The Haunted Room: A Tale
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Title: The Haunted Room: A Tale
Author: A. L. O. E.
Release date: March 9, 2011 [eBook #35533]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
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[Illustration: EMMIE'S NEW HOME. _Page 215._]
THE HAUNTED ROOM.
A Tale
BY
_A. L. O. E._,
AUTHOR OF "THE SPANISH CAVALIER," "RESCUED FROM EGYPT,"
"THE LADY OF PROVENCE," ETC.
London:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 1900
Preface.
It is under peculiar circumstances that A. L. O. E. sends forth this
little volume. As it is passing through the press its author is
preparing to enter on a new field of labour in the East, as an honorary
member of the Zenana Mission in India. Of the fact that the missionary
cause has been dear to A. L. O. E. her readers may be aware from her
former writings. She now hopes to be permitted to devote an evening hour
of her life to that cause. India is endeared to her from family
associations; for there a revered father, and subsequently his sons,
lived and laboured, and in that land rests the dust of dear ones who
sleep in Jesus.
If there be, as she fain would hope, something of a tie between a writer
and those familiar with her works, may not A. L. O. E. venture to claim
an interest in the prayers of her readers? May she not hope that they
will ask for her, wisdom, humility, zeal, and success? It would be sweet
to one struggling with the difficulty of learning a new language to know
that many joined in the supplication, "O Lord! open Thou her lips, that
her mouth may shew forth Thy praise!" and that many besought Him whose
strength is made perfect in weakness, to enable His servant to win
Indian gems to lay at His feet.
A. L. O. E.
Contents.
I. A PLEASANT HOME, 9
II. COMING TO A DECISION, 20
III. GOSSIP DOWNSTAIRS, 29
IV. PREPARING TO START, 40
V. HAUNTED ROOMS, 47
VI. THREE WARNINGS, 62
VII. MISTRUST, 70
VIII. THE JOURNEY, 78
IX. NEW ACQUAINTANCE, 88
X. A FAINT HEART, 98
XI. EVENING AND MORNING, 114
XII. THE STRANGER, 124
XIII. WORK, 140
XIV. EARLY IMPRESSIONS, 151
XV. THE FIRST VISIT, 162
XVI. TRY AGAIN, 178
XVII. CARES AND MISTAKES, 186
XVIII. YES OR NO, 194
XIX. THE ECLIPSE, 207
XX. AN ALARM, 219
XXI. INDECISION, 230
XXII. THE HAUNTED CHAMBER, 238
XXIII. DEATH, 247
XXIV. A MISTAKE, 257
XXV. STRANGE TIDINGS, 265
XXVI. THE WEAK ONE, 278
XXVII. A NIGHT-JOURNEY, 294
XXVIII. THE BROTHERS' MEETING, 307
XXIX. CHARGED WITH FELONY, 315
XXX. TREMBLING IN THE BALANCE, 324
XXXI. CHANGES, 332
THE HAUNTED ROOM.
CHAPTER I.
A PLEASANT HOME.
"A pleasant nest my brother-in-law has found for his family," said
Captain Arrows to himself, as, carpet-bag in hand, he walked the brief
distance from a railway-station to his relative's house. "Trevor's home
is near enough to London for its inmates to reach Charing-Cross by train
in fifteen minutes, and yet far enough from it to be beyond reach of its
smoke and noise. Not quite so," added the captain as he passed a
Savoyard with hurdy-gurdy and monkey, and then was overtaken by an
omnibus well filled within and without; "but I doubt if our young folk
would have relished perfect rural seclusion, or would have wished to
have dwelt fifty miles from the Great Exhibition and Albert Hall. As
long as he holds his government office, Trevor cannot live far from
London; and in choosing his residence here, he has made a pleasant
compromise between town and country. This is as bright-looking a home as
heart could wish," thought the captain, as from the slope of a hill he
came in sight of a pretty villa, in the Elizabethan style, standing in
its own grounds. "These gay flower-beds, with their geometrical shapes
and blooming flowers, show the ingenuity of Bruce and the taste of
Emmie. The croquet loops on the lawn, the target in the little field
yonder, tell of lives passed in ease and enjoyment. It may be a question
whether such lives be indeed the most desirable for our young men and
maidens," thus the captain pursued his reflections as he walked down the
hill. "Simply to pass youth as pleasantly as possible seems to be hardly
the best preparation for the rough campaign of existence. We would not
train our army recruits in Arcadia. It would be an interesting problem,
had we the means of working it out, to find out how far our characters
are formed by our surroundings, as physical qualities are affected by
climate. Would early acquaintance with difficulties and dangers ever
have braced up our lovely Emmie into a heroine, or made Vibert a
reflective and self-denying man? As for Bruce, he has in him so much of
the nature of the oak sapling, that the most enervating air could not
rob him of all the knots and toughness of close-grained wood. Another
curious problem to solve would be, how far easy, luxurious existence in
youth is actually conducive to happiness; whether the prospect from a
bleak hill-side be not fairer, as well as its air more bracing, than
that of the garden of the Hesperides. Where the mind has no real
difficulties with which to grapple, the imagination is wont to grow with
the rank luxuriance of tropical vegetation. Nervousness, superstition,
anxiety about trifles, take the place of serious trials; and the child
of luxury, to parody the fine line of Johnson,
'Makes the misery he does not find.'"
The captain had no more leisure for his reflections, for, as he threw
open the gate of Summer Villa, his approach was seen from the house, and
two of its inmates hastened forth to meet a favourite uncle. A graceful
maiden ran lightly down the shrubbery path, followed by her younger
brother, a handsome lad of some sixteen or seventeen years of age.
"Oh, you are so welcome; we were so glad to get your telegram and know
that your long cruise was over!" cried Emmie as she gave to her mother's
brother an affectionate greeting.
"We've so much to tell you, captain," said Vibert Trevor, cordially
shaking the hand of the newly-arrived guest. "John is away, so let me
carry your carpet-bag into the house."
This, from Vibert, was rather a remarkable offer of service. The captain
accepted it with a smile, for Vibert was little accustomed to act the
part of a porter.
"Where is Bruce?" asked Arrows. "As for your father, I suppose that he
is at his office in London."
"No; papa is not at his office," replied Emmie, slipping her arm into
that of her uncle. "But come into the house and have refreshment, and
while you take it--"
"We'll tell you the whole story," cried Vibert, looking like one who has
a grand piece of news to impart.
While the three enter Summer Villa, let us pause and glance at them for
a few moments.
Captain Arrows is a naval officer. He has scarcely reached middle age,
and looks young to be addressed as "uncle" by the young lady who rests
on his arm, or the tall brother at her side. The captain's face, bronzed
by sun and wind, is not one to be easily forgotten, so keen and piercing
are the dark eyes which glance from beneath projecting brows. An
expression of satire sometimes plays around the thin lips, but of
satire tempered and controlled. The impression conveyed by Arrows'
appearance and manner would be, "That is a man of character, a man of
decision, a keen observer, who looks as if he were making notes for a
book satirizing the follies of mankind." But there is a kindly frankness
about the sailor which tends to counteract the sense of restraint which
might otherwise be felt in his society. If he carry the sharp rapier of
wit at his side, it is sheathed in the scabbard of good-nature.
Never does Arrows look more kindly or soften his tone to more gentleness
than when addressing the motherless daughter of a sister loved and
mourned. Emmie is, indeed, one to draw out the affections of those
around her. Not only is her face fair, but it has the sweetness of
expression which is more winsome than beauty. Her soft dark-brown hair
does not, in the shapeless masses prescribed by modern fashion, mar the
classical contour of a gracefully formed head. Gentle, tender, and
clinging, the maiden's type might be found in the fragrant white jasmine
that embowers the porch of her pleasant home. Emmie's school companions
have loved her; not one of them could remember a harsh or unkind word
spoken by the lips of the gentle girl. Her brothers love her; Emmie has
shared their interests, and joined them in their amusements, without
ever brushing away that feminine softness which, as the down to the
peach, is to woman one of the greatest of charms. Bruce would have
disliked having "a fast girl" for his sister almost as much as Mr.
Trevor would have disapproved of his daughter earning that title. The
slang in which some modern ladies (?) indulge would have sounded from
the lips of Emmie as startling as the blare of a child's trumpet toy
breaking in on a melody of Beethoven.
Vibert Trevor in appearance resembles his sister; but what is pleasingly
feminine in the woman looks somewhat effeminate in the boy. Boy! how
could the word escape my pen! Vibert, in his own estimation at least,
has left boyhood long ago. His auburn hair, parted carefully down the
middle, falls on either side of a face which would be singularly
handsome but for the somewhat too great fulness about the mouth. The lad
is dressed fashionably and in good taste. If there be a little tinge of
foppishness in his appearance, it is as slight as the scent which a
superfine cigar has left on his clothes.
"No more refreshment for me, thanks; I have taken some in London," said
the captain in reply to a question from his niece as they entered the
house together.
"Then we will go into the drawing-room," said Emmie. "We expect papa and
Bruce by the next train from Wiltshire. Papa wrote that they would reach
this an hour before dinner-time."
A cheerful drawing-room was that which looked out on the lawn of Summer
Villa, lighted up as it was by the rich glow of a September sun, then
just at its setting. The red light sparkled on the crystal globe in
which gold-fish were gliding, and lent vividness to the green of the
graceful ferns which ornamented both the windows. Emmie's piano was
open, with a piece of music upon it. Emmie was an enthusiast in music.
She had to displace her guitar from the sofa on which she had left it,
to make room for her uncle to sit by her side. Emmie's basket with its
fancy work lay on the table, and traces of her late employment in the
shape of dropped beads and morsels of bright German wool strewed the
soft carpet. Emmie rather felt than saw that her uncle's eye detected
the little untidiness; the naval officer was himself "so dreadfully
neat!"
"Now for your news," said the captain, as he seated himself by his
niece, while Vibert threw himself into an arm-chair. Vibert usually
chose, as if by instinct, the most luxurious chair in the room.
"What would you say if papa were to throw up office, leave Summer Villa
for ever and for aye, and carry us all off to be buried alive?" cried
Vibert.
"In Labrador--or equatorial Africa?" inquired the captain.
"Not quite so bad as either of those distant deserts," laughed Vibert.
"Myst Hall is not a hundred miles from London, and Wiltshire is not
quite beyond the pale of civilized life."
"What has happened to make such a migration probable?" inquired Arrows.
"You know that during our northern cruise I have had no letters, and
that as regards home news, the last three months have been to me an
absolute blank."
"Our story is easily told," said Emmie. "You will, I dare say, remember
that papa had an aunt, Mrs. Myers, who lived in Wiltshire."
"I recollect the name, but little besides," replied Arrows.
"None of us knew much of Aunt Myers," continued his niece. "Except a
hamper of home-made preserves which came to us from Myst Court every
Christmas, we had little to remind us of a relative who shut herself up
from her family and friends for fifty long years."
"But if we forgot the old dame, she did not forget us," interrupted
Vibert. "Aunt Myers died eight or nine days ago and there came a letter
from her lawyer announcing her death, and informing my father that he
is the old lady's heir, executor, and the master of Myst Court, with all
the fields, pleasure-grounds, cottages, copses, and I don't know what
else thereto appertaining."
The captain did not look as much impressed by the announcement as his
young informant expected that he would be.
"Papa, of course, went to his poor aunt's funeral," said Emmie, "and
took Bruce with him to see what he thought of the place."
"There was plenty of business to be transacted," observed Vibert; "I
fancy that there always is when landed property changes hands. My father
asked for a week's holiday from office-work. Perhaps he will give up his
appointment altogether; all depends on whether he decide to live on his
own estate, or to let it and take a new lease of Summer Villa."
"You must have had letters from your father; to which decision does he
appear to incline?" asked the captain, addressing himself to his niece.
"Papa has been very busy, and wrote but briefly," said Emmie. "I believe
that a good deal will depend on whether papa is satisfied with what he
sees of a gentleman at S----, who has been highly recommended as a
private tutor for my brothers. S---- is but three miles from Myst
Court, so that if we lived at that place, Vibert and Bruce could go over
to Mr. Blair's for study every week-day."
"My father's plan, now that Bruce and I have left Cheltenham,"
interrupted Vibert, "is to keep us with him at home for a year or two,
and have us prepared for Cambridge or some competitive examination by a
private tutor, either in London, or at S----, if we go into Wiltshire."
"What description does Bruce give of Myst Court?" inquired Captain
Arrows.
"Bruce is a lazy dog with his pen, and seldom honours me with a scratch
of it," answered Vibert.
"Bruce wrote to me the day after he went into Wiltshire," said Emmie.
"He knew that I should be interested to hear of the place which may soon
be our home. Bruce writes that the house is of the date of the reign of
Queen Anne; that it is built of red brick, and looks rather formal, but
has splendid trees around it. Myst Court stands quite by itself, with no
other country-house near it, and has the reputation of being _haunted_."
Arrows smiled at the gravity with which the young lady pronounced the
last word.
"Myst Court must be a horridly dull place, at least for those who are
not sportsmen!" cried Vibert. "Bruce and I may find a little liveliness
at S----; but for you, Emmie, it will be a case of--
'And still she cried, "'Tis very dreary--
'Tis dreary and sad," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary;
I wish I were dead!"'"
Emmie laughed, but the laugh was rather a forced one.
"Your sister will never, I hope, echo the peevish complaint of an idle
girl, who had not energy enough to nail up her peaches," observed
Captain Arrows. "If Emmie go to Wiltshire, it will be, I trust, to lead
there an active, useful, and happy life."
"I wonder on what course papa will decide," said Emmie; "we are very
anxious to know. A great deal will depend on what Bruce thinks
desirable,--papa has such an opinion of the judgment of Bruce."
"Bruce has a precious good opinion of his own," said Vibert, with
something like scorn.
"For shame!--how can you!" cried Emmie, in a tone of playful reproof.
"Here they are! here come my father and Bruce!" cried Vibert, rising
from his easy-chair as he caught sight of two figures at the gate.
Emmie had started up, and was out of the room to receive the travellers,
before Vibert had finished the sentence.
CHAPTER II.
COMING TO A DECISION.
"Yes, I am satisfied in regard to educational advantages for my sons,"
said Mr. Trevor, in reply to a question asked by the captain, when, a
few minutes afterwards, the family were gathered together in the
drawing-room. "The tutor, Mr. Blair, appears to be in every way
qualified to do full justice to his pupils; I had a very satisfactory
interview with him at S----."
"But Myst Court itself, what do you think of the place?" inquired
Vibert.
"The house was originally handsome, but it is now utterly out of
repair," replied Mr. Trevor.
"I don't suppose that painter or glazier has entered the door for these
last fifty years," observed Bruce.
"The grounds are extensive," continued Mr. Trevor; "but the trees are
choking each other for lack of thinning; and the brushwood, through
neglect, has thickened into a jungle."
"A good cover for rabbits and hares," observed Vibert, who had an eye to
sport.
"I never before saw such wretched cottages," said Bruce; "and there are
sixty-one of them on the estate, besides two farms. The hovels are
dotted in groups of threes and fours in every corner where one would not
expect to find them. Some lean forward, as if bending under the weight
of their roofs; some to one side, as if trying to get away from their
neighbours; some cottages look as if they were tired of standing at all.
I cannot imagine how the men and women, and swarms of bare-footed
children, manage to live in such dirty dens."
"Is there no one to look after the people?" asked Captain Arrows.
"There is no church or school-house nearer than S----," replied Mr.
Trevor. "The people either work for the neighbouring farmers, or in a
dyeing factory which stands about a mile from Myst Court. Wages are low
in that part of the country; but that is not sufficient to account for
the misery which we saw there. Ignorance prevails--ignorance more dense
than I could have believed to have been found in any part of our
favoured land. I doubt whether of the peasants one in four is able even
to read. As a matter of course, drunkenness and every other vice spread
as weeds over a field so neglected."
"It is there that the labourer is called to lay his hand to the plough,"
observed Captain Arrows.
Vibert gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders; Bruce as
slight an inclination of his head. A very faint sigh escaped from the
lips of Emmie.
"I have been giving the matter serious, very serious thought," said Mr.
Trevor. "My first idea, when I found that my aunt had bequeathed the
property to me, was to let Myst Court, and to remain at least for some
years in Summer Villa, where we have been for long so comfortably
settled. But I found, on visiting Myst Court, that it would be
impossible to let the house without effecting such extensive and
thorough repairs as I could not at present undertake. Even if this were
not so--" Mr. Trevor paused, as if to reflect.
"No mere tenant could be expected to take the same interest in the
people as would be felt by you, their landlord and natural protector,"
observed the captain, concluding the sentence which his brother-in-law
had left unfinished.
"And so you think that we are bound to act as props to the cottages that
are leaning forwards or sideways, and make them hold themselves
straight, as respectable cottages ought to do!" laughed Vibert.
"But what have you to say about the haunted room?" timidly inquired
Emmie, who had been sitting with her hand in that of her father, a
hitherto silent but much interested listener to the conversation.
"Haunted! Oh, that's all nonsense!" exclaimed Bruce. "Myst Court is no
more haunted than is Summer Villa; it is simply a big, dreary-looking
house that wants new mortar on its walls, new glass to replace what is
cracked in its windows, and a good fairy, in the shape of a young lady,
to turn it into a cheerful, comfortable home."
"What gives to Myst Court the name of being haunted," said his father,
"is simply this. My aunt, who was of a nervous and highly sensitive
nature, had the misfortune to lose her husband, a short time after their
marriage, in a very distressing way. When on his wedding-tour, Mr. Myers
was bitten by a mad dog, and a few weeks after bringing his bride to
their home he died of hydrophobia."
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Emmie.
"Very dreadful indeed," said her father. "The shock of witnessing Mr.
Myers' sufferings (he died in frantic delirium) almost upset the reason
of his unfortunate wife. She fell into a state of morbid melancholy,
making an idol of her grief. From the day of her husband's funeral to
that of her own death, a period of fifty years, my poor aunt never once
quitted the house, even to attend a place of worship."
"The most singular and eccentric mark of the widow's sorrow was her
determination that the room in which her husband died should always
remain as it was on the day of his burial," said Bruce. "Aunt Myers had
the shutters closed, and the door not only locked, but actually bricked
up, so that no foot might ever enter or eye look on the apartment
connected in her mind with associations so painful. It is merely that
closed-up chamber which gives to the house the name of being haunted."
"The sooner it is opened to heaven's light and air the better," observed
Captain Arrows. "Let the first thing done in that house be to unbrick
and unlock the door, fling back shutters and throw open windows, and the
first time that I visit Myst Court let me sleep in the haunted chamber."
"I am afraid that I have not the power either to follow your advice or
to gratify your wish," said Mr. Trevor. "My poor aunt, retaining her
strange fancy to the last, actually--in a codicil to her will--made as a
condition to my possession of the place that the room in which her
husband died should remain as it is now, bricked up and unused."
"That condition would add not a little to the difficulty of letting or
selling the house," observed the practical Bruce.
"It appears to be a law of nature that whatever is useless becomes
actually noxious," remarked the captain. "That closed chamber, into
which the sun never shines, will tend to make the dwelling less healthy,
as well as less cheerful."
Again Emmie breathed a faint sigh.
"And now we return to my proposition," said Mr. Trevor gravely. "Shall I
remain where I am, and put this large property into the hands of some
agent to let or improve as he may,--with but little chance of its
becoming of much more than nominal value; or shall I give up my office,
take the pension to which I am now entitled, live on my own estate, look
after my tenants, and gradually effect such improvements as may make the
land profitable, if not to myself, to my heirs?"
"What does Bruce, who has seen the property, say on the question?" asked
the captain, turning towards his elder nephew.
Bruce replied alike without haste or hesitation. "If my father leave his
office in London, there are at least twenty persons ready and eager to
fill his place, and to do his work; but there is not one who could be
his substitute at Myst Court. It is the master's eye that is wanted
there, not that of a paid agent."
Young as was Bruce, his words carried weight with his father. Mr.
Trevor's elder son in most points presented a contrast to Vibert; as
regarded ripeness of judgment, the fifteen months that separated their
ages might have been as many years. In physical appearance the brothers
were also unlike each other. Bruce, though older, was not so tall as
Vibert; his frame was spare and slight. He had not, like Emmie and his
brother, inherited their mother's beauty. The good sense expressed in
his steady gray eyes, the decision marked in the curve of his lip, alone
redeemed the countenance of Bruce from being of a commonplace type. The
characteristics of the three Trevors had been thus playfully sketched by
a lively girl who was a frequent guest at Summer Villa: "If I want
amusement, I choose Vibert for my companion; if I need sympathy, I turn
to Emmie; but if I am in difficulty or danger, commend me to Bruce, he
has the cool brain and firm heart. I like Vibert; I love Emmie; but
Bruce is the one whom I trust."
A brief silence succeeded the young man's reply to his father; it was
broken by Vibert's inquiry, "What sort of a town is S----?"
"Like any other county town," replied Bruce shortly. The question seemed
to him to be trifling, and irrelevant to the subject of conversation.
