CHAPTER X.
THE ANNIVERSARY.
I have said that I expected Mr. Argyll to offer me a partnership, nowthat I was prepared to begin my legal career. In this I was notpresumptuous, inasmuch as he had frequently and plainly hinted hisintention. Such an arrangement would be a desirable one for me; Iappreciated its many advantages; at the same time, I expected, bytaking all the hard work upon myself, and by the constant devotion ofsuch talent as I had to the interests of the firm, to repay, as far aspossible, my obligations to the senior member.
When I returned from New York, I appeared in court with a case whichhad chanced to be intrusted to me, perhaps from the inability of myclient to employ an older and more expensive lawyer. I did well withit, and was complimented by several of Mr. Argyll's fraternity upon mysuccess in handling the case. Much to my surprise and mortification,Mr. Argyll's congratulations were in constrained and studied terms. Hehad appeared to be more formal, less open in his manner of treating me,ever since my last visit to the city. At first I thought it my fancy,or caused by some temporary ill-health, or mental trouble, under whichhe might be laboring. Day by day the impression deepened upon me thathis feelings toward me were not what they had been. The plainest proofI had of this was, that no offer of partnership was made. I was placedin a disagreeable situation for one of my proud temperament. My studiescompleted to the point where admission to practice had been granted, Ihad nothing to do but continue in his office, reading, readingaway--not but that my time was most usefully employed thus, and notthat I was in any great hurry to go into business, though my income wasnarrow enough, and I knew that my mother had pinched her domesticarrangements to afford me that--but I began to feel like an intruder.My ostensible use of his books, office, and instructions was at an end;I began to feel like a hanger-on. Yet I could not go away, or offer toassociate myself with others, hastily. I felt that he ought either toput in execution his implied promise, or to inform me that he hadchanged his plans, and I was free to try elsewhere.
Can any invalid tell me why he feels a prescience of the storm in hisaching bones and tingling nerves while the sun still shines in acloudless sky, and not one hint on the outward face of nature tells ofa change in the weather? Neither can I explain the subtle influenceswhich affected me, depressing me so deeply, and making me sensible of achange in that atmosphere of home which had brooded for me over theArgyll mansion. I had felt this first in the more business air of theoffice; gradually, it seemed to me to be creeping over the household.Mary, that sweet child of impulse, too young to assume much dignity,and too truthful to disguise her innocent face in falsehood, who hadclung to me in this affliction as a sister clings to an elder brother,awakening all my tenderest instincts of protection and indulgence--thisfair girl, doubly dear to me as the sister of that other woman whom Iadored, began to put on an air of reserve toward me. She was kind andgentle, but she no longer ran to me with all those pretty demands andcomplaints, those trifling confidences, so sweet because an evidence oftrust and affection; sometimes I caught her eyes fixed upon me in asad, wondering way, which puzzled and disconcerted me; when I caughther glance, she would turn quickly, and blush.
I could not help believing, although I had no proof of it, that Jameswas covertly working to produce an impression against me in the family.His manner toward me had never been so friendly; when we were alonetogether he grew quite confidential, sometimes descending to smallflatteries, and almost entirely neglecting the use of those littlenettles of satire with which he once delighted in stinging me wheneverany one whom I esteemed was present. I could not pick a quarrel withhim, had I desired it. Yet I could not rid myself of the consciousnessthat he was undermining my footing in the house of those friends Iloved best. In what manner, it was difficult for me to conjecture. Ifhe slandered my habits or associations, nothing could be easier thanfor Mr. Argyll to quietly ascertain, by inquiries unknown to myself,the truth of his statements; justice to me would require that he shouldtake that trouble before he cast off, as unworthy his further kindness,the son of his dead friend. I could think of but one matter which hecould use to my prejudice; and in that my conscience accused me loudlyenough. I said to myself that he had told them of my love for Eleanor.He had torn that delicate and sacred secret from my heart, where it layunder the pitying light of God's eye alone--discovered it through hateand jealousy, which are next to love in the keenness of theirperceptions--and exposed it to those from whom I had most shrinkinglyhidden it. Even then, why should they blame me, or treat me coldly, forwhat I could not help, and for which I alone must suffer? Certainly notfor my presumption, since I had not presumed. One dreadful idea preyedupon me. It was, that, in order to rid himself of me for ever, to driveme out from the friendship of those whom he wanted to himself, for hisown selfish aims, James was representing to them not only that I lovedEleanor, but that I was looking forward to the future with hopes whichmocked her present desolation.
