by E. F. Benson
The village of Maxley, where, last summer and autumn, these
strange events took place, lies on a heathery and pine-clad upland of
Sussex. In all England you could not find a sweeter and saner
situation. Should the wind blow from the south, it comes laden with
the spices of the sea; to the east high downs protect it from the
inclemencies of March; and from the west and north the breezes which
reach it travel over miles of aromatic forest and heather. The village
itself is insignificant enough in point of population, but rich in
amenities and beauty. Half-way down the single street, with its broad
road and spacious areas of grass on each side, stands the little
Norman Church and the antique graveyard long disused: for the rest
there are a dozen small, sedate Georgian houses, red-bricked and
long-windowed, each with a square of flower-garden in front, and an
ampler strip behind; a score of shops, and a couple of score of
thatched cottages belonging to labourers on neighbouring estates,
complete the entire cluster of its peaceful habitations. The general
peace, however, is sadly broken on Saturdays and Sundays, for we lie
on one of the main roads between London and Brighton and our quiet
street becomes a race-course for flying motor-cars and bicycles.
A notice just outside the village begging them to go slowly only
seems to encourage them to accelerate their speed, for the road lies
open and straight, and there is really no reason why they should do
otherwise. By way of protest, therefore, the ladies of Maxley cover
their noses and mouths with their handkerchiefs as they see a
motor-car approaching, though, as the street is asphalted, they need
not really take these precautions against dust. But late on Sunday
night the horde of scorchers has passed, and we settle down again to
five days of cheerful and leisurely seclusion. Railway strikes which
agitate the country so much leave us undisturbed because most of the
inhabitants of Maxley never leave it at all.
I am the fortunate possessor of one of these small Georgian houses,
and consider myself no less fortunate in having so interesting and
stimulating a neighbour as Francis Urcombe, who, the most confirmed of
Maxleyites, has not slept away from his house, which stands just
opposite to mine in the village street, for nearly two years, at which
date, though still in middle life, he resigned his Physiological
Professorship at Cambridge University and devoted himself to the study
of those occult and curious phenomena which seem equally to concern the
physical and the psychical sides of human nature. Indeed his
retirement was not unconnected with his passion for the strange
uncharted places that lie on the confines and borders of science, the
existence of which is so stoutly denied by the more materialistic
minds, for he advocated that all medical students should be obliged to
pass some sort of examination in mesmerism, and that one of the tripos
papers should be designed to test their knowledge in such subjects as
appearances at time of death, haunted houses, vampirism, automatic
writing, and possession.
"Of course they wouldn't listen to me," ran his account of the
matter, "for there is nothing that these seats of learning are so
frightened of as knowledge, and the road to knowledge lies in the
study of things like these. The functions of the human frame are,
broadly speaking, known.
They are a country, anyhow, that has been charted and mapped out.
But outside that lie huge tracts of undiscovered country, which
certainly exist, and the real pioneers of knowledge are those who, at
the cost of being derided as credulous and superstitious, want to push
on into those misty and probably perilous places. I felt that I could
be of more use by setting out without.compass or knapsack into the
mists than by sitting in a cage like a canary and chirping about what
was known. Besides, teaching is very bad for a man who knows himself
only to be a learner: you only need to be a self-conceited ass to
Here, then, in Francis Urcombe, was a delightful neighbour to one
who, like myself, has an uneasy and burning curiosity about what he
called the "misty and perilous places"; and this last spring we had a
further and most welcome addition to our pleasant little community, in
the person of Mrs. Amworth, widow of an Indian civil servant. Her
husband had been a judge in the North-West Provinces, and after his
death at Peshawar she came back to England, and after a year in London
found herself starving for the ampler air and sunshine of the country
to take the place of the fogs and griminess of town. She had, too, a
special reason for settling in Maxley, since her ancestors up till a
hundred years ago had long been native to the place, and in the old
churchyard, now disused, are many gravestones bearing her maiden name
of Chaston. Big and energetic, her vigorous and genial personality
speedily woke Maxley up to a higher degree of sociality than it had
ever known. Most of us were bachelors or spinsters or elderly folk not
much inclined to exert ourselves in the expense and effort of
hospitality, and hitherto the gaiety of a small tea-party, with bridge
afterwards and goloshes (when it was wet) to trip home in again for a
solitary dinner, was about the climax of our festivities. But Mrs.
