CHAPTER I.

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The Haunted Homestead

_A NOVEL_

BY MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

Author of "Ishmael," "Retribution," "The Bridal Eve," "A Noble Lord,"

"The Deserted Wife," "Unknown," "The Lady of the Isle," "The Bride's

Fate," "Victor's Triumph," "The Wife's Victory," etc.

CHICAGO

M. A. DONOHUE & CO.

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD.

A residence for woman, child, or man,

A dwelling-place--and yet no habitation;

A house, but under some prodigious ban

Of excommunication.--HOOD.

In childhood I always had a fearless faith in ghosts. I desired before

all sights to see them, and threw myself in the way of meeting them

whenever and wherever there seemed the slightest possibility of so

doing. Whenever there were mysterious sounds heard in the night, I

listened with breathless interest, arose from the bed in silent

eagerness, and went stealing on tiptoe through the dark house in the

hopes of meeting the ghosts. Once I met a severe blow on the nose from

the sharp edge of an open door, and once a tom cat, who made one spring

from the top of the pantry shelves upon my head, and another thence

through a broken window pane. I would have liked to fancy him a ghostly

cat, only I knew him too well for our own "Tom," the cunningest thief

that ever run on four feet. Another time, perambulating through the

house at midnight, I surprised a burglar, who, mistaking me in the

darkness for the master of the house, the watch, or an ambush, jumped

straight over my head (or past me, I hardly knew which in my

astonishment), and made his escape at the back door. But I must say that

I never met a ghost, or even a "vestige" of a ghost until--but I think I

will begin at the beginning and tell you the whole story.

At the Newton Academy, where I was educated, among two hundred fellow

pupils, I had but one bosom friend and confidante--quite enough in all

discretion for one individual, though you are aware that most young

ladies have at least a dozen. My female Pythias was Mathilde Legare, a

beautiful and warm-hearted Creole from New Orleans. Orestes and Pylades,

Castor and Pollux, the Siamese twins, are but faint illustrations of the

closeness of our friendship. To say that we were inseparable is nothing

to the fact--we were united, blended, consolidated; and the one "angel"

of Swedenborg formed of two congenial spirits, is the only sufficiently

expressive example of our union of hearts. It was of little use for me

to study a lesson, for though I had never looked at it, if Mathilde only

committed hers to memory I was sure, in some occult manner, to have mine

"at my fingers' ends"--or, on the other hand, if I studied, Mathilde

might play--she would recite her task just as well. Moreover, if I told

a story Mathilde would swear to it, and _vice versa_. In short, we two

were in all cases "too many" for all the rest of the school--principal,

assistant, masters and pupils--and we afforded a striking illustration

of the truth of Robert Browning's lines--though I suppose the latter

alluded to "a true marriage," and not a schoolgirl friendship:

"If any two creatures grow into one

They should do more than the world has done,

By each apart ever so weak,

Yet vainly thro' the world should you seek,

For the knowledge and the might,

Which in such union grew their right."

As Mathilde was rich and I was comparatively poor, this friendship

brought me many advantages, among which was the privilege of annual

travel and change of scene. About the first of every July, Mathilde's

father and mother would leave their sugar plantation in Louisiana, and

travel northward. They usually arrived at the Newton Academy about the

tenth of the month, in time to be present at the annual examination and

exhibition of the pupils. Upon these occasions, Mathilde, who possessed

quickness and vivacity, rather than depth or strength of mind, generally

achieved a brilliant success; though she often told me that her triumph

in being first at these milestones on the road to fame, was nothing more

than the success of the swift-footed, careless hare over the slow and

painstaking tortoise, who would win the race at the goal.

However this might be, Mr. and Mrs. Legare were equally proud of their

daughter's genius and beauty, and to reward her "industry and

application," as they called it, they took her each year to spend the

long vacation of July and August, with them, in making a tour of the

Virginia Springs, which are the most frequented by Southerners, for the

convenience of bringing their servants with them.

Upon one occasion, however--that of the vacation preceding the last year

of Mathilde's residence at school--Mr. Legare determined to vary their

usual route by going to the Northern watering places of Saratoga and

Ballstown. And, as usual, I, with the consent of my guardians,

accompanied the party as their invited guest.

We arrived at Saratoga at the very height of the season. In all, I

suppose that there might have been several thousand visitors at the

springs. The United States Hotel, at which we stopped, was uncomfortably

crowded. And, though Mr. Legare grumbled in a very old-gentlemanly way,

and Mrs. Legare wished herself at home again, Mathilde and I enjoyed the

crowd for the crowd's sake, and experienced the truth of the popular

adage of "the more the merrier."

At a place like that, even in the ballroom, "distinction" was almost as

impossible as it is said to be in London, where, now that the "duke" is

dead, no one is any one. Scarcely anybody was anybody at Saratoga that

season. Many a village beauty, the toast of her own little circle, and

many a city belle, the queen of her own coterie, who went thither,

reasonably expecting to make a "sensation," found herself and her claims

to notice lost in a brilliant multitude all more or less expectant or

disappointed.

I thought Mathilde, with her tall and beautifully rounded form, stately

head, pure olive complexion, shaded by jet-black ringlets, and lighted

up by laughing black eyes, bridged over with arch and flexible black

eyebrows--would attract some attention.

Not a bit of it! Heiress and beauty, as she was, Mathilde Legare was

merely one in the crowd. There were hundreds with equal or greater

claims to distinction. And so our beautiful Mathilde was not enthroned.

Of course she soon attracted around her a circle of old and new

acquaintances and had from them a due share of attention.

Among the first of these new acquaintances was a young gentleman of the

name of Howard. His introduction to our party, without being romantic,

was certainly marked by singularity. It occurred the third day after our

arrival, at one of the weekly balls at the United States. It happened to

be a fine, cool evening, and the assembly upon the occasion was

unusually large. The saloon was quite crowded, leaving but little room

for the motions of the dancers.

Mathilde was looking very beautiful that night. She wore a dress with a

three-fold skirt of very fine, transparent thale over rose-colored silk,

and which with every motion floated around her graceful form with a

mistlike softness and lightness; a bertha and falls of the finest lace

veiled her rounded arms and neck. She wore no jewels, but a wreath of

rich white heliotrope crowned her jetty ringlets, and a bouquet of the

same odoriferous flowers employed her slender fingers.

Yes! she was looking very lovely. Nevertheless, Mathilde, as well as

myself, seemed destined to adorn the sofa as a "wall flower" all the

evening, for set after set formed until every one was complete. The

music struck up and the dancing commenced, and still no one came near

us, nor did we even so much as see, within the range of our vision, one

single person that we knew.

Mathilde voted this "the very stupidest ball" she was ever at, and hoped

her papa would never come to Saratoga again.

I, for my part, fell into the study of faces, and through them into the

study of character, and through that into dreaming.

Presently a head--start not gentle reader, there was a living body

attached to it--attracted my particular attention. It was not because it

was above every other head present--though had not this been the case I

should not at that distance have seen it--nor was it because it was a

very handsome one--for there were others much handsomer; but it was a

very remarkable, characteristic, individual sort of head--a monarchical

head, with a forehead that in its commanding height and breadth seemed

the natural throne of intellectual sovereignty, with a strongly and

clearly-marked nose and mouth, with eyes full of calm power--that

surveyed the multitude below with the quiet interest of a king

inspecting his army on some festive parade day.

"_Magnus Apollo!_" were the words that sprang alive to my lips as I laid

my hand upon the soft, white arm of Mathilde and called her attention to

this stranger.

"Hush! he is looking this way," said my companion, blushing and casting

down her eyes.

I knew very well, if he was "looking this way," at whom he must be

looking, and so, did not feel Mathilde's embarrassment in again raising

my eyes to the "_Magnus Apollo_." When I did so I perceived that he was

in conversation with another gentleman, whom I recognized as Mr. ----,

the proprietor of the house. I saw Mr. ---- bow and precede the

stranger, conducting him to the presence of Mr. Legare, to whom he

immediately introduced him. I saw Mr. Legare and the stranger

approaching our quarter of the room, and I thought I understood it all.

I was not mistaken.

Mr. Legare presented the stranger as "Mr. Howard, of Boston," first to

me, whom he favored with a bow, but certainly not with a single glance,

and next to Mathilde, whom he almost immediately petitioned to become

his partner in the next quadrille.

Miss Legare bowed a gracious acceptance to his suit.

The presentation over, Mr. Legare went to rejoin his wife, who could not

endure to be left alone.

Mr. Howard remained standing before us, and soon, by the brilliancy,

variety and interest of his conversation, attracted and engaged both his

hearers. He was certainly a man of the most distinguished and commanding

presence that I had ever seen, and one for whom every hour's

acquaintance increased our esteem.

When the new quadrille formed, with a graceful bow he extended his hand

to Mathilde and led her to the head of one of the sets. He danced as

well as he conversed. Why should I run into detail? Mathilde's fancy was

captivated. They finished the quadrille, and for the remainder of the

evening Mr. Howard's attentions, though very devoted, were marked by too

much delicacy and good taste to attract notice from any one except her

to whom they were directed.

The impression made upon Mathilde was as yet not sufficiently deep to

render her reserved with me upon this subject. Consequently when the

ball was over, and we had reached our double-bedded chamber, my friend

broke forth in eager exclamations.

"Did you ever see such a fine-looking person, Agnes? And then his

conversation! how brilliant! and how varied! how much he must have

traveled! and then how well he dances!"

"Pshaw!" said I. "'Oh, what a fall was there,' 'from the sublime to the

ridiculous!'"

"Yes, but he does dance well! and let me tell you that very few men can

do so! he strikes the nice balance between _le grand_ and _la frivole_

in his manner! And then his name--Howard--_la creme de la creme_ of

aristocratic names. Don't you remember _Le Lion blanc_ of the house of

Howard?"

And so she rattled on, talking incessantly of the new acquaintance until

we went to bed, and I went to sleep leaving her still talking.

The next morning, I noticed that Mathilde spent more than usual time and

attention upon her toilette. She looked very pretty--when did she

not?--in her embroidered cambric morning dress, with no ornament but her

jetty ringlets flowing down each side her freshly-blooming face.

When we went downstairs, there was Mr. Howard waiting in the hall, to

offer Mathilde his arm to the breakfast table.

Afterward at the ladies bowling-alley who but Mr. Howard stood at

Mathilde's elbow to hand the balls? Who took her in to dinner? Who made

a horseblock of his knee and a stepping-stone of the palm of his hand

to lift Mathilde into her saddle? Who attended her in her afternoon

ride? In her evening walk? In the duet with the piano accompaniment at

night?

Howard--still Howard!

Until after several weeks of this association, at last papa opened his

eyes and inquired first of himself and next of his host:

"Who is this Mr. Howard, who is paying such very particular attention to

my daughter?"

"Mr. Howard, sir; Mr. Howard is a very talented young mechanic of

Boston," answered the proprietor.

"A--what?" questioned the astonished old gentleman.

"A very accomplished young machinist, and mathematical instrument maker,

sir, who has realized quite a handsome fortune by his patented

improvement in----"

"The foul fiend!" exclaimed the old aristocrat, throwing up his hands in

consternation, as he trotted off.

His daughter talking, dancing, riding, flirting with a mechanic! Oh!

horror, horror, horror!

The result of this was, that after Mr. Legare's perturbed feelings had

become somewhat calmed he called for his bill, settled it, took four

places in the morning coach, ordered his servants to pack up, and the

next day set out for the South.

He was very much disturbed; Mrs. Legare said nothing, but poor Mathilde

was miserable, having been made to feel that she had unwittingly brought

discredit upon herself and all her family.

Mr. Legare left Mathilde and myself at our school, and with his wife

proceeded to Louisiana.

I soon saw that the warm-hearted young Southern maiden really was, or

believed herself to be, the subject of a deep and unhappy attachment;

she became reserved to all, even to me, and her health suffered. As

weeks grew into months her indisposition increased. One day her emotion

broke the bounds of reserve, and throwing herself into my arms, she

exclaimed:

"Oh, Agnes! if Frank would only write to me I should not feel so

wretched!"

"Frank? who is Frank, my love?" I inquired in surprise, for I had never

heard this name among our acquaintances.

She blushed deeply. "Oh! I mean Mr. Howard, you know! Frank Howard."

"No--I did not know! Has it come to this? and do you call him Frank? And

do you, perhaps, correspond with him? Oh, Mathilde, Mathilde, my dear!

take care!"

"Oh! no, no, I do not correspond with him! never have done so! he never

even asked me! but after pa got so high with him, he looked mournful and

dignified, and took leave of me! Oh! he might write to me."

"Mathilde, knowing your father's sentiments, he would not, as a man of

honor, commence a correspondence with you. But tell me, dear, how far

this affair had gone?"

"Oh! very far indeed; he was going to ask me of papa that very day we

left!"

"Wait, Mathilde! you are so young! if this is anything more serious than

a passing fancy on both sides, he will delay until you leave school, and

then he will first seek you at your father's house. This is the only

course for a man of honor in such a case, you are aware."

"Um-m! little hope in seeking me at my father's house, with my father's

estimate of a mechanic! But I do not the least believe that Frank Howard

is a mechanic! He does not look like one!"

"Nonsense, my dear Mathilde! he is an intelligent Boston mechanic, who

has made a valuable invention that has brought him a fortune; that is

all about it."

Still Mathilde's health waned, and at last the principal of our academy

wrote to her parents, who came, and finding her condition more

precarious than they had anticipated, removed her from school and

carried her home. Mathilde could not bring against her friend the same

charge that she had brought against her lover; for I requested a

frequent correspondence, and faithfully kept up my part of it.

I remained at Newton for nearly twelve months after Mathilde had left.

