ghost, even in the most intimate of places.
“I must go now,” the ghost said, rising. “But I will see you somewhere tomorrow night. And remember: you help me and I will help you.”
2
The next morning at breakfast I debated telling Madeline about the meeting, but I quickly convinced myself that I must keep silent on the subject. If she knew there was a ghost wandering about the house she would probably leave instantly. Instead I went about my business as normally as I could so that she wouldn’t suspect a thing.
For a long time I had wished that Mr. Hinckman would leave the house for at least a day so that I could work up the nerve to speak to Madeline. But now that the opportunity presented itself I didn’t feel ready to seize it. What would I do if she refused me?
That evening I was with Madeline on the moon-lit porch, working up the courage to tell her how I felt, when I looked up to see the ghost sitting on the railing. I was lucky that Madeline was looking out over the landscape because I must have looked quite startled. I expected him to appear at some point in the night but I didn’t think he would materialize when I was with Madeline.
I didn’t make a sound but the ghost could tell I was troubled.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I will not let her see or hear me.”
I suppose I looked grateful.
“You needn’t trouble yourself about that,” he continued. “But it seems to me that you are not getting along very well with your affair. If I were you I would come right out and say it. You won’t have a better chance. There’s no knowing when John Hinckman will go away again, certainly not this summer. And I wouldn’t want to do it while he was here. If he were to catch anyone offering his love to Miss Madeline, he would be a terrible man to encounter.”
“I can’t stand to think of him,” I blurted out.
“Think of whom?” Madeline asked, turning hastily toward me.
I had to explain quickly. Of course I couldn’t tell her it was her dear uncle I was speaking of, so I spit out the first name that came to me: “Mr. Vilars.”
This statement was true as I could not stand to think of Mr. Vilars, a gentleman who had always paid too much attention to Madeline.
“It’s wrong for you to speak of Mr. Vilars that way,” Madeline said. “He’s a remarkably bright and educated man with pleasant manners. He expects to be elected to the legislature this fall and I wouldn’t be surprised if he excels in that position. Whenever Mr. Vilars has anything to say he knows just how and when to say it.”
“I know it’s wrong to think like that about a person,” I said, “but I can’t help it.”
She seemed to be in a better mood after hearing this admission. As for me, I was annoyed. I had never intended to let on that Mr. Vilars occupied any thought in my mind.
“You should not speak aloud that way,” said the ghost, “or you may get yourself in trouble. I want to see everything go well for you because then you might be disposed to help me.”
I wanted to tell him that the only way he could help me was by leaving. It was hard enough to speak to a young lady, let alone with the ghost of her dreaded uncle, the thought of whom made me tremble, sitting a few feet away. But I held back the words.
“I suppose,” the ghost continued, “that you have not heard anything that might be of use to me. But if you have anything to tell me I can wait until you are alone. I can come to your room tonight or I can stay here until the lady goes away.”
“You need not wait here,” I said. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Madeline sprung to her feet, her face flushed and her eyes on fire. “Wait here?” she cried. “What do you suppose I’m waiting for? What should you have to say to me?”
“Madeline,” I exclaimed, stepping forward. “Let me explain.”
But she had gone.
I turned fiercely to the ghost.
“Wretched apparition,” I cried. “You’ve ruined everything.”
“You wrong me,” the ghost said. “I haven’t done anything. I’ve only tried to help you. It was your blunder that caused this. But fear not. Such mistakes can be explained. Keep your head up.”
And he vanished from the railing like a bursting soap bubble.
3
I went gloomily to bed and saw no apparitions that night except for the ones of despair and misery that were running through my head. As for explaining myself, that was impossible. I thought about it over and over as I lay awake that night and decided I would never tell Madeline the truth. 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 this ghost, it would be impossible to convince her that Mr. Hinckman was not dead. She might not survive the shock.
The next day was fine, neither too cool nor too warm, and the breezes were gentle. But there were no walks with Madeline. She seemed to be very busy during the day. I barely saw her. When we met at meals she was polite but very quiet and reserved.
I was downcast and said very little. The only silver lining for me was that she did not appear to be happy, although she didn’t seem very affected at all. The moon-lit porch was deserted that evening, but wandering through the house I found Madeline in the library alone. She was reading, but I went and sat down near her. I felt that, although I couldn’t tell her everything, I should at least give some explanation for my behavior.
She listened quietly as I delivered a labored apology.
“I have no idea what you meant,” she said. “But you were very rude.”
I explained inartfully that I didn’t mean to be rude, and that if it weren’t for a certain obstacle I could make her understand everything.
She was silent for a while and then she said in a softer tone: “Does that obstacle have anything to do with my uncle?”
“Yes,” I said. “It has something to do with him.”
She didn’t respond. She sat looking at her book but not reading. She knew her uncle as well as I did.
I saw that my explanation was having some effect on her, and I thought that I should seize the opportunity and speak my mind without delay. No matter how she reacted, it couldn’t be any worse than the night before.
I drew my chair closer to her, and as I did, the ghost burst into the room from the doorway behind her. My heart dropped. When he came in the room my courage left. I couldn’t speak with him there.
“Did you know,” the ghost said, “that John Hinckman is coming up the hill? He will be here any minute. If you plan on declaring your love for the lady you better hurry it up. But that’s not what I came to say. I have glorious news. At last I am transferred! Not forty minutes ago a Russian noblemen was murdered by the Nihilists. It was quite unexpected. My friends instantly applied for me and I was accepted. I am off before that horrible Hinckman makes it up the hill. As soon as I get there I can leave this embodiment behind. You can’t imagine how glad I am to at last be somebody’s real ghost.”
“Oh,” I cried, rising to my feet and reaching for the ghost in rage. “I wish you were mine!”
“I am yours,” Madeline said, and she leapt into my outstretched arms.
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