IV

It is now ten years ago since I got my first warning of the great trouble

of my life in the Vision of a Dream.

I shall be better able to tell you about it if you will please suppose

yourselves to be drinking tea along with us in our little cottage in

Cambridgeshire, ten years since.

The time was the close of day, and there were three of us at the table,

namely, my mother, myself, and my mother's sister, Mrs. Chance. These two

were Scotchwomen by birth, and both were widows. There was no other

resemblance between them that I can call to mind. My mother had lived all

her life in England, and had no more of the Scotch brogue on her tongue

than I have. My aunt Chance had never been out of Scotland until she came

to keep house with my mother after her husband's death. And when _she_

opened her lips you heard broad Scotch, I can tell you, if you ever heard

it yet!

As it fell out, there was a matter of some consequence in debate among us

that evening. It was this: whether I should do well or not to take a long

journey on foot the next morning.

Now the next morning happened to be the day before my birthday; and the

purpose of the journey was to offer myself for a situation as groom at a

great house in the neighboring county to ours. The place was reported as

likely to fall vacant in about three weeks' time. I was as well fitted to

fill it as any other man. In the prosperous days of our family, my father

had been manager of a training stable, and he had kept me employed among

the horses from my boyhood upward. Please to excuse my troubling you with

these small matters. They all fit into my story farther on, as you will

soon find out. My poor mother was dead against my leaving home on the

morrow.

"You can never walk all the way there and all the way back again by

to-morrow night," she says. "The end of it will be that you will sleep

away from home on your birthday. You have never done that yet, Francis,

since your father's death, I don't like your doing it now. Wait a day

longer, my son--only one day."

For my own part, I was weary of being idle, and I couldn't abide the

notion of delay. Even one day might make all the difference. Some other

man might take time by the forelock, and get the place.

"Consider how long I have been out of work," I says, "and don't ask me to

put off the journey. I won't fail you, mother. I'll get back by to-morrow

night, if I have to pay my last sixpence for a lift in a cart.

My mother shook her head. "I don't like it, Francis--I don't like it!"

There was no moving her from that view. We argued and argued, until we

were both at a deadlock. It ended in our agreeing to refer the difference

between us to my mother's sister, Mrs. Chance.

While we were trying hard to convince each other, my aunt Chance sat as

dumb as a fish, stirring her tea and thinking her own thoughts. When we

made our appeal to her, she seemed as it were to wake up. "Ye baith refer

it to my puir judgment?" she says, in her broad Scotch. We both answered

Yes. Upon that my aunt Chance first cleared the tea-table, and then pulled

out from the pocket of her gown a pack of cards.

Don't run away, if you please, with the notion that this was done lightly,

with a view to amuse my mother and me. My aunt Chance seriously believed

that she could look into the future by telling fortunes on the cards. She

did nothing herself without first consulting the cards. She could give no

more serious proof of her interest in my welfare than the proof which she

was offering now. I don't say it profanely; I only mention the fact--the

cards had, in some incomprehensible way, got themselves jumbled up

together with her religious convictions. You meet with people nowadays who

believe in spirits working by way of tables and chairs. On the same

principle (if there _is_ any principle in it) my aunt Chance believed in

Providence working by way of the cards.

"Whether _you_ are right, Francie, or your mither--whether ye will do weel

or ill, the morrow, to go or stay--the cairds will tell it. We are a' in

the hands of Proavidence. The cairds will tell it."

Hearing this, my mother turned her head aside, with something of a sour

look in her face. Her sister's notions about the cards were little better

than flat blasphemy to her mind. But she kept her opinion to herself. My

aunt Chance, to own the truth, had inherited, through her late husband, a

pension of thirty pounds a year. This was an important contribution to our

housekeeping, and we poor relations were bound to treat her with a certain

respect. As for myself, if my poor father never did anything else for me

before he fell into difficulties, he gave me a good education, and raised

me (thank God) above superstitions of all sorts. However, a very little

amused me in those days; and I waited to have my fortune told, as

patiently as if I believed in it too!

My aunt began her hocus pocus by throwing out all the cards in the pack

under seven. She shuffled the rest with her left hand for luck; and then

she gave them to me to cut. "Wi' yer left hand, Francie. Mind that! Pet

your trust in Proavidence--but dinna forget that your luck's in yer left

hand!" A long and roundabout shifting of the cards followed, reducing them

in number until there were just fifteen of them left, laid out neatly

before my aunt in a half circle. The card which happened to lie outermost,

at the right-hand end of the circle, was, according to rule in such cases,

the card chosen to represent Me. By way of being appropriate to my

situation as a poor groom out of employment, the card was--the King of

Diamonds.