And this time, passed in so great monotony by me, was full of event for

Mathilde and those connected with her. In the first place, she

accompanied her friends on a short visit to Europe, and returning,

entered society at New Orleans with some _eclat_.

Then followed for her father a succession of losses, one growing out of

another, until his fortune was so reduced as to make it necessary for

him to retrench and change his whole style of living.

Under such circumstances, his pride would not permit him to remain in

that part of the country where for so many years he had lived _grand

seigneur_.

His wife was a Virginian by birth and education, and in changing her

home preferred to return to her native State. Therefore Mr. Legare

purchased a small estate lying within a fertile gap of the Alleghanies,

to which, in the spring of the next year, he removed his family.

Up to this time Mathilde had heard nothing directly from her Saratoga

lover, but had learned, through the newspapers, that he had been

nominated to represent his district in the National House of

Representatives.

Hoping much from the two circumstances of her own reduction in worldly

fortune and her lover's elevation in social rank, which must bring them

nearer together in position, she had called the attention of her father

to the announcement of Mr. Howard's nomination; but her fond

expectations were soon dissipated by the old aristocrat's comment:

"Oh, yes, my dear, I see! Any upstart can get into Congress now. Really

a private station is the seat of honor; but the comfort remains that a

patrician by birth, is still a patrician, no matter how low his worldly

fortunes; a plebeian is still a plebeian, even though accident or

caprice may constitute him a legislator."

"And now what shall I do, Agnes?" wrote Mathilde, after recounting these

things.

"Hope! If Mr. Howard is as constant as you appear to be, you have

everything to expect from time and change ordered by Providence," was my

written reply.

I finally left school at the commencement of the summer vacation

following the spring in which Mr. Legare's family removed to their

mountain home in Virginia.

It was just before the ensuing Christmas that I received an invitation

from Mathilde to come up and spend the holidays with her at her father's

new home.

In extending this invitation, she wrote: "I do not know, dear Agnes, how

much or how little you may feel disposed to credit these modern,

so-called spiritual manifestations, these 'rappings,' 'table-tippings,'

etc., but I know your strong penchant for the supernatural and your

inveterate habit of ghost-hunting, and I do assure you, if it will be

any inducement for you to come to us, that our home contains as

inexplicable a mystery as ever frightened human habitants away, and

doomed a dwelling-place to desolation and decay, and this haunting

presence infests a house in a neighborhood, as yet innocent of

spirit-rappings, table-tippings, and 'sich like diviltries,' as it is of

railroads, steamboats and telegraph wires. But I shall say no more of

this mystery until I see you 'face to face' except this, that even my

unbelieving pa talks of selling the place unless the nuisance is

explained and removed."

I think that it was the existence of this darkly intimated spectre that

fascinated me to the point of accepting Mathilde's invitation.

Ghost-hunting was my one weakness--perhaps I should say monomania. I

secretly hoped that there might be a haunted chamber in the old house

and that they might put me to sleep in it; furthermore, that I might be

favored with an interview with the ghost. I resolved to go. No

persuasion had power to withhold me, no obstacle to prevent me. My only

brother was expected home to spend Christmas, but I could not wait for

him. I would, on the contrary, ask Mr. Legare to invite him to follow

me. The weather was very severe, the snow covered the ground to the

depth of two feet on a level, and what it might be among the ravines of

the mountains I was going to cross, I feared to conjecture;

nevertheless, to go I was determined.

It was a three days' and three nights' stage ride from Winchester, where

I lived with my guardian, to Wolfbrake, the home of the Legares.

Accordingly, in order to reach my journey's end on Christmas Eve, I set

out from home on the twentieth of December, and after three days and

nights of the roughest traveling, up hill and down, through the darkest

forests, along the banks of the most frightful precipices, across the

rudest and most primitive bridges thrown over the most awful chasms,

through mountain streams so deep and rapid that in fording them it was

often hard to tell whether we rode or rowed, finally, on the evening of

the twenty-fourth, I reached Frost Height, where the mules from

Wolfbrake, under the charge of Uncle Judah, already awaited me.

Although it was getting dusky, and the road down the snow-covered

mountain path to Wolfbrake was not of the safest description, even by

daylight, and might be considered dangerous by a starless night, yet

Uncle Judah, with the hard-headedness of a favored old family servant,

insisted that I should set forth immediately, as "Marse and mis' would

be 'spectin'" me to supper.

So, mounting my mule, and preceded by the old servant upon his jack, I

descended into the outer darkness of the downward mountain path.

In a little while it was quite dark, and I could neither see Judah on

his jack before me, nor even the narrow path under my feet. At every

step I seemed to be plunging down into some dark abysm of shadows below

shadows. I could not guide my course, but trusted to the habits and

sure-footedness of the mountain mule that carried me. A glimmering

light, shining up from the deepest depths of the darkness below,

indicated the position of Wolfbrake Lodge. There was always a strange,

mystic interest felt in approaching a place like that, for the first

time, amid the shadows of night. The undefined, shapeless mass of

buildings, the unseen boundaries, the unknown circumstances that awaits

us, all like some strange mystery, pique curiosity. And to these general

subjects of interest was added the particular one of the haunting

presence of which Mathilde had darkly written. I was yielding

imagination up to the fascination of these dreamy speculations, when my

mule, having reached the bottom, or else an obstacle of some sort--I

could not in the deep darkness decide which--stopped short. And

immediately I heard a sweet, familiar voice say:

"Is that you, Uncle Judah? Did Agnes come?"

"Yes, honey," replied the old man; and:

"I am here! where are you, dear Mathilde?" exclaimed I, in the same

instant.

"I am in the carryall! Uncle Judah, help your Miss Agnes off, and bring

her in here with me."

In obedience, the old man lifted me out of my saddle, and, to use his

own vernacular, "toted" me "through the slush," and set me in the

carryall beside Mathilde. I could not see her form, but I felt her arms

wound around me, and her lips against my face, searching for those other

lips that quickly met hers, and then:

"I am so overjoyed to see you, dear Agnes! It was so good of you to

come!" she said. "I couldn't wait! I had to order the carryall, and come

to meet you at the foot of the hill."

We were then about a half a mile from the house. Mathilde made the boy

that drove her get down and give place on the driver's seat to Uncle

Judah, and then take charge of the mules, to lead them home. And so we

proceeded through the snow-covered bottom toward the house.

As I said, it was so dark that I could not clearly distinguish the

outline of the buildings; but there appeared to be two houses, an old

one and a new one, joined by a covered piazza, and shaded by many trees.

We stopped before the door of the new house, from the parlor windows of

which a stream of light from the lamps within was pouring.

We were met by Mrs. Legare, who gave me a cordial welcome, and took me

at once to an upper front chamber, comfortably furnished, where a fine

wood fire burned, and a kettle of hot water stood upon the hearth, for

the convenience of warm ablutions.

"This is your room, my dear Agnes, where I hope you will find yourself

at home," said my kind hostess.

I thanked her, but secretly hoped that she would leave me alone with

Mathilde, to hear the mystery of the haunted presence explained, for as

yet we had no opportunity of a _tete-a-tete_.

But the old lady lingered with motherly solicitude, until I had washed

myself, and changed my traveling habit for a home dress; and then

directing Jacinthe or "Jet," as she was nicknamed, to restore the room

to order, she invited me down into the parlor.

As I left the chamber, I observed Jet's eyes start out like beads, and

she made a motion to follow us; but a peremptory gesture from her

mistress repelled her, and she remained, though evidently terrified at

the idea of being left alone.

"Can it be possible," thought I, "that the child is afraid to stay by

herself in the new house, when, of course, the supernatural inmate, if

there is one, must be a denizen of the old one?"

And at the same time I experienced a feeling of disappointed love of

adventure in being accommodated with a chamber so shining in freshness

and so distant in character as well as location from what I fancied must

be the scene of the mystery.

When we reached the parlor, we found a party of young people collected

to celebrate Christmas Eve. But scarcely were the introductions over,

before a servant opened the door and announced supper, and, conducted by

Mrs. Legare, we all went out by way of the hall and the covered piazza

to the dining-room in the old house, where the feast was spread.

I cannot stop to analyze the sensation with which I crossed the

threshold of this mystery-haunted house, and entered the quaint,

old-fashioned parlor, where the supper table was set. The polished oak

floor, the oak-paneled walls, the high, narrow, deep-set windows, the

tall, black-walnut chimney-piece over the broad fireplace, flanked by a

high cupboard in one corner, and a coffinlike clock in the other--all

whispered of those who had lived and died there long years before. There

was a well-spread and cheerfully-lighted table, and a merry, youthful

company assembled around it; but even these animating influences were

not sufficiently powerful to exorcise the thoughts of the dead--for,

talkative and frolicksome though they were, their talk was still of the

supernatural, of ghosts, and ghosts' seers. I did not talk--I was too

earnestly interested in hearing. And I listened breathlessly to learn

the mystery of the house. In vain! not a single allusion was made to a

spectre in connection with Wolfbrake Lodge. They ignored the

supposition. Perhaps they were really ignorant of it.

Supper over and cleared away, the young people returned no more that

night to the parlor in the new house, but prepared for a game of

"Snap-apple" in the old dining-room, which their romping could not hurt.

I was so weary with my three days and nights of riding, and so eager

besides for a _tete-a-tete_ with Mathilde, that I pleaded fatigue as an

undeniable reason for retiring before the games should commence. I hoped

that Mathilde alone would attend me. Not so. Mrs. Legare, apparently

watching for my withdrawal, joined her daughter and myself as we left

the room, and accompanied us to the chamber set apart for my use in the

new house. When we had reached this apartment, Mrs. Legare said:

"There is no one that sleeps in this house usually. We keep these

chambers principally for the use of our guests. No one will occupy any

room within it to-night except yourself, unless indeed you feel

afraid----"

"Afraid?" repeated I, in a tone that quickly called forth an apology.

"Oh! I know, my dear Agnes, that you are no coward; but I did not know

but that you might feel indisposed to sleep alone in a strange house."

"What? when it is a perfectly new house, Mrs. Legare? If, indeed, it

were an old-time house, I might be afraid of the traditional ghost,"

said I, watching in her countenance the effect of my words, and seeing

her, to my astonishment, turn pale, and send a quick, significant glance

to Mathilde, who averted her head.

"Ah!" thought I, "the old house is haunted! Would they would only let me

sleep there, where there is some chance of being delightfully

frightened."

"I was about to say, Agnes, that if you prefer, I will send one of the

negro women to sleep on a mattress in your room."

"By no means, Mrs. Legare. I shall fall asleep as soon as I touch my

pillow, and not wake until morning--so I should not be able to

appreciate the benefit of Peggy or Dinah's society."

"Very well, my dear, as you please. Here is a bellrope at your bed's

head--its wires run into the old house. If you should want anything,

ring."

I smiled, and assured my hostess that I wanted nothing but sleep.

Whereupon she called Mathilde, bade me good-night, and left the room.

Turning back, however, she said to me:

"Agnes, my dear, lock your chamber door after us."

"Yes, madam."

"Excuse me, my dear; but young people are forgetful--especially when

they are tired and sleepy. I think I should like to hear you lock it,

Agnes."

There was something in her caution that struck me as very singular--but

I laughed and went to the door, and after repeating my good-night, as

desired, shut the door in their faces, and locked it.

"There! have you heard me lock the door?" I inquired.

"Yes, my dear--all right."

"And is your mind at rest on that score?"

"I am sure that you have attended to my advice. Good night, and happy

dreams."

"Thanks, and the same good wishes! Good-night!" said I, in conclusion.

I listened, and heard them go downstairs, enter the parlor, and fasten

the windows, and secure the safety of the fire there--go to the back

hall door, and bolt and bar it--and finally go out by the front door,

and lock it after them.

Fastened up as I was in the house, I did not feel myself quite in

prison, because, should I, like Sterne's starling, want to "get out," I

could do so by the back door.

Now, I never could account for it, but no sooner was I left alone in

that room, resplendent as it was with newness, than a strange feeling of

superstition came over me, that I could neither understand nor escape.

It was in vain that I turned my eyes from the shining white wall and

freshly painted windows to the cheerful pattern of the carpet and

furniture drapery, and said that in this new and freshly furnished

chamber the supernatural was out of place--there grew upon me the

impression of an unearthly presence near; and the feeling, in spite of

all probability, that this--this was the scene of the household

mystery--this was the haunted chamber!

In this new aspect I examined it. It was the least like one that could

be imagined. It was a lofty, spacious, cheerful, double-bedded room,

with four large windows--two on the east and two on the west side--with

a fireplace in the south wall, and the heads of the beds, at some

distance apart, against the north wall. Between the two east windows was

a pretty dressing-table and glass; between the west windows was a neat

washstand with a china service; on each side of the fireplace were two

spacious clothes closets; before the fire sat two easy-chairs; in

intermediate spaces around the walls were half a dozen other chairs.

I examined the clothes closets, and found them entirely empty, and at

the service of my dresses; then I looked under the bed; then beneath the

drapery of the dressing-table; and finding nothing that should not be

there, undressed myself, said my prayers, blew out my candle, and went

to bed.

I could not sleep; my mind, my nerves, had for some reason become

unusually excited; and, despite of extreme fatigue, I lay awake. I

thought the room was too light; for, though the candle was extinguished,

a glowing fire burned upon the hearth, a few yards from the foot of my

bed, and the light of the now risen moon streamed into the east windows.

After turning from side to side, vainly wooing slumber, I arose and went

to close the east front windows. As I reached them with this purpose, I

stayed my hand a moment, while I looked out at the snow-clad, moon-lit

mountain landscape; below me was the bottom, bounded, not many furlongs

off, by the cedar-grown precipice, down which, that very evening, I had

come; under the shelter of that mountain, straight in the line of my

vision, lay the family graveyard of the former owner, in a copse of

evergreens, where the spectral-looking tombstones gleamed whitely among

the dark firs and cedars. Meditating upon those departed, I closed the

blinds of the front windows, and then went to the back ones.