"S---- seemed to me to be a pleasant, cheerful place," said the more
indulgent father.
"And I suppose that fishing and shooting are to be had at Myst Court?"
inquired the youth.
"A stream runs through part of the property, and there is likely to be
plenty of game in the copse," replied Mr. Trevor.
"Then I vote that we go to Myst Court!" cried Vibert.
"The only thing which makes me hesitate in coming to a decision,"
observed Mr. Trevor, "is the doubt as to whether my dear girl would like
being taken from her present bright home. Emmie has here so many sources
of innocent amusement, so many young friends and pleasant companions,
that it might be trying for her to be transplanted to a place which I
cannot now represent as a cheerful abode, though I hope that it in time
may become such." Mr. Trevor, as he spoke, looked tenderly on his
daughter, and pressed the hand which he held in his own.
"Oh, papa, do not think about me; I shall have you and my brothers,"
said Emmie. It did not escape the notice of Arrows that his niece spoke
with a little effort, and that her lip quivered as she uttered the
words.
"You shall have a pony-chaise, too," said her father; "it will be
needed to carry you to church on Sundays, and on week-days you shall
drive about the country, explore the neighbourhood, or indulge a lady's
taste by shopping in S----."
"And carry us back from our tutor's," interrupted Vibert; "for I suppose
that a hansom is not to be got for love or money; and I've no fancy for
trudging six miles every day, like a horse in a mill."
By the time that the dressing-bell rang before dinner, the question of
removing to Wiltshire was virtually settled. Emmie was too unselfish and
high-principled to oppose a decision which approved itself both to her
common sense and her conscience. She tried to hide from her father her
strong repugnance to leaving Summer Villa, its pleasant associations and
friendly society, in order to bury herself alive in a grand, gloomy
house, quite out of repair, and with the name of being haunted besides.
CHAPTER III.
GOSSIP DOWNSTAIRS.
The topic which excited such interest in the drawing-room was certain to
be eagerly discussed in the kitchen also. At the servants' supper-table
that night nothing was talked about but Myst Hall, and the probability
of the Trevor family leaving Summer Villa to settle in Wiltshire.
"I'm certain that there will be a grand move soon, from what I heard
while I was waiting at table," said John the footman. "I mean to give
warning to-morrow," he added, shrugging his shoulders.
"You had better do nothing in a hurry," observed Susan Pearl, a
sensible, pleasant-looking woman, who had been Emmie's attendant when
she was a child, and who acted as her lady's-maid now. "You may find
that second thoughts are best, when the matter in question is throwing
up a good place."
"Then master had better have his second thoughts too," observed John, as
he stretched out his hand for the walnut pickle. "A week of Myst Court
was quite enough for me, I assure you. If you were to see how the mortar
is starting from the brickwork, how the plaster is peeling from the
ceilings, and how the furniture is faded; if you were to hear the
windows shaking and rattling as if they had a fit of the ague, the
boards creaking, and the long passages echoing, you would think any
sensible man well out of so dreary a prison."
"Plaster and paint can be put on anew, a carpet deadens echoes, and
curtains keep out draughts. As for windows rattling, a peg will stop
that," observed Susan, who was not easily daunted.
"Outside the house it's as bad as within," pursued John. "The drive is
green with moss and grass, and the piece of water with duckweed; the
trees grow so thick together that you can't see ten yards before you;
and your ears are dinned with the cawing of rooks."
"Weeding and clearing will do wonders," said Susan; "if Miss Emmie were
set in a coal-yard, she would manage to make flowers grow there."
"Are there good shops near?" inquired Ann, the housemaid, who wore a cap
of the newest pattern, trimmed with the gayest of ribbons.
"Shops!" echoed John, as if amazed at the question. "Why, the very baker
and grocer have to come in their carts from S----, and there's nothing
like a gentleman's house within several miles of Myst Court."
"I'll give warning to-morrow," said Ann. "As well be transported at
once, as go to such a heathenish out-of-the-way place as that is!"
"I suppose that Myst Court is overrun with rats and mice," observed
Mullins the cook.
"Not a bit of it," answered John, laughing. "Thieving rats and mice
would have had a hard life of it with old Mrs. Myers' nine and thirty
cats and kittens to serve as a rural police."
"La, John, you're joking! nine and thirty!" exclaimed the women-servants
in a breath.
"I'm not joking," replied the footman; "I counted them,--black, white,
gray, and tabby, long hair and short hair, blue eyes and green eyes!
Mrs. Myers cared a deal more for her cats than she did for her tenants'
children. No, no, the rats and mice would find no safe corner in that
big old house, unless in the shut-up, haunted chamber."
Whenever these last two words were pronounced, curiosity was certain to
be roused, and questioning to follow. Three voices now spoke at once.
"Do you think that the place is really haunted?"
"Did you see any ghosts?"
"What do the servants say about that chamber?"
The last question, which was Susan's, was that to which John gave reply.
"The cook and the housemaid at Myst Court say that for certain they've
heard odd noises, a sighing, and a rattling, and a howling o' nights,"
said the footman, looking as mysterious as his plump, well-fed face
would allow him to do.
"On windy nights, I suppose," said the sensible Susan. "I've heard a
sighing, and a rattling, and a howling even here in Summer Villa."
"Let him tell us more!" cried Ann impatiently, for John's countenance
showed that he had a great deal more to impart. The footman prefaced his
tale by deliberately laying down his knife and fork, though cold beef
lay still on his plate; this was a token that honest John was indeed in
solemn earnest. He began in a lowered tone, while every head was bent
forward to listen:--
"Mrs. Jael Jessel, the old lady's attendant, told me that she had twice
passed a ghost in the corridor, and once on the stairs. It was a tall
figure in white,--at least seven feet high,--and it had great round eyes
like carriage-lamps staring upon her."
Ann and the cook uttered exclamations, and exchanged glances of horror;
but Susan quietly remarked, "If Mrs. Jessel really saw such a sight
once, she was a stout-hearted woman to stay to see it a second time, and
a third. Did this brave lady's-maid look much the worse for meeting her
ghost?"
"No," replied John, a little taken aback by the question. "Mrs. Jessel
is a stout, comfortable-looking person. I suppose that she got used to
seeing odd sights."
Susan burst into a merry laugh. "John, John," she cried, "this Mrs.
Jessel has been taking a rise out of you. She saw that you were soft,
and wanted to make an impression." Susan was helping herself to butter,
which, perhaps, supplied her with the simile of which she made use.
"Mrs. Jessel did not stay at Myst Court for nothing," said John, who,
possibly, wished to give a turn to the conversation; "she had not waited
on Mrs. Myers for more than three years, yet the old lady left her five
hundred pounds, a nice little furnished house just outside the Myst
woods, and all the cats and kittens, which she could not trust to the
care of strangers."
"It was made worth her while to live in a haunted house," observed Ann.
"I thought at first," continued John, who had taken up his knife and
fork, and was using them to good purpose,--"I thought at first that I
might as well put my best foot forward, for that it would be no bad
thing to have a wife with five hundred pounds and a house to start with;
and," he added slyly, "with such a live-stock to boot, one might have
done a little business in the furrier's line. But--"
"But, but,--speak out!" cried Ann with impatience; "what comes after the
'but'?"
"Somehow I didn't take to Mrs. Jessel," said John, "and shouldn't have
cared to have married her, had the five hundred pounds been five
thousand instead."
"What's against her?" inquired the cook.
"Nothing that I know of," said John; "but when you see her, you'll
understand what I mean."
"I'll not see her; I'm not going to Myst Court; I could not abide being
so far from London," observed the cook.
"I shall give miss warning to-morrow!" cried Ann.
"And what will you do?" inquired John of Susan.
"Stay by the family, to be sure," was the answer. "Would I leave my
young lady now, just when her heart is heavy? for heavy it is, I am
certain of that. While she was dressing for dinner, Miss Emmie could
hardly keep in her tears. It is no pleasure to her to leave a home like
Summer Villa, where she has nothing to cross her, and everything to
please. There's not a day but Miss Alice, or some other friend, comes
dropping in to see her; nor a week that passes without some sight or
amusement in London. At the age of nineteen, a young lady like Miss
Trevor does not willingly leave such a pleasant place as this for a
dreary, deserted old country-house."
"Poor miss! I pity her from my soul!" cried Ann.
"With a pity that would leave her to see none but new faces in her
household!" said the indignant Susan. "No; I'll stick by my young lady
through thick and thin, were she to go to the middle of Africa. I've
been with her these ten years, ever since she lost her poor mother, and
I will not desert her now."
"You don't believe in ghosts," observed John.
"I believe my Bible," replied Susan gravely; "I read there that I have a
Maker far too wise and good to allow His servants to be troubled by
visitors from another world. This ghost-fearing is all of a piece with
fortune-telling, and spirit-rapping, and all such follies, after which
weak-brained people run. Simple faith in God turns out faith in such
nonsense, as daylight puts an end to darkness."
Susan was not laughed at for her little lecture as ten years before she
might have been. Her long period of service and her tried character had
given her influence, and won for her that respect which a consistent
life secures even from the worldly. Her fellow-servants felt somewhat
ashamed of their own credulous folly.
"I'm not a bit afraid of ghosts," said Ann; "but I don't choose to mope
in the country."
"I don't care a rap for a house being haunted; but I mean to better
myself," said the cook.
"Do you think, John, that the young gentlemen will like Myst Court?"
inquired Susan.
"I think Master Bruce has a purpose and a plan in his head; and when he
has a purpose and a plan, it's his way to go right on, steady and
straight, and none can say whether he likes or don't like what he's
a-doing," answered the footman. "When he looked over the house, it
wasn't to say how bad things were, but to see how things could be
bettered. He has a lot o' common sense, has Master Bruce; I believe that
he'll make himself happy after his fashion, and that ghosts, if there be
any, will take care to keep out of his way."
"He'd see through them," said Susan, laughing.
"As for Master Vibert," continued John, "if he has plenty of amusement,
he'll not trouble his head about ghost or goblin. He's a light-hearted
chap is Master Vibert, and a bit giddy, I take it. Perhaps his father
ain't sorry to have him a bit further off from London than he is here in
Summer Villa."
"The one for whom I feel sorry is my young lady," said Susan. "She'll
not take a gun or a fishing-rod like her brothers, and--"
"She'll be mortally afraid of ghosts," cried Ann.
"She's timid as a hare," observed John.
"If miss screams when a puppy-dog barks at her, and hides her face under
her bed-clothes if there's a peal o' thunder, how will she face ghosts
ten feet high, with eyes like carriage-lamps?" cried the cook.
Susan looked annoyed and almost angry at hearing her mistress spoken of
thus. "Miss Emmie is nervous and not very strong, so she is easily
startled," said the maid; "but she is as good a Christian as lives, and
will not, I hope, give way to any idle fancies and fears such as trouble
folk who are afraid of their own shadows. I should not, however, wonder
if she find Myst Court very dull."
"She'd better take to amusing herself by looking after the poor folk
around her," observed the cook. "From what you've told us, John, I take
it there's company enough of bare-legged brats and ragged babies."
"Miss Emmie is mighty afraid of infection," said John, doubtfully
shaking his head. "She has never let me call a four-wheeler for her in
London since small-pox has been going about. Miss will cross to the
other side of the road if she sees a child with a spot on its face. No,
no; she'll never venture to set so much as her foot in one of them dirty
hovels that I saw down there in Wiltshire."
"'Tain't fit as she should," observed Ann. "Why should ladies demean
themselves by going amongst dirty beggarly folk?"
"To help them out of their misery," said Susan. "In the place where I
lived before I came here, I saw my mistress, and the young ladies
besides, take delight in visiting the poor. They thought that it no more
demeaned them to enter a cottage than to enter a church; the rich and
the poor meet together in both."
"Miss Emmie is too good to be proud," observed John; "but, take my word
for it, she'll never muster up courage to go within ten yards of a
cottage. Kind things she'll say, ay, and do; for she has the kindest
heart in the world. But she'll send you, Susan, with her baskets of
groceries and bundles of cast-off clothes; she'll not hunt up cases
herself. Miss would shrink from bad smells; she'd faint at the sight of
a sore. She'll not dirty her fine muslin dresses, or run the risk of
catching fevers, or may be the plague, by visiting the poor."
"Time will show," observed Susan. But from her knowledge of the
disposition of her young lady, the faithful attendant was not without
her misgivings upon the subject.
CHAPTER IV.
PREPARING TO START.
The question of a move was finally settled; Myst Court was to be the
future residence of its new owner, who lost no time in making
arrangements for effecting in it such repairs as were absolutely
necessary to make it a tolerably comfortable dwelling. More than this
Mr. Trevor did not at present attempt; his expenses, he knew, would be
heavy. His newly-inherited property would yield no immediate supply;
improvements must be gradually made. The life of a landed proprietor was
one altogether new to Mr. Trevor, who had passed thirty years of his
life in a government office, never being more than a few weeks at a time
absent from London. Being a sensible man, he was aware that experience
on a hitherto untried path is often dearly bought. He expected to make
some mistakes, but resolved to act with such prudence that even mistakes
should not involve him in serious difficulties.
The six weeks which elapsed before the departure of the family from
Summer Villa were full of business and arrangements. Mr. Trevor, having
to wind up his office-work, and settle the affairs of his late aunt,
was, except in the evenings, very little at home. Emmie, who acted as
her father's housekeeper, found a hundred small matters to arrange
before making a move which must bring so complete a change. Her brothers
attended a private tutor in London, and usually went and returned by the
same trains as their father; so that, but for the company of her uncle,
Emmie would have spent much of her time alone. But the captain was a
cheerful companion and a most efficient helper to his young niece. He
made up her accounts, he paid her bills, he helped her to decide which
articles of furniture must be taken to the new home, which left to be
sold or given away. The slow-paced John was astonished at the energy
with which the naval officer would mount a ladder, and with his own
hands take down family pictures and swathe them in the matting which was
to secure their safe transit to Wiltshire.
"Sure the captain does the work of three. One would think he'd been
'prenticed to a carpenter by the way he handles the tools; and he runs
up a ladder like a cat," observed John to another member of the
household.
Captain Arrows felt strong sympathy for his niece. He saw, perhaps more
clearly than did any one else, how painful to her was the change which
was coming over her life. Her uncle respected Emmie's unselfish efforts
to hide from her father her reluctance to leave Summer Villa and all its
pleasant surroundings. Arrows noticed the shade of sadness on Emmie's
fair face when she received, as she frequently did, congratulations on
her father's accession to property. The acute observer could not fail to
see that the acquisition of Myst Court was no source of pride or
pleasure to Emmie.
Miss Trevor was perpetually reminded of her approaching departure from
the home in which her life had been so much like a summer holiday. Many
visits of leave-taking had to be paid, and few could be paid without
more or less of pain. Emmie had numerous friends, and to some she could
not bid farewell without a sharp pang of regret. Even inanimate things,
dear from association, were resigned with sadness. Emmie sighed to take
leave of her garden, and spent much time in procuring cuttings from her
favourite plants, her geraniums, her fuchsias, her myrtles. With what
pleasant memories were those flowers connected in the affectionate mind
of Emmie! Summer Villa and her friends seemed dearer than ever when she
was about to leave them behind.
Next to the captain, Emmie found her best helper in Susan. Active,
thoughtful, the neatest of packers, the most intelligent of maids, Susan
was indeed "a treasure" to her young mistress.
"You seem to like the change," said the cook to Susan, who was humming
cheerfully to herself as she knelt beside a hamper which she was packing
with china.
Susan did not pause to look up from her work as she answered, "I never
ask myself whether I like it or not; my business is to make ready for
it, and that is enough for me."
"How dismal a house looks when everything in it is being pulled down and
upset!" remarked the cook, standing with her back to the wall, and
watching Susan as she imbedded quaint old china tea-pot and cream-jug in
white cotton wool as carefully as she might have laid a baby in a
cradle. "The hall all lumbered with luggage; the whole place smelling of
matting; things awanted just when they've been packed up, corded, and
labelled; the walls looking without their pictures as faces would do
without eyes,--there is something horrid uncomfortable about a house as
has been long lived in when it's agoing to be left for good. I'm half
sorry that I agreed to stay on the extra fortnight; only it was such a
convenience to the family. I don't know what they'd have done had Ann
and I taken ourselves off before the move was fairly over."
Susan went quietly on with her occupation, while Mrs. Mullins went on
with her talking.
"P'r'aps master did wisely to keep on Mrs. Myers' servants, for he'd
hardly have got London folk to stay in his dismal country house, even on
double wages. We'll have you at the Soho registry before three months
are over."
"Time will show," said Susan.
"Them people down at Myst Court are accustomed to the kind of life they
lead there," continued the loquacious Mrs. Mullins, "and that's the
reason they don't mind it. Frogs like their ditch because they've never
known anything better; and I suppose that folk in a haunted house get
used to ghosts, as eels are used to skinning."
"Or learn not to be frightened at shadows," said Susan.
"I'm not frightened; don't you fancy that shadows keep me from going to
Myst Court," cried the cook. "But I could never stand a place where the
butcher--as John says--comes but twice a week in the winter; no cook
could abide that."
"It seems that Mrs. Myers' cook did," observed Susan.
"She's no cook!" exclaimed Mrs. Mullins, with an emphatic snort of
disdain: "she's had nothing to keep her hand in, and don't know a
_vol-au-vent_ from a _soufflet_! Why, Mrs. Myers never saw company,
never asked a friend to a meal! John says that for five days out of the
seven the old lady dined on mutton-broth, and the other two on
barley-gruel! John told me that he could hardly touch the dinners which
Hannah prepared; he is used to have things so very different," added
Mrs. Mullins with professional pride.
"If Hannah's cooking satisfied master and his son, John might have been
satisfied too," observed Susan.
"Oh, Mr. Trevor is never partic'lar about his food; and as for Master
Bruce, John says that he was so much taken up about arrangements, and
alterations, and improvements, that he would not have noticed if the
stew had been made of old shoes. But Master Vibert, he's not so easily
pleased; he likes his dainty bits, his sauces, and his sweeties; there
is some satisfaction in dishing up a dinner for him! He'll soon find out
that this Hannah knows just as much of cooking as I do of cow-milking,
and there will be a worrit in the house." Mrs. Mullins folded her hands
complacently at the thought of how much her own valuable services would
be regretted, and then inquired, in an altered tone, "Is the captain
going to Myst Court with the rest of the party?"
"No; I am sorry to say that the captain leaves this to-morrow," said
Susan. "He is before long to start on another cruise, and as he has much
business to do in the docks, he needs to stop for awhile in London. The
carriage which takes the captain away is to drop Miss Emmie at the house
of her friend, Miss Alice, to whom she wishes to say good-bye. My poor
dear young lady! every day brings its good-bye to her now. It will be
well when Friday comes, and the move to Myst Court is fairly over."
"I'd never go into a new house on a Friday; it's unlucky," observed Mrs.
Mullins, as she turned away and went off to the kitchen.
CHAPTER V.
HAUNTED ROOMS.
November has come with nights of drizzle and mornings of fog. The
dreariness of the weather without adds to the sense of discomfort within
the half-dismantled house. The carpet has been taken from the staircase,
and the old family clock no longer is heard striking the hours. The
drawing-room is much changed in appearance from what it was when the
reader was first introduced into the Trevors' cheerful abode. It is
evening, and the family are sitting together, with the exception of the
master of the house, who is busy in his study with lawyers' papers and
parchment deeds before him. The light of the drawing-room lamp falls on
a scanty amount of furniture; for sofa, arm-chair, and piano have all
been packed up for removal to the new home. No ornament of china, no
graceful vase relieves the bareness of the white mantelpiece; the mirror
has been taken away, no trace remains of pictures except square marks
on the wall. The guitar has vanished from view; the globe of gold-fish
is now the property of a friend; the ferns have been sent to the
greenhouse of an aunt in Grosvenor Square.
Emmie sits at the table with her lace-work beside her, but her needle is
idle. Bruce, the most actively occupied of the party, is drawing plans
of cottages, and jotting down in his note-book estimates of expenses.
The captain has a book in his hand, but makes slow progress with its
contents. Vibert is glancing over a number of _Punch_. The party have
been for the last ten minutes so silent that the pattering of the
November rain on the window-panes is distinctly heard.
"I hope that we shall not have such weather as this when we go to our
new home," said Vibert, as with a yawn he threw down his paper. "The
place will need at least sunshine to make it look a degree more lively
than a lunatic asylum. 'Tis lucky that our queer old great-aunt did not
take it into her head to paint the house black, inside and outside, and
put in her will that it must remain so, as a compliment to her husband,
who has been dead for the last fifty years. Fancy bricking up the best
bed-room!"
"Such an act proves that Mrs. Myers was in a very morbid state of mind,"
said the captain.
"What a misfortune!" observed Emmie.
"Misfortune! I should rather call it weakness--absurdity," said Bruce,
sternly glancing up from his drawing.
