MARION’S GHOST STORY
When Janet Ferguson arrived at the Eliot homestead that evening she was
greeted by enthusiastic shouts from the younger Darings, with whom she
was a great favorite. They surrounded her in a group before she could
reach the house, while Phil came across the lawn to meet her and shake
hands cordially.
Phœbe, glancing sharply around, saw Toby Clark leaning against a
column of the dining room porch, where he was half hidden by the vines.
“Come!” she whispered, and led the way into the house. Halfway up the
stairs she paused to look back, not hearing his footsteps; but he was
so close behind that he startled her and soon she had ushered him into
her own little room.
“Lock the door behind you,” said she, “and pay no attention if anyone
knocks or tries to get in.”
Toby merely nodded as he shut himself in. Phœbe hurried down to join
Janet, carrying a little handbag that contained the things she needed
for the night.
“Why, Phœbe! where are you going?” asked Sue, seeing the bag.
“To stay with Janet. Where is Cousin Judith?”
“Over at the Randolphs.”
“Then let us go that way,” said Phœbe to Janet. “I must tell her my
plans, for otherwise the Little Mother might worry.” Passing close to
Phil she whispered: “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is right so far,” he replied. “But how is it with you, and
why are you going away to-night?”
“Just for a little excitement,” she laughed.
“You seem nervous and excited, now,” said her brother, looking at her
closely. “Anything new turned up to annoy you, Phœbe?”
“I’m quite contented to-night, Phil, dear.” And then she ran away
before he could question her, further.
They met Cousin Judith just leaving the Randolph’s house, and Marion
was with her. Miss Eliot at once approved Phœbe’s plan to stay with
Janet for the night. She thought the girl had seemed unnerved and ill
at ease lately and believed the change of environment would do her good.
When Judith had bade them good night and started across the street to
rejoin her flock, Marion said:
“I’ll walk with you a little way, if you don’t mind. It’s such a lovely
evening, and I’ve a mystery to disclose, besides.”
“A mystery--oh, Marion!” exclaimed Janet.
“Why are you so astonished?” asked Marion, as the three girls locked
arms and sauntered up the street.
“Because I cannot imagine a mystery connected with such a very
practical person as yourself,” returned Janet.
“Tell us what it is,” urged Phœbe, “for then it will remain a
mystery no longer.”
“Oh, yes it will,” declared Marion, rather soberly. “I’ve no solution
to offer. All I can do is tell you what I saw, and allow you to solve
the mystery yourselves.”
“What did you see, then?” inquired Janet, curiously.
“A ghost.”
“A ghost! Why, Marion!”
“Of course, my dears, there is no such thing as a ghost, although,
as I say, I saw it plainly. Otherwise I should have called it an
‘apparition’ instead of a ‘mystery’.”
“To be sure.”
“But if I saw a ghost, and ghosts are impossible, then I am in touch
with a mystery,” she continued. “Do you follow my logic, girls?”
Janet gave a careless laugh.
“I thought at first you were in earnest,” she said.
But Phœbe had lived in romance during the past few days and no
element of mystery now seemed absurd to her. Indeed, she began to feel
slightly uneasy, without knowing why.
“Where did you see your ghost, Marion?” she asked.
“In its proper place--the graveyard.”
“Oh!” said Janet and Phœbe together, for their companion had spoken
seriously and with a slight shudder. Moreover, the graveyard was at
that moment a short block to their left, and twilight had already
fallen. Beneath the rows of maples and chestnuts that lined the road
the shadows were quite deep.
“I am troubled with insomnia,” explained Marion. “The doctors say I
have studied too hard and my nerves are affected. At any rate I am very
wakeful, and sometimes do not go to bed until two or three o’clock in
the morning, knowing I could not sleep if I tried. Last evening I was
especially restless. It was a beautiful starlit night, so after the
family had all retired I slipped out of doors and started for a walk
through the lanes. I have often done this before, since I came here,
and it is not unusual for me to visit the old graveyard; not because I
am morbid, but for the reason that it seems so restful and quiet there.”
“Naturally, dear,” murmured Janet.
“Last night my walk took me that way. I passed through the turnstile
and wandered among the graves to the far end. It must have been long
after midnight, but I had not a particle of fear, believe me, girls. I
was not even thinking of such preposterous things as ghosts.
“By and by I retraced my steps and sat down on a fallen slab of stone
to indulge in reverie. From my position I faced that ugly square
mausoleum Phœbe’s grandfather once built. There is an iron grating
around it, you remember, and a marble door to the tomb itself, with
bronze hinges and a bronze catch. By the way, isn’t that tomb supposed
to be vacant?”
“Yes,” answered Phœbe, strangely excited. “Gran’ma Eliot and my
father and mother occupy graves just beside it, for gran’pa built the
big tomb just for himself.”
“Not a very generous thing to do,” added Janet; “but Mr. Eliot has
always been a queer man, and done queer things.”