The latter looked straight down into the uncurtained windows of the

lighted dining-room, where the young people were still at play. Above

these windows, and directly opposite to mine, were those of Mrs.

Legare's bedroom, now dimly lighted from the fire within.

With this proximity of the family, I felt less lonely, closed my blinds,

and returned to bed.

Still I could not sleep. The fire on the hearth, beyond my bed's foot,

flickered up and down, casting tall, spectral shadows, that danced upon

the walls, or stretched their long arms over the ceiling. For hours I

lay watching this phantasmagoria, until the fire died down, and the

tall, dancing shadows sank into a mass of darkness, before sleep came to

my wearied senses. But scarcely had I closed my eyes upon the natural

world before a strange vision, or dream, if you prefer to call it so,

passed before me. Methought I heard the click of a turning key; I opened

my eyes, and saw the door slowly swing back upon its hinges, and a lady

of dark, majestic beauty, dressed in deep mourning, and having a pale

and care-worn face, enter the chamber! Slowly and silently she walked to

and fro, her footfall waking no echo--her progress attended by no sound,

save the slight rustle of her silken robe! I was magnetized to watch

her, as with clasped hands and wide-open, mournful eyes, she walked in

silent, measured steps up and down the room. At length she paused in the

middle of the floor, fixed her eyes upon mine with a wild and mournful

gaze, slowly raised one hand from the breast upon which both had been

tightly clasped, and with her spectral finger extended downward, pointed

to the spot beneath her feet, and then as slowly resumed her former

attitude, and passed with measured steps from the room!

I tried to speak to her, to question her, but failed to utter a sound.

In an agony of distress I tried to call out, and in the effort to do so

awoke! awoke to find that I had been dreaming.

But, reader! the door that I had locked so carefully the night before,

was standing wide open, as when the dark woman of my dream had passed

through it!

Day was dawning. I shivered, both from superstitious excitement, and

from the cool draught of air blowing upon me from the open door. I drew

the cover closely around me and listened; but no sounds except the

undefined, low, pleasant murmur of awakening nature--the soft rustle of

the pines in the up-springing morning breeze, the flutter of the night

birds waking up in their branches, and the detonating echo of distant,

louder noises were heard. I arose softly and opened the east window

blinds, and then went back to bed to lie and watch the crimson light of

morning kindling up the orient.

An hour I lay thus, watching the dawn growing brighter and brighter unto

the perfect day. And then I heard a key turned in the hall door, and

some one come in and ascend the stairs. It was the little black maid

Jet, come to make my fire. As she entered I saw her eyes grow wild, and

she inquired:

"Miss Agnes, is yer been up, miss, to open dis yer door?"

"I have been up this morning, Jet," said I, not wishing to let her into

my full confidence. The answer seemed to set her at rest, for her

countenance lost its wild terror, and she proceeded with cheerful

alacrity to light the fire, fill the ewers and so forth.

Before she had got through with her task, there was a rush of many feet

into the hall, and up the stairs, and Mathilde and such of her young

friends as were already up and dressed, bounded into the room,

exclaiming:

"A merry Christmas! A merry Christmas, Agnes!"

Their arrival was enough to put to flight all the supernatural visitants

that Hades ever sent forth. They hurried me with my toilet; they worried

me to come down and see the Christmas tree, and get some eggnog.

I was carried away with their gay excitement, and almost forgot my

mysterious dream or visitant, but not quite; for all through the morning

greetings of the family, the eggnog drinking, the visit to the Christmas

tree, the distributions of presents, the merry breakfast, the arrival of

invited guests, the Christmas dinner party, the afternoon sports, and

the evening dance, I was possessed with the haunting presence of that

dark, handsome woman, and her majestic woe.

We danced in the dining-room through all the Christmas night; and it was

two o'clock in the morning before we separated.

Again, when I was about to retire, Mrs. Legare came to accompany me.

"I hope you rested well last night, my dear Agnes, though I have

scarcely had an opportunity of asking you to-day," she said, as we

entered my room.

"I did not wake until dawn, ma'am," I answered, evasively, for I had

determined, since they let me into no confidence upon the subject of the

household mystery, to keep my own counsel in regard to my dream and the

open door.

"You slept until dawn. That is well. I hope you will have as good a rest

for the few remaining hours of the night. Good-evening, my dear. Lock

your door after me," said Mrs. Legare, going out with a look of relief

and satisfaction.

As upon the evening previous, I turned the key upon my retiring hostess,

listened until I heard her pass out and secure the hall door, then

searched my room, undressed, said my prayers, and went to bed.

As I hinted in the beginning of this narrative, nature had made me at

once superstitious and fearless. In the supernatural I "believed without

trembling." And now alone, in this supposed-to-be haunted chamber, I lay

with an interest devoid of uneasiness, waiting the development of

events.

It was near day, when, overcome with watching, I fell asleep, and then,

as upon the night previous, I had a vision or dream (as you please to

call it). Methought the sound of a deep sigh awoke me, when looking up,

I saw, standing in the middle of the room, the fearful woman of my

dream, her finger pointed downward to the same spot, and, still pointing

thus, she receded backward until she disappeared through the open door.

I started up to call or stop her, and with the violence of my effort,

awoke! awoke to see the morning light shining in through the shutters

that I had neglected to close, and to hear little Jet letting herself in

at the hall door, to come up and light my fire.

Again on entering and seeing the open door, she cast an uneasy,

suspicious, frightened look around her, and said: "Yer allus gets up an'

opens dis door when yer hears me a comin', don't yer, Miss Agnes,

ma'am?"

"Yes, I heard you coming Jet," I replied, evasively, but the answer

satisfied my simple little maid, who went cheerfully about her tasks.

As it was not early, I hastened to my toilet and descended to the

dining-room, not to keep my kind hostess waiting breakfast.

They were all ready to sit down when I joined them, and we immediately

took our seats at the table.

Upon my plate I found a letter from my brother, which I asked and

obtained permission to open and read. It was a regretful refusal of my

invitation to him to join me at Wolfbrake to spend the holidays, upon

the ground that he had brought home with him a friend whom he could not

leave.

"Pooh! pooh! let him bring his friend along! Tell him so! Any friend of

your brother will be welcome here, Agnes!" said Mr. Legare, to whom I

communicated the contents of my letter.

I acted upon this permission, and wrote for my brother to come and bring

his friend. After I had finished and dispatched my letter, I joined a

party who were going out to dine. The dinner was followed by a dance,

and the dance by a moonlight sleighride home. But through all the

excitements of the day the image of the dark woman haunted my mind. And

again it was very late when I retired to bed.

As usual, Mrs. Legare and Mathilde saw me to my room, and, as before, I

locked the door behind them, and listened until I heard them leave the

house and secure the hall entrance. Then I hastened my preparations, got

into bed, and, thoroughly worn out with fatigue and loss of rest, soon

fell into a deep sleep. And a third time the dream or vision passed

before me. Methought I was awakened by a voice calling my name. I opened

my eyes, and saw--first the door stretched wide open, and then, standing

in the middle of the floor, the beautiful and majestic woman of my

former visions, but this time more sad and stern in aspect than before.

Fixing those wild, mournful eyes upon mine, and holding my gaze as it

were by a mesmeric spell, she slowly and severely pointed to the spot

beneath her feet, and saying, as it were, "Look!" passed in measured

steps from the room.

Once more in an agony I started up to call and stay her, but with the

effort awoke. The door that I had carefully locked stood wide open as

before. It was the same hour as that of my awakening upon the two

previous mornings. The day was flushing redly up the eastern horizon

beyond the mountains, and nature was awakening everywhere.

I could not now so readily shake off the influence of my dream. There

was something that I wished to ascertain before my little maid should

interrupt me; the reiterated gesture by the woman of my dream,

determined me to examine the spot upon which she had stood and pointed,

to see if, really, her action had any meaning. So I arose from my bed,

and, first securing the door, and turning the key straight in the lock,

that my little maid, should she come, might not spy my doings, I

removed the hearthrug took a pair of strong scissors and drew out the

tacks, turned up the carpet.

Reader! I had an attraction to the supernatural, but a mortal antagonism

to the horrible, and nearly swooned on seeing the spot to which the dark

woman of my vision had pointed deeply marked with a sanguine-crimson

stain! The very heart in my bosom seemed frozen with horror, and I felt

myself, as it were, turning to stone, when a loud knocking at my chamber

door aroused me. It was my little maid, whose coming, I, in my deep and

fearful abstractions, had not heard. I hurriedly replaced the carpet and

the rug, and went and opened the door.

"Yer sleeped soun' dis mornin', Miss Agnes, ma'am," said little Jet,

smiling as she entered. "I feared I scared you out'n your dream," she

added, noticing, I suppose, my horror-stricken face.

"You certainly startled me, Jet," I said, evasively. And while she

lighted the fire, I returned to bed to try to compose my nerves.

Between the horror I felt at the idea of sleeping another night alone in

an accursed room, where, it seemed, a crime had been committed, and my

intense desire to elucidate the mystery, I was at a loss how to act.

Only one thing I decided upon--to keep my own counsel for the present.

"De fire is burnin' fus-rate now, Miss Agnes, so you can get up an'

dress, if you likes, as break'as' is mos' ready," said my little

attendant. And taking her hint, I arose and hastened my toilet, in order

to be punctual at the morning meal of my hostess.

As I descended the stairs, I heard Mrs. Legare speaking to her daughter

in the parlor, where a fire was kindled every morning while there were

visitors in the house. She was saying:

"I tell you, Mathilde, it is all a delusion. Those who have never heard

the story, never see, or hear, or fancy anything unusual. You know now

Agnes has not been disturbed, and it is because she has heard nothing.

Whereas, if you had told her this history, she would have imagined,

Heaven knows what! all sorts of horrors! that is the reason I wished her

to hear nothing of it. She has slept undisturbed in that room. Let that

be known. Others will then not object to do so, and the report will die

out."

She spoke in a quick, low tone, and, seeing me coming, instantly changed

the subject. But my sense of hearing, always acute, was quickened by

intense interest, and I had heard more than she could have wished me to

know. She turned to me with a smile, and said:

"I hope that you have rested well, my dear Agnes."

I said, "As well as usual," and receiving Mathilde's morning kiss, took

her arm, and accompanied them into the breakfast-room.

It was some hours after breakfast, that day, when I went up into my

chamber to write letters. While thus engaged, I heard Mathilde coming

up, singing, and enter a chamber corresponding to mine, but separated

from it by the front hall.

"Are you there, Agnes?" she asked.

"Yes, dear. Shall I come to you?"

"_Si vous plait, mademoiselle_," she answered, gayly.

I went into the room, where I found Mathilde directing Jet in her work

of preparing the chamber for guests.

"I shall have to put your brother and his friend here together to sleep,

my dear Agnes, as we are so full. But, by the way, who is his friend?"

"That is just what I cannot tell you. John, in his wild, careless way,

simply said that he had a friend with him, as a reason why he could not

at once accept your father's invitation, and Mr. Legare as carelessly

and frankly wrote back for him to bring his 'friend' along with him."

"_Eh bien! cette l'ami inconnu_ must be content to lodge with John; we

can do no better."

"Since your house is not so large as your heart, _chere_ Mathilde."

Little Jet was engaged in removing the firescreen, preparatory to

lighting the fire to air the room. As she set this board down before my

eyes, I could scarcely repress the cry that arose to my lips. It was an

old, faded family portrait that had been put to this use. That was not

much; but--it was the portrait of the dark woman of my dream.

The same midnight eyes and hair, the same proud, stern, sad brow!

"Whose likeness is that, Mathilde?" I asked, when I had in some degree

recovered my composure.

"Oh! I don't know; it is a portrait of some member of the family of the

former proprietors, I suppose! We found it here with other rubbish,

considered, I suppose, of too little value to remove after the Van Der

Vaughans left; I washed its face and set it up for a firescreen. 'To

such vile uses,' etc. By the way, look at it! It is a very remarkable

countenance! Such expression might have been that of Semiramis when

ordering the execution of Ninus."

"No! I do not think so, there is no wickedness in this face! There is

strength, sternness, perhaps cruelty (if necessary)," I replied, still

studying the portrait. "Who could it have been?"

"I know not indeed! some old, old member of the Vaughan family."

"Nay, I do not think the portrait is of such ancient date! To be sure it

is dilapidated; but that seems to be more from abuse than from time.

And observe! the costume is modern."

"So it is!"

"I had not thought of that before! Well now since you said so, I begin

to surmise that this may be the portrait of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan."

"And who was she?" I inquired, with as much indifference as I could

assume.

"Oh! the last lineal descendant of the elder branch of the family and

the last heiress of this old estate; she married her first cousin,

Wolfgang Van Der Vaughan."

"And what was her history and her fate?" I inquired, striving to

restrain the betrayal of the intense interest I felt.

"Oh, her history was as painful as her fate was tragic."

"And--well?"

"Hush! there is some one coming! I will tell you another time!"

It was Mrs. Legare who entered, and smiling a sort of salutation to me,

and opening a letter she held in her hand, said:

"My dear Mathilde, we are to have more company. Your cousin Rachel

Noales is coming; she will be here this afternoon!"

"Oh! I should be so glad if we only had room for her!" exclaimed

Mathilde, impulsively, and then she blushed deeply in having spoken thus

freely of their crowded state in the presence of a guest.

"My dear Mathilde," said I, "as mine is a double-bedded chamber, I

should be very happy to have Miss Rachel for a roommate; that is, if it

would be agreeable to herself."

"Thank you, Agnes, dear. Agreeable! why it would be the very thing.