"I should call it a sin, a downright sin," cried Vibert. "Such a shame
it is to make what might have been a jolly country-house into a sort of
rural Newgate! I'm afraid that even our best friends will not care to
visit us there. Why, I asked pretty little Alice to-day whether she were
coming to brighten us up at Christmas, and she actually answered that
she was rather afraid of haunted houses, especially on dark winter
nights."
Bruce smiled a little disdainfully; and the captain suggested that
perhaps the fair lady was jesting.
"Not a bit of it," answered Vibert; "Alice was as much in earnest as
were all our servants when they gave us warning, because not one of them
but plucky Susan would go to Myst Court. Why, I'd bet that Emmie herself
is shivery-shakery at the idea of the house being haunted, and that
she'll not care to walk at night along the passages lest she should meet
some tall figure in white."
Emmie coloured, and looked so uncomfortable, that her uncle, who noticed
her embarrassment, effected a diversion in her favour by giving a turn
to the conversation.
"I have been tracing a parallel in my mind," he observed, "between the
human soul and the so-called haunted dwelling. Most persons have in the
deepest recess of the spiritual man some secret chamber, where prejudice
shuts out the light, where self-deception bricks up the door. Into this
chamber the possessor himself in some cases never enters to search out
and expel the besetting sin, which, unrecognized, perhaps lurks there in
the darkness."
"You speak of our hearts?" asked Emmie.
"I do," replied her uncle. "It is my belief that not one person in ten
thousand knows the ins and outs, the dark corners, the hidden chambers,
of that which he bears in his own bosom."
"Every Christian must," said Bruce; "for every Christian is bound to
practise the duty of self-examination."
"I hope that you don't call every one who does not practise it a heathen
or a Turk," cried Vibert. "All that dreadful hunting up of petty
peccadilloes, and confessing a string of them at once, is, at least to
my notion, only fit work for hermits and monks!"
"We are not talking about confession, but simply about self-knowledge,"
observed the captain.
"Oh, where ignorance is bliss," began Vibert gaily; but his brother cut
short the misapplied quotation with the remark, "Ignorance of ourselves
must be folly."
Vibert took up again the comic paper which he had laid down, and
pretended to re-examine the pictures. But for the captain's presence the
youth would have begun to whistle, to show how little he cared for
Bruce's implied rebuke; for, as Vibert had often told Emmie, he had no
notion of being "put down" by his brother.
"Do you think it easy to acquire self-knowledge?" asked Arrows, fixing
his penetrating glance upon Bruce, who met it with the calm steadiness
which was characteristic of the young man.
"Like any other kind of knowledge, it requires some study," replied
Bruce Trevor; "but it is not more difficult to acquire than those other
kinds of knowledge would be."
"In that you come to a different conclusion from that of the writer of
this book," observed Arrows; and he read aloud the following lines from
Dr. Goulburn's "Thoughts on Personal Religion," the volume which he held
in his hand:--
"'One of the first properties of the bosom sin with which it behoves us
to be well acquainted, as our first step in the management of our
spiritual warfare, is its property of concealing itself. In consequence
of this property, it often happens that a man, when touched in his weak
point, answers that whatever other faults he may have, this fault, at
least, is no part of his character.'"
The captain read the quotation so emphatically that Vibert again threw
down his paper, and listened whilst Arrows thus went on:--
"'This circumstance, then, may furnish us with a clue to the discovery:
of whatever fault you feel that, if accused of it, you would be stung
and nettled by the apparent injustice of the charge, suspect yourself of
that fault, in that quarter very probably lies the black spot of the
bosom sin. If the skin is in any part sensitive to pressure, there is
probably mischief below the surface.'"
"I doubt that the author is right," observed Bruce. "Besetting sins
cannot hide themselves thus from those who honestly search their own
hearts."
"Perhaps some search all but the haunted chamber," suggested Vibert.
Captain Arrows smiled assent to the observation.
"By way of throwing light on the question," said he, "suppose that each
of you were to set down in writing what you suppose to be your besetting
sin; and that I--who have watched your characters from your
childhood--should also put down on paper what I believe to be the bosom
temptation of each. Is it likely that your papers and mine would agree;
that the same 'black spot' would be touched by your hands and mine; that
we should point out the same identical fault as the one which most
easily and frequently besets the soul of each of you three?"
"It would be curious to compare the two papers," cried Vibert. "I wish,
captain, that you really would write down what you think of us all. It
would be like consulting a phrenological professor, without the need of
having a stranger's fingers reading off our characters from the bumps on
our heads."
"I am not speaking of the whole character, but of the one sin that most
easily besets," said the captain. "Would a close observer's view of its
nature agree with that held by the person within whose heart it might
lurk?"
"Perhaps not," said Bruce, after a pause for reflection. "But the person
beset by the sin would know more about its existence than the most acute
observer, who could judge but by outward signs."
"That is the very point on which we differ," remarked Captain Arrows.
"The property of the bosom sin is to conceal itself, but only from him
to whom the knowledge of its presence would be of the highest
importance. I should be half afraid," the captain added with a smile,
"to tell even my nephews and niece what I thought the besetting sin of
each, lest they should be 'stung and nettled by the apparent injustice
of the charge,' and feel, though they might not say it aloud, that
'whatever other faults they may have, this fault, at least, forms no
part of the character in question.'"
The captain's hearers looked surprised at his words. Vibert burst out
laughing. "You must think us a desperately bad lot!" cried he.
"Uncle, I wish that you would write down what you think is the besetting
sin of each of us," said Emmie, "and give the little paper quietly to
the person whom it concerns, not, of course, to be read by any one else.
I am sure that I would not be offended by anything you would write, and
it might do me good to know what you believe to be my greatest
temptation."
"As you are going away to-morrow, you would escape the rage and fury of
the indignant Emmie, however 'stung and nettled' she might be!" laughed
Vibert Trevor. "Now, Bruce," added the youth sarcastically, "would you
not like the captain to inform you confidentially what he considers the
tiny 'black spot' in your almost perfect character?"
"I have no objection to my uncle's writing down what he chooses,"
replied Bruce coldly. "All that I keep to is this,--neither he nor any
other man living can tell me a fact regarding my own character which I
have not known perfectly well before."
"Were I to agree to write down my impressions, it would be to induce you
all to give the subject serious reflection," observed the captain. "It
matters little whether I am or am not correct in my conclusions; but it
is of great importance that no one should be deceived regarding himself.
I wish to lead you to think."
"Oh, I'll not engage to do that! I hate thinking; it's a bore!" cried
Vibert gaily. "I know I'm a thoughtless dog,--ah, I've hit the 'black
spot' quite unawares! Thoughtlessness is my besetting sin!"
"My difficulty would be to single out one amongst my many faults," said
Emmie.
"Now that is humbug; you know that it is!" exclaimed her youngest
brother. "You have no fault at all, except the fault of being a great
deal too good. I should like you better if you were as lively and larky
as Alice!"
"Saucy boy!" said Emmie, and she smiled.
"But, captain," continued Vibert, addressing himself to his uncle,
"though we are willing enough to read what you write, we won't be driven
to anything in the shape of confession. You may tell us what is your
notion of what lurks in our haunted rooms, but we won't invite you in
and say, 'Behold there's my besetting sin!'"
"I want no confessions," said Captain Arrows. "I repeat that my only
object is to induce you to pull down your brickwork, draw back your
curtains, and search for yourselves; or, to drop metaphor and speak in
plain words, to lead you to make the discovery of the weakest point in
your respective characters the subject of candid investigation and
serious thought."
And to a certain degree this desired result was obtained. Though Vibert
laughed, and Bruce looked indifferent, to their minds, as well as to
that of their sister, the subject of self-knowledge recurred at
different parts of the evening.
"I don't suppose that the captain can look further through a mill-stone
than can any one else," thought Vibert; "yet he has uncommonly sharp
eyes, and is always on the watch. No doubt he learned that habit at sea.
I am glad that he can detect some fault in Master Bruce, who is a kind
of pope in our house, though I, for one, don't believe in his
infallibility. I wonder on what my uncle will fix as the bad spirit in
my haunted room. I should say--let me think--I have never thought about
the matter before. Well, I don't take to religion as earnestly as do
papa and my elder brother and sister. I don't go twice to church on
Sundays, nor--if the truth must be owned--do I pay much attention to the
service whilst I am there. I'd rather any day read a novel than a
serious book. I believe that's the worst I can say of myself. The
captain would call that--let me see--would he call that irreligion? No,
no; that name is too hard. I'm thoughtless, I own, but certainly not
irreligious. Impiety? Why, that is worse still! I do not pretend to be
in the least _pious_, but still I'd be ready to knock down any fellow
who called me the reverse. I'm something between the two poles. Levity?
Ah, that's the word, the precise word to describe my besetting sin, if
one can call mere levity a sin. I am no man's enemy but my own; and not
my own enemy either, for I spare and indulge myself in every way that I
can. Levity may be a fault at sixty, but it's no fault at all at
sixteen. I should decidedly object to be as sober as Bruce. He goes on
his way like a steady old coach, while I am like a bicycle,"--Vibert
laughed to himself as the simile occurred to his fancy. "A bicycle is
quick, light, not made to carry much luggage, and a little given to
coming to smash! Yes, I skim the world like a bicycle, and levity is my
worst fault!" Yawning after the unusual effort of even such cursory
self-examination, Vibert now set his thoughts free to ramble in any
direction, satisfied that nothing of a serious nature could be laid to
his charge.
"It is strange that my uncle should imagine that he can penetrate the
recesses of the heart of another," such was the reflection of Bruce, as,
candle in hand, he mounted the staircase that night. "Captain Arrows can
but judge of my character by my outward conduct, and he can have seen
but little to find fault with in that. I own--and with regret--that in
many points I fail in my duty towards my Maker; but that is a secret
between my conscience and God,--a secret which no man can penetrate, and
with which no man has a right to meddle. Yet it is evident that my uncle
has detected some visible error, whatever that error may be. I am aware
that I have a defective temper, but I have lately been gaining some
control over that which Calvin called an 'unruly beast.' I may, indeed,
have betrayed some impatience in my manner towards Vibert in the
presence of my critical uncle," thus flowed on the reflections of Bruce
as he entered his room, and closed the door behind him. "I now remember
my uncle's remarking to me that I might have more influence with my
brother if I showed him greater indulgence. But who can have patience
with Vibert's follies?" Bruce set down his candle, and threw himself on
a chair. "Vibert has been a spoilt child from his cradle, and now, when
nearly seventeen years of age, is no better than a spoilt child still!
Our poor dear mother made her youngest-born almost an idol; my father is
blind to his faults; Emmie pets and humours him to the top of his bent;
and all the world does the same. Vibert is admired, courted, and
welcomed wherever he goes, because, forsooth, his face is what girls
call handsome, and he can rattle off any amount of nonsense to please
them. Vibert does not mind playing the fool, and he plays it to the
life!" Bruce paused, and conscience gave a low note of warning to the
elder brother. "I am, I fear, harsh in my judgment. Want of charity,
that is perhaps my besetting sin. I am too quick to perceive the faults
and follies of others. That is a quality, however, which is not without
its advantages in a world such as this. I am not easily taken in; mere
veneer and gilding will not deceive my eye. I cannot be blind, if I wish
it, either to my own faults or to those of others." Bruce thought that
he knew himself thoroughly, and that there was no haunted room in his
heart which he had not boldly explored.
Emmie Trevor had her heart-searchings as she sat silent before her
mirror, while Susan brushed out the long glossy tresses of her young
mistress's hair.
"I would fain know what my dear uncle regards as my besetting sin,"
mused the gentle girl. "I was so foolish as almost to fancy that one so
loving and partial as he is would not notice my faults, and I am still
more foolish in feeling a little mortified on finding that I was
mistaken in this. What defect in my character is most likely to have
struck so acute an observer? My uncle cannot possibly know how often my
thoughts wander in prayer; how cold and ungrateful I sometimes am even
towards Him whom I yet truly love and adore. It is something in my
outward behaviour that must have displeased my uncle. Is it vanity?"
Emmie raised her eyes to her mirror, and had certainly no reason to be
dissatisfied with the face which she saw reflected in the glass. "Yes, I
fear that I am vain; I do think myself pretty, and I cannot help knowing
that I sing well,--I have been told that so often. Then I have certainly
love of approbation; my uncle may have detected that, for it is so sweet
to me to be admired and praised by those whom I love,--and perhaps by
others also. This vanity and love of approbation may lead to jealousy, a
very decided sin. Did I not feel some slight vexation even at Vibert's
playful words about Alice, his wish that I were more like that gay,
giddy girl? I find Alice nice enough as a companion, but would certainly
never set her up as a model. I am afraid,"--thus Emmie pursued the
current of her reflections,--"I am afraid that I might be haunted by
jealousy, if circumstances gave me any excuse for harbouring a passion
so mean, so sinful. I have often thought that for papa to marry again
would be to me such a trial. I could hardly bear that any one, even a
wife, should be dearer to him than myself. I should grieve at his doing
what might really add to his comfort; and oh! is not this selfish,
hatefully selfish? It shows that with all my love for my only remaining
parent, I care for his happiness less than my own. Certainly selfishness
is in my character; it lurks in my haunted chamber, and doubtless my
uncle has found it out! Then am I not conscious of giving way to
indolence, and harbouring self-will? There are duties which I know to be
duties, and yet from the performance of which I am always shrinking,
making excuses for my neglect such as conscience tells me are weak and
false. Truly mine is a very faulty character, yet am I given to
self-deception; the kindness and partiality of every one round me help
to blind me to my own faults, and perhaps to draw me into a little
hypocrisy, to make each 'black spot' more black."
It will be observed that Emmie was no stranger to self-examination; it
was to the maiden no new thing to commune with her heart and be still.
CHAPTER VI.
THREE WARNINGS.
"You are right, Bruce; it is certainly desirable for you to go down to
Wiltshire to-day to make any needful arrangements, and prepare for our
arrival to-morrow," said Mr. Trevor to his son on the following morning,
when the family were at the breakfast-table. "New servants will need
verbal directions; and you will see to the unpacking of the furniture
which I have sent down from this place, and to the most suitable
disposal of it in the several rooms of Myst Court." The gentleman rolled
up his breakfast-napkin, and slipped it into its ring. "Your train
starts at 10.30," he added, as he rose from his seat.
"Is Vibert to go with me?" inquired Bruce, glancing at his brother, who
had, as usual, come down late, and was still engaged with his anchovies
and muffin.
"I do not think that Vibert would give you much help," observed Mr.
Trevor.
"No help at all," exclaimed Vibert quickly. "It may be just in Bruce's
line to order and direct, see that there are enough of pots and pans in
the kitchen, meat in the larder, and fires all over the house; but as
for me--"
"You think it enough to eat the food and enjoy the fire," observed the
captain drily.
"And I positively must go to Albert Hall to-night; the Nairns have asked
me to make one of their party, and I really could not disappoint them,"
continued Vibert. "It is quite necessary that I should have a little
amusement before going to bury myself in the wilds of Wiltshire. As
Moore the poet sings,--
'To-night at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings!'"
"That's fair enough," observed the indulgent father.
Bruce exchanged a glance with his uncle which conveyed the unuttered
thought of both: "It is scarcely fair that one brother should have all
the trouble and the other all the amusement." Vibert noticed the look,
and laughed.
"Duty first--pleasure afterwards--that's the motto taught to all good
little children!" he cried. "Bruce, you are the elder, and like to be
first, so you naturally pair off with duty, whilst I am modest enough
to be quite contented with pleasure."
Mr. Trevor smiled at the jest, though he shook his bald head in gentle
reproof. Then turning to his brother-in-law, he observed, "Edward, I
have an early engagement in London, and must be off to the station. I am
afraid that I shall not find you here on my return."
"I also start early," said the captain. "Emmie has ordered the
conveyance to be at the door at ten. I must therefore wish you good-bye
now, thanking you for my pleasant visit to Summer Villa, and hoping next
spring to find you all well and happy in your new home."
The brothers-in-law cordially shook hands and parted, Mr. Trevor going
off to the station, as usual, on foot.
"I say, Bruce," observed Vibert, "if you have the settling about the
rooms at Myst Court, mind that you give me a good one. I like plenty of
air and light, and a cheerful view. No poky little cabin for me, nor an
attic at the top of the house; long stairs are a terrible bore."
"I shall certainly give my first attention to the accommodation of my
father and sister," said Bruce; "they never think of themselves."
"A hit at me, I suppose," cried Vibert with unruffled good-humour. "Ah!
that reminds me of our conversation last evening. Captain, have you been
hunting up the ghosts in our haunted rooms?" asked the youth as he rose
from his place at the breakfast-table.
Arrows replied by drawing forth a memorandum-book from the pocket of his
surtout. He unclasped it, and took out from it three minute pieces of
paper, neatly folded up and addressed.
"I am going upstairs to look after my luggage," said the captain; "I
leave with you--"
"These three private and confidential communications!" cried Vibert,
playfully snatching the papers out of his uncle's hand. "Each one, I
see, is directed: here's yours, Emmie; yours, Bruce; and here is mine!"
Captain Arrows did not wait to watch the effect produced by his little
missives, but quitted the room to complete preparations for his
departure.
"I'm of a frank nature," said Vibert; "I don't care if all the world
hear my good uncle's opinion of me!" and, unfolding the scrap of paper
which he held, the youth read aloud as follows: "_Be on your guard
against the_ PRIDE _that repels advice, resents reproof, and refuses to
own a fault._ I don't recognize my likeness in this photo!" cried the
youth; "if the portrait had been intended for Bruce,"--Vibert turned
the paper and looked at the back--"sure enough, it _is_ directed to
Bruce; and the captain has hit him off to the life!"
"You made the apparent blunder on purpose," said Bruce with
ill-suppressed anger, as he took the paper from Vibert, and then threw
it into the fire. Then, after tossing down on the table the unopened
note which had been handed to him first, Bruce Trevor turned on his
heel, and quitted the apartment.
"Stung and nettled! stung and nettled! does he not wince!" cried Vibert,
looking after his brother. "The captain has, sure enough, laid his
finger on the sensitive spot!"
"I am so much vexed at your having read that private paper aloud," said
Emmie; "it was never intended that we should know its contents."
"It told us nothing new," observed Vibert. "Bruce's pride is as plain as
the nose on his face; only, like the nose, it is too close to him--too
much a part of himself, for him to see it."
"Bruce is a noble, unselfish, generous fellow!" cried Emmie.
Vibert cared little to hear his brother's praises. "What is in your tiny
paper?" he asked, after he had glanced at his own. "Why, Emmie, you look
surprised at what our uncle has written. Tell me, just tell me what
lurking mischief the sharp-eyed Mentor has ferreted out in you. Some
concealed inclination to commit burglary or manslaughter?"
"I do not quite understand what my uncle means," said Emmie, gazing
thoughtfully upon the little missive which she had opened and read.
"I could explain it--I could make it clear--just let me see what the
oracle has written!" cried Vibert, with mirth and curiosity sparkling in
his handsome dark eyes. "I'll tell you in return, Emmie, what he has put
in my scrap of paper: _Beware of Selfishness._ Short but not sweet, and
rather unjust. I am thoughtless and gay, I care not who says that much;
but as for being selfish, it's a slander, an ungenerous slander!"
"Perhaps our uncle has again laid his finger on a sensitive spot,"
observed Emmie with a smile, but one so gentle that it could not offend.
"I want to know what the fault-finder lays to your charge, what solemn
admonition has called up the roses on those fair cheeks!" cried the
younger brother; and throwing one arm round Emmie, with his other hand
Vibert possessed himself of the paper of the scarcely resisting girl,
sharing her surprise as he glanced at the two words written upon it.
Those words were--_Conquer Mistrust._
"Mistrust of what or of whom?" said Vibert. "The oracle has propounded
a kind of enigma: as you are going to take a _tete-a-tete_ drive with
the captain, you will have an opportunity of getting an explanation of
your paper. As for mine, it goes after Bruce's--into the fire." Vibert
suited the action to the word.
About half-an-hour afterwards the conveyance which was to take Captain
Arrows from Summer Villa was driven up to the door. Emmie was ready, as
arranged, to accompany her uncle part of the way. John handed up his
luggage to be disposed of on the coach-box. Vibert came to the door to
see the guest depart and bid him farewell. "I'll show him," said the
youth to himself, "that I bear him no grudge for a warning that was not
very necessary, and certainly not very polite."
"Good-bye, captain," cried Vibert, as he shook hands with his uncle;
"come to Myst Court next spring, and you and I will make a raid on the
haunted chamber."
"Where is Bruce? I have not wished him good-bye," said the captain,
pausing when he was about to hand his niece into the carriage.
"Bruce!" called the clear voice of Emmie, as she ran back to the bottom
of the staircase to let her brother know that the guest was on the point
of departing.
"Bruce!" shouted Vibert with the full strength of his lungs.
There was no reply to either summons, and Emmie suggested that her
brother might have gone out, not remembering that the carriage had been
ordered so early. After a few minutes' delay, Arrows handed her into the
carriage, with the words, "You will bid Bruce good-bye for me."
