A FAINT HEART.
"What has delayed you?--where have you been?--how comes the pony to be
lame, and Emmie all splashed with mud?--what insane prank have you been
playing?"
Such were the questions, each successive one asked in a louder and more
angry tone, which were addressed by Bruce to Vibert when the brothers
met in front of the house. The lad attempted to answer the questions
lightly.
"We've only had a bit of an adventure," cried he. "I've been in a
dilemma, Emmie in a fright, the chaise in a ditch, and--"
"None of your foolery for me, sir! You have acted like a selfish idiot!"
exclaimed Bruce, who was in a passion more towering than any to which he
had given way before since the days of his boyhood. While Vibert had
been speaking, Bruce had been engaged in half lifting Emmie out of the
chaise; but he turned round as he was supporting her into the hall, and
uttered his angry exclamation, while his eyes flashed indignation and
scorn. Vibert bit his lip and cowered for an instant under his brother's
rebuke, conscious that it was not altogether unmerited.
"Susan, take care of my sister; let her change her dripping garments
directly," said Bruce to the maid, who was waiting in the hall, candle
in hand, to receive her young mistress. "You will see that your lady has
all that she wants," continued Bruce, who was ever considerate and
thoughtful. "I will send up something hot for her to drink."
"I'll mix a tumblerful at once. The wine's on the table--hot water and
nutmeg in the kitchen," cried a female voice that was strange to the ear
of Emmie. But the poor girl was too much exhausted by the events of the
evening to look much around her; she was stiff and trembling with cold,
and bruised by her fall, and faintly asked Susan to show her without
delay to her room.
Emmie was conducted by her maid up a broad staircase of oak, which ended
in a corridor, of which the length nearly corresponded with that of the
house. To the left were the apartments which had been assigned to the
use of Mr. Trevor and his sons. Susan, on reaching the corridor, turned
to the right, drawing back a large curtain of old-fashioned tapestry,
on which the life-size figures, wrought by hands long since cold in the
grave, were so faded that their outlines could scarcely be traced by the
light of the candle carried by the maid. This piece of stiff tapestry
had been hung across the corridor in order to keep off draughts from the
aged lady who had last inhabited Myst Court. Susan held back the curtain
till Miss Trevor had passed through the opening thus made, and then the
tapestry again shut out one portion of the corridor from the staircase
and the other side of the house.
A cheerful red light guided Emmie to a room on the right side of the
passage. The light came from a blazing wood-fire in the young lady's own
apartment, which she now entered, followed by Susan. Glad was the weary
girl to enjoy her home comforts again. Wet clothes were quickly
exchanged for dry ones; Emmie's cold hands were chafed into warmth; soft
slippers were placed on her feet; and while the fire shed its kindly
glow over her frame, the maiden revived, and began to survey with some
interest the features of her new abode.
The room in which Emmie found herself was of good size; the ceiling had
been freshly whitewashed; the walls were panelled with oak; the
furniture, with one exception, had all been taken from Summer Villa,
and had a familiar appearance which was pleasant to the eye of the
maiden, and made her feel grateful to Bruce for his thoughtful kindness.
It was Emmie's own chintz-covered sofa, which Susan had wheeled close to
the fire, on which the tired traveller reclined; the screen was one
specially valued as being the work of her mother; the guitar-case was
seen in a corner; the rows of prettily-bound books which filled the
shelves of the book-case looked as if they had made the journey to S----
without even having been moved from their accustomed places. Emmie was
fond of pictures, and had collected quite a little gallery of them at
Summer Villa. Bruce had taken care that his sister should not miss one
of them at Myst Court. Here numbers of pictures, great and
small,--portraits, prints, coloured sketches,--adorned the panelled
walls, relieved by the dark background of oak, from which they took all
appearance of gloom.
It has been said that, with one exception, the furniture of Miss
Trevor's room had all belonged to her former home; that exception was a
tall press of elaborately-carved oak, which rested against one of the
side-walls, between the fireplace and the window. Bruce had not ordered
the removal of this press for various reasons. It was heavy, and had
probably remained in its present place since the house had first been
built, as the style of the carving was antique, and the wood almost
black with age. Bruce had thought that a high press was a convenient
article of furniture for a young lady's room; and this one was so
handsome that, though it matched nothing in the apartment except the
panelled walls, its beauty as a work of art might atone for the
incongruity.
