CHAPTER VIII.
THE HAUNTED STAGE BOX.--THE TRAGEDIAN'S STORY.
The following morning was bright, clear, and frosty. At an early hourtwo of our guests were to leave the "Headless Lady" by the mail forLondon. These two were Captain Toughyarn and our comic friend, Mr.Jollytoast. Each had urgent business on hand, and the other members ofthe club had risen to see them off.
Breakfast had been laid for these two worthies; their companions seatedthemselves at the same table, and chatted with them whilst waiting forthe stage-coach.
"Well, captain," said Mr. Oldstone, "after you return from your nextvoyage, you'll visit us again and have another dream over our punch likethat last one of yours, won't you?"
"Ay, ay, messmate," replied the captain; "you may be sure of that. Thatis to say, if we are all still in the land of the living. I'd come, evenif I had no other inducement than the bright eyes of our host's prettydaughter."
"Avast there! captain," said Mr. Jollytoast. "Remember the mermaid!Think of Lurline! Take care, lest Helen should prove even moredangerous."
Just then the horn of the stage-coach was heard in the distance, and ina short time the horses were at the door. Our two travellers took theirseats, after having been repeatedly invited to return, and some jovialsallies having passed between our host and the driver over a stiff glassof grog, the coach started, and was soon out of sight. After their twofriends had departed the rest of the club set out together for an hour'sstroll before breakfast, to enjoy the fresh morning air, walking all ofthem abreast, and taking up all the carriage road.
The way was long and lonely--not a soul stirring, and the landscape asfar as they could see covered with snow; but the sky was cheerful, andthe little birds sang overhead. Our club felt exhilarated by the nippingair, and discoursed by the way on divers subjects, until Mr. Oldstone,whose appetite for stories was insatiable, said that he saw no reasonwhy Mr. Blackdeed's story that was to come next should not enliven theirwalk. The proposal was seconded, and Mr. Blackdeed, finding himselfloudly called upon, began his story thus:
I must begin, then, gentlemen, by informing you that my family name isnot the one I bear at present. It is many years since I dropped that. Myfather was of good family, and possessed a large estate in ----shire. Iwas an only son, and should have inherited my father's estate, had not arascally uncle of mine cheated me out of it.
I was looked upon as a lad of great promise by my fond parents, andfrom earliest youth seemed destined for the stage; for as far back as Ican remember my greatest delight was to see a pantomime. I was moreprecocious than the general run of children at my age, for at an agewhen few children have begun to read I was already manager of a toytheatre. This taste of mine grew with my growth, and was encouraged bymy parents--probably because they saw it was an innocent amusement andkept me out of mischief.
At ten years old I began to write plays, in which I used to act myselfand invite my schoolfellows to act with me. This rendered me verypopular at school, both with the boys and with the masters, and I wonmany a prize for public speaking and for learning by heart long passagesfrom Shakespeare and other poets.
At fourteen I grew ambitious, and published a book of plays under my ownname, which, unluckily, was cut up unmercifully by the critics. This wasmortifying enough, but added to this I had to bear my father'sdispleasure for having published the book under his name, my parentbelieving it a great disgrace for a son of his to write books or plays.So he gave me a severe reprimand, and from that time forth thought ithis duty to discourage my taste for the drama. But nature will have herown way, in spite of whatever obstacles parents, and friends place inher path, and at fifteen I yearned for the mysteries of the "greenroom."
I had secretly, but no less determinedly, set my heart on following thestage as a profession, and one day my father took me into his study, andsaid it was high time I should make up my mind what profession tofollow. I replied that I had made up my mind already what profession tofollow. I told him that I intended to be an actor. At this he told me toget such ideas out of my head as soon as possible, that he would neverallow a son of his to disgrace his name by associating it with thestage.
I repeated my determination. He grew furious, and after beating me,locked me up in my room and ordered bread and water to be brought to meby a servant. This treatment, he told me, was to last until I had cometo my senses. However well this mode of proceeding might have answeredwith a youth of less spirit, it did not answer with me. Even an ordinaryboy of fifteen is no child, and I at that age was equal to a man oftwenty.
I felt the indignity of this treatment as an excessively sensitiveorganisation would. I refused to touch either the bread or the water,and meditated an escape from the paternal roof, never to return.
Now, it happened that at that time there was in the village a band ofstrolling players, who had hired a barn to act in. These I had been inthe habit of seeing act every evening, till my passion for the stage wasaugmented to an intense degree.
The players were to leave on the morrow. Here was an opportunity! Iwould wait till the evening, escape by the window of my chamber, andoffer my services to the manager. I looked down from my window into thegarden, to ascertain if I could venture upon a leap; but it was much toohigh for me, yet there was a ladder against the wall, though not nearenough for me to reach.
What was I to do? I tied sundry pocket-handkerchiefs together, which Iwetted. I then tied an ornament that served as a paper weight, beingrather heavy, and holding one end of the wet handkerchief in my hand, Ithrew the heavy end towards the ladder, which it caught, winding itselfround one of the rungs so tightly that I was enabled to draw it towardsme and place it just under my window, ready for the evening.
The evening came. I waited till my parents were at supper. This was justabout the time that the evening's performance would be at an end. Idonned my worst clothes, and tying up some necessaries in a handkerchiefand taking a walking-stick to carry the bundle across my shoulder, Iopened my casement and cautiously descended the ladder till I foundmyself in the garden.
There was yet another obstacle to be overcome; the garden wall had to bescaled, for the gate was already locked. The wall was high, but aftermuch exertion and many falls, I scrambled up--I hardly know how--andleapt down the other side into the road. I found that I had ripped up mycoat behind and damaged the knees of my small clothes.
In this plight I made my appearance before the manager. He looked at mefrom head to foot, scrutinisingly; asked me my name and what I had beenbred up to. I gave him the name I bear at present, and said that I hadnever been brought up to any trade, but had always had a taste for thestage.
"Humph!" he muttered, observing that I spoke better English than himselfor his company, "you appear a youth of some little education--eh?"
"I trust that will not unfit me for your company?" I said.
"On the contrary, young man," he said, "we are in want of educatedactors; but what brings you in this pitiful plight?"
"The frowns of fortune," I observed, laconically.
"Ah!" he observed, with a smile; "I understand. Well, what can you do?"
"My _forte_," I replied, "is high tragedy."
"Ah! I dare say," said he, satirically, "and I've no doubt you'll tellme that Macbeth, Hamlet, and Othello are your chief characters."
"Precisely so," I replied; "that is just what I mean to say."
"I thought so," he said. "My dear young man, you're stage-struck likemany others at your age. All you youngsters, when you begin, fancy thatyou are going to leap over the heads of us old experienced actors with abound; but in everything you must begin at the beginning, and you willhave to serve your apprenticeship at acting as well as anything else."
"Serve my apprenticeship!" I muttered to myself, indignantly. "_I_, theson of a gentleman, serve an apprenticeship!"
But I held my peace, as it did not suit me to quarrel with the managerat the onset.
"You must content yourself at present with small parts," said
themanager, "such as a page or walking gentleman, or, being yet veryyouthful looking, you might take a female part."
The latter part of the manager's speech offended my dignity, but I saidnothing.
"Come," said he, "let me see what you can do. Give me your idea ofHamlet. Begin with, 'To be, or not to be.'"
I accordingly began at the well-known passage, and recited it all theway through.
"Not so bad, by jingo!" said he. "Bravo! I did not think you were such aclever fellow. Now do the dagger scene in Macbeth."