"None so deaf as those who won't hear," muttered Vibert, when the
vehicle had rolled from the door. "Bruce heard us call, but he is in a
huff, and did not choose to appear. He _repels advice, resents reproof_,
and yet won't believe that he's proud! No more, perhaps, than I believe
that I'm selfish!"
CHAPTER VII.
MISTRUST.
"I am so glad to have a little time for quiet conversation with you,
dear uncle," said Emmie, as the carriage in which she was seated beside
Arrows proceeded along the drive. "I want to ask you,"--she hesitated,
and her voice betrayed a little nervousness as she went on,--"what it
was that you meant when you bade me _conquer Mistrust_?"
"Let me refer you to our old favourite, the Pilgrim's Progress," replied
the captain. "In whose company did the dreamer represent Mistrust, when
he ran down the Hill of Difficulty to startle Christian with tidings of
lions in the way?"
"In the company of Timorous," said Emmie.
"And have you no acquaintance with that personage?" asked the captain.
"Oh, then you only mean that I am a little timid and nervous," said
Emmie, a good deal relieved. "That is no serious charge; you let me off
too easily."
"Not so fast, my dear child. Let us examine the allegorical personages
more closely. Timorous and Mistrust are not only found together, but
they are very closely related."
"You would not have me a Boadicea or a Joan of Arc?" asked Emmie,
smiling.
"I would have you--what you are--a gentle English maiden; but I would
have you _more_ than you now are,--that is to say, a trustful Christian
maiden," replied Captain Arrows.
"Surely courage is a natural quality, which belongs to some and not to
others," observed Emmie Trevor. "Besides, if it be a virtue at all, it
is surely a man's rather than a woman's."
"Mere physical courage, such as 'seeks the bubble reputation e'en in the
cannon's mouth,' is not a Christian virtue," said the captain; "it may
be displayed by infidel or atheist. The courage which _is_ a grace, a
grace to be cultivated and prayed for, is that childlike trust in a
Father's wisdom and love, by which the feeblest woman may glorify her
Maker."
"Faith in God's wisdom and love! Oh, you do not surely think that I am
so wicked as ever to doubt them! I have many faults, I know, but this
one--" Emmie stopped short, startled to find on her tongue almost the
very words which had been given as a sign that the bosom sin had been
tracked to its lurking-place.
"You remember," said Captain Arrows, "that a few days ago I listened to
your singing that fine hymn which begins with the lines,--
'Lord, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live.'"
"Yes," replied Emmie Trevor; "and you told me that, much as you admired
that hymn, you did not think it suited for my singing. I supposed that
you thought it too low for my voice."
"No, I thought it too high for your practice. Could it be consistently
sung by one who that morning had been in nervous terror at the scratch
of a kitten; one who owned that she would scarcely dare to nurse her
best friend through the small-pox; one who, even with my escort, could
not be persuaded to cross a field in which a few cows were grazing?"
"Oh, uncle, how can you take such trifles seriously!" cried Emmie, a
good deal hurt.
"Because I wish you to take them a little more seriously," replied
Captain Arrows. "You have hitherto regarded _unreasonable fear_ as an
innocent weakness, perhaps as something allied with feminine grace, and
not as a foe to be resisted and conquered. I see that fear is at this
time throwing a shadow over your path; that you would be happier if you
had the power wholly to cast it aside."
"I have not the power," said Emmie. The words had scarcely escaped her
lips when she wished them unspoken, for she was ashamed thus to plead
guilty to a feeling of superstitious alarm.
"Let us then trace the parentage of unreasonable fear," said Captain
Arrows. "I use the adjective advisedly. There are cases where the nerves
are so shattered by illness, or enfeebled by age, that fears come on the
mind, as fits on the body, not as a fault but as a heavy affliction.
There are also times of extreme and awful danger, such as that of the
Indian Mutiny, when faith must indeed have had a dread struggle with
fear; though even then, in the hearts of tender women, faith won the
victory still. But I am speaking of that fear which common sense would
condemn. Such fear is, must be, the offspring of mistrust, and its
effects show it to be a tempter and an enemy of the soul."
"What effects do you mean?" said Emmie.
"These three at least," answered the captain. "Unreasonable fear hinders
usefulness, destroys peace, and prevents our glorifying God."
"I do not quite see how it should do so," murmured Emmie.
"It hinders usefulness," said her uncle; "like indolence, fear is ever
seeing 'a lion in the street.' Does not fear hang like a clog on the
spirit, _making 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'_ even when duty to God
and mercy to man is in question?"
Arrows paused as if for a reply. Emmie gave none; her eyes were gazing
out of the carriage window on the smoky veil which hung over the great
city which they were approaching; she knew that she dared not do, what
thousands of her sex are doing, go as a child of light to carry light
into the abodes of darkness. Emmie had owned in her uncle's presence
that she was far too timid to visit the poor.
"Then fear destroys peace," continued the captain, "and I believe that
it does so to a greater extent than does any other passion which
troubles the soul, remorse only excepted. If we literally and fully
obeyed the command so often repeated in Scripture, to hope and to be not
afraid, a mountain of misery would be removed at once and cast into the
sea. If you do not mind a personal application of the subject, would
you, my dear child, feel uneasy at going to a house which is called
haunted, if you realized that God fills all space, and that you are
everywhere under His loving protection?"
Emmie still continued silent, looking out of the carriage window. Her
feelings were those of deep mortification. That she, earnestly pious as
she was, should virtually be accused of want of faith, that her
deficiency in this first requisite of religion should have been so
glaring as to have attracted the notice of a partial relative, was a
trial the more painful from being totally unexpected.
"Bunyan represents Mistrust, the parent of unreasonable fear, as a
robber," pursued the captain, referring again to that allegory which
gives so wondrously true a picture of man's spiritual state. "We first
meet Mistrust in company with Timorous, and their object is to
discourage, to frighten, to make Christian start back from the perils
which would meet him if he pursued the path of duty; when we next hear
of Mistrust, he is in company with Guilt, and together they rob
Little-faith of his treasure."
"Yes, mistrust does rob us of our peace," said Emmie with a sigh.
"And now, let me touch on my third point, even at the risk of giving
some pain," said the captain. "Mistrust not only hinders usefulness, and
mars peace, but prevents our glorifying our Maker as we might otherwise
do. Is not the inconsistency of His children dishonouring to God? And is
it not inconsistent to avow our belief that our Heavenly Father loves
us--cares for us--is about our path and our bed, and yet to be as full
of unreasonable terrors as if, like the fool, we said 'there is no
God'? The Christian knows that Christ hath 'abolished death;' he knows
that to depart from earth is to enter into rest; that light, and life,
and glory await the redeemed of the Lord. Is it not inconsistent, I
repeat, in one who believes all this, to shrink with unconcealed terror
from the barest possibility that the time for his going home may be
hastened, even a little? The natural effect of strong faith would be to
make the righteous 'bold as a lion.'"
"Uncle, you judge me very hardly," murmured Emmie, ready to burst into
tears.
"I do not judge you, dear child; I only warn you not to cherish, as an
inmate, that enemy whom you have hitherto regarded but as a harmless
infirmity. Bring him before the bar of reason, bind him with the strong
cords of prayer. I have spoken thus frankly to you on this subject,
because I foresee that on your conquest of mistrust, your victory over
unreasonable fears, must depend much of your peace, happiness, and
usefulness also, in the new home to which you are going. A realizing
faith in God's presence, a simple trust in His love, these are the most
powerful antidotes against superstitious and all other ill-grounded
fears. The light that dispels shadows is the words, _I will fear no
evil, for Thou art with me_."
Captain Arrows had thus given to his sister's children his warning
against what, from close observation of their characters, he deemed to
be the besetting sin of each,--pride, selfishness, and mistrust. What
had been the effect of his words? The monitor had given offence, he had
given pain, and in one case, at least, his warning had been as the
dropping into a brook of a pebble, that scarcely causes even a ripple.
There are few who value gratuitous counsel; the many prefer to buy
experience, though it should prove to be at the price of future pain and
regret. We are seldom thankful to him who would explore for us the
heart's haunted chamber, even should we not possess the candour and
moral courage to search its depths for ourselves.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE JOURNEY.
On the following day Emmie, escorted by Vibert and attended by Susan,
started for her new home. Almost at the last moment Mr. Trevor found
that important business would, for another day, delay his own departure;
but all arrangements for the general move having been made, he would not
defer it, preferring for the single night to sleep at a hotel in London.
The bustle of departure took from its pain; Emmie left her dear old home
without a tear, though not without a sigh of regret. Vibert was in high
spirits, for novelty has its charm, especially to a temperament such as
his. Mr. Trevor had given to each of his sons a fishing-rod and a gun;
and Vibert was already, in imagination, a first-rate angler and
sportsman. It would have been difficult to have been dull in Vibert's
company during the journey. Sporting anecdotes, stories of adventures
encountered by others, and anticipations of future ones of his own,
interspersed with many a jest, amused not only Vibert's sister, but
their fellow-travellers in the same railway-carriage. The youth had none
of his elder brother's reserve, and took pleasure in attracting the
notice of strangers, having a pleasant consciousness that in his case
notice was likely to imply admiration also.
"That handsome lad seems to look on life as one long holiday, to be
passed under unclouded sunshine," thought a withered old gentleman, who
looked as if all his days had been spent in a fog. "Poor boy! poor boy!
he will soon be roused, by stern experience, from the pleasant dream in
which he indulges now!"
About half-an-hour before sunset, the train in which the Trevors were
making their journey approached the station of S----, the one at which
they were to alight.
"Your new pony-chaise is to meet us, Emmie, so papa arranged," observed
Vibert; "but it must be a commodious chaise if it is to accommodate four
persons, and all our lots of luggage. There are three boxes and a
carpet-bag of mine in the van, besides I know not how many of yours.
Then look here,"--Vibert glanced at the numerous et ceteras which showed
that the young travellers had understood how to make themselves
comfortable; "here's a shawl, and a rug, and foot-warmer, a basket, a
bag, three umbrellas, and a parasol, my hat-box, and a fishing-rod
besides! Are all to be stowed away in the chaise? If so, it will need
nice packing."
"Bruce was to order a fly," said Emmie.
"If he was to do it, he has done it," observed Vibert; "one may count
upon him as upon a church-clock. Now if I had had the arranging, I
should have been so much taken up with trying the new pony-chaise, that
I should have forgotten all about the old rattle-trap needed to carry
the boxes. I wish that we had riding-horses. I shall never give papa
peace till he buys me a hunter."
The shrill railway whistle gave notice of approach to a station; the
train slackened its speed, and then stopped; doors were flung open, and
a number of passengers soon thronged the platform of S----.
"There is Bruce; he is looking out for us!" cried Emmie, as she stepped
on the platform.
"Where is the pony-chaise?" asked Vibert, addressing his brother, who
immediately joined the party. Susan was left to collect, as best she
might, the numerous articles left in the railway-carriage.
"A lad is holding the pony just outside the station, and the fly is in
waiting also," was the answer of Bruce. "Where is the luggage, Vibert?
the train only stops for five minutes at S----."
"Susan will tell you all about it," cried Vibert; "I've a bag and three
boxes, one of them a gun-case, stowed away in the van. Mind that nothing
is missing. Come, Emmie, I must get you out of the crowd," and, drawing
his sister's arm within his own, Vibert rapidly made his way to the
outside of the station, where a pretty basket-chaise, drawn by a white
pony, was waiting.
"In with you, quick, Emmie!" cried Vibert, with the eager impatience of
one about to effect an escape. No sooner had the young lady taken her
seat than Vibert sprang in after her, seized the reins, caught up the
whip, and calling to the lad who had acted as hostler, "My brother will
pay you," gave a sharp cut to the pony, which made the spirited little
animal bound forward at a speed which raised a feeling of alarm in the
timorous Emmie.
"Stop, Vibert, stop! you must not drive off; you must wait for Bruce!"
she exclaimed.
"I'll wait for no one!" cried Vibert, still briskly plying the whip.
"Bruce would be wanting to drive; but this time he has lost the
chance,--ha! ha! ha! There's my brave little pony, does he not go at a
spanking pace?"
"I wish that you would not drive so fast, it frightens me!" cried Emmie.
"Frightens you! nonsense, you little coward! Don't you see that thick
bank of clouds in which the sun is setting? We'll have a thunderstorm
soon, and that will frighten you more."
"Oh, I hope and trust that the storm will not burst till we reach
shelter!" cried Emmie, whose dread of thunder and lightning is already
known to the reader.
"We are running a race with it, and we'll be at the winning-post first!"
exclaimed Vibert, who was enjoying the excitement, and who was rather
amused than vexed to see his sister's alarm.
"But, Vibert, you don't even know the way to Myst Court! Oh, I wish that
you had waited for Bruce!"
It had never occurred to the thoughtless lad that he might be driving in
a wrong direction; so long as the pony went as fast as Vibert wished, he
had taken it for granted that Myst Court would soon be reached. The
station had been left far behind; the road was lonesome and wild; only
one solitary boy was in sight; he was engaged in picking up boughs and
twigs which a recent gale had blown down from the trees which bordered
the way.
"We'll ask yonder bare-footed bundle of rags to direct us," said
Vibert, and he drew up the panting pony when he reached the spot where
the boy was standing.
"I say, young one, which is the way to Myst Court?" asked Vibert in a
tone of command.
The boy stared at him, as if unaccustomed to the sight of strangers.
"Are we on the right road to the large house where Mrs. Myers used to
live?" inquired Emmie.
"Ay, ay, but you'll have to turn down yon lane just by the stile there,"
said the urchin, pointing with his brown finger, and grinning as if a
chaise with a lady in it were a rare and curious sight.
"I don't believe that the rustic could have told us whether to turn to
left or right," said Vibert, as he whipped on the pony. "If he's a fair
specimen of my father's tenants, we shall feel as if we had dropped down
on the Fiji Islands."
The direction given by the finger was, however, perfectly clear, and the
Trevors were soon driving along a picturesque lane, where trees, still
gay with autumnal tints, overarched the narrow way, and with their brown
and golden leaves carpeted the sod beneath them.
"What a pretty rural lane!" exclaimed Emmie, as the chaise first turned
off from the high-road; but admiration was soon forgotten in discomfort
and fear. The lane was apparently not intended as a thoroughfare for
carriages, at least in the season of winter. The ground was miry and
boggy, and the pony with difficulty dragged the chaise. There were
violent jerks when one side or other dropped into one of the deep ruts
left by the wheels of the last cart that had passed that way. Vibert
plied the whip more vigorously than before, and silenced his sister's
remonstrances by remarking how darkly the clouds were gathering in the
evening sky. Young Trevor was but an inexperienced driver, and ever and
anon the chaise was jolted violently over some loose stones, or driven
so near to the hedge that Emmie had to bend sideways to avoid being
struck by straggling bramble or branch. She mentally resolved never
again to trust herself to Vibert's driving.
"Will this lane never come to an end?" exclaimed Emmie, as the first
heavy drop from an overshadowing mass of dark cloud fell on her knee.
She was but imperfectly protected from rain; for Vibert, in his haste to
dash off from the station before his brother could join him, had never
thought of taking with him either umbrella or shawl for his sister.
"Here comes the rain with a vengeance, and this stupid beast flounders
in the mud as if it were dragging a cannon instead of a chaise," cried
Vibert. "These country lanes drive one out of all patience! Ha! there's
the rumbling of distant thunder!"
"Oh! I trust that we shall reach home soon," exclaimed Emmie, who,
exposed to the heavy downpour, shivered alike from cold and from fear.
"I suspect that we shall never reach home at all by this lane," said
Vibert. "Take my word for it, that little wretch has directed us wrong;
I have a great mind to turn the pony round, and get back to the
high-road."
"You can't turn, the lane is too narrow; you would land us in the
hedge!" exclaimed Emmie, who thought that the attempt would inevitably
lead to an upset of the chaise. On struggled the steaming pony, down
poured the pattering rain; Vibert, almost blinded by the shower and the
gathering darkness, could scarcely see the road before him.
"The longest lane has a turning,--there is an opening before us at
last!" exclaimed the young driver, as a turn in the winding road brought
a highway to view. "We shall reach Myst Court like two drowned rats. Why
on earth did you not bring an umbrella, Emmie? I could not think of
everything at once." Vibert had, indeed, thought but of himself.
The want of an umbrella was to Emmie by no means the worst part of her
troubles; she was afraid that her brother had indeed been misdirected,
and that they might be lost and benighted in a part of the country
where they as yet were strangers, exposed to the perils of a
thunderstorm, from which the nervous girl shrank with instinctive
terror. Emmie had never hitherto even attempted to overcome her fear;
and though her uncle's words now recurred to her mind, the idea of
encountering a thunderstorm after nightfall, without even a roof to
protect her, put to flight any good resolutions that those words might
have roused in her mind.
"There was a flash!" exclaimed Emmie, starting and putting her hands
before her eyes. She pressed closer to her brother as if for protection.
"We shall have more soon; the storm comes nearer," was the little
comforting reply of Vibert. As he ended the sentence, the thunder-clap
followed the flash. The pony pricked up his ears, and quickened his
pace.
"I am glad that we are out of this miserable mouse-hole at last," cried
Vibert, pulling the left rein sharply as the light vehicle emerged from
the narrow, miry lane into the broad and comparatively smooth highway.
At this moment the darkening landscape was suddenly lighted up by a
flash intensely bright, followed almost immediately by a peal over the
travellers' heads. The terrified Emmie shrieked, and, losing all
presence of mind, caught hold of her brother's arm. The sharp turning
out of the lane, the pony's start at the flash, and the sudden grasp on
the driver's arm, acting together, had the effect which might have been
expected. Down went pony and chaise, down went driver and lady,
precipitated into the ditch which bordered the high-road.
CHAPTER IX.
NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
Vibert shouting for help, Emmie shrieking, the pony kicking and
struggling in vain attempts to scramble out of the ditch, rain rattling,
thunder rolling, all made a confused medley of sounds, while the
deepening darkness was ever and anon lit up by lightning-flashes.
"Oh, Vibert! dear Vibert! are you hurt?" cried the terrified Emmie, with
whom personal fear did not counterbalance anxiety for her young
brother's safety.
"I'm not hurt; I lighted on a bramble-bush; I've got off with a few
scratches," answered Vibert, who had regained the road. "But where on
earth are you, Emmie? Can't you manage to get up?"
"No," gasped Emmie; "the chaise keeps me down. Oh, there is the
lightning again!" and she shrieked.
"Never mind the lightning," cried Vibert impatiently. "How am I to get
the pony on his legs? he's kicking like mad; and, oh! do stop
screaming, Emmie, you're enough to drive any one wild. It was your pull
and your shrieking that did all the mischief."
Vibert had had little experience with horses, and to release, almost in
darkness, a kicking pony from its traces, or set free a lady imprisoned
by an overturned chaise, were tasks for which he had neither sufficient
presence of mind nor personal strength. Glad would the poor lad then
have been to have had Bruce beside him, Bruce with his firm arm and his
strong sense, and that quiet self-possession which it seemed as if
nothing could shake. Vibert felt in the emergency as helpless as a girl
might have done. Now he pulled at the upturned wheel of the chaise, but
without lifting it even an inch; then he caught up the whip which had
dropped from his hand in the shock of the fall, but he knew not whether
to use it would not but make matters worse. Vibert ran a few paces to
seek for assistance, stopped irresolute, then hurried back, thinking it
unmanly to leave his sister alone in her helpless condition.
Happily for poor Emmie, assistance was not long delayed. Not a hundred
yards from the spot where the accident had taken place, two men were
sheltering themselves from the violence of the rain in a half-ruined
barn. The cries of the lady, the loud calls for aid from her brother,
reached the ears of these men. Two forms were seen by Vibert quickly
approaching towards him, and he shouted to them to make haste to come to
the help of his sister.
"There's a lady there, under the wheel," said the shorter and elder man
to the other, when the two had reached the fallen chaise. "You'd better
look to her while I cut the beast's traces; it's lucky I have my knife
with me," and the speaker pulled a large clasp-knife out of his pocket.
The united efforts of the men, assisted by Vibert, soon were crowned
with success. The pony, frightened and mud-bespattered, but not very
seriously hurt, as soon as it was released from the harness, scrambled
out of the ditch. The light basket-chaise was, without much difficulty,
raised to its right position; and Vibert helped to lift up Emmie, who
was half covered with mud, and almost in hysterics with fear.
"Come, come, there's nothing to be terrified at now; the danger is over.
You're not hurt, are you?" asked Vibert, with some anxiety, for he loved
his sister next to himself, though, it must be confessed, with a
considerable space between.
Emmie scarcely knew whether she were injured or not. She was too much
agitated at first to be able to answer her brother's question.
"I don't think that there are any bones broken; mud is soft," said the
shorter man. "I guess she's more frightened than hurt."
