secret perhaps, which, until it has been revealed, will not allow it to rest. Let us go."
At this moment the figure—which, during the whole of the time, had been moving slowly from tomb to tomb—came towards them; but, as it advanced, they simultaneously receded, and continued to recede, looking constantly behind them, until they reached the gate, which they had no sooner passed, than, making themselves up for one grand effort, they darted towards the Crumpet and Crown with all the energy at their command.
The figure, notwithstanding this, continued to advance. It seemed to be in no haste whatever!—it took its own time; and, having passed the gate, appeared to have made up its mind to look in at the Crumpet and Crown. But the moment they perceived this apparent inclination on the part of the "spectre," they closed the door, locked it, shot both the bolts, and then rushed to the window in a state of breathless anxiety. They were not, however, kept here in that state long: they had in fact scarcely reached the window, when they saw it pass slowly and solemnly by, without appearing even to notice the house— which was a comfort to them all: they breathed again, and were again courageous—indeed so courageous that when they felt perfectly sure that it was gone, they went to the door again, in order to watch it. But it was not gone, although it was going, which was, in their judgment, the next best thing. They, therefore, did watch it—nay, they even followed it—at a most respectful distance it is true—still they followed it, and continued to follow it, for nearly twenty yards! when it vanished—they couldn't tell how; but it vanished—and that, too, into Aunt Eleanor's cottage! One thought he saw it walk through the brick wall; another conceived that it flew through the window; a third felt convinced that it opened the door; a fourth imagined that it darted through the pannels; but on the one grand point, they were all agreed—they all saw it enter the cottage.
And didn't they pity Aunt Eleanor? Yes! even from their souls they pitied her; but they returned to the Crumpet and Crown.
"Well!" said Mr. Pokey, "I never see such a job in my life! And didn't it smell?"
"I smelt nothing," observed the landlord.
"What, not brimstone?"
"No: not a bit of it,"
"I can't say as I smelt brimstone," interposed Mr. Bobber: "it seemed like the burning of charcoal, to me!"
"Charcoal!" exclaimed Mr. Blinkum; "it was just, for all the world, like burnt bones. You get the leg-bone of a bullock, and burn it, and see if it won't smell—oh—offal! and it stands to reason, that if the bones of a bullock smell, the bones of a man also will smell likewise."
"But has a spirit bones?" demanded Mr. Bobber.
"Why, if it hadn't, you fool, how could it hold together. A spirit is a skeleton—it must be a skeleton, because spirits have no flesh."
"What do you call it a spirit for?" inquired Mr. Quocks.
"Why, what do you call it?"
