder before his
last illness--which, I take it, was little more than old age?"

"Just that, Mr. Humphreys--just that. The flash flickering slowly away
in the pan," said Cooper, with what he considered an appropriate
gesture,--"the golden bowl gradually ceasing to vibrate. But as to
your other question I should return a negative answer. General absence
of vitality? yes: special complaint? no, unless you reckon a nasty
cough he had with him. Why, here we are pretty much at the house. A
handsome mansion, Mr. Humphreys, don't you consider?"

It deserved the epithet, on the whole: but it was oddly
proportioned--a very tall red-brick house, with a plain parapet
concealing the roof almost entirely. It gave the impression of a town
house set down in the country; there was a basement, and a rather
imposing flight of steps leading up to the front door. It seemed also,
owing to its height, to desiderate wings, but there were none. The
stables and other offices were concealed by trees. Humphreys guessed
its probable date as 1770 or thereabouts.

The mature couple who had been engaged to act as butler and
cook-housekeeper were waiting inside the front door, and opened it as
their new master approached. Their name, Humphreys already knew, was
Calton; of their appearance and manner he formed a favourable
impression in the few minutes' talk he had with them. It was agreed
that he should go through the plate and the cellar next day with Mr.
Calton, and that Mrs. C. should have a talk with him about linen,
bedding, and so on--what there was, and what there ought to be. Then
he and Cooper, dismissing the Caltons for the present, began their
view of the house. Its topography is not of importance to this story.
The large rooms on the ground floor were satisfactory, especially the
library, which was as large as the dining-room, and had three tall
windows facing east. The bedroom prepared for Humphreys was
immediately above it. There were many pleasant, and a few really
interesting, old pictures. None of the furniture was new, and hardly
any of the books were later than the seventies. After hearing of and
seeing the few changes his uncle had made in the house, and
contemplating a shiny portrait of him which adorned the drawing-room,
Humphreys was forced to agree with Cooper that in all probability
there would have been little to attract him in his predecessor. It
made him rather sad that he could not be sorry--_dolebat se dolere non
posse_--for the man who, whether with or without some feeling of
kindliness towards his unknown nephew, had contributed so much to his
well-being; for he felt that Wilsthorpe was a place in which he could
be happy, and especially happy, it might be, in its library.

And now it was time to go over the garden: the empty stables could
wait, and so could the laundry. So to the garden they addressed
themselves, and it was soon evident that Miss Cooper had been right in
thinking that there were possibilities. Also that Mr. Cooper had done
well in keeping on the gardener. The deceased Mr. Wilson might not
have, indeed plainly had not, been imbued with the latest views on
gardening, but whatever had been done here had been done under the eye
of a knowledgeable man, and the equipment and stock were excellent.
Cooper was delighted with the pleasure Humphreys showed, and with the
suggestions he let fall from time to time. "I can see," he said, "that
you've found your meatear here, Mr. Humphreys: you'll make this place
a regular signosier before very many seasons have passed over our
heads. I wish Clutterham had been here--that's the head gardener--and
here he would have been of course, as I told you, but for his son's
being horse doover with a fever, poor fellow! I should like him to
have heard how the place strikes you."

"Yes, you told me he couldn't be here to-day, and I was very sorry to
hear the reason, but it will be time enough to-morrow. What is that
white building on the mound at the end of the grass ride? Is it the
temple Miss Cooper mentioned?"

"That it is, Mr. Humphreys--the Temple of Friendship. Constructed of
marble brought out of Italy for the purpose, by your late uncle's
grandfather. Would it interest you perhaps to take a turn there? You
get a very sweet prospect of the park."

The general lines of the temple were those of the Sibyl's Temple at
Tivoli, helped out by a dome, only the whole was a good deal smaller.
Some ancient sepulchral reliefs were built into the wall, and about
it all was a pleasant flavour of the grand tour. Cooper produced the
key, and with some difficulty opened the heavy door. Inside there was
a handsome ceiling, but little furniture. Most of the floor was
occupied by a pile of thick circular blocks of stone, each of which
had a single letter deeply cut on its slightly convex upper surface.
"What is the meaning of these?" Humphreys inquired.

"Meaning? Well, all things, we're told, have their purpose, Mr.
Humphreys, and I suppose these blocks have had theirs as well as
another. But what that purpose is or was (Mr. Cooper assumed a
didactic attitude here), I, for one, should be at a loss to point out
to you, sir. All I know of them--and it's summed up in a very few
words--is just this: that they're stated to have been removed by your
late uncle, at a period before I entered on the scene, from the maze.
That, Mr. Humphreys, is----"

"Oh, the maze!" exclaimed Humphreys. "I'd forgotten that: we must have
a look at it. Where is it?"

Cooper drew him to the door of the temple, and pointed with his stick.
"Guide your eye," he said (somewhat in the manner of the Second Elder
in Handel's "Susanna"--

    "Far to the west direct your straining eyes
    Where yon tall holm-tree rises to the skies.")

"Guide your eye by my stick here, and follow out the line directly
opposite to the spot where we're standing now, and I'll engage, Mr.
Humphreys, that you'll catch the archway over the entrance. You'll
see it just at the end of the walk answering to the one that leads up
to this very building. Did you think of going there at once? because
if that be the case, I must go to the house and procure the key. If
you would walk on there, I'll rejoin you in a few moments' time."