"Be composed, dear lady; the storm is clearing off," observed the
younger stranger, who had assisted Vibert in releasing Emmie from her
distressing position, and who now helped to place her again in the
chaise. This person's gallantry of manner contrasted with the almost
coarse bluntness of his elder and shorter companion. Vibert at once
concluded that the two individuals who had accidentally appeared
together belonged respectively to very different grades of society.
The man who had cut the traces had had string in his capacious pocket as
well as a knife, and now occupied himself in making such a rough
arrangement with the harness as might enable the pony to draw the
chaise. He effected his purpose with no small skill; considering the
imperfect light by which he worked.
"Are we in the right road for Myst Court?" inquired Vibert of this
individual, as he was tying the last firm knot in the string.
"Myst Court!" repeated the man in a harsh, croaking tone, at the same
time raising his head from its stooping position. "Are you some of the
new folk as are coming to the old haunted house?"
The question was asked in a manner so peculiar that it arrested the
attention even of Emmie. A flash of lightning occurred at the moment,
not so vivid as that which had terrified her so much, but sufficiently
so to light up the features of the elderly man. Miss Trevor was again
and again to see that strange face, but at no time did she behold it
without recalling the impression which it made on her mind when first
shown by that gleam of blue lightning. The man might be sixty years of
age; his nose was hooked, so that it resembled a beak; his eyes were so
sunken in his head that in that transient glimpse they looked like dark
eye-holes; his hair, rough, unkempt, and grizzled, hung in wet strands
as low as his shoulders, surmounted by an old battered felt hat. Emmie
felt afraid of him, though she could not have given any reason for her
fear.
"Yes, we are to live at Myst Court," replied Vibert. "Our father has
just come into possession of the place."
"Woe to him, then, for an evil spell is upon it!" muttered the man; and
a distant rumble succeeded the words like an echo. "The thunder and
lightning, the darkness and storm, the mistaken way, the stumbling
horse,--omens of evil--omens of evil! These things do not happen by
chance."
"I wish that, instead of muttering unpleasant things, you would give a
plain answer to a plain question, and not keep us shivering here!" said
Vibert impatiently. "Are we, or are we not, on the direct road to Myst
Court?"
"No, sir," replied the taller stranger; "but by yon lane you can reach
the high-road which leads straight from S---- to the place of your
destination."
"Then that urchin did misdirect us!" exclaimed Vibert. "If I meet him
again, I will break every stick in his faggot over his back! Must we
really return through that slough of a lane, through which we have
scarcely been able to struggle?"
"You must retrace your way," said the stranger. "As far as the high-road
my path is the same as your own, as I am returning to my quarters at
S----. Perhaps you will permit me to occupy the vacant place in your
chaise (I perceive that there is a back seat), as it would be a
satisfaction to me to see the lady so far safe on the road. I shall do
myself the honour of calling at Myst Court to-morrow, to inquire after
her health. My name is Colonel Standish, at your service, and I serve
beneath the star-spangled banner."
"We shall be glad of your company, sir," said Vibert; "and are much
obliged for your ready help."
"It is lucky that old Harper and I were at hand," observed Standish, as
he stepped into the low basket-chaise.
Vibert sprang into the front seat beside his sister, but before taking
the reins from the hand of Harper, young Trevor pulled a shilling out of
his waistcoat-pocket, and tendered it to the old man. There was light
now afforded by the moon, for the rain had ceased, and through a rift in
the clouds the radiant orb shone clearly.
"A silver shilling to him who has helped you to reach the haunted
house," said Harper, as he took the coin and thrust it into a deep
pocket. "I trow there will be gold for him who shall show you the way to
leave it!"
Vibert laughed; Emmie shivered, but that may have been from cold, for
the night-air was clamp and chilly, and her clothes were saturated with
rain. Vibert now turned the pony into the lane, but the creature limped,
and had evidently some difficulty in dragging the chaise.
"The beast is lame," observed Standish; "he has probably strained a leg
in the fall. We gentlemen must walk through the lane, where the ground
is so boggy." The colonel sprang from the chaise, and his example was
followed by Vibert.
At a slow pace the party proceeded along the tree-overshadowed way. The
recent rain had increased the heaviness of the road, and the trees
dripped moisture from their wet branches over the travellers' heads. To
Emmie, cold and damp as she was, and longing for shelter and rest, it
seemed as if that wearisome lane would never come to an end.
Harper, uninvited, had joined himself to the party, and his peculiar
croaking tones were frequently heard blending in converse with the clear
voice of young Vibert, or the more manly accents of Standish. Emmie
alone kept silence.
"Our friend Harper is a near neighbour of yours," observed the colonel
to Vibert. "He has fixed himself just outside the gate of your father's
grounds."
"But I never pass through that gate," croaked Harper. Neither Vibert nor
Emmie felt any regret that their forbidding-looking neighbour should
keep outside.
"You call the place haunted?" said Vibert.
"Haunted!" repeated Harper, muttering the word between his clenched
teeth; and the old man shook his grizzled locks with so mysterious an
air, that Vibert's curiosity was roused. He began to question Harper on
the traditions connected with the place.
The old man was not loath to speak on the subject, though he imparted
his information, if such it could be called, only in broken fragments;
giving as it were, glimpses of grisly horrors, and leaving his hearers
to imagine the rest.
Then Standish followed up the theme, and recounted strange stories from
the New World,--all "well-authenticated" as he declared; stories of
haunted houses and apparitions, each tale more horrible than the last.
Such relations would have tried Emmie's nerves, even had the stories
been told on some calm summer eve; but heard, as they were, in a dark,
dreary lane, on a chilly November night, when she was wet, bruised, and
trembling from the shock of a recent accident, tales of horror seemed to
make the blood freeze to ice in her veins. Had Bruce been present, he
would have discouraged such conversation; but sensational stories had
charms for Vibert, and he never considered that they might work an evil
effect on the sensitive mind of his sister.
At last the open road was regained, and Standish took leave of the
Trevors. Rather to Emmie's surprise, the colonel familiarly shook hands
with herself as well as her brother, as if the night's adventure had
converted them into old friends. Vibert again sprang into the chaise; he
was very impatient to get at last to the end of his wearisome journey,
and urged the pony to as quick a pace as its lameness permitted over the
smoother road.
The rest of the time of the drive was passed in silence. The way to Myst
Court was clear enough from the brief directions given by Harper, of
whom the travellers soon lost sight in the darkness, though he was
following in the same track. Emmie had thought of inviting the old man
to take the back seat in the chaise, but an intuitive feeling of
repugnance prevented her from making the offer.
Glad were the weary travellers to reach the large iron gate which had
been described as marking the entrance to the grounds of Myst Court. The
gate had been left wide open to let them pass through. The drive up to
the house was rather a long one. Emmie noticed only that it appeared to
be through a thick wood, and that the chaise occasionally jolted over
impediments in the way. To her great relief, the weary girl at length
distinguished lights in some of the windows of a building which dimly
loomed before her. There streamed forth also light from the open door,
at which her brother Bruce was standing, watching for the arrival of the
long-expected chaise.
CHAPTER X.
A FAINT HEART.
"What has delayed you?--where have you been?--how comes the pony to be
lame, and Emmie all splashed with mud?--what insane prank have you been
playing?"
Such were the questions, each successive one asked in a louder and more
angry tone, which were addressed by Bruce to Vibert when the brothers
met in front of the house. The lad attempted to answer the questions
lightly.
"We've only had a bit of an adventure," cried he. "I've been in a
dilemma, Emmie in a fright, the chaise in a ditch, and--"
"None of your foolery for me, sir! You have acted like a selfish idiot!"
exclaimed Bruce, who was in a passion more towering than any to which he
had given way before since the days of his boyhood. While Vibert had
been speaking, Bruce had been engaged in half lifting Emmie out of the
chaise; but he turned round as he was supporting her into the hall, and
uttered his angry exclamation, while his eyes flashed indignation and
scorn. Vibert bit his lip and cowered for an instant under his brother's
rebuke, conscious that it was not altogether unmerited.
"Susan, take care of my sister; let her change her dripping garments
directly," said Bruce to the maid, who was waiting in the hall, candle
in hand, to receive her young mistress. "You will see that your lady has
all that she wants," continued Bruce, who was ever considerate and
thoughtful. "I will send up something hot for her to drink."
"I'll mix a tumblerful at once. The wine's on the table--hot water and
nutmeg in the kitchen," cried a female voice that was strange to the ear
of Emmie. But the poor girl was too much exhausted by the events of the
evening to look much around her; she was stiff and trembling with cold,
and bruised by her fall, and faintly asked Susan to show her without
delay to her room.
Emmie was conducted by her maid up a broad staircase of oak, which ended
in a corridor, of which the length nearly corresponded with that of the
house. To the left were the apartments which had been assigned to the
use of Mr. Trevor and his sons. Susan, on reaching the corridor, turned
to the right, drawing back a large curtain of old-fashioned tapestry,
on which the life-size figures, wrought by hands long since cold in the
grave, were so faded that their outlines could scarcely be traced by the
light of the candle carried by the maid. This piece of stiff tapestry
had been hung across the corridor in order to keep off draughts from the
aged lady who had last inhabited Myst Court. Susan held back the curtain
till Miss Trevor had passed through the opening thus made, and then the
tapestry again shut out one portion of the corridor from the staircase
and the other side of the house.
A cheerful red light guided Emmie to a room on the right side of the
passage. The light came from a blazing wood-fire in the young lady's own
apartment, which she now entered, followed by Susan. Glad was the weary
girl to enjoy her home comforts again. Wet clothes were quickly
exchanged for dry ones; Emmie's cold hands were chafed into warmth; soft
slippers were placed on her feet; and while the fire shed its kindly
glow over her frame, the maiden revived, and began to survey with some
interest the features of her new abode.
The room in which Emmie found herself was of good size; the ceiling had
been freshly whitewashed; the walls were panelled with oak; the
furniture, with one exception, had all been taken from Summer Villa,
and had a familiar appearance which was pleasant to the eye of the
maiden, and made her feel grateful to Bruce for his thoughtful kindness.
It was Emmie's own chintz-covered sofa, which Susan had wheeled close to
the fire, on which the tired traveller reclined; the screen was one
specially valued as being the work of her mother; the guitar-case was
seen in a corner; the rows of prettily-bound books which filled the
shelves of the book-case looked as if they had made the journey to S----
without even having been moved from their accustomed places. Emmie was
fond of pictures, and had collected quite a little gallery of them at
Summer Villa. Bruce had taken care that his sister should not miss one
of them at Myst Court. Here numbers of pictures, great and
small,--portraits, prints, coloured sketches,--adorned the panelled
walls, relieved by the dark background of oak, from which they took all
appearance of gloom.
It has been said that, with one exception, the furniture of Miss
Trevor's room had all belonged to her former home; that exception was a
tall press of elaborately-carved oak, which rested against one of the
side-walls, between the fireplace and the window. Bruce had not ordered
the removal of this press for various reasons. It was heavy, and had
probably remained in its present place since the house had first been
built, as the style of the carving was antique, and the wood almost
black with age. Bruce had thought that a high press was a convenient
article of furniture for a young lady's room; and this one was so
handsome that, though it matched nothing in the apartment except the
panelled walls, its beauty as a work of art might atone for the
incongruity.
The gaze of Emmie rested longer on that dark press than on anything else
in the room. Perhaps she was trying to make out the meaning of the
figures carved in bold relief on the front; or, perhaps, she was
recalling one of the sensational stories which she had heard that night,
in which just such a press as this had played a mysterious part. Absurd
as it may appear, the young lady would have liked her apartment better
if the handsomest article of its furniture had not been left within it.
As Emmie was languidly gazing around, while Susan, on her knees by the
sofa, was chafing her young lady's feet, there was heard a tap at the
door. A woman then entered the apartment, bearing a steaming tumblerful
of wine and hot water. As this person will reappear in the story, I will
briefly describe her appearance.
She was dressed in mourning, and wore a black bonnet covered with crape
flowers and pendants of bugles. Her person was short and somewhat stout.
The round eyes, above which the sandy-coloured brows formed not arches
but an upward-turned angle, gave her a cat-like look, which resemblance
to the feline race was increased by the peculiar form of her lower jaw,
and the noiseless softness of her movements.
In an obsequious manner this personage not only gave the reviving
beverage to Miss Trevor, but volunteered her unasked aid to make the
young lady comfortable, beating up her pillow, stirring the fire, and
making inquiries about her health in a pitying tone, as if the fear of
Emmie's having caught any chill were to her a matter of tender concern.
Emmie guessed that the stranger must be the confidential attendant of
the late Mrs. Myers, and her conjecture was soon confirmed by the
woman's introducing herself as Mrs. Jael Jessel. The young lady did not
like to give Mrs. Jessel a hint to depart, though the tired girl would
have been glad to have been left to the quiet attentions of Susan. Jael
herself was in no haste to quit the apartment; and leaning against the
mantelpiece, began to converse in a voluble way.
"I could not help running over from my new home to see that everything
was arranged comfortable-like for the niece of my dear departed lady,"
began Mrs. Jessel. "I know the ins and outs of this place so well,--it
seems so natural to come about a house in which one has lived for
years."
"My brother has arranged everything comfortably," observed Miss Trevor.
"He came down before the rest of the family on purpose to do so."
"Ah, yes; I see. Master Bruce is a clever young gentleman, and he has
done all that he could _under the circumstances_," said Mrs. Jessel,
lowering her tone, as she uttered the last three words, to a mysterious
whisper. The black bugles in her bonnet trembled with the shake of her
head, as the late attendant went on,--"But if young Mr. Trevor had taken
the advice of one who knows what I know, he'd have had this room shut up
as closely as the one which is next to it,--I mean _the haunted
chamber_!" Jael Jessel's round eyes glanced stealthily from one side to
another, as if she were afraid of being overheard by some invisible
listener.
Susan saw a look of uneasiness pass over the face of her young mistress,
and could not help breaking silence.
"Hannah has told me this evening," she said, "that Mrs. Myers always
slept in this room, and that you, Mrs. Jessel, were on a couch beside
her. Since the room was chosen for her own by the mistress of the
house, it must have been considered the best one."
Mrs. Jessel did not condescend to address herself to Susan, but in
speaking to Emmie virtually gave a reply to the observation made by the
servant.
"My poor dear lady was perfectly deaf, she could not hear what _I_
heard; her eyes were dim, she could not see what _I_ saw,--or she would
not have rested a second night with only a wall between her and"--again
Jael glanced furtively around as she murmured--"that fearful chamber!"
"What did you see,--what did you hear?" asked Emmie, shuddering as she
recalled to mind the warnings given by old Harper.
Mrs. Jessel did not wait to be asked twice; she was ready enough to
impart to any credulous listener her tale of horrors. Susan was hardly
restrained, by her respect for her young mistress, from repeatedly
interrupting the stranger, who was doing her worst to fill the mind of a
nervous girl with superstitious fears at a time when bodily weariness
had prepared it for their reception. At last the indignant lady's-maid
could keep silence no longer.
"What you bore for years, Mrs. Jessel, and without being any the worse
for it, could have been nothing very dreadful," said Susan bluntly. "My
lady knows that a good Providence is as near her in this room as
anywhere else, and that they who keep a clear conscience need fear
neither goblin nor ghost!"
"Ah, well, we shall see, we shall see," observed Mrs. Jessel, drawing
her black shawl closer around her, as a preparation for departure. "I
don't believe there's a being who knows the place that would go through
the wood at night but myself; but, as you say, a clear conscience gives
courage. I wish you a good night, Miss Trevor," added Jael, courtesying
formally to the lady; "but, to my mind, you'd have a better chance of
one if you were to sleep in a different room."
Mrs. Jessel quitted the apartment; but she left behind her the painful
impression which her words were calculated to make on a mind such as
Emmie's,--a mind not yet sufficiently disciplined by self-control, or
influenced by faith, to bring reason and religion to bear upon
superstitious fears and nervous forebodings.
Emmie rose from the sofa, and took two or three turns up and down her
apartment; while Susan occupied herself in trimming the fire. The young
lady then stopped abruptly in her walk.
"Susan," she said, "I cannot sleep in this room!" It was humiliating to
utter such a confession, even to a domestic.
"Oh, Miss Emmie, if you would let me be beside you to-night--" began
Susan; but Emmie did not heed her attendant's suggestion.
"I could not close my eyes all the night, and I do so sadly need rest. I
will go to my brother and ask him to make arrangements for at once
changing my room."
"But Master Bruce will be so much disappointed," expostulated Susan. "He
has spared no pains to have everything just as you would like it to be."
"I cannot sleep here," repeated Emmie, who was trembling with nervous
excitement. "You will soon move my things--I care not whither--so that
it be to the other side of the house, as far as possible from the
bricked-up room."
Emmie hastily quitted the apartment, and drawing back the tapestry
curtain, passed on to the head of the staircase. The house appeared to
her dreary, empty, and cold, as she glided down the broad oaken steps,
almost afraid to look behind her. Emmie soon reached the wide hall, and,
guided by the light of the lamp in the drawing-room, of which the door
was open, she entered it, and found Bruce Trevor alone.
"I hope that you feel rested, Emmie," said her brother, advancing to
meet her. The clouded brow of Bruce still showed token of the angry
altercation which had passed between him and Vibert.
"I cannot rest in that room, dear," faltered Emmie, avoiding meeting her
brother's inquiring gaze.
"Not rest--why not?" asked Bruce in surprise.
Emmie coloured with shame as she stammered forth her reply. "I know that
you will think it so silly--it--it _is_ silly, I own, but--but I would
rather be in any other part of the house than next door to the haunted
chamber!"
"This is folly, Emmie, pure folly," expostulated Bruce. "You know that a
great part of the dwelling is at present uninhabitable, and cannot be
used for months. There are but two upper rooms fitted up comfortably;
the one is my father's--he chose it himself; the other is given to you.
Vibert and I can put up anywhere; our two little rooms, just beyond my
father's, have been left as I found them, save that the housemaid has
been induced to clear a few cobwebs away. I could not possibly allow
you, accustomed as you are to have comforts around you, to occupy one of
those bare cells at the coldest side of the house."
"I should prefer--oh, so greatly prefer one of those small rooms to my
present one!" exclaimed Emmie. "Where I now am expected to sleep, that
horrid tapestry curtain divides me from every other living being, and I
am so close to the bricked-up room, that if so much as a mouse stirred
in it, the sound would keep me awake. Dear Bruce, you who are so firm,
and brave, and wise, you cannot tell what I feel. If you love me, let us
exchange our rooms at once; you are not fearful and foolish like me."
Emmie was trembling; her hands were clasped, and tears rose into her
eyes.
"Have your own way!" exclaimed Bruce, with some impatience of manner. He
was annoyed at his sister's betraying such weakness, provoked at his own
arrangements being altered, and disappointed at having taken in vain a
good deal of trouble to please. Without uttering another word to Emmie,
the young man quitted the room to give needful orders, and did not
return till the clang of the hall gong summoned the Trevors to a late
dinner.
The meal was very unsociable and dull. The storm of anger between the
two brothers had not passed off, and Emmie was too much disheartened by
what had occurred to be able to act her usual part of peacemaker between
them. Bruce had not forgiven Vibert his foolish prank of driving off
with Emmie, which had been the primal cause of the accident which had
occurred; and Vibert, stung to the quick, had not forgiven Bruce his
bitter rebukes. During the whole of dinner-time neither of the young men
addressed a word to the other.
The awkward waiting of the country lad hired as a servant, which, at
another time, might have afforded some amusement to the young Trevors,
now only provoked their patience. Bruce disliked the clumping tread and
the creaking boots of Joe; Emmie started when the noisy clatter of
plates ended at last in a crash. Vibert, whose lively conversation
usually added so much to the cheerfulness of the family circle, scarcely
uttered a syllable, save to find fault with the cookery, which was
certainly none of the best. No one, under these circumstances, cared to
prolong unnecessarily the time spent at the dinner-table.
But matters were little improved when the party had retired to the
drawing-room, to spend there the remainder of the first evening passed
together by them in their new home. Neither reading aloud nor music,
neither playful converse nor game, lightened the heavy time which
intervened before the accustomed hour for family prayers. Emmie thought
that the large drawing-room of Myst Court was but dimly lighted by the
lamp which had shed such cheerful radiance in Summer Villa. The light
scarcely sufficed to enable her to trace the outlines of the
time-darkened family portraits which hung on the dingy walls. The
apartment was so spacious that one fire could hardly warm it, so that it
was chilly as well as dark. The small-sized furniture which had suited
Summer Villa would have looked mean in the handsome old saloon of Myst
Court; therefore faded carpet and more faded tapestry remained,
high-backed heavy chairs of carved oak, and narrow old-fashioned mirrors
whose frames the lapse of two centuries had rendered dingy and dull.
Emmie's only occupation on that first evening was examining these relics
of the past. She thought to herself that Myst Court was as gloomy as any
cloister could be, and sighed when she remembered that she must regard
it now as her permanent home.
