Twice-Told Tales

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE HOUSE

  III

  LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE

  Mine excellent friend, the landlord of the Province House, waspleased, the other evening, to invite Mr. Tiffany and myself toan oyster supper. This slight mark of respect and gratitude, ashe handsomely observed, was far less than the ingenioustale-teller, and I, the humble note-taker of his narratives, hadfairly earned, by the public notice which our joint lucubrationshad attracted to his establishment. Many a cigar had been smokedwithin his premises--many a glass of wine, or more potent aquavitae, had been quaffed--many a dinner had been eaten by curiousstrangers, who, save for the fortunate conjunction of Mr. Tiffanyand me, would never have ventured through that darksome avenuewhich gives access to the historic precincts of the ProvinceHouse. In short, if any credit be due to the courteous assurancesof Mr. Thomas Waite, we had brought his forgotten mansion almostas effectually into public view as if we had thrown down thevulgar range of shoe shops and dry goods stores, which hides itsaristocratic front from Washington Street. It may be unadvisable,however, to speak too loudly of the increased custom of thehouse, lest Mr. Waite should find it difficult to renew the leaseon so favorable terms as heretofore.

  Being thus welcomed as benefactors, neither Mr. Tiffany normyself felt any scruple in doing full justice to the good thingsthat were set before us. If the feast were less magnificent thanthose same panelled walls had witnessed in a by-gone century,--ifmine host presided with somewhat less of state than might havebefitted a successor of the royal Governors,--if the guests madea less imposing show than the bewigged and powdered andembroidered dignitaries, who erst banqueted at the gubernatorialtable, and now sleep, within their armorial tombs on Copp's Hill,or round King's Chapel,--yet never, I may boldly say, did a morecomfortable little party assemble in the Province House, fromQueen Anne's days to the Revolution. The occasion was renderedmore interesting by the presence of a venerable personage, whoseown actual reminiscences went back to the epoch of Gage and Howe,and even supplied him with a doubtful anecdote or two ofHutchinson. He was one of that small, and now all butextinguished, class, whose attachment to royalty, and to thecolonial institutions and customs that were connected with it,had never yielded to the democratic heresies of after times. Theyoung queen of Britain has not a more loyal subject in herrealm--perhaps not one who would kneel before her throne withsuch reverential love--as this old grandsire, whose head haswhitened beneath the mild sway of the Republic, which still, inhis mellower moments, he terms a usurpation. Yet prejudices soobstinate have not made him an ungentle or impracticablecompanion. If the truth must be told, the life of the agedloyalist has been of such a scrambling and unsettledcharacter,--he has had so little choice of friends and been sooften destitute of any,--that I doubt whether he would refuse acup of kindness with either Oliver Cromwell or John Hancock,--tosay nothing of any democrat now upon the stage. In another paperof this series I may perhaps give the reader a closer glimpse ofhis portrait.

  Our host, in due season, uncorked a bottle of Madeira, of suchexquisite perfume and admirable flavor that he surely must havediscovered it in an ancient bin, down deep beneath the deepestcellar, where some jolly old butler stored away the Governor'schoicest wine, and forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed.Peace to his red-nosed ghost, and a libation to his memory! Thisprecious liquor was imbibed by Mr. Tiffany with peculiar zest;and after sipping the third glass, it was his pleasure to give usone of the oddest legends which he had yet raked from thestorehouse where he keeps such matters. With some suitableadornments from my own fancy, it ran pretty much as follows.

  Not long after Colonel Shute had assumed thegovernment of Massachusetts Bay, now nearly a hundred and twentyyears ago, a young lady of rank and fortune arrived from England,to claim his protection as her guardian. He was her distantrelative, but the nearest who had survived the gradual extinctionof her family; so that no more eligible shelter could be foundfor the rich and high-born Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe than withinthe Province House of a transatlantic colony. The consort ofGovernor Shute, moreover, had been as a mother to her childhood,and was now anxious to receive her, in the hope that a beautifulyoung woman would be exposed to infinitely less peril from theprimitive society of New England than amid the artifices andcorruptions of a court. If either the Governor or his lady hadespecially consulted their own comfort, they would probably havesought to devolve the responsibility on other hands; since, withsome noble and splendid traits of character, Lady Eleanore wasremarkable for a harsh, unyielding pride, a haughty consciousnessof her hereditary and personal advantages, which made her almostincapable of control. Judging from many traditionary anecdotes,this peculiar temper was hardly less than a monomania; or, if theacts which it inspired were those of a sane person, it seemed duefrom Providence that pride so sinful should be followed by assevere a retribution. That tinge of the marvellous, which isthrown over so many of these half-forgotten legends, has probablyimparted an additional wildness to the strange story of LadyEleanore Rochcliffe.

