pilgrimage　to　the　East；　but　late　events　had　sobered　and　altered
  me。　That　yearning；　unsatisfied　feeling　which　we　call
  〃homesickness〃　began　to　prey　upon　my　heart；　and　I　resolved　to
  return　to　England。
  I　went　back　by　way　of　Paris；　having　settled　with　the　priest　that
  he　should　write　to　me　at　my　banker's　there　as　soon　as　he　could
  after　Alfred　had　returned　to　Wincot。　If　I　had　gone　to　the　East；
  the　letter　would　have　been　forwarded　to　me。　I　wrote　to　prevent
  this；　and；　on　my　arrival　at　Paris；　stopped　at　the　banker's　before
  I　went　to　my　hotel。
  The　moment　the　letter　was　put　into　my　hands；　the　black　border　on
  the　envelope　told　me　the　worst。　He　was　dead。
  There　was　but　one　consolationhe　had　died　calmly；　almost
  happily；　without　once　referring　to　those　fatal　chances　which　had
  wrought　the　fulfillment　of　the　ancient　prophecy。　〃My　beloved
  pupil；〃　the　old　priest　wrote；　〃seemed　to　rally　a　little　the　first
  few　days　after　his　return；　but　he　gained　no　real　strength；　and
  soon　suffered　a　slight　relapse　of　fever。　After　this　he　sank
  gradually　and　gently　day　by　day；　and　so　departed　from　us　on　the
  last　dread　journey。　Miss　Elmslie　（who　knows　that　I　am　writing
  this）　desires　me　to　express　her　deep　and　lasting　gratitude　for
  all　your　kindness　to　Alfred。　She　told　me　when　we　brought　him　back
  that　she　had　waited　for　him　as　his　promised　wife；　and　that　she
  would　nurse　him　now　as　a　wife　should；　and　she　never　left　him。　his
  face　was　turned　toward　her；　his　hand　was　clasped　in　hers　when　he
  died。　It　will　console　you　to　know　that　he　never　mentioned　events
  at　Naples；　or　the　shipwreck　that　followed　them；　from　the　day　of
  his　return　to　the　day　of　his　death。〃
  Three　days　after　reading　the　letter　I　was　at　Wincot；　and　heard
  all　the　details　of　Alfred's　last　moments　from　the　priest。　I　felt
  a　shock　which　it　would　not　be　very　easy　for　me　to　analyze　or
  explain　when　I　heard　that　he　had　been　buried；　at　his　own　desire；
  in　the　fatal　Abbey　vault。
  The　priest　took　me　down　to　see　the　placea　grim；　cold；
  subterranean　building；　with　a　low　roof；　supported　on　heavy　Saxon
  arches。　Narrow　niches；　with　the　ends　only　of　coffins　visible
  within　them；　ran　down　each　side　of　the　vault。　The　nails　and
  silver　ornaments　flashed　here　and　there　as　my　companion　moved
  past　them　with　a　lamp　in　his　hand。　At　the　lower　end　of　the　place
  he　stopped；　pointed　to　a　niche；　and　said；　〃He　lies　there；　between
  his　father　and　mother。〃　I　looked　a　little　further　on；　and　saw
  what　appeared　at　first　like　a　long　dark　tunnel。　〃That　is　only　an
  empty　niche；〃　said　the　priest；　following　me。　〃If　the　body　of　Mr。
  Stephen　Monkton　had　been　brought　to　Wincot；　his　coffin　would　have
  been　placed　there。〃
  A　chill　came　over　me；　and　a　sense　of　dread　which　I　am　ashamed　of
  having　felt　now；　but　which　I　could　not　combat　then。　The　blessed
  light　of　day　was　pouring　down　gayly　at　the　other　end　of　the　vault
  through　the　open　door。　I　turned　my　back　on　the　empty　niche；　and
  hurried　into　the　sunlight　and　the　fresh　air。
  As　I　walked　across　the　grass　glade　leading　down　to　the　vault；　I
  heard　the　rustle　of　a　woman's　dress　behind　me；　and　turning　round；
