vant informed
me he had been suddenly called away to the Isle of Portland, in
Dorsetshire, where Mr. Penn was erecting a castle. She also apologized
for Mrs. Osborne's inability to receive company, in consequence of "a
particular circumstance," which circumstance she blushingly
acknowledged was the birth of a fine boy the night before. There was
no resource, therefore, but to walk down either to Stoke Green, or to
Salt-Hill, where there are two well-known taverns. Before proceeding,
however, the church-yard, almost of necessity, must be visited; and
although in a direct line, it was not far from Mr. Osborne's house, a
considerable circuit had to be made to get into the inclosure. The
evening was particularly still--you could have heard a leaf fall; the
twilight was just setting in, and a haze, or fog, coming on, but the
spot was soon reached; and whilst kneeling, engaged, like Old
Mortality, in plucking some weeds and long grass, which had sprung up
about _the_ tomb since the last visit, a slight sound--a very gentle
rustle--struck the ear. I supposed it to be the ivy on the
church-wall, but the next instant it was followed by a movement--something
very near was certainly approaching. On looking up, it is impossible
to describe with what mixed feelings of astonishment, apprehension,
and awe, I beheld coming from a corner of the church-yard, (where
there was no ingress through the brick wall,) and directly toward the
spot where I knelt, the figure of a tall, majestic lady, dressed in a
black velvet pelisse, black velvet hat, surmounted by a plume of black
ostrich feathers. She was stepping slowly toward me, over the graves.
It would be useless to deny that fear fixed me to the spot on
beholding the expression of her very serious face, and her eyes firmly
fixed on mine.

Appalled by her sudden appearance, it seemed as if she had just risen
from the grave, dressed in a funeral pall; for I was facing toward
that corner of the enclosure from which she was coming, and feeling
certain no human being was there one minute before, I was breathless
with apprehension, and glad to rest one arm on the tomb-stone until
she came close up to me.

[Illustration: In the Grave-yard--P. Balmanno]

With a graceful inclination of the head, she addressed me.

"Mr. B----, I believe?"

"Yes, madam, that is my name."

"And you came down to visit Mr. Osborne, who has been called away to
Portland."

I breathed more freely as I admitted it