Four Ghost Stories Part 7

"I wish I were a man, mamma. Fancy! a peasant--one of those men who were drinking beer--came and put his arm around Nora as she was playing. '_Du spielst schon_,' he said, and I _do_ believe he meant to kiss her, if I hadn't shaken my fist at him."

"Yes, indeed, mamma," said Nora, equally but more calmly indignant. "I certainly think the sooner we get away the better."

I had to tell them of my discomfiture, but ended with my new idea.

"If there is a post-office," I said, "the mail must stop there, and the mail takes pa.s.sengers."

But, arrived at the neat little post-house--to reach which without a most tremendous round we had to climb up a really precipitous path, so called, over the stones and rocks in front of the inn--new dismay awaited us. The postmaster was a very old man, but of a very different type from our host. He was sorry to disappoint us, but the mail only stopped here for _letters_--all _pa.s.sengers_ must begin their journey at--I forget where--leagues off on the other side from Silberbach. We wanted to get away? He was not surprised. _What had we come for?_ No one ever came here. Were we Americans! Staying at the "Katze"! Good heavens!

"A rough place." "I should rather think so."

And this last piece of information fairly overcame him. He evidently felt he must come to the rescue of these poor Babes in the wood.

"Come up when the mail pa.s.ses from Seeberg this evening at seven, and I will see what I can do with the conductor. If he _happens_ to have no pa.s.sengers to-morrow, he _may_ stretch a point and take you in. No one will be the wiser."

"Oh, thanks, thanks," I cried. "Of course I will pay anything he likes to ask."

"No need for that. He is a _braver Mann_, and will not cheat you."

"We shall be here at seven, then. I would rather have started to walk than stayed here indefinitely."

"Not _to-day_ anyway. We shall have a storm," he said, looking up to the sky. "Adieu. _Auf Wiedersehen!_"

"I wish we had not to stay another night here," I said. "Still, to-morrow morning will soon come."

We spent the day as best we could. There was literally nothing to see, nowhere to go, except back into the forest whence we had come. Nor dared we go far, for the day grew more and more sultry; the strange, ominous silence that precedes a storm came on, adding to our feelings of restlessness and depression. And by about two o'clock, having ventured out again after "dinner," we were driven in by the first great drops.

Huddled together in our cheerless little room we watched the breaking loose of the storm demons. I am not affected by thunder and lightning, nor do I dread them. But what a storm that was! Thunder, lightning, howling wind, and rain like no rain I had ever seen before, all mingled together. An hour after it began, a cart, standing high and dry in the steep village street, was hidden by water to above the top of the wheels--a little more and it would have floated like a boat. But by about five, things calmed down; the few stupid-looking peasants came out of their houses, and gazed about them as if to see what damage had been done. Perhaps it was not much after all--they seemed to take it quietly enough; and by six all special signs of disturbance had disappeared--the torrents melted away as if by magic. Only a strange, heavy mist began to rise, enveloping everything, so that we could hardly believe the evening was yet so early. I looked at my watch.

"Half-past six. We must, mist or no mist, go up to the post-house. But I don't mind going alone, dears."

"No, no, mamma; I _must_ go with you, to take care of you," said Reggie; "but Nora needn't."

"Perhaps it would be as well," said the little girl. "I have one or two b.u.t.tons to sew on, and I _am_ still rather tired."

And, knowing she was never timid about being left alone, thinking we should be absent half an hour at most, I agreed.

But the half hour lengthened into an hour, then into an hour and a half, before the weary mail made its appearance. The road through the forest must be all but impa.s.sable, our old friend told us. But oh, how tired Reggie and I were of waiting! though all the time never a thought of uneasiness with regard to _Nora_ crossed my mind. And when the mail did come, delayed, as the postmaster had suspected, the good result of his negotiations made us forget all our troubles; for the conductor all but _promised_ to take us the next morning, in consideration of a very reasonable extra payment. It was most unlikely he would have any, certainly not many pa.s.sengers. We must be there, at the post-house, by nine o'clock, baggage and all, for he dared not wait a moment, and he would do his best.

Through the evening dusk, now fast replacing the scattered mist, Reggie and I, light of heart, stumbled down the rocky path.

"How pleased Nora will be! She will be wondering what has come over us,"

I said as the "Katze" came in view. "But what is that, Reggie, running up and down in front of the house? Is it a sheep, or a big white dog?

or--or a child? Can it be Nora, and no cloak or hat? and so damp and chilly as it is? How can she be so foolish?"

