THE LITTLE GUEST AND THE APPARITION.
I went to Mr. Argyll's to the Christmas dinner. I was surprised to meet
Eleanor in the family group; for, though she now frequently joined the
home circle, I thought that on this holiday her own loss would press
upon her with overwhelming weight. Instead of this, I saw a light in
her countenance which it had never before worn; her face, totally
devoid of smiles or color, yet shone with a serene and solemn luster,
the most touching, the most saddening, and yet elevating, of any
expression I had ever seen upon human features. My intense sympathy
with her taught me how to translate this new phase of her mind; I felt
that, in those mystic vows which she had taken upon herself with a
spirit, she had derived a comfort; that she joyed in the consciousness
that she was now and from henceforth evermore the bride of him who
waited for her in the mansions of the Heavenly country. This life was
transient--to be meekly borne a little while alone--then she would go
to him who awaited her in the only true and abiding home. I, and I
only, looked upon her as the wife of Henry Moreland, as sacredly as if
he were her living partner. I only was fitted, by the power of my own
passion and suffering, to appreciate her position, and the feelings
with which she now returned to her friends, to play such a part in life
as duty still pointed out. I can not explain with what an emotion of
reverence I took and pressed the little, attenuated hand which she
placed in mine.
There had been, as yet, no change in Eleanor's demeanor toward me.
Whether I imagined it in the rest of the family, or whether they had
changed, this much was still certain, and gave me the deepest pleasure
I could now know: Eleanor was the same to me as she had ever been--the
benignant, gentle sister, who loved and trusted me as a dear
brother--more dear than ever since I had given such proofs of my
devotion to her cause--since she could not but see how my very heart
was wrung with the pain which tore her own. As long as she continued to
treat me thus, as long as I could give her one smallest atom of
pleasure in any way, I felt that I could bear any thing from the
others. Not that there was any thing to bear--nothing--nothing, except
that indefinable air which a sensitive spirit feels more keenly than
any open slight. The new year was now approaching; it would be the most
natural time for entering into new business relations; I felt that if
Mr. Argyll intended to offer me the partnership, he would do it then.
If he did not--I must look out for myself--I must go away.
The Christmas dinner was the sumptuous feast which it always had been,
the old housekeeper having taken it into her own hands. She, to judge
by her provision, felt that such kind of painstaking would be a relief
to the general gloom. No guests were invited, of course. It was
touching to see how the servants persisted in placing every imaginable
delicacy before Miss Eleanor, which she could not, by any possibility,
even taste. A cup of coffee, with a piece of bread, made up her slender
Christmas feast. Yet it was a joy to her father to have her at the
table at all. Mary's affectionate glances continually sought her face;
parent and sister both felt relieved and comforted by its tranquil
expression.
James, too, was cheerful; he would have been brilliant had an
opportunity offered. I, who read him tolerably well, knew that it was
the sight of Eleanor's tranquillity which had inspired him--and that he
did not understand that saintly resignation as I did.
In the course of the conversation around the table, which I did my best
to make cheerful, I happened to speak of Lenore Burton. It was not the
first time I had mentioned her, always with such enthusiasm as to
excite the interest of the ladies. Mary asked me many questions about
her, finally turning to her sister, and saying,
"You were always so fond of children, Eleanor. May I not send for this
beautiful little girl to spend a few days with us?"
"Certainly, Mary, if you think you would like her company."
"Do you think her father would trust her to us a little while, Richard?"
"He can be persuaded, without doubt."
After we had left the table, Mary came to me, with much animation, to
whisper her ideas about the proposed visit; she thought the sight of an
agreeable, lovely child about the house might interest Eleanor more
than any thing else possibly could, and would, at least, delight her
father, who was drooping under the silence and mourning in his home. I
quite agreed with her in her opinions, deciding to write that evening a
pressing plea to Mr. Burton, promising the most careful attention to
his frail little household blossom which a trusty housekeeper and
loving friends could extend. I would come down to the city for her, and
attend her dutifully on her little journey, if his consent was given,
and Miss Lenore herself approved the action.