Rachel Noales is the greatest coward that ever ran! and would no more

sleep in a strange room, by herself, than she would in a churchyard! If

you had not kindly offered, some of us girls would have to take her in,

although we are all sleeping double now!"

"But are you sure, my dear Agnes, that you will not be incommoded,"

kindly inquired Mrs. Legare.

"Incommoded? Not in the least! The arrangement suits me to a nicety!" I

replied.

And so, in truth, it did; for let me confess that while I could not

prevail upon myself to shorten my visit, and leave the house with its

great mystery unsolved, the prospect of sleeping alone in that chamber

cursed with crime appalled me, but, in company with a companion of my

own age, it would be a very different affair.

"That horrid portrait! take it into the attic, Jet," said Mrs. Legare,

as her eyes fell upon the _ci devant_ firescreen.

The little maid took up the picture and carried it off as commanded.

Then there was a visit of inspection and preparation paid to my room.

Fresh sheets and more blankets were put upon the second bed, fresh

napkins laid, and then mother and daughter and little maid departed.

Through the remainder of that day I had no further opportunity of

learning from Mathilde the history of the dark lady.

Late that afternoon Uncle Judah was dispatched with the mules to Frost

Height to meet the stage-coach, and bring Rachel Noales to the house.

And about seven o'clock he returned, escorting the new visitor, for whom

we were waiting tea.

As Miss Noales was to be my roommate, I examined her with much more

interest than I had bestowed upon any other among my fellow-visitors.

Rachel Noales was an orphan, and was still in deep mourning for her

father, who had been dead about nine months. She was a very pretty,

timid-looking girl, with a fair face, soft brown hair and large hazel

eyes.

"Ah! my dear child," I thought to myself, "you are scarcely the most

proper denizen for a crime-cursed, haunted chamber."

And I made up my mind to protect her, if possible, from the knowledge

that would only make her wretched, and perhaps drive her away from the

place. As this was the fourth evening of Christmas revelry, and we had

all been up to a very late hour upon each of the three preceding nights,

it was moved, seconded, and carried by a large majority that we should

retire early on this and the succeeding evenings of the week, so as to

recruit a little for the New Year's festivity.

Accordingly, at ten o'clock we separated.

Mrs. Legare and Mathilde accompanied Rachel Noales and myself to our

chamber. And when our hostess and her daughter had seen that the room

was in perfect order, the fire burning well, the beds turned down, the

ewers filled, etc., etc., they took leave, waiting, as before, until

they had heard me lock the chamber door behind them. When they had

passed down the stairs and out at the hall door and locked it after

them, I turned around to meet the surprised look of Rachel Noales.

"Why, where have they gone?" she asked.

"Into the old house, to bed."

"Why!--do they sleep there?"

"Certainly--the whole family sleep there."

"And who sleeps here in the new house?"

"No one but you and I!"

"You don't mean to say that they have put us in this house to sleep

alone?"

"Why not? It is an adjunct to the other house, which is, besides, quite

full of guests. It was so when I came."

"And where did you sleep?"

"Here."

"Alone?"

"Certainly."

She looked at me with astonishment. And had my mind been sufficiently at

ease I should have enjoyed her naive admiration. But it was not so; and

when I saw her draw her chair up in front of the fire, and sit down

immediately over that spot, I shuddered and spoke to her.

"Rachel, dear, don't sit directly in front of the fire; it is injurious

to the eyes."

She moved to one side and began to unfasten her dress preparatory to

going to bed. We were now ready. But before lying down, Rachel asked me:

"Is the door secure?"

"Yes, my dear."

"And the windows?"

"Yes."

Not quite content with my answer, Rachel went slyly around to all the

windows, and then to the door, to ascertain their security; then she

searched the closets, and finally got into bed.

I soon followed her example, but found myself more sleepless than upon

the preceding evening. I know not exactly how long I had lain awake,

thinking of the dead proprietors, of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, and her

sad history and tragic fate (whatever they might have been), and of the

stern, dark woman of my dream, and of the blood-stained floor, and

trying to combine these materials into some coherent whole, when

suddenly I heard the lock click back, the door swing slowly open, and a

rustle, as of silken drapery, and I opened my eyes to behold the awful

woman of my dream standing in the middle of the room, and pointing

sternly to the blood-stained floor!

And in the very same instant that I heard and saw this, Rachel had also

been awakened, and was even now asking in frightened tones:

"Who is that?"

But there was no answer.

"Who is that?" again asked the girl.

And still there was no answer.

"Who--is--that?" she reiterated, emphatically.

No answer.

"Aunt Legare!--Mathilde!--Jet!--Who is it?"

No reply. But the tall, black-robed woman standing motionless, and

pointing with spectral finger to the spot on the floor!

"Oh! dear me! Agnes, Agnes!"

I answered:

"What, my dear?"

"Have you opened the door?"

"No, love."

"Have you been up at all since you laid down?"

"No, Rachel."

"Who opened the door?"

"I do not know."

"Didn't you hear it open?"

"Yes."

"And it is open now!"

"I see it is."

"But how came it open?"

"I do not know; perhaps it was not quite locked, and the catch flew

back."

"Oh, perhaps that was it," said Rachel; and, though her teeth were

chattering with a nervous tremor, she got out of bed, and went to the

door, to close and lock it, And, reader, the black-robed woman passed

out before her, and she saw her not.

I fell back upon my pillow, nearer swooning than ever I had been in my

life; for now I knew that this was no dream, but a vision--an apparition

to me, and to me only.

I slept no more that night.

And in the morning when I arose, and looked into the glass, I was

startled at the haggardness of my own face.

When we appeared at the breakfast-table, some of the young people

remarked my paleness, and said that I had been frolicking more than was

good for me. Then one of the company inquired of Rachel Noales how she

had rested.

"Not very well," Rachel answered; "I was frightened by the door flying

open in the middle of the night."

I noticed a quick, intelligent look pass between Mathilde and her

mother, while Rachel continued:

"I thought at first that it was thieves breaking in; but I know now that

it flew open because Agnes had not locked the door fast enough to hold

it."

"No, I had not," said I.

The arrival of the mailbag put an end to this discussion. The letters

were distributed at the table. Among them was one from my brother to Mr.

Legare, accepting his invitation for himself and his friend, whom he

begged to name as the Hon. Francis Howard, of Massachusetts, and

announcing the letter as a mere _avant courier_ of the party which would

reach Frost Height that afternoon.

Upon hearing the name of Frank Howard as the "friend" of John and their

expected guest, Mathilde flushed and paled, and was quite unable to

conceal from the interested scrutiny of her parents the emotion these

tidings caused her.

As for Mr. Legare, upon reading his name, he said: "Humph!" and "humph!"

very emphatically several times before he could get any further. But he

considered his hospitality implicated; nay, his honor pledged to receive

and treat with politeness the guest that he had so unconsciously

invited. He was a fine old gentleman, notwithstanding his

prejudices--was Mr. Legare.

So, in the afternoon, once more Uncle Judah was ordered to take the

mules and go up to Frost Height to meet the stage-coach, and bring two

visitors to the house; an order so little to the old man's satisfaction

that he vented his disapprobation in the exclamation:

"Ole masse better had set up 'Entertainment for Man and Beast' at once."

As usual, when expecting a new arrival of visitors, Mrs. Legare put back

her tea hour, and prepared a supper of extra luxuriousness. And Mr.

Legare brewed the great ancestral punchbowl to the brim with rich,

frothy eggnog, and set it away to "mellow," against the coming of the

gentlemen.

"My dear mother and father! they have noble hearts in spite of their

social conservatism! And you shall see that they will treat my Frank

with as much kindness and respect as if they did not consider him a sort

of wolf, prowling about after their one ewe lamb," said Mathilde, with

tears of affection brimming to her eyes.

"And you see, my darling, it is as I foretold you it would be. He is

seeking you now in your own home. And under what favorable

circumstances--the invited guest of your father. How very providential

the whole train of events! Trust still in Divine Providence; and if your

love is a true love, it will end happily," I answered.

And in my deep sympathy with Mathilde's joy, I almost forgot that I was

a haunted maiden, with some, as yet unknown, supernatural mission to

accomplish.

I was resolved, if possible, before the day should be over, to hear from

Mathilde the tragic story of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, whose portrait

I had mentally identified as that of the awful visitant of my midnight

hours. The opportunity came, or rather, I made it. Mathilde had early

completed her toilet for the evening. I had done likewise. And at five

o'clock we found ourselves alone together in the drawing-room of the new

house. The lamps were not as yet lighted. The hickory fire had ceased to

blaze, and now only burned redly, showing out a strong, solid heat, in

what Uncle Judah called "solemn columns," and casting over the dark

chamber a sombre, ruddy twilight. We sat down by the fire together.

There would be no chance for the next half hour of being interrupted.

For Mr. Legare was still engaged at his breakfast in the dining-room.

Mrs. Legare was busy in her pantry and the kitchen, and the few servants

of the now reduced establishment were in constant attendance upon their

master or mistress.

Rachel Noales was upstairs in my chamber, dressing for the evening, and

the other young persons of the Christmas party were in the bedrooms of

the old house, similarly engaged.

There was not the slightest possibility of an interruption.

Mathilde commenced speaking.

"I believe you are pleased with your chamber, Agnes?"

"Charmed," I answered.

Without perceiving the _double entendre_ hidden in my reply, she said:

"And you have always slept well, then?"

"Never better," I replied; "in that chamber," I mentally added.

In her ignorance of this silent reservation, she was pleased with my

answer, and sat smiling quietly and studying, apparently, the glowing

coals of fire in the chimneyplace.

I broke her reverie by saying, in a careless, off-hand way:

"_Apropos de rien_, you have not told me the story of that mysterious

portrait yet."

"No, I haven't! But, indeed, I am not sure that the history of Madeleine

Van Der Vaughan has anything to do with that portrait, since I am not

sure that it is hers."

"No matter; take it for granted that it is; or at least tell the story

whether or not."

"Very well; listen, then," said Mathilde, settling herself comfortably

in her chair, and commencing the narrative.

"The Van Der Vaughans, as you may perceive by their name, are of

Teutonic origin, though by frequent intermarriage with other races, they

have no doubt lost, or modified, many of their national traits. Their

residence, in this part of the country, dates back to the time of the

first settlement of New York by the Dutch.

"Why this particular family should have wandered down to the backwoods

and mountains of Virginia remains a mystery, unless they were of a

patriotic and poetical turn, and found in her wild hills and boundless

woods something to remind them of the Hartz Mountains and the Black

Forest. However that may be, they came, took up a great tract of land,

built themselves a dwelling place (the old house adjoining this), and

settled down permanently.

"For a time they were prosperous, as others were, and then, by bad

agriculture, they grew poor, as others in this neighborhood did. If we

may believe tradition the poorer this family grew the prouder they

became, until at last, pride and poverty united, culminated in the

character and the circumstances of the last heiress of the elder branch

of the family, Madeleine Van Der Vaughan.

"At the age of twenty-five Madeleine Van Der Vaughan was left, by the

death of her father (her mother died long before), sole heiress of a

worn-out plantation and dilapidated house.

"Madeleine is reported to have possessed great and singular beauty--a

tall and imperial form, a fine head, with strongly marked and perfectly

regular features, a deep, rich complexion, and hair, eyes and eyebrows

all black as Erebus. Gifted and accomplished was she also, and, as I

stated, proud as Lucifer. It is said that this overweening pride

prevented her taking a husband from among her numerous visitors, none of

whom, though of the best families in the State, she deemed worthy of her

own "high alliance.""

"Until at last her relative, Ernest Wolfgang Van Der Vaughan, made his

appearance in her train and claimed her hand; a claim that was indorsed

by her acceptance.

"It is said that family pride had to do with this marriage much more

than love. However that might be, no sooner was the knot securely tied,

than Mr. Van Der Vaughan began to importune his wife to sell her land

and homestead that they might emigrate to the West. But in vain; for

Mrs. Van Der Vaughan would not, for an instant, entertain the idea of

alienating her patrimony.

"On the contrary, she had one ambition concerning her inheritance--an

ambition that reached the height of a ruling passion--and that was, to

resuciate the dead soil of the plantation and to rebuild the mansion

house.

"All Ernest Van Der Vaughan's property consisted in bank stock. All

Madeleine's estate was in worthless land and negroes. But she offered

him, as she would not have offered any other than a Van Der Vaughan, the

fee simple of her plantation, if he would only devote his money to the

restoring of the worn-out fields and the rebuilding of the homestead.

"Ernest did not like the plan, and he told her so. He explained to her

how, at one-tenth the outlay that he should have to make for manures and

for labor to resusciate this effete soil, he could go to Iowa and

purchase a large farm of the richest land and build a comfortable

dwelling-house and all needful offices around it.

"But it was in vain that he argued with her. She was a strong-minded,

self-willed woman, with one idea--one monomania--love for 'Old

Virginia,' and especially for her own portion of the soil. She

absolutely rejected the plan of emigration, and told Ernest, in the most

decided manner, that, go where he might, she never would desert her

birthplace.

"She was the stronger of the two, and she prevailed. Ernest embarked

nearly all his means in the doubtful enterprise of restoring the old,

worn-out fields and rebuilding the mansion, or rather, I should say,

repairing it, and building a new house beside it.

"Madeleine, on her part, kept her word. She executed a deed conveying

the whole property to her husband. And after he, in a fit of generous

abandonment, tore that deed and threw it in the fire, she made a second

one, caused it to be recorded, and thus rendered it irrevocable, before

she told him anything about it.

"She went even further than this, and aided him in every possible way in

his work of restoration. To retrench expenses, so that every spare

dollar should go to that enterprise, she discharged her housekeeper,

reduced her establishment of servants, and took upon her own shoulders

the additional burdens lately borne by those whom she had discharged

from her service. She worked hard and constantly. No one knew how

severely she toiled--not even her husband, until her labors seriously

affected her health. Then Ernest Van Der Vaughan remonstrated. But she

smiled and pointed to the growing fields and to the rising mansion.