"I tak' up the King o' Diamants," says my aunt. "I count seven cairds fra'

richt to left; and I humbly ask a blessing on what follows." My aunt shut

her eyes as if she was saying grace before meat, and held up to me the

seventh card. I called the seventh card--the Queen of Spades. My aunt

opened her eyes again in a hurry, and cast a sly look my way. "The Queen

o' Spades means a dairk woman. Ye'll be thinking in secret, Francie, of a

dairk woman?"

When a man has been out of work for more than three months, his mind isn't

troubled much with thinking of women--light or dark. I was thinking of the

groom's place at the great house, and I tried to say so. My aunt Chance

wouldn't listen. She treated my interpretation with contempt. "Hoot-toot!

there's the caird in your hand! If ye're no thinking of her the day, ye'll

be thinking of her the morrow. Where's the harm of thinking of a dairk

woman! I was ance a dairk woman myself, before my hair was gray. Haud yer

peace, Francie, and watch the cairds."

I watched the cards as I was told. There were seven left on the table. My

aunt removed two from one end of the row and two from the other, and

desired me to call the two outermost of the three cards now left on the

table. I called the Ace of Clubs and the Ten of Diamonds. My aunt Chance

lifted her eyes to the ceiling with a look of devout gratitude which

sorely tried my mother's patience. The Ace of Clubs and the Ten of

Diamonds, taken together, signified--first, good news (evidently the news

of the groom's place); secondly, a journey that lay before me (pointing

plainly to my journey to-morrow!); thirdly and lastly, a sum of money

(probably the groom's wages!) waiting to find its way into my pockets.

Having told my fortune in these encouraging terms, my aunt declined to

carry the experiment any further. "Eh, lad! it's a clean tempting o'

Proavidence to ask mair o' the cairds than the cairds have tauld us noo.

Gae yer ways to-morrow to the great hoose. A dairk woman will meet ye at

the gate; and she'll have a hand in getting ye the groom's place, wi' a'

the gratifications and pairquisites appertaining to the same. And, mebbe,

when yer poaket's full o' money, ye'll no' be forgetting yer aunt Chance,

maintaining her ain unblemished widowhood--wi' Proavidence assisting--on

thratty punds a year!"

I promised to remember my aunt Chance (who had the defect, by the way, of

being a terribly greedy person after money) on the next happy occasion

when my poor empty pockets were to be filled at last. This done, I looked

at my mother. She had agreed to take her sister for umpire between us, and

her sister had given it in my favor. She raised no more objections.

Silently, she got on her feet, and kissed me, and sighed bitterly--and so

left the room. My aunt Chance shook her head. "I doubt, Francie, yer puir

mither has but a heathen notion of the vairtue of the cairds!"

By daylight the next morning I set forth on my journey. I looked back at

the cottage as I opened the garden gate. At one window was my mother, with

her handkerchief to her eyes. At the other stood my aunt Chance, holding

up the Queen of Spades by way of encouraging me at starting. I waved my

hands to both of them in token of farewell, and stepped out briskly into

the road. It was then the last day of February. Be pleased to remember, in

connection with this, that the first of March was the day, and two o'clock

in the morning the hour of my birth.

V

Now you know how I came to leave home. The next thing to tell is, what

happened on the journey.

I reached the great house in reasonably good time considering the

distance. At the very first trial of it, the prophecy of the cards turned

out to be wrong. The person who met me at the lodge gate was not a dark

woman--in fact, not a woman at all--but a boy. He directed me on the way

to the servants' offices; and there again the cards were all wrong. I

encountered, not one woman, but three--and not one of the three was dark.

I have stated that I am not superstitious, and I have told the truth. But

I must own that I did feel a certain fluttering at the heart when I made

my bow to the steward, and told him what business had brought me to the

house. His answer completed the discomfiture of aunt Chance's

fortune-telling. My ill-luck still pursued me. That very morning another

man had applied for the groom's place, and had got it.

I swallowed my disappointment as well as I could, and thanked the steward,

and went to the inn in the village to get the rest and food which I sorely

needed by this time.