The next day I had an answer. Mr. Burton wrote that Lenore was
delighted with the invitation, and that he accepted it the more
willingly, as he was called unexpectedly to Boston, where he should be
absent a week or ten days, and that he had not liked leaving his
daughter so lonely during the holidays. He added that he was obliged to
leave that morning; but I might come for Lenore at any time; I would
find her ready; and that, upon his return from Boston, he would come up
to Blankville after her; closing his note with polite thanks for our
friendly interest in his little girl, etc. Thus every thing was
satisfactory. The third day after Christmas I went down, in the
morning, to New York, returning in the afternoon with my little
treasure, who was brimful of happiness, enjoying the ride with the zest
of childhood, and confiding herself to my guardianship with a joyful
content, which awakened my tenderest care in response. This artless
faith of the child in the providence of the grown-up man it is which
brings out the least selfish part of his character, bowing his haughty,
hardened nature to minister to the humblest of its confiding wants.
The sisters both came into the hall to receive their little visitor.
They took her into the parlors, bright with chandelier and firelight,
unhooding and uncloaking her before the grate. I was anxious to witness
the impression she made, for I had been so lavish of my praises, as to
run the risk of creating a disappointment.
It was impossible to be disappointed in Lenore. She made conquest of
the whole family in the half-hour before tea. It was not her exquisite
beauty alone, but her sweet expression, her modest self-possession amid
her stranger-friends, enhancing its effect. Mr. Argyll brightened as I
had not lately seen him; every other minute Mary would repeat the
welcome of her little guest with another kiss, declaring, in her
pretty, willful way, that Mr. Richard was not going to monopolize Miss
Lenore because he was the oldest acquaintance--Lenore having chosen her
seat by my side, with her hand nestled in mine.
James was not in the house; he did not come home until some time after
we had taken our tea--drank his alone in the dining-room--and joined
our circle quite late in the evening. As he came in we were sitting
about the fire. Lenore had gone, of her own inclination, to Miss
Argyll's side, where she sat on a low stool, with her head against the
lady's lap. She made a gay picture as she sat there, framed around with
the black of Eleanor's garments. Her traveling-dress was of crimson
merino, and her cheeks--what with the ride in the cold air, and the
glow of the present fire, were almost as red as her dress; while her
golden curls streamed in shining strands over the sable habiliments
against which she rested. She was replying archly to some teasing
remark of Mr. Argyll's, and I was thinking what a brightness she would
give to the dull house, when James came forward, holding out his hand,
with one of his pleasantest smiles, saying,
"This is the little lady, is it, whom we have been so anxiously waiting
to see? Can I be introduced, cousin Mary, or does not the Queen of
fairies allow herself to make the acquaintance of ordinary mortals?"
You have noticed, reader, how some little cloud, floating in the west
at sunset, will be flushed through with rosy light, and how, instantly,
while you gaze, it will turn gray, losing every particle of radiance.
So the child changed when he approached and spoke to her. Her cheeks
faded to a gray whiteness; her eyes were riveted on his, but she could
not smile; she seemed to struggle with some inward repugnance and her
sense of what courtesy demanded; finally she laid her little cold hand
in his, without a word, suffered him to kiss her, and, clinging close
to Eleanor, remained pale and quiet--her gayety and bloom were alike
gone. Mr. Argyll could not rally her--she shrunk like a sensitive plant.
"If that pallid, stupid little creature is the marvelous child Richard
promised us, I must say, he has shown his usual good taste," commented
James in an aside to Mary. He was not flattered by the reception he had
met.
"Something is the matter with her, James. She is wearied with her
journey. I am afraid we are keeping her up too late. She was gay enough
a little while since."
"Are you tired? Would you wish to go to bed?" whispered Miss Argyll.
"If you please," she replied, with an air of relief.
"You are not getting homesick so soon?" asked Mr. Argyll.
"I am not; I like it here very much," answered Lenore, candidly.
"Something is the matter with me now, sir, and you must please excuse
me. My head began to ache just now--so I suppose I had better go to
bed."
She bade us good-night with a smile so restrained that I felt afraid
she was not going to enjoy her visit. Eleanor herself took her away to
the maid who was to attend upon her, and did not return to us until her
little guest was in bed.