The gaze of Emmie rested longer on that dark press than on anything else
in the room. Perhaps she was trying to make out the meaning of the
figures carved in bold relief on the front; or, perhaps, she was
recalling one of the sensational stories which she had heard that night,
in which just such a press as this had played a mysterious part. Absurd
as it may appear, the young lady would have liked her apartment better
if the handsomest article of its furniture had not been left within it.
As Emmie was languidly gazing around, while Susan, on her knees by the
sofa, was chafing her young lady's feet, there was heard a tap at the
door. A woman then entered the apartment, bearing a steaming tumblerful
of wine and hot water. As this person will reappear in the story, I will
briefly describe her appearance.
She was dressed in mourning, and wore a black bonnet covered with crape
flowers and pendants of bugles. Her person was short and somewhat stout.
The round eyes, above which the sandy-coloured brows formed not arches
but an upward-turned angle, gave her a cat-like look, which resemblance
to the feline race was increased by the peculiar form of her lower jaw,
and the noiseless softness of her movements.
In an obsequious manner this personage not only gave the reviving
beverage to Miss Trevor, but volunteered her unasked aid to make the
young lady comfortable, beating up her pillow, stirring the fire, and
making inquiries about her health in a pitying tone, as if the fear of
Emmie's having caught any chill were to her a matter of tender concern.
Emmie guessed that the stranger must be the confidential attendant of
the late Mrs. Myers, and her conjecture was soon confirmed by the
woman's introducing herself as Mrs. Jael Jessel. The young lady did not
like to give Mrs. Jessel a hint to depart, though the tired girl would
have been glad to have been left to the quiet attentions of Susan. Jael
herself was in no haste to quit the apartment; and leaning against the
mantelpiece, began to converse in a voluble way.
"I could not help running over from my new home to see that everything
was arranged comfortable-like for the niece of my dear departed lady,"
began Mrs. Jessel. "I know the ins and outs of this place so well,--it
seems so natural to come about a house in which one has lived for
years."
"My brother has arranged everything comfortably," observed Miss Trevor.
"He came down before the rest of the family on purpose to do so."
"Ah, yes; I see. Master Bruce is a clever young gentleman, and he has
done all that he could _under the circumstances_," said Mrs. Jessel,
lowering her tone, as she uttered the last three words, to a mysterious
whisper. The black bugles in her bonnet trembled with the shake of her
head, as the late attendant went on,--"But if young Mr. Trevor had taken
the advice of one who knows what I know, he'd have had this room shut up
as closely as the one which is next to it,--I mean _the haunted
chamber_!" Jael Jessel's round eyes glanced stealthily from one side to
another, as if she were afraid of being overheard by some invisible
listener.
Susan saw a look of uneasiness pass over the face of her young mistress,
and could not help breaking silence.
"Hannah has told me this evening," she said, "that Mrs. Myers always
slept in this room, and that you, Mrs. Jessel, were on a couch beside
her. Since the room was chosen for her own by the mistress of the
house, it must have been considered the best one."
Mrs. Jessel did not condescend to address herself to Susan, but in
speaking to Emmie virtually gave a reply to the observation made by the
servant.
"My poor dear lady was perfectly deaf, she could not hear what _I_
heard; her eyes were dim, she could not see what _I_ saw,--or she would
not have rested a second night with only a wall between her and"--again
Jael glanced furtively around as she murmured--"that fearful chamber!"
"What did you see,--what did you hear?" asked Emmie, shuddering as she
recalled to mind the warnings given by old Harper.
Mrs. Jessel did not wait to be asked twice; she was ready enough to
impart to any credulous listener her tale of horrors. Susan was hardly
restrained, by her respect for her young mistress, from repeatedly
interrupting the stranger, who was doing her worst to fill the mind of a
nervous girl with superstitious fears at a time when bodily weariness
had prepared it for their reception. At last the indignant lady's-maid
could keep silence no longer.