Amworth showed us a more gregarious way, and set an example of
luncheon-parties and little dinners, which we began to follow. On
other nights when no such hospitality was on foot, a lone man like
myself found it pleasant to know that a call on the telephone to Mrs.
Amworth's house not a hundred yards off, and an inquiry as to whether
I might come over after dinner for a game of piquet before bed-time,
would probably evoke a response of welcome. There she would be, with a
comrade-like eagerness for companionship, and there was a glass of
port and a cup of coffee and a cigarette and a game of piquet. She
played the piano, too, in a free and exuberant manner, and had a
charming voice and sang to her own accompaniment; and as the days grew
long and the light lingered late, we played our game in her garden,
which in the course of a few months she had turned from being a
nursery for slugs and snails into a glowing patch of luxuriant
She was always cheery and jolly; she was interested in everything,
and in music, in gardening, in games of all sorts was a competent
performer. Everybody (with one exception) liked her, everybody felt
her to bring with her the tonic of a sunny day. That one exception was
Francis Urcombe; he, though he confessed he did not like her,
acknowledged that he was vastly interested in her. This always seemed
strange to me, for pleasant and jovial as she was, I could see nothing
in her that could call forth conjecture or intrigued surmise, so
healthy and unmysterious a figure did she present. But of the
genuineness of Urcombe's interest there could be no doubt; one could
see him watching and scrutinising her. In matter of age, she frankly
volunteered the information that she was forty-five; but her
briskness, her activity, her unravaged skin, her coal-black hair, made
it difficult to believe that she was not adopting an unusual device,
and adding ten years on to her age instead of subtracting them.
Often, also, as our quite unsentimental friendship ripened, Mrs.
Amworth would ring me up and propose her advent. If I was busy
writing, I was to give her, so we definitely bargained, a frank
negative, and in answer I could hear her jolly laugh and her wishes for
a successful evening of work. Sometimes, before her proposal arrived,
Urcombe would already have stepped across from his house opposite for
a smoke and a chat, and he, hearing who my intending visitor was,
always urged me to beg her to come. She and I should play our piquet,
said he, and he would look on, if we did not object, and learn
something of the game. But I doubt whether he paid much attention to
it, for nothing could be clearer than that, under that penthouse of
forehead and.thick eyebrows, his attention was fixed not on the cards,
but on one of the players. But he seemed to enjoy an hour spent thus,
and often, until one particular evening in July, he would watch her
with the air of a man who has some deep problem in front of him. She,
enthusiastically keen about our game, seemed not to notice his
scrutiny. Then came that evening, when, as I see in the light of
subsequent events, began the first twitching of the veil that hid the
secret horror from my eyes. I did not know it then, though I noticed
that thereafter, if she rang up to propose coming round, she always
asked not only if I was at leisure, but whether Mr. Urcombe was with
me. If so, she said, she would not spoil the chat of two old
bachelors, and laughingly wished me good night.
Urcombe, on this occasion, had been with me for some half-hour
before Mrs. Amworth's appearance, and had been talking to me about the
medizval beliefs concerning vampirism, one of those borderland
subjects which he declared had not been sufficiently studied before it
had been consigned by the medical profession to the dust-heap of
exploded superstitions. There he sat, grim and eager, tracing, with
that pellucid clearness which had made him in his Cambridge days so
admirable a lecturer, the history of those mysterious visitations. In
them all there were the same general features: one of those ghoulish
spirits took up its abode in a living man or woman, conferring
supernatural powers of bat-like flight and glutting itself with
When its host died it continued to dwell in the corpse, which
remained undecayed. By day it rested, by night it left the grave and
went on its awful errands. No European country in the Middle Ages
seemed to have escaped them; earlier yet, parallels were to be found,
in Roman and Greek and in Jewish history.
