broken-heartedness. I have
heard human grief expressed in many forms, but I never heard or imagined
anything so desolate, so surcharged with the despair of an eternal woe.
It was, indeed, too hopeless for sympathy. It was the utterance of a
sorrow which removed its possessor into some dark, lonely world girdled
with iron walls, against which every throb of a helping or consoling
heart would beat in vain for admittance. So far from being moved or
softened, the words left upon me an impression of stolid apathy. When
they had ceased, I heard another sigh,--and some time afterwards,
far-off, retreating forlornly through the eastern darkness, the wailing
repetition,--"I was married, in the sight of God, to Eber Nicholson.
Have mercy, O Lord!"

This was the last of those midnight marvels. Nothing further disturbed
the night except the steady sound of the wind. The more I thought of
what I had heard, the more I was convinced that the phenomena were
connected, in some way, with the history of my host. I had heard his
wife call him "Ebe," and did not doubt that he was the Eber Nicholson
who, for some mysterious crime, was haunted by the reproachful ghost.
Could murder, or worse than murder, lurk behind these visitations? It
was useless to conjecture; yet, before giving myself up to sleep, I
determined to know everything that could be known, before leaving the
shanty.

My rest was disturbed: my hip-bones pressed unpleasantly on the hard
bench; and every now and then I awoke with a start, hearing the
same despairing voice in my dreams. The place was always quiet,
nevertheless,--the disturbances having ceased, as nearly as I could
judge, about one o'clock in the morning. Finally, from sheer weariness,
I fell into a deep slumber, which lasted until daylight. The sound of
pans and kettles aroused me. The woman, in her lank blue gown, was
bending over the fire; the man and boy had already gone out. As I rose,
rubbing my eyes and shaking myself, to find out exactly where and who
I was, the woman straightened herself and looked at me with a keen,
questioning gaze, but said nothing.

"I must have been very sound asleep," said I.

"There's no sound sleepin' here. Don't tell me that."

"Well," I answered, "your shanty is rather noisy; but, as I'm neither
scared nor hurt, there's no harm done. But have you never found out what
occasions the noise?"

Her reply was a toss of the head and a peculiar snorting interjection,
"Hngh!" (impo