_July 20th_.—Is it possible that I can have let nearly a whole month
slip away without writing a line in my diary? I had no idea of it till
I saw the last date inscribed here; and the month itself seems to have
gone so swiftly, that had it not been for this reminder, I should have
imagined it was not more than a week since I recorded my experiences. I
suppose it is the monotony of the place which makes the time go so fast.
My poor little Janie has not been well during this month: the heat has
been unusually trying, and she lies on her sofa half the day, suffering
from nervous headaches, and a general disinclination to get up and do
anything. In this emergency her cousin has been invaluable; she is
constantly by her side, reading to her, writing her letters, or amusing
her with quiet conversation; indeed, I may say we share the duty, for, of
course, I like to wait on Janie; and the novels which Margaret brought
out from England with her are very entertaining to listen to, and to me
an entirely new field of fancy, as I have scarcely ever looked into a
work of fiction in my life. I imagined novels, particularly modern ones,
were such rubbish; and so I suppose they are. Yet, on a hot day, and when
there is nothing else to do, it is very pleasant to sit still, fanning
Janie and listening to Margaret’s mellow voice as she reads them to us.
We are engaged upon the _Newcomes_ at present. I pity that poor devil
Clive, with such a little fool as Rosy for a wife, and especially when
he might have had a girl like Ethel Newcome. I didn’t care a pin about
the story at first, but I feel quite interested in it now, and anxious to
know if he gets rid of Rosy by any means, so that he may marry the other.
I think it will be very hard lines if he doesn’t. Margaret laughs at me,
and says I am a bloodthirsty monster, and that Clive should be made to
abide the consequences of his folly; and so, I suppose, by rights he
should.
What a genial laugh she has, and how pleasant it is to see her blush and
smile! I can understand now what Janie means by calling her complexion
creamy; it is so smooth and equable, not easily flushed, but at the same
time not liable to become florid and irritable-looking, which is so often
the case with fair skins. We have certainly had some very quiet peaceful
days together. I have faithfully kept the compact I made with her to be
her friend, and I think she appreciates my wish to give her pleasure. We
have had no parties since she expressed a contrary desire, and I have
even told Forster—who is evidently most absurdly spoony on her—that she
does not favour his suit—as I can see by her manner towards him—and that
he really must not come to the house so often. He says, ‘Why not let
him try his luck?’ but I am firm in making him understand that trial
would only end in disappointment for himself. He grumbles; so do several
others; but my wife’s state of health is sufficient excuse for our not
entertaining at present. I told Margaret of what I had said to Forster
relative to her not liking his attentions, and she blushed so crimson
that I stopped in alarm to ask if I had done wrong; but she assured me
to the contrary, and that she does not like the man. I have not had a
good opportunity yet of probing her concerning that former attachment of
which I am suspicious; but I fancy I see signs of it almost every day;
also that she has somehow guessed at my intentions, for I am sure she
has avoided being alone with me lately. Notwithstanding all which we are
very happy, and Lionne is very different from what I expected her to
be. She has not been in a temper once since we arrived at that mutual
understanding.
_July 21st._—Talk of the old gentleman, they say, and he is sure to
appear. I hope I did not raise the slumbering demon in Miss Anstruther’s
breast by my innocent remark of last night; but she has certainly given
us a peep of him since.
I was sitting in my own room this afternoon, occupied with some official
papers, when I heard a confusion of tongues in the compound, and Janie’s
frightened voice, in tones of agitation, entreating me to go to her
assistance. I ran, of course, to find that the cause of her alarm was a
loud altercation going on between Miss Anstruther and some natives in the
back verandah.
‘Oh, do go to them, Robert dear!’ Janie plaintively exclaimed; ‘Lionne is
so angry, and I can’t think what for.’
I dashed upon the scene of action, and took in the circumstances at a
glance. In the centre stood Lionne—a _lionne_ indeed, looking—I could not
help observing it, even whilst I blamed the exhibition—most beautiful
under the influence of her rage. Her dark face glowing with passion, her
arm extended, though powerless to command attention, and her lips pouring
forth a torrent of generous indignant words, alike uncomprehended and
unheeded by those around her. By her side stood two or three servants,
who stared at the lady’s vehemence without attempting to execute her
wishes; whilst before her, in the compound was a group of natives
actively employed in torturing a poor pariah dog by methods too horrible
to relate, and only abating their cruelty to exchange significant grins
and glances with one another at Lionne’s impotent rage. But my appearance
amongst them had the effect of an electric shock upon the herd.
‘What is all this about?’ I demanded angrily of my servants. ‘How dare
you let such a scene go on in my compound?’
‘Oh, Robert! Robert!’ exclaimed Lionne—it is the first time in her life
that she has called me by my Christian name—‘stop them; make them leave
off such horrid cruelty. I did not know you were at home, or I would have
sent for you before.’
The natives had already shrunk back and huddled together, whilst the
unfortunate victim of their experiments still lay panting on the sand
before us.