"It's a large order to set all that evidence aside as being
moonshine," he said. "Hundreds of totally independent witnesses in
many ages have testified to the occurrence of these phenomena, and
there's no explanation known to me which covers all the facts. And if
you feel inclined to say 'Why, then, if these are facts, do we not
come across them now?' there are two answers I can make you. One is
that there were diseases known in the Middle Ages, such as the black
death; which were certainly existent then and which have become
extinct since, but for that reason we do not assert that such diseases
never existed. Just as the black death visited England and decimated
the population of Norfolk, so here in this very district about three
hundred years ago there was certainly an outbreak of vampirism, and
Maxley was the centre of it. My second answer is even more convincing,
for I tell you that vampirism is by no means extinct now. An outbreak
of it certainly occurred in India a year or two ago."
At that moment I heard my knocker plied in the cheerful and
peremptory manner in which Mrs. Amworth is accustomed to announce her
arrival, and I went to the door to open it.
"Come in at once," I said, "and save me from having my blood
curdled. Mr. Urcombe has been trying to alarm me."
Instantly her vital, voluminous presence seemed to fill the room.
"Ah, but how lovely!" she said. "I delight in having my blood
curdled. Go on with your ghost-story, Mr. Urcombe. I adore
I saw that, as his habit was, he was intently observing her.
"It wasn't a ghost-story exactly," said he. "I was only telling our
host how vampirism was not extinct yet. I was saying that there was an
outbreak of it in India only a few years ago."
There was a more than perceptible pause, and I saw that, if Urcombe
was observing her, she on her side was observing him with fixed eye
and parted mouth. Then her jolly laugh invaded that rather tense
"Oh, what a shame!" she said. "You're not going to curdle my blood
at all. Where did you.pick up such a tale, Mr. Urcombe? I have lived
for years in India and never heard a rumour of such a thing. Some
story-teller in the bazaars must have invented it: they are famous at
I could see that Urcombe was on the point of saying something
further, but checked himself.
"Ah! very likely that was it," he said.
But something had disturbed our usual peaceful sociability that
night, and something had damped Mrs. Amworth's usual high spirits. She
had no gusto for her piquet, and left after a couple of games. Urcombe
had been silent too, indeed he hardly spoke again till she departed.
"That was unfortunate," he said, "for the outbreak of — of a very
mysterious disease, let us call it, took place at Peshawar, where she
and her husband were. And—"
"Well?" I asked.
"He was one of the victims of it," said he. "Naturally I had quite
forgotten that when I spoke."
The summer was unreasonably hot and rainless, and Maxley suffered
much from drought, and also from a plague of big black night-flying
gnats, the bite of which was very irritating and virulent. They came
sailing in of an evening, settling on one's skin so quietly that one
perceived nothing till the sharp stab announced that one had been
bitten. They did not bite the hands or face, but chose always the neck
and throat for their feeding-ground, and most of us, as the poison
spread, assumed a temporary goitre. Then about the middle of August
appeared the first of those mysterious cases of illness which our
local doctor attributed to the long-continued heat coupled with the
bite of these venomous insects. The patient was a boy of sixteen or
seventeen, the son of Mrs. Amworth's gardener, and the symptoms were
an anemic pallor and a languid prostration, accompanied by great
drowsiness and an abnormal appetite. He had, too, on his throat two
small punctures where, so Dr. Ross conjectured, one of these great
gnats had bitten him. But the odd thing was that there was no swelling
or inflammation round the place where he had been bitten.
