The morning which broke after that night of storm was serene and
beautiful. The air had a crystal clearness, and as you looked away up
into the cloudless azure, it seemed as if the eye could penetrate to an
immeasurable distance. The act of breathing was a luxury. You drew in
draught after draught of the rich air, feeling, with every inhalation,
that a new vitality was absorbed through the lungs, giving to the heart
a nobler beat, and to the brain a fresh activity. With what a different
feeling did I take up my round of duties for the day! Yesterday I went
creeping forth like a reluctant school boy; to-day, with an uplifted
countenance and a willing step.
Having a few near calls to make, I did not order my horse, as both
health and inclination were better served by walking. Soon after
breakfast I started out, and was going in the direction of Judge
Bigelow's office, when, hearing a step behind me that had in it
a familiar sound, I turned to find myself face to face with Henry
Wallingford! He could hardly have failed to see the look of surprise in
my face.
“Good morning, Henry,” I said, giving him my hand, and trying to
speak with that cheerful interest in the young man which I had always
endeavored to show.
He smiled in his usual quiet way as he took my hand and said in return,
“Good-morning, Doctor.”
“You were not out, I believe, yesterday,” I remarked, as we moved on
together.
“I didn't feel very well,” he answered, in a voice pitched to a lower
key than usual; “and, the day being a stormy one, I shut myself up at
home.”
“Ah,” said I, in a cheerful way, “you lawyers have the advantage of us
knights of the pill box and lancet. Rain or shine, sick or well, we must
travel round our parish.”
“All have their share of the good as well as the evil things of life,”
he replied, a little soberly. “Doctors and lawyers included.”
I did not observe any marked change in the young man, except that he
was paler, and had a different look out of his eyes from any that I had
hitherto noticed; a more matured look, which not only indicated deeper
feeling, but gave signs of will and endurance. I carried that new
expression away with me as we parted at the door of his office, and
studied it as a new revelation of the man. It was very certain that
profounder depths had been opened in his nature--opened to his own
consciousness--than had ever seen the light before. That he was more
a man than he had ever been, and more worthy to be mated with a true
woman. Up to this time I had thought of him more as a boy than as a man,
for the years had glided by so quietly that bore him onward with the
rest, that he had not arisen in my thought to the full mental stature
which the word manhood includes.
“Ah,” said I, as I walked on, “what a mistake in Delia Floyd! She is
just as capable of high development as a woman as he is as a man.
How admirably would they have mated. In him, self-reliance, reason,
judgment, and deep feeling would have found in her all the qualities
they seek--taste, perception, tenderness and love. They would have grown
upwards into higher ideas of life, not downwards into sensualism and
mere worldliness, like the many. Alas! This mistake on her part may
ruin them both; for a man of deep, reserved feelings, who suffers a
disappointment in love, is often warped in his appreciation of the sex,
and grows one-sided in his character as he advances through the cycles
of life.”
I had parted from Henry only a few minutes when I met his rival, Ralph
Dewey. Let me describe him. In person he was taller than Wallingford,
and had the easy, confident manner of one who had seen the world, as we
say. His face was called handsome; but it was not a manly face--manly in
that best sense which includes character and thought. The chin and mouth
were feeble, and the forehead narrow, throwing the small orbs close
together. But he had a fresh complexion, dark, sprightly eyes, and
a winning smile. His voice was not very good, having in it a kind of
unpleasant rattle; but he managed it rather skillfully in conversation,
and you soon, ceased to notice the peculiarity.
Ralph lived in New York, where he had recently been advanced to the
position of fourth partner in a dry goods jobbing house, with a small
percentage on the net profits. Judging from the air with which he spoke
of his firm's operations, and his relation to the business, you might
have inferred that he was senior instead of junior partner, and that the
whole weight of the concern rested on his shoulders.
Judge Bigelow, a solid man, and from professional habit skilled in
reading character, was, singularly enough, quite carried away with his
smart nephew, and really believed his report of himself. Prospectively,
he saw him a merchant prince, surrounded by palatial splendors.
Our acquaintance was as yet but slight, so we only nodded in passing.