Accordingly Humphreys strolled down the ride leading to the temple,
past the garden-front of the house, and up the turfy approach to the
archway which Cooper had pointed out to him. He was surprised to find
that the whole maze was surrounded by a high wall, and that the
archway was provided with a padlocked iron gate; but then he
remembered that Miss Cooper had spoken of his uncle's objection to
letting anyone enter this part of the garden. He was now at the gate,
and still Cooper came not. For a few minutes he occupied himself in
reading the motto cut over the entrance, "_Secretum meum mihi et
filiis domus meae_," and in trying to recollect the source of it. Then
he became impatient and considered the possibility of scaling the
wall. This was clearly not worth while; it might have been done if he
had been wearing an older suit: or could the padlock--a very old
one--be forced? No, apparently not: and yet, as he gave a final
irritated kick at the gate, something gave way, and the lock fell at
his feet. He pushed the gate open, inconveniencing a number of nettles
as he did so, and stepped into the enclosure.

It was a yew maze, of circular form, and the hedges, long untrimmed,
had grown out and upwards to a most unorthodox breadth and height. The
walks, too, were next door to impassable. Only by entirely
disregarding scratches, nettle-stings, and wet, could Humphreys force
his way along them; but at any rate this condition of things, he
reflected, would make it easier for him to find his way out again, for
he left a very visible track. So far as he could remember, he had
never been in a maze before, nor did it seem to him now that he had
missed much. The dankness and darkness, and smell of crushed
goosegrass and nettles were anything but cheerful. Still, it did not
seem to be a very intricate specimen of its kind. Here he was (by the
way, was that Cooper arrived at last? No!) very nearly at the heart of
it, without having taken much thought as to what path he was
following. Ah! there at last was the centre, easily gained. And there
was something to reward him. His first impression was that the central
ornament was a sundial; but when he had switched away some portion of
the thick growth of brambles and bindweed that had formed over it, he
saw that it was a less ordinary decoration. A stone column about four
feet high, and on the top of it a metal globe--copper, to judge by the
green patina--engraved, and finely engraved too, with figures in
outline, and letters. That was what Humphreys saw, and a brief glance
at the figures convinced him that it was one of those mysterious
things called celestial globes, from which, one would suppose, no one
ever yet derived any information about the heavens. However, it was
too dark--at least in the maze--for him to examine this curiosity at
all closely, and besides, he now heard Cooper's voice, and sounds as
of an elephant in the jungle. Humphreys called to him to follow the
track he had beaten out, and soon Cooper emerged panting into the
central circle. He was full of apologies for his delay; he had not
been able, after all, to find the key. "But there!" he said, "you've
penetrated into the heart of the mystery unaided and unannealed, as
the saying goes. Well! I suppose it's a matter of thirty to forty
years since any human foot has trod these precincts. Certain it is
that I've never set foot in them before. Well, well! what's the old
proverb about angels fearing to tread? It's proved true once again in
this case." Humphreys' acquaintance with Cooper, though it had been
short, was sufficient to assure him that there was no guile in this
allusion, and he forbore the obvious remark, merely suggesting that it
was fully time to get back to the house for a late cup of tea, and to
release Cooper for his evening engagement. They left the maze
accordingly, experiencing well-nigh the same ease in retracing their
path as they had in coming in.

"Have you any idea," Humphreys asked, as they went towards the house,
"why my uncle kept that place so carefully locked?"

Cooper pulled up, and Humphreys felt that he must be on the brink of a
revelation.

"I should merely be deceiving you, Mr. Humphreys, and that to no good
purpose, if I laid claim to possess any information whatsoever on that
topic. When I first entered upon my duties here, some eighteen years
back, that maze was word for word in the condition you see it now, and
the one and only occasion on which the question ever arose within my
knowledge was that of which my girl made mention in your hearing. Lady
Wardrop--I've not a word to say against her--wrote applying for
admission to the maze. Your uncle showed me the note--a most civil
note--everything that could be expected from such a quarter. 'Cooper,'
he said, 'I wish you'd reply to that note on my behalf.' 'Certainly,
Mr. Wilson,' I said, for I was quite inured to acting as his
secretary, 'what answer shall I return to it?' 'Well,' he said, 'give
Lady Wardrop my compliments, and tell her that if ever that portion of
the grounds is taken in hand I shall be happy to give her the first
opportunity of viewing it, but that it has been shut up now for a
number of years, and I shall be grateful to her if she kindly won't
press the matter.' That, Mr. Humphreys, was your good uncle's last
word on the subject, and I don't think I can add anything to it.
Unless," added Cooper, after a pause, "it might be just this: that, so
far as I could form a judgment, he had a dislike (as people often will
for one reason or another) to the memory of his grandfather, who, as I
mentioned to you, had that maze laid out. A man of peculiar teenets,
Mr. Humphreys, and a great traveller. You'll have the opportunity, on
the coming Sabbath, of seeing the tablet to him in our little parish
church; put up it was some long time after his death."