I can not describe the pain and humiliation this idea gave me. If Icould have discovered it, or in any way denied it, I should not havefelt so hurt and helpless. As it was, I felt that my honor was beingstabbed in the dark, without a chance to defend itself--some secretenemy was wounding it, as some base assassin had planted that deadlywound in the heart of Henry Moreland.
In the mean time, the Christmas holidays were approaching. It was aseason of gloom and mourning, mocked by the merry preparations ofhappier people. On the twenty-third day of December came Eleanor'snineteenth birthday. It was to have been her wedding-day. A gloriouswinter morning dawned; the sun shone in a sapphire sky; it seemed as ifevery plant in the conservatory put forth double bloom--the japonicas,the white roses, were incomparable. I could not help but linger aboutthe house. Eleanor kept herself in her room. If every word which refersto her were written in tears, it could not express the feelings withwhich we all were moved with the thought of her bereavement. We movedabout like people in dreams, silent and abstracted. The oldhousekeeper, when I met her on the stairs, was wiping her eyes with thecorner of her apron. Mr. Argyll, unquiet and pale, wandered from roomto room. The office remained closed; the front blinds of the house wereshut--it was like the day of the funeral.
I went into the conservatory; there was sunshine there, andsweetness--a bright luxuriance of beauty. It was more solemn to me thanthe darkened parlors. I plucked a white rose, holding it idly in myfingers. It was half-past eleven--at twelve the ceremony should havebeen performed. Mary came in while I stood there wrapped in emotionmore than thought. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, her handstrembled, and when she spoke, her lips quivered:
"She has taken out all the wedding apparel, for the first time sincethat day. She is dressing herself. She has put on the robe and vail;and now she has sent me down to make the bouquet. She wants some whiteflowers for her bosom. She stands before the mirror, putting oneverything as carefully as if poor Henry--were--down-stairs. Oh,Richard," she cried, breaking down utterly in a burst of tears, andthrowing herself into my arms, "it would break your heart to see her!It almost kills me, but I must get the flowers. It is best to indulgeher."
"Yes, it is best," I answered, soothing her as best I could, when myown voice and hands were so shaken. "I will help you. Don't keep herwaiting."
I took the scissors from her, cutting the fairest buds, the mostperfect flowers, arranging them with care and skill.
"I will tell you what she said," continued Mary, as I hastily made upthe bouquet; "she says that to-day they will be married, the same as ifHenry were on earth instead of in heaven; that their vows shall beconsummated at the hour appointed, and that thereafter she shall holdherself his wife just as surely as if he had come in the body tofulfill his part of the contract. She has her prayer-book open at themarriage ceremony. She looks so sweet and calm, as beautiful as if she,too, were an angel with dear Henry--only so very white, so verysolemn--oh, dear, I cannot bear it!" and again I had to compose her,wiping away her tears, before I sent h
er up with the bouquet. As shewent out into the breakfast, or family-room, which opened into theconservatory, I saw James by the door, and I knew, by the expression ofhis face, that he had heard what passed between us. Through a kind ofalarm and vexation there was a flash of disdain, as if he wanted tosay, what he dared not:
"What a fool the girl is to cling to that dust and ashes! Married,indeed! She shall be the wife of some one besides a ghost, or I lose myguess."
"What a crotchety idea!" he said, as he caught my eye. "I never thoughtEleanor would be so whimsical. She ought to have some one to exert ahealthy influence over her, or she will injure herself--she surelywill."
"You ought to attempt to teach her a more practical view of life'smisfortunes. I'm afraid, however, you'll find her a stupid pupil."
His eye flashed into mine a triumphant gleam.
