UNDER THE MISTLETOE
Unusually gay and charming the three young friends looked, dressed
alike in fleecy white with holly wreaths in their hair, as they
slowly descended the wide oaken stairway arm in arm. A footman was
lighting the hall lamps, for the winter dusk gathered early, and the
girls were merrily chatting about the evening's festivity when
suddenly a loud, long shriek echoed through the hall. A heavy glass
shade fell from the man's hand with a crash, and the young ladies
clung to one another aghast, for mortal terror was in the cry, and a
dead silence followed it.
“What was it, John?” demanded Octavia, very pale, but steady in a
moment.
“I'll go and see, miss.” And the man hurried away.
“Where did the dreadful scream come from?” asked Rose, collecting her
wits as rapidly as possible.
“Above us somewhere. Oh, let us go down among people; I am frightened to
death,” whispered Blanche, trembling and faint.
Hurrying into the parlor, they found only Annon and the major, both
looking startled, and both staring out of the windows.
“Did you hear it? What could it be? Don't go and leave us!” cried the
girls in a breath, as they rushed in.
The gentlemen had heard, couldn't explain the cry, and were quite ready
to protect the pretty creatures who clustered about them like frightened
fawns. John speedily appeared, looking rather wild, and as eager to tell
his tale as they to listen.
“It's Patty, one of the maids, miss, in a fit. She went up to the north
gallery to see that the fires was right, for it takes a power of wood to
warm the gallery even enough for dancing, as you know, miss. Well, it
was dark, for the fires was low and her candle went out as she whisked
open the door, being flurried, as the maids always is when they go in
there. Halfway down the gallery she says she heard a rustling, and
stopped. She's the pluckiest of 'em all, and she called out, 'I see
you!' thinking it was some of us trying to fright her. Nothing answered,
and she went on a bit, when suddenly the fire flared up one flash, and
there right before her was the ghost.”
“Don't be foolish, John. Tell us what it was,” said Octavia sharply,
though her face whitened and her heart sank as the last word passed the
man's lips.
“It was a tall, black figger, miss, with a dead-white face and a black
hood. She see it plain, and turned to go away, but she hadn't gone a
dozen steps when there it was again before her, the same tall, dark
thing with the dead-white face looking out from the black hood. It
lifted its arm as if to hold her, but she gave a spring and dreadful
screech, and ran to Mrs. Benson's room, where she dropped in a fit.”
“How absurd to be frightened by the shadows of the figures in armor that
stand along the gallery!” said Rose, boldly enough, though she would
have declined entering the gallery without a light.
“Nay, I don't wonder, it's a ghostly place at night. How is the
poor thing?” asked Blanche, still hanging on the major's arm in her
best attitude.
“If Mamma knows nothing of it, tell Mrs. Benson to keep it from her,
please. She is not well, and such things annoy her very much,” said
Octavia, adding as the man turned away, “Did anyone look in the gallery
after Patty told her tale?”
“No, miss. I'll go and do it myself; I'm not afraid of man, ghost, or
devil, saving your presence, ladies,” replied John.
“Where is Sir Jasper?” suddenly asked the major.
“Here I am. What a deuce of a noise someone has been making. It
disturbed a capital dream. Why, Tavie, what is it?” And Sir Jasper came
out of the library with a sleepy face and tumbled hair.
They told him the story, whereat he laughed heartily, and said the maids
were a foolish set to be scared by a shadow. While he still laughed and
joked, Mrs. Snowdon entered, looking alarmed, and anxious to know the
cause of the confusion.
“How interesting! I never knew you kept a ghost. Tell me all about it,
Sir Jasper, and soothe our nerves by satisfying our curiosity,” she said
in her half-persuasive, half-commanding way, as she seated herself on
Lady Treherne's sacred sofa.