As we were in the neighborhood of Squire Floyd's pleasant cottage, I was
naturally curious, under the circumstances, to see whether the young
man was going to make a visit at so early an hour; and I managed to keep
long enough in sight to have this matter determined. Ralph called at the
Squire's, and I saw him admitted. So I shook my head disapprovingly, and
kept on my way.
Not until late in the afternoon did I find occasion to go into that part
of the town where the old Allen house was located, though the image
of its gleaming north-west windows was frequently in my thought. The
surprise occasioned by that incident was in no way lessened on seeing a
carriage drive in through the gateway, and two ladies alight therefrom
and enter the house. Both were in mourning. I did not see their faces;
but, judging from the dress and figure of each, it was evident that one
was past the meridian of life, and the other young. Still more to my
surprise, the carriage was not built after our New England fashion, but
looked heavy, and of a somewhat ancient date. It was large and high,
with a single seat for the driver perched away up in the air, and a
footman's stand and hangings behind. There was, moreover, a footman in
attendance, who sprung to his place after the ladies had alighted, and
rode off to the stables.
“Am I dreaming?” said I to myself, as I kept on my way, after
witnessing this new incident in the series of strange events that were
half-bewildering me. But it was in vain that I rubbed my eyes; I could
not wake up to a different reality.
It was late when I got home from my round of calls, and found tea
awaiting my arrival.
“Any one been here?” I asked--my usual question.
“No one.' The answer pleased me for I had many things on my mind, and
I wished to have a good long evening with my wife. Baby Mary and Louis
were asleep: but we had the sweet, gentle face of Agnes, our first born,
to brighten the meal-time. After she was in dream-land, guarded by
the loving angels who watch with children in sleep, and Constance
was through with her household cares for the evening, I came into the
sitting-room from my office, and taking the large rocking-chair, leaned
my head back, mind and body enjoying a sense of rest and comfort.
“You are not the only one,” said my wife, looking up from the basket of
work through which she had been searching for some article, “who noticed
lights in the Allen House last evening.”
“Who else saw them?” I asked.
“Mrs. Dean says she heard two or three people say that the house was lit
up all over--a perfect illumination.”
“Stories lose nothing in being re-told. The illumination was confined to
the room in which Captain Allen died. I am witness to that. But I have
something more for your ears. This afternoon, as I rode past, I saw an
old-fashioned English coach, with a liveried driver and footman, turn
into the gate. From this two ladies alighted and went into the house;
when the coach was driven to the stables. Now, what do you think of
that?”
“We are to have a romance enacted in our very midst, it would seem,”
replied my wife, in her unimpassioned way. “Other eyes have seen this
also, and the strange fact is buzzing through the town. I was only
waiting until we were alone to tell you that these two ladies whom you
saw, arrived at the Allen House in their carriage near about daylight,
on the day before yesterday. But no one knows who they are, or from
whence they came. It is said that they made themselves as completely at
home as if they were in their own house; selected the north-west chamber
as their sleeping apartment; and ordered the old servants about with an
air of authority that subdued them to obedience.”
“But what of Mrs. Allen?” I asked, in astonishment at all this.
“The stories about her reception of the strangers do not agree.
According to one, the old lady was all resistance and indignation at
this intrusion; according to another, she gave way, passively, as if she
were no longer sole mistress of the house.”
Constance ceased speaking, for there came the usual interruption to our
evening _tete-a-tete_--the ringing of my office bell.
“You are wanted up at the Allen House, Doctor, said my boy, coming in
from the office a few moments afterwards.
“Who is sick?” I asked.
“The old lady.”
“Any thing serious?”
“I don't know, sir. But I should think there was from the way old Aunty
looked. She says, come up as quickly as you can.”
“Is she in the office?”
“No, sir. She just said that, and then went out in a hurry.”
“The plot thickens,” said I, looking at Constance.
“Poor old lady!” There was a shade of pity in her tones.
“You have not seen her for many years?”
“No.”
“Poor old witch of Endor! were better said.”
“Oh!” answered my wife, smiling, “you know that the painter's idea of
this celebrated individual has been reversed by some, who affirm that
she was young and handsome instead of old and ugly like modern witches.”