"'Perseverance conquers all obstacles,' the wise ones say; and I'm apersevering man, you know, Richard."
He took up his cap and lounged out into the garden. I felt a sinking atmy heart as he thus openly avowed his hopes and expectations; I couldnot entirely banish the heavy foreboding, even by recalling the imageof the stricken girl, at that moment binding herself, in awful andmysterious companionship, with the spirit that waited for her acrossthe portals of Time. I watched James pacing back and forth, withdisquiet steps, through the frozen walks of the garden; presently helit a cigar, and went out on the lawn, and from thence into thestreets. His was one of those minds which do not like their own companywhen they are uneasy. How he managed to while away the day I do notknow; to me it was long and oppressive; Mary remained up stairs withher sister; Mr. Argyll sat in the library with a book, which he heldopen but did not read. As the sun declined, I felt that a brisk walk inthe cold air would be the best medicine for my drooping spirits--it wasmy usual remedy.
If I remember aright, I had not been in the direction of Moreland villasince that singular meeting I had there with the person who had sinceplayed so conspicuous a part in our thoughts, if not in oureyes--except twice, when I had gone with Mr. Burton through thevicinity, in hopes of tracing her from the point of herdisappearance--but to-day, I mechanically chose that road, led thitherby the chain of association. Snow glistened on the hilltops, the shoresof the river were skirted with ice, though its central current stillrolled bluely between those crystal walls. It was sunset when I beganmy walk; before I reached the villa, the pink flush was fading from thesnowy summits; one large star, preternaturally bright, hung over theturrets of the lonely house, shining through the flush of twilight;gray shadows stretched over the barren hillsides, and a cold steel-bluetinged the ice in the river. How desolate the place looked, stripped ofits summer garments! I leaned over the gate, while the nightapproached, making a picture of how the villa would have appeared atthis hour, had that which had happened not happened. It would have beena blaze of light, full of flowers and feasting, and alive with happyhuman creatures. It had been the intention of the young couple to goimmediately to their new home, after the wedding-breakfast, and tobegin their housekeeping with a reception of their friends that sameevening. Instead of warmth and light, gay laughter and music, rollingcarriages and prancing horses, feasting, congratulations, love, beautyand happiness, there was silence and desertion, oh, how appalling! Icould not bear the contrast between what was and what should have been.
Before returning to the village I thought I would call upon thegardener's wife, Mrs. Scott, and inquire if she had any tidings of MissSullivan; though I knew very well that if she had, she would have letme heard them without waiting for a visit from me. I had grown chilly,leaning so long over the gate, after my rapid walk, and the glowthrough the window of the little cottage standing at the back of thekitchen-garden, looked inviting. I made my way around to the gate atthe back of the premises, and was soon knocking at the door. I hadheard Mrs. Scott singing her baby to sleep as I approached the house;but after I knocked there was silence, yet no one answered the summons.
I knocked thrice, the last time rather imperatively, for I was chilly,and did not like waiting so long, when I knew I must be heard. At thisthe door was opened a little way, very cautiously, the mistress peeringout suspiciously.
"Laws! Mr. Redfield, is it you?"--throwing the door wide open. "I begyour pardon for keeping you waiting. If I'd had any idea it was _you_,I shouldn't a' been skeered. But husband's gone to the village, and Iwas alone with the children, and when you knocked so sudden, my heartcame right up in my mouth. I didn't like to see who 'twas. Do come in.How cold 'tis out to-night. You look real blue. Take a chair by thestove and warm yourself. I'm real ashamed I kept you standing so long.How is all the family, sir?"
"About as usual, Mrs. Scott. So you are cowardly when you are aloneevenings, are you? I've mistaken your character, then; I've given youcredit for being one of the strong-minded women."
"Wal, the truth is," she said apologetically, "I never did used to beafraid of any thing, dead or alive. But, since young Mr. Henry was tookaway so sudden, I've been nervous and frightened like. I've never gotover the shock. I'll holler right out, sometimes, in broad daylight, ifany thing startles me, if it's only a door slamming. Husband laughs atme and scolds me, but I can't help it."