“There's not much to tell, except that this place used to be an abbey,
in fact as well as in name. An ancestor founded it, and for years the
monks led a jolly life here, as one may see, for the cellar is twice as
large as the chapel, and much better preserved. But another ancestor, a
gay and gallant baron, took a fancy to the site for his castle, and, in
spite of prayers, anathemas, and excommunication, he turned the poor
fellows out, pulled down the abbey, and built this fine old place. Abbot
Boniface, as he left his abbey, uttered a heavy curse on all who should
live here, and vowed to haunt us till the last Treherne vanished from
the face of the earth. With this amiable threat the old party left Baron
Roland to his doom, and died as soon as he could in order to begin his
cheerful mission.”
“Did he haunt the place?” asked Blanche eagerly.
“Yes, most faithfully from that time to this. Some say many of the monks
still glide about the older parts of the abbey, for Roland spared the
chapel and the north gallery which joined it to the modern building.
Poor fellows, they are welcome, and once a year they shall have a chance
to warm their ghostly selves by the great fires always kindled at
Christmas in the gallery.”
“Mrs. Benson once told me that when the ghost walked, it was a sure sign
of a coming death in the family. Is that true?” asked Rose, whose
curiosity was excited by the expression of Octavia's face, and a certain
uneasiness in Sir Jasper's manner in spite of his merry mood.
“There is a stupid superstition of that sort in the family, but no one
except the servants believes it, of course. In times of illness some
silly maid or croaking old woman can easily fancy they see a phantom,
and, if death comes, they are sure of the ghostly warning. Benson saw
it before my father died, and old Roger, the night my uncle was seized
with apoplexy. Patty will never be made to believe that this warning
does not forebode the death of Maurice or myself, for the gallant
spirit leaves the ladies of our house to depart in peace. How does it
strike you, Cousin?”
Turning as he spoke, Sir Jasper glanced at Treherne, who had entered
while he spoke.
“I am quite skeptical and indifferent to the whole affair, but I agree
with Octavia that it is best to say nothing to my aunt if she is
ignorant of the matter. Her rooms are a long way off, and perhaps she
did not hear the confusion.”
“You seem to hear everything; you were not with us when I said that.”
And Octavia looked up with an air of surprise.
Smiling significantly, Treherne answered, “I hear, see, and understand
many things that escape others. Jasper, allow me to advise you to smooth
the hair which your sleep has disarranged. Mrs. Snowdon, permit me. This
rich velvet catches the least speck.” And with his handkerchief he
delicately brushed away several streaks of white dust which clung to the
lady's skirt.
Sir Jasper turned hastily on his heel and went to remake his toilet;
Mrs. Snowdon bit her lip, but thanked Treherne sweetly and begged him to
fasten her glove. As he did so, she said softly, “Be more careful next
time. Octavia has keen eyes, and the major may prove inconvenient.”
“I have no fear that _you_ will,” he whispered back, with a
malicious glance.
Here the entrance of my lady put an end to the ghostly episode, for it
was evident that she knew nothing of it. Octavia slipped away to
question John, and learn that no sign of a phantom was to be seen.
Treherne devoted himself to Mrs. Snowdon, and the major entertained my
lady, while Sir Jasper and the girls chatted apart.
It was Christmas Eve, and a dance in the great gallery was the yearly
festival at the abbey. All had been eager for it, but the maid's story
seemed to have lessened their enthusiasm, though no one would own it.
This annoyed Sir Jasper, and he exerted himself to clear the atmosphere
by affecting gaiety he did not feel. The moment the gentlemen came in
after dinner he whispered to his mother, who rose, asked the general for
his arm, and led the way to the north gallery, whence the sound of music
now proceeded. The rest followed in a merry procession, even Treherne,
for two footmen carried him up the great stairway, chair and all.