The heat at this time had begun to abate, but the cooler weather
failed to restore him, and the boy, in spite of the quantity of good
food which he so ravenously swallowed, wasted away to a skin-clad
I met Dr. Ross in the street one afternoon about this time, and in
answer to my inquiries about his patient he said that he was afraid
the boy was dying. The case, he confessed, completely puzzled him:
some obscure form of pernicious anemia was all he could suggest. But
he wondered whether Mr. Urcombe would consent to see the boy, on the
chance of his being able to throw some new light on the case, and
since Urcombe was dining with me that night, I proposed to Dr. Ross to
join us. He could not do this, but said he would look in later. When he
came, Urcombe at once consented to put his skill at the other's
disposal, and together they went off at once. Being thus shorn of my
sociable evening, I telephoned to Mrs. Amworth to know if I might
inflict myself on her for an hour. Her answer was a welcoming
affirmative, and between piquet and music the hour lengthened itself
into two. She spoke of the boy who was lying so desperately and
mysteriously ill, and told me that she had often been to see him,
taking him nourishing and delicate food. But to-day — and her kind
eyes moistened as she spoke she was afraid she had paid her last
visit. Knowing the antipathy between her and Urcombe, I did not tell
her that he had been called into consultation; and when I returned
home she accompanied me to my door, for the sake of a breath of night
air, and in order to borrow a magazine which contained an article on
gardening which she wished to read.
"Ah, this delicious night air," she said, luxuriously sniffing in
the coolness. "Night air and gardening are the great tonics. There is
nothing so stimulating as bare contact with rich mother earth. You are
never so fresh as when you have been grubbing in the soil — black
hands, black.nails, and boots covered with mud." She gave her great
jovial laugh. "I'm a glutton for air and earth," she said. "Positively
I look forward to death, for then I shall be buried and have the kind
earth all round me. No leaden caskets for me — I have given explicit
directions. But what shall I do about air? Well, I suppose one can't
have everything. The magazine? A thousand thanks, I will faithfully
return it. Good night: garden and keep your windows open, and you won't
"I always sleep with my windows open," said I.
I went straight up to my bedroom, of which one of the windows looks
out over the street, and as I undressed I thought I heard voices
talking outside not far away. But I paid no particular attention, put
out my lights, and falling asleep plunged into the depths of a most
horrible dream, distortedly suggested no doubt, by my last words with
Mrs. Amworth. I dreamed that I woke, and found that both my bedroom
windows were shut. Half-suffocating I dreamed that I sprang out of
bed, and went across to open them. The blind over the first was drawn
down, and pulling it up I saw, with the indescribable horror of
incipient nightmare, Mrs. Amworth's face suspended close to the pane
in the darkness outside, nodding and smiling at me. Pulling down the
blind again to keep that terror out, I rushed to the second window on
the other side of the room, and there again was Mrs. Amworth's face.
Then the panic came upon me in full blast; here was I suffocating in
the airless room, and whichever window I opened Mrs. Amworth's face
would float in, like those noiseless black gnats that bit before one
was aware. The nightmare rose to screaming point, and with strangled
yells I awoke to find my room cool and quiet with both windows open
and blinds up and a half-moon high in its course, casting an oblong of
tranquil light on the floor. But even when I was awake the horror
persisted, and I lay tossing and turning.
I must have slept long before the nightmare seized me, for now it
was nearly day, and soon in the east the drowsy eyelids of morning
began to lift.
I was scarcely downstairs next morning — for after the dawn I
slept late — when Urcombe rang up to know if he might see me
immediately. He came in, grim and preoccupied, and I noticed that he
was pulling on a pipe that was not even filled.
"I want your help," he said, "and so I must tell you first of all
what happened last night. 1 went round with the little doctor to see
his patient, and found him just alive, but scarcely more. I instantly
diagnosed in my own mind what this anemia, unaccountable by any other
explanation, meant. The boy is the prey of a vampire."
