Almost struck dumb with astonishment, he stood there, as if transfixed to the spot.

A gust of wind blew out his lamp.

In the dreadful darkness he heard the heavy footfalls of a man descending the stairs with slow and solemn step, while a voice, exactly like Farmer[Pg 6] Bertram’s, was heard repeating in sepulchral tones in the hall below—

[Pg 6]

“My footsteps shall follow you, Phillip Redgill, for ever!”

“Phillip Redgill,” gasped the murderer, “that is my name! Oh, God! it is the farmer’s voice, and yet he is here, lifeless and legless! Hark, what steps are those I hear? who could have limbed him thus?”

While Bolton (or Phillip Redgill, as the spirit voice now properly called him) stood trembling thus, the ghostly voice said loudly again—

“Phillip Redgill, beware! my footsteps shall follow you for ever!”

Dropping the blood-stained bludgeon beside the body, Phillip Redgill rushed from the room, dashed down stairs, opened the back door, and ran towards the orchard.

He mounted his horse, and was about to start off at a furious gallop, when he gave a sharp, horror-stricken shout at something he saw.

The gory legs of the farmer stood bolt upright in the snow beside him!

“Phillip Redgill, I follow you.”

The murderer plunged spurs into his steed, and dashed from the spot with the swiftness of the wind.

He perceived Bob Bertram at some distance, who was approaching his father’s house.

It was as much as he could do to control his feelings; but he said to Bob,

“I have soon returned, you see.”

“Yes, ye haven’t been long.”

“No, and I have been so successful that I wish to be generous to all I meet to-night, and, if you are not too proud, I’ll begin with you.”

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