“I don't know how that may be, but if you could see Mrs. Allen, you
would say that 'hag' were a better term for her than woman. If the good
grow beautiful as they grow old, the loving spirit shining like a lamp
through the wasted and failing walls of flesh, so do the evil grow ugly
and repulsive. Ah, Constance, the lesson is for all of us. If we live
true lives, our countenances will grow radiant from within, as we
advance in years; if selfish, worldly, discontented lives, they will
grow cold, hard, and repulsive.”
I drew on my boots and coat, and started on my visit to the Allen House.
The night was in perfect contrast with the previous one. There was no
moon, but every star shone with its highest brilliancy, while the galaxy
threw its white scarf gracefully across the sky, veiling millions of
suns in their own excessive brightness. I paused several times in my
walk, as broader expanses opened between the great elms that gave to
our town a sylvan beauty, and repeated, with a rapt feeling of awe and
admiration, the opening stanza of a familiar hymn:--
“The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And
spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim.”
How the beauty and grandeur of nature move the heart, as if it
recognized something of its own in every changing aspect. The sun and
moon and stars--the grand old mountains lifting themselves upwards
into serene heights--the limitless expanse of ocean, girdling the whole
earth--rivers, valleys, and plains--trees, flowers, the infinite forms
of life--to all the soul gives some response, as if they were akin.
I half forgot my interest in old Mrs. Allen, as my heart beat responsive
to the pulsings of nature, and my thoughts flew upwards and away as on
the wings of eagles. But my faithful feet had borne me steadily onwards,
and I was at the gate opening to the grounds of the Allen House, before
I was conscious of having passed over half the distance that lay
between that and my home. I looked up, and saw a light in the north-west
chamber, but the curtains were down.
On entering the house, I was shown by the servant who admitted me, into
the small office or reception room opening from the hall. I had scarcely
seated myself, when a tall woman, dressed in black, came in, and said,
with a graceful, but rather stately manner--
“The Doctor, I believe?”
How familiar the voice sounded! And yet I did not recognise it as
the voice of any one whom I had known, but rather as a voice heard in
dreams. Nor was the calm, dignified countenance on which my eyes rested,
strange in every lineament. The lady was, to all appearance, somewhere
in the neighborhood of sixty, and, for an elderly lady, handsome. I
thought of my remark to Constance about the beauty and deformity of age,
and said to myself, “Here is one who has not lived in vain.”
I arose as she spoke, and answered in the affirmative.
“You have come too late,” she said, with a touch of feeling in her
voice.
“Not dead?” I ejaculated.
“Yes, dead. Will you walk up stairs and see her?”
I followed in silence, ascending to the chamber which had been occupied
by Mrs. Allen since the old Captain's death. It was true as she had
said; a ghastly corpse was before me. I use the word ghastly, for it
fully expresses the ugliness of that lifeless face, withered, marred,
almost shorn of every true aspect of humanity. I laid my hand upon
her--the skin was cold. I felt for her pulse, but there was no sign of
motion in the arteries.
“It is over,” I said, lifting myself from my brief examination, “and
may God have mercy upon her soul!” The last part of the sentence was
involuntary.
“Amen!”
I felt that this response was no idle ejaculation.
“How was she affected?” I asked. “Has she been sick for any time? Or did
life go out suddenly?”
“It went out suddenly,” replied the lady--“as suddenly as a lamp in the
wind.”
“Was she excited from any cause?”
“She has been in an excited state ever since our arrival, although every
thing that lay in our power has been done to quiet her mind and give it
confidence and repose.”
She spoke calmly, as one, who held a controlling position there, and of
right. I looked into her serene face, almost classic in its outlines,
with an expression of blended inquiry and surprise, that it was evident
did not escape her observation, although she offered no explanation in
regard to herself.
I turned again to the corpse, and examined it with some care. There was
nothing in its appearance that gave me any clue to the cause which had
produced this sudden extinguishment of life.
“In what way was she excited?” I asked, looking at the stranger as I
stepped back from the couch on which the dead body was lying.