Before starting on my homeward walk I made some inquiries at the inn, and

ascertained that I might save a few miles, on my return, by following a

new road. Furnished with full instructions, several times repeated, as to

the various turnings I was to take, I set forth, and walked on till the

evening with only one stoppage for bread and cheese. Just as it was

getting toward dark, the rain came on and the wind began to rise; and I

found myself, to make matters worse, in a part of the country with which I

was entirely unacquainted, though I guessed myself to be some fifteen

miles from home. The first house I found to inquire at, was a lonely

roadside inn, standing on the outskirts of a thick wood. Solitary as the

place looked, it was welcome to a lost man who was also hungry, thirsty,

footsore, and wet. The landlord was civil and respectable-looking; and the

price he asked for a bed was reasonable enough. I was grieved to

disappoint my mother. But there was no conveyance to be had, and I could

go no farther afoot that night. My weariness fairly forced me to stop at

the inn.

I may say for myself that I am a temperate man. My supper simply consisted

of some rashers of bacon, a slice of home-made bread, and a pint of ale. I

did not go to bed immediately after this moderate meal, but sat up with

the landlord, talking about my bad prospects and my long run of ill-luck,

and diverging from these topics to the subjects of horse-flesh and racing.

Nothing was said, either by myself, my host, or the few laborers who

strayed into the tap-room, which could, in the slightest degree, excite

my mind, or set my fancy--which is only a small fancy at the best of

times--playing tricks with my common sense.

At a little after eleven the house was closed. I went round with the

landlord, and held the candle while the doors and lower windows were being

secured. I noticed with surprise the strength of the bolts, bars, and

iron-sheathed shutters.

"You see, we are rather lonely here," said the landlord. "We never have

had any attempts to break in yet, but it's always as well to be on the

safe side. When nobody is sleeping here, I am the only man in the house.

My wife and daughter are timid, and the servant girl takes after her

missuses. Another glass of ale, before you turn in?--No!--Well, how such a

sober man as you comes to be out of a place is more than I can understand

for one.--Here's where you're to sleep. You're the only lodger to-night,

and I think you'll say my missus has done her best to make you

comfortable. You're quite sure you won't have another glass of ale?--Very

well. Good night."

It was half-past eleven by the clock in the passage as we went upstairs to

the bedroom. The window looked out on the wood at the back of the house.

I locked my door, set my candle on the chest of drawers, and wearily got

me ready for bed. The bleak wind was still blowing, and the solemn,

surging moan of it in the wood was very dreary to hear through the night

silence. Feeling strangely wakeful, I resolved to keep the candle alight

until I began to grow sleepy. The truth is, I was not quite myself. I was

depressed in mind by my disappointment of the morning; and I was worn out

in body by my long walk. Between the two, I own I couldn't face the

prospect of lying awake in the darkness, listening to the dismal moan of

the wind in the wood.

Sleep stole on me before I was aware of it; my eyes closed, and I fell off

to rest, without having so much as thought of extinguishing the candle.

The next thing that I remember was a faint shivering that ran through me

from head to foot, and a dreadful sinking pain at my heart, such as I had

never felt before. The shivering only disturbed my slumbers--the pain woke

me instantly. In one moment I passed from a state of sleep to a state of

wakefulness--my eyes wide open--my mind clear on a sudden as if by a

miracle. The candle had burned down nearly to the last morsel of tallow,

but the unsnuffed wick had just fallen off, and the light was, for the

moment, fair and full.

Between the foot of the bed and the closet door, I saw a person in my

room. The person was a woman, standing looking at me, with a knife in her

hand. It does no credit to my courage to confess it--but the truth _is_

the truth. I was struck speechless with terror. There I lay with my eyes

on the woman; there the woman stood (with the knife in her hand) with

_her_ eyes on _me_.

She said not a word as we stared each other in the face; but she moved

after a little--moved slowly toward the left-hand side of the bed.

The light fell full on her face. A fair, fine woman, with yellowish flaxen

hair, and light gray eyes, with a droop in the left eyelid. I noticed

these things and fixed them in my mind, before she was quite round at the

side of the bed. Without saying a word; without any change in the stony

stillness of her face; without any noise following her footfall, she came

closer and closer; stopped at the bed-head; and lifted the knife to stab

me. I laid my arm over my throat to save it; but, as I saw the blow

coming, I threw my hand across the bed to the right side, and jerked my

body over that way, just as the knife came down, like lightning, within a

hair's breadth of my shoulder.