"Yet the restoration of the lands and the elevation of the house was a

work of years. Often progress was arrested by the want of funds, and

then, though it cost the mistress many severe heart pangs, one after

another of the old family servants were sold to raise the necessary

amount, and their places in the field had to be supplied by fresh drafts

upon the small household establishment, until at last the mistress was

reduced to one maid-of-all-work about her person.

"I do not think your citizens, Agnes, dream of how much labor devolves

upon the mistress of a large plantation in circumstances such as these.

Even when assisted by an efficient housekeeper, and many well-trained

servants, the duties are onerous, sometimes oppressive, Madeleine Van

Der Vaughan had deprived herself of nearly all help; but most willingly

she bore her self-assumed burden, only showing distress when some

financial exigency compelled her to wound humanity. She gave her heart,

her life, to one object of her ambition. Yes--literally, this was so;

for it was observable that as the carefully tended land recovered, she

lost vitality, and as the mansion arose, she sank.

"It was in glorious autumn, when the richest wheat harvest that had ever

been reaped in the State was gathered into the barns of Wolfbrake, and

the finest corn crop that had ever grown in the valley, stood ripe in

the fields, that the house was finished.

"So much money had been spent and so many debts remained to be paid,

that there was but little to expend upon furniture, and Mrs. Van Der

Vaughan could not appoint her house in a style so gorgeous as would

have satisfied her ambition. However, it was furnished in the manner

that you now see, which, after all, is much handsomer than anything that

was known to the grand old Van Der Vaughans in their grandest days of,

no doubt, fabulous grandeur.

"It was about the first of November that the last of the Van Der

Vaughans removed into this house.

"The plastering of the sleeping-rooms was not so well dried as had been

supposed. This was soon ascertained by Mr. Van Der Vaughan, who advised

and entreated his wife to delay the removal.

"But when had Madeleine Van Der Vaughan yielded to any will but her own?

With the impatience and fever of a long desire, she hastened to take

possession of her new residence.

"Although the weather had continued fine, with westerly or southerly

winds, up to the day of removal, yet then the wind shifted to the east,

blowing up masses of dark clouds and cold mists, followed by rain and

even sleet.

"Alas! worn out by self-assumed, unnecessary burdens, Madeleine Van Der

Vaughan was in no condition successfully to meet a change of weather and

other circumstances. Moreover, she, so earnest in her ambition, so

zealous for ostentation, was fatally careless in regard to her own

personal comforts. There was no grate or stove in her chamber, or in any

other room in the house; all depended upon open fireplaces, which,

however handsome, cheerful and poetic they may look, are not always just

the very best things for damp houses in severe weather.

"Mrs. Van Der Vaughan's chamber could not be properly dried and heated.

The consequence was that she took a severe cold, which fell upon her

lungs, and from which she, in her enfeebled state, had not power to

recover. She dropped into a rapid consumption, and in six weeks from

her triumphant _entree_ into her new house, she was borne thence to the

family burial-ground, that you may see from your windows."

"Poor lady! What room did she occupy?"

"Yours."

"And--she died there?"

"Yes; she died there, a victim, I am sure, of her own impatient,

feverish ambition."

"Do not judge her harshly."

"I do not. This is the reputation she has left behind her."

"Yet it may not have been her true character. Reputation is one thing,

character is another," said I, falling into thought, and then reflecting

that much yet must remain to be told, to give me a sure clew to the

household mystery.

"Well, what else?" I inquired.

"What else, my dear? Why, nothing else. I have told you all her story to

her death," said Mathilde, uneasily.

"But, after all," said I, "one of the most interesting things in the

connection, is your father's purchase of this fine property."

"Ah, true! Well, after the death of his lady, Ernest Van Der Vaughan

removed back into the old house, and closed up the new one. In the

course of a few weeks he advertised the property for sale, but months

passed, and no purchaser appeared willing to give him the price set upon

the estate.

"A year went by, and Mr. Van Der Vaughan made the acquaintance of a

young lady, Alice Brightwell, who was, it is said, as strong a contrast

as possible to his late wife; for Alice was young, and fair and gay,

loved music, dancing and company, and had not a regret, a care, or an

ambition in the world.

"It must have been the attraction of antagonism that united the hearts

of this dark and sombre man of thirty, and this laughing, careless girl

of nineteen, for it is said that they were greatly attached to each

other.

"At all events, after a brief courtship, and a briefer engagement they

were married; and when Mr. Van Der Vaughan proposed to her, as he had to

his first wife, that they should emigrate to the West, she, in her gay,

adventurous love of novelty, eagerly assented, notwithstanding that to

go with him thither, she must leave her parents, brothers and sisters.

"Once more the property came into the market, and my father, seeing the

advertisement, and desiring to remove to Virginia, opened a

correspondence with the proprietor, then made a visit of inspection, and

finally became the purchaser of the estates.

"When the transfer was about to be made, my father, pointing to the

family graveyard, inquired of Mr. Van Der Vaughan whether he did not

feel an unwillingness to sell that piece of ground, and told him that he

might readily make an exception of that plot, and retain it in his own

right.

"But Mr. Van Der Vaughan replied that he did not really care to own a

foot of ground on the estate.

"My father then told him that if he would like to retain the graveyard

it should make no difference in the price of the whole already agreed

upon--for my father, you see, Alice, felt a sort of hesitation in buying

the place without exempting the bones of the old family from the

purchase.

"But Mr. Van Der Vaughan had no scruples of the sort.

"'No,' he said, 'Mr. Legare, if I were to retain possession of the

graveyard, I and my heirs after me, would own an acre of ground in the

very midst of your estate, which, as it stands now, might make no

difference, as I shall never return to claim it, and could make no use

of it if I did; but which might embarrass you very much should you ever

wish to sell the property.'

"That was good reasoning enough, I suppose, and, at all events, the sale

was completed without the exception.

"We moved into the house, and Mr. Van Der Vaughan and his bride departed

for Kansas."

"And he really, when he might just as easily have avoided it, sold the

bones of his wife and her ancestors to a stranger!"

"Even so, my dear Agnes, and believe me, that we all felt as much

shocked as you look."

"But," said I, fixing my eyes upon her face, where the flickering

firelight made the shadows play, "the stranger has not been able to

retain the peaceable possession of his purchase!"

"What--what mean you, Agnes!" exclaimed Mathilde, in alarm.

"I mean that the late proud lady of Wolfbrake still carries the keys,

and unlocks doors at will!"

"Heavens! do you know that?"

"Ay! I know much more than that. I know the portrait that performed the

humiliating office of firescreen in the next room is the likeness of the

haughty Madeleine Van Der Vaughan! I know, beside----"

"What more do you know?"

"That our travelers have arrived!" I said, as the sound of footsteps and

voices at the hall door fell upon my ear.

It was true. We were interrupted.

As if "borne on the wings of love," the slow old stage-coach was so much

earlier that evening that our friends arrived an hour earlier than we

had expected them, while Mrs. Legare was still superintending the

arrangement of her supper-table, and Mr. Legare was grating nutmeg over

his huge bowl of eggnog, so there was no one to welcome the visitors

except Mathilde and myself.

As they entered the parlor we arose and advanced to meet them.

"Mathilde! Miss Legare! Can it be possible! This is, indeed, indeed, a

joyous surprise," exclaimed Frank Howard, as he recognized his ladylove,

and with an eager smile extended his hand; while my brother, without

ceremony, embraced me cordially.

"I thought you knew to whom you were coming," said Mathilde, with simple

candor.

"No! I scarcely dared to hope for such happiness!"

"Hey-day! Hal-loe!--do you know anybody here, Frank?" exclaimed my wild

and thoughtless brother.

But before Mr. Howard had time to answer, I pinched Jack's arm, turned

him around, and presented him to Miss Legare.

The refined and elegant presence of Mathilde immediately brought my rude

cadet to order, and he gracefully expressed the pleasure and honor he

felt in being permitted to make her acquaintance.

Miss Legare welcomed my brother with more cordiality than she had

bestowed upon her lover.

And I turned to receive Frank Howard's offered hand, and responded to

his expressions of satisfaction at the present opportunity of renewing

our acquaintance.

When these rather commonplace ceremonies were over Miss Legare invited

her guests to be seated, and we resumed our chairs. A deep blush settled

upon the beautiful face of Mathilde.

But, whatever might have been the emotions of Mr. Howard, he suppressed

them through that regnant self-control that ever distinguished his

manners. And he was the first to perceive the entrance of Mr. and Mrs.

Legare, and to arise and advance to receive them.

My brother presented Mr. Howard to Mr. Legare, who received him with

cordial politeness, and in his turn introduced him to Mrs. Legare, who

smilingly welcomed him to Virginia.

Certainly Howard had nothing to complain of in his reception. There was

not the slightest lack of respect and kindness, and not the least

over-doing of ceremony, which would have been still more offensive. All

was natural and genial, as if there had not once existed a strong

hostility to Frank Howard, the machinist. I was charmed at the manner

with which my dear host and hostess completely overcame their

prejudices, or at least suppressed them, and treated Mr. Howard in all

respects as an honored and welcome guest, and did this assuredly not in

the spirit of hypocrisy, but of hospitality, as they understood its

requirements.

Soon Rachel Noales and the other young persons of the Christmas party

came in, were introduced, seated, and conversation became general and

free. This afforded me the coveted opportunity of having a moment's talk

aside with my brother.

"Johnny! tell me now, and tell me quickly, and truly--was there any

design on you or your friend's part to get him invited here?"

"Design! bless you, no!" replied my brother, opening wide his great gray

eyes.

"I thought not; for, if the truth must be told, honest Johnny was

anything but a diplomat."

"Well, there was no conscious manoeuvring on your part, but was there

not on his?"

"Why, bless you, no! Why should there have been?" "'Why should there

have been?' Oh, Johnny! Johnny! where are your perceptive faculties?

You will never be wideawake enough for a soldier!"

"I don't know what you would be at."

"I suppose not. But did you observe nothing interesting in the meeting

between Mr. Howard and Miss Legare?"

"Oh, oh, oh, oh! Whew ew-ew-ew! Is that it?"

"Yes."

"That's what you meant when you pinched my arm black and blue?"

"Yes."

"A sorry dog. He never hinted one word about this to me."

"He had no right to do so, nor must you speak of it."

"Eh! why?"

"Because--but I had better tell you all about it. They met about three

years ago for the first time. It was at Saratoga, where he was making

quite a figure. The acquaintance had ripened to friendship, and

something more when 'papa' bethought himself to inquire who this very

distinguished-looking gentleman might be at home among his own people,

and was informed that he was--a machinist by trade! Recall to mind the

passion of Desdemonia's proud patrician 'pa' on discovering that he had

a black-a-moor for a son-in-law, and you may be able remotely to

conceive the consternation of Mr. Legare. He hurried his family away

from Saratoga, and forbid the name of Howard to be mentioned in his

presence. The lovers never corresponded, and never met until this

evening! You may judge how much cause for speculation there is in this

meeting."

"Yes--but within these three years great changes have taken place. Mr.

Howard is a distinguished man--a man of fortune, and of acknowledged

talent--one of the lawgivers of the nation. And Mr. Legare and his

family are reduced from wealth to a moderate competency."

"Yes, I know; but that does not change the old aristocrat's manner of

regarding the affair. He contends that a gentleman born is always a

gentleman, and a peasant always a peasant, notwithstanding the

vicissitudes of fortune, that may enrich the one and impoverish the

other."

"Or rather, he contended so--it belongs to the past tense. Look at him

now--see what deference he pays to Mr. Howard's opinions."

"The mere politeness of the host. Take nothing for granted from that."

"Nay, but Frank Howard is a gentleman of whom any father might be proud

as a son-in-law."

"Very likely. But Mr. Legare is not 'any' father. However, what I wish

to know is, whether Frank Howard did not use you to procure the 'bid'

that brought him hither?"

"No, indeed!"

"How came it, then, you artful boy, that you took just the course, and

the only course, by which you could procure him an invitation?"

"I don't understand you."

"You innocent! How came it, then, that you wrote to Mr. Legare, you

would be very happy to obey his summons, and spend the holidays at

Wolfbrake, but that you had a friend with you whom you could not leave,

and whom you took care not to mention by name?"

"Oh, because I never gave the matter a moment's thought. When I got Mr.

Legare's letter, I just sat down and answered it right off, and

mentioned my friend merely as my friend. If I had, as you seem to think,

been fishing for an invitation for him also, I certainly should have

mentioned him by name and title as the Hon. Frank Howard, of

Massachusetts, etc., etc., etc."

"In which case you certainly would not have been invited to bring him

here."

"Probably not, but I did not know that. What knew I of the hostility, or

even of the acquaintance, between the parties? I acted only in simple

honesty."

"The best way to act, my dear Johnny."

"And so blundered into helping the lovers."

"Not so. You were providentially led."

"Well, as soon as ever I received the invitation, I hastened to write

and give the name of my friend to our host, as I should have done at

first, if I had dreamed of his being invited to accompany me. And as for

Frank Howard, he was as innocent of design as myself. He knew nothing

about the matter until I showed him Mr. Legare's last letter, and

pressed him to go with me. He then asked me if Mr. Legare was any

relation of the Legares, of Louisiana. I said I believed he had brothers

in Louisiana, but I was not certain, as I knew very little of the

family. Then he told me that he had had the pleasure of meeting a Mr.

Legare, of Louisiana, at Saratoga, and should feel happy in making the

acquaintance of any of his family; and there the conversation stopped.

Frank was evidently as much astonished as delighted at the unexpected

meeting with his ladylove."

"I am glad to know it," said I.

