THE GHOSTLY VISITOR.
Hushed were his angel’s lips, but still their bland
And beautiful expression seemed to melt
With love that could not die.—CAMPBELL.
“You should lie down and try to get some rest, my poor child. You look
quite worn out,” whispered Dr. Sales, looking compassionately on Elfie’s
thin, white face, and tremulous frame.
“I will, when Justin returns to the room. I must sleep an hour or two
this afternoon, so as to be able to watch with her through the night, if
indeed she should live so long,” assented Elfie.
And when Justin resumed his place by the bedside, Elfie retired to seek
her much needed sleep, warning them all to have her called if any change
should take place in Erminie.
It was as well Elfie went away when she did, for if she had remained in
the sick room five minutes longer, no one would have been able to
persuade her to go to rest.
For scarcely was the tired girl safe within her sanctuary, before old
Frederica came hobbling up stairs, and put her head into the door of the
sick room.
Justin arose softly and went to her.
“What is it, Frederica?” he asked.
“I want Miss Elfie.”
“She has gone to lie down. She must not be disturbed on any account. Can
I supply her place?”
“Well, she asked for Miss Elfie, sir. But if Miss Elfie can’t see her, I
suppose you can.”
“See—who?”
“Miss Conyers, sir.”
“MISS CONYERS!” exclaimed Justin.
And all the joy his sorrow could admit for companionship rushed into his
heart. But then came wonder and perplexity, and he repeated
slowly—“_Miss Conyers?_”
“Yes, sir, Miss Conyers, and she’s just offen a long journey, and she
looks completely wored out.”
“I will see her immediately,” said Justin.
And he stole to the bedside, whispered the news of the arrival to Dr.
Sales, and then he followed old Frederica from the room, and down the
stairs.
He opened the library door.
There stood Britomarte, sun-burned, dusty, travel-stained, almost
unrecognizable, but undoubtedly Britomarte.
“Britomarte! Miss Conyers!” exclaimed Justin, going towards her with
both hands stretched forth.
She met him and seized his hands as she exclaimed:
“How is your sister? How is my dear Erminie?”
“Oh, Britomarte! Oh, my friend, in what an hour of sorrow we meet!”
“She is—not gone?” hurriedly breathed Miss Conyers.
“No, not gone, but she is an angel prepared for Heaven, and she is
going,” groaned Justin.
“Oh, what is it? What is it that is killing her?” wept Britomarte.
Justin told her, as Elfie had told him:
“A malignant fever, caught in the hospital during her attendance upon
the sick soldiers.”
“Elfie? where is she? How is she?”
“Well, except that she is very much fatigued with incessant watching.
She is gone to lie down for a few hours.”
“And when can I see my dear Erminie?”
“At any time. Nothing disturbs her now. Would to Heaven it could. But I
warn you, dear Britomarte, that the sight will almost break your heart.”
“Take me to her, please,” said Miss Conyers, rising and taking off her
dusty bonnet and shawl.
Justin led the way up stairs to the chamber of death, and Britomarte
went up to the bedside and stood gazing upon the ruins of her beautiful
friend as Justin had gazed before; and the watchers now made way for her
as they had once made way for him; and after a few minutes Britomarte
sank, sobbing, upon her knees, and buried her head in the bedclothes.
They let her weep on undisturbed until the storm of grief had exhausted
its violence and left her quiet, and then Justin and Dr. Sales
approached, and each took a hand of hers, and they raised her from the
floor and placed her on the chair.
“Your grief is one that is shared by us all. All who knew and loved her
will be awfully bereaved. Only God can comfort us,” said the pastor,
gravely, as he pressed the hand of Miss Conyers.
At that moment old Frederica again appeared at the door, ushering in the
medical attendant.
The physician in solemn silence shook hands with Dr. Sales, Justin and
Britomarte, and then proceeded to examine his patient.
He lingered some fifteen or twenty minutes at the bedside with his
finger on her pulse, his eyes on her countenance, or his ear near her
lips—counting, watching, or listening for the ebb, or flow, or pause of
the currents of life.
At length he made his report: no change in the patient for better or
worse. He gave his prescriptions,—certain draughts and powders, to be
administered under certain contingencies; and he issued his orders to be
summoned immediately should any change take place in her, and then he
took leave and went away.
