Black Ram
I do not know when I had spent a more pleasant evening, or had enjoyed a dinner more than that at Mr. Weatherwood's hospitable house. For one thing, the hostess knew how to keep her guests interested and in good-humour. The dinner was all that could be desired, and so were the wines. But what conduced above all to my pleasure was that at table I sat by Miss Fulton, a bright, intelligent girl, well read and entertaining. My wife had a cold, and had sent her excuses by me. Miss Fulton and I talked of this, that, and every thing. Towards the end of dinner she said: “I shall be obliged to run away so soon as the ladies leave the room to you and your cigarettes and gossip. It is rather mean, but Mrs. Weatherwood has been forewarned, and understands. Tomorrow is our village feast at Marksleigh, and I have a host of things on my hand. I shall have to be up at seven, and I do object to cut a slice off my night's rest at both ends.”
“Rather an unusual time of the year for a village feast,” said I. “These things are generally got over in the summer.”
“You see, our church is dedicated to St. Mark, and tomorrow is his festival, and it has been observed in one fashion or another in our parish from time immemorial. In your parts have they any notions about St. Mark's eve?”
“What sort of notions?”
“That if you sit in the church porch from midnight till the clock strikes one, you will see the apparitions pass before you of those destined to die within the year.”
“I fancy our good people see themselves, and nothing but themselves, on every day and hour throughout the twelvemonth.”
“Joking apart, have you any such superstition hanging on in your neighbourhood?”
“Not that I am aware of. That sort of thing belonged to the Golden Age that has passed away. Board schools have reduced us to that of lead.”
“At Marksleigh the villagers believe in it, and recently their faith has received corroboration.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Last year, in a fit of bravado, a young carpenter ventured to sit in the porch at the witching hour, and saw himself enter the church. He came home, looking as blank as a sheet, moped, lost flesh, and died nine months later.”
“Of course he died, if he had made up his mind to do so.”
“Yes—that is explicable. But how do you account for his having seen his double?”
“He had been drinking at the public-house. A good many people see double after that.”
“It was not so. He was perfectly sober at the time.”
“Then I give it up.”
“Would you venture on a visit to a church porch on this night—St. Mark's eve?”
“Certainly I would, if well wrapped up, and I had my pipe.”
“I bar the pipe,” said Miss Fulton. “No apparition can stand tobacco smoke. But there is Lady Eastleigh rising. When you come to rejoin the ladies, I shall be gone.”
I did not leave the house of the Weatherwoods till late. My dogcart was driven by my groom, Richard. The night was cold, or rather chilly, but I had my fur-lined overcoat, and did not mind that. The stars shone out of a frosty sky. All went smoothly enough till the road dipped into a valley, where a dense white fog hung over the river and the water-meadows. Anyone who has
had much experience in driving at night is aware that in such a case the carriage lamps are worse than useless; they bewilder the horse and the driver. I cannot blame Dick if he ran his wheel over a heap of stones that upset the trap. We were both thrown out, and I fell on my head. I sang out: “Mind the cob, Dick; I am all right.”
The boy at once mastered the horse. I did not rise immediately, for I had been somewhat jarred by the fall; when I did I found Dick engaged in mending a ruptured trace. One of the shafts was broken, and a carriage lamp had been shattered.
“Dick,” said I, “there are a couple of steep hills to descend, and that is risky with a single shaft. I will lighten the dogcart by walking home, and do you take care at the hills.”
“I think we can manage, sir.”
“I should prefer to walk the rest of the way. I am rather shaken by my fall, and a good step out in the cool night will do more to put me to rights than anything else. When you get home, send up a message to your mistress that she is not to expect me at once. I shall arrive in due time, and she is not to be alarmed.”
“It's a good trudge before you, sir. And I dare say we could get the shaft tied up at Fifewell.”