Rob's time," said Annie. "What a very extraordinary thing of Coullie to
do! I never saw him in such a way before. Besides, he couldn't have
forgotten Donald!"
"Forget him!" exclaimed the old woman; "Na, na; Coullie no forgets. Mind
ye lass; tak tent o' that man--there's bluid upon him!"
Donald in the mean time had retreated into the house in search of some
water to wash his hand that Coullie had bitten. When he came out the old
woman and the dog had departed.
But the lookers on were not uninterested observers of what had past. A
new idea struck them; the tide of opinion was rather turned in Ihan's
favour. However, this was but the under current of gossip. Donald went
home with Sandy Shiels and Annie, who whatever they might have thought,
said nothing; but after this, in the nightly prayer, Sandy not only
besought God that the innocent might be justified; but also, that the
guilty might be brought to repentance; and sometimes he would go
further, dilating on the duties enjoined by a _true_ repentance; such as
reparation, where reparation could be made; and, at all events, where it
could not, taking the burthen of our guilt on our own shoulders, even
though it weigh us down to death, rather than let the guiltless man
suffer, though it were only the breath of slander.
One morning, about three weeks after the departure of the old Highland
woman, when they opened the door they found Coullie waiting to be let
in. However, kindly treated by his new owners, he had found his way
back; a letter arrived from them shortly afterwards, saying, they had
missed him, and that they did not doubt that he would reach his former
home, "and, may, be yet give testimony agen the wicked."
Annie kept the contents of this epistle to herself, but it did not
escape her eye that Donald seemed cowed by Coullie's enmity, which the
animal never failed to exhibit as much as he durst. Moreover, as time
passed, Donald lost his appetite and the healthy hue of his complexion;
in short it was evident he was far from happy in his situation; and she
thought that Sandy's significant and awful prayers were eating into his
soul and wearing him away.
Farm servants are usually hired for six months; and at last Donald gave
warning that he should leave next term--he did not think the place
agreed with him; so it seemed indeed; but that was the year 1832; and
ere term time arrived, the cholera came, and seized upon Donald as one
of its first victims in those parts.
Before he died, he made his confession in presence of the doctor, to the
effect, that he was jealous of Rob, because in the morning he and Ihan
had overheard a conversation between him and Annie, and she had promised
him a lock of her hair. That he met him as he was returning from
Gilford, induced him to go out of his road towards the Quarry, by saying
one of the sheep had fallen in, and when Rob was off his guard, he
pushed him over; but not without a desperate struggle, Rob being very
active and strong.
He was dreadfully frightened, and ran from the place not knowing what
would happen, and for some time he hourly expected Rob to come home. But
at length finding he did not, he ventured to approach the spot; but
Coullie was there and he flew at him and bit him so severely that he
resolved to leave the country and go to the Infirmary. He had heard of
Rob's remains being found and buried, while he was living at Dunse; and
thinking there would be no more enquiry about the matter, he accepted
the farmer's offer to come back, because he wanted to see Annie.
And so he died, justifying the innocent, according to the old man's
prayers; but Ihan did not long survive. Sandy said he feared he had
taken to whiskey drinking from disappointment and vexation, and the
cholera found him also an easy prey.
MY FRIEND'S STORY.
"I don't know how often you have promised to tell me a remarkable thing
in the ghostly line, that happened to yourself," said I, the other day
to my friend; "but something has always come in the way; now I shall be
very much obliged to you for the particulars, if you have no objection
to my printing the story."
"None," she said, "but as regards names of persons and places; the
circumstances are so singular that I think they deserve to be recorded.
That part of the affair which happened to myself I vouch for; and I can
only say that I have most entire confidence in the truth of the rest,
and that all the enquiries I made, tended to confirm the story.
"I remember your asking me once, why I so seldom visited our place in
S----, and I told you it was because it was so dreadfully _triste_ that
I could not inhabit it. You will perhaps suppose that what I am going to
relate happened there, but it did not, for the house has not even the
recommendation of being haunted--that would at least give it an
interest--but I am sorry to say the sole interest it possesses is, that
it happens to be ours. Dull as it is, however, we lived there shortly
after I was married, for some time. I had no children then, which made
it all the duller, particularly when my husband was called away; and on
one of these occasions, some acquaintances I had, who were living at a
place called the Bellfry, about two miles distant, invited me to visit
them for a few days.
"The Bellfry is a common place square house, just such as the doctor or
lawyer would inhabit in a provincial town; a little white swing gate, a
round grass plot, with a few straggling dahlias, a gravel road leading
to the small portico, and a terrible loud bell to ring, when you want to
be admitted. So much for the exterior. The interior is not at all more
suggestive to the fancy. On the ground floor, there is the usual parlour
on one side, and drawing-room on the other, with a long passage leading
to the offices at the back; upstairs, a sort of corridor, with dingy
bedrooms opening into it. Decidedly not lively, but perfectly prosaic,
it was by no means calculated to inspire ghostly terrors; and, indeed, I
must confess the supernatural, as it is called, was a subject that, at
that time, had never engaged my attention. I mention all this to show
you that what happened was not 'the offspring of my excited
imagination,' as the learned always tell you these things are. Moreover,
I was young; and, to the best of my belief, in very good health.