Nothing could look less ghostly now than the haunted gallery. Fires
roared up a wide chimney at either end, long rows of figures clad in
armor stood on each side, one mailed hand grasping a lance, the other
bearing a lighted candle, a device of Sir Jasper's. Narrow windows
pierced in the thick walls let in gleams of wintry moonlight; ivy,
holly, and evergreen glistened in the ruddy glow of mingled firelight
and candle shine. From the arched stone roof hung tattered banners, and
in the midst depended a great bunch of mistletoe. Red-cushioned seats
stood in recessed window nooks, and from behind a high-covered screen of
oak sounded the blithe air of Sir Roger de Coverley.
With the utmost gravity and stateliness my lady and the general led off
the dance, for, according to the good old fashion, the men and maids in
their best array joined the gentlefolk and danced with their betters in
a high state of pride and bashfulness. Sir Jasper twirled the old
housekeeper till her head spun around and around and her decorous skirts
rustled stormily; Mrs. Snowdon captivated the gray-haired butler by her
condescension; and John was made a proud man by the hand of his young
mistress. The major came out strong among the pretty maids, and Rose
danced the footmen out of breath long before the music paused.
The merriment increased from that moment, and when the general
surprised my lady by gallantly saluting her as she unconsciously stood
under the mistletoe, the applause was immense. Everyone followed the
old gentleman's example as fast as opportunities occurred, and the
young ladies soon had as fine a color as the housemaids. More dancing,
games, songs, and all manner of festival devices filled the evening,
yet under cover of the gaiety more than one little scene was enacted
that night, and in an hour of seeming frivolity the current of several
lives was changed.
By a skillful maneuver Annon led Octavia to an isolated recess, as if to
rest after a brisk game, and, taking advantage of the auspicious hour,
pleaded his suit. She heard him patiently and, when he paused, said
slowly, yet decidedly, and with no sign of maiden hesitation, “Thanks
for the honor you do me, but I cannot accept it, for I do not love you.
I think I never can.”
“Have you tried?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, indeed I have. I like you as a friend, but no more. I know Mamma
desires it, that Jasper hopes for it, and I try to please them, but love
will not be forced, so what can I do?” And she smiled in spite of
herself at her own blunt simplicity.
“No, but it can be cherished, strengthened, and in time won, with
patience and devotion. Let me try, Octavia; it is but fair, unless you
have already learned from another the lesson I hope to teach. Is it so?”
“No, I think not. I do not understand myself as yet, I am so young, and
this so sudden. Give me time, Frank.”
She blushed and fluttered now, looked half angry, half beseeching, and
altogether lovely.
“How much time shall I give? It cannot take long to read a heart like
yours, dear.” And fancying her emotion a propitious omen, he assumed the
lover in good earnest.
“Give me time till the New Year. I will answer then, and, meantime,
leave me free to study both myself and you. We have known each other
long, I own, but, still, this changes everything, and makes you seem
another person. Be patient, Frank, and I will try to make my duty a
pleasure.”
“I will. God bless you for the kind hope, Octavia. It has been mine for
years, and if I lose it, it will go hardly with me.”
Later in the evening General Snowdon stood examining the antique screen.
In many places carved oak was pierced quite through, so that voices were
audible from behind it. The musicians had gone down to supper, the young
folk were quietly busy at the other end of the hall, and as the old
gentleman admired the quaint carving, the sound of his own name caught
his ear. The housekeeper and butler still remained, though the other
servants had gone, and sitting cosily behind the screen chatted in low
tones believing themselves secure.
“It _was_ Mrs. Snowdon, Adam, as I'm a living woman, though I wouldn't
say it to anyone but you. She and Sir Jasper were here wrapped in
cloaks, and up to mischief, I'll be bound. She is a beauty, but I don't
envy her, and there'll be trouble in the house if she stays long.”
“But how do you know, Mrs. Benson, she was here? Where's your proof,
mum?” asked the pompous butler.
“Look at this, and then look at the outlandish trimming of the lady's
dress. You men are so dull about such matters you'd never observe these
little points. Well, I was here first after Patty, and my light shone on
this jet ornament lying near where she saw the spirit. No one has any
such tasty trifles but Mrs. Snowdon, and these are all over her gown. If
that ain't proof, what is?”