  saw　a　young　lady　advancing；　clad　in　deep　mourning。　Her　sweet；　sad
  face；　her　manner　as　she　held　out　her　hand；　told　me　who　it　was　in
  an　instant。
  〃I　heard　that　you　were　here；〃　she　said；　〃and　I　wished〃　Her
  voice　faltered　a　little。　My　heart　ached　as　I　saw　how　her　lip
  trembled；　but　before　I　could　say　anything　she　recovered　herself
  and　went　on：　〃I　wished　to　take　your　hand；　and　thank　you　for　your
  brotherly　kindness　to　Alfred；　and　I　wanted　to　tell　you　that　I　am
  sure　in　all　you　did　you　acted　tenderly　and　considerately　for　the
  best。　Perhaps　you　may　be　soon　going　away　from　home　again；　and　we
  may　not　meet　any　more。　I　shall　never；　never　forget　that　you　were
  kind　to　him　when　he　wanted　a　friend；　and　that　you　have　the
  greatest　claim　of　any　one　on　earth　to　be　gratefully　remembered　in
  my　thoughts　as　long　as　I　live。〃
  The　inexpressible　tenderness　of　her　voice；　trembling　a　little　all
  the　while　she　spoke；　the　pale　beauty　of　her　face；　the　artless
  candor　in　her　sad；　quiet　eyes；　so　affected　me　that　I　could　not
  trust　myself　to　answer　her　at　first　except　by　gesture。　Before　I
  recovered　my　voice　she　had　given　me　her　hand　once　more　and　had
  left　me。
  I　never　saw　her　again。　The　chances　and　changes　of　life　kept　us
  apart。　When　I　last　heard　of　her；　years　and　years　ago；　she　was
  faithful　to　the　memory　of　the　dead；　and　was　Ada　Elmslie　still　for
  Alfred　Monkton's　sake。
  THE　FIFTH　DAY。
  STILL　cloudy；　but　no　rain　to　keep　our　young　lady　indoors。　The
  paper；　as　usual；　without　interest　to　_me_。
  To…day　Owen　actually　vanquished　his　difficulties　and　finished　his
  story。　I　numbered　it　Eight；　and　threw　the　corresponding　number
  （as　I　had　done　the　day　before　in　Morgan's　case）　into　the　china
  bowl。
  Although　I　could　discover　no　direct　evidence　against　her；　I
  strongly　suspected　The　Queen　of　Hearts　of　tampering　with　the　lots
  on　the　fifth　evening；　to　irritate　Morgan　by　making　it　his　turn　to
  read　again；　after　the　shortest　possible　interval　of　repose。
  However　that　might　be；　the　number　drawn　was　certainly　Seven；　and
  the　story　to　be　read　was　consequently　the　story　which　my　brother
  had　finished　only　two　days　before。
  If　I　had　not　known　that　it　was　part　of　Morgan's　character　always
  to　do　exactly　the　reverse　of　what　might　be　expected　from　him；　I
  should　have　been　surprised　at　the　extraordinary　docility　he
  exhibited　the　moment　his　manuscript　was　placed　i　n　his　hands。
  〃My　turn　again？〃　he　said。　〃How　very　satisfactory！　I　was　anxious
  to　escape　from　this　absurd　position　of　mine　as　soon　as　possible；
  and　here　is　the　opportunity　most　considerately　put　into　my　hands。
  Look　out；　all　of　you！　I　won't　waste　another　moment。　I　mean　to
  begin　instantly。〃
  〃Do　tell　me；〃　interposed　Jessie；　mischievously；　〃shall　I　be　very
  much　interested　to…night'？'
  〃Not　you！〃　retorted　Morgan。　〃You　will　be　very　much　frightened
  instead。　You　hair　is　uncommonly　smooth　at　the　present　moment；　but
  it　will　be　all　standing　on　end　before　I've　done。　Don't　blame　me；
  miss；　if　you　are　an　object　when　you　go　to　bed　to…night！〃
  With　this　curious　introductory　speech　he　began　to　read。　I　was