‘Oh, look at it! look at it!’ she cried excitedly; ‘it is in agony; it
is dying! Oh, you wretches! you inhuman, barbarous savages!’ with an
expression and emphasis which must have made even her English phrases
intelligible to the creatures she addressed; ‘I should like to see every
one of you served in the same way. You are not men, you are devils!’
‘Lionne,’ I said firmly, as I laid my hand on the excited girl’s arm,
‘this is no place for you. Leave me to deal with these men by myself.’
She shook off my grasp impatiently, as though disdaining my control; but
I caught her eye and chained it.
‘Margaret!’
‘But, Captain Norton—’
‘Go in to Janie—you have frightened her enough already—and leave me by
myself. I will come to you by-and-by.’
She saw I was in earnest, and with a heightened colour turned from
the verandah and re-entered the house, where, after having severely
reprimanded my servants, thrashed one or two of the natives, and seen the
tortured animal put out of its misery, I followed her. She was seated by
Janie’s couch, her hand clasped in that of her cousin, her beautiful head
drooped and lowering. I saw that she was ashamed of what had passed; and
so I made no reference to it, but asked my wife in an indifferent tone
on what she had decided to do this evening. She had decided on nothing—in
fact, she wished to do nothing, but to be left to lie still in peace. So,
after a while, I proposed a stroll in the compound to Miss Anstruther;
and she rose to her feet and prepared to follow me.
I think I have already spoken of our compound, which is full of graves.
These graves are very inconveniently situated for a gentleman’s
pleasure-grounds; or perhaps it would be more correct to say that
the gentleman’s pleasure-grounds are inconveniently situated for the
graves, which stretch up to the very windows of the house, and by their
inequality greatly impede the facility of a stroll. We stumbled over
them, and made circuits round about them, for some time in silence, until
both that and the exercise seemed to become oppressive; and by mutual
consent, as it were, we sat down together on a broad flat stone which
covers one of them; and for a few moments neither of us spoke. Then I
stole a glance at Margaret’s face, and saw that it was still clouded and
downcast; and I felt a strange longing to see it brighten up again and
smile upon me.
‘I am sorry you should have been witness to so painful and disgraceful a
scene, Miss Anstruther,’ I ventured to remark.
‘I am sorry you should have been witness to so painful and disgraceful
a scene, Captain Norton,’ she echoed gloomily. ‘Mine was the worst
exhibition of the two: I see it now plainly. Oh, what a wretch you must
think me! What an undisciplined, passionate, unwomanly creature!’ and up
went her hands as shelter to her burning face.
‘Please don’t call yourself names; I can’t subscribe to them. I think you
only what you are—a generous, warm-hearted girl, indignant at the sight
of wrong, only inclined to be a little too hot and hasty in expressing
your indignation. Never be afraid of falling in my good opinion by
showing your true nature, Margaret.’
‘But my nature is so bad, Captain Norton; you cannot think how bad it
is. My temper is so violent; and when it rises, I remember nothing else,
except that I am angry and must show it.’
‘If you never display it in a worse cause, Margaret, than you did this
afternoon, you cannot go far wrong. It was a disgraceful and disgusting
act of cruelty.’
‘Oh, was it not cruel,’ she eagerly exclaimed, ‘to torture one so
utterly defenceless and unarmed? I could look on at men, or dogs, or
any creatures of equal power, fighting with each other, and applaud the
victor; but when it comes to one against such fearful odds, one innocent
creature suffering because of its innocence, I cannot bear it. Many such
sights would kill me; I think that I should burst with rage.’
‘And yet in this world, Margaret, it is usually the defenceless and the
innocent who suffer.’
‘We who are strong should shield them,’ she answered, hastily.
I wonder what made her link her nature with mine in that word ‘we?’ And
yet I feel that I am strong—as she is. The tombstone on which we were
sitting professes to cover the remains of two lovers who died within a
few hours of each other. I told her the story, as it has been related to
me by one of our officers, who has taken the trouble to decipher the old
Dutch letters upon the stone, and asked her if she believed it possible
that grief could have such an effect as to kill within so short a space
of time.
‘It seems unlikely,’ she replied indifferently; ‘but natures are so
various. If true, she must have loved him very devotedly.’
‘And you are the last person to believe in such affection,’ I remarked.
I thought it would be a good occasion to find out if she had ever had an
unfortunate attachment.
‘What makes you think so?’ she answered quickly.
‘Because you have never tried it—have you? You have never been in love
yourself, Margaret?’
I spoke laughingly; but I wish I had not mentioned it. A scarlet flush
mounted to her very forehead as I said the words; and when I pulled her
by the hand and repeated my assertion, she burst into tears, and ran from
me to the house. What a fool I was to touch on such a subject! I don’t
believe, all the same, that it is true, that she has ever been in love;
but I may have wounded her sensitive pride by mentioning it, and cause
her to be reserved with me in future. Indeed, I am sure that she behaved
more distantly towards me even during the remainder of the evening; and a
little circumstance which happened just before we went to bed confirms me
in this opinion.