"Oh! I should have expected a man who had such a taste for building to
have designed a mausoleum for himself."

"Well, I've never noticed anything of the kind you mention; and, in
fact, come to think of it, I'm not at all sure that his resting-place
is within our boundaries at all: that he lays in the vault I'm pretty
confident is not the case. Curious now that I shouldn't be in a
position to inform you on that heading! Still, after all, we can't
say, can we, Mr. Humphreys, that it's a point of crucial importance
where the pore mortal coils are bestowed?"

At this point they entered the house, and Cooper's speculations were
interrupted.

Tea was laid in the library, where Mr. Cooper fell upon subjects
appropriate to the scene. "A fine collection of books! One of the
finest, I've understood from connoisseurs, in this part of the
country; splendid plates, too, in some of these works. I recollect
your uncle showing me one with views of foreign towns--most absorbing
it was: got up in first-rate style. And another all done by hand, with
the ink as fresh as if it had been laid on yesterday, and yet, he told
me, it was the work of some old monk hundreds of years back. I've
always taken a keen interest in literature myself. Hardly anything to
my mind can compare with a good hour's reading after a hard day's
work; far better than wasting the whole evening at a friend's
house--and that reminds me, to be sure. I shall be getting into
trouble with the wife if I don't make the best of my way home and get
ready to squander away one of these same evenings! I must be off, Mr.
Humphreys."

"And that reminds _me_," said Humphreys, "if I'm to show Miss Cooper
the maze to-morrow we must have it cleared out a bit. Could you say a
word about that to the proper person?"

"Why, to be sure. A couple of men with scythes could cut out a track
to-morrow morning. I'll leave word as I pass the lodge, and I'll tell
them, what'll save you the trouble, perhaps, Mr. Humphreys, of having
to go up and extract them yourself: that they'd better have some
sticks or a tape to mark out their way with as they go on."

"A very good idea! Yes, do that; and I'll expect Mrs. and Miss Cooper
in the afternoon, and yourself about half-past ten in the morning."

"It'll be a pleasure, I'm sure, both to them and to myself, Mr.
Humphreys. Good night!"

    *    *    *    *    *

Humphreys dined at eight. But for the fact that it was his first
evening, and that Calton was evidently inclined for occasional
conversation, he would have finished the novel he had bought for his
journey. As it was, he had to listen and reply to some of Calton's
impressions of the neighbourhood and the season: the latter, it
appeared, was seasonable, and the former had changed considerably--and
not altogether for the worse--since Calton's boyhood (which had been
spent there). The village shop in particular had greatly improved
since the year 1870. It was now possible to procure there pretty much
anything you liked in reason: which was a conveniency, because suppose
anythink was required of a suddent (and he had known such things
before now), he (Calton) could step down there (supposing the shop to
be still open), and order it in, without he borrered it of the
Rectory, whereas in earlier days it would have been useless to pursue
such a course in respect of anything but candles, or soap, or treacle,
or perhaps a penny child's picture-book, and nine times out of ten
it'd be something more in the nature of a bottle of whisky _you'd_ be
requiring; leastways---- On the whole Humphreys thought he would be
prepared with a book in future.

The library was the obvious place for the after-dinner hours. Candle
in hand and pipe in mouth, he moved round the room for some time,
taking stock of the titles of the books. He had all the predisposition
to take interest in an old library, and there was every opportunity
for him here to make systematic acquaintance with one, for he had
learned from Cooper that there was no catalogue save the very
superficial one made for purposes of probate. The drawing up of a
_catalogue raisonn_ would be a delicious occupation for winter. There
were probably treasures to be found, too: even manuscripts, if Cooper
might be trusted.