“Well,” continued Marion, “I sat facing the tomb, as I said, when
slowly and without sound the marble door opened and a ghostly figure
emerged. I won’t assert it was a spirit from the other world, nor will
I claim it was some person dressed in a sheet; but I am positive it was
no vision of my imagination. So let us call it the Ghostly Mystery.”
“Was it a man or a woman?” asked Phœbe, breathlessly.
“It failed to disclose its sex, my dear. The door seemed to swing shut
behind it; but the ghostly one was obliged to put out an arm to raise
the latch of the iron gate. It passed through and I heard the click of
the latch as it again fell into place. Then the apparition--”
“The Ghostly Mystery, Marion!”
“Oh, yes; the Ghostly Mystery glided out of sight while I sat
listlessly wondering what it could be. I was not frightened, but I
failed to act promptly; so, when I arose to follow it, the thing or
person--or whatever it was--had disappeared for good and all.”
The three strolled on in silence for a while. Then Phœbe asked:
“What time was it?”
“Perhaps one o’clock. It was nearly two when I got home; but I had
walked quite a way before I decided to enter the house.”
“And have you no idea who it might be?” questioned Janet, who had now
grown thoughtful.
“Not the slightest.”
“I wish I had seen it,” said Phœbe, softly.
“Oh, do you like ghosts? Well, then, I’ll take you with me on my next
midnight ramble,” laughed Marion.
“Why not go to-night?” suggested Janet. “Phœbe is going to stay
with me, and you may come too, Marion. Our house is even nearer to the
graveyard than your own, and at dead of night we’ll all steal out and
waylay his ghostship. What do you say?”
“I am willing,” declared Marion. “Are you sure you will not be
frightened?”
“I may be,” admitted Janet, honestly; “but I’m willing to risk it.”
“So am I!” echoed Phœbe, eagerly.
“Then it is decided,” said Marion. “I frankly acknowledge, girls, that
while we are living in an eminently practical and scientific age, these
romantic adventures still prove fascinating. Let us hope we shall
discover the ghost, and that the apparition will be of a quality to
thrill our stagnant blood.”
“Must you go home first?” inquired Janet.
“Not if you’ll lend me a night robe. No one at home pays any attention
to my wanderings, so I shall not be missed.”
They soon arrived at Judge Ferguson’s comfortable residence, which
was a little beyond the outskirts of the village and delightfully
situated on a slight eminence. Mrs. Ferguson, an alert, pleasant-faced
little woman, welcomed the girls cordially and they passed the evening
chatting together and discussing recent events in which all were
alike interested. Phœbe was a bit distrait, for she could not help
wondering what was happening in her room at home, where Toby Clark was
keeping watch over the movements of old Elaine; but no one appeared to
notice her abstraction.
Later in the evening the judge came in, and smiled cheerily upon the
three young girls.
“You’ve quite a house-party to-night, Janet,” he said. “I wish you
might keep this bevy with you for a month.”
Neither by glance nor word did he remind Phœbe of their conversation
of the afternoon, and when they prepared to go upstairs he kissed all
three impartially.
“What, to bed already?” he cried. “But run along and get your beauty
sleep. Why should you wish to sit up with an old fossil like me?”
“Who has deserted us nearly the whole evening,” pouted Janet.
“True; I am to blame,” he admitted. “But a lawyer is never his own
master, and to-night business kept me in the town.”
Phœbe thought she knew what had occupied him, but said nothing.
In their rooms the girls sat and discussed their plans, waiting for the
judge and Mrs. Ferguson to get to bed and for the arrival of the hour
when they might venture forth. It was demure little Janet who suggested
they all wear sheets on their midnight stroll.
“We can carry them over our arms until we get to the graveyard,” she
said, “and then wrap ourselves in the white folds. If the ghost appears
we’ll show him that others are able to play the same trick.”
“But we might frighten him,” laughed Marion.
“Whoever is playing ghost must be trying to frighten others,” returned
Janet; “for, as you say, actual really-truly ghosts do not exist. I
think it would be fun to turn the tables on the impostor.”
“Perhaps so. What do you think, Phœbe?”
“It may be a good idea,” she said, rather reluctantly, for somehow
she regarded this matter far more seriously than did the others. The
ghost was using her grandfather’s tomb for its headquarters, according
to Marion’s report, and that gave Phœbe a personal interest in the
affair.
At last the clock warned them it was nearly twelve o’clock; so they
gathered up the sheets Janet had provided and stole noiselessly from
the house. The graveyard was only a short distance away and they
reached it about midnight, taking their position in a dark corner near
the Eliot mausoleum. They assisted one another to drape the sheets
effectually and then sat down upon the ground, huddled close together,
to await the advent of the ghost.
“Perhaps it won’t come to-night,” whispered Janet, with a suspicion of
hopefulness in her voice.
“True; we must be prepared for that disappointment,” replied Marion,
soberly.
“Do you feel at all creepy, girls?” asked Phœbe, who caught herself
indulging in nervous shivers at times, despite the fact that the night
was warm and sultry.
“For my part,” said Marion, “I have no silly fears when in a graveyard.
