THE WITCH OF WITCH ELMS.
After seeing Britomarte well on her way, Justin walked thoughtfully home
to the parsonage.
Days passed; but no news came of Miss Conyers. Eastworth remained at the
parsonage, wooing the minister’s daughter—never with compromising words,
but with glances more eloquent and tones more expressive than words
could ever be. For if his words were only, “The day is beautiful,” his
tone said, “I love you!” his glance said, “For you are more beautiful
than the summer’s day.” And Erminie! how entirely she believed in him;
how devotedly she loved him; how disinterestedly she worshiped him.
“If I could in any way add to his fame, or honor, or happiness, how
blessed I should be! And oh! if he should go away without ever telling
me what I could do to please him, how wretched I should become! Ah! he
may meet more beautiful, more accomplished and more distinguished women
in the great world than ever I can hope to be; but he will never meet
with one who could love him more than I do!”
Such reveries as these, scarcely taking the form of words, even in her
thoughts, engaged the young girl constantly.
In the midst of this trouble came letters from the Goldsboroughs. One
from Papa Goldsborough to Papa Rosenthal, inviting him, his family and
his guest to come down to the Rainbows on a visit for the season; and
another from Alberta to Erminie, urging her to use her influence with
her father to induce him to accept the invitation and be at the Rainbows
to spend the approaching Fourth of July.
No interference on the part of Erminie was needed. Dr. Rosenthal, with
the concurrence of his son and his guest, wrote to Mrs. Goldsborough to
say that he and his party would be at the Rainbows on the evening of the
third proximo. And as this letter was dated on the thirtieth of June,
there were but two days left to prepare for the journey.
As soon as this letter was written and posted and fairly on its way,
Erminie went to look for her brother in the library, where, in study, he
passed his mornings.
“Justin, do I interrupt you?” she inquired, in a deprecating tone, as
she opened the door and found him at his books.
“No, my dear, you never do,” replied Justin, closing the volume in his
hand and drawing forward a chair for his sister.
“Justin, I want you to do something for me this afternoon, please,” she
said, as she seated herself.
“What is it, dear?”
“Oh, Justin, it is now four weeks since Britty went away, and we have
heard nothing from her, and we do not know where to address her.”
“Well, my dear?”
“And to-morrow evening we start for the Rainbows, to be absent from the
city for the whole remainder of the season.”
“Yes.”
“But, Justin, I cannot, indeed I cannot bear to go away without first
trying to find out something about my dear Britomarte.”
“Well?”
“And so I wish you, if you please, to get a carriage and take me across
Benning’s Bridge to Witch Elms, to ask about her.”
Justin could refuse his sister nothing, so the carriage was ordered and
Witch Elms was reached after a tedious drive through a heavy rainstorm.
The entrance was stoutly barred, but the travelers were at last admitted
and shown into a wide parlor, the door being instantly shut and locked
upon them.
Justin, amazed by this proceeding, began to search around for another
exit.
The person who had admitted them had left them in total darkness, so it
was no easy matter making one’s way about. At last Justin came to a
flight of stairs leading upward, and bidding his sister take his arm,
they ascended.
On reaching the upper hall, Justin whispered:
“Listen; do you hear anything?”
There was an unmistakable murmur proceeding from some dark room in their
vicinity, and then an angry voice spoke aloud:
“Why the foul fiend, then, didn’t you take them in to see the old
woman?”
The muttering voice made some reply, to which the loud voice responded:
“Bosh! What danger? That’s all over now. The verdict of the coroner’s
inquest settled that. Suicide. Nothing more likely. After that there was
nothing more to be said.”
A blaze of lightning that flashed through every chink and crevice of the
shut-up old house, and a crash of thunder that overwhelmed all other
sounds, stopped the talk of the unseen companions.
Then the muttering voice was heard again, saying something offensive to
the interlocutor, though inaudible to the listeners, for the loud voice
replied:
“Drinking; no, I have not been drinking! At least not more than is good
for me! The moment any one takes a deep breath and shows a little
fearlessness, you think they’ve been—drinking! Go and look after the
people you have left in the hall so long, and take them up to see the
old woman. That is, if she wants to see them. You must humor her; but as
for the girl——”
Again the murmuring voice intervened, but the loud voice broke in:
“I tell you she must be got out of the way! Now go look after these
visitors below.”
