at, and partly to spare from ridicule a circumstance to which each
perhaps, in spite of himself, attached some degree of importance.
Experience soon convinced them that the first noise as of one sitting
down never occurred unless the _Gagliarda_ of the "Areopagita" was
played, and that this noise being once heard, the second only followed
it when they ceased playing for the evening. They met every night,
sitting later with the lengthening summer evenings, and every night,
as by some tacit understanding, played the "Areopagita" suite before
parting. At the opening bars of the _Gagliarda_ the creaking of the
chair occurred spontaneously with the utmost regularity. They seldom
spoke even to one another of the subject; but one night, when John was
putting away his violin after a long evening's music without having
played the "Areopagita," Mr. Gaskell, who had risen from the pianoforte,
sat down again as by a sudden impulse and said--

"Johnnie, do not put away your violin yet. It is near twelve o'clock
and I shall get shut out, but I cannot stop to-night without playing the
_Gagliarda_. Suppose that all our theories of vibration and affinity are
wrong, suppose that there really comes here night by night some strange
visitant to hear us, some poor creature whose heart is bound up in that
tune; would it not be unkind to send him away without the hearing of
that piece which he seems most to relish? Let us not be ill-mannered,
but humour his whim; let us play the _Gagliarda_."

They played it with more vigour and precision than usual, and the now
customary sound of one taking his seat at once ensued. It was that night
that my brother, looking steadfastly at the chair, saw, or thought he
saw, there some slight obscuration, some penumbra, mist, or subtle
vapour which, as he gazed, seemed to struggle to take human form. He
ceased playing for a moment and rubbed his eyes, but as he did so all