"The room they gave me was the best. It was plainly but comfortably
furnished, with a large four-post bed, and it looked into the
churchyard; but this is not an uncommon prospect in country towns, and I
thought nothing about it. Now that we understand these things better, I
should think it not ghostly, but unhealthy.
"The first two or three nights I slept there, nothing particular
occurred; but on the fourth or fifth night, soon after I had fallen
asleep, I was awoke by a noise which appeared very near me, and on
listening attentively, I heard a rustling sound, and footsteps on the
floor. I forgot for the moment that I had locked my door, and
concluding it was the housekeeper, who sometimes looked in when I was
going to bed, to ask if I was comfortable, I said, 'Is that you, Mrs.
H?' But there was no answer, upon which I sat up and looked around; and
seeing nobody, though I heard the sound still, I jumped out of bed. Then
I observed, for if was a bright moonlight night, that there was a large
tree in the churchyard, which grew very close to the window, and I
concluded that a breeze had arisen, and caused the branches to touch the
glass; so I got into bed again quite satisfied, and settled myself to
sleep. But scarcely had I closed my eyes, when the footsteps began
again, much too distinct this time to be mistaken for anything else; and
whilst I was listening in amazement, I heard a heavy, heavy sigh. I had
raised myself on my elbow, in order to have my ears freer to listen, and
presently I saw the curtains at the foot of the bed, which were closed,
slowly and gently opened. I saw no figure, but they were held apart,
apparently by the two hands of some one standing there. I bounded out of
bed, and rushed out of the room into the corridor, screaming for help.
All who heard me, got up and came out of their rooms, to enquire what
had happened; but I had not courage to tell the truth, I was afraid of
giving offence, or incurring ridicule, and I said I had been awakened by
a noise in my room, and I was afraid somebody was concealed there. They
went in with me and searched; of course, nobody was found; and one
suggested that it was a mouse, another that it was a dream, and so
forth. But then, and still more the next morning, I fancied, from their
manner, they were better acquainted with my midnight visitor than they
chose to say. However, I changed my room, and soon after quitted the
Bellfry, which I have never slept at since, so there concludes the
story, so far as I am concerned; but there is a sequel to the tale.
"I must tell you that I never mentioned these circumstances, because I
knew I should only be laughed at; besides I thought it might annoy my
hosts, as they had an idea of going abroad for some time, and it might
have interfered with their letting the house.
"Now to my sequel.
"Two or three years after this occurrence, I fell desperately ill;
first I was confined of an infant which did not survive; and then I was
attacked with typhus fever, which raged in the neighbourhood. I was at
death's door for eleven weeks, and not expected to recover; but you see,
I did, _nonobstant messrs. les medicins_; but I was so long regaining my
strength, that I was recommended to try the effects of a sea voyage.
Even then, I could not sit up, and was lifted about like a baby; and as
a fine lady's maid would have been of no use on board the yacht, a
sailor's daughter from the coast was engaged to attend me; a strong,
healthy young woman, to whom my weight was a feather. She tended me most
faithfully, and I found her simple, truthful, and straightforward;
insomuch, that I had thoughts of engaging her in my service permanently.
With this view, and also because it helped to pass the time, I
questioned her about her family, and the manner of life of her class, in
the out of the way part of the country from which she came.
"'I suppose, Mary, you've never been away from home before?'
"'Oh, yes, Ma'am; I was in service as housemaid for a short time at the
Bellfry, not far from your place, Ma'am; but I soon left that, and I
have never been out again.'
"'But why did you leave? Didn't you like the place?'
"'No, Ma'am.'
"'But why? Perhaps you'd too much to do?'
"'No, Ma'am, it wasn't a hard place; but unpleasant things happened, and
so I left.'
"'What sort of unpleasant things?' said I, my own adventure there
suddenly recurring to my memory.
"She hesitated, and said, that perhaps it would alarm me; she had also
made a sort of promise to her master and mistress not to talk about it,
and she never had mentioned what happened except to her parents, in
order to account for leaving so suddenly. I assured her that I should
not be alarmed, and overcame her scruples, and then she told me what
follows.