  The ship in which she came passenger had arrived at Newport,whence Lady Eleanore was conveyed to Boston in the Governor'scoach, attended by a small escort of gentlemen on horseback. Theponderous equipage with its four black horses, attracted muchnotice as it rumbled through Cornhill, surrounded by the prancingsteeds of half a dozen cavaliers, with swords dangling to theirstirrups and pistols at their holsters. Through the large glasswindows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people coulddiscern the figure of Lady Eleanore, strangely combining analmost queenly stateliness with the grace and beauty of a maidenin her teens. A singular tale had gone abroad among the ladies ofthe province, that their fair rival was indebted for much of theirresistible charm of her appearance to a certain article ofdress--an embroidered mantle--which had been wrought by the mostskilful artist in London, and possessed even magical propertiesof adornment. On the present occasion, however, she owed nothingto the witchery of dress, being clad in a riding habit of velvet,which would have appeared stiff and ungraceful on any other form.

  The coachman reined in his four black steeds, and the wholecavalcade came to a pause in front of the contorted ironbalustrade that fenced the Province House from the public street.It was an awkward coincidence that the bell of the Old South wasjust then tolling for a funeral; so that, instead of a gladsomepeal with which it was customary to announce the arrival ofdistinguished strangers, Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe was ushered bya doleful clang, as if calamity had come embodied in herbeautiful person.

  "A very great disrespect!" exclaimed Captain Langford, an Englishofficer, who had recently brought dispatches to Governor Shute."The funeral should have been deferred, lest Lady Eleanore'sspirits be affected by such a dismal welcome."

  "With your pardon, sir," replied Doctor Clarke, a physician, anda famous champion of the popular party, "whatever the heralds maypretend, a dead beggar must have precedence of a living queen.King Death confers high privileges."

  These remarks were interchanged while the speakers waited apassage through the crowd, which had gathered on each side of thegateway, leaving an open avenue to the portal of the ProvinceHouse. A black slave in livery now leaped from behind the coach,and threw open the door; while at the same moment Governor Shutedescended the flight of steps from his mansion, to assist LadyEleanore in alighting. But the Governor's stately approach wasanticipated in a manner that excited general astonishment. A paleyoung man, with his black hair all in disorder, rushed from thethrong, and prostrated himself beside the coach, thus offeringhis person as a footstool for Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe to treadupon. She held back an instant, yet with an expression as ifdoubting whether the young man were worthy to bear the weight ofher footstep, rather than dissatisfied to receive such awfulreverence from a fellow-mortal.

  "Up, sir," said the Governor, sternly, at the same time liftinghis cane over the intruder. "What means the Bedlamite by thisfreak?"

  "Nay," answered Lady Eleanore playfully, but with more scorn thanpity in her tone, "you
r Excellency shall not strike him. When menseek only to be trampled upon, it were a pity to deny them afavor so easily granted--and so well deserved!"

  Then, though as lightly as a sunbeam on a cloud, she placed herfoot upon the cowering form, and extended her hand to meet thatof the Governor. There was a brief interval, during which LadyEleanore retained this attitude; and never, surely, was there anapter emblem of aristocracy and hereditary pride trampling onhuman sympathies and the kindred of nature, than these twofigures presented at that moment. Yet the spectators were sosmitten with her beauty, and so essential did pride seem to theexistence of such a creature, that they gave a simultaneousacclamation of applause.

  "Who is this insolent young fellow?" inquired Captain Langford,who still remained beside Doctor Clarke. "If he be in his senses,his impertinence demands the bastinado. If mad, Lady Eleanoreshould be secured from further inconvenience, by hisconfinement."

