"STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE."
In the soft interrupted stillness of the summer night Godfrey Waynflete
leant out of his window, and lived over again the hours of the day. The
country stillness was constantly broken by the whirr of a bat, the
twitter of a disturbed sparrow, or by the homely sounds of cattle and
poultry in the farm and fields close by. But Godfrey neither heard nor
heeded. He was deaf to the sounds within the house, the occasional
strain and creak of the old boards and panels, the patter of rats and
mice, which constantly disturbed the slumbers of Rawdie, who slept on a
mat in his master's room. His blood was all on fire; sleep was
impossible to him. He could think of nothing but that in two days he
would meet Constancy again at Ingleby. It did not seem possible to
Godfrey that so intense a desire should fail to work its own fulfilment.
No one and nothing should stand in the way of this demand of his spirit
for the thing it craved. The whole world was widened, transformed,
glorified. Constancy--_Cosy_. How the name suited her! The memories
of that old boyish visit started into life, till the old house seemed to
thrill with her presence.
"Talk of haunting," thought Godfrey, laughing to himself. Constancy was
the presence that filled Waynflete through and through. There was no
room there for any ghosts! Then suddenly, without warning, there fell
upon him a doubt, a fear, a presentiment of disappointment, a change of
spirit so complete that it was almost as if a sudden change of
atmosphere had swept through the room, and chilled him. A moment before
his joy had had hardly a misgiving, now he suddenly felt utterly without
hope.
He started upright, and pulled the casement to, for the night-air felt
all at once chilly. He shook himself together, and began to pull off
his coat, when Rawdie sat up in the moonlight, and began to howl as if
he thought his last hour had come.
"Confound you, Rawdie, hold your tongue!" cried Godfrey, himself
reviving, when the door leading into the next room opened, and Guy stood
there, fully dressed.
"What, the deuce is the matter with Rawdie?" he said, sharply.
"It's the moon, I suppose," said Godfrey, pulling vainly at the curtain.
"He's got the nightmare this time, instead of you! I never knew him
howl at the moon before. Here Rawdie, Rawdie! Hold your noise! Shut
up!"
Rawdie jumped into his master's arms, his howls subsiding into whines
and whimpers.
Guy stood leaning against the door, watching them. He set his teeth
hard, as, in the broad white streak of moonlight, the Presence which he
feared took, as it seemed to him, visible shape. It was not now a face
flashing into his own, but a shadowy figure, with averted head, moving
across the room, as if in hurried, timorous flight. Guy's pulses stood
still, but this time his nerves held their own. He waited, and the
figure, the _impression_, passed him quickly by, through the doorway,
into the room he had just left. Guy shut the door suddenly upon Godfrey
and Rawdie, and stood with his back against it--looking. Then the
figure turned the never-to-be-forgotten face full upon him, and it was
to him as if his own eyes looked back on him, with malicious scorn of
himself; as if this scared and hunted creature were an aspect of
himself. He crouched and cowered against the wall, and gazed back at
the spectre, but he felt that the sight, if sight it were, was as
nothing to the inward experience of the soul of which it was the
expression, the despair, the degradation of irresistible fear.
Whether it was a second or an hour before the moonlight had gone from
the room, and with it the impression, Guy could not tell; but he knew at
once when it was gone, and stumbling towards the bed, threw himself down
on it.
There was a candle burning, but the room swam and darkened before his
eyes, he was deadly faint, and as the life came back to him a little,
the panic which was wont to come upon him, overwhelmed him, and he
trembled and hid his face. It passed sooner than usual, much sooner
than usual self-command came back, though the throbbing of his heart
forced him to be quite still, and took all his strength away. As the
power of thought slowly came back to him, the memory of Florella's words
came back also. The Presence of the Divine Spirit! Could that become
real to the soul?
Guy knew what one spiritual experience was, and he did not deceive
himself into thinking that he had ever known this other. If the door of
his soul was open to the unseen, no such messenger had ever sought
entrance; indeed, he had done his best to bar the way.
But now, over his bewildered spirit there swept another vision, new and
fair, the vision of a human sympathy that might make the weak strong.