At last Bruce, who had repeatedly glanced at his watch, saw that it was
time to call up the servants for prayers. They came in answer to the
summons of the bell which he rang--the three new members of the
household looking awkward and shy, being evidently unaccustomed to be
present at family worship. Bruce read the prayers, as was his custom
whenever his father was absent from home. But there was a coldness, on
that night, even in the family devotions, of which no one was more
sensible than was he who had to conduct them. It was not because the
room felt dreary and cold, nor because a death-bed scene had so lately
occurred in the house, that a chilling damp fell over even the
observance of a religious duty: Bruce, Vibert, and their sister had all
on that day been overcome by their several besetting sins, and those
sins were haunting them still. Pride, selfishness, and mistrust cast
deeper shadows on the pathway of life than those merely external
circumstances which we connect with ideas of gloom.
The spirit of Bruce was out of tune, and the noblest words of prayer
were, as it were, turned into discord by the imperfection of the human
instrument that gave them sound. The leaven of hypocrisy marred
petitions in which the heart had no share. Bruce had to ask for the
grace of meekness, whilst he was inwardly scorning a sister for weakness
and a brother for folly. Had he been struggling to subdue the pride of
his heart, such a prayer would have been a cry for help from above; but
Bruce was attempting no such struggle. He was not seeking to imitate One
who was meek and lowly; the sinner on his knees was preferring a prayer
for a grace which he did not care to possess. If a remembrance of his
uncle's warning against pride had passed through Bruce's mind on that
evening, it had roused anger rather than contrition. "What is Captain
Arrows, that he should probe the hearts of others; let him look to his
own!"
Thus the high-principled young man, who was so ready to act or to suffer
for what he deemed the cause of truth; he whose character was in human
sight almost without a blemish, was in a state in which, according to
Scripture, all his faith, knowledge, and zeal could profit him nothing.
Death, if death had met him now, would not have found Bruce with his
face turned heavenwards, though he had long since, with sincerity of
purpose, entered on the pilgrim's narrow path. He stood condemned by the
solemn words of inspiration, _If any man have not the spirit of Christ,
he is none of His_.
Emmie noticed with pain, after family prayers were over, that her
brothers went to their respective apartments without so much as bidding
each other good-night.
CHAPTER XI.
EVENING AND MORNING.
"How foolish--how weak--how wrong has been my conduct through this day!"
murmured Emmie to herself, as, after dismissing her attendant, she sat
alone in the small apartment which she had chosen for her own. The room
was a contrast to that which had at first been assigned to the young
maiden. The cell, as Bruce had called it, did not possess even a
fireplace, and might have belonged to some cloistered ascetic. The
stained, dusky, peeling-off paper on the narrow walls had its blots and
patches made only more visible by the whiteness of three large unframed
maps, which the practical Bruce had fastened up for his own convenience.
The young man had rather a contempt for the luxuries in which Vibert
always indulged if he could; to the idea of Bruce they were only
suitable for ladies, or those to whom age or ill-health rendered them
needful. Bruce considered it unworthy of a man in the prime of his life
to care about the softness of a cushion, or the temperature of an
apartment. Thus, in making household arrangements, Bruce had selected
his own quarters with very little regard to personal comfort, while he
had spared no pains in trying to secure that of his sister.
Emmie now suffered from her brother's unselfishness, as well as from her
own nervous fears. Hasty arrangements had indeed been made to improve
the appearance of the cell. Some of Emmie's books had been transferred
to the bookcase by Susan, nor had footstool or guitar been forgotten;
but for her sofa there was no space, and the young lady's
toilette-table, draped with white muslin, looked incongruous in so mean
an apartment. Perhaps the discomfort of that fireless room on a damp
November night was not without its effect on the spirits of Emmie, who
was accustomed to the refinements and elegances of civilized life, and
who was not indifferent to them; but the melancholy which oppressed the
maiden chiefly rose from a deeper source, a profound discontent with
herself.
It was Emmie's custom to review, every night ere she went to rest, the
events of the preceding day, with self-examination as to the part which
she had acted. The review had hitherto been very imperfect, for she had
never traced her errors in practice to the source from whence most of
them had proceeded. Instead of recognizing _mistrust_ as a besetting
sin, it had hardly occurred to Emmie that it was anything meriting
blame. The occurrences of that Friday had been a striking comment upon
the words of her uncle, which Emmie now recalled to memory.
"Unreasonable fear,--uncontrolled fear,--what has it done for me
to-day?" mused Emmie. "It has destroyed my peace, most utterly destroyed
it, and cast needless gloom over my arrival in my new home. Fear has
made me displease both my brothers, has lowered me in the eyes even of
my servants; it has caused an accident which has been painful, and
which, but for Heaven's mercy, might have even been fatal. Should I have
lost self-command in the storm, had I recognized the presence of Him who
grasps the lightning in His hand, and whose voice is heard in the
thunder? If my heart were indeed the abode of His Spirit, would that
heart fail me at the bare thought of--hark! what was that sound?" Emmie
started and turned pale at the cry of an owl outside her window; in her
home near London she had never heard the hoot of the bird of night. The
cry was repeated, and though the nervous girl now guessed its cause, in
her superstitious mind it was still linked with fearful fancies.
Emmie, to compose herself, took up her Bible, and opening it, turned to
the Twenty-seventh Psalm. She read the heart-stirring verse: _The Lord
is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the
strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?_
"Why cannot I make this glorious assurance of faith my own?" thought
Emmie. "Why am I, a Christian girl in an English home, troubled with
fears which would better beseem some poor ignorant African, worshipping
his fetich, and knowing nothing of a protecting, loving God! I must
struggle against this enemy, mistrust; I must try to bring my very
thoughts into subjection,--those thoughts now so full of fears
dishonouring to my gracious Master. Where is my reason,--where is my
faith? I cannot believe that there is real danger in sleeping next to
the bricked-up room, or even my selfishness would hardly have induced me
to put dear Bruce in a post of peril. I must have been secretly assured
that the danger existed only in fancy. But I am now too weary to be able
to reason; I need a night's rest to enable me to distinguish between
facts and the creations of an excited brain. I am so tired--my nerves
are so weak! I shall scarcely now be able to rouse my mind even for the
exercise of prayer, and by prayer alone dare I hope to conquer
mistrust."
Emmie's rest was on that night troubled by a confused medley of dreams,
the natural consequences of the excitement which she had undergone
through the preceding day. Nothing was distinct, but the images of
Harper and Jael Jessel mixed themselves up with the phantoms which their
weird stories had raised in the imaginative mind of the girl. Emmie,
early deprived of the guidance of a sensible mother, had often made an
unprofitable use of her leisure; she had read much of the literature
which is called sensational; she had pondered over tales of horror; her
mind had been fed on unwholesome food. Emmie had let fancy lead her
where it list, and it would be no easy task to undo the mischief wrought
in idle hours under the name of amusement.
Morning came at last, and brightness and hope with the morning. How
different objects appear in sunshine from what they seem to be when only
faintly visible at night! Emmie gazed from her window, and greatly
admired the prospect before her. Never, perhaps, in a well-wooded
country, does Nature display more exquisite beauty than in the early
part of November, when the foliage, thinned indeed, but brilliant in
tints of crimson and gold, varied with russet and green, is lit up by
the glorious sun. The orb of day, just rising, was overhung by rosy
clouds; the air was fresh and fragrant after the storm; myriads of
dew-drops glittered on the lawn; all was brightness above and below!
Emmie thought that she could be very happy even at Myst Court, and
anticipated with pleasure looking over the mansion, exploring the
grounds, and examining the state of the garden.
When Emmie quitted her little room, the sunlight was streaming through
the large east window which lighted the staircase, throwing gorgeous
stains of crimson and azure from its coloured panes upon the wide oaken
steps. What had been dreary and ghost-like by night, had become
picturesque and romantic by day. Emmie tripped lightly down to the
breakfast-room, where she found Bruce looking out his place in the book
of family prayers.
"Did you sleep well?" was the sister's eager greeting as she approached
her brother; for Emmie had reproached herself a little for exposing
Bruce to the chance of any nocturnal annoyance by the exchange of the
rooms.
"I slept very well,--never better," replied Bruce with a slightly
sarcastic smile. "I had no expectation of seeing goblin or ghost, and
was certainly troubled by none. I never knew a place more perfectly
still; so far as I could judge, not a mouse stirred or a cricket
chirrupped in the so-called haunted chamber. But that west room is by
far too pretty and luxurious for a student like me. As ladies are
allowed to change their minds once, I would strongly advise you, Emmie,
to let us resume the first arrangement: do you go back to the west room,
and let me study or sulk in my own little cell."
"Not now," replied Emmie Trevor; and, to do her justice, her motive in
declining the second change was as much consideration for her brother's
comfort as the repugnance, which she had not yet quite overcome, to
sleeping next door to the haunted chamber.
"Why has Master Vibert not made his appearance either at prayers or at
breakfast?" asked Bruce, when, half an hour afterwards, he was enjoying
the cup of hot coffee prepared by his sister.
"Vibert was tired last night, and has probably overslept himself,"
replied Emmie.
"Not he," said Bruce, "for I saw him from my window this morning, more
than an hour ago, loitering about the grounds. Vibert must have heard
the gong sound for breakfast. No; the fact is--you must have seen it
from his manner last evening--that Vibert is in a huff because I called
him a selfish idiot."
"I am so very, _very_ sorry that you called him that," cried Emmie, with
a look of distress. "You do not consider, dear Bruce, what real harm
your sternness may do to our younger brother. Vibert is so
affectionate--"
"He cares for no one on earth but himself," said Bruce. "Look at his
conduct yesterday, and think what might have been its result."
"Driving off from the station without waiting for you was but a foolish,
boyish prank," pleaded Emmie. "As for the accident that occurred, that
cannot be laid to Vibert's charge; it was caused by my catching hold of
his arm just when the pony was turning a corner."
"What made you do that?" inquired Bruce.
"I was foolishly frightened at the lightning," replied Emmie meekly.
"Frightened, always frightened, at everything and at nothing!" said
Bruce, but rather in sorrow than in anger. He was far more indulgent to
the failings of Emmie than he was to those of Vibert.
The gentle girl, who was very anxious to bring about a reconciliation
between her two brothers continued her mild expostulation with Bruce.
"I am sure that you do not think Vibert an idiot, though he may,
perhaps, be a little selfish. I have heard you say yourself that Vibert
has plenty of brain."
"If he were not too lazy and self-indulgent to work it," interrupted the
elder brother.
"You do not think--you never have thought poor dear Vibert a selfish
idiot," persisted Emmie; "and oh! Bruce, if I could only persuade you to
tell him that you are sorry for having spoken that one hasty word, if--"
"Apologize to Vibert! never!" cried Bruce, and he pushed his chair back
from the table.
"Surely it is noble, generous, right to own to a brother that in a hasty
moment we have done him a wrong!" said Emmie with an earnestness which
brought the moisture into her eyes.
Bruce made no reply to his sister, but rose from his seat and left the
room; not hurriedly, not passionately, but with that expression on his
calm face in which Emmie easily read the unuttered thought, "I need no
one's advice to guide me, and I will receive rebuke from no one."
Emmie breathed a heavy sigh. Bruce was in other points so noble, so
good,--oh, why did he shut and bar so firmly against the entrance of
duty and affection one haunted room of his heart! Emmie was distressed
on account of Vibert; she knew that her volatile younger brother needed
the support of the stronger sense, the firmer principle of the
elder,--that the influence of Bruce might be of inestimable importance
to Vibert. And all this influence was to be worse than thrown away,
because the professed follower of Him who was meek and lowly would not
bend his proud spirit to own that he had committed a fault!
CHAPTER XII.
THE STRANGER.
Bruce had scarcely quitted the breakfast-room before it was entered by
Vibert.
"Quick, Emmie, a cup of your delicious hot coffee! I've been out these
two hours, and have come in with a hunter's appetite!" exclaimed the
youth, who was looking even handsomer than usual, with his clear
complexion brightened by the invigorating effects of the fresh morning
air. Vibert applied himself with energy to the work of cutting slices
from the cold ham which had been placed on the side-board.
Emmie poured out the warm beverage for her brother, who turned round to
bid her add plenty of cream. "Cream is the one country luxury to balance
against country cookery," he laughingly observed. "If that
virago-looking Hannah continue to reign in the kitchen, I shall be
driven to live upon cream, or be famished!"
Vibert did not appear likely to be famished as he sat at the well-spread
table, doing ample justice to his slices of ham. Emmie had finished her
own breakfast, but remained to keep her brother company.
"Since you were such an early riser to-day," she observed, "why were you
absent from prayers?"
"Because I can't stand hearing the prayers read by Bruce!" exclaimed
Vibert with some indignation. "It's a mockery for him to call his own
brother a selfish idiot, to treat him as if he were a slave or a dog,
and then to kneel down and pray like a saint, asking for meekness and
mercy, and all kinds of graces which he never had, and never wishes to
have. If that be not downright hypocrisy, I know not what is deserving
of the name."
"Bruce is the very last person in the world who would play the
hypocrite," cried Emmie. "As for the harsh name which he gave you, I
believe that in his heart he is sorry for what he said in a moment of
ill-humour."
"Then why does he not own frankly that he is sorry?" cried Vibert. "If
Bruce would but confess that he regrets his hasty words, I'd hold out my
hand at once and say, 'Let by-gones be by-gones, old boy; I'm not the
fellow to harbour a grudge.' But Bruce would not own a fault were it to
save his life or mine. Pride--that pride that repels advice, resents
reproof, and refuses to acknowledge an error (how well the captain
described it!)--that is Bruce's pet sin, and he'll carry it with him to
his grave."
"God forbid!" faintly murmured Emmie.
"Bruce and I are to begin daily studies at S---- next Monday," continued
Vibert, who was making good progress with his breakfast whilst he kept
up the conversation. "I know that papa imagines that the way to keep me
safe and out of mischief, is to yoke me to one whom he considers the
impersonification of sense and sobriety. He'd couple a greyhound with a
surly mastiff; but the greyhound, at least, will strain hard against the
connecting strap. If Bruce start early, I will start late; if he walk
fast, I will walk slowly; I'll keep as wide apart from him as the tether
will let me get;--in plain words, I'll have as little to do with Bruce
as I possibly can."
"Vibert, dear Vibert, it so grieves me that you should feel thus towards
him," cried Emmie. "Bruce is not without his faults, but he is a
noble-minded, unselfish--"
"Unselfish! I deny it!" exclaimed Vibert, while he kept the morsel which
he was just about to convey to his lips suspended on his fork.
"Unselfish indeed! when he has taken advantage of being sent on in front
to make arrangements to secure the very best room in the house for
himself!"
"He never did," cried Emmie eagerly. "The west room was prepared for me,
but I could not endure it, and, as a matter of kindness, Bruce exchanged
our respective apartments."
"Why could you not endure that capital room?" asked Vibert in surprise.
Emmie, who had been wishing, praying that she might be enabled to act
the part of a faithful counsellor and friend to her younger brother,
felt painfully that she had to step down from her position of vantage,
as she owned, with a blush, that she had not liked to sleep next door to
the bricked-up room.
Vibert burst out laughing. "So the chivalrous Bruce took the dangerous
post!" he exclaimed. "Would I not just like to give him a fright!"
"Don't, oh! don't play any foolish practical joke!" exclaimed Emmie.
"I'm afraid that it would not answer," said Vibert, still laughing.
"Bruce is a hard-headed chap, who sifts everything to the bottom. He'd
be as likely as not to cleave a ghost's skull with a poker, and I've no
fancy to try whether he hits as hard with his hand as he yesterday did
with his tongue. But let's talk no more about Bruce. As soon as I've
finished my breakfast, you and I shall go into the grounds and have a
ramble together. You've not yet seen the outside of our mansion, for
when we arrived here last night you had not enough light to distinguish
Aladdin's palace from a Hottentot kraal."
The brother and sister soon sauntered out on the terrace on the east
side of the house, which was bathed in glowing sunshine. The air was so
mild that Emmie had merely thrown a light blue scarf over her head and
shoulders as a protection from the breeze; winter wraps would have been
oppressive, and she enjoyed the luxury of being able to go out without
donning bonnet or gloves. The terrace overlooked the lawn and the
garden: the latter had once been fine, and had still a prim grace of its
own.
"I rather like this old family mansion," cried Vibert, glancing up at
the building, which had been constructed of dark red brick, with
handsome facings of stone. "There is something stately about it, as if
it had seen better days, and remembered them still. Myst Court looks
something like William and Mary's part of Hampton Court Palace."
"Oh, a mere miniature of that grand old building," said Emmie.
"I can just fancy the kind of people who walked on this terrace when
first it was laid out," continued Vibert. "There were gentlemen in huge,
full-bottomed wigs, long coats, embroidered waistcoats and ruffles of
old point-lace, with rapiers hanging at their sides. There were ladies
like those whom Sir Godfrey Kneller painted, stiff and stately, each
smelling a rose which she held in her hand; ladies in hoops, who looked
as if they could never dance anything more lively than a _minuet de la
cour_. We seem too modern, Emmie, to match our mansion. Let's return to
the olden times, forget that Queen Anne is dead, and fancy her yet with
the sharp-tongued Duchess Sarah playing the game of romantic friendship.
Let's imagine ourselves as we would have appeared some hundred and fifty
years ago. I'm a young Tory gallant (of course, I'm a Jacobite at heart,
and drink to 'the king over the water'); Bruce is a decided Whig,--I'm
not sure that he is not a Dutchman, and has come over from Holland in
the train of the Prince of Orange."
Emmie laughed at Vibert's playful fancies, and wondered how her handsome
young brother would have looked in a full-bottomed wig.
"Whig and Tory must unite," she observed, "to get that garden into
order. The walks are overrun with shepherd's purse and chickweed, and
the beds seem to grow little but nettles."
"But these beds were clearly laid out at the time when Dutch taste
prevailed," said Vibert; "it reminds one of the poet's description,--
'Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother,
One half the garden just reflects the other.'"
"Rather a mournful reflection now," observed Emmie with a smile.
"But easily changed to a bright one!" cried Vibert; "we'll set plenty of
hands to work, and get everything right before spring. These old
straggling bushes must come up; we'll have new plants from a
nursery-garden, and fill those beds with geraniums, fuchsias, and
calceolaria. An orangery, as at Hampton Court, shall be at one end of
the house; and we must fix on a site for a conservatory, in which some
huge vine shall spread out its branches, heavy with delicious bunches of
grapes."
"My dear boy, you speak as if papa had the purse of Fortunatus," said
Emmie. "You know that he will have all kinds of expense in getting the
property into tolerable order,--draining, and that sort of thing. The
garden must wait for new plants, and we for conservatory and orangery,
till more important matters are settled. Think of the cottages out of
repair--"
"Hang the cottages!" cried Vibert. "Leave them alone, and they'll tumble
down of their own accord. Why should we trouble ourselves about them?"
"We must care for the tenants that live in them," observed Emmie.
"They've never done anything for us, why should we do anything for
them?" said Vibert. "I don't believe that half of them ever think of
paying their rents. If I were master here," continued Vibert, "I'd make
a law that no dirty, ragged creature should come within a mile of the
house. If these folk are miserable, I'm sorry for it; but that's no
reason why I should be miserable too. Charity begins at home, and the
first thing to be done at Myst Court is to put house and garden into
tip-top order,--buy new carpets and a good billiard-table, set up a
fountain yonder on the lawn (we'll consider about statues and vases),
and then invite Alice and a merry party of young people down to the
place. We'd drive out ghosts to the sound of fiddle and dancing, and
depend upon it, you dear little coward, we should never again hear a
word about Myst Court being haunted."
"Ah, Vibert, we must remember our uncle's warnings," said Emmie, gently
laying her hand on her brother's arm.
"_Beware of selfishness!_--eh? well, I'll think about that when I see
you _conquer mistrust_. But to be gay is my nature, as it is yours to be
timid, and Bruce's to be proud. One cannot alter nature."
"Can it not be improved?" asked Emmie. "Look at your garden,--it has
been left for years to nature, so bears but a crop of weeds."
"Oh, if you are going to moralize, I'll be off!" cried Vibert. "I have
not tried my new gun yet, and I expect capital sport. I warrant you that
I will bring home a brace of pheasants to mend our fare!"
Mr. Trevor came down to Wiltshire by an early train, and was gladly
welcomed at Myst Court. His presence greatly added to the harmony of the
family circle; for his sons seldom exchanged bitter words when their
father's eye was upon them. Emmie's spirits rose. When the family were
gathered together at the luncheon-table, the young lady playfully
rallied Vibert on his "capital sport," for she had seen him return with
an empty bag from his shooting.
Vibert laughed good-humouredly at his own want of success. "I thought
that pheasants and partridges would be plentiful as blackberries in the
brushwood," said he; "but I lighted on no bird more aristocratic than a
crow. I think that there must be poachers abroad, or perhaps four-footed
poachers, in the shape of those starved, disreputable-looking cats which
come prowling about the place."
"I suppose some of those left by my aunt as a legacy to her maid,"
observed Mr. Trevor.
"The legatee does not value the keepsakes," said Vibert, "to judge by
the looks of the cats that crossed my path to-day, sneaking back to
their old quarters as if in search for scraps."