  "His name is Jervase Helwyse," answered the Doctor; "a youth ofno birth or fortune, or other advantages, save the mind and soulthat nature gave him; and being secretary to our colonial agentin London, it was his misfortune to meet this Lady EleanoreRochcliffe. He loved her--and her scorn has driven him mad."

  "He was mad so to aspire," observed the English officer.

  "It may be so," said Doctor Clarke, frowning as he spoke. "But Itell you, sir, I could well-nigh doubt the justice of the Heavenabove us if no signal humiliation overtake this lady, who nowtreads so haughtily into yonder mansion. She seeks to placeherself above the sympathies of our common nature, which envelopsall human souls. See, if that nature do not assert its claim overher in some mode that shall bring her level with the lowest!"

  "Never!" cried Captain Langford indignantly--"neither in life,nor when they lay her with her ancestors."

  Not many days afterwards the Governor gave a ball in honor ofLady Eleanore Rochcliffe. The principal gentry of the colonyreceived invitations, which were distributed to their residences,far and near, by messengers on horseback, bearing missives sealedwith all the formality of official dispatches. In obedience tothe summons, there was a general gathering of rank, wealth, andbeauty; and the wide door of the Province House had seldom givenadmittance to more numerous and honorable guests than on theevening of Lady Eleanore's ball. Without much extravagance ofeulogy, the spectacle might even be termed splendid; for,according to the fashion of the times, the ladies shone in richsilks and satins, outspread over wide-projecting hoops; and thegentlemen glittered in gold embroidery, laid unsparingly upon thepurple, or scarlet, or sky-blue velvet, which was the material oftheir coats and waistcoats. The latter article of dress was ofgreat importance, since it enveloped the wearer's body nearly tothe knees, and was perhaps bedizened with the amount of his wholeyear's income, in golden flowers and foliage. The altered tasteof the present day--a taste symbolic of a deep change in thewhole system of society--would look upon almost any of thosegorgeous figures as ridiculous; although that evening the guestssought their reflections in the pier-glasses, and rejoiced tocatch their own glitter amid the glittering crowd. What a pitythat one of the stately mirrors has not preserved a picture ofthe scene, which, by the very traits that were so transitory,might have taught us much that would be worth knowing andremembering!

  Would, at least, that either painter or mirror could convey to ussome faint idea of a garment, already noticed in thislegend,--the Lady Eleanore's embroidered mantle,--which thegossips whispered was invested with magic properties, so as tolend a new and untried grace to her figure each time that she putit on! Idle fancy as it is, this mysterious mantle has thrown anawe around my image of her, partly from its fabled virtues, andpartly because it was the handiwork of a dying woman, and,perchance, owed the fantastic grace of its conception to thedelirium of approaching death.

  After the ceremonial greetings had been paid, Lady EleanoreRochcliffe stood apart from the mob of guests, insulating herselfwithin a small and distinguished circle, to whom she accorded amore cordial favor than to the general throng. The waxen torchesthrew their radiance vividly over the scene, bringing out itsbrilliant points in strong relief; but she gazed carelessly, andwith now and then an expression of weariness or scorn, temperedwith such feminine grace that her auditors scarcely perceived themoral deformity of which it was the utterance. She beheld thespectacle not with vulgar ridicule, as disdaining to be pleasedwith the provincial mockery of a court festival, but with thedeeper scorn of one whose spirit held itself too high toparticipate in the enjoyment of other human souls. Whether or nothe recollections of those who saw her that evening wereinfluenced by the strange events with which she was subsequentlyconnected, so it was that her figure ever after recurred to themas marked by something wild and unnatural,--although, at thetime, the general whisper was of her exceeding beauty, and of theindescribable charm which her mantle threw around her. Some closeobservers, indeed, detected a feverish flush and alternatepaleness of countenance, with corresponding flow and revulsion ofspirits, and once or twice a painful and helpless betrayal oflassitude, as if she were on the point of sinking to the ground.Then, with a nervous shudder, she seemed to arouse her energiesand threw some bright and playful yet half-wicked sarcasm intothe conversation. There was so strange a characteristic in hermanners and sentiments that it astonished every right-mindedlistener; till looking in her face, a lurking andincomprehensible glance and smile perplexed them with doubts bothas to her seriousness and sanity. Gradually, Lady EleanoreRochcliffe's circle grew smaller, till only four gentlemenremained in it. These were Captain Langford, the English officerbefore mentioned; a Virginian planter, who had come toMassachusetts on some political errand; a young Episcopalclergyman, the grandson of a British earl; and, lastly, theprivate secretary of Governor Shute, whose obsequiousness had wona sort of tolerance from Lady Eleanore.