I then went through that with equal success, and received very highpraise from the manager, who engaged me on the spot. I gave out a hintthat I had eaten nothing all day, and was very hungry, so the managerinvited me to supper. I made the acquaintance of all the other strollingplayers--a queer lot--who looked at me askance, doubtless because theysaw I came of a rather better stock than they themselves, and probablythey speculated on what they could make out of me.
Early the next morning we all started for London, and my _debut_ wasmade in a low London theatre, where I took the part of a young ladycarried away by brigands. In the next piece I acted a page, in the nexta lover, and so on. But I soon grew discontented with this smalltheatre, for I longed to show myself to the educated public, so I leftmy first manager, and sought an engagement in some more fashionabletheatre.
Here I had to act a fairy prince in a pantomime. The pantomime was agreat success, and drew many spectators. At the same time that thepantomime was going on, I had to act a page in one of Shakespeare'splays. I was now seventeen, and both tall and well grown, and possessedat that time--I think I can afford to say so now, gentlemen, as I amverging at present towards "the sear and yellow leaf"--a figure and aface that were the envy of the whole company.
Well, gentlemen, I improved fast in my profession, and one evening whenthe play of Romeo and Juliet was being acted at the theatre, the actorwho should have taken the part of Romeo was indisposed only a fewminutes before the curtain drew up. There was no one else in the companybut myself who was sufficiently up in the part to take his place, so Ioffered my services, and they were accepted.
Now, Romeo was one of my favourite characters, and I had studied thepart carefully; but the manager knew nothing of my talents as yet; infact, he confessed to me afterwards that he was very doubtful as to thesuccess of the piece that evening.
When the curtain drew up and the piece proceeded, I fancied I noticedsigns of discontent among the audience at not finding the usual Romeo,but as I went on with my part the applause was so great that I felt asif my reputation were established for life. In fact, I completelyeclipsed the actor whose part I had taken, inasmuch that the publicrefused to hear him again in that part, and the manager allotted hispart to me.
This led to great jealousy between us. We quarrelled, and I made thisthe excuse for leaving the theatre, being anxious to appear in a stillmore fashionable one. I sought an engagement in one of the largesttheatres in the metropolis, and as I already had some fame, I wasengaged at once. The manager had seen me perform himself, and promisedme when Romeo and Juliet should be acted again in his theatre that hewould give me the part of Romeo. They happened to be acting Hamlet then;and the part of Laertes was allotted to me. I acquitted myself with much_eclat_, and a long and favourable criticism appeared in the papersafterwards.
One evening I took the part of Hamlet, the usual actor not being able toperform, and acquitted myself so well that the papers were full of thewonderful young actor. From this time my name began to be famous. Ireceived a good salary, dressed fashionably, and entered into the bestsociety. Nevertheless, I was aware of the prejudice that the world hasagainst an actor, however celebrated he may be, so whenever I went intosociety, I dropped the name of Blackdeed, and resumed my own rightfulone. Many, however, on being introduced to me remarked how much Iresembled the celebrated young actor Blackdeed; but it was not for sometime afterwards that it was generally known that we were one and thesame person.
One evening, as I was entering a ball-room, I noticed that when my namewas announced some confusion took place. As I entered, who should comeforward to meet me but my father, whom I had not seen for three years.He advanced towards me, more in sorrow than in anger, and addressed mein tones in which pride and natural affection strove for the mastery.
"We meet at last, sir," he said; "I leave it to your conscience toimagine the state of anxiety into which you have thrown your poor motherand myself by your cruel conduct. I would fain have overlooked the wholeas a boyish freak, had you returned home of your own accord and soughtmy pardon; as it is, what can I say to you for having disgraced myname?"
"Disgraced your name, father! How?"
"Yes, sir; disgraced my name, by associating it with the stage--a nameuntainted and highly honoured for many generations back."
"Indeed, sir," I said, "I never yet heard that talent or genius coulddisgrace a name. However, aware of your prejudice against the stage, Ihave dropped your name, which might otherwise have become famous, andact under a fictitious one."
"Humph!" said he, somewhat pacified that his name had escaped disgrace."And what may be your theatrical name?"
"Blackdeed," said I.
"What! So you are the celebrated young actor everyone talks so muchabout," said he. "Well, well, you have been very foolish and very wrong,but if you consent to leave this life and return home with me, all mayyet be well. Come," he said coaxingly.
"Father," I said, "my course is mapped out. I have chosen my profession,and I must follow my true avocation. The voice of nature is strongerthan yours. Seek not to battle against my destiny."
My father, though immensely disappointed at my determination, would not,I believe, have cut me off, but dying suddenly, intestate, his estatewas seized by his brother. This led to a law-suit between my uncle andmyself, which lasted until nearly all my father's fortune was squanderedaway. I never got a farthing. Thus ever since I have had nothing todepend upon but my profession for a livelihood.
It now began to be rumoured abroad in society that I was none other thanthat very Blackdeed whose acting had created such a _furore_ in theworld. It also began to be said that I was the heir to an immensefortune, out of which I had been swindled by an unprincipled uncle. Imet those who knew my family well, and my misfortune procured for me thesympathy of many. I possessed a still greater interest in the eyes ofthe world now, and I found myself a greater lion than ever.
On one occasion after I had been acting Romeo at our theatre I donned mydress clothes and dropped in late at a friend's house where there was aball, and here I made the acquaintance of a certain family who residednot far from my father's house and knew my father intimately. The familyconsisted of an elderly gentleman, his wife, and three daughters.
The two elder sisters were very ordinary young ladies, such as one issure to find in every ball-room. They were neither pretty nor ugly;their manners conventional, their conversation flat and insipid. Whentalking to one they appeared to be thinking of something else, and theiranswers were generally in monosyllables.
The youngest daughter, however, differed much from her two eldestsisters, both in mind and in features; so much so, indeed, that Iimagined for some time that she must be their step-sister, but this wasnot the case, as I found out afterwards. Maud--that was the name of theyounger--was by far the cleverest really of the whole family, and yetshe was looked upon as a ninny by the rest. She had more originality inher than either of her two sisters, as I soon observed from her remarks;but she was also more retired, and preferred to hide her light, as itwere, under a bushel. It was only now and then that I could catch aglimpse of it, but when I did so it was most brilliant.
Without being strikingly beautiful, her face had that in it thatcaptivates more than mere beauty. The expression was ingenuous andpensive, at times melancholy. When in society she never seemed like oneof the herd, or to take the slightest interest in what was going on. Shewent through her dancing mechanically, and always seemed in the clouds,o
r, as her sisters would say, "wool-gathering."
It was easy to see from the first that no very sister-like feelingexisted between the two elder sisters and their younger one. Even theparents preferred their two elder girls to their youngest daughter.
The fact was that they--none of them--understood her; she was not oftheir order, and they set her down as rather wanting. If she was scoldedfor anything and she bore the rebuke with patience, this was set down toindifference and want of feeling, when my own experience of hercharacter was that she was the most sensitive creature that I had evermet with. If, as was often the case, she fell into a reverie in company,it was called sulkiness, and if when asked to perform on the piano, shemeekly obeyed in a sort of languid manner peculiar to herself, it wascalled unwillingness to oblige; yet when at the instrument her touch wasso soft and full of feeling, her voice so clear and modulating, that itseemed as if her whole soul was poured forth in the piece.
