CHAPTER I.-THE LADY IN BLACK.

“MR.

R. WHARTON is took with an appleplexy, sir-leastways that's wot Dr. White tellt me as I run agin him a-cummin' out of the house! I heerd tell as they was brewin' of cider yesterday, which may account for the maggot in the cheese, as the sayin' is. Lordsakes, sez I, wot's to be done? Oh,' sez he, 'go to Mr. Markham's; I'll be up at the Rectory directly.' No disrespect to you, sir, but I didn't see as he had answered my question, for though you was a-preachin' only t'other Sunday as the age of mirricles warn't past, we're born mirricles, you said; yet, thinks I, how a born orginist is to grow in such a jiffy beats me-least ways, such a one as Castleton would put up with, so I 'peats the question to you, sirWot's to be done?"

Fairly blown with the rapidity of his utterance and the unwonted celerity of his movements, the speaker came to an abrupt halt, leaving the Rector nearly as breathless as himself. Never since his assumption of the important position of verger, when he had unwittingly begun to study deportment, had the worthy man moved without the consciousness of his robe of office weighing on his shoulders and flapping about his legs, imparting a slow and dignified motion to his carriage; now, heated with exertion, he mopped his forehead, dishevelling the scattered hairs, which he allowed to grow long and so arranged as to resemble trellis work over a terra-cotta frontage, and gazed at his Rector with the air of an epitomised Pandora's box. Every evil to which flesh is heir tugged at the corners of his mouth and bagged his cheeks, while from the depths of his lack-lustre eyes a gleam of hope shot upward; but when he saw the dismayed look on Mr. Markham's face, that even died out, and shaking his head with mournful emphasis he murmured, with the aggravating persistency of Poe's raven-"Wot's to be done now?" and with this expiring croak, subsided into despair.

"You are quite sure Mr. Wharton is as bad as you make out, Collett?" asked the Rector encouragingly; but Collett was not to be dragged out of the slough of despond.

"A bad case, sir--a werry bad case, and" -with certain mysterious emphasis-" the beastesses have spoke. My wife 'll tell you

how I remarked last night, 'They owls in the belfry are ootin' oncommon, Lisar;' and then I had to go out and heave a stone at Barlow's dog wot was a-howlin' at the mune just orful. I knowed summat was goin' wrong."

The furrow in Mr. Markham's brow smoothed itself out; the verger's cadaverous appearance tickled his sense of the ludicrous, it was with difficulty he repressed a smile as he replied

"Old wives' fables, Collett, which will not help much towards the answering of your question." Putting his hands behind his back he rested them on his strong oak staff while he pondered. "There's Manser, of Betterton, some of whose men are coming; he would no doubt oblige us. We should, of course, have to omit some part of the programme.

If Collett's lips had never developed a sneer, they forthwith made a not unsuccessful attempt in that line, and putting up his shoulders, he folded his hands across the pit of his stomach, threw up his eyes in the attitude of a medieval saint, that is always more suggestive of dyspepsia than of piety, and remarked, as if apologising for the Rector's paucity of ideas

"I don't say but it's Hobson's choice; but he ain't no great shakes, as far as I've heerd.”

"We must make up by heartiness for any lack of harmony, and since I don't suppose you can improve upon my suggestion, the best thing for me to do is to consult my wife."

Collett's face brightened.

"You can't do better nor that. Why didn't we think of it sooner? The little missus will find something better than Manser, I'll lay, even if she hev to play hersel'. There's nothing she puts her mind to she can't do; she's a mirricle, if hever there was one."