  At different periods of the evening the liveried servants of theProvince House passed among the guests, bearing huge trays ofrefreshments and French and Spanish wines. Lady EleanoreRochcliffe, who refused to wet her beautiful lips even with abubble of Champagne, had sunk back into a large damask chair,apparently overwearied either with the excitement of the scene orits tedium, and while, for an instant, she was unconscious ofvoices, laughter and music, a young man stole forward, and kneltdown at her feet. He bore a salver in his hand, on which was achased silver goblet, filled to the brim with wine, which heoffered as reverentially as to a crowned queen, or rather withthe awful devotion of a priest doing sacrifice to his idol.Conscious that some one touched her robe, Lady Eleanore started,and unclosed her eyes upon the pale, wild features anddishevelled hair of Jervase Helwyse.

  "Why do you haunt me thus?" said she, in a languid tone, but witha kindlier feeling than she ordinarily permitted herself toexpress. "They tell me that I have done you harm."

  "Heaven knows if that be so," replied the young man solemnly."But, Lady Eleanore, in requital of that harm, if such there be,and for your own earthly and heavenly welfare, I pray you to takeone sip of this holy wine, and then to pass the goblet roundamong the guests. And this shall be a symbol that you have notsought to withdraw yourself from the chain of humansympathies--which whoso would shake off must keep company withfallen angels."

  "Where has this mad fellow stolen that sacramental vessel?"exclaimed the Episcopal clergyman.

  This question drew the notice of the guests to the silver cup,which was recognized as appertaining to the communion plate ofthe Old South Church; and, for aught that could be known, it wasbrimming over with the consecrated wine.

  "Perhaps it is poisoned," half whispered the Governor'ssecretary.

  "Pour it down the villain's throat!" cried the Virginianfiercely.

  "Turn him out of the house!" cried Captain Langford, seizingJervase Helwyse so roughly by the shoulder that the sacramentalcup was overturned, and its contents sprinkled upon LadyEleanore's mantle. "Whether knave, fool, or Bedlamite, it isintolerable that the fellow should go at large."

  "Pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no harm," said Lady
Eleanorewith a faint and weary smile. "Take him out of my sight, if suchbe your pleasure; for I can find in my heart to do nothing butlaugh at him; whereas, in all decency and conscience, it wouldbecome me to weep for the mischief I have wrought!"

  But while the by-standers were attempting to lead away theunfortunate young man, he broke from them, and with a wild,impassioned earnestness, offered a new and equally strangepetition to Lady Eleanore. It was no other than that she shouldthrow off the mantle, which, while he pressed the silver cup ofwine upon her, she had drawn more closely around her form, so asalmost to shroud herself within it.

  "Cast it from you!" exclaimed Jervase Helwyse, clasping his handsin an agony of entreaty. "It may not yet be too late! Give theaccursed garment to the flames!"

  But Lady Eleanore, with a laugh of scorn, drew the rich folds ofthe embroidered mantle over her head, in such a fashion as togive a completely new aspect to her beautiful face, which--halfhidden, half revealed--seemed to belong to some being ofmysterious character and purposes.

  "Farewell, Jervase Helwyse!" said she. "Keep my image in yourremembrance, as you behold it now."

  "Alas, lady!" he replied, in a tone no longer wild, but sad as afuneral bell. "We must meet shortly, when your face may wearanother aspect--and that shall be the image that must abidewithin me."

  He made no more resistance to the violent efforts of thegentlemen and servants, who almost dragged him out of theapartment, and dismissed him roughly from the iron gate of theProvince House. Captain Langford, who had been very active inthis affair, was returning to the presence of Lady EleanoreRochcliffe, when he encountered the physician, Doctor Clarke,with whom he had held some casual talk on the day of her arrival.The Doctor stood apart, separated from Lady Eleanore by the widthof the room, but eying her with such keen sagacity that CaptainLangford involuntarily gave him credit for the discovery of somedeep secret.

