Glenalvan Hall, like all old family mansions belonging to old and
respectable families, had its reputed ghost.
It was currently reported that three rooms in the upper story were
haunted by the spirit of a fair young girl who had once inhabited them,
and who had pined away and died for love of a handsome man who had not
known of her love nor reciprocated it.
This fair ancestress of Golden's--Erma Glenalvan, as she was
called--was said to haunt the suite of rooms she had occupied in life,
and credulous people believed that on moonlight nights she walked up
and down, weeping and sighing, and wringing her white hands because her
spirit could not retain its grave.
It was to these gloomy and dismantled rooms, haunted by the restless
ghost of an unhappy girl, that little Golden was consigned for a week
or more by the stern desire of John Glenalvan. It was a hard trial to
the child.
She would not have consented to it but for the pleadings of her
grandfather. Her love and gratitude to him made her yield an easy
consent to his prayer, while she inwardly quaked with fear at the dread
ordeal before her.
Old Dinah was desired by her master to transfer suitable bedding and
furniture to the room Golden would occupy, and to carry her meals to
that room daily and attend carefully on her young mistress. Black Dinah
was furious.
"I know'd dar was deviltry afoot," she said. "I know'd it! John
Glenalvan never sets his foot in ole massa's presence without some
devil's broth is a-brewing!"
"Hush, Dinah," old Hugh said, sternly. "You must not speak of my son
that way. Do as I bid you. No harm can come to the child. She is
willing to the plan."
Dinah's loud complaints subsided into muttering and grumbling, but she
did as her master had ordered.
That night when old Hugh had laid his gray head on his pillow, and old
Dinah had gone into the other wing of the hall, little Golden sat down
to read in the ghostly-looking chamber where Erma Glenalvan's loving
heart had broken for a hopeless love.
Through the weird stillness and solitude of the haunted room, the sound
of the gay dance music came to Golden's ears, softened and mellowed by
the distance.
The little maiden's heart beat faster at the delicious sound, so
inspiring to youthful ears. She threw down her book impatiently.
"How sweet it sounds," she said. "They are in the great dancing-hall.
I should like to see them. How cruel my cousins are to me!"
The sweet lips quivered, and the blue eyes darkened with anger. Golden
was a spoiled, impetuous child. Her grandpa and old Dinah had always
yielded to her in everything and placed no restraint on her impetuous
temper.
Her little heart was swelling bitterly now, with resentment against
her cruel cousins. She felt their neglect and their insults keenly,
the more so because she was ignorant of any possible reason for their
contumely.
"I should like to spoil their party for them," the little creature
said to herself with a passionate vindictiveness, quite unusual with
her. "I have a great mind to play ghost, and frighten them all out of
the dancing-hall. It would not be a bit too bad for them, after their
meanness to me!"
She had heard old Dinah say that Clare and Elinor were very much
afraid of the beautiful phantom of Glenalvan Hall. They would not have
ventured into the haunted suite alone for any amount of money.
Clare had been heard to say that the very sight of the ghost would be
sufficient to strike her dead.
Beautiful Golden, who was as changeful as the summer breeze, began to
laugh at the mischievous idea which had occurred to her.
"What a fine joke it would be to personate poor Erma Glenalvan," she
thought. "How Clare and Elinor would fly from the festive scene when I
appeared, weeping and wringing my hands."
She had heard the ghost described by Dinah, who averred that she had
seen it several times.
She remembered the long, white robe, the flowing veil of golden
hair, the pearl necklace, the wondrous beauty, shining, as old Dinah
declared, like a star.
The beauty, the youth, the veil of golden hair she had. But the dress
and the pearls. Where should she find them?
An old wardrobe which had once belonged, no doubt, to the love-lorn
Erma, stood against the wall. Golden pulled the door open, not without
some little fear, and looked in at the collection of moth-eaten dresses
that hung on the pegs.
She could not tell whom they belonged to, for she had never looked into
the wardrobe before, but she guessed that they were very old, for a
cloud of dust rose from them as the door flew open, and as she touched
them with her hand, some of the folds fell into rents, and showed how
long they had been the prey of the moth.