"Nobody's going to hurt _you_, because another had evil happen to him."
"I know that as well as anybody. It's not because I've reason to beafeard, that I am--it's the shock, you see. There, there, Johnny, bestill, will you? I used to go all over the place the darkest night thatever was--but now, really, I'm ashamed to tell you, I dasn't put myface out after dark."
"I should think it would be unpleasant, such a chronic state of fear,"and I half-smiled through my own melancholy, at the woman's anxiousface.
"Onpleasant! I reckon it is mighty onpleasant. But there's good reasonfor it."
"You just acknowledged that there was no reason--that it was fancy,Mrs. Scott."
"You're goin' to trip me over my own words, Mr. Redfield. It _was_fancy, at first, just nervousness; but lately--lately, as I said,there's been things--"
"What things?"
"I know you'll laugh at me, sir; and you won't half believe me,neither--so I guess I'd better not make a fool of myself before you.But if you, or any other livin' person, had seen what I seen, and heardwhat I heard, then you'd know what I know--that's all!"
She spoke with such evident earnestness, and I had hitherto felt somuch respect for the sturdy strength and integrity of her New Englandcharacter, that my curiosity was somewhat aroused. I thought best tolet her quiet herself, however, before leading her to converse aboutthe subject most on her mind, as I saw that she still trembled from thefright I had given her by my sudden knock at the door.
"How's the place getting on since the winter weather set in? I supposeyour husband had the plants housed long ago. Has he been making anychanges with the grounds? I suppose not, since the family has socompletely deserted the villa. I came out to-night to take a look atit. This is the twenty-third of December, do you remember?"
"I've been thinkin' of it all day, Mr. Redfield."
"It's terrible to see the house standing there in silence and darkness,to-night. There seemed to me something ghostly about it--I could notendure it. Have you been through the rooms lately?"
This last question I asked without any other object than to keep up theconversation; she had started and looked curiously at me, when Icasually used the figurative expression of "ghostly," and now she shookher head.
"I've _not_ been through the house lately," she said. "I ought to go, Iknow--it wants airin', and there's bedclothes and things in the closetwants lookin' after."
"Then why do you not attend to it?"
"That's it," she answered, looking me uneasily in the face.
"What?"
"Well, sir, to tell you the truth, it's my opinion, and I know, laughas you may--"
"I haven't laughed, Mrs. Scott."
She arose, looked at her boy, now fast asleep in his cradle, went tothe window, drew the little white
curtain across the lower half,resumed her chair, glanced about the room, and was opening her lips tospeak, when a slight rattling sound against the panes of glass, madeher clasp her hands together and utter a cry.
"What on earth was that?"
I did indeed now laugh at her pale face, answering, in some vexation,
"It was the snow breaking from the eaves, and slipping down against thewindow."
"Oh!" drawing a long breath. "You are provoked at me, Mr. Redfield. Ifyou knew all, you wouldn't be."
"Well, tell me all, at once, then, and let me judge."
Again she gave a cautious look about, as if invisible guests might hearand not relish her revelation, drew her chair a little nearer mine, andsaid, impressively,
"_The house is haunted!_"
"Is that all?" I asked, feeling quite relieved, for her manner hadstartled me in spite of myself.
"It's enough!" was the significant response. "To tell you flatly, sir,John's about concluded to write to Mr. Moreland, and give up thesituation."
"Your husband! is he so foolish, too? There are no such things ashaunted houses, Mrs. Scott; and to give up a permanent and excellenthome like this, upon any such idle fancy, seems to me very unwise."
"Goodness knows I've liked the place," she cried, bursting into tears,"and that we don't know what to turn to when we leave this. But I'mworn out with it--I can't stand it no longer! You see how unsettled Iam now."
Unsettled enough, certainly, from the usually composed and self-reliantwoman in whose judgment I had placed considerable confidence.
"You haven't told me any thing to prove your assertion. I don't believein ghosts, I warn you; but I'd like to hear your reasons for thinkingthe villa has got one."