As he pursued his round the sense came upon him (as it does upon most
of us in similar places) of the extreme unreadableness of a great
portion of the collection. "Editions of Classics and Fathers, and
Picart's _Religious Ceremonies_, and the _Harleian Miscellany_, I
suppose are all very well, but who is ever going to read Tostatus
Abulensis, or Pineda on Job, or a book like this?" He picked out a
small quarto, loose in the binding, and from which the lettered label
had fallen off; and observing that coffee was waiting for him, retired
to a chair. Eventually he opened the book. It will be observed that
his condemnation of it rested wholly on external grounds. For all he
knew it might have been a collection of unique plays, but undeniably
the outside was blank and forbidding. As a matter of fact, it was a
collection of sermons or meditations, and mutilated at that, for the
first sheet was gone. It seemed to belong to the latter end of the
seventeenth century. He turned over the pages till his eye was caught
by a marginal note: "_A Parable of this Unhappy Condition_," and he
thought he would see what aptitudes the author might have for
imaginative composition. "I have heard or read," so ran the passage,
"whether in the way of _Parable_ or true _Relation_ I leave my Reader
to judge, of a Man who, like _Theseus_, in the _Attick Tale_, should
adventure himself, into a _Labyrinth_ or _Maze_: and such an one
indeed as was not laid out in the Fashion of our _Topiary_ artists of
this Age, but of a wide compass, in which, moreover, such unknown
Pitfalls and Snares, nay, such ill omened Inhabitants were commonly
thought to lurk as could only be encountered at the Hazard of one's
very life. Now you may be sure that in such a Case the Disswasions of
Friends were not wanting. 'Consider of such-an-one' says a Brother
'how he went the way you wot of, and was never seen more.' 'Or of such
another' says the Mother 'that adventured himself but a little way in,
and from that day forth is so troubled in his Wits that he cannot tell
what he saw, nor hath passed one good Night.' 'And have you never
heard' cries a Neighbour 'of what Faces have been seen to look out
over the _Palisadoes_ and betwixt the Bars of the Gate?' But all would
not do: the Man was set upon his Purpose: for it seems it was the
common fireside Talk of that Country that at the Heart and Centre of
this _Labyrinth_ there was a Jewel of such Price and Rarity that would
enrich the Finder thereof for his life: and this should be his by
right that could persever to come at it. What then? _Quid multa?_ The
Adventurer pass'd the Gates, and for a whole day's space his Friends
without had no news of him, except it might be by some indistinct
Cries heard afar off in the Night, such as made them turn in their
restless Beds and sweat for very Fear, not doubting but that their Son
and Brother had put one more to the _Catalogue_ of those unfortunates
that had suffer'd shipwreck on that Voyage. So the next day they went
with weeping Tears to the Clark of the Parish to order the Bell to be
toll'd. And their Way took them hard by the gate of the _Labyrinth_:
which they would have hastened by, from the Horrour they had of it,
but that they caught sight of a sudden of a Man's Body lying in the
Roadway, and going up to it (with what Anticipations may be easily
figured) found it to be him whom they reckoned as lost: and not dead,
though he were in a Swound most like Death. They then, who had gone
forth as Mourners came back rejoycing, and set to by all means to
revive their Prodigal. Who, being come to himself, and hearing of
their Anxieties and their Errand of that Morning, 'Ay' says he 'you
may as well finish what you were about: for, for all I have brought
back the Jewel (which he shew'd them, and 'twas indeed a rare Piece) I
have brought back that with it that will leave me neither Rest at
Night nor Pleasure by Day.' Whereupon they were instant with him to
learn his Meaning, and where his Company should be that went so sore
against his Stomach. 'O' says he ''tis here in my Breast: I cannot
flee from it, do what I may.' So it needed no Wizard to help them to a
guess that it was the Recollection of what he had seen that troubled
him so wonderfully. But they could get no more of him for a long Time
but by Fits and Starts. However at long and at last they made shift to
collect somewhat of this kind: that at first, while the Sun was
bright, he went merrily on, and without any Difficulty reached the
Heart of the _Labyrinth_ and got the Jewel, and so set out on his way
back rejoycing: but as the Night fell, _wherein all the Beasts of the
Forest do move_, he begun to be sensible of some Creature keeping Pace
with him and, as he thought, _peering and looking upon him_ from the
next Alley to that he was in; and that when he should stop, this
Companion should stop also, which put him in some Disorder of his
Spirits. And, indeed, as the Darkness increas'd, it seemed to him that
there was more than one, and, it might be, even a whole Band of such
Followers: at least so he judg'd by the Rustling and Cracking that
they kept among the Thickets; besides that there would be at a Time a
Sound of Whispering, which seem'd to import a Conference among them.
But in regard of who they were or what Form they were of, he would not
be persuaded to say what he thought. Upon his Hearers asking him what
the Cries were which they heard in the Night (as was observ'd above)
he gave them this Account: That about Midnight (so far as he could
judge) he heard his Name call'd from a long way off, and he would have
been sworn it was his Brother that so call'd him. So he stood still
and hilloo'd at the Pitch of his Voice, and he suppos'd that the
_Echo_, or the Noyse of his Shouting, disguis'd for the Moment any
lesser sound; because, when there fell a Stillness again, he
distinguish'd a Trampling (not loud) of running Feet coming very close
behind him, wherewith he was so daunted that himself set off to run,
and that he continued till the Dawn broke. Sometimes when his Breath
fail'd him, he would cast himself flat on his Face, and hope that his
Pursuers might over-run him in the Darkness, but at such a Time they
would regularly make a Pause, and he could hear them pant and snuff as
it had been a Hound at Fault: which wrought in him so extream an
Horrour of mind, that he would be forc'd to betake himself again to
turning and doubling, if by any Means he might throw them off the
Scent. And, as if this Exertion was in itself not terrible enough, he
had before him the constant Fear of falling into some Pit or Trap, of
which he had heard, and indeed seen with his own Eyes that there were
several, some at the sides and other in the Midst of the Alleys. So
that in fine (he said) a more dreadful Night was never spent by Mortal
Creature than that he had endur'd in that _Labyrinth_; and not that
Jewel which he had in his Wallet, nor the richest that was ever
brought out of the _Indies_, could be a sufficient Recompence to him
for the Pains he had suffered.

"I will spare to set down the further Recital of this Man's Troubles,
inasmuch as I am confident my Reader's Intelligence will hit the
_Parallel_ I desire to draw. For is not this Jewel a just Emblem of
the Satisfaction which a Man may bring back with him from a Course of
this World's Pleasures? and will not the _Labyrinth_ serve for an
Image of the World itself wherein such a Treasure (if we may believe
the common Voice) is stored up?"

