“It is rather difficult to explain. By the way, did any of your party at
the Manor House see the ghost?”
“Heavens! I did not know that your family was blessed with a ghost,”
laughed Mrs Tremaine. “No, I can assure you, we were not so lucky. What
sort of a ghost is it? A ghastly figure with rattling chains? Have you
seen it?”
“Yes, I have seen it,” said Mrs Clifford in a low voice.
“How interesting! Do tell me what it is like!” cried the other.
“Like? What is it like?” Mrs Clifford rose slowly from her chair, and
walked to another chair. She only remained seated for a moment, however:
with a sigh she began pacing the room slowly.
“I fear I have touched upon a forbidden topic,” said Mrs Tremaine. “I
had no idea that you were serious.”
“Serious--serious,” said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room,
and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had
uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window,
her hands grasping the back of a chair.
She was by her side in a moment.
“Pray, what is the matter?” she said.
“You are weak--overcome by-------Let me ring for brandy.”
Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm.
“Who is that--that--on the terrace?” she said in a fearful whisper.
“Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven,” replied Mrs Tremaine.
Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the
peacocks.
“She was with you when you were at the Manor House,” said Mrs Clifford.
“She was there, and yet you did not see the ‘ghost’?”
“What on earth do you mean?” said Mrs Tremaine.
“I mean this: that girl out there is the ghost that appears at the Manor
House every Christmas Eve, and it is because my poor boy, as well as I
myself, saw it, that his mind has become unhinged.”
“Heavens! You mean to say----”
“The poor boy has fallen, in love with a shadow--a phantom! It comes
every Christmas Eve and walks from room to room. It comes up the
stairs--I tell you that I have seen it--and sits on the old carved
settee, and then suddenly vanishes into the air whence it came.... And
that ghost is as surely that girl as I am I.”
“This is terrible--quite uncanny! Are you quite sure?”
“Sure--sure!”
“It is awful to think upon. But--but--listen to me--I have an idea. If
Madge is the ghost, why not ask her down again to your place, and give
Rawdon a thing of flesh and blood to transfer his affections to?”
“What do you say?”
“Madge is the best girl in the world. Every eligible man in her county,
and quite as many ineligible, have wanted to marry her. You will find
out how nice she is.”
Mrs Clifford sank into the chair.
“Oh that it were possible!” she whispered. “He is everything to me, my
dearest boy, and until this fancy--------Oh, if it were only possible!”
And at this point Madge entered the room, and was duly presented to Mrs
Clifford.
*****
If Madge was at first under the impression that the manner of Mrs
Clifford in regard to her was somewhat formal and constrained, before a
week had passed she had good reason to change her opinion on this point.
The fact was that Mrs Clifford had formed an attachment for her which
she could sincerely return; and that was why the girl was delighted to
accept her invitation to spend Christmas in Dorsetshire. It suited her
brother’s arrangements for her to do so, for he was anxious to join a
big-game expedition which was starting for India early in December.
Mrs Clifford said she was delighted to be able to have Madge all to
herself for at least a fortnight.
“My son cannot possibly be home until the middle of January,” said
she, “and then we shall probably have a large party at the Manor. But
meantime you and I shall be together.”
“I do not think that we shall quarrel,” said Madge.
“Alas! alas!” said Mrs Clifford to Mrs Tremaine, after one of the many
whispered colloquies which they had together during the week. “Alas!
Rawdon cannot be home for Christmas. It was I who took the greatest
pains to arrange matters to prevent his spending another Christmas Eve
at home until he should have completely recovered from the effects of
his strange attachment, and yet now I would give worlds to be able to
have him with us on Christmas Eve.”
“Could you not send a cable?” suggested Mrs Tremaine.
“I might send a dozen without being able to find him. Besides, it would
be impossible for me to tell him what has occurred.”
“I suppose you could hardly cable him ‘Come home at once. Ghost found,”
laughed Mrs Tremaine. “Never mind. He should be all the better pleased
when the Ghost of Christmas Eve becomes a creature of flesh and blood by
the middle of January.”
*****
It was Christmas Eve at the Manor House. Madge’s maid had just left
her for the night, but the girl showed no inclination to go to bed. She
remained sitting by her fire thinking how strange it was that she should
be on this Christmas Eve in the flesh at the house which she had visited
in her dreams. And while she sat thinking over this, she found herself
overcome by that strange longing which she had had just a year ago, to
be again by the side of the man who had come to her side in her dream.
She clasped her hands, saying in a whisper--“Come to me. Come to me
again and tell me that you have been waiting for me.”
She began to undress with feverish haste, when suddenly her hands
dropped by her sides, for the terrible thought occurred to her--
“What if my dream will not come to me this year because I happen to be
in the midst of the real scene where it took place?”
The thought that it might be as capricious as other dreams oppressed
her. She now felt sorry that she had agreed to visit the place. She
should have remained at Craven Court, where her dream had always been
faithful to her.
A sudden idea occurred to her: she would leave her room and sit in
reality on the carved settee under the painted window, and then, going
to bed immediately after, she might sink unconsciously into the kind
embrace of her dream.
She opened her door very gently and went along the silent corridor until
she reached the head of the staircase, and saw the moonlight streaming
through the coloured glass to the lobby beneath. She stole down, and in
another instant she was in the seat, the moonlight streaming over her
and throwing the coloured pattern of the glass upon her white dress.
She closed her eyes, feeling that perhaps she might fall asleep and find
herself in the midst of her dream.
Suddenly she opened her eyes. She fancied that she heard the sound of a
footstep in the hall below. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Some
one was in the hall--some one was coming up the stairs. She sprang
to her feet, and was about to rush up to her room, when she heard a
voice--the voice that she had heard so often in that dream of hers,
saying--
“Ah, do not go now. You cannot go now that I have come to you--now that
I have been waiting for you for five years.”
She could not move from where she was standing. She saw a tall man with
a bronzed face coming up the stairs. She somehow had never seen his face
in her dream, but she recognised it from the photograph which his mother
had shown her: she knew that the man was Rawdon Clifford.
He stood before her on the lobby.
“They thought to separate us,” he said. “They thought that my love
for you was a form of madness. But I tell you, as I told them, I would
rather stand by your side for a few minutes once a-year than be for ever
by the side of another--a more real creature. That is why I have come
over land and sea to be here in time for your visit this Christmas Eve.
I promised my mother to stay away; but I could not--I could not keep my
promise, and I came to England a fortnight sooner than I expected, and
entered the house only this moment--like a burglar. But I am rewarded.”
“I do not understand. I am Mrs Clifford’s guest. Madge Craven is my
name,” said Madge.
The man sprang back and raised his hands in surprise.
“Great heavens! She is flesh and blood--at last--at last!” he cried.
He put out his hand slowly--doubtfully. Madge put out hers to it. A cry
of delight came from him as he felt her warm hand, and he made it still
warmer by his kisses. She could not stop him. She made no attempt to do
so.
“Tell me that I was not mad--that I am not mad now,” he said in a loving
whisper.
“Oh no--only--is it not strange?--For five years I have this dream--this
very dream--and yet I never was in this house until last January,” said
Madge.
“You have been with me every Christmas Eve for five years, and you will
remain here for ever,” said he. “Do not tell me that we have not met
before--do not tell me that you have not loved me as I have loved you
all these years. What did that dream of yours mean?”
“I think I know now--now,” whispered the girl.
*****
Mrs Tremaine considers, herself the only survivor of the people who
professed to exorcise the ghosts in whom our grandfathers were foolish
enough to believe.