Janie was quite brisk and lively compared to what she has been lately,
and sung us several songs; but Lionne excused herself from singing, and
remained in a corner with her face buried in a book.
‘Make her come, Robert dear,’ said Janie playfully. ‘Go and pull her out.’
‘Captain Norton knows better than to attempt such a rudeness,’ was the
measured reply, which fell rather as a wet blanket on the other little
woman’s mirth.
‘Why do you call him Captain Norton?’ she said, pouting. ‘You called him
Robert this afternoon when you were in the verandah, Lionne, because I
heard you. Why can’t you do so always?’
Miss Anstruther had disappeared still lower behind her book; but to my
wife’s demand she made no reply.
‘Why won’t you call him Robert?’ said Janie, as she rose from the piano
and took possession of her cousin’s book; ‘he always calls you Margaret.’
The face which she thus disclosed was crimson, and the dark eyes swam in
a blurred mist which was half tears. So painful indeed was the expression
of the whole countenance, that I turned away, and could not contemplate
it.
‘Because I can’t, I really can’t,’ was the reply at last extracted.
‘And why not?’ persisted Janie.
‘It is not pleasant to me; I do not wish it,’ said Miss Anstruther, until
I felt myself constrained to interfere, and desire Janie not to tease her
cousin.
So she released the glowing face with an expression of impatience at
her obstinacy, and Miss Anstruther made use of her liberty by effecting
an immediate disappearance. This confirms me in my impression that I
offended her in the compound this evening, and that it will cause a
difference in our future intercourse. I am very much vexed about it: I
had really begun quite to like the girl. And I cannot dismiss from my
mind the tone in which she said the words, ‘We who are strong should
shelter them.’ Does she imagine that I am not capable of acting a
generous part? I should like to have some opportunity of showing her what
stuff I am made of.
_July 30th._—I have been very much vexed to-day; and though the
circumstance appears trifling, it threatens to lead to serious results.
When we first arrived in Mushin-Bunda—now some eight months ago—I,
in common with others of my regiment, heard several absurd stories
concerning the houses supposed to be haunted in the cantonment and its
neighbourhood—(natives always have a stock of such lies on hand, with
which to feed the imagination of any one fool enough to listen to them);
but of course I placed no credence in their statements, which only
excited a smile from their stupidity. _This_ well was said to be the
quarters of a devil, for which cause no one would ever draw or use the
water from it; and _that_ clump of bamboos to harbour another, which,
issuing in the form of a boa-constrictor, attacked those who were hardy
enough to linger in the compound after dark. With regard to our own
house, I heard that the spirits of the dead who lay buried beneath our
windows had been seen to wander about at night in their grave-clothes;
but of course I took care that such rubbish should not reach the ears
of my wife; equally of course I forbade my servants chattering about
it, and never gave the subject another thought. What was my surprise
and vexation, therefore, when I returned home this afternoon, to find
my wife supported by her cousin in a state of hysterical agitation,
whilst she listened to the garbled statements of half-a-dozen natives,
who all talked together, and interrupted one another, and did everything
they could to render their relation as confused and unintelligible as
possible. My ‘chokra’ or ‘dressing-boy’ was gesticulating in Hindustani;
the butler was vociferating in broken English; and the cook in his native
tongue of Tamil; whilst the ‘maty’ and tailor and ‘cook-boy’ tripped
over each other in any words they could first lay hold of. Margaret
was looking incredulous and a little scornful; Janie was all tears
and flushed cheeks and wide-open eyes; and for the moment I was struck
speechless with astonishment to think what could possibly have happened
during my absence.
‘What is all this about?’ I exclaimed, as I advanced to the centre of the
group.
The servants fell back, conscious they had no business there, and
evidently somewhat doubtful of my reception of their news. But Margaret
gave a sigh of relief at my appearance, and Janie flew to my arms as to
an ark of safety.
‘These men have been frightening Janie out of her wits,’ said Margaret in
a tone of annoyance; ‘and all I could say was insufficient to stop them.’
‘What is it, my dear?’ said I, addressing my wife. ‘What have they told
you?’
‘Oh Robert, do take me away!’ she answered with a convulsive shudder. ‘I
never shall be able to sleep in this house again. They say they have seen
it: a dreadful thing all in white, walking about the graves, and moaning
to itself, and wringing its hands. Oh, Robert dear, do let us go! It
will come into the house next; I am sure it will. I shall die of fright
if you don’t take me away at once.’
She clung to me like a terrified child, and as I marked her burning face
and felt the feverish clasp of her hands, I could not tell what injury
these idiots might not have done her by their folly.
‘What do you mean by this?’ I inquired sternly, as I turned to the group
of natives.
Then they began to cringe and salaam before me, as they attempted to
repeat the story which had so alarmed my wife. But I would not permit
them to do so, but ordered them all out of the room, and turned my
attention towards soothing Janie’s fears.