"Come, Mary, let's drop the baby question, and play chess," said James,
impatiently, as we discussed the visitor; "I'm tired of the subject."
"Wait until to-morrow, and you will become interested too," she
responded.
"I like hearty little bread-and-butter girls," said he, "but not such
die-away misses as that. She looks to me as if she read Coleridge
already. Children should be children, to please me."
The repulsion was mutual. I, only, had noticed the strange effect
wrought upon my pet by a sight of James, and knowing, as I did, the
peculiarities of her temperament, it had astonished me, and aroused my
curiosity. By the ill-humor with which he received any allusion to
Lenore, I believed that James himself was conscious that the pure eyes
of the child looked straight into the darker chambers of his heart, and
was frightened by what she saw there. A young man who was gambling away
his uncle's property upon the credit of a daughter's hand which he had
not yet won, could not have a very easy conscience; and it was not a
pleasant thing to be reminded of his delinquencies by the clear eyes of
an innocent child. As he became absorbed in his game of chess, I sat
studying his countenance, and thinking of many things. I wondered if
his uncle and cousins were not aware of the change which was coming
over him; that reckless, dissipated look which writes certain wrinkles
in a young man's face, overwritten in his by outer smiles, which could
not hide the truth from a discerning eye. I asked myself if I could
justify my course in keeping silence about what I had seen; it was my
plainest duty to inform Mr. Argyll, not only on his account, but on
James also. Such a knowledge, coming to his uncle, though it would be
terribly mortifying to his nephew, might be the means of breaking his
new fetters of habit before they were riveted upon him. Such, I felt,
was my duty. At the same time, I shrunk from it, as a person situated
as I was naturally would shrink; I was liable to have my motives
misconstrued; to have it hinted that self-interest was prompting me to
place James in a bad light. No, I couldn't do it! For the hundredth
time I came to this conclusion, against the higher voice of the
absolute right. I was glad to strengthen myself in my weak course by
remembering that Mr. Burton had requested my silence, and that I was
not at liberty to betray his confidence. Looking at him, thinking these
things, with my thoughts more in my eyes than they ought to have been
had I been on my guard, James suddenly looked up and encountered my
gaze. He pushed the board aside with an angry motion, which overthrew
half the men and entirely disconcerted the game.
"Well, how do you like my looks, Richard?" the defiant eyes glittering
with a will which overpowered my own, smiling a deadly smile which
threatened me.
"How peevish you are, James! I believe you threw up the game because
you saw I was checkmating you," cried his cousin.
"That's it, my dear child; I never would allow myself to be checkmated!"
"Then you shouldn't play!"
"Oh, sometimes I allow women to win the game; but when I play with men,
I never give up. The man who attempts the chances with me must prepare
for defeat."
"How generous you are to the witless sex," said Mary, sarcastically. "I
am much obliged to you, that you sometimes allow us to win. Just pick
up that castle you have sent tumbling in ruins, if you please, sir--and
don't ask me to play chess for at least a fortnight."
I perceived a threat in his words of which the girl was quite innocent;
he was throwing down the gauntlet to _me_; again and again his air, his
words, were such that I could put no other construction upon them. He
was determined to misunderstand me--to look upon me as a person seeking
to injure him. I was in his way--I must get out of it. This was the
manner he put on to me. I felt that night, more than ever, the
conviction that my connection with the Argylls was about to be broken.
If James felt thus toward me, I should be unwilling to take a position
which he regarded as belonging, of right, to himself. Worse than all, I
felt that his treacherous nature was working secretly against me, and
that his efforts had already told upon those whose love and respect was
most precious to me.
Shortly after, I took my leave; he was so engrossed, with his back
toward me, looking over some old engravings, that he did not turn to
say good-night. My room at my boarding-house had a particularly
cheerless air that evening; I felt lonely and embittered. My heart
ached for sympathy. I resolved that, if a partnership was not offered
on New Year's, I would propose a visit to my mother, for whose love and
encouragement I longed. The event of going away, too, would give Mr.
Argyll the opportunity of declaring himself in one way or another.