Nevertheless, neither her parents nor her sisters appreciated herplaying, or found in it anything more artistic or soul-stirring than inthe performance of other people. She was never thanked or applauded byher family for any service or kindness of hers towards them, but oftenupbraided for selfishness when her dreamy nature would cause her toforget the wants of others, while in reality she was one of the mostunselfish beings on this earth. How many mistakes might be rectified, ifthe different members of a family would take the trouble to study eachother more accurately!
Maud's nature was reserved to a fault; she did not care to shine, andthis was put down to incapacity. Whether it was she felt she could ifshe chose, and in so doing utterly eclipse her two elder sisters, andconsequently incur their envy, or whether it was an excess of modesty, Iknow not. One thing is certain, she possessed fine talents, and those,too, of an uncommon kind. Her health was delicate, and her parents,perhaps attributed her peculiarities to the state of her health, whileher two sisters, without allowing any such excuse, looked upon her as adownright fool.
She was snubbed on every occasion, and kept as much as possible in thebackground. It will be understood that all these observations of minewere not made in a single evening. It was not until we grew intimate andI had been repeatedly invited to the house, that I found out how mattersstood in the family. I could not help feeling nettled at the deliberateway in which poor Maud was put on the shelf by her elder sisters, and Ifelt it my duty, as much as good manners would permit me, to take herpart, and pay somewhat more attention to her than to the two elderdaughters.
This preference I saw was observed, and not looked upon very favourablyby the parents, who, I began to find out, had marked me for one of theelder girls. I saw plainly through their schemes, and heartlessly amusedmyself at their discomfiture while I paid my attentions to Maud. Duringthe summer I was invited to stay at the country seat of this family, andit was here that our intimacy ripened. Here I observed the fine pointsof Maud's character, in spite of all her reserve.
Without being regularly in love with each other, a sympathy had grown upbetween us which by others, I have no doubt, was regarded as love. Weappreciated each other's talents, and esteemed each other's characters.
The family had repeatedly seen me act, and Maud, more than any of them,seemed to appreciate my acting, while I was equally charmed at her skillon the piano and on the harp, and with her singing.
"I do not know how it is, Mr. Blackdeed," she said to me one day when wewere left alone together in the garden, "but you are the only person Iknow who treats me with respect, or, indeed, like a rational being."
"Indeed," said I, feigning not to have observed the way in which she wastreated by her family. "How so?"
"Oh! you know very well how I am treated at home. I have seen thesurprise on your face whenever my sisters snubbed me, and saw that youfelt how unfair it was. You will not pretend that you never observedit."
"Well, Miss Maud," I replied, "your penetration is such that I cannot doother than confess that _I have_ observed it, and that I was very muchsurprised at it. I have often wondered what the reason could be."
She answered with a slight sigh.
"No one seems to understand me. From childhood I was ever different fromthe rest. I seem to live two distinct beings--one with my family, andbefore the world, and another in my own thoughts.
"You will have observed my silence when in company. I am aware to whatit is generally attributed; but the fact is, that I have so little incommon with my sisters I feel that if I were to give utterance to myideas I should not be understood, but be considered more mad than theythink me at present; hence my silence. I never knew anyone but you whothought even in the slightest degree like myself, and therefore to you Ifeel less inclined to be reserved than to others; in fact, with you Ifeel it impossible to be reserved at all.
"It is as if you had some power over me to draw out my ideas--to draw meout of myself. All my life I have longed to know someone; to have somefriend who was unlike the rest of the world, and more like myself, whocould understand me, and to whom I could pour out my thoughts, and feelthat they were not poured out upon a desert soil."
"Do you know, Miss Maud," said I, "that from the very first I saw thatyou were quite different to any other young lady that I had ever metwith? But far from regarding you in the light that I know your familyregard you, I conceived an immense respect for you as a being of ahigher order than the generality of young ladies. There was much, too,that puzzled me in your character. I was convinced that you could notbut be aware that your abilities were above the ordinary, and itsurprised me much that you should care so little about showing them, oreven asserting your right against the--the tyranny, if I may say so--ofyour sisters."
"Well, it is my nature," she said. "What is it to me if they _do_ havetheir own way in everything. I do not think it a matter worth disputingabout. I do not live in their world, nor they in mine."
"And do you not long to make yourself better understood to yoursisters?" I asked, after a pause.
"I should like to," she replied; "but that is impossible."
"Why impossible?" I asked. "Have you ever tried to do so?"
"No; but from my knowledge of their characters it would be useless." Shepaused, and then added, "Do you know that I sometimes wish that I werebetter suited to this world than I am? My nature is so very peculiarthat perhaps you would laugh at me were I to tell you some of mypeculiarities."
"No," said I; "I do not think I should laugh at any peculiarities ofyour nature, whatever they might be. Your nature is one to study gravelyand reflect upon, not to laugh at."
"I mean," said she, "that my temperament is subject to certain phenomenathat many, perhaps _you_, might call hallucinations. I have neverconfided this to anyone before, fearing that I should be ridiculed orperhaps placed under the hands of some ignorant doctor."
"Indeed!" I exclaimed. "I am curious to hear of what sort thesephenomena are. I take an immense interest in natural phenomena,especially that sort connected with the temperament of individuals."
"Well," she answered, "as you encourage me so far, I do not mind tellingyou some of those most common to me. Ofttimes when I am alone, either inmy chamber or walking in the fields, a sort of dizziness comes over me,and I seem to be in the midst of a bed of flowers. When I try to pluckone they instantly vanish, and the dizziness likewise disappears. Atother times I have seen before me a wreath of stars, which lasts for twoor three minutes, then also vanishes. I have seen, too, distinctly inthe daytime the faces of certain relations of mine, long since dead, andat night I occasionally start out of my sleep and see human formsbending over me, and sometimes they speak to me."
"It is very strange," I observed. "And have you never been able toattribute these visions to any nervous excitement, or to any naturalcause whatever?"
"No; on the contrary, they generally appear when I am most calm."
I told her I had heard before of similar phenomena during, or even along time after, a serious illness, and that I thought in most casesthey might be
attributed to an over-excitement of the brain, brought onby indigestion or other causes. She told me that she had never had anyreally serious illness in her life, though she admitted that she wasconstitutionally delicate. We then went into a metaphysical discussion,which was interrupted by the rest of the family, who came to meet us inthe garden.
"I am sorry we have disturbed your _tete-a-tete_," said one of the eldersisters, quizzingly. "It must have been quite a pleasure to have beenconcealed behind the summer-house and listened to your intellectualconversation."
These words to a stranger would have conveyed nothing but a sort ofmerry banter, nor was there more conveyed in the tone, yet I, who hadstudied the nature of the speaker well, thought I discovered anundercurrent of sarcasm in the word "intellectual," as if she wasperfectly sure that no conversation between us could be intellectual.
"There is many a true word spoken in jest," I replied. "I assure youthat our conversation _has_ been _most_ intellectual. Miss Maud's ideasare so lofty, that it is really quite an effort on my part to followher," said I, with a smile, though I really meant what I said.
"I wish she would let us have the benefit of them," said the othersister, laughing, imagining, of course, that I had spoken satirically."She never favours us with any of those lofty ideas."
"No?" said I, affecting astonishment. "Then I must be a favouredindividual. Miss Maud's case is, however, not without parallel. Many ofour greatest minds have been most reserved and unassuming. It is acharacteristic of genius to be retired, though, if I had the abilitiesof Miss Maud, I am sure I should be too vain to keep them secret."