‘You must not be a child, my dear Janie,’ I said, as I replaced her on
the sofa, and arranged her pillows for her. ‘These natives are always
full of their stupid ghost-stories; but you know better surely than to
believe such folly. There are no such things as ghosts, therefore how
could they have seen one?’
‘Oh, but indeed—indeed, Robert, it is true!’ she said with painful
earnestness. ‘They saw it themselves only last night, and they say it is
like a woman with long hair down her back; and when they tried to touch
it, it vanished away.’
At this I could not help laughing.
‘A pack of heroes!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, Janie, there is not one amongst
them man enough to inquire into such a mystery, even if they saw it,
which I don’t believe. I’ve a good mind to give them a hiding all round
to make their eyesight a little clearer.’
‘But what should be their object in repeating it?’ inquired Janie
fearfully.
‘If you will condescend to listen, my dear, you will always find them
ready to talk. They are full to the brim with such idle tales. You should
refuse to hear them, and send them about their business.’
‘Oh but, Robert, can’t we go away from this house? I never could bear
those graves, and now I shall be more frightened of them than ever.’
‘Janie, I thought you were more of a woman,’ I said reproachfully.
‘Where could we go to? You know that all the houses in Mushin-Bunda are
occupied;’ to which fact poor Janie assented with a deep sigh.
‘But, at all events, you won’t go out this evening, Robert, will you?’
she continued imploringly. ‘I could not bear to stay in the house alone
with Margaret and that awful thing.’
I was engaged to attend a public dinner at our mess this evening, for a
couple of officers of the 18th are passing through Mushin-Bunda on their
way to England, and we wished to show them a little civility. I had
been looking forward to the occasion (one sees so few strangers in this
place); but I told my poor little timid wife that I would give it up and
remain at home with her. However, Miss Anstruther very kindly came to my
assistance, and, begging me to keep my engagement, promised not to leave
Janie for a single moment till my return. Upon which, although with much
reluctance, the other consented to my leaving her; and as soon as I could
get away, I went after my servants to learn what folly had induced them
to fly into the presence of their mistress with such a rumour. I found
them almost as frightened as herself, and, oddly enough (for you can
generally catch a native tripping when you cross-examine him), perfectly
firm in adhering to their first statement. Their story is, that as three
of them were returning to their godowns (as they call the huts in the
compound) rather late last night, they saw a tall figure dressed in white
wandering about the graves, and moving its hands in a distressed manner;
and that, as they cried out at the sight (for natives are terribly
superstitious and cowardly), they wakened the other three, who ran out
just in time to see the figure vanish round the house, and they were too
much alarmed to follow up the search. In relating the story to me they
dropped all mention of having touched the supposed ghost, being aware, I
suppose, that I was not likely to credit such an act of bravery on their
parts. I spoke to them all six, both together and individually; and it is
curious that I could not make them contradict themselves in the statement
that they have seen such an apparition. Of course it is all nonsense.
They saw something doubtless; most likely Janie’s ‘ayah’ in her white
cloth, out without leave; but as for a ghost!—folly!
I scolded them well all round for a pack of idiots, forbade their
mentioning the subject again, and threatened them with the stick and
stoppage of wages if they were ever the means of carrying such stories
to their mistress’s ears; so I hope we have heard the last of the ghost.
However, the fright has evidently done Janie no good. When I returned
home from mess this evening, I found that she had had another violent
attack of hysterics, and that her cousin had thought right to send for
our doctor, who happened to be at his own house. He reports my wife very
nervous and feverish, and orders her to be kept as quiet as possible. I
would give a thousand pounds this moment, if I had them, sooner than this
story had reached her ears. She is so sensitive and timid, and her health
is at present so delicate, that I fear the shock may have some ill effect
upon her.
_July 31st._—Janie better, but still feverish. Miss Anstruther watches
over her like a sister. After they had both retired to bed to-night,
I sat at the window for more than a couple of hours, hoping to see
something which might account for the servants’ story, but nothing was
visible. The bright moon lit up the compound till it appeared almost
like day, and the air was so still that I must have heard the slightest
rustle; but I neither saw nor heard anything except my own breathing
and the smoke from my cigar. What awful fools these niggers must be to
believe in ghosts at all!
_August 1st._—Janie was on her sofa again to-day, and so cheerful, that
I hope she has already forgotten her alarm, and that the remembrance may
never be revived. But what has come to Margaret Anstruther? She looked
so careworn this afternoon, so haggard and miserable, compared to her
usual appearance, that, after asking her what was the matter, without
obtaining any satisfactory response, I ventured to remark that I hoped
the ghost-story had not had any effect on her. The start which she gave
on hearing my words, and the flush which mounted to her face, would
almost have made me think that inadvertently I had struck a right chord,
had not the supercilious smile with which she repeated the word ‘effect’
denied the expression of her countenance.
‘I thought it could not be the case,’ I said apologetically; ‘but you are
really looking so ill, Lionne. Will you not come for a ride this evening?’
