Ladies’ Edinburgh Magazine > Volume 5

88 77/1? Ladies Edinburgh Magazine.
to the communion table, when hark! what awful sound
does he hear just beneath his feet! ' Thud, thud, thud !'
He starts back in fear and amazement, for it is that same
great stone which covers the Trellan vault from which the
sounds issue. With shrieks of ' The ghost! the ghost!' the
women rush out of the building, while the men stop at the
door, gathering close together for safety. The vicar, having
somewhat recovered his presence of mind, joins them, and
now he is assailed with eager questions as to whether they
may not open the vault at once; but to this the vicar will
not for a moment listen,—to disturb the dead and to profane
the Sabbath at the same time would be a double sin, and
could bring about no good result. The sexton, a somewhat
privileged individual who was often allowed to have his say,
remarked that' the corpses had begun it,' he thought; ' what
right had they to be a rapping out like that on the Sabbath,
disturbing decent folks at their prayers!' However, as the
vicar is not to be moved, they leave the church in possession
of the ghost for the day, for any more services are not to be
thought of.
The morrow's examination does not explain matters, and
only leaves a firmer and more awful impression that Sir
Ilichard's sinful, restless spirit it is that haunts the resting-
place of his ancestors; his coffin, notwithstanding the sexton's
care, is again at the top of the others, and all have apparently
been upset and disordered as before. ' He's in too tight to
get out, though he manages to knock at the door,' said the
old man ; ' let's put him at the bottom again, mates.' So the
houses of the dead are once more piled up neatly, and the
vault is secured. Many aud long are the cogitations of
the vicar over every possible cause of the repetition of the
mystery, but he can make nothing of it, and in time gives up
attempting to solve the problem.
The little church is nearly three years older when we see
it again. Winter storms are beating down on the coast, and
Trellan is coming in for its usual large share of wind and
water. It is Sunday morning once more, and the inhabitants,
who have not yet become afraid of bad weather, battle their
way down to their little church. The bell at last ceases to
raise its voice against the roar of the waves and the howling
of the wind, and the people settle themselves in their seats
for the morning service; the vicar enters the reading-desk
and opens his book, but there will be no service to-day; for
what sound is that which reaches the ears of all in spite of
the tempest without ?