t `Now or niver' for every wan of ye--so ye may putt it in yer pipes
an' smoke it, an' those of ye who haven't got pipes can make a quid of
it an' chaw it, or subject it to meditation. `Now or niver!' Think o'
that! You see I'm partikler about it, for the whole story turns on that
pint, as the ghost's life depended on it, but ye'll see an' onderstan'
better whin I come to the end o' the story."

Paddy said this so earnestly that it had the double effect of chaining
the attention of his hearers and sending a flash of light into Tom
Brixton's brain.

"Now or never!" he muttered to himself, and turned gently on his side so
as to be able to feel the cord that bound his wrists. It was still
tight, but, by moving his fingers, he could feel that one of its coils
had really been cut, and that with a little patience and exertion he
might possibly free his hands.

Slight as the motion was, however, Gashford observed it, for the
fire-light shone brightly on Tom's recumbent figure.

"Lie still, there!" he cried, sternly.

Tom lay perfectly still, and the Irishman continued his story. It grew
in mystery and in horror as he proceeded, and his audience became
entranced, while some of the more superstitious among them cast
occasional glances over their shoulders into the forest behind, which
ere long was steeped in the blackness of an unusually dark night. A few
of those outside the circle rose and drew nearer to the story-teller.

At that moment a gleam of light which had already entered Brixton's
brain flashed into that of Fred Westly, who arose, and, under pretext of
being too far off from the speaker, went round to the opposite side of
the fire so as to face him. By so doing he placed himself between the
fire and his friend Tom. Two or three of the others followed his
example, though not from the same motive, and thus, when the fire burnt
low, the prisoner found himself lying in deep shadow. By that time he
had freed his benumbed hands, chafed them into a condition of vitality,
and was considering whether he should endeavour to creep quietly away or
spring up and make a dash for life.

"`Now or niver,' said the ghost, in a solemn muffled vice," continued
Paddy--

"Who did he say that to?" asked Gashford, who was by that time as much
fascinated as the rest of the party.

"To the thief, sor, av coorse, who was standin' tremblin' fornint him,
while the sexton was diggin' the grave to putt him in alive--in the dark