"I always made fun of ghosts, myself, and so did John, until thishappened. He won't own up now, 'cept that he's ready to leave theplace, and won't go in with me in broad daylight, to 'tend to therooms. So I know he's just as scairt as I am. And you know John's nocoward with any thing he can see or handle, and it's no disgrace to abody to be shy of onearthly things. I'm a bold woman myself, but Iain't ready to face a spook."
"What makes you think the house is haunted?"
"Plenty of things."
"Please mention a few. I'm a lawyer, you know, and demand the proofs."
"I've seen a curious light hovering over the roof of the house ofnights."
"Did your husband see it also?"
"Yes, he did see it, night before last. He wouldn't believe till he seeit. I've seen it seven or eight times myself."
"What was it like?"
"Oh, Lordy, I'm sure I can't tell exactly what it was like, when Inever saw any thing of the kind before; I suppose it's like themdead-lights that's been seen over graves. It's more like a brightshadow than an actual light--you can see through it like air. Itwanders about the roof, then stops over one particular place. It wouldmake your flesh creep to see it, sir!"
"I would like, above all things, to try it. Do you suppose, if we wentout now, we should have the opportunity?"
"It's too early; leastways, I've never seen it so early in the evenin'.The first time, my baby was sick, and I got up in the night to get himsome drops, and as I looked out the window, there was the thingshinin'."
"Is that all that makes you think the house haunted?"
"No, sir; we've heard things--curious sounds--even in the daytime."
"What were the sounds like?"
"I couldn't rightly explain 'em to you, sir. They were not humansounds."
"Try and give me some idea of them."
"They'd rise and fall, rise and fall--not like singing, nor crying, nortalking--a kind of wailing music, only not like it, either--that is,not like any thing I ever heard. It seems to come mostly from thefamily-room, back o' the library. John and me followed it up oneevenin'. We went close up on the porch, and put our ears to theshutters. We heard it plain. We was so frightened, we've been glad notto go near the house again. I don't feel as if I ever could."
"I think I know what it was," I said, half inclined to laugh. "Thedoors or sashes have been left open in such a way as to make a draught.It is the wind, singing through the crevices of the deserted mansion.I, myself, have heard the wind make most unearthly music under suchcircumstances."
"'Twa'n't wind at all," said the gardener's wife, in an offended tone.
"Perhaps persons have obtained access to the house that have nobusiness there. They may deface the furniture, or carry off articles ofvalue. You really ought to look to it, Mrs. Scott; it's part of yourduty."
"There's nobody got in--I'm certain of that. We've examined every doorand window. There's not the least sign of any human being about thepremises. I tell you, Mr. Redfield, it's spirits; and no wonder,considering how poor Henry was took away."
She said this solemnly, relapsing into moody silence.
I felt quite convinced that the imaginations of the pair, already awedand excited by the murder, had converted some trifling atmospheric orother phenomena, or some combination of circumstances, easily explainedwhen the key to them was found, into the mystery of a haunted house. Iwas sorry, for two reasons: first, that they thought of leaving, when Iknew that their departure would give trouble to Mr. Moreland, who hadleft the entire charge of the place to them for years, and at a timewhen he was too bowed with heavier cares to be vexed with these smallmatters; second, that the couple would be sure to spread the reportthrough the village, causing gossip and conjecture, and exciting aprurient interest which would throng the vicinity with idlewonder-seekers. So I said,
"I wish your husband was at home to-night. I must see him. It will notdo for him to trouble Mr. Moreland at this time, by throwing up hissituation. You would both of you be sorry and ashamed at such amovement, before many weeks, I'm convinced. What do you say to mycoming out here to-morrow, and to our going through the house together?If there is any thing in it which ought not to be, we will turn it out.I will stay until you have aired the house and looked at the clothing;then you can lock it up, and leave it for a few weeks without thenecessity of going through it."
"Well, Mr. Redfield, if you're willin' to do it, I ought to be ashamedto hang behind. I'll do it, of course, and be thankful to you; for myconscience hain't been easy, lettin' them things go so. I'm right gladyou happened out."
"And tell your husband, please, not to say any thing about this matterto others. It will make it unpleasant for the friends."