Collett lost his physical likeness to a medieval saint, and became a modern Don Quixote, ready to tilt at windmills for his Dulcinea, while retaining some spiritual resemblance by his faith, which could remove mountains, losing sight, as he had done, of the fact that Mrs. Markham had never touched an organ in her life. The Rector, to whom his wife, if not a miracle, was a veritable gift from God, had, however, scarcely taken a step in search of her when, emerging from the shadow of a large monument near

which he had been standing, a lady in deep mourning advanced with the evident intention of accosting him. Visitors were not rarely to be met with in Castleton churchyard intent on archæological or architectural research, their fads receiving courteous attention, though not servile acceptance from the Rector; but it must be confessed at this mal-à-propos interruption, as he deemed it, he gave a mental exclamation of impatience, repenting himself humbly thereof, as the tenor of the stranger's words and the appealing softness and melody of her voice made him aware that for once Providence was not going to be represented by Mrs. Markham. Her manner was a little shy, yet sweetly self-possessed; her face, concealed by a thick crêpe veil, made it difficult to judge of her age and appearance; but of this the Rector took small heed, so lost was he in astonishment as she said

"I must apologize for being unintentionally an eaves-dropper. Did I hear rightly that you are in need of an organist for some special occasion? May I-I should be very glad to be of use; I have studied the instrument for some years.'

Mr. Markham involuntarily looked up to see if she were a metamorphosed lark or some celestial visitant, but finding the theory untenable, he docketed her in his list of special Providences and recovered his presence of mind.

"My dear madam, how can I thank you for suggesting such an escape from my dilemma?-but on such short notice-we shall require your services to-morrow."

She, thinking that he doubted her capacity, interrupted him, faintly smiling. "May I play to you, to assure you I have not overestimated my powers? Forgive my apparent conceit, but I really think I should give satisfaction;" then with an indication of nervousness, as if fearing to take too much upon herself, she continued: "If I might suggest it, could you collect some of the members of your choir that we might rehearse together, so as to come to a better understanding?" "Collett!"

The verger, whose curiosity had led him to remain an open-mouthed observer of this evident fulfilment of the Rector's miracle doctrine, started guiltily, for Mr. Markham, under the impression that he was much farther off, spoke in an unusually loud and peremptory tone.

"Beg pardon, sir; I'm here, sir," as if aroused from his absorption in divesting a tombstone of superfluous moss.

"Oh, to be sure-well, run as fast as you can." Such a command given an hour previously would have seemed to Collett a personal insult, had not his desire to keep pace with this new and surprising event sent him off with an unusual amount of mercury in his leaden shoes. The Rector's orders had almost to be shouted after the retreating figure. "Go to Mr. Wharton's for the keys of the organ; tell his wife I will be with her shortly; on your way back, stop at the schoolmaster's for the music scores and ask him to send as many of his boys as he can; and if the men can be found and spared, tell them I should like their attendance in the church as soon as possible." Then with a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes Mr. Markham turned again to his companion, who seemed unable to tear herself away from the contemplation of a marble statue on a massive granite pedestal. The Rector's face saddened. "That is the memorial to the late Lady Maxwell, raised by her son, the present baronet. You notice it looks up an avenue in the Castlemount grounds and can be seen from one of the turrets." I could not

"It is a very lovely face. help thinking it embodied the soul. Faint, yet pursuing,' the body is nearly spent, but the soul is ever reaching upward."

"And it is satisfied now." Very reverently the Rector spoke, raising his hat slightly; then, after a momentary pause, "Her life was a sad one, for she was unequally yoked; and the circumstances that attended her death so embittered her son that he took a dislike to the place and rarely visits it-only once in fact since his father was killed by an accident some six years ago. We lost a dear friend in Lady Maxwell, but her place is partially filled by her cousin, Miss Dallas, an elderly lady, a delightful good woman, who occupies the turret chambers overlooking this spot. But now I must explain why the illness of our organist should throw us so much out of joint, especially for a week-day service. Shall we stroll round the churchyard till Collett returns?"

The Rector's kindly manner and strong reliable face had set the stranger quite at her ease, and she listened with evident pleasure as he touched upon various points that he thought might interest her.

"I must premise that we of Castleton are very proud of our old church, and flatter ourselves that as to music we are a good deal above the average; we have a very fine organ, the gift of Sir Bernard Maxwell, who, when quite a little lad, led our choir boys,