No; she declined to ride or to walk; she only desired to remain by
Janie’s side and minister to her comfort. So be it, then. I suppose it is
natural she should prefer her cousin’s company to mine, though I am not
aware that I have done anything lately to make her shrink from me as she
appears to do.
_August 4th._—The ghost has appeared again—or rather Janie imagines she
has seen it, which is just as hurtful to her health and spirits. She had
seemed so merry all to-day, and so far removed from the fanciful fears
engendered by the natives’ stupid story, that after she and her cousin
had retired to rest I took my cigar up to the roof of the house, as the
heat has been most oppressive lately, and I longed for a breath of
fresh air. Our house (like most others in Mushin-Bunda) is built with a
flat roof, surrounded by a high parapet, which roof is reached from the
verandah by a flight of steps so much resembling a ladder, that it is not
often I can persuade the ladies to mount it. But, for my own part, I am
constantly in the habit of taking my book and pipe (not to say my glass
of brandy-and-water) to this elevated retreat, and, when there, thinking
on anything or nothing, as the humour may take me. To-night my thoughts
were not very cheerful ones; for, without any especial reason, I felt
what is technically termed ‘dummy.’
Perhaps it is the excessive heat, perhaps the continued weakness of
Janie, but somehow life has not appeared quite so sunny to me lately as
it used to do. I feel so weary by the time the day is at an end, and so
dissatisfied with the manner in which I have spent it, and I seem to rise
each morning with some undefined hope which is never realised. I suppose
it is the monotonous life we lead which breeds discontented thoughts;
we so seldom encounter anything to draw us out of ourselves and our
own concerns. And Margaret Anstruther’s disinclination to society has
increased this disadvantage; for we three—Janie and she and I—have been
thrown completely on each other for company during the last two months.
And yet they have not passed unpleasantly. It is strange that I, who so
much dreaded this interruption to the quiet life which I led with my
wife, should be able to write those words and mean them.
Yet I do mean them—though, at the same time, I cannot believe that
the interruption has made me any happier, for I don’t think I ever
felt so restless and unsettled as I do at present. I keep on fancying
that something is going to happen to me; and start to remember that
there is nothing at all the matter, and that if I have a cause for
dissatisfaction, it must rest with myself. It _must_ be Janie’s illness
that affects me in this manner; it is so unnatural to see the poor little
woman always lying on the sofa, instead of running about with her cousin
and myself.
I had been dreaming somewhat after this fashion on the roof of the house
to-night, for how long or how short a time I should have been quite
unable to say, when I was startled from my reverie by hearing a most
piercing scream in Janie’s voice and proceeding from Janie’s bedroom,
which sounded so shrill and alarming, as it rung through the still night
air, that, though I rose at once to my feet, I felt for the first moment
so paralysed with fear, that it was not until the cry had been repeated
that I ran down to her assistance. I found her in a half-fainting state
on the sill of the bedroom window, which was wide open; but my appearance
changed her condition to one of hysterical weeping, which, whilst it
was more painful to witness, greatly relieved her. Meanwhile the native
servants, lying about the verandah on their mats, were slumbering as
heavily as is their nature, and would not have awakened of themselves had
the cry been twice as piercing, the alarm twice as great.
‘My darling!’ I exclaimed, as I took the shivering form of my wife
(shivering with fear, not cold) into my arms and pressed it to me, ‘what
can have startled you? Have you been dreaming?’
‘Dreaming!’ she repeated in a faint whisper. ‘Oh no, Robert, I was not
dreaming; I was wide awake, and it passed close to me.’
‘_It_—_it_—what do you mean, Janie?’ though I had guessed at once her
fancy.
‘The ghost, Robert!—the dreadful ghost! Ah’ (with another convulsive
shudder), ‘I shall never, never forget the sight!’
‘_The ghost!_ my dear girl, you have really been dreaming. Where do you
fancy you saw it?—in this room?’ for I had entered the room by the window
by this time, and still sat on the sill supporting my wife in my arms.
‘I did not _fancy_,’ she replied, with an earnestness which proved that
she thought she was right; ‘it passed so close to me, Robert, that I
could have touched it with my finger. Ah, why did we ever come to this
fearful place!’
I lifted her up and placed her on her bed again, and then, without
releasing my hold of her trembling fingers, I sat down beside her and
entreated her to tell me all. ‘Let me hear how you saw the ghost, and
where, Janie; and perhaps I may be able to account for the apparent
mystery. And first, why did you leave your bed at all? What waked you?
You were so fast asleep when I left you.’
‘I don’t know what waked me,’ she said nervously; ‘perhaps the heat,
for I felt so restless that I could not sleep, and after a good deal of
tossing about, I got up and walked to the window to cool myself, and see
if you were in the compound anywhere. I was not thinking of the ghost,
Robert, indeed I was not; but directly I reached the window I saw it—ah,
just as they told me, wandering about the graves!’