"Does Mrs. Jessel live far from here?" inquired Emmie.
"About a mile from Myst Court by the road, but not half that distance by
the path through the wood," answered Bruce. "The house left to her by
Mrs. Myers is a two-storied, shallow building, standing very near the
high-road, and looking like a Cockney villa that had somehow strayed
into the country, and could not find its way back."
"So the cats have the good taste to prefer the antique beauties of Myst
Court embowered in woods," said Vibert; "and their new mistress has no
objection to their living here at free quarters. I fired at one of the
miserable creatures, out of pure benevolence, but unhappily missed my
mark."
"Your shooting is on a par with your driving," remarked Bruce
satirically; "but Emmie's pony came off worse than the cat."
"That was not my fault!" exclaimed Vibert. "I managed the pony famously,
in the dark too, and over a road expressly contrived to break the
springs of a carriage. I was turning a sharp corner with consummate
skill, when Emmie took it into her head to scream and catch hold of my
arm. Of course, chaise and all went into the ditch, and how long they
might have stayed there I know not, had not those two men come to our
help."
"Do you know who they were?" asked Mr. Trevor, who had already heard
something of the yesterday's adventure from Emmie.
"The one is called Harper, a strange, weird-looking old man, with long
grizzled hair, and croaking voice," replied Vibert. "I don't care if I
never set eyes on him again,--but he lives just outside our gate. The
other was a very different sort of person, evidently quite a gentleman."
"Did you think so?" said Emmie, in a tone suggestive of a doubt on the
subject.
"Why, he is a colonel," cried Vibert; "you heard him say so himself,--a
colonel belonging to the American army."
"It is easy enough for a man to call himself an American colonel," said
Bruce.
"I don't think it fair to disbelieve a gentleman's account of himself
until one has cause to doubt his truthfulness," remarked Vibert.
"Certainly," he added, glancing at Emmie, "Colonel Standish did tell us
rather wonderful stories. You remember that one of the murdered Red
Indian's ghost keeping watch over buried treasure?"
"It was a horrible story," said Emmie.
"And so graphically told!" exclaimed Vibert. "I'll let you hear the
tale, papa; but I shall tell it to great disadvantage. A ghost story
must lose all its thrilling effect when heard at a luncheon-table. Fancy
being interrupted at the crisis by a request for 'a little more
mutton!'"
After the tale had been told, and the meal concluded, Vibert went out
again with his gun, to seek better success in the woods which surrounded
Myst Court. The youth was wont to enter eagerly into any new kind of
amusement, but three days were usually sufficient to make him tired of
any pursuit.
Mr. Trevor, Emmie, and Bruce went into the drawing-room together, to
talk over future plans. They had scarcely seated themselves by the
table, on which Bruce had placed some papers of estimates, when the
old-fashioned knocker on the front door gave a loud announcement that a
visitor had come to the house.
"Who can have found us out already?" said Mr. Trevor. "We are scarcely
prepared yet to receive calls from strangers."
Joe flung open the drawing-room door, and announced Colonel Standish.
Emmie's glimpses of the stranger on the preceding evening had been by
such uncertain light, and she had been so unfitted by nervous fear to
exercise her powers of observation, that she would scarcely have
recognized her new acquaintance had not his name been announced. Colonel
Standish was a tall and rather good-looking man, apparently about thirty
years of age, with large bushy black whiskers, connected with each other
by a well-trimmed beard, which, like a dark ruff, surrounded the chin.
He was dressed in the height of modern fashion, with no small amount of
jewellery displayed in brilliant studs, coins and other ornaments
dangling from a handsome gold chain, and rings sparkling on more than
one finger of his large gloveless hand. The colonel had a martial step,
and an air of assurance which might be mistaken for that of ease. He
advanced at once towards Miss Trevor, shook hands with her, and in a
tone of gallantry inquired whether she had perfectly recovered from the
effects of her late adventure. Emmie only replied by an inclination of
her head, and at once introduced Colonel Standish to her father and
brother. The stranger shook them both by the hand, with a familiar
heartiness to which neither of the English gentlemen felt inclined to
respond. Mr. Trevor, however, with grave courtesy, expressed his
obligations to the colonel for the help which he had afforded on the
preceding night.
"I am only too happy to rush to the rescue whenever so fair a lady is in
peril," cried the colonel, turning and bowing to Emmie. "As for your
son,--I don't think that it was this son--"
"Certainly not," interrupted Bruce.
"I must congratulate his father on the uncommon spirit and pluck shown
by the young gentleman whom I met last night, under circumstances
calculated to try the mettle of the boldest."
Emmie and Bruce exchanged glances; the faintest approach to a smile rose
on the lips of each on hearing such exaggerated praise.
"As for this fair lady, she played the heroine," continued the colonel,
again turning gallantly towards Emmie, whose smile was exchanged for a
blush.
"Who is this vulgar flatterer?" thought Mr. Trevor and Bruce. Emmie took
an early opportunity of gliding out of the room, to which she did not
return till the colonel's visit was ended.
Standish was sufficiently a man of the world to see that he had
overacted his part, and had not made a favourable impression. Mr. Trevor
and his son became more and more coldly civil. The visitor took the
chief share of the conversation, gave his anecdotes, and cracked his
jokes. The Englishmen thought his jokes coarse, and his anecdotes of
questionable authenticity. Conversation slackened, and in about half an
hour the colonel rose to take his departure.
"I put up at the White Hart at S----," said he, as he threw down on the
table a card for Vibert. "I find the accommodation fair, very fair, but
my stay in the town is uncertain. I hope that we shall soon meet again,"
and the colonel shook the hand of Mr. Trevor, but a good deal less
cordially than he had done on his first introduction to the father of
Emmie.
"We do not echo his hope," observed Bruce, as soon as the visitor had
tramped out of the house.
"Who can this low-bred talkative fellow be?" said Mr. Trevor. "It is not
difficult for an impostor to pass himself off as a colonel, when those
who would have proofs of his being so must seek for them at the other
side of the Atlantic Ocean."
"I doubt this man's being American at all," observed Bruce. "I did not
detect in his speech the peculiar Yankee accent, though it was
interlarded with Yankee phrases."
"I shall not encourage this colonel's coming about the house," said Mr.
Trevor, walking up to the window. "Why, there's Vibert accompanying him
down the drive!"
"And they look hand and glove," added Bruce. "How they are laughing and
talking together!"
"Vibert is young and unsuspicious," observed Mr. Trevor, as he turned
from the window; "his generous, frank disposition lays him peculiarly
open to deception. We must make some inquiries at S---- regarding this
Colonel Standish. Your tutor, Mr. Blair, may know something of the man,
and the character which he bears."
"I will not forget to gain what information I can," said Bruce Trevor.
CHAPTER XIII.
WORK.
On the following Sunday afternoon Emmie was sitting alone by the
drawing-room window, with a devotional book in her hand, but her eyes
resting on the fading glories of the woodland landscape, and her
thoughts on her childhood's home, when she was joined by her brother
Bruce.
"I am glad to find you alone," said Bruce, as he took a seat by his
sister's side; "I want to consult you, I need your help."
Such words from the lips of the speaker were gratifying to Emmie; Bruce
was ever more ready to give help than to ask it. Emmie closed her book,
put it down, and was at once all attention.
"I have been making a little chart of the estate," said Bruce, unrolling
a paper which he placed before his sister.
"What are those square marks on it?" inquired Emmie, looking with
interest at the neatly executed chart.
"These are cottages,--some larger, some smaller," was the reply. "Those
buildings marked in red are public-houses; those in green are farms. You
observe that there is not a church or a school in the place; there is
not one nearer than S----."
"More's the pity!" said Emmie.
"If you count, you will find that there are eighty-seven tenements of
various kinds, and the dwellers in them are, of course, all tenants of
our father. Give five individuals to each family, and you have four
hundred and thirty-five souls on this estate, without a resident
clergyman."
"And what can bring so many people around us?" asked Emmie.
"I believe the dye-works," answered her brother. "They give employment
to most of the men who are not farm-labourers, and, as far as I have
ascertained, to some of the women also."
"Then the people are not very poor," observed Emmie, with a look of
relief; for she had been alarmed at the idea of more than four hundred
beggars being quartered on her father's estate.
"The men in work ought not to be very poor," said Bruce; "but then there
are sure to be widows, sick folk, and some too old for work. Besides
this, improvidence, ignorance, and vice always bring misery in their
train, and, from all that I have heard or seen, the people here are
little better than heathens. The children run about like wild creatures;
there is no one to teach them their duty to God or to man."
"I hope that papa may in time set up a school," said Emmie.--Compulsory
education was a thing not yet introduced into England.
"I hope that he may; but he cannot do so at present," observed Bruce. "I
was talking with him on the subject on our way from church this morning.
Our father's expenses in educating Vibert and myself are heavy, and if
either or both of us go to college they will be heavier still. Yet for
these wretched tenants something should be done, and at once."
"Papa intends gradually to repair or rebuild some of the cottages."
"I am speaking of the people who inhabit the cottages," interrupted
Bruce; "the dirty, ignorant, swearing, lying creatures who are dropping
off, year by year, from misery on this side of the grave to worse misery
beyond it."
Emmie looked distressed and perplexed. "What can be done for them?" she
inquired.
"We must, in the first place, know them better, and so find out how to
help them," said Bruce. "You are aware that I have little time to spare
from my studies, which it is my duty to prosecute vigorously. I can give
but my Sunday evenings, and my father is quite willing that on them I
should hold a night-school for boys in our barn."
Emmie looked with smiling admiration on her young brother, about to
undertake with characteristic resolution what she regarded as a
Herculean task. But no trace of a smile lingered on her lips as Bruce
calmly went on,--
"I can thus do something for the boys, but the care of the women and the
girls naturally falls upon you."
"Upon me!" cried Emmie, looking aghast.
"Visiting the poor," continued Bruce, "is not a kind of business which
our father can undertake; he has been accustomed to office-work all his
life, and, as he told me to-day, he cannot begin at his age an
occupation which is to him so utterly new."
"It would be utterly new to me, and I dare not attempt
cottage-visiting!" cried Emmie, whose benevolent efforts had hitherto
been confined to subscribing to charities or missions, and working
delicate trifles to be sold at fancy bazaars.
"You are young, dear," observed Bruce Trevor.
"And that is just the reason why I should not be sent amongst all those
dreadful people!" cried Emmie. "I might meet with rudeness, or
drunkenness, or infectious cases. I cannot think how you could ever wish
me to undertake such a work! Wait till I am forty or fifty years old
before you ask me to visit these poor."
"And in the meantime," said Bruce, "children are growing up ignorant of
the very first truths of religion; wretched women, who know no joy in
this world, see no prospect of peace in another; the sick lack medicine,
the hungry, food; the widow has no one to comfort her, and the
dying--die without hope!"
Emmie clasped her hands, and looked pleadingly into the face of her
brother. "Oh! what do you ask me to do?" she exclaimed; "do you want me
to visit all these cottages, and the public-houses as well!"
"Not all the cottages, and most certainly not the public-houses,"
answered Bruce with a smile. "See," he continued, pointing to different
parts of his chart, "I have marked with an E those dwellings which I
thought that a lady might visit."
"There are a fearful number of E's," said poor Emmie, very gravely
surveying the paper.
"Nay, if you took but two cottages each day (that would be scarce
half-an-hour's work), in a month you would have visited all that I have
marked for you," said the methodical Bruce; "and in each you would have
left some little book or striking tract, if you had found that the
inmates could read."
"I should be afraid to ask them if they could read or not," cried Emmie.
Bruce went on without heeding the interruption.
"You would keep a book, and mark down each day where you had called,
with a slight notice of the state of each cottage, the name of its
tenant, the number of the children, and such other particulars as would
be of the utmost value to our father when he affords relief in money. It
would be better, perhaps, for you to make it a rule not to give money
yourself."
"That is just the only thing that I could do!" exclaimed Emmie; "I dare
not intrude into cottage homes without the excuse of coming to give
charity to those who want."
"The visits of a lady would not be deemed an intrusion," said Bruce. He
had some practical knowledge on the subject, having been for years at a
private school where the ladies of the master's family constantly
visited the poor. "Your gentle courtesy will make you welcome wherever
you go. Nor need you go alone, you can always take Susan with you."
"Why not let Susan go by herself?" said Emmie, grasping eagerly at an
idea which afforded a hope of escape from work which she disliked and
dreaded.
"Susan has been trained for a lady's-maid, and not for a Bible-woman,"
said Bruce; "she is not fitted to act as your substitute, useful as she
may prove as your helper. Nor would Susan be as readily welcomed amongst
our tenants as would be a real lady, their landlord's only daughter.
Your position and education, Emmie, give you advantages which Susan
would not possess; they are talents intrusted to you, which it would be
a sin to bury."
Emmie heaved a disconsolate sigh.
"Let me put the subject in a clearer light," pursued Bruce. "What would
you call the conduct of one of your servants who should, without your
leave, ask another person to do the work which she herself had been
engaged to perform?"
"I should call it indolence," replied Emmie. Her brother added the word
"presumption."
"And if a soldier on the eve of a battle should hire a substitute to
fight in his stead," continued Bruce, "what would such an act appear to
his comrades and captain?"
"Cowardice," answered Emmie.
"There have been instances," said Bruce, "of pilgrimages and penances,
imposed on the wealthy, _being performed by proxy_! A poor man endured,
for the sake of money, what the rich man believed to be the penalty of
his own sins. What were such penances or pilgrimages, Emmie?"
"A mockery," was the faltered reply.
"And if in man's sight there are duties which we cannot make over to
others without presumption, cowardice, and rendering the performance of
them a solemn mockery, think you that the Divine Master looks with
favour on services done _by proxy_? He intends the rich to come in
contact with their poorer brethren. He claims from us not merely the
money which we can easily give, but the words of our lips, the strength
of our limbs, the thoughts of our brains, the time which is far more
precious than gold. The work which your Master gives you to do, the
special work, no substitute can perform."
"Oh! I wish with all my heart and soul that we had never left Summer
Villa, never come to Myst Hall!" exclaimed Emmie.
Bruce was a little disappointed that such an exclamation should be the
only reply to his serious words. "You would surely not desire to pass
through life putting aside every cross but the fanciful ornament which
it is the fashion to wear!" he remarked with slight severity in his
manner. "You have given yourself, body and soul, to a heavenly
Master,--is it for Him or for you to choose your work? Is it a very hard
command if He say to you now, 'Work for one half-hour each day in My
vineyard'?"
"I would rather work for six hours with my fingers quietly in my own
room," murmured Emmie.
"That is, you would select your own favourite kind of work, take merely
what is pleasant and easy, and what suits your natural temper," said
Bruce. "There is nothing to thwart your will or try your temper in
making pretty trifles, cultivating your accomplishments, or managing a
small household such as ours."
"There you are mistaken, Bruce," observed Emmie, raising her head, which
had drooped as she had uttered her former sentence. "It does try my
courage to speak to our new servant Hannah, that masculine, loud-voiced,
ill-tempered woman. I did but say to her this morning, in as gentle a
way as I could, that I have a book of recipes, and that perhaps she
could get some hints from it, as one of the gentlemen is rather
particular as to cookery, and Hannah looked ready to fly at my face. I
shall never venture to find fault with her again."
"Emmie, Emmie, is this miserable timidity to meet you at every turn?"
exclaimed Bruce. "Have you no spirit, no strength of will to wrestle it
down, to rise above it?"
"I cannot help being timid," sighed Emmie.
"Vibert might as well say that he cannot help being selfish," said
Bruce. "If you know that you have a besetting fault, it is not that you
should sit down with folded hands and let it bind you, without so much
as a struggle to shake yourself free."
Bruce spoke with some warmth, for he spoke from his heart. It is so easy
to point out what is the plain duty of others; it is so difficult
frankly to acknowledge our own. The young man justly accused Emmie of
neglecting the special work appointed for her by her Great Master, and
of shrinking from fighting the good fight of faith. Himself resolute and
courageous, with great power of self-control and self-denial, Bruce
could make little allowance for failings which were not his own. But had
Bruce no special work to do from which the natural man recoiled? had he
no battle to fight against a besetting sin? Bruce's appointed work lay
close to him, though he did not choose to perceive it, and was virtually
repeating Cain's question, _Am I my brother's keeper?_ Bruce suffered
pride to control his actions, and mar the work of grace in his soul. It
would have been as arduous a work for him to "wrestle it down, to rise
above it," as it would have been to his timid sister to go forth and
minister to the poor in the hovels surrounding Myst Court.
Emmie's conscience was tender; she had a sincere desire to do what was
right, blended with a natural wish to stand well in the opinion of a
brother whom she admired and loved. Before the interview between them
was ended, Emmie had promised to "attempt to break the ice" on the
following day; but she inwardly shivered at the thought of the effort
before her. How many have experienced this repugnance, this dread of
obeying the Master's call and entering His vineyard!--how many of those
who have afterwards found in His work their joy and delight! Duty often,
when viewed from a distance, wears an aspect forbidding and stern; but
on closer approach she is found to have treasures in her hand, and
flowers spring up in her path.
CHAPTER XIV.
EARLY IMPRESSIONS.
Vibert had not finished his breakfast when Bruce, on the Monday morning,
started on his walk to the town. Notwithstanding sundry remonstrances
and hints from his father and Emmie, it was a full half-hour before the
younger brother followed in the track of the elder. And very different
was the careless, sauntering step of Vibert from the firm, quick tread
of Bruce.
Mr. Trevor's elder son returned alone in the dusk of evening, but this
time Vibert was scarcely ten minutes behind him.
"Mr. Blair has a capital method of imparting knowledge; it will be our
own fault if we do not make progress under him," said Bruce to Emmie
when he rejoined her in the drawing-room. "My tutor has given me plenty
of work to do this evening, but I must spare an hour to refresh myself
by hearing you sing. And you, dear, what have you been doing during my
absence, and where have you been?"
Bruce was a little curious to know whether his fair sister had had
courage to "break the ice."
"Oh! I do not know what you will think of me, Bruce," said Emmie,
dropping her soft brown eyes. "I did intend to make a beginning of
visiting the tenants; I had ruled lines in a book, that I might set down
in order their names and all that you want to know; but--but--"
"Let's hear all about it," said Bruce good-humouredly, taking a seat by
his sister's side: it was pleasant to the student to unbend after the
hard work of the day.
"I could not go out in the morning,--that is to say, not conveniently,"
began Emmie. "I had a long, long letter to write to Alice, and another
to my aunt in Grosvenor Square; and I had orders to give to Hannah, and
then to arrange with Susan about hanging pictures to adorn, or rather to
hide the untidy walls of my own little room."
"It would be far better to give up that room," said Bruce. "You do not
consider, Emmie, in what a bad position you put me by obliging me to
occupy the other apartment."
"How?--what do you mean?" cried Emmie, looking up with an expression of
uneasiness on her face; "you do not find that you are disturbed by--"
"Not by spectres," replied Bruce, smiling; "but no one likes to appear
to be the most selfish fellow in the world."
"No one would ever think you selfish, dear Bruce; the cap does not fit
you at all."
"Therefore I have an objection to putting it on," said Bruce Trevor; "I
would leave the cap to Vibert, who, to judge by his conduct, may
actually think it becoming. But enough of this. You know that I dislike
retaining my luxurious quarters, but if you really prefer the small
room, everything possible must be done to make it a gem of a room. Now
tell me how you passed the rest of the day."
"After luncheon papa called me to his study to copy out something for
him," said Emmie; "however, that did not take me long. Then I glanced
over the _Times_, and read about such a horrible murder, committed in a
country lane, that it made me feel more than ever afraid to venture
beyond our grounds. Yet, to please you, dear Bruce, I rang the bell for
Susan, and bade her get ready to accompany me in a walk to the hamlet."
"I hope that you had a higher motive than that of pleasing me," said her
brother.
"I am not sure that I had, at least not then," replied the truthful
Emmie. "But, whatever my motive might be, it took Susan and me along the
shrubbery as far as the entrance gate. At the further side of that gate,
looking through the iron bars, as it seemed to me--like a bird of prey
on the watch, stood Harper, with his beak-like nose, his hollow eyes,
and his long shaggy hair. You know whom I mean, he is the strange old
man whom we met on the night of the storm."
"And who did good service by cutting the pony's traces," said Bruce.
"I wish that I felt more grateful to him for it," observed Miss Trevor;
"but I cannot without nervous dread think of Harper as I saw him on
Friday night, with the gleam of blue lightning on his strange face and
his flashing knife. Then he gave me such dreadful hints and warnings
regarding the haunted room in Myst Court,--I shudder whenever I think of
them now!"
"Cast them from your mind, they are rubbish," said Bruce.
"As Susan and I advanced to the gate," resumed Emmie, "I felt sure that
Harper was sharply watching our movements. I hoped that he would soon go
away, so, turning aside, I took three or four turns in the wood with
Susan; but every time that we again approached the entrance, I saw that
Harper was there. I so much disliked having to pass him, I so much
feared that he would address me, that at last I gave up my intention of
going to the hamlet to-day. I told Susan that the air felt damp and
cold, and that I should put off paying my visits. So feeling, I must
own, rather ashamed of myself, I returned to the house."