“Well, admitting it, I then say what on earth should she and Master be
up here for, at such a time?” asked the slow-witted butler.
“Adam, we are old servants of the family, and to you I'll say what
tortures shouldn't draw from to another. Master has been wild, as you
know, and it's my belief that he loved this lady abroad. There was a
talk of some mystery, or misdeed, or misfortune, more than a year ago,
and she was in it. I'm loath to say it, but I think Master loves her
still, and she him. The general is an old man, she is but young, and so
spirited and winsome she can't in reason care for him as for a fine,
gallant gentleman like Sir Jasper. There's trouble brewing, Adam, mark
my words. There's trouble brewing for the Trehernes.”
So low had the voices fallen that the listener could not have caught the
words had not his ear been strained to the utmost. He did hear all, and
his wasted face flashed with the wrath of a young man, then grew pale
and stern as he turned to watch his wife. She stood apart from the
others talking to Sir Jasper, who looked unusually handsome and debonair
as he fanned her with a devoted air.
Perhaps it is true, thought the old man bitterly. They are well matched,
were lovers once, no doubt, and long to be so again. Poor Edith, I was
very blind. And with his gray head bowed upon his breast the general
stole away, carrying an arrow in his brave old heart.
* * * * *
“Blanche, come here and rest, you will be ill tomorrow; and I promised
Mamma to take care of you.” With which elder-sisterly command Rose led
the girl to an immense old chair, which held them both. “Now listen to
me and follow my advice, for I am wise in my generation, though not yet
gray. They are all busy, so leave them alone and let me show you what is
to be done.”
Rose spoke softly, but with great resolution, and nodded her pretty head
so energetically that the holly berries came rolling over her white
shoulders.
“We are not as rich as we might be, and must establish ourselves as soon
and as well as possible. I intend to be Lady Treherne. You can be the
Honorable Mrs. Annon, if you give your mind to it.”
“My dear child, are you mad?” whispered Blanche.
“Far from it, but you will be if you waste your time on Maurice. He is
poor, and a cripple, though very charming, I admit. He loves Tavie, and
she will marry him, I am sure. She can't endure Frank, but tries to
because my lady commands it. Nothing will come of it, so try your
fascinations and comfort the poor man; sympathy now will foster love
hereafter.”
“Don't talk so here, Rose, someone will hear us,” began her sister, but
the other broke in briskly.
“No fear, a crowd is the best place for secrets. Now remember what I
say, and make your game while the ball is rolling. Other people are
careful not to put their plans into words, but I'm no hypocrite, and say
plainly what I mean. Bear my sage counsel in mind and act wisely. Now
come and begin.”
Treherne was sitting alone by one of the great fires, regarding the gay
scene with serious air. For him there was neither dancing nor games; he
could only roam about catching glimpses of forbidden pleasures,
impossible delights, and youthful hopes forever lost to him. Sad but not
morose was his face, and to Octavia it was a mute reproach which she
could not long resist. Coming up as if to warm herself, she spoke to him
in her usually frank and friendly way, and felt her heart beat fast when
she saw how swift a change her cordial manner wrought in him.
“How pretty your holly is! Do you remember how we used to go and gather
it for festivals like this, when we were happy children?” he asked,
looking up at her with eyes full of tender admiration.
“Yes, I remember. Everyone wears it tonight as a badge, but you have
none. Let me get you a bit, I like to have you one of us in all things.”
She leaned forward to break a green sprig from the branch over the
chimneypiece; the strong draft drew in her fleecy skirt, and in an
instant she was enveloped in flames.
“Maurice, save me, help me!” cried a voice of fear and agony, and
before anyone could reach her, before he himself knew how the deed was
done, Treherne had thrown himself from his chair, wrapped the tiger
skin tightly about her, and knelt there clasping her in his arms
heedless of fire, pain, or the incoherent expressions of love that
broke from his lips.