Lenore's visit was a decided success--in the way, too, which I had
hoped for. Her fine and spiritual nature was drawn toward Eleanor in a
manner which made the latter love her, and grow to feel a consolation
in the touch of the little hand, the unsought kiss, and the silent
sympathy which brought the child to sit hours by her side, saying
nothing, but looking with wonder and reverence at a sorrow too deep for
her young heart to fathom. Lenore frolicked with Mr. Argyll, chatted
and sung with Mary; but she was always ready to leave either for her
quiet corner by Miss Argyll. Mary pretended jealousy, though we were
all glad to see the interest Eleanor took in the child. One of our
greatest pleasures was in Lenore's singing. I have mentioned the purity
and great compass of her voice. To hear her sing some of Handel's
music, of a Sabbath twilight, was almost to obtain a glimpse into the
heaven toward which her voice soared. I saw Eleanor quietly weeping
while she sung, and I knew the music was loosening the tense strain
upon her heart-chords.
[Illustration:
Page 161.
"WELL, HOW DO YOU LIKE MY LOOKS, RICHARD?"]
I was interested in watching two things--first, the attachment between
Miss Argyll and Lenore; secondly, the persistent effort of James to
overcome his first aversion, and his ultimate success. By the second
day he had mastered his chagrin at the evident dislike of the child,
who could hardly compel herself to be polite to him, and who grew
constrained and pale whenever he was near her. James Argyll was not the
man to allow a child to slight him with impunity. His indolence was a
repugnance to business and study; it was no weakness of the will, for
when he set his resolves upon an object, he usually accomplished it. I
saw that he had resolved to conquer Lenore. He paid court to her as if
she were a "lady of the land," instead of a little girl; on New Year's
he overwhelmed her with splendid presents; he took her out
sleigh-riding with him, in a fancy cutter, which he declared was only
just large enough for those two, with chimes of silver bells and a
spirited horse. I ought not to have felt grieved that Lenore, also,
like the rest of the world, proved faithless to me. But I did. I was
more hurt by her growing indifference to me and her increasing
fascination for James than the subject warranted. I should have known
that rides and dolls, flowers and flatteries, and a dainty little ring
for her forefinger, would win any little maiden of eleven; but I had
estimated Lenore's character higher. I had noticed her attractions and
repulsions, the former always toward noble and true persons--the latter
toward the unworthy. Now, however, my little bird was charmed by the
serpent's eye; she was under the influence of James' will, and I
resigned her.
--------------
About ten days after my visit to Mrs. Scott, I kept my promise to her,
by returning to inquire about the present condition of Moreland villa.
I saw, as soon as I entered the cottage, that her mind was preyed on by
the same convictions which had troubled her on the former occasion.
"If there ain't at least one ghost in that house, then there never was
such a thing, and there never will be--now! You've seen for yourself
there ain't a human being in it--_and there is something_! I've seen it
and heard it, and you can't convince a person against them two senses,
I reckon."
"I don't want to convince you, Mrs. Scott; I only want to convince
myself what this thing is which you have seen and heard. Have you had
any new revelations?"
"I've seen the death-light once since, standing over the house; we saw
it, too, shinin' out of that room--John and I saw that together. We was
so set on findin' out whether it was spirits or not, we mustered up
courage to go through the house ag'in the next day, and as sure as
you're settin' there, _something_ had been back and laid down on that
bed ag'in--something light, that scarcely made a dent--you needn't tell
me't was any human mortal, which it wasn't. We've heard children
cryin', too, which is an evil omen, the dream-book says; an' to clap
the climax, Mr. Redfield, there's no use keepin' it back--_we've seen
the ghost_!"
I was now as interested as the woman could desire; she had stopped,
mysteriously, after making this grave declaration, and sat looking me
in the eyes. I returned her gaze with one of silent inquiry, leaning a
little forward in my chair. Mrs. Scott smoothed her apron absently,
with her large hands, still looking into my eyes, as if she saw the
ghost in their distending pupils. I made up my mind that I was going to
hear either something of ridiculous shadowyness magnified into an
apparition, or something which would give some tangible clue to the
mystery, if there was a mystery, of Moreland villa.