The afternoon passed off and no change took place in Erminie. She lay on
her bed, like a dead girl on her bier, or like a stone effigy on a tomb,
and her watchers sat around her motionless as statues.
As for Elfie, shut away in her distant room, she slept the deep sleep of
weariness until after sunset, when she awoke with a start, feeling
guilty that she had slept so long. Before even hurrying on her clothes,
she threw a large shawl around her and slipped down the back stairs to
inquire of Frederica about Erminie.
“She is still the same—no better, but no worse,” replied the
housekeeper. “And now, Miss Elfie, you had better go back to your room
and take a ’freshing bath; and by the time you are dressed, I will bring
you a cup of tea and a round of toast,” added old Frederica, wisely
suppressing the fact of Miss Conyers’ arrival, lest Elfie, in her
impatience to meet her friend, should deprive herself of the comfort and
refreshment so much needed.
So Elfie, ignorant of Britomarte’s presence in the house, took her bath
and afterwards her tea, and feeling refreshed and strengthened, went
immediately to the sick room, and walked directly to the bed where
Erminie still lay, a beautiful, white, motionless form, and where the
watchers still sat like statues.
In the absorption of all her thoughts with the subject of the sick girl,
Elfie had not noticed that there was a stranger present. She looked down
upon the marble face, pressed her lips to the cold mouth and the colder
brow, laid her hand upon the faintly beating heart, dropped fast tears
upon the quiescent form, and murmured:
“No change! no change! Oh, Heaven, will she pass away in this manner,
without recognizing any of her friends? What does the doctor say,
Justin?”
“He can give no decided opinion,” sighed the brother. Then, seeing that
Elfie’s attention continued to be so fixed upon the patient that she
entirely overlooked the visitor, he added:
“Elfie, do you see Miss Conyers?”
And Britomarte arose and held out her hand.
Elfie gave a start and uttered a cry that must have aroused any patient
not in a state of coma.
“You—you here! Where did you drop from? When did you come? Oh! but I am
so glad to see you; or I should be so, if I could feel glad of anything
now,” eagerly yet cautiously exclaimed Elfie, in half suppressed
excitement and a half smothered voice.
“I came last from Baltimore. I got here at two o’clock this afternoon,”
whispered Miss Conyers.
“At two o’clock! That was just when I laid down. Why didn’t they call
me?”
“We would not permit you to be disturbed,” said Britomarte.
“My dear Elfie,” said Justin, “Miss Conyers has arrived off a long and
dusty journey, and needs hospitable attentions of all sorts. May I ask
you to take my dear sister’s place as hostess, and do the honors of the
house to her?”
“Of course, of course,” hurriedly whispered Elfie; and she beckoned
Britomarte, who followed her from the room.
First Elfie gave orders to old Frederica to prepare a light repast for
the guest. And then she led Britomarte to a chamber up stairs, where she
supplied her with water, towels, and a complete change of clothes.
And afterwards, while Miss Conyers sat drinking tea, she poured into her
ear the history of her strange meeting with Goldsborough in the
hospital, and his tragic death.
Much of this Britomarte had heard before, by letters from Erminie; but
now she heard for the first time the full particulars of the affair.
Elfie then talked of Erminie and her fatal devotion to the sufferers in
the fever wards of the hospital, and the martyrdom in which that
devotion was about to end. And at that point she burst into tears.
“Take comfort,” said Miss Conyers. “I have watched her attentively for
the last five or six hours. And friends and physicians may all be
mistaken at last; and youth and constitution may eventually triumph.”
“Well, I hope so; or rather I would hope if I could,” sighed Elfie,
despondently.
And then they talked of other matters.
Elfie had her own theory, true or false, of Britomarte’s hidden life;
and so she forbore to ask Miss Conyers any questions about her manner of
existence.
And indeed in a little while they returned to the sick room, where the
beautiful Erminie still lay on her bed like a dead girl on her bier.
The gentlemen went down stairs to their late and comfortless dinner; for
meals were now very irregular in this house of woe.
After dinner Dr. Sales went away.
And that evening the watch for the night was arranged in this manner:
Elfie, having been refreshed by her long afternoon’s nap, was to sit up
from eight o’clock until two, and then she was to be relieved by
Britomarte.