  "You appear to be smitten, after all, with the charms of thisqueenly maiden," said he, hoping thus to draw forth thephysician's hidden knowledge.

  "God forbid!" answered Doctor Clarke, with a grave smile; "and ifyou be wise you will put up the same prayer for yourself. Woe tothose who shall be smitten by this beautiful Lady Eleanore! Butyonder stands the Governor--and I have a word or two for hisprivate ear. Good night!"

  He accordingly advanced to Governor Shute, and addressed him inso low a tone that none of the by-standers could catch a word ofwhat he said, although the sudden change of his Excellency'shitherto cheerful visage betokened that the communication couldbe of no agreeable import. A very few moments afterwards it wasannounced to the guests that an unforeseen circumstance renderedit necessary to put a premature close to the festival.

  The hall at the Province House supplied a topic of conversationfor the colonial metropolis for some days after its occurrence,and might still longer have been the general theme, only that asubject of all-engrossing interest thrust it, for a time, fromthe public recollection. This was the appearance of a dreadfulepidemic, which, in that age and long before and afterwards, waswont to slay its hundreds and thousands on both sides of theAtlantic. On the occasion of which we speak, it was distinguishedby a peculiar virulence, insomuch that it has left itstraces--its pit-marks, to use an appropriate figure--on thehistory of the country, the affairs of which were thrown intoconfusion by its ravages. At first, unlike its ordinary course,the disease seemed to confine itself to the higher circles ofsociety, selecting its victims from among the proud, thewell-born, and the wealthy, entering unabashed into statelychambers, and lying down with the slumberers in silken beds. Someof the most distinguished guests of the Province House even thosewhom the haughty Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe had deemed not unworthyof her favor--were stricken by this fatal scourge. It wasnoticed, with an ungenerous bitterness of feeling, that the fourgentlemen--the Virginian, the British officer, the youngclergyman, and the Governor's secretary--who had been her mostdevoted attendants on the evening of the ball, were the foremostof whom the plague stroke fell. But the disease, pursuing itsonward progress, soon ceased to be exclusively a prerogative ofaristocracy. Its red brand was no longer conferred like a noble'sstar, or an order of knighthood. It threaded its way through thenarrow and crooked streets, and entered the low, mean, darksomedwellings, and laid its hand of death upon the artisans andlaboring classes of the town. It compelled rich and poor to feelthemselves brethren then; and stalking to and fro across theThree Hills, with a fierceness which made it almost a newpestilence, there was that mighty conqueror--that scourge andhorror of our forefathers--the Small-Pox!

  We cannot estimate the affright which this plague inspired ofyore, by contemplating it as the fangless monster of the presentday. We must remember, rather, with what awe we watched thegigantic footsteps of the Asiatic cholera, striding from shore toshore of the Atlantic, and marching like destiny upon cities farremote which flight had already half depopulated. There is noother fear so horrible and unhumanizing as that which makes mandread to breathe heaven's vital air lest it be poison, or tograsp the hand of a brother or friend lest the gripe of thepestilence should clutch him. Such was the dismay that nowfollowed in the track of the disease, or ran before it throughoutthe town. Graves were hastily dug, and the pestilential relics ashastily covered, because the dead were enemies of the living, andstrove to draw them headlong, as it were, into their own dismalpit. The public councils were suspended, as if mortal wisdommight relinquish its devices, now that an unearthly usurper hadfound his way into the ruler's mansion. Had an enemy's fleet beenhovering on the coast, or his armies trampling on our soil, thepeople would probably have committed their defence to that samedireful conqueror who had wrought their own calamity, and wouldpermit no interference with his sway. This conquerer had a symbolof his triumphs. It was a blood-red flag, that fluttered in thetainted air, over the door of every dwelling into which theSmall-Pox had entered.