He put his empty pipe on the breakfast-table, by which I had just
sat down, and folded his arms, looking at me steadily from under his
"Now about last night," he said. "I insisted that he should be
moved from his father's cottage into my house. As we were carrying him
on a stretcher, whom should we meet but Mrs.
Amworth? She expressed shocked surprise that we were moving him.
Now why do you think she did that?"
With a start of horror, as I remembered my dream that night before,
I felt an idea come into my mind so preposterous and unthinkable that
I instantly turned it out again.
"I haven't the smallest idea," I said.
"Then listen, while I tell you about what happened later. I put out
all light in the room where the boy lay, and watched. One window was a
little open, for I had forgotten to close it, and about midnight I
heard something outside, trying apparently to push it farther open. I
guessed who it was — yes, it was full twenty feet from the ground
—and I peeped round the corner of the blind.
Just outside was the face of Mrs. Amworth and her hand was on the
frame of the window. Very softly I crept close, and then banged the
window down, and I think I just caught the tip of one of.her fingers."
"But it's impossible," I cried. "How could she be floating in the
air like that? And what had she come for? Don't tell me such—"
Once more, with closer grip, the remembrance of my nightmare seized
"I am telling you what I saw," said he. "And all night long, until
it was nearly day, she was fluttering outside, like some terrible bat,
trying to gain admittance. Now put together various things I have told
He began checking them off on his fingers.
"Number one," he said: "there was an outbreak of disease similar to
that which this boy is suffering from at Peshawar, and her husband
died of it. Number two: Mrs. Amworth protested against my moving the
boy to my house. Number three: she, or the demon that inhabits her
body, a creature powerful and deadly, tries to gain admittance. And
add this, too: in medieval times there was an epidemic of vampirism
here at Maxley. The vampire, so the accounts run, was found to be
Elizabeth Chaston ... I see you remember Mrs. Amworth's maiden name.
Finally, the boy is stronger this morning. He would certainly not have
been alive if he had been visited again.
And what do you make of it?"
There was a long silence, during which I found this incredible
horror assuming the hues of reality.
"I have something to add," I said, "which may or may not bear on
it. You say that the — the spectre went away shortly before dawn."
I told him of my dream, and he smiled grimly.
"Yes, you did well to awake," he said. "That warning came from your
subconscious self, which never wholly slumbers, and cried out to you
of deadly danger. For two reasons, then, you must help me: one to save
others, the second to save yourself."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"I want you first of all to help me in watching this boy, and
ensuring that she does not come near him. Eventually I want you to
help me in tracking the thing down, in exposing and destroying it. It
is not human: it is an incarnate fiend. What steps we shall have to
take I don't yet know."
It was now eleven of the forenoon, and presently I went across to
his house for a twelve-hour vigil while he slept, to come on duty
again that night, so that for the next twenty-four hours either
Urcombe or myself was always in the room where the boy, now getting
stronger every hour, was lying. The day following was Saturday and a
morning of brilliant, pellucid weather, and already when I went across
to his house to resume my duty the stream of motors down to Brighton
had begun. Simultaneously I saw Urcombe with a cheerful face, which
boded good news of his patient, coming out of his house, and Mrs.
Amworth, with a gesture of salutation to me and a basket in her hand,
walking up the broad strip of grass which bordered the road. There we
all three met. I noticed (and saw that Urcombe noticed it too) that one
finger of her left hand was bandaged.
"Good morning to you both," said she. "And I hear your patient is
doing well, Mr. Urcombe.
I have come to bring him a bowl of jelly, and to sit with him for
an hour. He and I are great friends. I am overjoyed at his recovery."
Urcombe paused a moment, as if making up his mind, and then shot
out a pointing finger at her.
"I forbid that," he said. "You shall not sit with him or see him.
And you know the reason as.well as I do."