My eyes fixed on her arm and her hand--she gave me time to look at them as

she slowly drew the knife out of the bed. A white, well-shaped arm, with a

pretty down lying lightly over the fair skin. A delicate lady's hand, with

a pink flush round the finger nails.

She drew the knife out, and passed back again slowly to the foot of the

bed; she stopped there for a moment looking at me; then she came on

without saying a word; without any change in the stony stillness of her

face; without any noise following her footfall--came on to the side of the

bed where I now lay.

Getting near me, she lifted the knife again, and I drew myself away to the

left side. She struck, as before right into the mattress, with a swift

downward action of her arm; and she missed me, as before; by a hair's

breadth. This time my eyes wandered from _her_ to the knife. It was like

the large clasp knives which laboring men use to cut their bread and bacon

with. Her delicate little fingers did not hide more than two thirds of the

handle; I noticed that it was made of buckhorn, clean and shining as the

blade was, and looking like new.

For the second time she drew the knife out of the bed, and suddenly hid it

away in the wide sleeve of her gown. That done, she stopped by the bedside

watching me. For an instant I saw her standing in that position--then the

wick of the spent candle fell over into the socket. The flame dwindled to

a little blue point, and the room grew dark.

A moment, or less, if possible, passed so--and then the wick flared up,

smokily, for the last time. My eyes were still looking for her over the

right-hand side of the bed when the last flash of light came. Look as I

might, I could see nothing. The woman with the knife was gone.

I began to get back to myself again. I could feel my heart beating; I

could hear the woeful moaning of the wind in the wood; I could leap up in

bed, and give the alarm before she escaped from the house. "Murder! Wake

up there! Murder!"

Nobody answered to the alarm. I rose and groped my way through the

darkness to the door of the room. By that way she must have got in. By

that way she must have gone out.

The door of the room was fast locked, exactly as I had left it on going to

bed! I looked at the window. Fast locked too!

Hearing a voice outside, I opened the door. There was the landlord, coming

toward me along the passage, with his burning candle in one hand, and his

gun in the other.

"What is it?" he says, looking at me in no very friendly way.

I could only answer in a whisper, "A woman, with a knife in her hand. In

my room. A fair, yellow-haired woman. She jabbed at me with the knife,

twice over."

He lifted his candle, and looked at me steadily from head to foot. "She

seems to have missed you--twice over."

"I dodged the knife as it came down. It struck the bed each time. Go in,

and see."

The landlord took his candle into the bedroom immediately. In less than a

minute he came out again into the passage in a violent passion.

"The devil fly away with you and your woman with the knife! There isn't a

mark in the bedclothes anywhere. What do you mean by coming into a man's

place and frightening his family out of their wits by a dream?"

A dream? The woman who had tried to stab me, not a living human being like

myself? I began to shake and shiver. The horrors got hold of me at the

bare thought of it.

"I'll leave the house," I said. "Better be out on the road in the rain and

dark, than back in that room, after what I've seen in it. Lend me the

light to get my clothes by, and tell me what I'm to pay."

The landlord led the way back with his light into the bedroom. "Pay?" says

he. "You'll find your score on the slate when you go downstairs. I

wouldn't have taken you in for all the money you've got about you, if I

had known your dreaming, screeching ways beforehand. Look at the

bed--where's the cut of a knife in it? Look at the window--is the lock

bursted? Look at the door (which I heard you fasten yourself)--is it broke

in? A murdering woman with a knife in my house! You ought to be ashamed of

yourself!"

My eyes followed his hand as it pointed first to the bed--then to the

window--then to the door. There was no gainsaying it. The bed sheet was as

sound as on the day it was made. The window was fast. The door hung on its

hinges as steady as ever. I huddled my clothes on without speaking. We

went downstairs together. I looked at the clock in the bar-room. The time

was twenty minutes past two in the morning. I paid my bill, and the

landlord let me out. The rain had ceased; but the night was dark, and the

wind was bleaker than ever. Little did the darkness, or the cold, or the

doubt about the way home matter to _me_. My mind was away from all these

things. My mind was fixed on the vision in the bedroom. What had I seen

trying to murder me? The creature of a dream? Or that other creature from

the world beyond the grave, whom men call ghost? I could make nothing of

it as I walked along in the night; I had made nothing by it by

midday--when I stood at last, after many times missing my road, on the

doorstep of home.