Or, the uncle of my brother's wife was riding home on horseback, one
mellow evening at sunset, when, in a green lane close to his own
house, he saw a man standing before him, in the very centre of a
narrow way. "Why does that man in the cloak stand there!" he
thought. "Does he want me to ride over him?" But the figure never
moved. He felt a strange sensation at seeing it so still, but
slackened his trot and rode forward. When he was so close to it, as
almost to touch it with his stirrup, his horse shied, and the figure
glided up the bank, in a curious, unearthly manner--backward, and
without seeming to use its feet--and was gone. The uncle of my
brother's wife, exclaiming, "Good Heaven! It's my cousin Harry,
from Bombay!" put spurs to his horse, which was suddenly in a
profuse sweat, and, wondering at such strange behaviour, dashed
round to the front of his house. There, he saw the same figure,
just passing in at the long French window of the drawing-room,
opening on the ground. He threw his bridle to a servant, and
hastened in after it. His sister was sitting there, alone. "Alice,
where's my cousin Harry?" "Your cousin Harry, John?" "Yes. From
Bombay. I met him in the lane just now, and saw him enter here,
this instant." Not a creature had been seen by any one; and in that
hour and minute, as it afterwards appeared, this cousin died in
India.
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