  Such a banner was long since waving over the portal of theProvince House; for thence, as was proved by tracking itsfootsteps back, had all this dreadful mischief issued. It hadbeen traced back to a lady's luxurious chamber--to the proudestof the proud--to her that was so delicate, and hardly ownedherself of earthly mould--to the haughty one, who took her standabove human sympathies--to Lady Eleanore! There remained no roomfor doubt that the contagion had lurked in that gorgeous mantle,which threw so strange a grace around her at the festival. Itsfantastic splendor had been conceived in the delirious brain of awoman on her death-bed, and was the last toil of her stiffeningfingers, which had interwoven fate and misery with its goldenthreads. This dark tale, whispered at first, was now bruited farand wide. The people raved against the Lady Eleanore, and criedout that her pride and scorn had evoked a fiend, and that,between them both, this monstrous evil had been born. At times,their rage and despair took the semblance of grinning mirth; andwhenever the red flag of the pestilence was hoisted over anotherand yet another door, they clapped their hands and shoutedthrough the streets, in bitter mockery: "Behold a new triumph forthe Lady Eleanore!"

  One day, in the midst of these dismal times, a wild figureapproached the portal of the Province House, and folding hisarms, stood contemplating the scarlet banner which a passingbreeze shook fitfully, as if to fling abroad the contagion thatit typified. At length, climbing one of the pillars by means ofthe iron balustrade, he took down the flag and entered themansion, waving it above his head. At the foot of the staircasehe met the Governor, booted and spurred, with his cloak drawnaround him, evidently on the point of setting forth upon ajourney.

  "Wretched lunatic, what do you seek here?" exclaimed Shute,extending his cane to guard himself from contact. "There isnothing here but Death. Back--or you will meet him!"

  "Death will not touch me, the banner-bearer of the pestilence!"cried Jervase Helwyse, shaking the red flag aloft. "Death, andthe Pestilence, who wears the aspect of the Lady Eleanore, willwalk through the streets to-night, and I must march before themwith this banner!"

  "Why do I waste words on the fellow?" muttered th
e Governor,drawing his cloak across his mouth. "What matters his miserablelife, when none of us are sure of twelve hours' breath? On, fool,to your own destruction!"

  He made way for Jervase Helwyse, who immediately ascended thestaircase, but, on the first landing place, was arrested by thefirm grasp of a hand upon his shoulder. Looking fiercely up, witha madman's impulse to struggle with and rend asunder hisopponent, he found himself powerless beneath a calm, stern eye,which possessed the mysterious property of quelling frenzy at itsheight. The person whom he had now encountered was the physician,Doctor Clarke, the duties of whose sad profession had led him tothe Province House, where he was an infrequent guest in moreprosperous times.

  "Young man, what is your purpose?" demanded he.

  "I seek the Lady Eleanore," answered Jervase Helwyse,submissively.

  "All have fled from her," said the physician. "Why do you seekher now? I tell you, youth, her nurse fell death-stricken on thethreshold of that fatal chamber. Know ye not, that never camesuch a curse to our shores as this lovely Lady Eleanore?--thather breath has filled the air with poison?--that she has shakenpestilence and death upon the land, from the folds of heraccursed mantle?"

  "Let me look upon her!" rejoined the mad youth, more wildly. "Letme behold her, in her awful beauty, clad in the regal garments ofthe pestilence! She and Death sit on a throne together. Let mekneel down before them!"

  "Poor youth!" said Doctor Clarke; and, moved by a deep sense ofhuman weakness, a smile of caustic humor curled his lip eventhen. "Wilt thou still worship the destroyer and surround herimage with fantasies the more magnificent, the more evil she haswrought? Thus man doth ever to his tyrants. Approach, then!Madness, as I have noted, has that good efficacy, that it willguard you from contagion--and perchance its own cure may be foundin yonder chamber."

  Ascending another flight of stairs, he threw open a door andsigned to Jervase Helwyse that he should enter. The poor lunatic,it seems probable, had cherished a delusion that his haughtymistress sat in state, unharmed herself by the pestilentialinfluence, which, as by enchantment, she scattered round abouther. He dreamed, no doubt, that her beauty was not dimmed, butbrightened into superhuman splendor. With such anticipations, hestole reverentially to the door at which the physician stood, butpaused upon the threshold, gazing fearfully into the gloom of thedarkened chamber.

