CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH UNCLE LORNE TROUBLES ME.
I was growing most uncomfortably like one of Mrs. Anne Radcliffe'sheroes--a nervous race of demigods.
I walked like a sentinel up and down my chamber, puffing leisurely thesolemn incense, and trying to think of the Opera and my essay on'Paradise Lost,' and other pleasant subjects. But it would not do. Everynow and then, as I turned towards the door, I fancied I saw it softlyclose. I can't the least say whether it was altogether fancy. It was withthe corner, or as the Italians have it, the 'tail' of my eye that I saw,or imagined that I saw, this trifling but unpleasant movement.
I called out once or twice sharply--'Come in!' 'Who's there?' 'Who'sthat?' and so forth, without any sort of effect, except that unpleasantreaction upon the nerves which follows the sound of one's own voice in asolitude of this kind.
The fact is I did not myself believe in that stealthy motion of my door,and set it down to one of those illusions which I have sometimessucceeded in analysing--a half-seen combination of objects which, rightlyplaced in the due relations of perspective, have no mutual connectionwhatever.
So I ceased to challenge the unearthly inquisitor, and allowed him, aftera while, serenely enough, to peep as I turned my back, or to withdrawagain as I made my regular right-about face.
I had now got half-way in my second cheroot, and the clock clanged 'one.'It was a very still night, and the prolonged boom vibrated strangely inmy excited ears and brain. I had never been quite such an ass before; butI do assure you I was now in an extremely unpleasant state. One o'clockwas better, however, than twelve. Although, by Jove! the bell was'beating one,' as I remember, precisely as that king of ghosts, oldHamlet, revisited the glimpses of the moon, upon the famous platform ofElsinore.
I had pondered too long over the lore of this Satanic family, and drunkvery strong tea, I suppose. I could not get my nerves into a comfortablestate, and cheerful thoughts refused to inhabit the darkened chamber ofmy brain. As I stood in a sort of reverie, looking straight upon thedoor, I saw--and this time there could be no mistake whatsoever--thehandle--the only modern thing about it--slowly turned, and the dooritself as slowly pushed about a quarter open.
I do not know what exclamation I made. The door was shut instantly, and Ifound myself standing at it, and looking out upon the lobby, with acandle in my hand, and actually freezing with foolish horror.
I was looking towards the stair-head. The passage was empty and ended inutter darkness. I glanced the other way, and thought I saw--though notdistinctly--in the distance a white figure, not gliding in theconventional way, but limping off, with a sort of jerky motion, and, in asecond or two, quite lost in darkness.
I got into my room again, and shut the door with a clap that soundedloudly and unnaturally through the dismal quiet that surrounded me, andstood with my hand on the handle, with the instinct of resistance.
I felt uncomfortable; and I would have secured the door, but there was nosort of fastening within. So I paused. I did not mind looking out again.To tell you the plain truth, I was just a little bit afraid. Then I grewangry at having been put into such remote, and, possibly, suspectedquarters, and then my comfortable scepticism supervened. I was yet tolearn a great deal about this visitation.
So, in due course having smoked my cheroot, I jerked the stump into thefire. Of course I could not think of depriving myself of candle-light;and being already of a thoughtful, old-bachelor temperament, and aversefrom burning houses, I placed one of my tall wax-lights in a basin on thetable by my bed--in which I soon effected a lodgment, and lay with acomparative sense of security.
Then I heard two o'clock strike; but shortly after, as I suppose, sleepovertook me, and I have no distinct idea for how long my slumber lasted.The fire was very low when I awoke, and saw a figure--and a very oddone--seated by the embers, and stooping over the grate, with a pair oflong hands expanded, as it seemed, to catch the warmth of the sinkingfire.
It was that of a very tall old man, entirely dressed in white flannel--avery long spencer, and some sort of white swathing about his head. Hisback was toward me; and he stooped without the slightest motion over thefire-place, in the attitude I have described.
As I looked, he suddenly turned toward me, and fixed upon me a cold, andas it seemed, a wrathful gaze, over his shoulder. It was a bleached and along-chinned face--the countenance of Lorne's portrait--only more faded,sinister, and apathetic. And having, as it were, secured its awfulcommand over me by a protracted gaze, he rose, supernaturally lean andtall, and drew near the side of my bed.
I continued to stare upon this apparition with the most dreadfulfascination I ever experienced in my life. For two or three seconds Iliterally could not move. When I did, I am not ashamed to confess, it wasto plunge my head under the bed-clothes, with the childish instinct ofterror; and there I lay breathless, for what seemed to me not far fromten minutes, during which there was no sound, nor other symptom of itspresence.
On a sudden the bed-clothes were gently lifted at my feet, and I sprangbackwards, sitting upright against the back of the bed, and once moreunder the gaze of that long-chinned old man.
A voice, as peculiar as the appearance of the figure, said:--
'You are in my bed--I died in it a great many years ago. I am UncleLorne; and when I am not here, a devil goes up and down in the room. See!he had his face to your ear when I came in. I came from Dorcas Brandon'sbed-chamber door, where her evil angel told me a thing;--and Mark Wyldermust not seek to marry her, for he will be buried alive if he does, andhe will, maybe, never get up again. Say your prayers when I go out, andcome here no more.'
He paused, as if these incredible words were to sink into my memory; andthen, in the same tone, and with the same countenance, he asked--
'Is the blood on my forehead?'
I don't know whether I answered.
'So soon as a calamity is within twelve hours, the blood comes upon myforehead, as they found me in the morning--it is a sign.'
The old man then drew back slowly, and disappeared behind the curtains atthe foot of the bed, and I saw no more of him during the rest of thatodious night.
So long as this apparition remained before me, I never doubted its beingsupernatural. I don't think mortal ever suffered horror more intense. Myvery hair was dripping with a cold moisture. For some seconds I hardlyknew where I was. But soon a reaction came, and I felt convinced that theapparition was a living man. It was no process of reason or philosophy,but simply I became persuaded of it, and something like rage overcame myterrors.
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