At about this point Humphreys thought that a little Patience would be
an agreeable change, and that the writer's "improvement" of his
Parable might be left to itself. So he put the book back in its former
place, wondering as he did so whether his uncle had ever stumbled
across that passage; and if so, whether it had worked on his fancy so
much as to make him dislike the idea of a maze, and determine to shut
up the one in the garden. Not long afterwards he went to bed.

    *    *    *    *    *

The next day brought a morning's hard work with Mr. Cooper, who, if
exuberant in language, had the business of the estate at his fingers'
ends. He was very breezy this morning, Mr. Cooper was: had not
forgotten the order to clear out the maze--the work was going on at
that moment: his girl was on the tentacles of expectation about it. He
also hoped that Humphreys had slept the sleep of the just, and that we
should be favoured with a continuance of this congenial weather. At
luncheon he enlarged on the pictures in the dining-room, and pointed
out the portrait of the constructor of the temple and the maze.
Humphreys examined this with considerable interest. It was the work of
an Italian, and had been painted when old Mr. Wilson was visiting Rome
as a young man. (There was, indeed, a view of the Colosseum in the
background.) A pale thin face and large eyes were the characteristic
features. In the hand was a partially unfolded roll of paper, on
which could be distinguished the plan of a circular building, very
probably the temple, and also part of that of a labyrinth. Humphreys
got up on a chair to examine it, but it was not painted with
sufficient clearness to be worth copying. It suggested to him,
however, that he might as well make a plan of his own maze and hang it
in the hall for the use of visitors.

This determination of his was confirmed that same afternoon; for when
Mrs. and Miss Cooper arrived, eager to be inducted into the maze, he
found that he was wholly unable to lead them to the centre. The
gardeners had removed the guide-marks they had been using, and even
Clutterham, when summoned to assist, was as helpless as the rest. "The
point is, you see, Mr. Wilson--I should say 'Umphreys--these mazes is
purposely constructed so much alike, with a view to mislead. Still, if
you'll foller me, I think I can put you right. I'll just put my 'at
down 'ere as a starting-point." He stumped off, and after five minutes
brought the party safe to the hat again. "Now that's a very peculiar
thing," he said, with a sheepish laugh. "I made sure I'd left that 'at
just over against a bramble-bush, and you can see for yourself there
ain't no bramble-bush not in this walk at all. If you'll allow me, Mr.
Humphreys--that's the name, ain't it, sir?--I'll just call one of the
men in to mark the place like."

William Crack arrived, in answer to repeated shouts. He had some
difficulty in making his way to the party. First he was seen or heard
in an inside alley, then, almost at the same moment, in an outer one.
However, he joined them at last, and was first consulted without
effect and then stationed by the hat, which Clutterham still
considered it necessary to leave on the ground. In spite of this
strategy, they spent the best part of three-quarters of an hour in
quite fruitless wanderings, and Humphreys was obliged at last, seeing
how tired Mrs. Cooper was becoming, to suggest a retreat to tea, with
profuse apologies to Miss Cooper. "At any rate you've won your bet
with Miss Foster," he said; "you have been inside the maze; and I
promise you the first thing I do shall be to make a proper plan of it
with the lines marked out for you to go by." "That's what's wanted,
sir," said Clutterham, "someone to draw out a plan and keep it by
them. It might be very awkward, you see, anyone getting into that
place and a shower of rain come on, and them not able to find their
way out again; it might be hours before they could be got out, without
you'd permit of me makin' a short cut to the middle: what my meanin'
is, takin' down a couple of trees in each 'edge in a straight line so
as you could git a clear view right through. Of course that'd do away
with it as a maze, but I don't know as you'd approve of that."

"No, I won't have that done yet: I'll make a plan first, and let you
have a copy. Later on, if we find occasion, I'll think of what you
say."

Humphreys was vexed and ashamed at the fiasco of the afternoon, and
could not be satisfied without making another effort that evening to
reach the centre of the maze. His irritation was increased by finding
it without a single false step. He had thoughts of beginning his plan
at once; but the light was fading, and he felt that by the time he had
got the necessary materials together, work would be impossible.