"You have been fortunate," said I. "What was it like, pray?"
"You've noticed there was a little balcony under the windows of Henry's
room?"
"I know there is such a balcony."
"It was there we saw it. You know how bright the nights have been
lately, with the full moon and the snow. John and I walked out, night
before last, to the front of the villa, to see what we could see--and
there it was! It was as light as day, and we both had a good look at
it. I don't know how long it might have stayed if I hadn't screamed.
John clapped his hand over my mouth to stop me, but he was too late; it
sort of riz right up and disappeared."
"But what was it like--man, woman, or child?"
"It was like a ghost, I tell you," replied the housekeeper, stoutly. "I
s'pose sperits are dressed purty much alike in the next world, whether
they're men or women. We read in the Bible of the white robes--and I've
never heard of a spook that was dressed in any other way. It may have
been Henry in his shroud, for all I know--that's what I believe it
was--there now!"
"Henry was never dressed in a shroud," I answered, gravely; "he was
buried in a black-broadcloth suit. So you see that you were not correct
there."
"Oh, well, Mr. Redfield, we can't understand these things--it isn't
given to us. I can tell you what John and I saw, and you can make up
your own mind. There was a shape, on the balcony, standing straight up,
white all over. A long white garment hung from its head to its feet;
its face was turned up to the moon, and its arms were raised as if it
prayed. It's eyes was wide open, and it's face as pale as a corpse's.
John and I will both make our affydavit to it, in court, if it's
necessary."
"Where did it go to when it disappeared?"
"It seemed to me to turn into the air; but that I wouldn't be so sure
about. John thought it went right through the side of the house."
"Was the window open behind it?"
"Wal, really now, I wouldn't swear that it was, or wasn't. The fact is,
I was so scaart the minit I saw it, I like to have dropped. John was
for staying 'to see if it wouldn't come ag'in,' but I wouldn't let him,
so we both cut and run."
"I am sorry you didn't use your eyes to better advantage."
"When you see a thing like that, I reckon you'll run, too. It ain't at
all likely the window was open, or we would have noticed it. It was all
shut up the next mornin', the same as ever."
"That was yesterday. I suppose you have not been in the villa since?"
"Lord! no, sir. I wouldn't go now for a hundred dollars."
"Have you noticed any thing else peculiar?"
"Yes, sir. There's been footsteps around the house in the snow."
"Indeed?" I said, eagerly; "that is more like something. Can I see them
now?"
"No, sir; the sun's melted 'em all off. But if you think they're the
tracks of persons comin' about the house for any purpose, just tell me,
will you, sir, how they happened to be just about the porch, and so on,
and not a track to it, nor away from it, in no direction?"
"Indeed, I can not explain it, until I've rooted out the mystery from
the beginning."
"Nor it can't be explained," cried the housekeeper, triumphantly.
It worried her to think I was so skeptical when she had given such
absolute proofs; the idea of the haunted villa was making her really
sick, yet she would not give up her cherished belief in its being
haunted. I think she would have been disappointed if any one had come
forward and sworn himself the ghost.