This was uttered with a sincerity of manner on my part that checked thelaugh that might have arisen from the sisters, and they were silent. Themother looked at us both, first at one and then at the other, inamazement, as if she half-believed me, and scrutinised Maud verynarrowly, as if she fancied she must either be a great fool or verydeep.
In the course of the afternoon the lady of the house took me aside andasked me if I were in earnest in my eulogium of Maud's intellect.
I replied that I was decidedly.
"What a strange girl it is!" she exclaimed. "She never seems to take anyinterest in anything or anybody around her. In fact, we none of us canmake her out. What do you think now is the reason of this strangereserve towards her own kindred?"
"Well, madam," I answered, "if I must tell you my real opinion, hernature is an uncommon one, and can only live in the society of otheruncommon natures. Her silence I attribute to an excessive sensitiveness,which not rarely accompanies genius, and which proceeds from aconsciousness that she is not easily understood."
"But surely, Mr. Blackdeed," said the lady of the house, "one wouldexpect that she would open her heart to her own flesh and blood, ratherthan to a comparative stranger like yourself."
"The idiosyncrasies of temperament, madam," said I, "are difficult toexplain. The mere accident of relationship will not necessarily give asimilarity of disposition. Occasionally we do find one in a familytotally unlike the rest, and therefore misunderstood by them. The reasonwhy Miss Maud takes no interest in what is conventionally termed societyis that she feels above it. She pants, as it were, for a higheratmosphere. For this reason she prefers lone rambles and thecontemplation of beautiful nature, with no companion save her ownthoughts, to the artificial society of the ball-room, with its insipidconversation.
"She evidently lives completely in a world of her own, into which shewill admit but very few. To judge from her conversation, she seemsexcessively well read, and acquainted with authors who rarely form apart of a young lady's education. You must have observed that she readsvery much. Indeed, I was perfectly astounded at her research, as well asthe originality of her remarks."
"Ah!" sighed the mother, "she is a very odd girl. It is true that she isalways reading. I have seen some strange books, too, in her library, butto tell you the truth, Mr. Blackdeed, neither myself nor any of thefamily ever thought for a moment that she really had anything in her.Her sisters look upon her as a perfect ninny."
"A great mistake," I observed; "and if you will take my advice, you willtry to understand her better. It may be difficult at first to get intoher confidence. It is a nature that requires great sympathy andencouragement and if once ridiculed at any idea she expressed, which toyou might appear strange or wild, you may be sure that she will closethe doors of her confidence upon you once again and for ever."
At this moment the master of the house came to meet us, and inform usthat dinner was ready. At dinner time I was seated opposite Maud. Shewas thoughtful and dreamy as usual all the while, and when addressed byany of the family would start as if out of a dream.
This peculiarity of hers was not taken notice of either by the family orthe servants, who were accustomed to her eccentricity, and the dinnerpassed off without any conversation worth recording. In the evening weassembled again to take a dish of tea together. Maud was still silentand pensive, and while the others were conversing together, I could nothelp admiring the calm, intellectual serenity of her countenance.
I fell into a reverie, my eye being fixed upon her with intenseinterest, when to my surprise and horror, she suddenly fell back in herchair and became as one lifeless.
"Maud! my dear, my dear!" exclaimed her mother, "what can you bethinking of, to fall asleep like that in company," while her twosisters, between whom she was sitting, began to shake her, but to theirsurprise she felt as rigid as a corpse in their hands, and appeared asinsensible.
"Mamma!" cried one of them, now really frightened. "Send for thedoctor."
Someone went to fetch a glass of cold water, but as I never assisted anylady before in such a predicament, and not knowing exactly what to do, Idid not offer my services until I was asked to support Maud, who wasfalling off her chair, when I rushed suddenly to her aid, and seizingher by the shoulders, replaced her on the seat. My hands had no soonertouched her than she again awoke, and opening her eyes sleepily, gazedabout her wonderingly.
It would seem as if my will that she should recover were sufficient, forI touched her so gently that it was impossible the mere touch could haveawakened her out of the deep magnetic trance I had unwittingly sent herinto.
"How do you feel now, dear?" said her mother. "What can be the meaningof this swoon? Has it ever happened to you before?"
"No, never."
"I must consult a doctor about it," said her mother. "It may be thebeginning of a series of fits, and must be looked into."
Wonderments on all hands were expressed as to what could be the originof this unexpected swoon, but I saw from a look Maud gave me that shewas aware that it arose from my influence over her. Maud and myselfalone were in the secret, but I was more cautious for the future, anddared not look too fixedly at her, for fear of bringing on anothertrance. We spent many happy days together while I was staying at thiscountry seat, and I enjoyed much of Maud's charming conversation. Butsoon I was recalled to London to continue my theatrical career, so Itook leave of the family, and started with the stage for London.
Hamlet was to be acted at our theatre, and it so happened that a famousactor of ours had died, and the part of Hamlet was allotted to me.
In the middle of my part I could not help wishing to myself that Maudwere present to see me act. The wish was intense; nor was it mere vanitythat prompted it, but I really had a sincere respect for her opinion,and she was that sort of girl who would have told me to my face of anydefect in my acting she noticed, for she was a merciless critic.
I rather longed to hear my acting severely cut up by her than to receiveunqualified praise, although I was sure that praise from her lips wouldbe unfeigned.
The memory of Maud's face haunted me throughout my part, but so far frombeing an impediment to me, I fancied I acted better than usual, and Iwas anxious for Maud to be present that I might hear her candid opinionof my performance afterwards. I was in the middle of that scene whereHamlet strains his eyes into space after his father's ghost when Inoticed th
e figure of a lady seated in one of the boxes near the stagewhich up to that time had been empty. Surprise at seeing a lady alonewhom I had not noticed before so near the close of the piece caused meto look again.
Good Heavens! it was Maud herself. What could she be doing in that boxalone? Not even dressed for the theatre, but wearing the identical dressI had seen her last in, as if she were at home. I started, in spite ofmyself. She seemed to heed no one, for her eyes were constantly fixed onme. Her appearance there I did not attempt to account for, but I felt athrill of delight that my acting was being appreciated by one at least.
I inwardly resolved at the close of the last scene to wrap my cloakhurriedly over my theatrical dress and rush out to meet her before shestepped into her carriage, but I was not in time, so I undressed andleisurely returned home.
A few days afterwards I met the medical attendant of the ---- family inthe street. I inquired after the young ladies and especially Maud.
"It appears they are in London," said I.
"Indeed!" replied he. "Then it must be very lately, for it was only onthe tenth, in the evening, that I was called for to attend upon MissMaud, and they did not say anything about coming to town."
"On the tenth!" exclaimed I, in amazement, "you say you saw Miss Maud?"
This was the very evening I had seen her at the theatre.
"Yes; on the tenth."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Perfectly," he said. "In the evening, at about half-past nine."
"At half-past nine, on the tenth!" I exclaimed. "Why, she was at thetheatre at that hour. I saw her."
"Impossible!" said the doctor. "You must have been mistaken; someonelike her, perhaps."
"No, no, doctor," I firmly asserted; "I tell you she was in a box nearthe stage while I was acting Hamlet. I was as near to her as I am to younow; it is impossible that I could be mistaken."
"But I tell you, you _are_ mistaken, most grievously," said the doctor,somewhat warmly. "I give you my word of honour as a medical man and agentleman that I attended Miss Maud at her own country house on thetenth instant, at about half-past nine in the evening."