Next morning accordingly, carrying a drawing-board, pencils,
compasses, cartridge paper, and so forth (some of which had been
borrowed from the Coopers and some found in the library cupboards), he
went to the middle of the maze (again without any hesitation), and set
out his materials. He was, however, delayed in making a start. The
brambles and weeds that had obscured the column and globe were now all
cleared away, and it was for the first time possible to see clearly
what these were like. The column was featureless, resembling those on
which sundials are usually placed. Not so the globe. I have said that
it was finely engraved with figures and inscriptions, and that on a
first glance Humphreys had taken it for a celestial globe: but he soon
found that it did not answer to his recollection of such things. One
feature seemed familiar; a winged serpent--_Draco_--encircled it about
the place which, on a terrestrial globe, is occupied by the equator:
but on the other hand, a good part of the upper hemisphere was covered
by the outspread wings of a large figure whose head was concealed by a
ring at the pole or summit of the whole. Around the place of the head
the words _princeps tenebrarum_ could be deciphered. In the lower
hemisphere there was a space hatched all over with cross-lines and
marked as _umbra mortis_. Near it was a range of mountains, and among
them a valley with flames rising from it. This was lettered (will you
be surprised to learn it?) _vallis filiorum Hinnom_. Above and below
_Draco_ were outlined various figures not unlike the pictures of the
ordinary constellations, but not the same. Thus, a nude man with a
raised club was described, not as _Hercules_ but as _Cain_. Another,
plunged up to his middle in earth and stretching out despairing arms,
was _Chore_, not _Ophiuchus_, and a third, hung by his hair to a snaky
tree, was _Absolon_. Near the last, a man in long robes and high cap,
standing in a circle and addressing two shaggy demons who hovered
outside, was described as _Hostanes magus_ (a character unfamiliar to
Humphreys). The scheme of the whole, indeed, seemed to be an
assemblage of the patriarchs of evil, perhaps not uninfluenced by a
study of Dante. Humphreys thought it an unusual exhibition of his
great-grandfather's taste, but reflected that he had probably picked
it up in Italy and had never taken the trouble to examine it closely:
certainly, had he set much store by it, he would not have exposed it
to wind and weather. He tapped the metal--it seemed hollow and not
very thick--and, turning from it, addressed himself to his plan. After
half an hour's work he found it was impossible to get on without using
a clue: so he procured a roll of twine from Clutterham, and laid it
out along the alleys from the entrance to the centre, tying the end to
the ring at the top of the globe. This expedient helped him to set out
a rough plan before luncheon, and in the afternoon he was able to draw
it in more neatly. Towards tea-time Mr. Cooper joined him, and was
much interested in his progress. "Now this----" said Mr. Cooper,
laying his hand on the globe, and then drawing it away hastily. "Whew!
Holds the heat, doesn't it, to a surprising degree, Mr. Humphreys. I
suppose this metal--copper, isn't it?--would be an insulator or
conductor, or whatever they call it."

"The sun has been pretty strong this afternoon," said Humphreys,
evading the scientific point, "but I didn't notice the globe had got
hot. No--it doesn't seem very hot to me," he added.

"Odd!" said Mr. Cooper. "Now I can't hardly bear my hand on it.
Something in the difference of temperament between us, I suppose. I
dare say you're a chilly subject, Mr. Humphreys: I'm not: and there's
where the distinction lies. All this summer I've slept, if you'll
believe me, practically _in statu quo_, and had my morning tub as cold
as I could get it. Day out and day in--let me assist you with that
string."

"It's all right, thanks; but if you'll collect some of these pencils
and things that are lying about I shall be much obliged. Now I think
we've got everything, and we might get back to the house."

They left the maze, Humphreys rolling up the clue as they went.

The night was rainy.

Most unfortunately it turned out that, whether by Cooper's fault or
not, the plan had been the one thing forgotten the evening before. As
was to be expected, it was ruined by the wet. There was nothing for it
but to begin again (the job would not be a long one this time). The
clue therefore was put in place once more and a fresh start made. But
Humphreys had not done much before an interruption came in the shape
of Calton with a telegram. His late chief in London wanted to consult
him. Only a brief interview was wanted, but the summons was urgent.
This was annoying, yet it was not really upsetting; there was a train
available in half an hour, and, unless things went very cross, he
could be back, possibly by five o'clock, certainly by eight. He gave
the plan to Calton to take to the house, but it was not worth while to
remove the clue.

All went as he had hoped. He spent a rather exciting evening in the
library, for he lighted to-night upon a cupboard where some of the
rarer books were kept. When he went up to bed he was glad to find that
the servant had remembered to leave his curtains undrawn and his
windows open. He put down his light, and went to the window which
commanded a view of the garden and the park. It was a brilliant
moonlight night. In a few weeks' time the sonorous winds of autumn
would break up all this calm. But now the distant woods were in a
deep stillness; the slopes of the lawns were shining with dew; the
colours of some of the flowers could almost be guessed. The light of
the moon just caught the cornice of the temple and the curve of its
leaden dome, and Humphreys had to own that, so seen, these conceits of
a past age have a real beauty. In short, the light, the perfume of the
woods, and the absolute quiet called up such kind old associations in
his mind that he went on ruminating them for a long, long time. As he
turned from the window he felt he had never seen anything more
complete of its sort. The one feature that struck him with a sense of
incongruity was a small Irish yew, thin and black, which stood out
like an outpost of the shrubbery, through which the maze was
approached. That, he thought, might as well be away: the wonder was
that anyone should have thought it would look well in that position.

    *    *    *    *    *

However, next morning, in the press of answering letters and going
over books with Mr. Cooper, the Irish yew was forgotten. One letter,
by the way, arrived this day which has to be mentioned. It was from
that Lady Wardrop whom Miss Cooper had mentioned, and it renewed the
application which she had addressed to Mr. Wilson. She pleaded, in the
first place, that she was about to publish a Book of Mazes, and
earnestly desired to include the plan of the Wilsthorpe Maze, and also
that it would be a great kindness if Mr. Humphreys could let her see
it (if at all) at an early date, since she would soon have to go
abroad for the winter months. Her house at Bentley was not far
distant, so Humphreys was able to send a note by hand to her
suggesting the very next day or the day after for her visit; it may be
said at once that the messenger brought back a most grateful answer,
to the effect that the morrow would suit her admirably.