I sat a little while pondering her statements. There had been nothing,
on the former occasion, to convince me that any intruder, human or
spiritual, had been in the villa--except the shadowy imprint of a form
on Henry's bed, and for the proof that it had not been made before the
house was cleaned up, I had nothing but her word. As for the
death-light and the wailing sounds, I conceived that, in that lonesome,
solitary place, two persons of the class to which these belonged, with
their excited imaginations reäcting upon each other, might easily
persuade themselves of such marvels. Even in this last statement, that
both of them had clearly and distinctly seen a white form on the
balcony of the room, I did not find much to disturb me. There is
nothing better for producing all kinds of shapes and phantoms to a
frightened or superstitious eye, than a bright, moonlight night. It is
far better than the deepest darkness. The earth is full of weird
shadows; the most familiar objects take on an unnatural appearance in
the gleaming rays, enhanced in their strange effect by the black,
fantastic shadows which stretch away from them. Add to this, a garment
of snow spread over every thing. The landscape on which we have rested
our gaze, every day, for years, under these circumstances will be as
novel to us, as if it were a bit of scenery transplanted from some
strange and far country. A vivid fancy, predisposed to the work, can
make an excellent ghost out of a rose-bush or a fence-post--a fearful
apparition out of the shadow of a cornice heaped with snow. In the
present case, not only were the man and his wife in that feverish state
in which the eye makes visions for itself, but they were quite ready to
link such phantoms with Henry's room, which they had previously decreed
to be the favorite abode of the ghost. A review of the whole case led
me rather to be vexed with them, than satisfied there was any reason
for the mental "stew" into which they had heated themselves. The only
tangible things of the whole medley were--the footprints. If there were
actually traces of feet walking about the premises, that was enough to
satisfy me--not of a ghost, but of a person, engaged in prying about
the villa for some unlawful purpose. I made up my mind to watch for
this person, and entrap him. It occurred to me, at once, that one of
those dare-devil spirits, to be found in every community, was purposely
getting up scenic effects on the premises, for the amusement of
spreading the report that the villa was haunted, and exciting the
gossip and credulity of the village. I was indignant at the
heartlessness of the plan, and resolved, should I catch the
perpetrator, to inflict such summary chastisement, as would cure him of
his taste for practical joking. The assertion of the woman that the
tracks began and ended nowhere--that no one had approached the house,
because there were no footsteps coming in from any direction--did not
receive entire credit from me. Were that actually the case, then, it
was positive evidence that the person was secreted in the dwelling--an
idea foolish and incredible on the face of it, for many reasons.
However, I was in earnest, now, about the matter; I would ascertain the
truth or explode the falsehood, and make an end of it, before painful
reports should reach the ears of friends, or every idle ragamuffin in
the country make that hallowed place, consecrated by the ties and
memories of the one now gone, the focus of his vulgar curiosity.
"Where is your husband?"
"He's sortin' pertaters, or tyin' up seeds, in the loft."
"Please call him down, and give me the keys of the house."
The gardener came, following very reluctantly, at my bidding, while I
again entered the villa, and went over every room, stationing him in
the hall, so that no one could possibly escape during my visit to the
lower and upper floors. I searched from cellar to garret, while Mrs.
Scott, with her pale-blue eyes wide open, and affecting a bustling
bravery which her looks belied, accompanied me. Once, at a sudden
noise, she seized the skirts of my overcoat, but resigned them when I
told her it was caused by John's shutting the front hall-door.
"Dear! dear! there's rats in the villa, at last!" she exclaimed,
removing the cover of a flour-barrel which stood in the store-room.
"They've been in this flour! I'm sorry, for they're an awful pest.
They'll make trouble if I don't watch 'em clost. I believe I'll pizen
'em. Mrs. Moreland told me to take this flour home and use it up; but
we haven't needed it yet, and I've left it here, and now they've made
pretty work with it."
"If there are rats here, I shan't be surprised at all kinds of noises,"
I remarked. "Rats are equal to almost any thing. They will tramp like
an army of men, or stalk like a solitary burglar. They will throw down
plates and cups--like this one, broken on the floor here, since we came
here last; muss pillows and drag books out of place. You really will
have to keep a sharp lookout."
"They won't cry like a child, nor moan like a sick person, nor stand on
balconies dressed in shrouds!" observed the housekeeper.
"I think they would do the first two," and I smiled, "but as to the
latter, I'm not prepared to assert."
"I reckon not. I only wish you'd seen it, Mr. Redfield."
"I shall stay to-night in the hope of that pleasure, Mrs. Scott."
"I'm right glad to hear you say so, sir. It's not pleasant to be placed
in the situation I am--to know what I know, and not to have my word
taken."
It was true; it could not be pleasant for her to have her earnest
statements received with so much skepticism; I did not wonder that she
felt hurt, almost offended; at the same time I felt as if I, in my
turn, should be intensely aggravated if I found out there was nothing
in all this flurry.
This second search resulted in nothing, like the first. It was nearly
dark when we returned to the cottage, where Mrs. Scott allowed me to
dandle her fat, good-natured baby, Johnny, while she prepared tea in a
style befitting the important occasion of "company."
