"I cannot bear to think of him!" I ejaculated aloud.
"Think of whom?" asked Madeline, turning quickly toward me.
Here was an awkward situation. The long speech of the ghost, to which
Madeline paid no attention, but which I heard with perfect
distinctness, had made me forget myself.
It was necessary to explain quickly. Of course, it would not do to
admit that it was of her dear uncle that I was speaking; and so I
mentioned hastily the first name I thought of.
"Mr. Vilars," I said.
This statement was entirely correct, for I never could bear to think
of Mr. Vilars, who was a gentleman who had, at various times, paid
much attention to Madeline.
"It is wrong for you to speak in that way of Mr. Vilars," she said.
"He is a remarkably well-educated and sensible young man, and has very
pleasant manners. He expects to be elected to the legislature this
fall, and I should not be surprised if he made his mark. He will do
well in a legislative body, for whenever Mr. Vilars has anything to
say he knows just how and when to say it."
This was spoken very quietly, and without any show of resentment,
which was all very natural, for if Madeline thought at all favorably
of me she could not feel displeased that I should have disagreeable
emotions in regard to a possible rival. The concluding words contained
a hint which I was not slow to understand. I felt very sure that if
Mr. Vilars were in my present position he would speak quickly enough.
"I know it is wrong to have such ideas about a person," I said, "but I
cannot help it."
The lady did not chide me, and after this she seemed even in a softer
mood. As for me, I felt considerably annoyed, for I had not wished to
admit that any thought of Mr. Vilars had ever occupied my mind.
"You should not speak aloud that way," said the ghost, "or you may get
yourself into trouble. I want to see everything go well with you,
because then you may be disposed to help me, especially if I should
chance to be of any assistance to you, which I hope I shall be."
I longed to tell him that there was no way in which he could help me
so much as by taking his instant departure. To make love to a young
lady with a ghost sitting on the railing near by, and that ghost the
apparition of a much-dreaded uncle, the very idea of whom in such a
position and at such a time made me tremble, was a difficult, if not
an impossible, thing to do; but I forbore to speak, although I may
have looked my mind.
"I suppose," continued the ghost, "that you have not heard anything
that might be of advantage to me. Of course, I am very anxious to
hear, but if you have anything to tell me, I can wait until you are
alone. I will come to you to-night in your room, or I will stay here
until the lady goes away."
"You need not wait here," I said; "I have nothing at all to say to
you."
Madeline sprang to her feet, her face flushed and her eyes ablaze.
"Wait here!" she cried. "What do you suppose I am waiting for? Nothing
to say to me indeed!--I should think so! What should you have to say
to me?"
"Madeline," I exclaimed, stepping toward her, "let me explain."
But she had gone.
Here was the end of the world for me! I turned fiercely to the ghost.
"Wretched existence!" I cried. "You have ruined everything. You have
blackened my whole life. Had it not been for you----"
But here my voice faltered. I could say no more.
"You wrong me," said the ghost. "I have not injured you. I have tried
only to encourage and assist you, and it is your own folly that has
done this mischief. But do not despair. Such mistakes as these can be
explained. Keep up a brave heart. Good-by."
And he vanished from the railing like a bursting soap-bubble.
I went gloomily to bed, but I saw no apparitions that night except
those of despair and misery which my wretched thoughts called up. The
words I had uttered had sounded to Madeline like the basest insult. Of
course, there was only one interpretation she could put upon them.
As to explaining my ejaculations, that was impossible. I thought the
matter over and over again as I lay awake that night, and I determined
that I would never tell Madeline the facts of the case. It would be
better for me to suffer all my life than for her to know that the
ghost of her uncle haunted the house. Mr. Hinckman was away, and if
she knew of his ghost she could not be made to believe that he was not
dead. She might not survive the shock! No, my heart could bleed, but I
would never tell her.
The next day was fine, neither too cool nor too warm; the breezes were
gentle, and nature smiled. But there were no walks or rides with
Madeline. She seemed to be much engaged during the day, and I saw but
little of her. When we met at meals she was polite, but very quiet and
reserved. She had evidently determined on a course of conduct, and had
resolved to assume that, although I had been very rude to her, she did
not understand the import of my words. It would be quite proper, of
course, for her not to know what I meant by my expressions of the
night before.
I was downcast and wretched, and said but little, and the only bright
streak across the black horizon of my woe was the fact that she did
not appear to be happy, although she affected an air of unconcern. The
moonlit porch was deserted that evening, but wandering about the house
I found Madeline in the library alone. She was reading, but I went in
and sat down near her. I felt that, although I could not do so fully,
I must in a measure explain my conduct of the night before. She
listened quietly to a somewhat labored apology I made for the words I
had used.
"I have not the slightest idea what you meant," she said, "but you
were very rude."
I earnestly disclaimed any intention of rudeness, and assured her,
with a warmth of speech that must have made some impression upon her,
that rudeness to her would be an action impossible to me. I said a
great deal upon the subject, and implored her to believe that if it
were not for a certain obstacle I could speak to her so plainly that
she would understand everything.
She was silent for a time, and then she said, rather more kindly, I
thought, than she had spoken before:
"Is that obstacle in any way connected with my uncle?"
"Yes," I answered, after a little hesitation, "it is, in a measure,
connected with him."
She made no answer to this, and sat looking at her book, but not
reading. From the expression of her face, I thought she was somewhat
softened toward me. She knew her uncle as well as I did, and she may
have been thinking that, if he were the obstacle that prevented my
speaking (and there were many ways in which he might be that
obstacle), my position would be such a hard one that it would excuse
some wildness of speech and eccentricity of manner. I saw, too, that
the warmth of my partial explanations had had some effect on her, and
I began to believe that it might be a good thing for me to speak my
mind without delay. No matter how she should receive my proposition,
my relations with her could not be worse than they had been the
previous night and day, and there was something in her face which
encouraged me to hope that she might forget my foolish exclamations
of the evening before if I began to tell her my tale of love.
I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and as I did so the ghost
burst into the room from the doorway behind her. I say burst, although
no door flew open and he made no noise. He was wildly excited, and
waved his arms above his head. The moment I saw him, my heart fell
within me. With the entrance of that impertinent apparition, every
hope fled from me. I could not speak while he was in the room.
I must have turned pale, and I gazed steadfastly at the ghost, almost
without seeing Madeline, who sat between us.
"Do you know," he cried, "that John Hinckman is coming up the hill? He
will be here in fifteen minutes, and if you are doing anything in the
way of love-making, you had better hurry it up. But this is not what I
came to tell you. I have glorious news! At last I am transferred! Not
forty minutes ago a Russian nobleman was murdered by the Nihilists.
Nobody ever thought of him in connection with an immediate ghostship.
My friends instantly applied for the situation for me, and obtained my
transfer. I am off before that horrid Hinckman comes up the hill. The
moment I reach my new position, I shall put off this hated semblance.
Good-by. You can't imagine how glad I am to be, at last, the real
ghost of somebody."
"Oh!" I cried, rising to my feet and stretching out my arms in utter
wretchedness, "I would to heaven you were mine!"
"I _am_ yours," said Madeline, raising to me her tearful eyes.