Miss Conyers, being fatigued by her long journey, was to go to bed at
eight o’clock, and rest until two, when she was to rise and relieve
Elfie.
Accordingly, at eight o’clock Britomarte retired; and Elfie having drank
several large cups of strong green tea to keep herself wide awake, took
her seat in the big easy chair near the head of Erminie’s bed.
She had nothing to do but to think. She could neither read nor sew; for
there was no light in the room but the dim taper that burnt upon the
hearth. The whole house was very silent. The three gentlemen, Justin,
Major Fielding, Captain Ethel, were reading, or trying to read, in the
library below.
The two servants, old Frederica and Catherine, her niece, were seated in
their kitchen.
And the one man servant, old Bob, was dozing in a sort of porter’s chair
in the hall near the front door, to be easily within call.
Elfie looked forward wearily, drearily to her six hours of lonely
vigilance. Nothing but her love for Erminie could have borne through its
solitude and tediousness.
Even the first two hours, between eight and ten, when she had waking
company in the house, seemed awful in solitude and interminable in
tediousness.
All was so silent that she heard the sound of the very first footfalls
of the family preparing to retire, and it filled her with a strange,
nervous sense of desolation and dread.
First came the echo of the distant steps of the women servants going by
the back stairs to their rooms in the attic.
Next came the three gentlemen up the front stairs. They all paused at
the door of the sick room, to hear the last report of Erminie’s
condition before taking a final leave for the night.
Elfie went to meet them and gave her cheerless bulletin—“No change.”
Justin came in on tip-toes and gazed mournfully on his sister for a few
moments, and then kissed her pallid brow and stole away.
And the three gentlemen went up another flight of stairs, separated to
their several apartments and retired to bed.
Lastly Elfie heard Old Bob drag his mattress up the kitchen stairs and
along the hall to the front door, across which he laid it down; for
there, like a big watch-dog, he slept all night to guard the door, and
also to be at hand to let the doctor in should he call during the night
or very early in the morning. The tumbling rather than the laying down
of Old Bob on his mattress was the last social sound that Elfie heard to
keep her company.
After that all about the house was as still as the tomb. Though Elfie
hated snorers, now, so nervous and excitable did she feel, that she
would have been glad to hear Old Bob snore most sonorously. But
apparently the porter was a deep and silent sleeper.
Every five or ten minutes Elfie stooped over her patient; but the still
white face, so like the face of the dead, filled her with terror. She
could sometimes scarcely forbear screaming and running from the room.
But she controlled herself and watched on.
“What _has_ come over me?” she asked of herself. “I am naturally no
coward; and yet here I am listening and watching and starting as if I
expected to hear, or see, or suffer something hideous. Is it that I am
out of sorts through broken rest and irregular meals—fatigue of body and
anxiety of mind? Or is it the effect of the green tea? Or is it the near
proximity of death that gives all my surroundings a supernatural aspect
and throws over my spirit an atmosphere of awe and dread? I will walk
awhile.”
And so saying, Elfie arose and paced up and down the floor. Her feet,
cased in velvet slippers and walking over a soft carpet, made no noise.
So Elfie paced back and forth many times, until she had walked a mile or
two, if the distance had all been stretched out in a line.
Then when she had thoroughly fatigued herself, she sat down again in her
easy chair. Her act had been a very imprudent one; it had tired her and
made her sleepy. Indeed, she was just dropping off to sleep when the
striking of the clock aroused her.
It was a very softly, silvery sounding clock; but it was enough to
startle an irritable napper; and Elfie awoke with a spring, thinking
that she had very nearly fallen asleep; but having no idea that she
really had done so.
The clock chimed twelve.
And Elfie, to occupy her mind and keep herself awake, commenced quoting
poetry; another imprudent act, for however appropriate were the lines to
the time and scene, they were ill chosen for the occasion, because they
made her the more nervous, though not the less sleepy. The lines she
quoted were these:
“’Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion on the world.”
And so on to the end.
Before Elfie got to the end she had dropped asleep again, and she slept
on until she was once more aroused by the silvery striking of the clock.
It chimed “one,” and she sprang up with a guilty pang.