"If you're in earnest about sittin' up to watch, I'll make coffee,
instid of tea, if it's agreeable to you, Mr. Redfield. It's better to
keep one awake."
I assented to this assertion, being of a similar opinion myself. She
set her husband to grinding the delectable berry in a hand-mill, and
soon an excellent supper, with cold ham and hot biscuits, was placed
upon the table. The night promised to be clear and cold; the moon would
not rise until about eleven; I fortified myself against the hardships
of my adventure by two cups of strong coffee, with a substantial meal;
passed an hour or two chatting with the couple and singing Johnny to
sleep; then, about eight o'clock, I buttoned my overcoat close, tied my
muffler about my neck, and went forth to begin picket-duty.
"I'll leave the coffee-pot on the stove, and a good fire," was the
parting promise of the good woman, who seemed to think I had rather a
solemn time before me.
"Thank you, Mrs. Scott; if I make no discoveries by one or two o'clock,
I shall come in to warm myself, and give up the hope for this occasion.
You know midnight is the witching-hour--it will be useless to stay much
later."
"The Lord be with you," she said, earnestly.
Armed with a stout walking-stick, with which I intended to inflict
punishment upon any intruder of earthly mold, I walked out on the lawn,
taking such a survey as I could in the dim light; like the rain in the
children's riddle, I went "round and round the house," and finally took
station on the front porch, where I walked softly back and forth,
listening for sounds within and without. I heard and saw nothing. The
long hours slipped slowly away. Just before moonrise the darkness
seemed to deepen, as it does before dawn. My intention was to take up
some position on the lawn, where, unseen myself, I could command the
approaches to the villa, and also have a view of Henry's room, with the
balcony. It was time now to secrete myself, before the approaching moon
should reveal me to the person or persons who might themselves be on
the watch. Accordingly, I selected a seat on the little rustic bench,
completely encircled with bushy evergreens, which not only concealed my
person, but afforded me considerable protection from the cold. I can
not, to this day, breathe the pungent odor of the spicy trees, without
recalling the experiences of that night. A silence, like that which Dr.
Kane speaks of as one of the most impressive features of the long
Arctic night, brooded around; over against the hills came gradually
stealing the silvery luster of the rising moon, while the valleys yet
lay in profoundest gloom; the dimly glimmering stretches of snow
broadened into whiter fields; the picturesque villa, with its turrets
and porches and pointed roof, stood black and quiet before me. I could
hear a dog barking afar off, as it were some dream-dog barking in some
dream-world. I had almost forgotten the cause of my being there, at
that strange hour, in that lone spot, gazing at that dark mass of
building, empty of life and warmth as was _her_ heart of joy or hope;
the intense cold, the odor of the pines and hemlock, the trance of
thought into which I had fallen, were benumbing me.
Suddenly I saw a shapeless and shadowy brightness hovering amid those
dark turrets. It was the death-light of which Mrs. Scott had told me. A
warm thrill ran through my fingers and toes, arousing me to the keenest
consciousness. I watched it flutter and move--stand still--flutter
again--and disappear. It lasted perhaps three minutes. In that time I
had made up my mind as to the mysterious appearance--it was the light
of a lamp or candle being carried about in a person's hand. That was
what it most resembled; but who carried it, and how was the reflection
thrown _there_, over the roof? There was certainly a mystery about this
which, had I been at all superstitious, or even nervous, would have
unfitted me for any further cool investigation. I resolved that if I
could not master the marvel then, I would do it by the light of day. I
watched intently, hoping it would reäppear, and give me some glimpse of
its origin. While I waited, a ray of light pierced through the shutters
of Henry's room. I will acknowledge that for one single instant the
hand of the dead seemed laid on my heart; it turned cold, and refused
to beat. The next, I smiled grimly at myself. I had never been a moral
or physical coward. The solution of the mystery was now in my grasp,
and I had no idea of letting it slip. I was confident that some person
was playing the mischief in the deserted house; but if I had really
expected to confront the inhabitants of another world, I should not
have hesitated. The key of the main entrance was in my pocket; I walked
swiftly to the house, unlocked the door as softly as possible, and