"What you bore for years, Mrs. Jessel, and without being any the worse
for it, could have been nothing very dreadful," said Susan bluntly. "My
lady knows that a good Providence is as near her in this room as
anywhere else, and that they who keep a clear conscience need fear
neither goblin nor ghost!"
"Ah, well, we shall see, we shall see," observed Mrs. Jessel, drawing
her black shawl closer around her, as a preparation for departure. "I
don't believe there's a being who knows the place that would go through
the wood at night but myself; but, as you say, a clear conscience gives
courage. I wish you a good night, Miss Trevor," added Jael, courtesying
formally to the lady; "but, to my mind, you'd have a better chance of
one if you were to sleep in a different room."
Mrs. Jessel quitted the apartment; but she left behind her the painful
impression which her words were calculated to make on a mind such as
Emmie's,--a mind not yet sufficiently disciplined by self-control, or
influenced by faith, to bring reason and religion to bear upon
superstitious fears and nervous forebodings.
Emmie rose from the sofa, and took two or three turns up and down her
apartment; while Susan occupied herself in trimming the fire. The young
lady then stopped abruptly in her walk.
"Susan," she said, "I cannot sleep in this room!" It was humiliating to
utter such a confession, even to a domestic.
"Oh, Miss Emmie, if you would let me be beside you to-night--" began
Susan; but Emmie did not heed her attendant's suggestion.
"I could not close my eyes all the night, and I do so sadly need rest. I
will go to my brother and ask him to make arrangements for at once
changing my room."
"But Master Bruce will be so much disappointed," expostulated Susan. "He
has spared no pains to have everything just as you would like it to be."
"I cannot sleep here," repeated Emmie, who was trembling with nervous
excitement. "You will soon move my things--I care not whither--so that
it be to the other side of the house, as far as possible from the
bricked-up room."
Emmie hastily quitted the apartment, and drawing back the tapestry
curtain, passed on to the head of the staircase. The house appeared to
her dreary, empty, and cold, as she glided down the broad oaken steps,
almost afraid to look behind her. Emmie soon reached the wide hall, and,
guided by the light of the lamp in the drawing-room, of which the door
was open, she entered it, and found Bruce Trevor alone.
"I hope that you feel rested, Emmie," said her brother, advancing to
meet her. The clouded brow of Bruce still showed token of the angry
altercation which had passed between him and Vibert.
"I cannot rest in that room, dear," faltered Emmie, avoiding meeting her
brother's inquiring gaze.
"Not rest--why not?" asked Bruce in surprise.
Emmie coloured with shame as she stammered forth her reply. "I know that
you will think it so silly--it--it _is_ silly, I own, but--but I would
rather be in any other part of the house than next door to the haunted
chamber!"
"This is folly, Emmie, pure folly," expostulated Bruce. "You know that a
great part of the dwelling is at present uninhabitable, and cannot be
used for months. There are but two upper rooms fitted up comfortably;
the one is my father's--he chose it himself; the other is given to you.
Vibert and I can put up anywhere; our two little rooms, just beyond my
father's, have been left as I found them, save that the housemaid has
been induced to clear a few cobwebs away. I could not possibly allow
you, accustomed as you are to have comforts around you, to occupy one of
those bare cells at the coldest side of the house."
"I should prefer--oh, so greatly prefer one of those small rooms to my
present one!" exclaimed Emmie. "Where I now am expected to sleep, that
horrid tapestry curtain divides me from every other living being, and I
am so close to the bricked-up room, that if so much as a mouse stirred
in it, the sound would keep me awake. Dear Bruce, you who are so firm,
and brave, and wise, you cannot tell what I feel. If you love me, let us
exchange our rooms at once; you are not fearful and foolish like me."
Emmie was trembling; her hands were clasped, and tears rose into her
eyes.
"Have your own way!" exclaimed Bruce, with some impatience of manner. He
was annoyed at his sister's betraying such weakness, provoked at his own
arrangements being altered, and disappointed at having taken in vain a
good deal of trouble to please. Without uttering another word to Emmie,
the young man quitted the room to give needful orders, and did not
return till the clang of the hall gong summoned the Trevors to a late
dinner.
