A Ghost! And a Real One

Te Aroha News, Volume IV, Issue 194, 12 March 1887, Page 2 (Supplement)

A Ghost! And a Real One

Tsb; following atqry was told by Mr Butler,, o! London, to Lady Blomfield. Mr Butler, nuh'n a Doy at Harrbw, contracted a most intimate friendship with another lad. They worked, they walked, they played together j and in order still more solemnly to emphasise their friendship, they one day cut a hole each in. the other's arm, and signed a paper each in the other's blood, binding the one that died first to appear to the survivor in person at the moment of his deoease. After leavine Harrow, however, the lads saw but little of each other. Their lives lay far apart } the friend went out to India, Mr Butler to college, and then to the English bar. An eager correspondent was maintained at first, but as years rolled on it slackened, and the friendship gradually died away, as boyish friendships will. One wintry diy, Mr Butler, oppressed by business, worried and overworked, felt the necessity for a breath of country air, and, cold as it was, determined to run down to that comfortable little inn, the Wheatsheaf (by Virginia Water). That evening he was sitting in the parlour, the better to enjoy his pipe, when he was startled by the face of a man looking in at the window. He did not ,know the face, and yet it seemed to have a mysterious attraction for him. He fob up presently under pretence of relighting the pipe, and passed before the window to examine the face more closely. It reminded him of something, he kpew not what —of someone. Ye&, it ruddenly flashed across his mind, that, was the face, not of the boy he had known so well, but of a man such as that boy might have grown into, such as he probably would be now (though Mr Butler had not seen him for years). Disturbed by this sudden re-awakening of old recollections, Mr Butler epoke to the landlord. " There's a man looking into the window," said he. •' Impossible, sir," was the reply. "That window only looks into the court, and the gate of that was shut aa hour ago." The face had disappeared : Mr Butler, unsatisfied, resumed his seat, but could not rest— a strange haunliog sense of uneasiness took possession of him ; once more he rose to his feet. "It is stifling in here," he said. " I must go out ; I cannot breathe." "You had better not, sir," said the landlord, as ho opened the door ; ** there's a keen east wind blowing, and you'll catch your death of cold." Now, the Wheatsheaf is close to the lake, and Mr Butler, stepping over the threshold, etood looking out across the water. A dark and gloomy night— and as he gazed tho darkness seemed to grow and gather itself together, deepening into a sort of focus, which appeared to him like the mouth of the tunnel, and as he watched there came out of the tunnel a train, all brilliantly lighted from within by lamps, and as the train approached he caw in the centre carriage two men engaged in a mortal struggle. One had the other by the throat, and was forcing him backwaid toward the window. The man thus attacked was resisting with all his might, when suddenly the door of the carriage "flew open, and he was hurled violently to the ground, falling at Mr Butler's feet. Then, bending over the man, Mr Butler looked into his face, and, behold ! it was the same face he had seen gazing in at the window, and which had affected him so strangely only a few moments before ! And again, even as he looked, the face had melted into air, the lighted train, the tunnel, the body of the victim, all had disappeared, and he stood alone there by the water's edge, in the deep, dark, wintry night. With a cry of horror he staggered back into the house, and in answer to the landlord's anxious inquiries, said: " I am ill — evidently in a high state of fever — delirious. It won't do for me to be laid up here. I must co back to town as fafct I can." And, late as it was, ho wont off" to the station, and back by the last train to London. The next morning Mr Butler awoke, somewhat refreshed by hte excursion, in epito of the unpleasant association connected therewith. Uo found awaiting him eoino interesting work, into which he plunged, and ihe incidents of the papfc night were forgotten. Two days later, however, they were recalled to his recollection, when, walking in Piccadily, he caw on tho other eide of the way a gentleman whom ho had known slightly in former days as being the brother of his schoolboy friond. Mr Butler crossed over to him afc onco. "What nows of Arthur?" he inquired "Bad nows," eaid the other, gravely. "Dead?" said Mr Butler. A melancholy shake of the head was the only reply. "Killed? thrown out of a railway train?" continued he, excitedly. "Too true," returned the brother, regarding him with undisguised aßtonishment, " But how on earth did you know ? Wo only received the telegram from India this morning !"