"This is too absurd!" exclaimed Bruce, a little provoked, and yet at the
same time amused by the frank confession of Emmie. "The hovel in which
lives that man Harper is just outside the gate, so that if you are
afraid of passing him, even when you have the trusty Susan to act as a
bodyguard, you may as well consider yourself a state prisoner at once.
So nothing was done to-day?"
"I wrote to London for two packets of Partridge's illustrated
fly-leaves," said Emmie. "Uncle Arrows recommended them to me as very
attractive and useful, and suited for cottage homes. I shall not attempt
visiting until I receive the packets by post."
"I have forestalled you," said Bruce, "and have laid in already a fair
stock of such ammunition to serve us in our warfare against ignorance
and intemperance here. I can supply you at once with as many of the
fly-leaves as there are homes in the hamlet."
"Then I am not to have a day's reprieve," sighed the unwilling recruit.
"When a duty is before us, the sooner it is done the better," observed
Bruce; "repugnance towards it only grows by delay. And I would advise
you, dear Emmie, should you meet either of those men whose acquaintance
you made in the storm, to be courteous--that you always are--but to
avoid entering into conversation with them, especially with the
so-called American colonel."
"Why, have you learned anything more about him?" inquired Emmie with
interest.
"I made inquiries regarding him of Mr. Blair, as my father desired me to
do," replied Bruce. "I find that this Standish has been for some weeks
at S----; but where he comes from, why he came, and wherefore he remains
in the place, nobody seems to know. He has had no introduction, as far
as my tutor is aware, to any of the county families; but he has, it is
said, been seen more than once quitting the small house which our
great-aunt bequeathed to Mrs. Jessel."
"What can have taken him there?" cried Emmie.
"My tutor could throw no light on that subject, and told me that he
spoke from mere hearsay, and put little faith in such gossip. One thing,
however, is certain,--this colonel lives at the best hotel in the town,
and in most luxurious style. He spares himself no indulgence, hires his
hunter and follows the hounds, or drives about the country in a curricle
and pair, and seems to be rolling in wealth. He is never seen in a place
of worship, and, pushing as he is, has not made his way into any
respectable circle. The less we have to say to this pseudo-colonel the
better; I suspect him to be a charlatan and impostor."
"There's charity for you, and gratitude!" exclaimed Vibert, who,
entering the room while Bruce was speaking, had heard his concluding
sentence. "Here is a gentleman who came to our aid when we were in a
dilemma, who has shown us courtesy and kindness, and he is to be
condemned, unheard, as an impostor, because a pedant, who has never put
foot in stirrup or fired a shot in his life, cannot understand a frank,
bold, chivalrous nature. Blair thinks that all must be evil that does
not just square with his old-fashioned notions. Emmie, you should stand
up for your friend," added the youth more playfully, as he threw himself
on an arm-chair, and stretched himself, after what he considered to be a
long and tiresome walk, "for the colonel not only helped to pull you out
of your ditch, but he told me that my sister is the prettiest girl that
he has seen on this side of the big fish-pond."
"I hope that you do not encourage such impertinence," observed Bruce
sternly.
"Oh, if the colonel dare to hint that my brother is the pleasantest
fellow that he has met with, I'll resent the impertinence, I promise
you," laughed Vibert.
Emmie foresaw, with uneasiness, more angry sparring between her two
brothers, and, to turn the current of conversation, asked Vibert what he
thought of the Blairs.
"Oh, our tutor is a learned professor, who has pored over books, and
puzzled over problems, till he has grown into the shape of a note of
interrogation," replied Vibert lightly. "As for his wife, she's a homely
body, as clever men's wives usually are; Mrs. Blair looks like a
housekeeper, but has not the merit of being a good one."
Bruce, whom the conversation did not greatly interest, had taken up a
book.
"And her family?" inquired Emmie; "I suppose that you have made their
acquaintance."
"We were all gathered together at early dinner, if one could call that a
dinner at which there was nothing eatable," said the fastidious Vibert.
"There was old Blair at one end of the table, hacking at a shoulder of
mutton, and talking, as he did so, to Bruce about Sophocles and
Euripides. There was Mrs. Blair at the other end, ladling out the
potatoes. Bruce and I sat on one side, and three demure little chaps in
pinafores on the other, like degrees of comparison, small, smaller, and
smallest; dull, duller, and dullest. The children were so terribly
well-behaved, that they never asked for anything (not that there was
much to ask for), they never spoke a word, nor lifted their eyes from
their plates, but wielded with propriety their forks and spoons; I think
that only the eldest of the three was trusted with a knife. The little
fellows' looks seemed to say, 'It is a matter of business, and not of
play, to eat shoulder of mutton and boiled rice pudding, and drink water
out of horn mugs.' The whole affair had such a nursery look about it,
that I half expected to be provided with a pinafore, instead of a dinner
napkin."
"You incorrigible boy!" laughed Emmie; "I think that the three degrees
of comparison will become merry, merrier, and merriest in your company
soon."
"They will have precious little of it, I can tell you that," said
Vibert; "one such meal is enough for me. To say nothing of its
intolerable dulness, the wine of Blair's table is insufferably bad, the
mere washing out of casks, cheap trash!"--the lad distorted his handsome
features into an expression of strong disgust. "Oh, _you_ did not mind
it, Bruce," continued Vibert, as his brother glanced up from his book;
"you are a water-drinker and no judge on the subject, but _I_ know what
is what, and cheap wine of all things I detest. It ruins the
constitution. I shall try if I cannot get something eatable and
drinkable in the town; I hear that there is a capital _table d'hote_ at
the White Hart."
"You are aware that the arrangement for our having luncheon at our
tutor's being concluded, your taking the meal elsewhere must involve
double expense," observed Bruce.
"Can't help that," said the youthful epicurean, shrugging his shoulders;
"I can't work on coarse mutton and plain rice pudding, served up on
plates of the old willow-pattern; specially as I seem likely to be
starved at Myst Court, if we are to have no cook but Hannah. I am
certain," continued Vibert, his bright eyes sparkling with fun as he
turned to his sister--"I am certain that yesterday's boiled rabbits were
my great-aunt's cats in disguise, and that the soup--faugh!--was simply
the water in which they had been boiled! Why did we not bring our old
cook to Myst Court?"
"We did not bring her, because she would not come," replied Emmie.
"I suppose that in an old haunted house, country cooks and country
footmen are necessary evils, and must be endured," said Vibert,
attempting to look philosophic. "But I hope that you, as mistress of the
establishment, have spoken pretty sharply to Hannah. I hope that you
have given her a fright."
"Hannah is a good deal more likely to give me one," answered the smiling
Emmie. "I think of making over to you, Vibert, the office of scolding
the cook."
"I should find that a more formidable task than that of facing all the
ghosts of Myst Court," was the merry lad's playful reply.
CHAPTER XV.
THE FIRST VISIT.
"Bruce is right; whenever a disagreeable duty is to be done, the sooner
we get over it the better," said Emmie to herself, as, accompanied by
Susan, she started on her walk before luncheon on the following day. A
cloud of care was on the youthful face which looked so fair and gentle
under the shade of the broad-brimmed garden-hat which the maiden wore.
Emmie had "screwed up her courage to the sticking-point," and had
resolved not to return home without having performed her self-allotted
task of, at least, entering two of the cottages inhabited by her
father's tenants. The young lady had a couple of fly-leaves in her hand,
with their attractive pictures outermost,--these were what Bruce had
called her ammunition; but the timid recruit had a reserve, on which she
counted more, in the form of a half-crown slipped into her left glove,
ready to be produced in a moment. There are many district visitors who
may remember the time when they started on their first campaign as
reluctantly and as timidly as did the inexperienced Emmie.
It may have been observed that the maiden undertook her work simply as a
hard duty. She was urged onwards by a brother's counsels, and pricked by
the goad of conscience. There was in Miss Trevor none of the hopeful,
earnest spirit which hears the Master's call, and answers it with the
cry, "Here am I; send me!" Emmie had indeed prayed for help in entering
on her new sphere, but her prayer was not the prayer of faith. She did
not realize that God could indeed make her a channel through which His
stream of blessing might flow on a parched and thirsty land. She did not
believe that her dumb lips might be so opened that her mouth might show
forth His praise. Emmie had a profound mistrust of her own powers. Such
mistrust is safe and may be salutary; but she confounded that innocent
diffidence with what was really mistrust of God. The girl knew her own
weakness; so far, all was well; but there was unbelief in not resting on
the almighty strength of her God. Emmie would have been startled and
shocked had the truth been clothed in words, but she was really
regarding the Most High as a Master who commands that bricks should be
made without giving the needful straw, as a Leader who sends forth
feeble recruits to the fight all unprovided with armour. The maiden's
courage was not sustained by the thought, _I will go in the strength of
the Lord God_; nor did she rest on His promise, _My grace is sufficient
for thee, for My strength is made perfect in weakness._ It was not the
love of God, but the dread of incurring His displeasure, which made the
poor, hesitating, unwilling girl combat the fear of man.
And if Emmie was not impelled forwards by a loving desire to please a
loving Master, still less was she influenced by tender concern for the
souls of those whom she felt that she ought to visit. The child of
luxury, in her pleasant home, had scarcely regarded the poor as being of
the same class of beings as herself. They were creatures to be pitied,
to be helped, to be taught by those trained for the work; but as beings
to be objects of sympathy and love, as children of the one Great Father,
Emmie could not regard them. Charity was thus to her but a cold dry
duty, like the timber which may be shaped into a thousand useful
purposes; but not like the living tree whose branches are bright with
blossoms or rich in fruit, because through it flows the life-giving sap.
Such Christian charity belongs not to fallen nature; it is a special
gift of God, and comes through close union, by faith, with Him whose
nature is love. Emmie's faith was so weak, that it is no marvel that her
prayers for guidance were little more than forms, and that her
compassion for her poor fellow-sinners was cold. The young Christian had
_not_ conquered mistrust.
"Susan, have you not told me that the ladies with whom you once lived
used to visit the poor?" said Emmie to her attendant as the two
proceeded along the drive.
"Yes, constantly, miss," was the answer.
"I wish that I knew how they made their way with the cottagers. Did they
not find it very difficult at first?" asked Emmie.
"I do not know how they found it at first," replied Susan; "for when I
entered the service of the vicar's lady, even her little ones were
accustomed to go to the homes of the poor whom they knew, to make some
good old creature happy with a jug of warm broth, or a bit of flannel,
or, perhaps, a text in large letters, painted by themselves, to be hung
up in a sick person's room."
"But there is just the difficult point," observed Emmie,--"how did the
family come to know the poor so well? If one were once acquainted with
the 'good old creature,' there might be some pleasure in taking the
broth or the flannel."
"My young ladies used to go on their regular rounds, miss, and exchange
the books which they lent to the poor. I have often gone with the ladies
to carry the books," said Susan. "The visitors were always asked to sit
down in the cottages, the people were so much pleased to see them."
"And when the ladies sat down, what happened next?" asked Emmie, who
felt herself to be ignorant of the very alphabet of district visiting,
and who was not too proud to learn from her maid. "What did your ladies
say? Did they begin directly to teach and to preach?"
"Oh dear, no, miss!" cried Susan, a little surprised at the question; "I
think that my ladies talked to the poor much as they would have talked
to other people. They spoke to the cottagers about their health and the
weather, and to the mothers about their children, and they gave any
little bit of news, perhaps out of a missionary paper, that they thought
would amuse the poor folk. The talking came all quite natural-like."
"It would never come natural-like with me," observed Emmie; "nor, to own
the truth, do I see that much good is gained by that kind of talk. One
does not make the effort of going into the dirty homes of the poor just
to gossip with them, as one might do with a friend, but to teach them
their duty and make them better."
Susan knew her proper place too well to reply to this observation of her
young mistress; the maid thought, however, to herself that her former
ladies had found real friends and dear friends too amongst the poor, and
that to form a tie of sympathy between the higher and lower classes _did
do good_, even if there were no direct religious teaching. Susan
remembered also that she had heard the most pious of her young ladies
observe that she had herself learned more from the poor than she had
ever been able to teach them. The district visitor should recognize the
possibility of mutual benefit when she goes on her charity rounds.
"Did your ladies never talk to the people about their souls?" inquired
Emmie. "Was nothing said about religion in these visits which they paid
to the poor?"
"Oh yes, miss," answered Susan, "but it came so natural-like. A blind
woman would like to be read to; then the visitor read from the Bible,
and afterwards the two talked over what had been read. Or a mother, may
be, had lost a baby; and then the lady would speak of Him who carries
the lambs in His arms. The poor liked to open their hearts to the ladies
and tell them their troubles, because, you see, miss, they felt that
the ladies cared. I'm sure when little Amy Fisher died, Miss Mary cried
for her as much as her own mother did. Mrs. Fisher had been a hard sort
of woman,--I think she was given to drink,--but after her little one's
death Miss Mary got her quite round. But all that came quite
natural-like," added Susan, again using her favourite phrase, by which
Emmie understood that there had been no forced talk on religious
subjects, no hard dogmatical teaching.
"I wish that I could acquire this art of comforting and helping and
sympathizing," thought Emmie; "but I feel sure that I never shall do
so."
Emmie and her maid had now reached the entrance gate. The young lady was
relieved not to see at it the figure of Harper, whom she regarded with
almost a superstitious dread. She passed his hovel, a mere tenement of
mud, with a thatched roof, green with moss and stained with yellow
lichen. The door was shut, and no smoke rose from the single chimney of
the dilapidated dwelling.
Picking her way along the muddy road, Emmie, with a beating heart,
proceeded towards the next cottage, which, though it was far from being
neat and clean in its appearance, had at least glass in its windows, and
was able to stand upright. Her conversation with Susan had been rather
encouraging on the whole to the inexperienced lady visitor. A faint
hope sprang up in the breast of Emmie that after a while district work
might come "natural-like" to her as it had done to other ladies. The
fair girl could not but be conscious that she possessed a more than
common power of pleasing, such a power as might smooth down some of her
difficulties in winning her way to the hearts of the poor.
Emmie went up to the door of the cottage, hesitated a moment, murmured
to herself, "Now for an effort!" and gently tapped with the end of her
parasol. No brief silent prayer was darted up from her heart,--that
prayer which is as the child's upward glance at the parent who holds his
hand to support and guide him. When first entering on what she regarded
as work for God, Emmie's thoughts were not rising to God.
There was a slight stir audible within the cottage after the lady had
knocked, followed by the click of the latch, and a woman threw open the
door. A scent of bacon, greens, and porter pervaded the cottage, and
Emmie saw that the family were seated at dinner. A burly-looking man in
shirt-sleeves, whose back had been towards the door, turned round his
unshaven, unwashed face to see who had tapped for admittance. Several
dirty, untidy children stared open-mouthed at the unexpected appearance
of a well-dressed lady. Emmie shrank back, for with intuitive delicacy
she felt that to enter a cottage at meal-time was an intrusion.
"Won't you step in, miss?" said the woman who had opened the door, with
that civility which is generally met with in the cottage homes of
England.
"Oh--not now--I did not know--I never meant--" stammered forth poor
Emmie, as nervously polite as if she had by mistake intruded herself at
the repast of a duchess. The gruff looks of the man, who did not rise
from his chair, took from the timid girl all self-possession. Emmie
expected him to growl out, "What brings you here?" And as the only
apology which occurred to her mind for calling at all, she nervously
thrust her half-crown into the hand of the astonished woman, and with a
muttered "I thought you might want it," made her retreat from the door.
Emmie in her confusion dropped her papers; they were picked up and
returned to her by Susan.
"You might have left them by the door," observed Emmie.
Susan thought, though too respectful to say what she thought, that her
young ladies had never _dropped_ tracts in the mud for the poor to stoop
to pick up; the vicar's daughters had always given such papers with the
pleasant smile which had insured for them a welcome. In distributing
religious literature, as in most other matters, success greatly depends
on the manner in which a thing is done.
Emmie was not satisfied with this her first essay in cottage-visiting.
"I never thought of finding workmen at home," she observed to Susan.
"I think, miss, that twelve is a common dinner-hour," said Susan, "and
that then some of the men come home from their work."
"Then assuredly twelve is a bad visiting hour," cried Emmie; "we had
better return home directly." The young lady walked back to Myst Court
at a much quicker pace than had been hers when she had started on her
little expedition. She was glad to find herself within the gate and in
the shrubbery again.
"I have not had much success, but still I can tell Bruce that I have
made a beginning, that I have broken the ice," thought Emmie. "That
woman was civil enough; I should not have much minded going into the
cottage had I chanced to find her alone."
As Emmie's brothers were, as usual, passing the day at S----, Mr. Trevor
was his daughter's only companion at luncheon. The master of Myst Court
was a pleasant, kindly-looking man, who had reached the shady side of
fifty, but with a form yet unbent and hair but lightly touched with
gray. He had been from youth a steady hard-working man, and Bruce had
probably derived his habits of business from his father's example. But
with Mr. Trevor the wheel of labour had hitherto run in one groove, or
rather, one may say, on a tramway made smooth by habit. It had been as
natural to Mr. Trevor to go to his office, as it had been to partake of
his breakfast. The complete change in his mode of life caused by the
removal to Wiltshire, was like the jarring caused by turning suddenly
off the tramway into a stone-paved road. Mr. Trevor had not been trained
to perform the duties of a landlord and country squire, and he more than
suspected that what he might have gained in dignity of position he had
lost in comfort. Now as he sat at table in the lofty dining-room of his
stately mansion, Mr. Trevor's brow wore an expression of worry which
Emmie had never seen upon it when the family had resided in Summer
Villa.
"You look tired, dear papa," she observed.
"I have had a good deal to annoy me, Emmie," said her father, who was
making very slow progress indeed with his plateful of beef, tough and
not much more than warmed through. "I find that Farmer Vesey has been
taking, in a most unscrupulous manner, a slice off my west field which
borders upon his lands. The steward says that I shall have to go to law
about it. I detest going to law! Why are not boundaries clearly marked!
Then I've had endless complaints from the people whose cottages border
the brook below Bullen's dye-works; they say that the dye kills all the
fish, and makes the water unfit for drinking. Really the complaints have
good foundation. I walked down to-day to the place, and saw that the
water is so discoloured that I would not let a dog slake his thirst in a
stream so polluted."
"And are the cottagers your tenants, papa?"
"Yes; so it is my business to defend their rights," observed Mr. Trevor.
"I went at once to Bullen, hoping that we might come to some
satisfactory arrangement, without having recourse to the lawyers."
"And I hope that you found the manufacturer open to reason?" said Emmie.
"I found him to be a low, vulgar, money-making man, who would not care
if he dyed all the rivers in England scarlet and blue, so that he could
fish his profits out of them. I have heard that Bullen gives infidel
lectures in S----, so that he tries to poison the springs of knowledge
as well as the waters of the brook."
"What a dreadful man!" exclaimed Emmie.
"I shall have to go to law with him," observed Mr. Trevor, with a yet
more troubled look; "I cannot let my tenants be poisoned, and yet I hate
the worry and expense of a suit. I shall wait a while, and see if this
fellow Bullen will not come to terms. Then I've had another annoying
thing brought to my notice this morning: it is certain that there is
poaching on my estate. There has been no proper care taken to preserve
the game during the time of my predecessor, and if matters go on in the
same way, pheasants will be as rare here as black swans. Really the
cheapest and easiest way to get game is from a London market!"
The same reflection had just occurred to Emmie. Joe, in his noisy way,
now entered the room, and told Miss Trevor, with awkward bluntness, that
a woman was asking to see her.
"What is her name?" inquired Emmie.
"She didn't give none, miss," said Joe; "but she has brought a lot of
children with her."
"Miss Trevor is engaged; desire the woman to wait a little," said the
master of Myst Court.
Joe went out, banging the door behind him, but in less than three
minutes returned.
"There be two other women come to see you, miss," said he. "One says as
you told her to call."
"I bade no one call," said Emmie. "I am sorry, papa, that you should be
thus disturbed at your meal."
"I had better myself see what is the cause of this irruption of the
Goths and Vandals," observed Mr. Trevor, rising from his seat, and then
quitting the room. Mr. Trevor had scarcely more experience than his
daughter in dealing personally with the poor, but he felt heavy upon his
conscience the responsibility belonging to the owner of landed property.
Mr. Trevor in a short time returned, looking grave and somewhat
perplexed. "How one misses clergy, and district visitors, and organized
societies in a place like this!" he exclaimed, as he resumed his seat at
the table. "All these women declare that they are in want, that their
husbands are out of work; and how am I to tell whether this be or be not
the fact? I have given each of the beggars a trifle, and told them not
to come here again, that we will make inquiries about them. I cannot
have my door thus besieged. I wonder what brought on us this sudden
invasion!"
"I'm afraid that it was my unlucky h
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