Joseph Sheridan le Fanu, Irish novelist, poet, and journalist,
was born at Dublin on August 28, 1814. His grandmother was a
sister of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, his father a dean.
Educated at Trinity College, Dublin, Le Fanu became a
contributor to the "Dublin University Magazine," afterwards
its editor, and finally its proprietor. He also owned and
edited a Dublin evening paper. Le Fanu first came into
prominence in 1837 as the author of the two brilliant Irish
ballads, "Phaudhrig Croohore" and "Shamus O'Brien." His
novels, which number more than a dozen, were first published
in most cases in his magazine. His power of producing a
feeling of weird mystery ranks him with Edgar Allan Poe. It
may be questioned whether any Irish novelist has written with
more power. The most representative of his stories is "Uncle
Silas, a Tale of Bartram-Haugh," which appeared in 1864. Le
Fanu died on February 7, 1873.
_I.--Death, the Intruder_
It was winter, and great gusts were rattling at the windows; a very dark
night, and a very cheerful fire, blazing in a genuine old fire-place in
a sombre old room. A girl of a little more than seventeen, slight and
rather tall, with a countenance rather sensitive and melancholy, was
sitting at the tea-table in a reverie. I was that girl.
The only other person in the room was my father, Mr. Ruthyn, of Knowl.
Rather late in life he had married, and his beautiful young wife had
died, leaving me to his care. This bereavement changed him--made him
more odd and taciturn than ever. There was also some disgrace about his
younger brother, my Uncle Silas, which he felt bitterly, and he had
given himself up to the secluded life of a student.
He was pacing the floor. I remember the start with which, not suspecting
he was close by me, I lifted my eyes, and saw him stand looking fixedly
on me from less than a yard away.
"She won't understand," he whispered, "no, she won't. _Will_ she? They
are easily frightened--ay, they are. I'd better do it another way, and
she'll not suspect--she'll not suppose. See, child?" he said, after a
second or two. "_Remember_ this key."
It was oddly shaped, and unlike others.
"It opens that." And he tapped sharply on the door of a cabinet. "You
will tell nobody what I have said, under pain of my displeasure."
"Oh, no, sir!"
"Good child! _Except_ under one contingency. That is, in case I should
be absent and Dr. Bryerly--you recollect the thin gentleman in
spectacles and a black wig, who spent three days here last
month?--should come and enquire for the key, you understand, in my
absence."
"But you will then be absent, sir," I said. "How am I to find the key?"
"True, child. I am glad you are so wise. _That_, you will find, I have
provided for. I have a very sure friend--a friend whom I once
misunderstood, but now appreciate."