A VERITABLE GHOST.
What a day of glory it had been to the spinster, this day on which
Madeline had read her three letters, and Cora had explored the shut-up
wing.
And what a day of torture to fastidious Edward Percy, who would have
welcomed any third presence, even Cora or John Arthur--any one,
anything, was better than that long slavery at the feet of a painted
and too-visibly ancient mistress. But even the longest days have an
end. At last he was set at liberty, and he hurried back to the little
inn, literally kicking his way through the Autumn darkness.
The old house of Oakley stood, with its last light extinguished, tall
and somber, against a back-ground of black sky and blacker trees. At
last every soul under its roof was asleep--all but one. That one was
very wide awake and intent on mischief.
Love-making, dear reader, although you may not know it, is a wearisome
business, even if ever so agreeable. Especially is it wearisome to
those like Miss Arthur--maidens whose waists are too tight, whose
complexions will ill-endure lip service, and whose tresses are liable
to become not only dishevelled but dislocated. Therefore, when Miss
Arthur had dismissed her lover, with a sigh of regret, she lost no
time in doffing her glories with a sigh of relief.
Even a very rich and hearty luncheon, which her maid had provided, was
gormandized rather than enjoyed, so tempting did her couch look to the
worn-out damsel.
Miss Arthur had refreshed herself with an hour's uninterrupted repose,
and was revelling in a dreamy Arcadia, hand in hand with her beloved,
when something cold falling on her cheek dispelled her visions. She
started broad awake, and face to face with a horrible reality.
The moon was pouring a flood of silvery light in through the two
windows, facing the south, whose curtains were drawn back, making the
room almost as light as at mid-day.
And there, near her bed, almost within reach of her hand, stood
_Madeline Payne_, all swathed in white clinging cerements, ghastly as
a corpse, hollow-eyed and awful, but, nevertheless, Madeline Payne!
Over her white temples dropped rings of curly, yellow hair, and across
the pale lips a mocking smile was flitting.
Miss Arthur gasped and closed her eyes very tight, but they would not
stay closed. They flew open again to behold the vision still there.
The spinster was transfixed with horror. Cold drops of perspiration
oozed out upon her forehead and trickled down her nose. She clutched
at the bedclothes convulsively, and gazed and gazed.
Wider and wider stared her eyes, but no sound escaped her lips. She
gazed and gazed, but the specter would not vanish. Poor Miss Arthur
was terror-stricken almost to the verge of catalepsy.
In consideration of the persistence with which they return again and
again, according to good authority, ghosts in general must be endowed
with much patience. Be this as it may of the average ghost, certain it
is that this particular apparition, after glaring immovably at the
spinster for the space of five minutes, began to find it monotonous.
Slowly, slowly from among the snowy drapery came forth a white hand,
that pointed at the occupant of the bed with silent menace.
[Illustration: "Near the bed, almost within reach of her hand, stood
_Madeline Payne_, all swathed in white!"--page 252.]
The spell was broken. The lips of Miss Arthur were unclosed, and
shrieks, one following the other in rapid succession, resounded in the
ears of even the most remote sleepers.
With the utterance of her first yell, Miss Arthur had made a desperate
plunge to the further side of her bed, away from the specter; and,
turning her face to the wall, shut out thus the appalling white
vision.
Having once found her voice, Miss Arthur continued to clutch at the
bed clothes, glare at the wall, and shriek spasmodically, even after
her "inner consciousness" must have assured her that the room now held
others beside herself and the ghost, supposing it to be still on the
opposite side of the bed.
Cora, in a state of wild _deshabille_; John Arthur, ditto, and armed
with a cane; Susan and Mary, half in the room and half out; then
Celine Leroque, apparently much frightened, without knowing at what.
A volley of questions from the master of the house, and a return of
courage to the mistress. But Miss Arthur only gathered herself
together, took in a fresh supply of breath, and embarked in another
series of howls.
Nothing was amiss in the room; it could not have been a burglar. The
night lamp was burning dimly behind its heavy shade; on the table were
the fragments of Miss Arthur's lunch; and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur had
found easy access through the closed, but unbolted door.
After a time, a long time, during which Cora and Celine administered
sal volatile and other restoratives, Mr. Arthur douched her with oaths
and ice water, and the servants whispered in a group, the maiden found
voice.
It was a very feeble voice, and it conveyed to her audience the
astounding intelligence that she had seen a ghost--Madeline Payne's
ghost.
Upon hearing her story, John Arthur seemed at first a little startled.
But Cora only laughed, and Celine, glancing significantly at the lunch
table, said, with a slight smile:
"Mademoiselle has nerves, and she may have lunched heartily before
retiring."
John Arthur strode across the room and viewed the _debris_ of
luncheon. "Humph!" he grunted. "Oysters and salads, potted meat and
pastry; strong coffee and lemon syllabub with brandy. Good Lord, I
don't know what should have kept the contents of an entire cemetery
from sweeping down upon your slumbers, you female gourmand. Ghosts
indeed!"
And he stamped out of the room in high dudgeon. His tirade was wholly
lost upon his sister, however, for that lady was whimpering
comfortably and putting all her feeble energy into the effort.
Cora glanced up as the door banged after her lord and master, and
ordered the servants back to bed. Then she turned toward Celine,
saying:
"That door was certainly not locked when we came to it, for I was here
even sooner than Mr. Arthur."
Celine smiled again: "Mademoiselle dismissed me before she had
finished her luncheon. I had disrobed her previously, and she said she
should retire as soon as she drank her coffee. She may have forgotten
the door."
Cora turned toward the bed. "Did you lock your door, Ellen?"
But Ellen did not know; she could not remember if she had or had not.
Then Cora said to Celine: "I am glad to find you so sensible. We shall
have hard work now to convince those ridiculous servants that there is
not a ghost in every corner."
"I do not think that graves open," replied the girl, seriously.
Then she gave her undivided attention to her mistress, who bade fair
to be hysterical for the rest of the night.
Miss Arthur would not be left alone again. No argument could convince
her that the specter was born of her imagination, and therefore not
likely to return. So Cora bade Celine prepare to spend the remainder
of the night in Miss Arthur's dressing room.
Accordingly, Celine withdrew to her own apartment, where her
preparations were made as follows:
First, she shook out the folds of a sheet that hung over a chair, and
restored it to its proper place on the bed. Then she removed from her
dressing stand a box of white powder, and brushed away all traces of
said powder from her garments and the floor. Next, she carefully hid
away a key that had fallen to the floor and lay near the classically
folded sheet. These things accomplished, she made a few additions to
her toilet, extinguished the light, locked her door carefully, trying
it afterward to make assurance doubly sure, and retraced her steps to
relieve Cora, who was dutifully sitting by the spinster's bed, and
beginning to shiver in her somewhat scanty drapery.
As the night wore on, and Miss Arthur became calmed and quiet, the
girl lay back in the big dressing chair, gazing into the grate, and
thinking. Her thoughts were sometimes of Claire, sometimes of
Clarence; of the Girards, and of Edward Percy; then of her success as
a ghostess, and at this she would almost laugh.
But from every subject her mind would turn again and again to one
question, that repeated itself until it took the form of a goblin and
danced through her dreams, when at last she slept, whispering over and
over:
"What is it that Cora Arthur carries in a belt about her waist? what
is it? what is it?"
For the girl had made a strange discovery while Cora was sitting
beside Miss Arthur's bed, clad only in night's scanty drapery.