But as Golden pulled one after another down from the pegs and tossed
them into a rainbow heap on the floor, she came to one at last that
would serve her purpose.
It was a long, white dress of rich, brocaded silk, yellowed by time,
antique in style, but tolerably well-preserved.
Golden uttered a cry of delight, patting her little foot blithely to
the merry measure of the dance music.
"The very thing," she cried, and then she shivered slightly. "Perhaps
it belonged to poor Erma," she thought.
But in a few minutes Golden's blue gingham lay on the floor, and she
had slipped into the old brocade, and hooked it together. It fitted her
perfectly.
The neck was low, and finished with a deep frill of fine, old, yellow
lace. The sleeves were short, and the dimpled shoulders and beautifully
moulded arms were exposed to the greatest advantage.
Golden then took up the comb and brush and brushed her long, yellow
ringlets out of curl until they fell about her slender, graceful form
like a veil of summer sunshine.
"If I only had the pearls, now, I might readily pass for the phantom,"
she said, looking at the reflection of herself in the glass. "How nice
I look. This dress is quite becoming, I declare."
As she turned round, admiring the long, soft, trailing folds of the
brocade, something rattled in what appeared to be the region of the
pocket.
Golden ran her slim fingers into the pocket, and they encountered a
rent between the lining and the material of the dress.
Following the rent with her fingers to the very edge of the skirt, they
encountered something which she drew out and found to be a necklace of
large, gleaming, milk-white pearls.
Golden uttered a cry of surprise and joy as she clasped the beautiful
treasure, so strangely found, around her firm, white throat.
* * * * *
In the dancing-room that night they had been talking of the Glenalvan
ghost. Elinor or Clare had taken a great deal of pains to let Bertram
Chesleigh know how grand and wealthy the Glenalvans had been before the
war, and especially they had been pleased to have him hear about the
beautiful phantom of the girl, Erma, who had died of a broken heart.
Though they were afraid of her, and would not have willingly beheld her
for anything, they were proud of the _prestige_ of a family ghost. They
considered that only distinguished families ever had such visitations.
Elinor told him the pretty legend she had heard from a superstitious
old servant. She said the phantom would fly if anyone approached her,
but if she could once be overtaken and kissed by a very handsome man
she would rest in her grave and walk no more.
But it was confidently asserted that no one could accomplish such a
feat, for the phantom flew before every pursuer as if fear lent it
wings.
"If you could catch and kiss her, Mr. Chesleigh, I think the ghost
would be forever laid," said Clare Glenalvan, with a simper, and
affected laugh.
"Thank you, Miss Clare," said Bertram Chesleigh, with a bow, though he
was inwardly disgusted. He knew that he was a very handsome man.
His mirror had told him so, but he did not admire Clare's forwardness
in telling him of it so plainly.
The merry dance went on. The subject of the Glenalvan ghost had passed
from the minds of the dancers when suddenly the music, which had been
filling the air with sweetness, came to a dead stop.
All the dancers looked toward the door where the band was stationed,
for the cause of the silence.
The performers had dropped their instruments, and were staring
open-mouthed at a vision in the wide, open doorway that opened from
a long dark, corridor--a vision clearly outlined against the outer
darkness, and plainly seen by all in the room--a girlish form in
sweeping, white robes and falling, golden hair, the beautiful face,
convulsed with woe and pain, the white arms extended, the small hands
clasping and unclasping each other in gestures of infinite despair.
"The Glenalvan ghost!" ran from lip to lip in a murmur of awe and
terror, while timid young girls clung shrieking to their partners, and
the utmost confusion prevailed.
Elinor Glenalvan tried to faint in the arms of Bertram Chesleigh, but
he put her hastily into a chair and said quickly:
"Miss Glenalvan, I am going to earn your everlasting gratitude. I shall
kiss the beautiful Erma, and the Glenalvan ghost will be forever laid."
He sprang toward the doorway, but in that moment the beautiful phantom
turned and fled precipitately before him.