‘Janie dear, indeed you must be mistaken; it was the moonlight shining on
the white lining of the silver bamboos, or—’
‘Robert!’ she exclaimed, starting up in bed as she clutched me by my arm,
‘I tell you I _saw it_. It was no fancy, but a tall woman dressed all in
white walking in and out of the graves.’
‘You are sure it was a woman?’
‘Oh yes; oh yes; because, when I screamed, it turned round and came
close by this window, and it had long hair hanging right down its back.
Oh, Robert, I thought I should have died!’
‘My poor girl,’ I answered, as I forced her to lie down again, ‘I am not
going to have you frightened in this abominable manner. This is some
trick on the part of the natives; to what end I cannot imagine, but they
shall pay dearly for their little game. Where did this woman go after she
had passed the window?’
‘Oh, I can’t tell, Robert; I don’t know; but I think it vanished round
the house.’
‘Well then, if you will let me leave you, Janie (I will call the ayah to
come and sit by your bedside), I will just look round the compound, and
see if I can find any one loitering about.’
‘Oh, don’t go after it, Robert; pray don’t go after it; it might hurt
you.’
But I could not wait to silence any more of Janie’s fears; had I stayed
to reason them all away, I should have been kept prisoner till morning.
I roused the ayah, bid her stay with her mistress till I returned,
selected a thick stick from my whip-stand, and proceeded on my voyage
of discovery. As I did so, I glanced at my watch, and discovered to my
amazement that it was past one.
What a time I must have been dreaming on the housetop!
I searched the compound and all the accessible portions of the house
thoroughly, but I found and saw nothing. I wakened all the slumbering
occupants of the ‘godowns,’ to see if they had any strangers amongst
them, but only my own domestics came yawningly to be inspected, and
certainly not one of them answers to the description of the supposed
ghost. As I returned, I rapped at the closed venetians of Miss
Anstruther’s bedroom, and, to my astonishment, her voice replied to me
immediately.
‘What! are you awake, Margaret?’ I demanded. ‘Was it the noise disturbed
you?’
‘What noise?’ she asked, as she came near to the venetians.
‘Janie’s scream. She fancies that she saw the ghost (which I hoped she
had almost forgotten), and that it passed close under her windows.’
‘Poor child!’ in a voice of compassion. ‘No, I did not hear, or I should
have gone to her; but I have not been long awake;’ which, indeed, her
voice seemed to testify.
‘Why are you out of your bed?’
‘I cannot sleep; it is so hot,’ she answered with a deep sigh.
‘And you have seen nothing?’
‘Certainly not; and have been sitting at the window till within a minute
ago. I have only just closed the venetians because the moon is so bright.
It must be all Janie’s fancy.’
‘Of course it is her fancy that she has seen a ghost,’ I answered; ‘but
I am not so sure about her having seen nothing at all. However, I shall
find out more about it to-morrow; meanwhile I must not keep you up any
longer. Good-night.’
‘Shall I go to Janie?’ she asked in the same sleepy tone she had employed
before.
‘No, thank you; I am going to her myself.’ And with that I passed on
to resume my guardianship over poor Janie and her terrors. But I am
determined to follow up this mystery until I am enabled to dispel it;
for which reason I shall watch, night after night, for the appearance of
the person who dares to act ‘ghost’ in my compound until I see him; for
which reason also I shall keep my watching a secret even from Janie and
Margaret.
Meanwhile I pooh-pooh the subject to my wife, who easily takes her cue
from me, and will laugh at her own alarm by this time to-morrow.
_N.B._—She must rest with closed venetians until this mystery is
unravelled; and I will steal out of bed after she is fast asleep, and
spend my nights upon the housetop, which commands a view of every part of
the compound. And if I catch the ghost, woe betide his bones; for if I
don’t make them rattle, it’s a pity!
Meanwhile, thinking over matters, it seems strange to me that Margaret
Anstruther, sitting at her window, should not have heard the scream
which reached me so easily upon the roof; or that, at all events, the
conversation which subsequently I held with my wife should not have been
patent to her, as her room is next to ours. However, she appeared half
asleep, even whilst she spoke to me; for her voice was low and dreamy,
and I could hardly catch her words. I wonder what prevents the girl
sleeping! The same mania seems to have fallen upon all of us; for I don’t
feel myself as though I should close my eyes to-night, and every now and
then, as I steal a glance from my writing-table to the bed, I see Janie’s
blue orbs wide open, and watching for the moment when I shall rejoin her.
So I lay down my pen, and go to afford her the protection of my presence.
_August 6th._—I spend my nights now like a sparrow, on the housetop,
so am obliged to write my diary in the daytime. I watched from eleven
last night to four this morning; but I saw nothing. The air was so jolly
and soft, that I had great difficulty in keeping myself awake; but with
tobacco I managed to do it. Janie wondered that I was so sleepy after
parade this morning, and accused me of growing abominably lazy and old.