I find the place serenely restful, and therefore enjoy it.”
“I wouldn’t care to be here alone,” admitted Janet; “but, as we’re all
together I--I don’t--think I shall mind it--even if the Ghostly Mystery
materializes.”
It was a long wait, and the three girls beguiled it at times by
whispering together, more through desire to hear the sound of their own
voices than because they had anything important to say. One o’clock
arrived at last. Marion could read the face of her watch under the
starlight. Another half hour dragged wearily away.
“I fear we shall encounter no adventure to-night,” Marion was saying,
when Phœbe seized her arm and drew her back into the shadow.
“Hush!” she murmured, and pointed an arm toward the turnstile.
Two hearts, at least, were beating very fast now, for the long-expected
ghost was at last in sight, gliding silently past the turnstile. Well,
not exactly “gliding,” they decided, watching intently. It was not a
very healthy looking ghost, and to their astonishment was entering
the graveyard with shuffling, uneven steps. Of course it should have
suddenly appeared from some tomb, as every well regulated ghost is
supposed to do.
“The Mystery seems rather clumsy, Marion,” said Janet in an excited
whisper.
“Isn’t it carrying something?” asked Phœbe.
“Yes; a weight of some sort in each hand,” was Marion’s composed reply.
“The weights are as white as the ghost itself. Queer; isn’t it, girls?”
Glancing neither to right nor left the apparition slowly made its way
into the graveyard and advanced to the big square mausoleum erected
as the future abiding place of Jonathan Eliot. The white-robed figure
seemed bent and feeble.
“Come!” said Marion; “let us surround it and play ghost ourselves.”
She glided swiftly out into the starlight, wrapping her sheet closely
about her, and gained a position behind the tomb. Phœbe and Janet
followed, spurred on by Marion’s fearless action. One passed to the
right and the other to the left.
Singularly enough, the bent figure did not observe their presence until
the tomb was nearly reached, when Marion circled around the railing and
confronted the mysterious visitant. At the same time Janet and Phœbe
advanced and all three slowly raised their white-draped arms above
their heads.
“Woo-oo-oo!” wailed Marion.
With a shriek that pierced the night air far and wide the ghost
staggered backward and toppled to the ground, lying still as death.
Startled though she was, Phœbe sprang forward and peered into the
upturned face.
“Why--it’s Elaine!” she cried aloud.
“Yes,” said a quiet voice beside her. “And you’ve raised the very
mischief by this mad prank, Phœbe Daring.”
It was Toby Clark, who gazed down at the still figure and wagged his
tow head, mournfully.
“Is she dead, Toby?” asked Janet, in a hushed, frightened tone.
“I think not. Probably, she’s fainted.”
“And what was she carrying?” inquired Marion, seeming unmoved by the
tragic occurrence.
Phœbe knew; they were two canvas bags of gold; but she said nothing.
“See here,” cried Toby abruptly, “it’s possible you crazy females have
not spoiled the game, after all. Make tracks--will you, girls?--get
away, out of sight; run home, so she won’t see you when she comes to.”
“But--I don’t understand,” began Janet, timidly.
“You’re not supposed to,” retorted Toby, more gruffly than he had ever
spoken to her before.
“Toby is right, girls--I know he is right. Come--_please_ come!”
pleaded Phœbe, anxiously.
Thoroughly bewildered, Janet and Marion suffered her to lead them away,
and when they had passed the turnstile and were out of sight Toby
retreated and hid behind a gravestone.
Elaine did not recover at once, for her terror had been great and her
faint was proportionately deep and lasting. But finally, when Toby was
about to steal out again and see if she were dead, the old woman moved
uneasily and moaned. A little later she sat up, placing her hands to
her head. Then she seemed to remember the cause of her fright, for she
cast fearful glances around her.
Apparently reassured, she presently tried to rise, and after several
attempts regained her feet. The bags of gold still lay where she had
dropped them and after another suspicious look around the graveyard
she stooped and picked them up.
For several moments the woman stood motionless in that silent city of
the dead, pondering on the forms she had seen and trying to decide
whether her imagination had played her a trick, or she had really
beheld the spirits of those gone before. The fact that she had not been
robbed led her to dismiss any idea that the forms were mortal. Whatever
the explanation might be, she reflected that she was now alone and had
a purpose to accomplish.
She carried her load to the iron grating, unlocked the gate and passed
through. The marble door of the mausoleum worked with a secret spring.
Toby’s sharp eyes carefully marked the manner in which she released
this spring and permitted the heavy marble block to swing noiselessly
outward.
Elaine only lingered long enough to place the bags of gold inside. Then
she closed the door of the tomb, let herself out at the iron gate and
after one more shrewd inspection of the silent place made her way out
of the graveyard and took the path that led back to her home.
Far behind her Toby followed like a shadow.
In half an hour she returned to the vault again, laden as before. For
an old woman, and one who had just received a nervous shock, Elaine
Halliday showed remarkable vitality. Her body appeared frail and weak,
but an indomitable spirit urged it to perform its tasks.