I have never seen so horrible a change pass over a human face as
that which now blanched hers to the colour of a grey mist. She put up
her hand as if to shield herself from that pointing finger, which drew
the sign of the cross in the air, and shrank back cowering on to the
There was a wild hoot from a horn, a grinding of brakes, a shout —
too late — from a passing car, and one long scream suddenly cut
short. Her body rebounded from the roadway after the first wheel had
gone over it, and the second followed. It lay there, quivering and
twitching, and was still.
She was buried three days afterwards in the cemetery outside
Maxley, in accordance with the wishes she had told me that she had
devised about her interment, and the shock which her sudden and awful
death had caused to the little community began by degrees to pass off.
To two people only, Urcombe and myself, the horror of it was mitigated
from the first by the nature of the relief that her death brought;
but, naturally enough, we kept our own counsel, and no hint of what
greater horror had been thus averted was ever let slip. But, oddly
enough, so it seemed to me, he was still not satisfied about something
in connection with her, and would give no answer to my questions on
the subject. Then as the days of a tranquil mellow September and the
October that followed began to drop away like the leaves of the
yellowing trees, his uneasiness relaxed. But before the entry of
November the seeming tranquillity broke into hurricane.
I had been dining one night at the far end of the village, and
about eleven o'clock was walking home again. The moon was of an
unusual brilliance, rendering all that it shone on as distinct as in
some etching. I had just come opposite the house which Mrs. Amworth had
occupied, where there was a board up telling that it was to let, when
I heard the click of her front gate, and next moment I saw, with a
sudden chill and quaking of my very spirit, that she stood there. Her
profile, vividly illuminated, was turned to me, and I could not be
mistaken in my identification of her. She appeared not to see me
(indeed the shadow of the yew hedge in front of her garden enveloped
me in its blackness) and she went swiftly across the road, and entered
the gate of the house directly opposite. There I lost sight of her
My breath was coming in short pants as if I had been running - and
now indeed I ran, with fearful backward glances, along the hundred
yards that separated me from my house and Urcombe's. It was to his
that my flying steps took me, and next minute I was within.
"What have you come to tell me?" he asked. "Or shall I guess?" "You
can't guess," said I.
"No; it's no guess. She has come back and you have seen her. Tell
me about it."
I gave him my story.
"That's Major Pearsall's house," he said. "Come back with me there
"But what can we do?" I asked.
"I've no idea. That's what we have got to find out."
A minute later, we were opposite the house. When I had passed it
before, it was all dark; now lights gleamed from a couple of windows
upstairs. Even as we faced it, the front door opened, and next moment
Major Pearsall emerged from the gate. He saw us and stopped.
"I'm on my way to Dr. Ross," he said quickly, "My wife has been
taken suddenly ill. She had been in bed an hour when I came upstairs,
and I found her white as a ghost and utterly exhausted.
She had been to sleep, it seemed — but you will excuse me."
"One moment, Major," said Urcombe. "Was there any mark on her
"How did you guess that?" said he. "There was: one of those beastly
gnats must have bitten her twice there. She was streaming with blood."
"And there's someone with her?" asked Urcombe.
"Yes, I roused her maid."
He went off, and Urcombe turned to me. "I know now what we have to
do," he said. "Change your clothes, and I'll join you at your house."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'll tell you on our way. We're going to the cemetery."
He carried a pick, a shovel, and a screwdriver when he rejoined me,
and wore round his shoulders a long coil of rope. As we walked, he
gave me the outlines of the ghastly hour that lay before us.
"What I have to tell you," he said, "will seem to you now too
fantastic for credence, but before dawn we shall see whether it
outstrips reality. By a most fortunate happening, you saw the spectre,
the astral body, whatever you choose to call it, of Mrs. Amworth, going
on its grisly business, and therefore, beyond doubt, the vampire
spirit which abode in her during life animates her again in death.
That is not exceptional — indeed, all these weeks since her death I
have been expecting it. If I am right, we shall find her body
undecayed and untouched by corruption."
"But she has been dead nearly two months," said I.