She returned my steady gaze, without answering, for some moments.
Either my tone or manner affected her unpleasantly, for I saw her brows
contract slightly, her full lips close upon themselves, and her eyes
acquire an intenser look.
“You have been her physician, I believe?” There was no sign of feeling
in the steady voice which made the inquiry.
“Yes.”
“_I_ need not, in that case, describe to you her unhappy state of
mind. _I_ need not tell you that an evil will had the mastery over her
understanding, and that, in the fierce struggle of evil passion with
evil passion, mind and body had lost their right adjustment.”
“I know all this,” said I. “Still, madam, in view of my professional
duty, I must repeat my question, and urge upon you the propriety of an
undisguised answer. In what way was she excited? and what was the cause
leading to an excitement which has ended thus fatally?”
“I am not in the habit of putting on disguises,” she answered, with a
quiet dignity that really looked beautiful.
“I pray you, madam, not to misunderstand me,” said I. “As a physician,
I must report the cause of all deaths in the range of my practice. If I
were not to do so in this case, a permit for burial would not be issued
until a regular inquest was held by the Coroner.”
“Ah, I see,” she replied, yet with an air of indecision. “You are
perfectly right, Doctor, and we must answer to your satisfaction. But
let us retire from this chamber.”
She led the way down stairs. As we passed the memorable north-west room,
she pushed the door open, and said,
“Blanche, dear, I wish to see you. Come down to the parlor.”
I heard faintly the answer, in a very musical voice. We had scarcely
entered the parlor, when the lady said--
“My daughter, Doctor.”
A vision of beauty and innocence met my gaze. A young girl, not over
seventeen, tall like her mother, very fair, with a face just subdued
into something of womanly seriousness, stood in the door, as I turned at
mention of her presence.
A single lamp gave its feeble light to the room, only half subduing the
shadows that went creeping into corners and recesses. Something of a
weird aspect was on every thing; and I could not but gaze at the
two strangers in that strange place to them, under such peculiar
circumstances, and wonder to see them so calm, dignified, and
self-possessed. We sat down by the table on which the lamp was standing,
the elder of the two opposite, and the younger a little turned away, so
that her features were nearly concealed.
“Blanche,” said the former, “the Doctor wishes to know the particular
incidents connected with the death of Mrs. Allen.”
I thought there was an uneasy movement on the part of the girl. She did
not reply. There was a pause.
“The facts are simply these, Doctor,” and the mother looked me steadily
in the face, which stood out clear, as the lamp shone full on every
feature. “From the moment of our arrival, Mrs. Allen has seemed like one
possessed of an evil Spirit. How she conducted herself before, is
known to me only as reported by the servants. From the little they have
communicated, I infer that for some time past she has not been ii her
right mind. How is it? You must know as to her sanity or insanity.”
“She has not, in my opinion, been a truly sane woman for years,” was my
answer.
“As I just said,” she continued, “she has seemed like one possessed of
an evil spirit. In no way could we soften or conciliate her. Her conduct
resembled more nearly that of some fierce wild beast whose den was
invaded, than that of a human being. She would hold no friendly
intercourse with us, and if we met at any time, or in any part of the
house, she would fix her keen black eyes upon us, with an expression
that sent a shudder to the heart. My daughter scarcely dared venture
from her room. She so dreaded to meet her. Twice, as she flew past me,
in her restless wanderings over the house, muttering to herself, I heard
her say, as she struck her clenched hand in the air, 'I can do it again,
and I will!'”
A cold chill crept over me, for I remembered the death of Captain Allen;
and this was like a confirmation of what I had feared as to foul play.
“There is no trusting one wholly or even partially insane. So we were
always on our guard. Not once, but many times during the few nights
we have spent here, have we heard the door of our chamber tried after
midnight. It was plain to us that it was not safe to live in this way,
and so we had come to the reluctant conclusion that personal restraint
must be secured. The question as to how this could best be done we had
not yet decided, when death unraveled the difficulty.”
The speaker ceased at this part of her narrative, and lifting from
the table a small bell, rung it. A maid entered. I had never seen her
before.