The only other event of the day was that the plan of the maze was
successfully finished.

This night again was fair and brilliant and calm, and Humphreys
lingered almost as long at his window. The Irish yew came to his mind
again as he was on the point of drawing his curtains: but either he
had been misled by a shadow the night before, or else the shrub was
not really so obtrusive as he had fancied. Anyhow, he saw no reason
for interfering with it. What he _would_ do away with, however, was a
clump of dark growth which had usurped a place against the house wall,
and was threatening to obscure one of the lower range of windows. It
did not look as if it could possibly be worth keeping; he fancied it
dank and unhealthy, little as he could see of it.

Next day (it was a Friday--he had arrived at Wilsthorpe on a Monday)
Lady Wardrop came over in her car soon after luncheon. She was a stout
elderly person, very full of talk of all sorts and particularly
inclined to make herself agreeable to Humphreys, who had gratified her
very much by his ready granting of her request. They made a thorough
exploration of the place together; and Lady Wardrop's opinion of her
host obviously rose sky-high when she found that he really knew
something of gardening. She entered enthusiastically into all his
plans for improvement, but agreed that it would be a vandalism to
interfere with the characteristic laying-out of the ground near the
house. With the temple she was particularly delighted, and, said she,
"Do you know, Mr. Humphreys, I think your bailiff must be right about
those lettered blocks of stone. One of my mazes--I'm sorry to say the
stupid people have destroyed it now--it was at a place in
Hampshire--had the track marked out in that way. They were tiles
there, but lettered just like yours, and the letters, taken in the
right order, formed an inscription--what it was I forget--something
about Theseus and Ariadne. I have a copy of it, as well as the plan of
the maze where it was. How people can do such things! I shall never
forgive you if you injure _your_ maze. Do you know, they're becoming
very uncommon? Almost every year I hear of one being grubbed up. Now,
do let's get straight to it: or, if you're too busy, I know my way
there perfectly, and I'm not afraid of getting lost in it; I know too
much about mazes for that. Though I remember missing my lunch--not so
very long ago either--through getting entangled in the one at Busbury.
Well, of course, if you _can_ manage to come with me, that will be all
the nicer."

After this confident prelude justice would seem to require that Lady
Wardrop should have been hopelessly muddled by the Wilsthorpe maze.
Nothing of that kind happened: yet it is to be doubted whether she got
all the enjoyment from her new specimen that she expected. She was
interested--keenly interested--to be sure, and pointed out to
Humphreys a series of little depressions in the ground which, she
thought, marked the places of the lettered blocks. She told him, too,
what other mazes resembled his most closely in arrangement, and
explained how it was usually possible to date a maze to within twenty
years by means of its plan. This one, she already knew, must be about
as old as 1780, and its features were just what might be expected. The
globe, furthermore, completely absorbed her. It was unique in her
experience, and she pored over it for long. "I should like a rubbing
of that," she said, "if it could possibly be made. Yes, I am sure you
would be most kind about it, Mr. Humphreys, but I trust you won't
attempt it on my account, I do indeed; I shouldn't like to take any
liberties here. I have the feeling that it might be resented. Now,
confess," she went on, turning and facing Humphreys, "don't you
feel--haven't you felt ever since you came in here--that a watch is
being kept on us, and that if we over-stepped the mark in any way
there would be a--well, a pounce? No? _I_ do; and I don't care how
soon we are outside the gate.

"After all," she said, when they were once more on their way to the
house, "it may have been only the airlessness and the dull heat of
that place that pressed on my brain. Still, I'll take back one thing I
said. I'm not sure that I shan't forgive you after all, if I find next
spring that that maze has been grubbed up."

"Whether or no that's done, you shall have the plan, Lady Wardrop. I
have made one, and no later than to-night I can trace you a copy."

"Admirable: a pencil tracing will be all I want, with an indication of
the scale. I can easily have it brought into line with the rest of my
plates. Many, many thanks."

"Very well, you shall have that to-morrow. I wish you could help me to
a solution of my block-puzzle."

"What, those stones in the summer-house? That _is_ a puzzle; they are
in no sort of order? Of course not. But the men who put them down must
have had some directions--perhaps you'll find a paper about it among
your uncle's things. If not, you'll have to call in somebody who's an
expert in cyphers."

"Advise me about something else, please," said Humphreys. "That
bush-thing under the library window: you would have that away,
wouldn't you?"

"Which? That? Oh, I think not," said Lady Wardrop. "I can't see it
very well from this distance, but it's not unsightly."

"Perhaps you're right; only, looking out of my window, just above it,
last night, I thought it took up too much room. It doesn't seem to, as
one sees it from here, certainly. Very well, I'll leave it alone for a
bit."

Tea was the next business, soon after which Lady Wardrop drove off;
but, half-way down the drive, she stopped the car and beckoned to
Humphreys, who was still on the front-door steps. He ran to glean her
parting words, which were: "It just occurs to me, it might be worth
your while to look at the underside of those stones. They _must_ have
been numbered, mustn't they? _Good_-bye again. Home, please."