"It appeared that she was engaged as housemaid at the Bellfry about two
years before my visit there. Shortly after her arrival, her mistress
being taken very unwell, her master went to sleep at the other side of
the house, whilst Mary made her bed in the dressing-room, in order to
be near at hand if the invalid required any assistance in the night. She
had directions to keep some refreshment ready in case it was wanted, and
towards two o'clock in the morning, her mistress saying she should like
a little broth, Mary rose, and half drest, proceeded down stairs with a
candle in her hand, to fetch some which she had left simmering on the
kitchen fire. As she descended the last flight of stairs, she was a good
deal startled at seeing a bright light issuing from the kitchen--the
door of which was open--much brighter than could possibly proceed from
the fire, for the whole passage was illuminated by it. Her first and
very natural idea was that there were thieves in the house; and she was
about to rush upstairs again to her master's room, when it occurred to
her that one of the servants might be sitting up for some object of her
own, and she stopt to listen, but there was not the least sound--all was
silent. It then occurred to her that possibly something might have
caught fire; so half-frightened, she advanced on tip-toe and peeped in,
when, to her surprise, she saw a lady dressed in white, sitting by the
fire, into which she was sadly and thoughtfully gazing. Her hands were
clasped upon her knees, and two large greyhounds--beautiful dogs, said
Mary--sat at her feet, both looking up fondly in her face. Her dress
seemed to be of cambric or dimity, and from Mary's description, was that
worn by ladies in the seventeenth century.
"The kitchen was as bright as if illuminated by twenty candles, but this
did not strike her she said, till afterwards; so quite reassured by the
appearance of a lady instead of a band of robbers, it did not occur to
her to question who she was or how she came there; and saying, 'I beg
your pardon ma'am', she entered the kitchen, dropt a curtsey, and was
going towards the fire, but as she advanced the vision retreated, till,
at last, lady, chair, and dogs, glided through the closed window; and
then the figure appeared standing erect in the garden, with its face
close to the panes, and the eyes looking sorrowfully and earnestly on
poor Mary.
"'And what did you do then, Mary?' said I.
"'Oh, ma'am, then I _fared_ to feel very queer, and I fell upon the
floor with a scream.'
"Her master heard the cry, and came down to see what was the matter.
When she told him what she had seen, he endeavoured to persuade her it
was all fancy; but Mary said she knew better than that; however, she
promised not to talk of it, as it might frighten her sick mistress.
"Subsequently, she met the same melancholy apparition pacing the
corridor into which the room that I had slept in opened; and not liking
these rencontres she gave warning and left the place.
"She knew nothing more, for her home was at some distance from the
Bellfry, which she had not since revisited: but when I had recovered my
health and returned to that part of the country, I found, on enquiry,
that this apparition was believed to haunt not only the house, but the
neighbourhood; and I conversed with several people who affirmed they had
seen her, generally alone, but sometimes accompanied by the two dogs.
"One woman said she had no fear, and that she had determined if she met
the ghost, to try and touch her, in order to ascertain if it was
positively an apparition; she did meet her in the dusk of the evening on
the path that runs by the high road between the Bellfry and G---- and put
out her arm to take hold of her dress. She felt no substance, but she
described the sensation as if she had plunged her hand into cold water.
"Another person saw her go through the hedge, and he observed, that he
could see the hedge through the figure as she glided into the field.
"It is whispered that this unfortunate lady was an ancestress of the
original proprietor of the place, who married a man she adored, contrary
to the advice of her friends; and too late she discovered that he had
taken her only for her money, which was needed to repair his ruined
fortunes; he, the while being deeply enamoured of her younger sister,
whose portion was too small for his purpose.
"The sister came to live with the newly married couple; and suspecting
nothing, the bride was some time wholly unable to account for her
husband's mysterious conduct and total alienation. At length she
awakened to the dreadful reality, but unable to overcome her passion,
she continued to live under his roof, suffering all the tortures of
jealousy and disappointed love. She shunned the world; and the world,
who soon learnt the state of affairs, shunned her husband's society; so
she dragged on her dreary existence with no companionship but that of
two remarkable fine greyhounds, which her husband had given her before
marriage. Riding or walking, she was always accompanied by these
animals--they and their affection were all she could call her own on
earth.
"She died young; not without some suspicions that her end was
hastened--at least, passively, by neglect, if not by more active means.
"When she was gone, the husband and the sister married; but the
tradition runs, that the union was anything but blest. It is said that
on the wedding night, immediately after her attendant had left her,
screams were heard proceeding from the bridal chamber; and that on going
upstairs, the bride was found in hysterics, and the groom pale, and
apparently horror-stricken. After a little while, they desired to be
left alone, but in the morning it was evident that no heads had prest
the pillows. They had past the night without going to bed, and the next
day they left their home--she never to return. She is supposed to have
gone out of her mind, and to have died abroad in that state, carefully
tended by him to the last. After her decease, he returned once to the
Bellfry, a prematurely aged, melancholy man; and after staying a few
days, and destroying several letters and papers, to do which appeared
the object of his visit, he went away, and was seen no more in that
county."
Alas, for poor human nature! How we are cursed in the realisation of our
own wishes! How we struggle and sin to attain what we are never to
enjoy!
OSTELL, PRINTER, HART STREET, BLOOMSBURY.