And then, not to continue the rudeness of an aside conversation, I took

my brother to Rachel Noales, and left him with her, while I joined my

kind old host.

Supper was soon after announced, and we were all marshaled into the

dining-room, where a sumptuous feast was spread, over which we lingered,

eating and drinking, with epicurean leisure, and talking and laughing

for more than an hour. I said we--but I should rather say they--for I

could not eat, or talk, or laugh. At last the long-drawn meal came to an

end.

The company adjourned to the drawing-room, and an hour was passed in

pleasant conversation, and then, in consideration of the fatigue of the

newly-arrived guests, we separated for the night.

In the hall I noticed a diminutive page, of the African race, who

rejoiced in the chivalric name of Emmanuel Philibert, which was adapted

to daily and popular use by the abbreviative of Phlit. Phlit was

standing, and solemnly holding a light in one hand and a bootjack in the

other, waiting to attend the two gentlemen to their bedroom.

But Mr. Legare took upon himself the office of groom of the chambers,

and accompanied his latest guests to their apartment.

Rachel Noales and myself reached ours about the same time. We heard the

voice of Mr. Legare taking leave of the gentlemen for the night; we

heard him and the little waiter Phlit, go downstairs and out at the hall

door, fastening it after them.

"I will take care that this is secured to-night," said Rachel, going and

carefully locking our door, and then trying it to be sure that it was

fast. "That will do," she said, when she had satisfied herself of its

security.

Then, as we were very weary, we prepared to retire. We were soon in bed.

Rachel was soon asleep.

Not so myself. I lay perfectly still, almost breathless, waiting the

developments of the night. And, reader, it was while lying thus wide

awake, and gazing straight out through the window to the spot where the

family tombstones gleamed white and spectral in the moonlight among the

dark firs, that my ear was struck by the click of the recoiling lock,

and, turning, I saw the door swing slowly open and my dark-robed

midnight visitant enter. Though wide awake as at this moment, I was

deprived, by excess of awe, of the power of speech or motion. Slowly

the spectre advanced and stood as before, pointing to the dark-red spot

hid beneath the carpet under her feet. I essayed once more to speak to

her, but such terror as her presence had never before inspired froze my

utterance. I listened, wondering if my companion in the other bed was

conscious of this supernatural presence in the room; but the deep and

regular breathing of Rachel assured me that she was sleeping soundly,

the deep sleep of fatigue.

And all this while the black-robed woman stood holding my eyes with her

fixed and burning gaze, and pointing to the spot on the floor. Then,

letting her arm fall slowly to her side, she passed, in measured steps,

from the room, and through the door that swung to, gradually, and closed

behind her. Again I essayed to cry out, but the spell was still upon me,

and no sound escaped my paralyzed lips. While lying thus, I heard once

more the recoiling click of a lock, and the swing of a door upon its

hinges; but this time it was not our own but another door--that of the

opposite chamber, where my brother and his friend slept.

"Who's there?" I heard John call out, in no pleasant voice, and seeming

evidently annoyed at the disturbance.

There was no answer.

"Who's there?" he repeated.

No answer.

"Who's there?"

Continued silence.

"Phlit!"

No reply.

"Phlit!"

No reply.

"Phlit!"

Dead silence.

"Jet! Is that you?"

The silence of the grave continued; until at last the calling of my

brother awoke his companion in the other bed.

"What is the matter, John?" I heard him ask.

"Why, some one has unlocked our door and entered, and I can't make them

speak; but shoot me if I don't find them out!" said my brother, jumping

out of bed and beginning to strike a light.

"You have been dreaming."

"Have I? Look there, then!"

"Well, I see the door is open; but you probably forgot to lock it."

"I'll make sure of it now, then," said John, banging the door violently,

locking it with a resonant force and proceeding to search for the

supposed intruder. Of course the search was fruitless, and, with many

grumbles and threats, he went back to bed.

My brother had not seen the supernatural visitant to his room, who, go

where she might, appeared only to me.

While turning these things over in my mind, again I heard John's lock

turn and his door swing open, and almost simultaneously his voice called

out:

"What the demon does this mean? Who are you then?" as he jumped out of

bed, relocked the door, struck a light and proceeded once more vainly to

examine the room.

"Well, this is certainly the most inexplicable thing I ever knew in my

life!" exclaimed John, with an intonation between astonishment and

indignation.

"Oh! I really suppose you did not lock the door properly," replied

Howard, getting up and going to ascertain the state of the case. And I

heard him unlock and lock the door several times, and finally locking it

fast, he said:

"There! now I will guarantee that it will stay shut!" and went back to

his couch.

I do not think that more than fifteen minutes had passed before I heard,

for the third time, their lock fly back and their door swing open.

"By Jupiter! This is past belief!" exclaimed Mr. Howard, while my

brother, without speaking, jumped out of bed and struck a light.

They searched the room. They came out thence and searched the hall. They

went up into the garret and searched the rooms over our heads. And,

finding no one, they returned, wondering and conjecturing to their

chamber, and for the third time that night fast locked their door.

"Take the key out, John," said Mr. Howard. And John withdrew the key and

took it to bed with him.

About fifteen minutes more passed and then--"click!" flew the lock, open

swung the door, and out of bed jumped John, in a state of mind between

affright and rage.

"John, never mind! It is clear that the door will not remain closed;

leave it open; to-morrow I will look at the lock and see what is amiss,"

said Mr. Howard.

And for the fourth time that night I heard my brother muttering like

distant thunder, go back to his bed.

But I do not think that he slept that night, and I am sure that I did

not.

In the morning I felt weary, and certain that if this mysterious

visitation continued, I should go mad. As I was dressing before the

toilet mirror, the reflection of my own face in the glass startled and

terrified me, it looked so pale, wild and haggard, and not unlike the

awful face of the midnight spectre. When Rachel and myself were dressed

and ready to go down, I opened the door. And just at that moment my

brother and Mr. Howard came out of their chamber and bade us

"Good-morning."

"Were you at our door last night, Agnes?" John asked me.

"At your door, John? Certainly not."

"Wasn't you, though?"

"Assuredly not. What should have brought me there?"

"Well, somebody was, that's all!" said my brother, while Mr. Howard

silently looked what he did not say.

We all went down together to the parlor, where a fine fire was burning,

and Mathilde, in her fresh morning beauty, waited to welcome us.

And soon our host and hostess entered, and in a few moments the

breakfast was announced, and we all adjourned to the table.

Breakfast was served long before the usual hour, that the gentlemen of

our party might make an early start upon the fox hunt that Mr. Legare

had arranged for that day.

While we were still at the table, Mrs. Legare bethought herself to hope

that the gentlemen had rested well; when my brusque and thoughtless

brother John said:

"No, indeed, my dear madam! We were 'fashed wi' a bogle' all night

long."

"Sir?"

"He means, madam, that we could not by any means keep our door locked,

and had finally to give up the attempt," explained Mr. Howard.

A deathly paleness overspread Mrs. Legare's face. I knew she regretted

the question that she had been tempted to ask, and now she receded from

the subject.

Mr. Legare, who had kept his eyes averted and turned a deaf ear to the

disclosure, now adroitly changed the topic by speaking of the hunt.

The horses were neighing with impatience in the yard, and as soon as the

gentlemen arose from the breakfast-table, they prepared themselves,

mounted and rode off to their day's sport.

It proved a very successful chase, for they took the brush before twelve

o'clock and returned with fine appetites to the excellent dinner set

upon the table at two in the afternoon.

The evening was passed in quiet hilarity, and we separated at a

comparatively early hour.

But that night, reader! It passes all my powers of description. I had

always been in the habit of "saying" my prayers before retiring; but of

late, since I had been habitually haunted, I had taken to praying

devoutly before going to bed. I prayed with unusual earnestness this

night, and then I retired to my couch. So wearied out in body was I

that, despite of mental excitement, I soon fell asleep.

I do not know how long I had slept, probably several hours, for it was

near day, when I was awakened by a strong light and a great noise.

I opened my eyes and collected my senses to find that both proceeded

from the opposite bedroom, where Mr. Howard and John were up with a

lighted candle, looking about for the mysterious and persevering

intruder upon their slumbers. The light from their room streamed across

the hall and through the open door into ours and fell upon the tall,

dark-robed, stern-visaged haunter of my chamber, where she stood

pointing her spectral finger to the spot upon the floor. A moment she

stood thus, and then, as before, passed slowly from the room and through

the open door, that, without hands, closed behind her.

The silvery beams of the full moon poured through the two east windows,

and in its light I now saw Rachel Noales sitting up straight, stark and

still in her bed.

"Rachel! Rachel!" said I, "what is the matter?"

"Heaven and earth, Agnes, we are haunted!" she gasped, rather than

spoke.

"Have you seen anything, Rachel?" I asked, now hoping that she had, for

I felt it terrible to be alone in my spectral experiences.

"No, no, I have not seen anything! But that door! that door! that I am

sure I fastened so carefully, was unlocked without a key, and opened

without hands! I heard and saw it, for I was laying awake!"

"Let us hope that you were mistaken, Rachel."

"No, no, impossible! Oh, I would not sleep another night in this house

for the wealth of the Indies!"

While we were talking, the fruitless search proceeded in, the opposite

room, until at length it was given up and the friends retired.

Rachel left her bed and came into mine, where she lay and trembled.

Scarcely fifteen minutes of peace and silence passed ere the lock of

both doors flew back, and the doors swung open.

Rachel began screaming; the occupants of the opposite chamber started

up, exclaiming in every variety of interjection. I arose and donned my

double wrapper, and put my feet in slippers, to go and procure

restoratives, for Rachel had fallen into spasms.

"For Heaven's sake, what is the matter, Agnes?" inquired my brother, who

had put on his dressing-gown and come to the door.

"Oh, the Lord only knows!"

I had seized a bottle of cologne from the dressing-table and began to

deluge the face and hands of Rachel, while my brother went and brought

his candle and put it inside of our door.

"Do go and wake up Mrs. Legare, John; I can do nothing for Rachel; I

never saw anybody in hysterics before, if this is hysterics!" said I,

feeling both frightened at the condition and angry at the weakness of my

patient.

But, even while I spoke, Mr. Howard, who during this time had been

hastily dressing himself, went downstairs to the old house in search of

assistance.

The family were speedily aroused. Mr. and Mrs. Legare hurried into the

new house. The lady herself entered the chamber where Rachel, as often

as her eyes opened in the haunted chamber, fell into new spasms.

"She will not recover until she is removed from this, Mrs. Legare," I

said.

"Perhaps not; assist me to put her wrapper on, and we will take her

down, and lay her on the parlor sofa," my hostess replied.

And after we had dressed our patient, we carried her down stairs, where

the fire was still smoldering, and only needed replenishment.

When the wood was brought and thrown on, and the fire blazed up

brightly, lighting and warming the whole room, and the shutters were

unclosed, and the rising sun smiled in upon us all, I felt that the

gladsome scene was enough to put to flight all the ghosts in Hades, and

all the superstitious terrors that ignorance is heir to. I almost began

to doubt that I was haunted; and would have done so, but for the sombre

and disturbed countenance of my host, who, as soon as Rachel Noales was

soothed and put to sleep on the sofa, turned to us and inquired:

"Now, my friends, will you be so good as to explain the cause of your

disturbance?"

"A mere trifle, sir," said my brother, brusquely; "the house is

haunted."

"You, of course, do not speak seriously; you cannot credit such

absurdities."

"My dear, sir, I never believed in ghosts until within the last two

nights; but now, with such evidence before me, I should be the most

unbelieving of infidels to refuse credence," said my brother, with a

mixture of gravity and banter in his tone, that made it impossible to

think him in earnest.

"Will you be so kind, Mr. Howard, as to enlighten us?" inquired Mr.

Legare, turning toward that gentleman.

"Since you desire me to do so, my dear sir. Well, then, for the two

nights we have passed beneath your very hospitable and delightful roof,

our rest has been somewhat disturbed----"

"Somewhat disturbed! It has been altogether broken up!" interrupted my

brother.

"Be silent, John," I whispered, pinching him.

Mr. Howard went on:

"By an inexplicable circumstance, namely, the flying open of the doors,

after we had carefully and securely locked them."

"We haven't slept a wink since we have been in the house. We have spent

the nights in jumping up out of bed to lock the doors, and only to have

them unlocked and fly open in our faces," said John.

"I thank you, gentlemen, for the information you have given me. Agnes,

my dear, have you been disturbed?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

"In the same manner, sir, by the unaccountable flying open of the door

after I had locked it," said I, suppressing the fact, or fancy, of the

mysterious midnight visitant.

"My dear, you have never complained of this before."

"No, sir."

"Why?"

"Because it was more an affair of interest than of complaint. I wished

first to investigate alone."

"And have you done so?"

"As far as was possible."

"With what result, my dear Agnes?"

"With no satisfactory one, sir."

"Friends," said the old gentleman, turning toward the assembled guests,

"it is vain to deny that a mystery does exist, and for the whole term of

my residence here, if not before, has existed in this house, that has,

heretofore, defied all investigation. Many of you have heard of the

circumstances under which the transfer of property was made. You

have heard that Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, the last inheritrix

of this estate, was a high-spirited, haughty, self-willed woman,

with one idea--the regeneration of her patrimonial estate; that

everything--money, health, peace, conscience, life itself, was

sacrificed to her monomania; that at last she died a victim to her own

ruling passion; that her husband married again, sold the estate, even

unto the very graveyard where her body lay, and left the neighborhood;

that I became the purchaser; and, finally, that since I have lived in

the house not one chamber door has been secure from a seemingly

supernatural opening.

"The superstitious among my servants, and poor, ignorant neighbors,

ascribe all these mysteries to the presence of Madeleine Van Der

Vaughan's restless ghost, still haunting the scene of her toils,

ambitions and disappointments. Modern spiritualists would, without

doubt, ascribe it to the agency of spirits. I believe in none of these

absurdities. But the annoying mystery remains unexplained, and I would

give 'the half of my kingdom' to him who should elucidate it."