    *    *    *    *    *

The main occupation of this evening at any rate was settled. The
tracing of the plan for Lady Wardrop and the careful collation of it
with the original meant a couple of hours' work at least. Accordingly,
soon after nine Humphreys had his materials put out in the library and
began. It was a still, stuffy evening; windows had to stand open, and
he had more than one grisly encounter with a bat. These unnerving
episodes made him keep the tail of his eye on the window. Once or
twice it was a question whether there was--not a bat, but something
more considerable--that had a mind to join him. How unpleasant it
would be if someone had slipped noiselessly over the sill and was
crouching on the floor!

The tracing of the plan was done: it remained to compare it with the
original, and to see whether any paths had been wrongly closed or left
open. With one finger on each paper, he traced out the course that
must be followed from the entrance. There were one or two slight
mistakes, but here, near the centre, was a bad confusion, probably due
to the entry of the Second or Third Bar. Before correcting the copy he
followed out carefully the last turnings of the path on the original.
These, at least, were right; they led without a hitch to the middle
space. Here was a feature which need not be repeated on the copy--an
ugly black spot about the size of a shilling. Ink? No. It resembled a
hole, but how should a hole be there? He stared at it with tired eyes:
the work of tracing had been very laborious, and he was drowsy and
oppressed. . . . But surely this was a very odd hole. It seemed to go
not only through the paper, but through the table on which it lay.
Yes, and through the floor below that, down, and still down, even into
infinite depths. He craned over it, utterly bewildered. Just as, when
you were a child, you may have pored over a square inch of counterpane
until it became a landscape with wooded hills, and perhaps even
churches and houses, and you lost all thought of the true size of
yourself and it, so this hole seemed to Humphreys for the moment the
only thing in the world. For some reason it was hateful to him from
the first, but he had gazed at it for some moments before any feeling
of anxiety came upon him; and then it did come, stronger and
stronger--a horror lest something might emerge from it, and a really
agonizing conviction that a terror was on its way, from the sight of
which he would not be able to escape. Oh yes, far, far down there was
a movement, and the movement was upwards--towards the surface. Nearer
and nearer it came, and it was of a blackish-grey colour with more
than one dark hole. It took shape as a face--a human face--a _burnt_
human face: and with the odious writhings of a wasp creeping out of a
rotten apple there clambered forth an appearance of a form, waving
black arms prepared to clasp the head that was bending over them. With
a convulsion of despair Humphreys threw himself back, struck his head
against a hanging lamp, and fell.

There was concussion of the brain, shock to the system, and a long
confinement to bed. The doctor was badly puzzled, not by the symptoms,
but by a request which Humphreys made to him as soon as he was able to
say anything. "I wish you would open the ball in the maze." "Hardly
room enough there, I should have thought," was the best answer he
could summon up; "but it's more in your way than mine; my dancing days
are over." At which Humphreys muttered and turned over to sleep, and
the doctor intimated to the nurses that the patient was not out of the
wood yet. When he was better able to express his views, Humphreys made
his meaning clear, and received a promise that the thing should be
done at once. He was so anxious to learn the result that the doctor,
who seemed a little pensive next morning, saw that more harm than good
would be done by saving up his report. "Well," he said, "I am afraid
the ball is done for; the metal must have worn thin, I suppose.
Anyhow, it went all to bits with the first blow of the chisel." "Well?
go on, do!" said Humphreys impatiently. "Oh! you want to know what we
found in it, of course. Well, it was half full of stuff like ashes."
"Ashes? What did you make of them?" "I haven't thoroughly examined
them yet; there's hardly been time: but Cooper's made up his mind--I
dare say from something I said--that it's a case of cremation. . . .
Now don't excite yourself, my good sir: yes, I must allow I think he's
probably right."

    *    *    *    *    *

The maze is gone, and Lady Wardrop has forgiven Humphreys; in fact, I
believe he married her niece. She was right, too, in her conjecture
that the stones in the temple were numbered. There had been a numeral
painted on the bottom of each. Some few of these had rubbed off, but
enough remained to enable Humphreys to reconstruct the inscription. It
ran thus:

    "Penetrans ad interiora mortis."

Grateful as Humphreys was to the memory of his uncle, he could not
quite forgive him for having burnt the journals and letters of the
James Wilson who had gifted Wilsthorpe with the maze and the temple.
As to the circumstances of that ancestor's death and burial no
tradition survived; but his will, which was almost the only record of
him accessible, assigned an unusually generous legacy to a servant who
bore an Italian name.

Mr. Cooper's view is that, humanly speaking, all these many solemn
events have a meaning for us, if our limited intelligence permitted of
our disintegrating it, while Mr. Calton has been reminded of an aunt
now gone from us, who, about the year 1866, had been lost for upwards
of an hour and a half in the maze at Covent Gardens, or it might be
Hampton Court.

One of the oddest things in the whole series of transactions is that
the book which contained the Parable has entirely disappeared.
Humphreys has never been able to find it since he copied out the
passage to send to Lady Wardrop.




[End of _Mr. Humphreys and his Inheritance_ by M. R. James]