  obliged　to　interrupt　him　to　say　the　few　words　of　explanation
  which　the　story　needed。
  〃Before　my　brother　begins；〃　I　said；　〃it　may　be　as　well　to　mention
  that　he　is　himself　the　doctor　who　is　supposed　to　relate　this
  narrative。　The　events　happened　at　a　time　of　his　life　when　he　had
  left　London；　and　had　established　himself　in　medical　practice　in
  one　of　our　large　northern　towns。〃
  With　that　brief　explanation；　I　apologized　for　interrupting　the
  reader；　and　Morgan　began　once　more。
  BROTHER　MORGAN'S　STORY
  of
  THE　DEAD　HAND
  WHEN　this　present　nineteenth　century　was　younger　by　a　good　many
  years　than　it　is　now；　a　certain　friend　of　mine；　named　Arthur
  Holliday；　happened　to　arrive　in　the　town　of　Doncaster　exactly　in
  the　middle　of　the　race…week；　or；　in　other　words；　in　the　middle　of
  the　month　of　September。
  He　was　one　of　those　reckless；　rattle…pated；　open…hearted；　and
  open…mouthed　young　gentlemen　who　possess　the　gift　of　familiarity
  in　its　highest　perfection；　and　who　scramble　carelessly　along　the
  journey　of　life；　making　friends；　as　the　phrase　is；　wherever　they
  go。　His　father　was　a　rich　manufacturer；　and　had　bought　landed
  property　enough　in　one　of　the　midland　counties　to　make　all　the
  born　squires　in　his　neighborhood　thoroughly　envious　of　him。
  Arthur　was　his　only　son；　possessor　in　prospect　of　the　great
  estate　and　the　great　business　after　his　father's　death；　well
  supplied　with　money；　and　not　too　rigidly　looked　after　during　his
  father's　lifetime。　Report；　or　scandal；　whichever　you　please；　said
  that　the　old　gentleman　had　been　rather　wild　in　his　youthful　days；
  and　that；　unlike　most　parents；　he　was　not　disposed　to　be
  violently　indignant　when　he　found　that　his　son　took　after　him。
  This　may　be　true　or　not。　I　myself　only　knew　the　elder　Mr。
  Holliday　when　he　was　getting　on　in　years；　and　then　he　was　as
  quiet　and　as　respectable　a　gentleman　as　ever　I　met　with。
  Well；　one　September；　as　I　told　you；　young　Arthur　comes　to
  Doncaster；　having　decided　all　of　a　sudden；　in　his　hare…brained
  way；　that　he　would　go　to　the　races。　He　did　not　reach　the　town
  till　toward　the　close　of　evening；　and　he　went　at　once　to　see
  about　his　dinner　and　bed　at　the　principal　hotel。　Dinner　they　were
  ready　enough　to　give　him；　but　as　for　a　bed；　they　laughed　when　he
  mentioned　it。　In　the　race…week　at　Doncaster　it　is　no　uncommon
  thing　for　visitors　who　have　not　bespoken　apartments　to　pass　the
  night　in　their　carriages　at　the　inn　doors。　As　for　the　lower　sort
  of　strangers；　I　myself　have　often　seen　them；　at　that　full　time；
  sleeping　out　on　the　doorsteps　for　want　of　a　covered　place　to
  creep　under。　Rich　as　he　was；　Arthur's　chance　of　getting　a　night's
  lodging　（seeing　that　he　had　not　written　beforehand　to　secure　one）
  was　more　than　doubtful。　He　tried　the　second　hotel；　and　the　third
  hotel；　and　two　of　the　inferior　inns　after　that；　and　was　met
  everywhere　with　the　same　form　of　answer。　No　accommodation　for　the
  night　of　any　sort　was　left。　All　the　bright　golden　sovereigns　in
  his　pocket　would　not　buy　him　a　bed　at　Doncaster　in　the　race…week。
  To　a　young　fellow　of　A