A sound of shuffling feet was heard, and Justin whispered to Erminie:
“Little sister, there’s something wrong here, but we must not seem to
have been listening.” And, so saying, he hurried her down the stairs, as
fast as the darkness would permit him to do with safety. Arrived at the
foot, he waited some few minutes, and then he sang out as loud as he
could:
“Hallo! waiter! porter! footman! major-domo! man of all work! whatever
or whoever you are! where are you? Come, let us in; or let us out!”
“I am here, set fire to you! Couldn’t you be quiet for five minutes,
while I was gone to tell the old lady?” answered a growling voice from
the hall above. And at the same time a person, bearing a dim light,
began to descend the stairs.
He was a man of about thirty years of age, of gigantic height; but with
a small head, and closely-cut black hair, and a beardless, or else
closely-shaven, dark-complexioned face; a man you would not like to meet
on a lonely road on a dark night. He was dressed from head to foot in a
closely-fitting suit of the dust-colored coarse cloth that has since
become so well known as the uniform of the Confederate army.
“Couldn’t you be easy for five minutes, while I was gone?” he growled,
as he reached the foot of the stairs.
“Your minutes are very long ones, friend!” laughed Justin.
“You want to see the old lady, you say?”
“I wish to see Miss Pole.”
“Come along, then,” said the man, stopping to snuff the candle with his
fingers, and then leading the way upstairs.
Justin, still holding his sister closely under his arm, reascended the
stairs.
By the light of the candle carried by the man before him, he saw that
this part of the old house seemed entirely unfurnished. The floors were
bare and rough, and broken here and there, and the walls were disfigured
by torn paper and fallen plastering.
This hall of the third story was neatly papered and comfortably
carpeted, and well lighted by a small, clear lamp hanging from the
ceiling. A large window at the end of this hall was also curtained.
The smooth-chinned giant in the dust-colored clothes opened the nearest
door to the right, and said:
“Go in there.”
With Erminie tucked under one arm, and his hat in his hand, Justin
entered the room.
It was a neatly-furnished sitting-room, lighted, like the hall, by a
small, clear lamp, hanging from the ceiling.
Under this lamp stood a large, round center-table, covered with flowered
green cloth, and laden with books, bookmarks, hand-screens,
smelling-bottles, a small open workbox, and, in short, all the
paraphernalia of a lady’s table.
Beside it, in a large resting-chair, with her feet upon a foot-cushion,
reclined a very old lady, bent with age, and trembling with palsy. She
was wrapped in a light-colored French chintz dressing-gown, and her
shaking head was covered with a fine lace cap, whose deep borders softly
shaded her silver hair and withered face.
“You’ve come to see me?” inquired the old lady, in a shrill and
quivering voice.
“Yes, madam; I hope to see you in your usual health,” said the young
man, bending his head.
“To business, sir,” snapped the old lady. “I suppose you come from
Trent, my agent?”
“No, madam; I——”
“Then, what did you come for? I receive no visitors except upon
business,” interrupted the old lady, impatiently.
“Pardon us, madam. We are friends of your niece; and not having heard
from her for some weeks, and being on the point of leaving the city for
the season, we came here to inquire about her.”
“About—whom?” demanded Miss Pole, in a shrill, impatient voice, as she
began to tremble with excitement.
“Your niece, Miss Conyers.”
Shaking violently, the old lady moved her hand to the bell and rang it.
The weird handmaid appeared.
“Nan, Nan, show these people downstairs, and tell Dole to see ’em out!
and to mind how he sends unwelcome visitors to me again!” exclaimed the
old lady, shaking more and more violently with growing excitement.
“I hope I have given you no cause for offense, madam,” said Justin,
deprecatingly.
“Offense! off—offense!” stammered the old lady, with her head nodding
fast between palsy and anger. “How dare you mention the name of
Britomarte Conyers in my presence?—a toad! a beast! a snake!” And at
every epithet she spat with spite. “Show ’em out! show ’em out! show ’em
out, Nan!”
“I am very sorry, madam, to hear you speak in this intemperate manner of
your niece. I have the highest respect for Miss Conyers,” said Justin,
gravely.
“Go! go! go!” sputtered the old creature, letting fall her cane, and
seizing a book, which, with all her trembling strength, she launched at
the offender. But, of course, the missile fell wide of its mark.
Erminie, shocked, amazed and terrified, clung to the arm of her brother.
“I wish you a better spirit, Miss Pole,” said Justin; and, bowing as
courteously as if he were leaving the presence of a queen, who had
conferred upon him a grace, he passed out of the room with his sister.