and shaking their heads--he
climbed to his box as though the time had come for proceeding on our
journey.

I felt a little obstinate and did not at once get into the carriage.

'Tell me,' I said, 'about this place where the road leads,' and I
pointed down.

Again he crossed himself and mumbled a prayer, before he answered, 'It
is unholy.'

'What is unholy?' I enquired.

'The village.'

'Then there is a village?'

'No, no. No one lives there hundreds of years.' My curiosity was
piqued, 'But you said there was a village.'

'There was.'

'Where is it now?'

Whereupon he burst out into a long story in German and English, so
mixed up that I could not quite understand exactly what he said, but
roughly I gathered that long ago, hundreds of years, men had died
there and been buried in their graves; and sounds were heard under the
clay, and when the graves were opened, men and women were found rosy
with life, and their mouths red with blood. And so, in haste to save
their lives (aye, and their souls!--and here he crossed himself) those
who were left fled away to other places, where the living lived, and
the dead were dead and not--not something. He was evidently afraid to
speak the last words. As he proceeded with his narration, he grew more
and more excited. It seemed as if his imagination had got hold of him,
and he ended in a perfect paroxysm of fear--white-faced, perspiring,
trembling and looking round him, as if expecting that some dreadful
presence would manifest itself there in the bright sunshine on the
open plain. Finally, in an agony of desperation, he cried:

'Walpurgis nacht!' and pointed to the carriage for me to get in. All
my English blood rose at this, and, standing back, I said:

'You are afraid, Johann--you are afraid. Go home; I shall return
alone; the walk will do me good.' The carriage door was open. I took
from the seat my oak walking-stick--which I always carry on my holiday
excursions--and closed the door, pointing back to Munich, and said,
'Go home, Johann--Walpurgis-nacht doesn't concern Englishmen.'

The horses were now more restive than ever, and Johann was trying to
hold them in, while excitedly imploring me not to do anything so
foolish. I pitied the poor fellow, he was deeply in earnest; but all
the same I could not help laughing. His English was quite gone now. In
his anxiety he had forgotten that his only means of making me
understand was to talk my language, so he jabbered away