"Then it must have been her ghost I saw, that's all," said I. "And doyou know, doctor, that the most strange part of it all was, she wasperfectly alone in the box, and not dressed for the theatre, but worethe very same dress I saw her last in? I marked her well, and wonderingto myself what brought her there unaccompanied and in such plain attire.It is true, she is a little eccentric, but then her parents, I thought,would have looked after her sufficiently to prevent such a breach ofetiquette. Really, doctor, I don't know what to think of it."
"Come," said he, with a smile, "come, confess you are a little smittenwith the young lady. You can't quite get her out of your thoughts, evenwhile you are acting. She has made a great impression on yourover-sensitive brain, and at the time perhaps your nerves were a littleunstrung from over study or over excitement about your part, orelse"--here he relaxed into another smile--"are you quite, _quite_ sureyou did not take just a _leetle_ drop of _something_ upon an emptystomach, just to screw yourself up to the right pitch?"
And here he laughed heartily.
"Upon my honour, doctor," said I, "I am not in the habit of havingrecourse to stimulants. I assure you----"
He interrupted me with a hearty laugh, and said, "Ah! you actors are saddogs."
I smiled and then after a moment's reflection said, "By the way, doctor,for what were you called to attend upon Miss Maud? I hope she is notdangerously ill. What is her complaint?"
"Well," said the physician, gravely, "I am afraid it is somewhatserious. She had a fit that appeared to me to be cataleptic. It is thesecond she has had it seems. It lasted for some considerable time, andwhen she awoke she complained of a weight over her eyeballs and aninclination to sleep, with a pain down the whole right side of the body.She felt extremely nervous, and asked for a fan, with which she beggedme to fan her powerfully, and afterwards to change the movement, so asto cause the current of air to pass her face in a transverse direction.This I did, after which she declared that she had recovered."
I was startled at the doctor's relation, but said nothing, for I was nowmore convinced than ever that my intense desire for her to be presenthad influenced her magnetically, and had been the means, thoughunwittingly, of withdrawing her spirit temporarily from the body. Butwhat would have been the use of my declaring my suspicions to such anold-fashioned fogey as this worthy doctor? I should only have beenlaughed at, so I held my peace.
"Well, doctor," said I, after we had walked on together for some time insilence, being occupied with my thoughts, "if you have nothing else todo in the evenings, now that you are in London, I should be glad if youwould drop in at our theatre to see me act. This evening I am going toact Romeo again. If you have any spare time, I can give you abox-ticket."
He thanked me, and said that as he was free that evening he wouldgladly accept my offer, so we parted.
The evening arrived, and when I made my appearance on the boards Inoticed my friend the doctor already in his box. His appearance put mein mind of the conversation we had had in the morning, and, do what Icould, I was unable to get Maud out of my head all through the piece. Icertainly _did_ long for her to be present, though I tried not to wishtoo strongly, lest I should bring on another magnetic trance. I glancedtowards the box where I had last seen Maud. It was occupied by twogentlemen, and Maud was not there.
As the piece proceeded, however, I forgot my caution, and an intensedesire to see her again, which I could not restrain, came over me.Shortly afterwards, glancing casually towards the same box, which wasjust opposite the doctor's, _I perceived Maud, dressed as on the eveningbefore_.
I was horror-struck, for I knew now that I saw her spirit for certain,and that the body was nearly a hundred miles off. The two gentlemen inthe box did not seem aware of her presence, while she looked neither tothe right nor to the left, but seemed thoroughly absorbed in the piece.Her apparition there on that night was not of such long duration as onthe evening of the tenth, probably because I was frightened at what Ihad done and wished her spirit back to its earthly tenement.
When I looked again towards the box after a quarter-of-an-hour Maud wasno longer there. At the conclusion of the play I undressed hurriedly,and sought my friend the doctor among the crowd, but I could not findhim, so I strolled into a supper room hard by, just before returninghome, and there at a table I saw my friend.
"Hullo! doctor," said I, "so you have come to refresh yourself after thefatigue of seeing me act, eh?"
"Why, you see," retorted he, merrily, "your capital acting has quitegiven me an appetite."
After one or two complimentary speeches on his part, I took my seat byhis side and gave my orders to a waiter.
"Doctor," I said, after a pause, "I saw her again to-night."
"Who?"
"Why, Maud, to be sure."
"Bah! I'll tell you what it is, young man, you want bleeding."
Pulling out his lancet, he wanted to bleed me on the spot, but I refusedto be bled.
"Nonsense, doctor," said I; "I haven't any more blood than I know whatto do with. I tell you I saw _her_ as distinctly as I see you now. Shewas in the box opposite yours where those two gentlemen were, but shedid not seem to belong to them."
"Well," said he, "I saw those two gentlemen in the box opposite mine,and I can take my oath there was no one else there."
"Mark my word," said I, "when you return to ---- and call on thatfamily, you will be informed that Maud has had another fit. This is the15th. Mark the day and the hour, and if she has not, I will lose myright hand, or I will give you permission to bleed me."
"What connection is there between her having a fit and your imaginingthat you saw her at the theatre? If she was at the theatre, I must haveseen her as well as you, and if she were in a fit this evening, howcould she be at the theatre?"
I pretended to be convinced by his arguments, but forbore to explainmyself further, merel
y adding:
"Well, we shall see--if you hear Maud has had a fit on the evening ofthe 15th, at about the same hour as the last one, you will let me know,will you not?"
"Oh, certainly."
At this moment the waiter returned with my supper, and the conversationtook a different turn; but after we had finished and were returninghome, he urged me again to be bled or to try a little change of air, ashe observed that my nerves were evidently out of order. Having arrivedat the corner of a street, I shook hands with my friend, and we parted.It was about a week after our parting, on returning from a walk I founda letter on my table. My servant told me that an elderly gentleman hadcalled and enquired if I were at home, and receiving an answer in thenegative, he had asked for pen, ink, and paper, and left me thefollowing lines:--
MY DEAR SIR--Since I saw you last I have received a letter from Mrs.---- begging me to return as soon as I conveniently could, as Maud hadhad another fit on the evening of the 15th, between nine andhalf-past--the very day and hour, you will remember, you fancied you sawher in the box opposite mine. I am not a believer in spiritualapparitions, and therefore cannot set this down to anything more than avery strange coincidence. I called at the house of Mrs. ---- and saw thewhole family. When the lady of the house had told me about Maud's fit, Iafterwards related to her, in the presence of the young lady herself,the curious circumstance of her fancied appearance to you in the stagebox. Maud listened with great attention, and seemed to take moreinterest in my recital than the rest did, for afterwards, taking meapart, she asked me many questions about you; when I had seen you last,how you were, etc., etc. I returned to town yesterday, and as you askedme to let you know if your prophecy came true, I have left you thisnote. Till we meet again,--Yours very truly,
JOHN MERRIVALE.
How I triumphed inwardly on the perusal of this letter! I placed it inmy pocket, and taking my hat and cane, I left my lodgings and walkedabout the streets with a buoyant step, hoping to meet Merrivale, just tocrow over him for disbelieving my vision. I would have called upon him,had I known his address, but I saw no more of my friend--at least, forsome time afterwards. It happened that on that very evening a piece wasbeing performed at our theatre in which I did not act, and I thought Iwould be a spectator for once in a way, so, from caprice, I took thevery box in which I had seen Maud. On entering the box I experienced allthe awe and veneration of a pious devotee when he kneels at some holyshrine.
"This place has been visited by Maud's spirit," said I to myself, as Ishut myself in. "This is the very chair she used."