"I did tell him not to. He ain't said nothin' yet, I'm sure. It's thelast thing we'd be willin' to do, make any more trouble for them thathas too much now, and that has always been kind to us. Must you go,sir?"
"Yes; I'll say good-night, Mrs. Scott. You may expect me in themorning, a little before noon. By the way, have you seen or heard anything of Miss Sullivan?"
"Not the least thing. She's kept clear of here since that day you foundher here. So she's run away, entirely, has she? Well, well, well--Inever! I declare, I turn these things over in my brain, some days, tillmy head gets dizzy."
"So does mine, and my heart sick. Good-night, ma'am."
"Good-night, and good luck to you, this dark night."
She waited to see me through the gate, which led by a little lane pastthe kitchen-garden, and thence by a private road along down into themain one. As I passed the gate into the lawn, on my way out, I pausedperhaps half an hour, in the hope of hearing or seeing the marvels ofwhich the woman had spoken. There was no mystic light, blue or yellow,playing lambently over the roof; no sound, sinking and rising, camewildly on the starlit air; all was profound silence and darkness andcoldness like that of the grave.
My half-contemptuous pity of the state of mind into which thegardener's wife had worked herself, gave place to deeper emotions; Iturned away, almost running along the smooth, hard-frozen road whosecourse was clearly discernible in the winter starlight. I met thegardener going home, but did not stop to speak with him--went directlyto my lodgings. The fire was out in my room, and I crept into bed,forgetting that I ha
d gone without my tea.
True to my promise, I went the next day to the villa. Mrs. Scottbrought the keys, I unlocked the doors, and together we entered thelong-vacant place. There is always something impressive, one might say,"ghostly," about a deserted building. When you enter into it, you feelthe influence of those who were last within it, as if some portion ofthem lingered in the old locality. I confess that I felt an almostsuperstitious awe and dread, as I stepped over the threshold which Ihad last crossed with _him_. How joyful, how full of young and princelylife, he had then been, his face lit up, as a man's face lights up whenhe attends upon the woman he loves and expects soon to make his own! Hewas leading Eleanor to a carriage; they had been talking about theimprovements they were going to make in the house. How every look andtone came back to me! With a silent shudder, I stepped into the hall,which had that moldy smell of confined air belonging to a closeddwelling. I hastened to throw open the shutters. When I unclosed adoor, I flung it wide, stepping quickly in, and raising the windows, soas to have the sunlight before looking much about. I had to do it all,for my companion kept close to me, never stirring from my elbow. I wentinto every room on every floor, from the kitchen to the garret. Intothe latter I only glanced, as Mrs. Scott said there was nothing upthere which she wanted, or which required attention. It was a loft,rough-floored, of comfortable hight, with a window at the gable end.The roof ran up sharply in the center, the villa being built in theGothic style. There was such a collection of rubbish in it as is usualto such places--broken-down furniture, worn-out trunks, a pile ofmattresses in a corner, over which a blanket had been thrown to keepthem from the dust, some clothing depending from a line, and three orfour barrels. Mrs. Scott was standing at the foot of the ladder, whichled up into the attic out of a small room, or closet, used for storingpurposes. I saw she was uneasy at having me even that far from her, andafter a brief survey of the garret, I assured her there were no ghoststhere, and descended.
"Help yourself to some of them apples," said the woman, pointing tosome boxes and barrels in the room where we now stood. "They're winterpippins. John's going to send them into the city, to the family, in aweek or two. We've permission to keep 'em here, because it's dry andcool, and the closet being in the middle of the house, it don't freeze.It's a good place for fruit. Hark! What was that?"
"It was a cat," said I, as I put a couple of the apples in my overcoatpocket. "It sounded like a cat--in the garret. If we shut it up there,it'll starve."
I went up the ladder again, looking carefully about the attic, andcalling coaxingly to the animal, but no cat showed itself, and I camedown, saying it must have been in one of the lower rooms, and hadprobably run in since we opened the doors.
"It sartingly sounded overhead," persisted my companion, lookingnervous, and keeping closer to me than ever.