She has almost recovered her fright again, I am happy to say. Miss
Anstruther, on the contrary, looks worn and ill. I don’t think this
climate can agree with her. I wish she would consent to see the doctor
who attends Janie.
_August 7th._—Was on the roof again all last night. If, under the pursuit
of knowledge, it were only allowable for me to fall asleep, it would
be much pleasanter than remaining downstairs. Towards three o’clock I
thought I had caught the ghost; for I distinctly saw a ‘tall figure,
dressed all in white,’ hovering about the graves; but it proved to be
only an early milkman, going to recover his cows from their jungle
pasture-ground, who thought to make a short-cut by passing through our
compound. This was provoking, after I had taken the trouble to rush
down after him, stick in hand, fully prepared to administer a wholesome
castigation. But this fact tends still more to confirm me in my belief
that what Janie saw was a native wandering about in the moonlight after
his own business.
All domestic servants, and a good many other classes, habitually wear
white clothing; and nothing would be easier, when the imagination is
in a heated and unnatural condition, than for one to mistake their
appearance for that of a ghost. However, I shall not yet give up my
search for the delinquent.
_August 9th._—I have now watched four nights without seeing anything, and
I am beginning to get rather tired of the joke. If the ghost doesn’t soon
make his or her appearance, I shall resume my lawful place of rest, and
wait patiently until it sees fit to call upon me.
_August 10th._—At last I have seen the so-called phantom; and had it been
a lost spirit sent from the nethermost hell to inform me of my future
fate, my hand could hardly shake more than it does now, in recalling the
recollection. But not for the reason which made its appearance one of
terror to the native servants and to my poor Janie.
My terror, my horror, and my shrinking arise from a totally different
cause, and make me wonder, as I write, that I should have heard what I
heard last night, and live to repeat it.
I wish I had not lived; I wish that I were dead!
I was on the roof, as usual, very tired, rather dispirited, and more than
half-disposed to throw up the whole affair, and go downstairs to bed.
Where was the use, I argued with myself, of watching night after night
in that fashion for a ghost which never came? I was convinced that I was
troubling myself for a mere illusion—that the phantom had never existed,
except in Janie’s imagination, or that if a trick had really been played
upon my wife by some of the servants, the rascals had discovered that
I was watching for them, and were too wide awake to repeat it until I
should have given up pursuit. And then with my eyes always fixed upon
that part of the compound where the old Dutch graves are thickest, I
lit a cigar, and watching the thin wreath of smoke which curled from it
into the air, sighed to think how transitory all happiness is in this
world, and how seldom one’s earthly wishes, even when realised, fulfil
the promise of their attainment; until I sufficiently forgot myself, and
the purpose of my being on the housetop in the middle of the night, to
permit the soothing influence of tobacco, added to a soft light breeze,
which fanned me as delicately as though I had been a sleeping infant
to lull me off into a doze. How long I slept I can hardly tell; but I
know that I woke with a start and a shiver, and that the first thing I
did was to rub my eyes, and quickly turn them in the direction of the
tombstones and the graves. What was that which I saw wandering up and
down that plot of ground, just as I had been told it was wont to do? Was
it hallucination or reality? Had the impression with which I fell to
sleep remained upon the retina of my eye to delude my waking fancy? or
was that which I gazed upon a thing of flesh and blood? I rubbed my eyes
again, and shook myself, to be assured that I was quite awake; and then I
advanced to the parapet and leant well over it.
Yes, it was no mistake. A female figure (or a figure dressed up so as
to look like a female), clothed in white, with long dark hair streaming
down her back, was feeling her way, rather than wandering up and down,
between the rows of graves, and, with her hands stretched out before her,
seemed to be muttering or murmuring to herself. I gave myself but time to
be assured that I _did_ see it—that it _was_ there; and then I grasped my
stick and loaded pistol, and prepared to descend and encounter it.
‘Take heed, my fine fellow,’ I said to myself, as I carefully picked my
way down the flight of steps which led to the verandah; ‘don’t insult
me, or attempt to frighten me, as you value the brains in your head, or
a whole bone in your body. I can bear as much as most men when I am put
to the test; but I won’t have my wife frightened out of her wits for the
lives of all the niggers in the world.’
I slunk beneath the shadows cast by the verandah, past the places where
my servants lay asleep to that side of the house where are situated the
bedrooms of my wife and Miss Anstruther, and was glad to see that the
venetians of both windows were closed, so that I trusted no alarm might
reach their ears.
And now, though I was close upon it, the figure seemed to take no notice
of my presence, but still walked cautiously up and down between the rows
of graves, whilst it kept up a sort of moaning to itself. It looked so
strange and unearthly as it thus wandered beneath the moonlight, that
I felt myself shiver as I gazed at it, and yet my belief in the whole
business turning out a trick was strong as ever.