I seated myself, and the curtain drew up. It was a melodrama, if Iremember rightly, which was acted that night, but I was so occupied withmy thoughts about Maud, that I really cannot say with certainty whatpiece it was. The audience applauded every now and then, so I suppose ittook well. As for myself, I had fallen into a reverie of which Maud wasthe subject.
That stage box had for me a certain sanctity and purity since the firsttime I had seen her there. Whether it was that on this evening I had notmy part to think of and so felt my mind open to other thoughts thanthose connected with my profession, or whether this hallowed spot awokein my breast certain feelings, I know not, but certain it was that neverhad Maud so thoroughly taken possession of my thoughts as on thatevening.
I attempted to analyse my thoughts. What was it that I felt for Maud?What was it that made me think more of her than of other girls? And whydid I think more and more about her every day? I hardly knew myself howto answer these questions. Was it--could it be--no--_love_, that I feltfor her? No! it was not that; at least, if it was, it was not like othermen's love. It was a feeling far purer, far loftier than falls to thelot of ordinary men's experience. I thought that the world didnot--never did, nor ever could contain another Maud. She was differentto the rest of her kind. _Her_ beauty, _her_ talents, _her_ beautifulnature, could never excite in me such a vulgar passion as that which theworld calls love. The thought never entered my head to make her my own,and I was content to worship her at a distance.
I began to wonder to myself if Maud could be aware of the strongimpression she had made upon me. I even dared to hope, though humbly,very humbly, she might not _quite_ have forgotten _me_; that there wasstill a spare corner in her memory--I had nearly said _heart_--leftvacant in which I might crave a home.
Did she, perhaps--here an electric shock ran through me at the verythought--did she feel for me _exactly_ in the same way as I felt forher? Oh, rapture! and I tried to persuade myself that she did, for thethought comforted me.
"Ah, Maud, Maud," I muttered to myself, in the midst of my reverie.
At that moment I heard the door handle move.
"Confound that box-keeper," muttered I. "What can he want, coming todisturb my meditation?"
The door opened, and I turned my head to see who it was. Gentlemen, willyou believe it? It was Maud, again dressed exactly the same as before. Istarted, and my blood ran cold, my hair stood on end, my teethchattered, and my knees knocked together. I essayed to speak, but mytongue refused to give utterance to what I wished to say. I was then inthe presence, nay close to, a supernatural essence bearing thelineaments of Maud, whose body I knew for certain to be at her countryseat, nearly a hundred miles away.
The figure gave me a friendly look of recognition, and seated itself. Ifancied it offered me its hand, but I was too dumbfounded to accept it,and remained stupefied. At length this excessive feeling of terror beganto wear off, and I ventured to say, in a low tone, broken with emotion,"Maud, is it really you? Speak."
"William," said a voice proceeding from the lips of the figure, butwhich sounded as if it came from a long way off, "William!"
And there was the deepest pathos in the tone. It was the first time Ihad been called thus by Maud. When she was in the body she always calledme Mr. Blackdeed. I waited for some moments to hear if the voice wouldsay more.
After a long pause it spoke again, and said, "You called me. Wherefore?"
"Called you, Maud!" said I. "I called you not."
"The concentration of your thoughts has had the power to command myspirit from afar," said the figure.
"Is it so?" said I. "And can you not battle against such commands?"
The figure replied not, save by a look, which seemed to say, "When youcommand, no."
I understood the look, and felt flattered by its meaning, but knew nothow to respond, so I was silent for some moments.
At length I said, "Maud--if I may call you Maud--tell me, do you suffermuch when withdrawn from the body?"
"Less out of it than in it," was the reply.
"How so?" I asked.
"You know how I stand with my family," she said.
"True, true," I observed; "and this must cause you great pain. However,I hope in time----"
"Never, never," she replied with a sigh.
"Oh, why not? Do you not wish to live happily with them?"
"Oh, how willingly!"
"Then let me see if I cannot make matters a little smooth for you.Perhaps----"
She shook her head doubtfully, and said, "I feel as if I did not belongto them nor they to me; in fact, I feel as if I never belonged toanybody, nor ever should."
"And never should!" exclaimed I. "Why, you do not mean to saythat--that--you never intend to marry?"
"I fear I should make but an indifferent wife."
"Why so? I am sure you possess qualities that many married ladies mightenvy. Of course, you would require a husband who understood you and wasable to appreciate your virtues."
"You flatter me," she said. "Nevertheless, you will see that I shallnever marry. Mark my words. I was not born for it. Do you know," shesaid, lowering her voice, and speaking in a solemn tone, "that of late Ihave had a strange presentiment that my end is not far off."
"Now, really, Maud," said I, "pray do not talk like that, for Isincerely hope that nothing more serious than a little temporaryindisposition has given rise to s
uch a presentiment."
"My health of late has been, if anything, better than usual. I do notthink this presentiment can be reasonably accounted for in that way. Atother times when I have felt at all poorly such a thought has neveroccurred to me."
I merely shook my head and said that I hoped she would not encouragethese presentiments.
"William," she said, "remember my words; I shall not live till the yearis out."
I did not know what to answer, and gazed upon her in astonishment forsome minutes, when suddenly her face grew agonised, and she manifestedsymptoms of impatience.
"What is it, Maud?" I asked. "What ails you?" She seemed to havedifficulty in answering, but I fancied that I understood the words, "Iam drawn to the body; let me go."
And rising suddenly from her chair and gasping, she made for the door,but disappeared from my sight before she had time to reach it.
I remained stupefied at the figure's sudden disappearance, as well as atthe whole occurrence of the evening. I knew not what to think. Had Ibeen dreaming? No. This was not the first time, either, that I had seenher. I had been holding converse with no less a being than Maud's ghost;her own pure and beautiful spirit, drawn by my art from the body whileyet breath remained.
A horrid thought struck me. Perhaps I had detained the spirit too longaway from the body. Perhaps there was no one in the house to wake herout of her trance. I reproached myself for not foreseeing the mischiefthat I might do, and returned home from the theatre that evening withMaud more than ever in my thoughts.
Next morning when I awoke, whether from the excitement of the previousevening or from a cold caught by walking home in the rain, or bothcombined, perhaps, I found myself in a high fever. I was compelled toremain in bed, though I was averse to sending for the doctor until somedays later, when I found the fever grew rapidly worse.
A doctor was sent for--not my friend Merrivale, as I knew not where helived--and he attributed my illness to over-study and want of properexercise. I merely mention my illness to tell you a dream which occurredto me during a portion of it. I thought that I was transported to realmsof enchantment, and that whilst the most beautiful scenery imaginablelay before me, I heard in the distance soft strains of music andsinging, which gradually drew nearer and nearer to me.
The atmosphere seemed to fill with a delicious perfume, and lookingupwards, I descried a troop of angels, bearing one with them who seemedlately of this earth. The angels gradually descended, and left thefigure they carried with them at my feet, whilst they flew upward. Iinstantly recognised in the figure before me the features of Maud. Shewas dressed in a long robe of white, and, with an expression in hercountenance too beautiful and too unearthly to describe, she spoke thesewords:
"Farewell, William; we meet again," and vanished.
I awoke, and the dream remained impressed upon my mind for a long timeafterwards.
Recovering at length from my illness, I resumed my duties at thetheatre, where I was received with immense applause after my longabsence, and continued my career with enthusiasm on my part andadmiration on the part of my audience. Night after night I would gothrough my part, and week after week and month after month passed away,and I neither heard nor saw anything further of Maud since our strangemeeting in the stage box--_viz._, on the 31st of December.