I had heard the noise, but would not have undertaken to say whether itcame from above or below.
"If that is the material she makes ghosts of, I'm not surprised thatshe has a full supply," I thought.
In going out, the woman was careful to close the door, and I could seeher stealing covert glances into every corner, as we passed on, as ifshe expected, momently, to be confronted by some unwelcome apparition,there in the broad light of day. There were no traces of any intrudershaving made free with the house. The clothes and china closets wereundisturbed, and the bureaus the same.
"This was Harry's room; he liked it because it had the best view of theriver," said Mrs. Scott, as we paused before a chamber on the secondfloor.
We both hesitated; her apron was at her eyes, and my own throat swelledsuddenly: reverently I opened the door, and stepped within, followed bythe housekeeper. As I raised the window, and flung back the shutter,she gave a scream. I was really startled. Turning quickly, I saw herwith her hands thrown up, an expression of terror upon her face.
"I told you the house was haunted," she murmured, retreating backwardtoward the door.
"What do you see?" I asked, glancing about for the cause of her alarm.
"This room," she gasped--"it was his--and he comes here still. I knowit!"
"What makes you think so? Has it been disturbed? If it has, restassured it has been by the living, not the dead."
"I wish I thought so," she said, solemnly. "It can not be. No otherpart of the house is in the least disturbed. No one has had admissionto it--it is impossible; not a crack, not a cranny, by which any thingbut a spirit could have got in. Harry's been here, Mr. Redfield; youcan't convince me different."
"And if he has," I said, calmly, for I saw that she was much agitated,"are you any more afraid of him now than you were when he was in thebody? You loved him then; think you he will harm you now? Rather youought to be glad, since you believe in ghosts, that it is a good spiritwhich haunts these premises--the innocent spirit of the murdered, notthe guilty one of the murderer."
"I know it," she said. "I'm not afraid--I don't think I could be reallyafraid of Henry's ghost, even if I should see it; but it's so--awful,isn't it?"
"Not to me, at all. If such things were permitted, I should like tomeet this spiritual visitant, and ask him the one question--if, indeed,he could answer it. I should like to have him point out the guilty. Ifhis hand could reach out from the spiritual world, and stretch ablasting finger toward his murderer, that would be awful to theaccursed one, but it would be welcome to me. But what makes you thinkHenry has been here?"
She pointed to the bed; there was a pressure upon it, as if some lightshape had lain there--just the faintest indentation of a head on one ofthe pillows; from thence she pointed to a little writing-table, betweenthe windows, on which a book lay open, and where there were some papersand engravings; then to a pair of slippers standing on the carpet atthe head of the bed. The room was a delightful one, furnished with blueand white--Henry's favorite colors. Two or three exquisite littlepictures hung on the walls, and not the slightest toy occupied a nichein any place but spoke of the taste and refinement which had chosen it.From the two windows, the view of the river flowing amidst the hills,and the lovely country spreading far away, was such as would satisfythe eye of a poet, turned from the page before him on the littlewriting-table, to rest upon the fairer page of nature.
"I came into this room the day of the funeral," said the housekeeper,with a trembling voice, "and I sot all to rights, as if the master wascoming back the next day. But little I thought he would really come! Ispread that bed as smooth as paper; I put on fresh slips on thepillows, and sot 'em up without a dent or wrinkle in 'em; I put hisslippers with their toes to the wall, and now they're standin' as healways left 'em when he took 'em off. Them papers has been stirred, andhe's been readin' in that book. _She_ gave him that, and it was afavorite with him; I've often seen him with it in his hand. You mayshake your head, Mr. Redfield, but _I know_ Henry's been back here inhis room."
"If any thing in this room has been disturbed, rest assured there'sbeen some living intruder here. A spirit would have had no need ofslippers, and would have made no impression on your smooth bed."
"You can talk your big words, for you are an edicated man, Mr.Redfield, but you can't convince me against my own persuasion. It'sbeen no human being has mussed that spread--why, it's hardlywrinkled--you can just see it's been laid on, and that's all. Besides,how did they get in? Can you tell me that? Through the keyhole, mebbe,and went out the same way!"
