reat church; they only
made darkness wisible. I began to feel all over a cur'ous sort o'
peculiar unaccountableness, which it ain't easy to explain, but is most
oncommon disagreeable to feel. It wos very still, too--desperate still.
The beatin' o' my own heart sounded quite loud, and I heer'd the
tickin' o' my watch goin' like the click of a church clock. Oh, it was
awful!"

At this point in the story the men crept closer together, and listened
with intense earnestness.

"Suddently," continued Rokens--"for things in sich circumstances always
comes suddently--suddently I seed somethin' black jump up right ahead o'
me."

Here Rokens paused.

"Wot was it?" inquired Gurney, in a solemn whisper.

"It was," resumed Rokens slowly, "the stump of a old tree."

"Oh, I thought it had been the ghost," said Gurney, somewhat relieved,
for that fat little Jack-tar fully believed in apparitions, and always
listened to a ghost story in fear and trembling.

"No it wasn't the ghost; it was the stump of a tree. Well, I set sail
again, an' presently I sees a great white thing risin' up ahead o' me."

"Hah! _that_ was it," whispered Gurney.

"No, that wasn't it," retorted Rokens; "that was a hinn, a white-painted
hinn, as stood by the roadside, and right glad wos I to see it, I can
tell ye, shipmates, for I wos gittin' tired as well as frightened. I
soon roused the landlord by kickin' at the door till it nearly comed off
its hinges; and arter gettin' another glass o' grog, I axed the landlord
to show me my bunk, as I wanted to turn in.

"It was a queer old house that hinn wos. A great ramblin' place, with
no end o' staircases and passages. A dreadful gloomy sort o' place. No
one lived in it except the landlord, a dark-faced surly fellow as one
would like to kick out of his own door, and his wife, who wos little
better than his-self. They also had a hostler, but he slept with the
cattle in a hout-house.

"`Ye won't be fear'd,' says the landlord, as he hove ahead through the
long passages holdin' the candle high above his head to show the way,
`to sleep in the far end o' the house. It's the old bit; the new bit's
undergoin' repairs. You'll find it comfortable enough, though it's
raither gusty, bein' old, ye see; but the weather ain't cold, so ye
won't mind it.'

"`Oh! niver a bit,' says I, quite bold like; `I don't care a rap for
nothin'. There ain't no ghosts, is there?'

"`Well, I'm not sure; many travellers wot