"If she had been dead two years it would still be so, if the
vampire has possession of her. So remember: whatever you see done, it
will be done not to her, who in the natural course would now be
feeding the grasses above her grave, but to a spirit of untold evil and
malignancy, which gives a phantom life to her body."
"But what shall I see done?" said I.
"I will tell you. We know that now, at this moment, the vampire
clad in her mortal semblance is out; dining out. But it must get back
before dawn, and it will pass into the material form that lies in her
grave. We must wait for that, and then with your help I shall dig up
her body. If I am right, you will look on her as she was in life, with
the full vigour of the dreadful nutriment she has received pulsing in
her veins. And then, when dawn has come, and the vampire cannot leave
the lair of her body, I shall strike her with this" — and he pointed
to his pick — "through the heart, and she, who comes to life again
only with the animation the fiend gives her, she and her hellish
partner will be dead indeed. Then we must bury her again, delivered at
We had come to the cemetery, and in the brightness of the moonshine
there was no difficulty in identifying her grave. It lay some twenty
yards from the small chapel, in the porch of which, obscured by
shadow, we concealed ourselves. From there we had a clear and open
sight of the grave, and now we must wait till its infernal visitor
returned home. The night was warm and windless, yet even if a freezing
wind had been raging I think I should have felt nothing of it, so
intense was my preoccupation as to what the night and dawn would
bring. There was a bell in the turret of the chapel, that struck the
quarters of the hour, and it amazed me to find how swiftly the chimes
succeeded one another.
The moon had long set, but a twilight of stars shone in a clear
sky, when five o'clock of the morning sounded from the turret. A few
minutes more passed, and then I felt Urcombe's hand softly nudging me;
and looking out in the direction of his pointing finger, I saw that the
form of a woman, tall and large in build, was approaching from the
right. Noiselessly, with a motion more of gliding and floating than
walking, she moved across the cemetery to the grave which was the
centre of our observation. She moved round it as if to be certain of
its identity, and for a moment stood directly facing us. In the
greyness to which now my eyes had grown accustomed, I could easily see
her face, and recognise its features.
She drew her hand across her mouth as if wiping it, and broke into
a chuckle of such laughter.as made my hair stir on my head. Then she
leaped on to the grave, holding her hands high above her head, and
inch by inch disappeared into the earth. Urcombe's hand was laid on my
arm, in an injunction to keep still, but now he removed it.
"Come," he said.
With pick and shovel and rope we went to the grave. The earth was
light and sandy, and soon after six struck we had delved down to the
coffin lid. With his pick he loosened the earth round it, and,
adjusting the rope through the handles by which it had been lowered, we
tried to raise it.
This was a long and laborious business, and the light had begun to
herald day in the east before we had it out, and lying by the side of
the grave. With his screw-driver he loosed the fastenings of the lid,
and slid it aside, and standing there we looked on the face of Mrs.
Amworth. The eyes, once closed in death, were open, the cheeks were
flushed with colour, the red, full-lipped mouth seemed to smile.
"One blow and it is all over," he said. "You need not look."
Even as he spoke he took up the pick again, and, laying the point
of it on her left breast, measured his distance. And though I knew
what was coming I could not look away...
He grasped the pick in both hands, raised it an inch or two for the
taking of his aim, and then with full force brought it down on her
breast. A fountain of blood, though she had been dead so long, spouted
high in the air, falling with the thud of a heavy splash over the
shroud, and simultaneously from those red lips came one long,
appalling cry, swelling up like some hooting siren, and dying away
again. With that, instantaneous as a lightning flash, came the touch of
corruption on her face, the colour of it faded to ash, the plump
cheeks fell in, the mouth dropped.
"Thank God, that's over," said he, and without pause slipped the
coffin lid back into its place.
Day was coming fast now, and, working like men possessed, we
lowered the coffin into its place again, and shovelled the earth over
it... The birds were busy with their earliest pipings as we went back