“If that’s any comfort to anybody, they’re welcome to it. If it an’t, I’m sorry for ’em. If either of you two gentlemen likes to go out and see what’s the matter, you can. I’m not curious, myself.”
While he spoke the cry drew nearer and nearer, footsteps passed the window, the latch of the door was raised, it opened, was violently shut again, and Solomon Daisy, with a lighted lantern in his hand, and the rain streaming from his disordered dress, dashed into the room.
A more complete picture of terror than the little man presented, it would be difficult to imagine. The perspiration stood in beads upon his face, his knees knocked together, his every limb trembled, the power of articulation was quite gone; and there he stood, panting for breath, gazing on them with such livid ashy looks, that they were infected with his fear, though ignorant of its occasion, and, reflecting his dismayed and horror-stricken visage, stared back again without venturing to question him; until old John Willet, in a fit of temporary insanity, made a dive at his cravat, and, seizing him by that portion of his dress, shook him to and fro until his very teeth appeared to rattle in his head.
“Tell us what’s the matter, sir,” said John, “or I’ll kill you. Tell us what’s the matter, sir, or in another second I’ll have your head under the biler. How dare you look like that? Is anybody a-following of you? What do you mean? Say something, or I’ll be the death of you, I will.”
Mr. Willet, in his frenzy, was so near keeping his word to the very letter (Solomon Daisy’s eyes already beginning to roll in an alarming manner, and certain guttural sounds, as of a choking man, to issue from his throat), that the two bystanders, recovering in some degree, plucked him off his victim by main force, and placed the little clerk of Chigwell in a chair. Directing a fearful gaze all round the room, he implored them in a faint voice to give him some drink; and above all to lock the house-door and close and bar the shutters of the room, without a moment’s loss of time. The latter request did not tend to reassure his hearers, or to fill them with the most comfortable sensations; they complied with it, however, with the greatest expedition; and having handed him a bumper of brandy-and-water, nearly boiling hot, waited to hear what he might have to tell them.
“Oh, Johnny,” said Solomon, shaking him by the hand. “Oh, Parkes. Oh, Tommy Cobb. Why did I leave this house tonight! On the nineteenth of March—of all nights in the year, on the nineteenth of March!”
They all drew closer to the fire. Parkes, who was nearest to the door, started and looked over his shoulder. Mr. Willet, with great indignation, inquired what the devil he meant by that—and then said, “God forgive me,” and glanced over his own shoulder, and came a little nearer.
“When I left here tonight,” said Solomon Daisy, “I little thought what day of the month it was. I have never gone alone into the church after dark on this day, for seven-and-twenty years. I have heard it said that as we keep our birthdays when we are alive, so the ghosts of dead people, who are not easy in their graves, keep the day they died upon.—How the wind roars!”
Nobody spoke. All eyes were fastened on Solomon.
“I might have known,” he said, “what night it was, by the foul weather. There’s no such night in the whole year round as this is, always. I never sleep quietly in my bed on the nineteenth of March.”
“Go on,” said Tom Cobb, in a low voice. “Nor I neither.”
Solomon Daisy raised his glass to his lips; put it down upon the floor with such a trembling hand that the spoon tinkled in it like a little bell; and continued thus:
“Have I ever said that we are always brought back to this subject in some strange way, when the nineteenth of this month comes round? Do you suppose it was by accident, I forgot to wind up the church-clock? I never forgot it at any other time, though it’s such a clumsy thing that it has to be wound up every day. Why should it escape my memory on this day of all others?
“I made as much haste down there as I could when I went from here, but I had to go home first for the keys; and the wind and rain being dead against me all the way, it was pretty well as much as I could do at times to keep my legs. I got there at last, opened the church-door, and went in. I had not met a soul all the way, and you may judge whether it was dull or not. Neither of you would bear me company. If you could have known what was to come, you’d have been in the right.
“The wind was so strong, that it was as much as I could do to shut the church-door by putting my whole weight against it; and even as it was, it burst wide open twice, with such strength that any of you would have sworn, if you had been leaning against it, as