The meal was very unsociable and dull. The storm of anger between the
two brothers had not passed off, and Emmie was too much disheartened by
what had occurred to be able to act her usual part of peacemaker between
them. Bruce had not forgiven Vibert his foolish prank of driving off
with Emmie, which had been the primal cause of the accident which had
occurred; and Vibert, stung to the quick, had not forgiven Bruce his
bitter rebukes. During the whole of dinner-time neither of the young men
addressed a word to the other.
The awkward waiting of the country lad hired as a servant, which, at
another time, might have afforded some amusement to the young Trevors,
now only provoked their patience. Bruce disliked the clumping tread and
the creaking boots of Joe; Emmie started when the noisy clatter of
plates ended at last in a crash. Vibert, whose lively conversation
usually added so much to the cheerfulness of the family circle, scarcely
uttered a syllable, save to find fault with the cookery, which was
certainly none of the best. No one, under these circumstances, cared to
prolong unnecessarily the time spent at the dinner-table.
But matters were little improved when the party had retired to the
drawing-room, to spend there the remainder of the first evening passed
together by them in their new home. Neither reading aloud nor music,
neither playful converse nor game, lightened the heavy time which
intervened before the accustomed hour for family prayers. Emmie thought
that the large drawing-room of Myst Court was but dimly lighted by the
lamp which had shed such cheerful radiance in Summer Villa. The light
scarcely sufficed to enable her to trace the outlines of the
time-darkened family portraits which hung on the dingy walls. The
apartment was so spacious that one fire could hardly warm it, so that it
was chilly as well as dark. The small-sized furniture which had suited
Summer Villa would have looked mean in the handsome old saloon of Myst
Court; therefore faded carpet and more faded tapestry remained,
high-backed heavy chairs of carved oak, and narrow old-fashioned mirrors
whose frames the lapse of two centuries had rendered dingy and dull.
Emmie's only occupation on that first evening was examining these relics
of the past. She thought to herself that Myst Court was as gloomy as any
cloister could be, and sighed when she remembered that she must regard
it now as her permanent home.
At last Bruce, who had repeatedly glanced at his watch, saw that it was
time to call up the servants for prayers. They came in answer to the
summons of the bell which he rang--the three new members of the
household looking awkward and shy, being evidently unaccustomed to be
present at family worship. Bruce read the prayers, as was his custom
whenever his father was absent from home. But there was a coldness, on
that night, even in the family devotions, of which no one was more
sensible than was he who had to conduct them. It was not because the
room felt dreary and cold, nor because a death-bed scene had so lately
occurred in the house, that a chilling damp fell over even the
observance of a religious duty: Bruce, Vibert, and their sister had all
on that day been overcome by their several besetting sins, and those
sins were haunting them still. Pride, selfishness, and mistrust cast
deeper shadows on the pathway of life than those merely external
circumstances which we connect with ideas of gloom.
The spirit of Bruce was out of tune, and the noblest words of prayer
were, as it were, turned into discord by the imperfection of the human
instrument that gave them sound. The leaven of hypocrisy marred
petitions in which the heart had no share. Bruce had to ask for the
grace of meekness, whilst he was inwardly scorning a sister for weakness
and a brother for folly. Had he been struggling to subdue the pride of
his heart, such a prayer would have been a cry for help from above; but
Bruce was attempting no such struggle. He was not seeking to imitate One
who was meek and lowly; the sinner on his knees was preferring a prayer
for a grace which he did not care to possess. If a remembrance of his
uncle's warning against pride had passed through Bruce's mind on that
evening, it had roused anger rather than contrition. "What is Captain
Arrows, that he should probe the hearts of others; let him look to his
own!"
Thus the high-principled young man, who was so ready to act or to suffer
for what he deemed the cause of truth; he whose character was in human
sight almost without a blemish, was in a state in which, according to
Scripture, all his faith, knowledge, and zeal could profit him nothing.
Death, if death had met him now, would not have found Bruce with his
face turned heavenwards, though he had long since, with sincerity of
purpose, entered on the pilgrim's narrow path. He stood condemned by the
solemn words of inspiration, _If any man have not the spirit of Christ,
he is none of His_.
Emmie noticed with pain, after family prayers were over, that her
brothers went to their respective apartments without so much as bidding
each other good-night.