If this wise girl could know--could _see_? Before the hope of her
helpfulness, his foolish pride would give way. He could nerve himself
to confession. The next moment he knew that to lay his burden on the
innocent soul of another, to seek a love which must suffer in his
suffering, would be of all cowardly methods of escape the most
contemptible. He must try to think more clearly. He managed to stand
up, and to find the brandy, which, with most pitiful foresight, he had
brought with him. He had drunk it before he suddenly felt how
significant was the eagerness with which he took it. It was another
terror, indeed, and he threw himself down again on the bed and lay half
dozing, till with the daylight and the singing of the birds, he started
awake, with his nerves all ajar, and without energy enough to undress
and go to bed properly.
He managed, however, to make his appearance downstairs, where Rawdie's
cheerful bark recalled the poor little dog's terror of the night before.
Guy picked him up, and looked into his cairn-gorm coloured eyes, but no
change had come into them. Godfrey, too, was eating his breakfast, and
making Jeanie talk about Constancy.
Guy played with his tea-cup, and made critical remarks on the young
ladies, till the trap that he had ordered to take him to the station
appeared, when he cut short his farewells, and went off hastily, without
giving his aunt time to say that she wished him to come back again
shortly.
As he grew calmer with the increasing distance, he took a resolution,
which was the first beginning of a struggle against his fate.
Cuthbert Staunton arrived in due time, in a holiday humour, and having
plenty of conversation, he occupied Mrs Palmer's attention until the
hour came for the two young men to wish her good night, and betake
themselves to a room devoted to the use of Guy and Godfrey, where they
could talk and smoke at their leisure.
"Yours is a charming climate," said the visitor, "where any one may
light a fire in August with a clear conscience. Short of southern
moonlight, etc, there is nothing so delightful."
"Sit down in front of it," said Guy; "we're generally glad of one here,
and it looks cheerful. Now, I'm expecting you to put me up to all the
newest lights--one gets rusty down here. About the spooks, for
instance, the Miss Vyners were talking of in London. I want to examine
into them a bit. Did you ever come across a fellow who had seen one--by
any chance?"
"No," said Staunton. "I should like to come across a first-hand one,
very much."
"Well, here's your chance, then. I have--twice."
"Seen a man who has seen one?"
"No, better than that, seen the genuine article, myself. I--I want to
know how to manage him. It seems the correct thing, nowadays, to
entertain ghosts and imps of all kinds."
"I don't know any, personally," said Cuthbert, purposely echoing Guy's
bantering tone, though he noticed the matches he struck in vain, and the
suppressed excitement of his manner. "But I should like to hear your
experiences very much."
"He paid me a visit last night," said Guy.
"And what is he like?"
Guy left off trying to light his pipe, and leant back in a corner of the
big chair in which he was lounging. The plunge was made. He was shaken
to pieces with the effort, but he still endeavoured to maintain a tone
of indifference.
"I think I'll have to tell you a little family history," he said; "if it
won't bore you."
"Not at all. Tell me just as you can--as you like."
"Well, but you know, I believe, about the old traitor who drank himself
to death from remorse, and naturally, haunted his descendants. Some of
them drank, and, in fact, there was always an inclination to an
occasional good-for-nought. Well, then came the Guy who was too late--
my namesake--so, by the way, was the traitor--that story you know, too.
I don't believe my father, or grandfather, were quite all my aunt could
have wished. They died young, you know; but I'm not aware that they
ever saw the ghost. But, five years ago, when we went to Waynflete, to
see Mrs John Palmer, I did."
"You saw the ghost of your ancestor?"
"Well! I had seen Guy's picture; I was full of it, and full of seeing
the place for the first time, and the face flashed upon me just like the
picture. The picture's _like me_, you know; absurdly so. I saw him--
plain as I see you. Well, that once wouldn't have mattered, it would
only have been a queer thing. But--"
"But that was not the only time?" said Cuthbert.
"I never _saw_ him again till last night, but--I--_feel_ him. I wake up
half mad with fear. I have dreamed of him. I don't know what it is,
the fit seizes me, and when I've scourged the folly out of me, I faint,
or my heart gets bad. I haven't quite been able to hide that; but no
one knows why. No one knows that I am afraid of my own shadow!"