The old gentleman, at the conclusion of his speech, looked around for an

answer among his audience.

"Do you not think that there may be a defect in the locks, sir?"

inquired Mr. Howard.

"Oh, 'I cry you, mercy,' sir! Such a possibility did not in the very

first instance escape us. The locks have been taken off and examined,

and no perceptible defect could be discovered. The half--'the half of my

kingdom' to the knight who shall rid me of this mysterious key-bearer."

I saw, by the twinkle of Mr. Howard's eyes, that he possessed a clew to

the mystery. I saw him exchange glances with Mathilde, who had just

joined us, looking blooming as Hebe in her fresh morning toilet.

Now, I was always a bashful girl--I mean moderately so; therefore, I

never could account for the spirit that entered and moved me to say and

do what I soon said and did. I happened to be standing beside Mr.

Legare, and his hand rested caressingly upon my head, when he repeated:

"'The half of my kingdom' to the knight that shall deliver my castle

from this dragon."

I answered:

"Oh, your majesty! Never offer the half of your kingdom! None but a

mercenary wretch would undertake the enterprise for such a bribe! Offer

the hand of your princess, and a thousand lances shall be laid in rest

for such a prize!"

I do not know whether he discovered the serious meaning under my

lightly-spoken words, for he fell into the humor of the jest, patted me

on the head, and said:

"Agreed! the hand of my princess to the brave knight who shall deliver

me from this plague!"

"I accept the challenge!" said Mr. Howard, "and promise that in

twenty-four hours the mysterious carrier of the keys shall be

vanquished!"

"It is a treaty! It is a treaty!" exclaimed one after another of the

young men and maidens who were present.

Mr. Legare looked around in some confusion at being taken up so

seriously, and then laughing, said:

"Very well--agreed! I ratify the compact, Mr. Howard; though I don't

believe your part of it can be fulfilled. And now to breakfast!"

We adjourned to the old house--all who were in the secret wondering in

what manner Mr. Howard would undertake to exorcise the key-demon; but

all discussion was waived for the present, while we dispatched the

necessary business of the table.

After breakfast, Frank Howard asked for a horse and rode up to Frost

Height.

He was absent two hours, at the end of which time he returned, bringing

with him a set of locksmith's tools, and flat piece of board, such as

show-locks are sometimes screwed upon for a sign.

When he had brought these things into the new house he challenged Mr.

Legare and all who wished to see the mystery evolved, to accompany him

to the chambers above.

Of course, everybody accepted the invitation.

We all went first into the gentlemen's room, and stood around in a

semi-circle, with our faces toward the door, and our eyes fixed upon the

lock and Frank Howard. First he turned the key, and begged that we would

observe that all was fast, and watch the result. Then he came away, and

we waited with our eyes fixed upon the lock.

In a little less than fifteen minutes we both heard and saw the catch

fly back, and the door swing open!

I cannot tell you with what a superstitious thrill we all shuddered,

though this was in broad daylight, and in the mutually supporting

presence of a dozen persons, and, though there was a machinist on the

spot, professing himself ready to demonstrate that this was a purely

mechanical phenomenon!

"There! ladies and gentlemen, you all see the action!"

"We all see!"

"No hand near the lock!"

"None!"

"There could have been no deception."

"Assuredly not," we all declared.

"Oh, certainly not--I have seen the thing twenty times," said Mr.

Legare.

"And I indorse your declarations, sir; you were right. There was no

deception--there is none! It is a purely mechanical phenomenon! But,

listen! Spiritual powers reside in mechanical forces. Every year we live

elucidates this mystery, though none but the deepest thinkers see this

truth in all its importance. Look you! a savage thinks that there is a

diabolism in the self-action of a watch--in the reflection of a

looking-glass. We think both mysteries to be simple mechanical

combinations! Pray look at the lock before us. I observe that it is

Harmon's patent. Poor Harmon, a demented machinist, scarcely knew what

he would be at, and so undertook to make an invaluable improvement in

the common door-lock. This is one of his; its intricate machinery has

got out of order, and hence 'the fantastic tricks before high heaven'

that these rooms have witnessed! I am about to take off the lock, to

prove what I have stated, as well as to remedy the evil."

"Oh, sir, that has been tried--I have seen it done--hope nothing from

that!" exclaimed Mr. Legare.

"Patience, my dear sir!" said Frank Howard, taking up the tools with so

much of the air of a man accustomed to the handling of them that old Mr.

Legare winced and fidgeted.

But Frank speedily took off the lock, and brought it to us for

inspection.

"Here! you notice that nothing seems amiss," he said.

"Nothing in the world--I told you that before," replied Mr. Legare.

"Furthermore, if now I were to turn the key, it would remain turned."

"Certainly, while the lock is off the door, it looks exactly right, and

behaves exactly right; but just put it on the door and lock it, and in

from ten to thirty minutes, more or less, it will fly open."

"Exactly; that is what I am about to explain," said Frank Howard, taking

up a flat, smooth piece of board, and laying it upon the table; and then

he took the lock, laid it on the board, screwed it tightly, turned the

key and said:

"It is not the circumstance of this lock being attached to the door that

has caused it to act in this manner; for I will prove to you that if the

same lock be screwed tightly to any other resisting object--as, for

instance, this board--it will act in the same irregular manner. Watch it

now, and you will see."

We did so, and in a few minutes we saw the catch fly back, as before.

"I will tell you the reason," said Mr. Howard, unscrewing the lock from

the board and inviting us to look on.

"Now, though there seems to be no defect whatever in this lock, yet in

truth the whole inside machinery has started slightly outward. This does

not affect its right action while detached; but when attached, the

continued pressure of the board to which it is fastened, gradually acts

upon the spring, and causes the catch in a given time to fly back, and

unlock, and the force with which this occurs opens the door. I can well

imagine that such unexplained movements, occurring in the middle of the

night, should have rather a supernatural effect. But the evil can be

remedied in a few minutes."

And then, while we were all dumb with astonishment, Frank Howard took up

his tools, went to work, and in about twenty minutes fixed the inside of

the lock, and replaced it on the door.

"Now," said he, "if ever this door comes open again without hands, I

will consent to forfeit the fair reward of my triumph. And now, friends,

I will go to work and mend the other."

And, inviting us to precede him, he passed out, locked the door, gave

the key to Mr. Legare, and begged him to take notice that the door would

remain fast until he (Mr. Legare) might choose to open it, or to give up

the key.

We reached the other chamber door, where twenty minutes' work served to

rectify the error. Then, locking that, as he had done the other, he

called me to witness that it should remain fast until I should use, or

give up the key that he placed in my charge.

We then went downstairs, Mr. Legare having one key safe in his pocket--I

having the other secure in mine.

It was the last day of the old year, and company were expected in the

evening--not to dance, but to watch it out.

Mrs. Legare went to attend to her extra housekeeping duties, and the

young ladies retired to their chambers to arrange their dresses for the

next day.

Mr. Legare, Frank Howard, my brother John, and the other gentlemen, took

their guns and game-bags, called their dogs, and started off "birding."

I went into the parlor where Rachel Noales still lay upon the sofa, in

the state of exhaustion that had succeeded her fright in the morning,

and told her that the mystery of the locks was discovered, and

explained, as far as I could, the process of demonstration. And Rachel

rallied from that hour.

I had reassured her, but who should reassure me? I was still very deeply

disturbed. True, the mystery of the opening doors was satisfactorily

explained. True, that my midnight visitor might have been an optical

illusion, produced by the mysterious surroundings acting upon my

highly-susceptible temperament. And true, also, that the resemblance

between my visionary woman and the portrait of Madeleine Van Der

Vaughan, might have been a mere fancy. But the spot of blood on the

floor. Who should explain that?

From time to time, during that day, I slipped upstairs to examine the

state of the doors; they remained fast.

The gentlemen dined out, but joined us at an early tea. Nothing was said

of the event of the morning, until, as we arose from the table, little

Phlit sidled up to his master, and asked for the keys so that he might

make fires in the bedrooms, "for de ladies an' gemlen to dress for

ebenin.'"

"The deuce! You tell me that the doors remain fast?" demanded Mr.

Legare, turning around upon us all.

I assured him that they did. He was too polite to doubt my statement;

but he wished to see for himself.

We followed him, and found him in a state of admiration before Mr.

Howard's door. When he had gazed some time at that, and tried it in

various ways, he turned about and went to mine, which he proved in the

same manner. And having found that both remained fast locked, without

mistake, he extended his hand to Frank, and said:

"Candidly, Mr. Howard, I did not believe in your success until this

moment. You have fairly vanquished the ghosts!"

Frank Howard took the offered hand, and bowed gravely and silently, as

he again resigned it. The doors were then opened, and Phlit admitted to

do his duties. And we separated to prepare for the evening watch-party.

It was eight o'clock when our friends from the neighborhood came in; and

after partaking of a bowl of eggnog in the dining-room, we adjourned to

the parlor, where we passed four hours in very pleasant social

intercourse, conversing, singing and reading. And as the clock neared

the stroke of twelve, Mr. Howard took a volume of Tennyson, and in an

affecting manner read his tender and beautiful "Requiem of the Dying

Year." All were moved, and as the reader finished, the tears were

running down the cheeks of Mathilde, who said:

"Oh! I do not know how any one, even the most thoughtless, can bear to

'dance out the old year!' I could no more do it than I could dance

beside the deathbed of a dear old friend! But I must not greet the

infant New Year with tears," she exclaimed, and dashing aside the

sparkling drops that spangled the roses of her cheeks, and turning to

her parents, she said:

"Dearest father! Dearest mother! Let me be the first to wish you a Happy

New Year, and many, ever happier returns of it!"

"You make our anniversaries happy, best child; now tell us truly what

shall be our New Year's gift to you?" said Mr. Legare, while Mrs. Legare

silently embraced her daughter.

Blushing deeply, Mathilde whispered one word to her father, who

repressed a rising sigh, and asked:

"Is this so? Must this be so, my dearest child?"

"Yes, my father."

"Then am I doubly bound to do what I am about to do, Mr. Howard!"

Frank Howard stepped eagerly forward.

"Mr. Howard! I always settle outstanding debts at the first of the

year," said Mr. Legare, taking the hand of Mathilde and placing it in

that of Frank Howard, who gently pressed it, as he answered:

"Sir, I believe that for years, I have possessed the priceless heart of

this dear maiden, but her fair hand, I would prefer to owe to her

father's approval and good-will, rather than to a mere accident."

"Sir, there are no such things as accidents! I am sixty years old who

say it! And as for the rest, sir, 'her father's approval and good-will'

always follows his esteem and respect, and now goes with his consent!

God bless you! Be true to Mathilde!"

"May Heaven deal with me as I with her!" said Frank Howard, earnestly.

While this important little family aside was going on the other guests

were wishing each other a "Happy New Year," and chatting and laughing

too merrily and noisily to hear what was there passing.

And now they asked for their cloaks and hoods, which Rachel Noales and I

flew to bring; and in less than half an hour all the evening visitors

had departed, and the returning sound of their sleighbells died away in

the distance.

We that were left separated and retired. When we reached our chamber

Rachel and I locked the door and went to bed.

We were sufficiently wearied out to go fast asleep, and sleep until late

in the morning, when the loud knocking of little Jet at our chamber door

aroused us. I jumped up and went and opened it.

"De doors do stay shet fas' 'nuff now!" exclaimed my little maid, with a

broad grin, as she entered.

"Yes, Jet; thanks to Mr. Howard."

"Ain't him a smart gemlan, dough? Wunner if him's a wizard?"

"I really do not know, Jet. You must ask your Miss Mathilde."

"Law! Do she know?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Den I ax her, sure."

And so my little maid proceeded to light the fire.

This was a New Year's day, and a large company was expected to dinner.

And it was upon this occasion that the engagement of the Hon. Frank

Howard, of Massachusetts, and Miss Mathilde Legare, was announced.

But little is left to be told. For the remainder of my stay I rested in

undisturbed peace, suffering no recurrence of opening doors and midnight

visitors. I was almost sorry that my ghostly mysteries had found so

commonplace a solution--a mechanical defect taking the place of the

phantom key, and an optical illusion explaining my midnight vision!--all

was accounted for except the spot of blood upon the floor! Upon the

morning of my departure, I called Mathilde into the room, and striking

an attitude like that of the woman of my vision, I silently pointed to

the hidden spot, and gazed at Mathilde, to discover consciousness in her

countenance.

But Mathilde first looked back in innocent surprise, and then

recollecting herself, said:

"Oh! you allude to a stain there; yes, it is a pity! The men who were

painting red lines on the doors over-turned the paint-pot and made a

deep, ugly, crimson stain; and, like the spot of blood on Bluebeard's

key, 'the more we scrub it the brighter it grows!' The next time a

carpenter happens to be at work here, mamma intends to have it planed

out."

So much for my last hold upon the supernatural! Let me repeat--the

phantom key, a mere mechanical defect; the spot of blood, a mere stain

of paint; and the midnight spectre, an optical illusion!

But the reader may ask, how I account for the resemblance between the

woman of my vision and the portrait of the ill-fated Madeleine Van Der

Vaughan? I answer, that at this distance of time, I regard it as the

effect of imagination only, as was the whole vision!

It was about two months after the conclusion of my Christmas visit that

I was summoned to Wolfbrake to act as bridesmaid for Mathilde, for it

was immediately after the rising of Congress upon the fourth of March,

that Mr. Howard went up to claim the hand of his betrothed. They were

married upon the seventh. It was a wedding in the fine, old-fashioned

country style, with a ball and supper the same evening, and dinner

parties and dancing parties, given successively by the neighbors, in

honor of the bride, almost every day and night for the next two weeks.

