E-text prepared by Lionel G. Sear
A Book of Stories
The stories in this book are of revenants: persons who either inspirit or in body revisit old scenes, return upon old selves or oldemotions, or relate a message from a world beyond perception. "Which?"was suggested by a passage in Hawthorne's Note-books, where he proposesa story or sketch the scene of which is "to be laid within the light ofa street lantern; the time, when the lamp is near going out; and thecatastrophe to be simultaneous with the last flickering gleam.""The Lady of the Ship" is very nearly historical. "Prisoners of War"rests on the actual adventures of two St. Ives men, Thomas Williams andJohn Short, in the years 1804-1814. "Frozen Margit" and "The SeventhMan" have—if not their originals—at least their suggestions in fact.
One of the tales, "Once Aboard the Lugger," is itself a revenant.After writing it in the form here presented, I took advice and gave itanother, under the title of "Ia." Yet some whose opinion I value preferthe original, and to satisfy them (though I think them wrong) it isreprinted; not with intent to pad out the volume. But my readers aretoo generous to need the assurance.
My Dear Violet,—So you "gather from the tone of two or three recentletters that my spirit is creeping back to light and warmth again"?Well, after a fashion you are right. I shall never laugh again as Iused to laugh before Harry's death. The taste has gone out of thatcarelessness, and I turn even from the remembrance of it. But I can becheerful, with a cheerfulness which has found the centre of gravity.I am myself again, as people say. After months of agitation in whatseemed to be chaos the lost atom has dropped back to its place in thescheme of things, and even aspires (poor mite!) to do its infinitesimalbusiness intelligently. So might a mote in a sunbeam feel itself at onewith God!
But when you assume that my recovery has been a gradual process, you arewrong. You will think me more than ever deranged; but I assure you thatit has been brought about, not by long strivings, but suddenly—withoutpreparation of mine—and by the immediate hand of our dead brother.
Yes; you shall have the whole tale. The first effect of the news ofHarry's death in October last was simply to stun me. You may rememberhow once, years ago when we were children, we rode home together acrossthe old Racecourse after a long day's skating, our skates swinging atour saddle-bows; how Harry challenged us to a gallop; and how, midway,the roan mare slipped down neck over crop on the frozen turf and hurledme