274 STRAY- AW AYS 



it. It happened many years ago (whether in England, 

 Seotland, or Ireland matters not), and but one of the 

 " circle " now remains. I think I may tell the story. 



A young man, personally known to some of the 

 " sitters," had left his home, had disappeared ; it was 

 believed a love-affair had not prospered, and he had 

 left the country. The Table had answered many idle 

 questions, and another was offered to it : 



" Where is ? " The young man was named. 



The answer came at once, startlingly : " Search the 

 river ! " 



Other details followed. It was said that there had 

 been foul play ; those to whom the facts were offered 

 were sufficiently impressed by them to think it well 

 to go farther with the matter. The river was searched 

 — a swift, fierce stream, brooded over at the place 

 indicated by the bhnd and dumb walls of a convent. 

 There was no result. The Table was reproached with 

 the failure, and responded : " Search the river 

 again 1 " 



This time that which they were looking for was 

 found, and it w^as evident that there had, indeed, been 

 foul play. Nothing could be proved. Years after- 

 wards a nun, on her death-bed, told how, on a moon- 

 lit night, she had seen a struggle and a body tlirown 

 into the river, but had held her peace, fearing publicity 

 for herself, knowing that such evidence as she could 

 give would avail nothing. One sees the tall, dark 

 convent walls, well used to guarding secrets, with the 

 deep river rushing under tliem, and can realise a 

 - little what was felt by that lonely, trembling creature, 

 withdrawn from the world, and yet suddenly plunged 

 into a sort of participation in its crimes, as slie peered 

 througli tlie narrow window tliat should have been 

 blinded, and saw the iiglit on the river-bank, and 

 heard, perhaps, the splash that ended it. 