Her voice was growing sharp and a little sarcastic. I saw that it wasin vain to try to disabuse her mind of its impression while she was inher present excited state. And, indeed, I had no worthy argument tooffer. To all appearance the rest of the house had been undisturbed;there was not a broken fastening, a displaced bar of any kind, andnothing missing. It would seem as if nothing weightier than a shadowhad stirred the pillow, and moved about the room. As long as I couldnot tell what it _was_, I could not positively assert what it was _not_.
I sat by the open window, while she smoothed the pillow, and placedevery article with an exactness which would inevit
ably betray theslightest disturbance.
"You shall see for yourself, sir, the next time you come here," shemuttered.
As I waited, I lifted a little volume, which lay, with others, on thetable before me. It was Mrs. Browning's, and it opened at a page wherea book-mark had been left--once I had seen Eleanor embroidering thatvery mark, I was sure. The first lines which caught my eye were these:
"_It_ trembled on the grass With a low, shadowy laughter; The sounding river, which rolled forever, Stood dumb and stagnant after."
Just then a cloud swept over the noonday sun; a chill struck throughthe open window; the wind which blew in, fluttering the page, could nothave been more dreary had it blown across a churchyard. Shivering, Icontinued to read:
"_It_ trembled on the grass With a low, shadowy laughter; And the wind did toll, as a passing soul Were sped by church-bell after; And shadows 'stead of light, Fell from the stars above, In flakes of darkness on her face Still bright with trusting love. Margret! Margret!
He _loved_ but only thee! _That_ love is transient, too; The wild hawk's bill doth dabble still In the mouth that vowed thee true. Will he open his dull eyes, When tears fall on his brow? Behold the death-worm in his heart Is a nearer thing than _thou_, Margret! Margret!"
I know not if the housekeeper spoke to me. The clouds thickened aboutthe sun; a dampness came in from the air. I held the book, staring atit, like one in a trance, and pondering the strange coincidence.Evidently, Henry had read these verses when he last opened thebook--perhaps the lovers had read them together, with a soft sigh forthe fate of Margret, and a smile in each other's faces to think howsafe _their_ happiness was--how far removed from this doleful"Romaunt." Now would he "open his dull eyes," for Eleanor's tears? Iseemed to hear the low laugh of the mocking fiend; a more than wintrysereness settled upon the landscape:
"_It_ trembled on the floor!"
Yes! I was fast getting into the mood for believing any thing whichMrs. Scott might assert about the occupant of this chamber. Emotionswhich I had never before experienced chilled my heart; shapes began togather in every obscure corner; when the rising wind suddenly blew adoor shut, in the hall beneath, I started to my feet.
"We're goin' to have a stormy Christmas," said my companion. "It'llsuit our feelin's better'n a sunny one, I'm sure. Hark! there's myJohnny cryin', I do believe! I should think his father could keep himquiet a bit, till I get the house shut up again."
"It was that cat, I thought."
"Never mind. I'm through now, if you please, sir. Take a look at thisroom, and fix it on your mind, if you will; and the next time you'reout here, we'll open it together."
We reclosed and barred the shutters throughout the house, carefullyfastened the doors, once more leaving it to its desolation. We had seenno ghosts; I do not suppose the woman expected to _see_ any, but I feltcertain that her fears were in no manner dispelled.
"You see the place is all right," I said, when I handed her the keys."There is nothing in the world to make you uneasy. I would as soonsleep alone in the villa as in my own room. I will do it, soon, if youare not satisfied. All I ask of you is not to write to Mr. Morelanduntil I have seen you again. I shall come out before many days, to seehow you get along."
"We shall wait until you come again, sir, before we say any thing. Ifeel better, now things are 'tended to. There's Johnny crying again!Well, Mr. Redfield, good-by. It'll snow by the time you get home."
I had a wild walk back to the village--full of lonely magnificence andgloom, which suited my temper. Gray mists hung over the river and sweptabout the bases of the hills; gray clouds whirled around their summits;gray snow came down in blinding drifts; a savage wind seemed to beblowing the universe about my ears.