They have now been married several years, and have several

children--boys and girls. Frank Howard now holds a "high official"

position in the present administration. And old Mr. Legare is justly

proud of his gifted son-in-law. As Mathilde is too much of a Creole to

bear the rigor of a New England climate they divide the year, spending

the summer in Massachusetts and the winter in Virginia "with the old

folks at home."

And year after year I have visited them there, and slept in the haunted

chamber, but never, since the locks were mended, have I been troubled by

an opening door, or a midnight ghost!

THE PRESENTIMENT.

CHAPTER I.

THE QUADROON.

Oh! yet we hope that, somehow, good

Will be the final goal of ill,

To pangs of nature, sins of will,

Defects of doubt and taints of blood.--TENNYSON.

There was an account of an execution item that met my eyes in glancing

over the columns of a newspaper. It made no more impression upon me at

the time than such paragraphs make upon you or any of us. My glance

slided over that to the next items, chronicling in order the success of

a benevolent ball, the arrival of a popular singer, etc.; and I should

have forgotten all about it had not the execution occurred near the

plantation of a dear friend, with whom I was accustomed to pass a part

of every year. From that friend I heard the story--a domestic tragedy,

which, for its inspirations of pity and terror equaled any old Greek

drama that I ever read. I know not if I can do anything like justice to

the subject by giving the story in my own words.

Near the city of M----, on the A---- river, stood the plantation of Red

Hill. It was one of the largest cotton plantations in the South,

covering several square miles, but it was ill-cultivated and

unprofitable.

The plantation house was situated a mile back from the river, in a

grove of trees on the brow of the hill quite out of the reach of fog and

miasma.

At the time I speak of, it was owned by Colonel Waring, a widower, with

one son, to whom he had given his mother's family name of Oswald. The

ostensible female head of this house was the major's own mother, Madam

Waring, an old lady of French extraction, and now fallen deeply into the

vale of years and infirmities. The real head was Phaedra, a female slave,

and a Mestizza[1] by birth. Phaedra had one child, a boy, some two years

younger than the heir of the family. Notwithstanding the want of a lady

hostess at the head of the table, there was not a pleasanter or a more

popular mansion in the State than Colonel Waring's. Indeed, he might be

said to have kept open house, for the dwelling was half the time filled

with company, comprising old and young gentlemen, ladies and children.

[Footnote 1: The Mestizza is half Indian, half negro.]

Without any one habit of dissipation, Colonel Waring was a _bon-vivant_

of the gayest order, who loved to play the host, forget care, and enjoy

himself with his friends and neighbors. He was benevolent, also; no

appeal to his heart was ever slighted. He was frequently in want of

ready money, yet, when he had cash, it was as likely to be lavished in

injudicious alms-giving, as expended upon his own debts or necessities.

I have heard of his giving a thousand dollars to set up a poor widow in

business, and at the same time put off his creditors, and go deeper into

debt for his negroes' winter clothing. In the times when the yellow

fever desolated the South, his mansion year after year became the house

of refuge to those who fled from the cities, yet were unable to bear the

expense of a watering place. His house was a place where the trammels of

conventionalism could, without offense, be cast off for a while.

Children might do as they liked; young people as they pleased; and old

folks might--dance, if they felt lively. "It was at Colonel Waring's,"

was sufficient explanation of any sort of eccentricity.

Madam Waring, in her distant chamber, was not much more than a "myth,"

or, at best, a family tradition; yet her name undoubtedly gave a

sanction to the presence of ladies in a house, which, without her, they

would probably never have entered.

The Mestizza was scarcely less of a myth. Everybody knew of her

existence, and there were few who did not understand her position as

well as that of the beautiful boy Valentine, who was the constant

companion of Oswald; but Phaedra was never seen, nor was her presence to

be guessed, except in the well-ordered house, and the delicious

breakfasts, dinners and suppers, prepared under her supervision, and

sent up to the guests.

Colonel Waring had his enemies. What man has not? And even among those

who at times sat at his board, and slept under his roof, it was said

that "justice should go before generosity;" and that Colonel Waring, by

his reckless charities and lavish hospitality, wronged both his

creditors and his heir. Others whispered that he plunged into the

excitements of company for the purpose of drowning thought or

conscience; and if a stranger came into the neighborhood, and found

himself, as he would be not unlikely to do, the guest of Colonel Waring,

he would be told by some fellow-visitor that the late Mrs. Waring, the

wife of the colonel, had died, raving mad, in a Northern lunatic asylum.

And, among the women, it was whispered that in dying she had deeply

cursed the Mestizza and her boy.

However that might be, it is certain that Phaedra had always manifested

the most sincere attachment to the lady's son; and from the time that

Oswald was left an orphan, at the age of six months, to the time of her

death, no one could be a more devoted nurse or a greater child-spoiler

than she was to him. Phaedra's nature was despotic, and every one on the

plantation had to yield to Master Oswald, or they would find rations

shortened, holidays refused, work increased, clothing neglected, and be

punished in numerous indirect ways, not by their most indulgent of

masters, but by the influence of the Mestizza. Even her own son was

scarcely an exception to the universal homage she exacted for Oswald. He

had two claims upon her--in the first place, in her eyes he was the

young master, the heir-apparent, the Crown Prince--and then he had "no

mother."

And the boy on his side repaid his nurse's devotion by the most sincere

affection, both for her and for his foster brother, Valentine.

Oswald "took after" his father, both in the Saxon fairness of his fresh

complexion, flaxen hair, and lively blue eyes, and in the hearty

benevolence and careless gayety of his disposition. Like his father,

also, he lacked self-esteem, and the dignity of character that it gives.

Nay, he had not half so much of that quality as had the son of the

Mestizza, whose overweening pride won for him the name of "Little

Prince."

Valentine was an exquisitely beautiful boy; he was like his Mestizza

mother, in the clear, dark-brown skin, and regular aquiline features;

but, instead of her straight black locks, he had soft, shining,

bluish-black hair, that fell in numerous spiral ringlets all around his

neck, and when he stooped veiled his cheeks. In startling, yes, in

absolutely frightful contrast to that dark skin and raven black hair and

eyebrows, were his clear, light-blue, Saxon eyes! One who understands

scientifically, or feels intuitively, the nature of such a fearful

combination of antagonistic and never-to-be-harmonized elements of

character, fated without the saving grace of God, to become the

elements of insanity and crime, cannot look upon its external outward

signs without shuddering.

Think of it; and wonder, if you can, at anything in his after life!

Think of a boy combining in his own nature the ardent passions and

impulsive temperament of the African negro, the tameless love of freedom

of the North American Indian, and the intellectual power and domineering

pride of the Anglo-Saxon. Place him in the condition of a pet slave;

leave him without moral and Christian instruction; alternately praise

and pamper or condemn him--not as his merit, but as your caprice

decides; let him grow up in that manner, and, as it seems to me, the

result is so sure that it might be demonstrated in advance.

Both the boys were great favorites with the visitors who frequented the

house. Oswald, as the son of the host, and also for his bright, joyous,

frolicsome nature; and Valentine, for his beauty, wit, and piquant

sauciness. Willingly would Phaedra have kept the lad away from the "white

folks," but Oswald would not suffer his playmate to be separated from

himself. Nor when the visitors had once discovered Valentine's value as

an entertainer, would they have spared him.

The lads did not seem in the least to understand their relations as

young master and servant, but behaved in all respects toward each other

as peers--the quicker and more impulsive nature taking the lead as a

matter of course. And that nature happened to belong to the Mestizza's

son.

Valentine had the keenest appreciation of pleasure, and the quickest

intelligence in discovering the way to it. In all their boyish

amusements, Valentine was the purveyor; in all their adventures, he was

the leader--Oswald entering into all his plans, and following all his

suggestions, with the heartiest good-will. And, in all their childish

misdemeanors, he was the tempter, and always, also, the willing

scapegoat--that is to say, when in a fit of generosity to shield Oswald,

he voluntarily assumed all the blame, he was perfectly willing to take

all the punishment; but, on the contrary, if both were discovered _in

flagrante delicto_, and he only punished, then at such injustice, he

would fly into the most ungovernable fury, that would sometimes end in

frenzy and congestion of the brain. It was these maniacal fits of

passion that procured for him the sobriquet of Little Demon, conferred

upon him by the negroes of the plantation, in opposition to that of

Little Prince, given him by the visitors at the house.

Often, too, the boy gave evidence of reflection and of feeling, beyond

his years; as, for instance, once, when he was but nine years old, a

lady, who delighted in his childish beauty, grace, and wit, allowed him

frequently to ride in the carriage with her, and accompany her, when

making visits, or on going to places of amusement. One day, when she was

gently stroking his silky curls, he suddenly dropped his head into his

hands, and burst into tears.

"Why, Valley! what is the matter?" she asked, again caressing his

beautiful head. But, at the gentle caress and the gentle tone, he wept

more passionately than ever. "Why, Valley! what is the matter? Have I

hurt your feelings? Have any of us hurt your feelings?" she asked,

knowing his sensitive nature, and imagining that some thoughtlessness on

her part, or on some one else's, might have wounded it. "Have any of us

hurt your feelings, Valley?"

"Yes, you have! all of you have! and you do all the time!"

The lady laughed, for it struck her as very droll to hear such a charge

from the spoiled and petted boy. But the boy went on to speak with

warmth and vehemence:

"You all treat me like a little poodle dog, or like a monkey; for you

feed me, and you dress me up, and pet me, and laugh at me, and by and by

you will drive me out."

Another time, he was sitting in the parlor with a lady, who had diverted

herself a good deal with his precocious wit and intelligence, and had

allowed him to play with the rings on her fingers, the bracelets on her

wrists, and the pearls that bound her dark tresses, and then to follow

her to the piano, and stand close by her side while she played and sang,

until suddenly down dropped his head upon his hands, and he burst into a

passion of tears. The lady broke off in astonishment, turned around,

drew him up to her, took his hands from his face, and looked kindly at

him, without saying a word. But the boy dropped upon the floor, and

crouching, wept more vehemently than before. The lady stooped and raised

his head, and laid it on her lap, and laid her hand soothingly upon his

silken curls, but spoke no word. When his passion of tears had passed,

and he had sobbed himself into something like composure, he looked up

into her face, and said:

"You did not laugh at me, Mrs. Hewitt, and you didn't ask me what I was

crying for; but I couldn't help it, because--because I know this good

time will go away; and I shall get taller, and then you won't let me

stay and hear you talk, and hear you sing, and--and--and--I wish I never

could grow any taller. I wish I may die before I grow older."

Ah! poor, fated boy! would indeed, that he had died before he grew

taller! before those evil days his childhood's prophet heart foretold!

But they came on apace.

The first trial that he suffered might seem light enough to an outside

looker-on, but it was heavy enough to Valentine. When he was eleven

years of age, and Oswald nine, Oswald was sent to school, and he

remained at home.

Up to this time they had been playmates and companions, faring alike in

all respects, and sharing equally all pleasures, even the favors of the

visitors.

Now, therefore, Valentine keenly felt the new state of things, which in

more than one way deeply grieved his heart; first, in the separation

from his friend and playmate whom he dearly loved; and then in the

denial of knowledge to his thirsting intellect, for there existed a

statute law against educating a slave--a law, too, that was of late very

strictly enforced, except in the case of children, who frequently

transgressed it, and always with impunity; for slaves are often taught

to read and write by their nurslings, the master's children.

Valentine was thus far kin to us all, that he was a lineal descendant of

Eve, and inherited all her longing desire for forbidden knowledge. And,

in like manner, Oswald had received a goodly portion of that Adamic

propensity to do just precisely what he was commanded not to do.

No grief of Valentine could long be hid from Oswald, and it followed, of

course, that when he discovered the great trouble of his playmate to be

his desire for education, all that Oswald learned at school by day was

taught to Valentine at home by night. And peace and good-will was once

more restored to the boys.

Thus the time went on till the lads were fourteen and sixteen

respectively.

Then Oswald was placed as a boarder at an academy in a neighboring city.

Before leaving home, Oswald had begged, prayed, and insisted upon

Valentine being permitted to accompany him, and had finally gained his

object--an almost unheard-of indulgence--but one, nevertheless, that

could not be refused by the father of his cherished son. So Valentine,

ostensibly as a servant, but really as friend and companion, accompanied

Oswald to his school.

Here also Oswald took every opportunity to impart his acquired knowledge

to his companion.

And now Valentine's taste in literature and art began to develop itself.

His mind was by no means an "omnium-gatherem." _Belle-lettres_, rather

than classic lore or mathematical science, was his attraction.

Astronomy, botany, poetry, rhetoric, oratory, elocution, music,

painting, and the drama--these, and other studies only in proportion as

they related to these, were his delights. An aesthetic rather than a

strong intellect distinguished him. A love of beauty, elegance, and

refinement, in all things--in art, science, and the drama, as well as in

his own person, dress, and surroundings--began to reveal itself. And

those who did not understand or like Valentine, began to sneer at him

for a _petit-maitre_ and a dandy.

A change began to creep over the relations between the youths. Oswald

was no longer a boy, but a young man. He could no longer instruct his

companion, because he would thereby render himself obnoxious to public

opinion, as well as to the laws of the State, to which his age now made

him responsible. Neither could he bear the good-humored jests and the

ridicule of his school-fellows, who bantered him unmercifully upon his

friendship for his "man," calling them the foster-brothers, the Siamese

twins, Valentine and Orson, etc.; and Valentine was beginning to suffer

from the occasional slights, neglect, contempt, and inequality in temper

of his young master, when fortunately the scene changed. Oswald was

withdrawn from the Academy of M----, and sent to the University of

Virginia, whither Valentine, as his valet, attended him.