Sometimes a violent desire to see her again would seize me in the midstof my part, and I would glance furtively towards the haunted spot, halfexpecting to see her, but I never saw her again from that day to this.The dream I had had concerning her during my illness often recurred tome, and I wondered whether it really was a revelation or only anordinary dream to be accounted for by the state of my health at thetime.
I had seen no more of Maud's family, neither had I again met our commonfriend the doctor or any other friend of the family from whom I mightlearn the state of Maud's health, or whether she were dead or alive.
A year or two passed away, when I was invited by some friends of mine tospend a week or so at their country seat, not very far from the seat ofMaud's family. I took the stage, and was put down at a country inn, fromwhence I had to walk about a mile-and-a-half to reach my friend's house.It was early in the morning when I arrived at the inn, and not being ina particular hurry to reach the house, thinking that the family mightnot yet have risen, I sauntered leisurely along the carriage road,halting occasionally and looking around me. The whole scene--the airitself--seemed to call up memories of Maud.
Absorbed in a reverie, I wandered on until I found myself at the gate ofa cemetery, which I mechanically entered. I had passed the same cemeteryoften before in my walks with Maud. What a picturesque old place it was!Filled with old crumbling monuments with quaint epitaphs and overgrownwith rank grass and weeds.
It was one of Maud's favourite spots for meditation, as she told me. Itwas so perfectly solitary--overlooked by no houses and shut out from thegaze of passers-by with thick yew trees and cypress. Then, when youentered at the gate, what a silence reigned within! I love those grandold melancholy retreats, and so did Maud. Here the rich and poor of thesurrounding villages for miles around were buried. I passed by theelegant marble tombs of the wealthy and the humbler grassy mounds of thepeasantry. My thoughts were filled with the shortness of human life, thevanity of its noblest pursuits, and the equalling, never-sparing hand ofdeath.
Even the bracing morning air and the merry sunshine were insufficient todispel thoughts like these, for the spot had a solemnity of its ownabout it. The abode of the dead is at all times sacred to us, even whenwe find it in the heart of a populous city, amidst the bustle and stirof daily life; but how much more is it sanctified when we discover it insome rural and secluded spot ungrimed with the smoke of factories,unbroken in upon by rude voices from without, and the mossy stones andovergrown weeds and brambles of which even the hand of the trim gardenerhas not disturbed.
I seated myself upon an ancient tomb, and gazed around me. Here lay aknight of old, there a lord of the manor; yonder some poor rustic whosehumble grave of turf bore no record of the name, age, or sex of itsoccupant, what its owner's deeds had been on earth, whether fruitful orunfruitful. Close beside it rose a stately tombstone of white marblewith a long inscription. "Doubtless here lays some rich landowner," Ithought, "whose supposed virtues are here recorded in full."
I was too far off to read what was inscribed, but the tomb was a newone. It was not there when Maud and I took our rambles together, and Irecollected all the most important gravestones. I rose and advanced afew steps, when I suddenly halted a few paces from the tomb, andrecoiled in horror. I was seized with trembling, my heart sank, and Ifelt my brow covered with a cold sweat. The letters on the monument swambefore my eyes. I brushed away a tear as I read the following lines:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MAUD E----N, YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF GEORGE E----N, OF ---- WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 31ST OF DECEMBER, 1750. AGED 21 YEARS.
Then followed one or two verses from the Bible.
"Oh, Maud, Maud!" I cried, in an agony, and throwing myself on hergrave, I wept bitterly.
"What says the gravestone? 'On the 31st of December,'" said I to myself."Good heavens! That was the very evening on which I saw her spirit lastin the stage box!"
I had drawn her soul away from her body for too great a length of time._I_ then was the cause of her death. Poor Maud! She was right in sayingshe should not live the year out, but I little thought that when herspirit hurried from my presence on that fatal night that it was thenabout to leave the body for ever.
I felt like a murderer. The thought that one so good, so innocent, andso talented should meet with her death through one so worthless asmyself galled me. My agony was insufferable. "Oh, Maud! would that wehad never met!" I cried aloud, for now, but, alas, too late, I began tofeel the consuming fire of an intense love for her that in her lifetimewas as yet undeveloped; added to which were the stings of remorse for myown careless, if not wicked, conduct.
&n
bsp; I felt now that she had loved _me_. Why had I not come forward before tocrave her hand? Could I not see that she loved me, though she confessedit not? Fool that I was! Could I not have been happy with her and madeher happy? What was it that made me draw back? I know not. There wassomething about her which awed me, and kept me aloof.
Then, again, was I in a position at that time to support a wife? Had Ithe right to come forward? No, I answered myself, and this thoughtconsoled me somewhat, but had I not already allowed myself to be carriedaway by a passion that had engulfed both her and myself?
Love, grief, and remorse struggled in my breast for the mastery. I weptaloud, and kissed the cold gravestone fervently. I know not how long Imight have been thus, for in my anguish I took no count of time, when Iwas suddenly aroused by a footstep behind and a voice.
"Mercy on us, who is this?" said the stranger.
I turned, and beheld my friend Merrivale. Whilst taking his morning'swalk as usual he had been attracted by my lamentations, and curiosityled him to enter the cemetery.
"Why, what the--I say--what! Is that _you_?" he said, as I looked upabashed in the midst of my grief, and knew not what to reply.
"Come, come," said he. "I understand all, I saw all from the beginning.I am not surprised, you know, with one of your temperament, but do youknow, young man, you might catch your death of cold, indulging yourgrief in the morning dew on a cold gravestone. You must be--really, mydear sir--you must be insane."
"Doctor," said I, "we may meet another time, when I may have more to sayto you. For the present leave me. I arrived here early this morning,having been invited to a friend's house. It is time for me to make myappearance. Till we meet again, farewell. And, doctor," said I, "youwill keep this matter secret, eh?"
"Very well," said he, with a smile which seemed to me forced in order todisguise his emotion, for I noticed that he turned away his headsuddenly, shook my hand, and walked away hurriedly.
We had both of us left the cemetery, and about half-a-mile further onled me to the door of my friend's house.
I tried to assume an air of indifference before my friend, anddiscoursed on various topics; nevertheless, he noticed that my handtrembled, and that I seemed distracted. I said I had been a little outof health lately, and was glad of a little change of air.
"My doctor, Mr. Merrivale," said he, "will be here to-day to look at thechildren. If you would like to see him----"
"Thank you, thank you; but I hope it is nothing worth mentioning."
In the afternoon Merrivale arrived, and I managed to find an opportunityof speaking with him alone. I inquired after the family E----n, and wasinformed that Maud had died suddenly in a trance, and he had been calledtoo late. That her two sisters were engaged to be married. That Maud hadspoken much of me before her last fit, and had given out some strangemysterious hints of a certain power I had over her, and nothing couldinduce her mother and sisters to believe otherwise than that I had castan evil spell over her.
He added that her father was more reasonable, and did not believe inthose things. The family would be sure to hear of my arrival in thevillage, therefore I resolved to call on an early opportunity. I did so,and was well received by Maud's father, he having been intimate withmine, but by the mother and sisters with rigid coldness. They did noteven offer me their hand. I expected this, but nevertheless felt it myduty to call. I made some slight allusion to Maud's death in as delicatea way as I could, but was checked in the midst of my remarks by scornfulglances from the mother and sisters.
I left the house, and I need hardly say that this was my last call onthat family, although the master of the house wrung my hand cordially,and said he should be always glad to see me when chance led me to thoseparts.