So, after a pause, just sufficient to permit the figure to get as far as
possible away from the vicinity of my wife’s bedroom windows, I sprang
after it; and just as it had turned again towards the house, we met face
to face. What was my surprise, my consternation, in the ghost which had
caused us such trouble and vexation to encounter—Margaret Anstruther! Yet
there she was, no clothing on but her light night-dress; with her unbound
tresses streaming over her shoulders, and her bare feet pressing the turf
as though it pained them.
‘Good God!’ I exclaimed, as I staggered back at the sight of this earthly
apparition, far more alarming to me than if I had seen twenty ghosts;
‘Margaret—Lionne—what are you doing here?’
At the sound of my voice she halted, and turned her head slightly to
one side, as though to listen; and then by the moonlight I perceived to
my horror that her eyes were lifeless although open, and that she was
walking in her sleep. I had never encountered such a sight before, and
for a moment I knew not what to do.
‘Was that Robert?’ she murmured, presently, in a low, husky voice utterly
unlike her own, and as though she were addressing herself, or nobody.
‘Yes, it is I,’ I answered, trying to control my agitation and my tones.
‘Margaret, why are you here? why have you left your bed?’
‘Oh, Robert, Robert!’ she exclaimed, with an expression of anguish which
I shall never forget, ‘save me, save me!’
‘From what am I to save you, Lionne?’
‘From yourself—from yourself, and from me—from my weakness and my folly.
Oh, don’t let me fall! don’t let me fall!’
Although she still spoke dreamily, the sightless orbs which she had
turned upon me were contracted with pain, and I saw that her whole frame
was trembling, I ventured to go close to her, and gently take her hand.
‘You shall not fall, dear Lionne,’ I whispered to her; ‘trust to me. I
will lead you the right way.’
‘_Dear Lionne!_’ she repeated to herself, ‘_dear Lionne!_ he says to me,
_dear Lionne!_’
What was that quick fear which seized me as I listened to her unconscious
words? What that trembling which assailed my limbs, and rendered me
incapable of moving either backwards or forwards? The fear and trembling
fell so suddenly upon me, that I had hardly time to realise their
presence, until they had resolved themselves into a knowledge, fearful as
a thunderbolt from heaven, but certain as that I live—or I must die!
I love her—and she loves me! We have destroyed each other’s happiness.
As this conviction smote me, I dropped her cold fingers, and sinking down
upon the hillock beside which she stood, buried my face in my hands.
Good heavens! how was it that I had never anticipated this—never seen
it coming—never dreamt of such a contingency?—that I had spent day after
day in her company; reading with her, singing with her, riding with her,
listening to her amusing conversation, watching all her womanly kindness
to my wife (ah, my poor wife!), contemplating her beauty from hour to
hour, and never once suspected that I might grow to love her more than
was good or right? And she, the girl whose advent I had dreaded, whose
manners I had so disliked, whose beauty was to me no beauty at all!
Ah, Margaret, Margaret! you may have your revenge now if you will, in
the assurance that never, never more shall the remembrance of that fatal
beauty be purged from my existence.
All was now explained; her worn looks and dispirited appearance; my own
restless and uneasy sensations; the guilty feeling had been growing in
us, surely though unconsciously, for many long days past, and needed but
some such accident as the present to warm it into life.
Have I not reason to wish that I were dead?
I did not sit upon the hillock long; something was waiting to be done,
and that was not the time for thought. I could not even stay to watch her
as she again commenced to pace beneath the moonlight, with the evening
breeze playing with her flimsy raiment, and making it cling about her
graceful figure. I felt that she must be coaxed to return into the house,
and that I was neither the right person nor in a right state of mind to
do it.
So I rose quickly, and explaining the circumstances to Janie’s ayah (an
old woman with more sense than the generality of her tribe), directed her
how to speak soothingly to the young lady, and persuade her to return to
the house, where she need be none the wiser for the untimely stroll which
she had taken; and after a little while I was relieved to see the white
hand in the grasp of the dark one, and the two women, so unlike each
other in all outward appearance, pass into the house together.
So now it is all over; and the grey dawn is here; and as it was not
worth while for me to turn in before going to parade, I sit down to
transcribe the particulars of this adventure before I forget it.
Shall I ever forget it?
I am aware that henceforward, and before the world, I must play a part;
but it is useless to dissemble with my own heart. This night has revealed
to me what I had rather have died than hear, but the truth will make
itself known.
I love her with my whole heart—passionately, fervently, devotedly, as I
have never loved before. What is to come of it? What is to become of her,
of me, of Janie? Are we all to be sacrificed?
As I write, there come into my mind these sentences: one which fell
from her mouth (sweet mouth, that shall never be mine!), and one which
proceeded from my own:
‘We who are strong should shield them;’ and, ‘You shall not fall, trust
to me—I will lead you the right way.’
No, dear Janie, poor innocent child! and you, my beloved one, do not
fear. I will shield both the weak and the strong; you shall not suffer
for my imprudence or my guilt.
Yet how to comfort, how to cure, how to make up to _her_ for the misery I
have entailed on her dear head? Oh, my God! the task will be a hard one!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]