“Tell Jackson that I want him.”
The girl curtsied respectfully, and withdrew.
Nothing more was said, until a man, whom I recognized at a glance to be
a regularly trained English servant, presented himself.
“Jackson,” said the lady, “I wish you to relate exactly, what occurred
just previously to, and at the time of Mrs. Allen's death.”
The man looked bewildered for a moment or two; but soon recovering
himself, answered without hesitation.
“Hit 'appened just in this way, ma'am. I was a comin' hup stairs, when
I met the hold lady a tearin' down like a mad cat. She looked kind o'
awful. I never saw anybody out of an 'ospital look that way in all my
life before. She 'eld an hiron poker in 'er 'and. As my young lady--”
and he looked towards Blanche--“was in the 'all, I didn't think it safe
for 'er if I let the hold woman go down. So I just stood in 'er way, and
put my harms across the stairs so”--stretching his arms out. “My! but
'ow she did fire up! She stood almost a minute, and then sprung on me as
if she was a tiger. But I was the strongest, and 'olding 'er in my harms
like as I would a mad kitten, I carried 'er hup to 'er room, put 'er
hin, and shut the door. My young lady saw it hall, for she followed
right hup after me.”
He looked towards Blanche.
“Just as it occurred,” she said, in a low, sweet fluttering voice.
“I heard the strife,” said her mother, “and ran up to see what was the
matter. I reached the door of Mrs. Allen's room just as Jackson thrust
her in. He did not use any more violence than was needed in a case of
such sudden emergency. He is strong, and held her so tightly that she
could not even struggle. One wild, fierce scream rent the air, as
he shut the door, and then all was silent as death. I went in to her
instantly. She was on the floor in a convulsion. You were sent for
immediately; but it was too late for human intervention. Jackson, you
can go.”
The man bowed with an air of deferential respect, and retired.
“Now, sir,” she added, turning to me, “you have the facts as they
occurred. I have no wish to give them publicity, for they are family
matters, and these are always in their degree, sacred. If, however, you
think it your duty as a physician, to make the matter one of official
investigation, I can have nothing to say.”
I thought for some minutes before answering. The story, as related by
the servant, I fully credited.
“Let me see the body again,” said I, coming at length to a conclusion.
We went up stairs, all three together; but only two of us entered the
chamber of death. As we neared the door, Blanche caught at her mother's
arm, and I heard her say, in a whisper:
“Dear mamma! spare me that sight again. It is too horrible!”
“The presence of your daughter is not needed,” said I, interposing. “Let
her retire to her own room.”
“Thank you!” There was a grateful expression in her voice, as she
uttered these brief words, and then went back, while we passed in to the
apartment where the dead woman was still lying.
As I looked upon her face again, it seemed even more ghastly than
before; and I could hardly repress a shudder. My companion held a
lamp; while I made as careful an examination as was possible under the
circumstances. I did not expect to find any marks of violence, though
I searched for them about her head, neck, and chest. But, under the
circumstances, I felt it to be my duty to know, from actual search, that
no such signs existed. In every aspect presented by the corpse, there
was a corroboration of the story related by the serving man. It was
plain, that in a fit of half insane, uncontrollable passion, the nice
adjustment of physical forces had been lost.
“I am fully satisfied, madam,” said I, at length, turning from my
unpleasant task.
She let her calm, earnest eyes dwell on mine for a few moments, and then
answered, with a softened tone, in which there was just a perceptible
thrill of feeling--
“If I were a believer in omens, I should take this sad incident,
following so quickly on our removal to a new country and a new home, as
foreshadowing evil to me or mine. But I do not so read external events.”
“Between a life like hers, and a life like yours, madam, there can be
no possible nearness; nor any relation between your spiritual affinities
and hers. The antipodes are not farther apart,” said I, in return;
“therefore, nothing that has befallen her can be ominous as to you.”
“I trust not,” she gravely answered, as we left the room together.
To my inquiry if I could serve her in any way, in the present matter,
she simply requested me to send a respectable undertaker, who would
perform what was fitting in the last rites due to the dead.
I promised, and retired.