"Gently, my dear boy," said Staunton, kindly. "Keep quiet for a minute.
It's hard work telling me; makes your heart beat now, doesn't it?"
"Let me get through it. These fits have come and knocked me up, over
and over--muffed my exam--for my degree--made a fool of me, times out of
number. But, last night--he was there--the whole of him, _myself_ in
that queer old dress, as one might look when one's chance was over, and
one wanted others to share one's disgrace. I saw him; but, oh, my God,
Cuthbert! It's not the _seeing_; but no other Presence is ever so
real--so close! So, I'm catching at a rope. He'll have me; I shall
have to follow him--but--I'm trying to fight."
Guy had dropped all his pretence at indifference; he spoke in short,
stifled whispers, his eyes dilated with fear.
Cuthbert laid his hand on the fingers that were clutching the arm of the
chair, and said gently, "I am very glad you have told me. You'll feel
better soon. It is very bad for you to suffer without any help."
Guy clung to the warm, human clasp, it was unexpectedly comforting.
Then he whispered, "I don't drink, you know, _yet_. But he'll drive me
to it. He's ruining my life!"
Cuthbert did not speak for some moments. Then he said, "Of course,
there is more than one view to be taken of these things."
"Oh yes, I might be mad--or lying."
"Well, I don't feel driven to those conclusions. Do you mind being
questioned a little?"
"No; I think I should like it. I've felt so much alone."
"Yes. You feel more afraid of the terror that seizes on you
unexpectedly, than of the--thing itself?"
"Yes," said Guy, hesitating; "at least, I mind _feeling_ he is there,
more than seeing him. That's a detail."
"Try to tell me what you mean by _feeling_."
"I can't. It's another sense."
"And do you feel nothing else with this sense?"
"No," said Guy, decidedly. "Nothing. And, many things that I could
like--"
"Yes. Try and tell me. I think I shall understand."
"Yes; oh, you're so kind. I've always felt he never would come where
you were. Some people fret me, even in the next room. But, music now--
that might lift one away from him, but he stops it; he always stops what
I care most for. I could bear it, but my body won't; that betrays me."
"Yes, that wants careful looking to. Now, my boy, try and tell me what
your own view of the matter is. What you think most likely to be true
about it."
Guy looked up with pitiful puzzled eyes.
"Ask me more questions," he said.
"Ever read up the subject?"
"No, I began; but I daren't--"
"You feel sure it is something besides your own nerves?"
"Yes."
"Something or somebody outside yourself?"
"Outside myself? I don't know that."
Guy suddenly caught Cuthbert's hand again and pressed it hard against
his forehead, as if to steady his brain. Then he spoke more clearly.
"I don't know if what comes over me is my ancestor himself, or the fiend
that tempted him, or my own worst self. As for the vision, I'm not so
much afraid of _that_."
"Then what you want is to be able to resist this influence?"
"Yes, before it ruins me, body and soul."
"Well, you must let me think it over. Depend upon it, I'll not leave
you alone to fight the battle. Now, you'll sleep to-night?"
"Oh yes, I am not frightened now," said Guy, simply.
"Well then, we'll go to bed, and talk it over again to-morrow. But you
must come up to town with me and see a doctor, you need only tell him
that your nerves have had a shock. But I wouldn't avoid the general
subject. Such experiences are not altogether exceptional."
"Nervous affections, in fact," said Guy, dryly.
"Well, sometimes, you know. Anyway, there are safer remedies than
brandy, if your heart gives you trouble. And mind, come to me at any
time, or send for me. Bring it into the light of day."
Guy felt soothed by the kindness, and he knew that the advice was good.
But, all the same, he knew that it was Florella who had touched the
heart of his trouble.
"You're awfully kind," he said, gratefully.
"I know the look of trouble," answered Cuthbert; "and fate hasn't left
me many anxieties. I'm quite free to worry about you."
Guy's eloquent eyes softened. The fellow-feeling was better than the
reasoning. But as he got up to go to bed, he said in his usual
self-contained voice, "You know, Rawdie saw him too, and had
palpitations."