“Goodness! I had nearly been asleep again. One o’clock! well, the time
does pass. Only one hour more of this dreadful watch. I must try to keep
awake somehow. It will never do to let Britomarte catch me, a sentinel,
sleeping on my post. She is used to military discipline, and might take
it into her head that I ought to be shot. And indeed I think she would
be right. What a brute I am, even to feel like going to sleep beside
this dying angel!” exclaimed Elfie, rising and looking over her charge.
“No change—oh, no change, my poor, sweet martyr,” she said, as she
kissed the pale brow and then resumed her seat.
“Yes, I must keep awake somehow. Let me try more poetry, though nothing
but the horrible recurs to my memory to-night,” said Elfie, yawning.
“Now o’er the one-half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtained sleep; now witchcraft—”
Elfie lost herself, nodded forward, caught herself up and began again,
“Now witchcraft,” and nodded, and then resumed, “Witchcraft,” and then
she fell fast asleep.
Now what followed Elfie could never exactly account for, could never
even understand whether it were reality or “witchcraft,” indeed.
But this was what took place, or seemed to do so.
Elfie thought that she was again on the point of dropping to sleep, when
she became conscious that a tall, handsome, black-haired and
black-dressed man stood beside her. She seemed only half awake, and took
the man for Justin, and was about to speak to him, when she suddenly
recognized the Rebel General Eastworth, supposed to be then in the
entrenched lines of Charleston, helping to defend the city, but also
reported to have been killed in the last assault by the Union forces.
Before Elfie recovered from her astonishment so as to be able to call
out, the man, or the ghost, whichever it was, stretched forth his arm,
and placed a moist sponge, enveloped in a white handkerchief, to her
nose. And Elfie was at once exhilarated and overwhelmed by a strange,
delicious odor, that intoxicated her with a wild yet sweet delirium, and
deprived her of both the will and the power to change her position.
Sitting there, perfectly powerless, yet perfectly conscious, unable to
move or to speak, she yet heard and saw all that passed.
The tall man pinned the sponge in the handkerchief to her boddice
directly under her nose, so that, with her head resting on her breast,
she must continue to breathe the fumes.
Then he turned and dropped on his knees by the bed so as to bring his
dark, agonized brow nearer to the level of the beautiful pale face
pillowed there, and he kissed the cold lips passionately and wept.
“Oh! my dearest, my dearest, is it even so? I am here at the risk of my
life, of my honor, only to look upon your sweet eyes once more before
they are hidden forever in the grave, only to hear your gentle voice
speak forgiveness before it is hushed forever in death! But your eyes
are closed—your lips are mute—and your wings are already spread for
Heaven! Oh, Erminie! Erminie! how could I ever have weighed my mad
ambition against your holy love! Oh, my darling! my darling! that I
could offer up my life in ransom for yours! I would give my life to
restore you, my love!—nay, I would give my life merely to hear those
sweet silent lips speak one word—forgiveness!”
And here the strong man bowed his head upon the sides of the bed and
wept convulsively.
And now came the strangest part of the strange vision.
Elfie, witnessing all that occurred, as in a nightmare dream from which
she sought in vain to wake, saw also this strange phenomenon.
The white-robed form of Erminie slowly arose to a sitting posture; the
golden glory of her auburn hair fell around her like a halo; her face
shone “as the face of an angel;” she stretched forth her fair arms and
let her fair hands fall softly and slowly as snow-flakes upon the bowed
black head beneath them; and she murmured, in a grave, sweet, silvery
cadence:
“’Tis not for me to say the Heavenly word. But you sought me and I love
you. You saved my dear father from a dreadful doom, and I bless you. May
the Lord speak forgiveness to your soul, my love.”
Yes, to Elfie’s incredulous amazement, she who, for twenty-four hours,
had lain on her bed “like a marble girl on a marble slab,” incapable of
being moved to consciousness by the gentle words and caresses of her
only brother, or by the tender tears and kisses of her bosom friend, had
been stirred to life and roused to response by the passionate appeal of
her ghostly lover!
Simultaneously with this strange, discovery, there was a ringing as of
many bells in Elfie’s ears, a dancing as of many lights in Elfie’s eyes,
and the whole vision was whirled away from her in a delirious carnival
of glory.