THE GHOST REAPPEARS
So soon as he was alone the real horror of his situation overpowered
William Maubray.
“They won’t say so, but the rector and Doctor Drake, from totally
different points—with minds constituted as dissimilarly as minds can
be—have both come to the conclusion that these persecutions are
supernatural. No jury on their oaths, having all the facts before them,
could find otherwise. I see and know that they are unaccountable, except
in this way; and go where I will, I am dogged by the same cruel
influence. Five years’ bondage! Where shall I be at the end of that
time? What will have become of Violet Darkwell? I must abandon all my
hopes—honestly abandon them—it is the price I must pay for the removal
of this curse, which otherwise will extend itself, if there be meaning
in the threat, to the unconscious object of my hopes.”
So raved William, “pacing up and walking down” in his despair.
That night he had his old nightmare again, and was visited by what poor
Miss Perfect used to call “the spirit key.” In a horror he awaked, and
found his wrist grasped by a cold hand precisely as before. This time
the gripe was maintained for a longer time than usual, and William
traced the hand to its real owner of flesh and blood. Thus was there a
gleam of light; but it served him no further.
In the evening, still agitated by his discovery, he visited Doctor
Drake, who listened first with surprise, and then with downcast
thoughtful look, and a grim smile.
“I’ll think it over,” said he. “I must be off now,” and he poked his
finger toward the window, through which were visible his cob and gig;
“they don’t leave me much time; but I’ll manage to be with you by nine
this evening, and—and—I don’t care if we try that old Tom,” and the
doctor winked comfortably at William. “We’ll be more to ourselves, you
know; our rector’s all for tea. Good-bye, and I’ll turn it over
carefully in my mind. I have an idea, but—but I’ll consider it—and—nine
o’clock to-night, mind.”
Thus said the doctor as he climbed into his gig, and nodding over his
shoulder to William Maubray, away he drove.
Like a restless soul as he was, William toiled hither and thither
through the little town of Saxton with his hands in his pockets, and his
looks on the pavement, more like an unfortunate gentleman taking his
walk in a prison yard, than the proprietor of Gilroyd pacing the High
Street of Saxton, where he ranked second only to Trevor, Prince of
Revington.
Repose is pleasant, but that of Saxton is sometimes too much for the
most contemplative man who is even half awake. There are in the town
eleven shops, small and great, and you may often look down the length of
the High Street, for ten minutes at a time, and see nothing in motion
but the motes in the sunshine.
William walked back to Gilroyd, and paid himself as it were a visit
there, and was vexed to find he had missed the rector, who had called
only half an hour before. The loss of this little diversion was serious.
The day dragged heavily. Reader, if you repine at the supposed shortness
of the allotted measure of your days, reside at Saxton for a year or
two, and your discontent will be healed.
Even Doctor Drake was half an hour late for his appointment, and William
was very glad to see that pillar of Saxton society at last.
When they had made themselves comfortable by the fire, and the physician
had adjusted his grog, and William had got his cup of tea by him, after
a little silence the doctor began to ask him all sorts of questions
about his health and sensations.
“I don’t think,” said William, “except perhaps my spirits a little, and
my appetite perhaps, this thing has affected my health at all.”
“No matter, answer my questions,” said the doctor, who after a while
fell into a mysterious silence, and seemed amused, and after a little
time further, he expressed a great wish to remain and watch as on the
former occasion.
“But,” said William, very glad of the offer, “the rector is not coming,
and you would wish some one with you.”
“No—no one—I don’t mind,” said the doctor, smiling with half-closed eyes
into his tumbler. “Or, _yes_, we’ll have your man up when you go to bed;
that will do.”
“I missed Dr. Wagget to-day; he called here,” said William.
“Not after nightfall, though,” said the physician, with a screw of his
lips and eyebrows. “I saw him early to-day; he’s awfully frightened, and
spoke like a sermon about it.”
William looked sorely disquieted at this confirmation of his estimate of
Dr. Wagget’s opinion of the case. He and Drake exchanged a solemn
glance, and the doctor lowering his eyes sipped some grog, and bursting
into a mysterious fit of laughter which rather frightened William, who
helplessly stood at the tea-table, and gazed on the spectacle.
Everything began to puzzle him now; the doctor was like an awful
grotesque in a dream. How could a good-natured and shrewd man laugh
thus, amid suffering and horrors such as he had witnessed?
“I beg your pardon, but I could not help laughing when I thought of the
rector’s long face to-day, and his long words, by Jove,” and in a minute
or two more, the doctor exploded suddenly again, with the old apology on
recovering his gravity, and William’s bewilderment increased.
The doctor insisted on William’s adhering strictly to his tea and his
hours, precisely as if he were alone.
And Tom came in, and the doctor, who was in nowise ceremonious, made him
sit down by the fire, and furnished him with a glass of the grog he so
recommended.
He then delivered to Tom a brief popular lecture on the subject he
desired him to comprehend, and, having thus charged him, silence
reigned; and then the doctor, after an interval, smoked half a dozen
pipes, and by the time the last was out it was past three o’clock.
The doctor had left the study door open. The moon was shining through
the great hall window.
“Put off your shoes, make no noise, and follow me close, with the
candle, wherever I go. Don’t _stir_ till I do,” whispered the doctor,
repeating the directions he had already given—“Hish!”
The doctor had seen a tall, white figure in the hall—in the shade beyond
the window.
“Hish!” said the doctor again, seizing Tom by the arm, and pointing,
with a mysterious nod or two, towards the figure.
“Lawk!—Oh! oh!—_Law_ bless us!” murmured the man; and the doctor with
another “Hish,” pushed him gently backward a little.
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