Transcriber's Notes:
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At the Ghost Hour

The House of the

UNBELIEVING

THOMAS

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

PAUL HEYSE

BY

FRANCIS A. VAN SANTFORD

WITH DECORATIONS BY
ALICE C. MORSE

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY

MDCCCXCIV

Copyright, 1894, by
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.

THE HOUSE OF THE UNBELIEVING THOMAS

In a provincial town of northern Germany there is a street in which theancient, high-gabled houses bear, inscribed in Gothic letters, upon thelintels of their doors or upon little sandstone tablets, such honorableor fanciful names as "The Good Shepherd," "Noah's Dove," "The Palms ofPeace," "The Rose of Sharon," and underneath, the date of theirerection.

In former days this street had been one of the main arteries of thecity, whose staid, orthodox inhabitants coveted inward spiritualillumination rather than the light and air which penetrate fromwithout. Since then new generations had arisen, fired with the spiritof aggressive enlightenment, and the importance of these old families,content with the stray sunbeams that made their way over the tallroofs, had declined perceptibly. One by one, they had died off behindtheir "Palms of Peace" and their "Roses of Sharon," and had made wayfor the bustling children of the new era, whose light and cheerfuldwellings sprang up around the dingy old street.

From one of the houses, which had grown almost black under the stormsof three centuries, the street had received its name. Upon a blockof stone above the wide entrance there were cut, in letters soweather-worn as to be scarcely legible, these words: "The UnbelievingThomas, 1534." From this, the street had been christened Thomas Lane--atitle which it still bears, though, only in official documents and onthe map of the city. In common parlance it had been known for more thanfifty years as "Ghosts' Lane"--again because of that same ancientbuilding which was responsible for its correct name.For every one knewthat the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas" was haunted; and even themost cold-blooded free-thinkers of the town could not escape a slightshiver when business forced them to tread the neglected pavement ofthis street.

Why this old three-storied structure, so firm despite its great age,had been inhabited all these years only by poor unabsolved souls, noone could tell. With one man who had had the hardihood to purchase thehouse, things had turned out badly enough. A Jew, to whom the great,empty rooms seemed suitable for a warehouse, had been established thereless than two years, when one morning he was found with a bit of silkstuff twisted about his neck, hanging from the crosspiece of a windowin the largest room. And it subsequently became evident that Fortunehad turned her back upon this man, once prosperous and well-to-do, andthere was nothing for him but to steal out of the world and leave hisaccumulation of debts behind him.

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