I returned to my friend's house, where I tried to divert myself with aweek's shooting. I frequently met my friend Merrivale. We used to takewalks together sometimes. In one of our rambles I recounted to him allthe particulars of the evening of the 31st of December, when I had lastseen and spoken to Maud in the spirit at the theatre.
He marvelled, but was silent.
* * * * *
By the time the tragedian had finished his recital, our friends hadarrived at the door of the inn, where their host's pretty daughterwaited to receive them.
"Well, Helen, my dear," said Mr. Oldstone. "Is the breakfast ready? Wehave had a long story, and we are all very hungry."
"Yes, sir," answered the maiden; "everything is on the table. I'll runand fetch the eggs. I put them in to boil when I saw you coming in thedistance. The toast and rolls are hot, and all in order."
"Bravo! Helen, bravo!" said Professor Cyanite, rubbing his hands.
"By my troth, Helen," said our artist, "if I wanted an appetite yourbright eyes would be enough to give me one."
Helen blushed and smiled, and skipped lightly away to see after theeggs.
"Ah! here is a breakfast fit for a king," said Mr. Crucible, as Helenre-entered with a tray.
"And all made with her own fair hands, too, I'll warrant," said McGuilp.
"What makes you blush so much of late, Helen?" asked Mr. Hardcase.
"Oh, what a shame to tease the poor child," said Mr. Parnassus, withtenderness.
"Ah! Helen," sighed Dr. Bleedem, "your health and rosy cheeks are worthall my drugs."
"'I would I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch thatcheek,'" quoted the tragedian from his favourite "Romeo and Juliet."
"Order, order!" cried various other members at once.
At that moment our host entered to call away his daughter, so Helen wasspared further banter.
As the meal proceeded the company began to dispute who should tell thenext story. Of those present who had not yet entertained the companywith a tale were Mr. Crucible and Mr. Oldstone. One of the two _must_tell a story, as the club decreed, but as each of these gentlemen wishedto lay the burden of the story upon the shoulders of the other, nothingseemed likely to be settled.
Accordingly, after the breakfast things had been removed dice werecalled for, and it was agreed that whoever should throw the highestshould tell the story. Our host soon returned with the dice-box, andremained to see which of the two gentlemen should throw the highernumber.
Mr. Oldstone seized the dice-box, and shaking it well, threw doublefive. It was now Mr. Crucible's turn, so taking the dice-box from thehand of the first thrower, and rattling it twice or thrice, he threw thenumber twelve.
"Now then, Crucible," said Mr. Oldstone, laughing, "no shirking, but letus have the story at once."
"What! so soon after breakfast!" exclaimed Mr. Crucible, "and before wehave had time to digest the last properly."
"I hope you will excuse my presence here gentlemen," said Mr. Hardcase,"for I have a case to attend to."
"Now really, Hardcase, that's too bad," ejaculated Mr. Oldstone.
At this moment a servant arrived hurriedly at the "Headless Lady," tocall away Dr. Bleedem to see a patient.
"Really, gentlemen," said the doctor, "I am very sorry, but business_is_ business."
"Business! business!" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone, in horror at such a wordbeing uttered within the sacred precincts of the club. "Business! Ugh!"
Professor Cyanite, too, had a great scientific work which he was gettingready for the press, and begged also to be allowed to withdraw.
"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, "this is really very provoking. Icannot think what ails you all this morning. Since our club is reft ofthree such staunch members, there seems nothing else to be done but todefer the story until the evening, when there will be no excuse foranyone to be absent."
This was agreed to, and the remaining inmates of the "Headless Lady"began to while away the time each after his own manner. Our artist begana portrait of the landlord's pretty daughter. Mr. Blackdeed, who wasonly here for the holidays, sat to work to finish a tragedy that he hadbegun. Mr. Parnassus composed an ode. Mr. Crucible retired to hischamber to try some chemical experiment, and
Mr. Oldstone, findinghimself deserted, had nothing left him to do but to look over hiscabinet of curiosities.
Let us return to our artist and his model. How happy they both are! Bothof them young and good-looking, and left all to themselves. With whatinspiration the hand of the painter glides over his canvas, and how theface of the pretty Helen brightens up every time the artist refresheshis memory by taking a peep at her from behind his easel. There is noaffectation in the expression or the pose of the sitter, it is quiteeasy and natural, and beautifully simple. She does not seem consciousshe is sitting for her portrait.
Every now and then, after working in silence for some twenty minutes orso, McGuilp breaks the monotony by some pleasing remark or question, towhich the maiden replies charmingly. Sometimes she in her turn will askhim questions about Italy, and whether the country and the people arethe same as in England.
"No, Helen," McGuilp replies; "not the same. Italy is warmer, the skybluer, and grapes grow in the open air along the road side. The people'sfaces are darker and their language more musical than ours. They are allRoman Catholics; but, alas, the government is bad, and the country isinfested with brigands, who attack travellers in the mountains andsometimes keep them as hostages till their friends can be sent for topay any ransom they may choose to ask, in default of which their victimsare tortured and maimed in the most inhuman manner."
"Oh, what horrid wretches! I was just going to say, before you told methat, what a paradise Italy must be to live in! But I don't think Ishould like to live there now."
"Well, these are drawbacks, I admit," said McGuilp, "but, nevertheless,Italy is a very charming country. Fancy a land where every peasant makeshis own wine--good wine, and cheap, too. What merrymakings they have,too, on their feast days, and how picturesque their costume!"
"Ah! do tell me how they are dressed. I should so like to know."
"Would you, Helen?" said McGuilp. "Then, as the sitting is now at anend, being past twelve o'clock, I will let you look over my portfolio.You will find some studies that I have made both of men and women in thecostumes of the Roman peasantry."
"Oh, do show them to me," exclaimed Helen, in delight. "I am so curiousto see what they are like. Did you say it was past twelve o'clock? Ibegan my sitting at nine, and it does not seem to me more thanhalf-an-hour that I have been here."
And I have no doubt she spoke the truth. Happy moments are short. Alas!how rapidly time glides away in youth, and how provokingly long itappears when we have most reason to wish it should pass quickly. AsHelen was engaged in admiring the studies and sketches of McGuilp ourhost knocked at the door to ask if his daughter could be spared, as hermother wanted her aid in the affairs of the house.
"Oh, certainly," said McGuilp; "but I must have another good sittingto-morrow."
"Very well, sir. May I be permitted to look at the portrait?" asked thelandlord.
"You may look," replied our artist; "but I warn you the likeness is notstriking at present."
"Gramercy, sir!" exclaimed the landlord, in ecstasy; "if it is not mygirl herself already!"
"Ah! my good host, wait until I have had some half dozen sittings or so,and then look again," said McGuilp.
Our landlord then looked approvingly over our artist's portfolio, andsaid, "Ah, sir, it is a noble art."
Helen was delighted with her portrait, of course, and equally so withthe contents of the portfolio. McGuilp complimented her upon hersitting, and Helen disappeared for the present.
At one o'clock Helen reappeared with the lunch, and those members of theclub who remained at home met again over their frugal meal. They whiledaway the time until the evening with politics and a rubber at whist.
At length the village clock struck the dinner hour, and all guests werepresent. The dinner passed off merrily, and all awaited the storyanxiously. Our host and his daughter were invited to hear it, so havingfilled their pipes and stirred the fire, Mr. Crucible, finding himselfloudly called upon, took a sip at his port and began his story.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume I Page 9