grasping my stick firmly in my hand, sprung up the stairs. It was quite
dark in the house, although it was now light out of doors; in my haste,
I hit my foot against a chair at the bottom of the stairs, and
overthrew it. I was provoked, for I wished to come upon these midnight
prowlers unawares. Knowing just where the room was situated, I went
directly toward it; it was very dark in the upper passage, all the
blinds being closed; I groped for the handle of the door--something
rustled, something stirred the air--I flung the door open. There was no
light in it. All was dark and silent. Before I could fling the shutter
open, letting in a peaceful flood of silver moonlight, my hope of
detecting the intruder was almost at an end. I was certain that
something had passed me in the obscurity of the hall; I had been
conscious of that subtle magnetism which emanates from a human form,
perceived in the blackest night. It might be the magnetism of soul
instead of body, and a disembodied spirit might have sent the same
electric current through me. At all events, I had now nothing for my
labor. I did not think that another journey over the house would result
in any discovery, since the warning had been given; I had no lamp or
lantern with me; I reluctantly, after lingering and listening some time
in vain, closed the room and the house, and returned to the cottage,
where I drank the coffee which awaited me, laid down on a buffalo-robe
before the stove, and slept away my vexation.
I was not very communicative as to my adventures when eagerly
questioned by my entertainers the following morning. They were
satisfied, by my very reticence, that I had seen something to puzzle
me, and were both alarmed and triumphant. In answer to their inquiries,
which they were too respectful to press, I assured them that I had
reason to think, with them, that the villa required attention. I had
not been able to satisfy myself who was disturbing the premises; but
that I should not rest until I knew. I should return that night and
sleep in the villa; I wished to enter it very quietly, probably before
dark, so as not to alarm the inmate or inmates; and I was confident
that I should thus be able to pounce upon the ghost. Mrs. Scott
regarded me with admiring awe.
"She wouldn't go for to sleep in that house alone for all the riches of
Solomon," and wouldn't I, at least, provide myself with pistols?
When I went into Mr. Argyll's office that morning, he greeted me with
marked coldness. At last I could not conceal from myself that, not only
had his manner changed, but that he wished me to feel that it had. He
gave me, as I entered, a searching, suspicious glance, saying,
"Good-morning, Richard," in the most formal tone. Nothing further. I
took up a book, hiding my pain and embarrassment in an attempt to read;
but my mind was not on the legal difficulties expounded therein; I was
wondering at the causes of the situation in which I found myself. A
hanger-on! yes, an unwelcome hanger-on in an office where I no longer
had any conceded rights--in a home where I was no longer trusted.
"Has Mr. Argyll placed a spy on my actions? Does he know already that I
was out the entire night? and does he judge me before he has an
explanation?" I asked myself, indignantly. "If he thinks I am forming
bad habits, doing wrong in any respect, why does he not remonstrate
with me--give me a chance to defend myself?"
I had intended to take his advice in the matter of the haunted house;
but now I sat, angry and silent, feeling, oh, so wounded and forlorn. I
did not stay long in the office; going to my room, I wrote a long
letter to my mother, telling her I should come soon to pay her the
visit which should have been sooner made had I not been engrossed with
the duty to which I had vowed myself.
Yes! I had pledged my own heart to devote myself to the discovery of
Henry Moreland's murderer; and if Eleanor herself had put her foot on
that heart, and crushed it yet more, I do not know that I should have
held my vow absolved.
I should not have gone to the mansion that day, had not a message been
sent, late in the afternoon, that Mr. Burton had arrived, and expected
me to meet him at tea. I went; and had the pleasure of seeing little
Lenore enthroned by the side of James, who attended upon her as if she
were a princess, and of being treated with bare civility by all save
Mr. Burton. Miss Argyll was ill, and did not come down.
I saw the observant eye of Mr. Burton watching the intimacy between his
daughter and her new friend; whether he was pleased or not, I could not
decide; the eye which read the secret thoughts of other men did not
always betray its own impressions. I was certain, too, that he observed
the change in the demeanor of the family toward me, and my own
constrained manner.