  "Where is the Lady Eleanore?" whispered he.

  "Call her," replied the physician.

  "Lady Eleanore!--Princess!--Queen of Death!" cried JervaseHelwyse, advancing three steps into the chamber. "She is nothere! There on yonder table, I behold the sparkle of a diamondwhich once she wore upon her bosom. There"--and heshuddered--"there hangs her mantle, on which a dead womanembroidered a spell of dreadful potency. But where is the LadyEleanore?"

  Something stirred within the silken curtains of a canopied bed;and a low moan was uttered, which, listening intently, JervaseHelwyse began to distinguish as a woman's voice, complainingdolefully of thirst. He fancied, even, that he recognized itstones.

  "My throat!--my throat is scorched," murmured the voice. "A dropof water!"

  "What thing art thou?" said the brain-stricken youth, drawingnear the bed and tearing asunder its curtains. "Whose voice hastthou stolen for thy murmurs and miserable petitions, as if LadyEleanore could be conscious of mortal infirmity? Fie! Heap ofdiseased mortality, why lurkest thou in my lady's chamber?"

  "O Jervase Helwyse," said the voice--and as it spoke the figurecontorted itself, struggling to hide its blasted face--"look notnow on the woman you once loved! The curse of Heaven hathstricken me, because I would not call man my brother, nor womansister. I wrapped myself in PRIDE as in a MANTLE, and scorned thesympathies of nature; and therefore has nature made this wretchedbody the medium of a dreadful sympathy. You are avenged--they areall avenged--Nature is avenged--for I am Eleanore Rochcliffe!"

  The malice of his mental disease, the bitterness lurking at thebottom of his heart, mad as he was, for a blighted and ruinedlife, and love that had been paid with cruel scorn, awoke withinthe breast of Jervase Helwyse. He shook his finger at thewretched girl, and the chamber echoed, the curtains of the bedwere shaken, with his outburst of insane merriment.

  "Another triumph for the Lady Eleanore!" he cried. "All have beenher victims! Who so worthy to be the final victim as herself?"

  Impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed intellect, he snatchedthe fatal mantle and rushed from the chamber and the house. Thatnight a procession passed, by torchlight, through the streets,bearing in the midst the figure of a woman, enveloped with arichly embroidered mantle; while in advance stalked JervaseHelwyse, waving the red flag of the pestilence. Arriving oppositethe Province House, the mob burned the effigy, and a strong windcame and swept away the ashes. It was said that, from that veryhour, the pestilence abated, as if its sway had some mysteriousconnection, from the first plague stroke to the last, with LadyEleanore's Mantle. A remarkable uncertainty broods over thatunhappy lady's fate. There is a belief, however, that in acertain chamber of this mansion a female form may sometimes beduskily discerned, shrinking into the darkest corner andmuffling her face within an embroidered mantle. Supposing thelegend true, can this be other than the once proud Lady Eleanore?

  Mine host and the old loyalist and I bestowed nolittle warmth of applause upon this narrative, in which we hadall been deeply interested; for the reader can scarcely conceivehow unspeakably the effect of such a tale is heightened when, asin the present case, we may repose perfect confidence in theveracity of him who tells it. For my own part, knowing howscrupulous is Mr. Tiffany to settle the foundation of his facts,I could not have believed him one whit the more faithfully had heprofessed himself an eye-witness of the doings and sufferings ofpoor Lady Eleanore. Some sceptics, it is true, might demanddocumentary evidence, or even require him to produce theembroidered mantle, forgetting that--Heaven be praised--it wasconsumed to ashes. But now the old loyalist, whose blood waswarmed by the good cheer, began to talk, in his turn, about thetraditions of the Province House, and hinted that he, if it wereagreeable, might add a few reminiscences to our legendary stock.Mr. Tiffany, having no cause to dread a rival, immediatelybesought him to favor us with a specimen; my own entreaties, ofcourse, were urged to the same effect; and our venerable guest,well pleased to find willing auditors, awaited only the return ofMr. Thomas Waite, who had been summoned forth to provideaccommodations for several new arrivals. Perchance the public-butbe this as its own caprice and ours shall settle the matter--mayread the result in another Tale of the Province House.