I took a walk in the long twilight of that evening. As it began to grow
dark I passed the Fuller house and looked up at its windows. Standing
under a tree on the opposite side of the avenue I saw a man come out
of the door and walk away hurriedly with long strides. I met him at the
next corner.
'Good-evening!' he said.
I recognised then the voice and figure of John Trumbull. 'Been to
Fuller's,' said he.
'How is Hope?' I asked.
'Better,' said he. 'Walk with me?
'With pleasure,' said I, and then he quickened his pace.
We walked awhile in silence, going so fast! had hardly time to speak,
and the darkness deepened into night. We hurried along through streets
and alleys that were but dimly lighted, coming out at length on a wide
avenue passing through open fields in the upper part of the city. Lights
in cabin windows glowed on the hills around us. I made some remark about
them but he did not hear me. He slackened pace in a moment and began
whispering to himself' I could not hear what he said. I thought of
bidding him good-night and returning but where were we and how could I
find my way? We heard a horse coming presently at a gallop. At the first
loud whack of the hoofs he turned suddenly and laying hold of my arm
began to run. I followed him into the darkness of the open field.
It gave me a spell of rare excitement for I thought at once of
highwaymen--having read so much of them in the Tribune. He stopped
suddenly and stooped low his hands touching the grass and neither spoke
until the horse had gone well beyond us. Then he rose, stealthily, and
looked about him in silence, even turning his face to the dark sky where
only a few stars were visible.
'Well!' said he with a sort of grunt. 'Beats the devil! I thought it
was. A wonderful thing was happening in the sky. A great double moon
seemed to be flying over the city hooded in purple haze. A little spray
of silver light broke out of it, as we looked, and shot backward and
then floated after the two shining disks that were falling eastward in
a long curve. They seemed to be so near I thought they were coming down
upon the city. It occurred to me they must have some connection with the
odd experience I had gone through. In a moment they had passed out of
sight. We were not aware that we had witnessed a spectacle the like
of which had not been seen in centuries, if ever, since God made the
heavens. The great meteor of 1860.
'Let's go back,' said Trumbull. 'We came too far. I forgot myself.'
'Dangerous here?' I enquired.
'Not at all,' said he, 'but a long way out of town--tired?
'Rather,' I said, grateful for his evident desire to quiet my alarm.
'Come!' said he as we came back to the pavement, his hand upon my
shoulder. 'Talk to me. Tell me--what are you going to do?
We walked slowly down the deserted avenue, I, meanwhile, talking of my
plans.
'You love. Hope,' he said presently. 'You will marry her?
'If she will have me,' said I.
'You must wait,' he said, 'time enough!
He quickened his pace again as we came in sight of the scattering
shops and houses of the upper city and no other word was spoken. On the
corners we saw men looking into the sky and talking of the fallen moon.
It was late bedtime when we turned into Gramercy Park.
'Come in,' said he as he opened an iron gate.
I followed him up a marble stairway and a doddering old English butler
opened the door for us. We entered a fine hall, its floor of beautiful
parquetry muffled with silken rugs. High and spacious rooms were all
aglow with light.
He conducted me to a large smoking-room, its floor and walls covered
with trophies of the hunt--antlers and the skins of carnivora. Here he
threw off his coat and bade me be at home as he lay down upon a wicker
divan covered with the tawny skin of some wild animal. He stroked the
fur fondly with his hand.
'Hello Jock!' he said, a greeting that mystified me.
'Tried to eat me,' he added, turning to me.
Then he bared his great hairy arm and showed me a lot of ugly scars, I
besought him to tell the story.
'Killed him,' he answered. 'With a gun?
'No--with my hands,' and that was all he would say of it.
He lay facing a black curtain that covered a corner. Now and then I
heard a singular sound in the room--like some faint, far, night cry such
as I have heard often in the deep woods. It was so weird I felt some
wonder of it. Presently I could tell it came from behind the curtain
where, also, I heard an odd rustle like that of wings.
I sat in a reverie, looking at the silent man before me, and in the
midst of it he pulled a cord that hung near him and a bell rang.
'Luncheon!' he said to the old butler who entered immediately.
Then he rose and showed me odd things, carved out of wood, by his own
hand as he told me, and with a delicate art. He looked at one tiny thing
and laid it aside quickly.
'Can't bear to look at it now,' he said.
'Gibbet?' I enquired.
'Gibbet,' he answered.
It was a little figure bound hand and foot and hanging from the gallows
tree.
'Burn it!' he said, turning to the old servant and putting it in his
hands. Luncheon had been set between us, the while, and as we were
eating it the butler opened a big couch and threw snowy sheets of linen
over it and silken covers that rustled as they fell.
'You will sleep there,' said my host as his servant laid the pillows,
'and well I hope.
I thought I had better go to my own lodgings.
'Too late--too late,' said he, and I, leg-weary and half-asleep,
accepted his proffer of hospitality. Then, having eaten, he left me and
I got into bed after turning the lights out Something woke me in the
dark of the night. There was a rustling sound in the room. I raised
my head a bit and listened. It was the black curtain that hung in the
corner. I imagined somebody striking it violently. I saw a white figure
standing near me in the darkness. It moved away as I looked at it. A
cold wind was blowing upon my face. I lay a long time listening and by
and by I could hear the deep voice of Trumbull as if he were groaning
and muttering in his sleep. When it began to come light I saw the breeze
from an open window was stirring the curtain of silk in the corner. I
got out of bed and, peering behind the curtain, saw only a great white
owl, caged and staring out of wide eyes that gleamed fiery in the dim
light. I went to bed again, sleeping until my host woke me in the late
morning.
After breakfasting I went to the chalet. The postman had been there but
he had brought no letter from Hope. I waited about home, expecting
to hear from her, all that day, only to see it end in bitter
disappointment.