And with a vague uneasiness I hurried on.

Yes, it was Nora. There was light enough to see her face. What had happened to my little girl? She was white--no, not white, ghastly. Her eyes looked gla.s.sy, and yet as if drawn into her head; her whole bright, fearless bearing was gone. She clutched me convulsively as if she would never again let me go. Her voice was so hoa.r.s.e that I could scarcely distinguish what she said.

"Send Reggie in--he must not hear," were her first words--of rare unselfishness and presence of mind.

"Reggie," I said, "tell the maid to take candles up to our room, and take off your wet boots at once."

My children are obedient; he was off instantly.

Then Nora went on, still in a strained, painful whisper--

"Mamma, there has been a _man_ in our room, and----"

"Did that peasant frighten you again, dear? Oh, I am so sorry I left you;" for my mind at once reverted to the man whom Reggie had shaken his fist at that morning.

"No, no; not that. I would not have minded. But, mamma, Reggie must never know it--he is so little, he could not bear it--mamma, it was _not_ a man. It was--oh, mamma, I have seen a _ghost_!"

PART II

"A ghost," I repeated, holding the poor trembling little thing more closely. I think my first sensation was a sort of rage at whomever or whatever--ghost or living being--had frightened her so terribly. "Oh, Nora darling, it couldn't be a ghost. Tell me about it, and I will try to find out what it was. Or would you rather try to forget about it just now, and tell me afterwards? You are shivering so dreadfully. I _must_ get you warm first of all."

"But let me tell you, mamma--I _must_ tell you," she entreated piteously. "If you _could_ explain it, I should be so glad, but I am afraid you can't," and again a shudder pa.s.sed through her.

I saw it was better to let her tell it. I had by this time drawn her inside; a door in front stood open, and a bright fire caught my eyes.

It was the kitchen, and the most inviting-looking room in the house. I peeped in--there was no one there, but from an inner room we heard the voice of the landlady hushing her baby to sleep.

"Come to the fire, Nora," I said. Just then Reggie came clattering downstairs, followed by Lieschen, the taciturn "maid of the inn."

"She has taken a candle upstairs, mamma, but I've not taken off my boots, for there's a little calf, she says, in the stable, and she's going to show it me. May I go?"

"Yes, but don't stay long," I said, my opinion of the sombre Lieschen improving considerably; and when they were out of hearing, "Now, Nora dear, tell me what frightened you so."

"Mamma," she said, a little less white and shivering by now, but still with the strange strained look in her eyes that I could not bear to see, "it _couldn't_ have been a real man. Listen, mamma. When you and Reggie went, I got out a needle and thread--out of your little bag--and first I mended a hole in my glove, and then I took off one of my boots--the b.u.t.toning-up-the-side ones, you know--to sew a b.u.t.ton on. I soon finished it, and then, without putting my boot on, I sat there, looking out of the window and wondering if you and Reggie would soon be back.

Then I thought perhaps I could see if you were coming, better from the window of the place outside our room, where the hay and bags of flour are." (I think I forgot to say that to get to our room we had to cross at the top of the stair a sort of landing, along one side of which, as Nora said, great bags of flour or grain and trusses of hay were ranged; this place had a window with a somewhat more extended view than that of our room.) "I went there, still without my boot, and I knelt in front of the window some time, looking up the rough path, and wishing you would come. But I was not the least dull or lonely. I was only a little tired.

At last I got tired of watching there, and I thought I would come back to our room and look for something to do. The door was not closed, but I think I had half drawn it to as I came out. I pushed it open and went in, and then--I seemed to feel there was something that had not been there before, and I looked up; and just beside the stove--the door opens _against_ the stove, you know, and so it had hidden it for a moment as it were--there, mamma, _stood a man_! I saw him as plainly as I see you. He was staring at the stove, afterwards I saw it must have been at your little blue paper parcel. He was a gentleman, mamma--quite young. I saw his coat, it was cut like George Norman's. I think he must have been an Englishman. His coat was dark, and bound with a little very narrow ribbon binding. I have seen coats like that. He had a dark blue neck-tie, his dress all looked neat and careful--like what all gentlemen are; I saw all that, mamma, before I clearly saw his face. He was tall and had fair hair--I saw that at once. But I was not frightened; just at first I did not even wonder how he _could_ have got into the room--now I see he _couldn't_ without my knowing. My first thought, it seems so silly," and Nora here smiled a little, "my first thought was, 'Oh, he will see I have no boot on,'"--which was very characteristic of the child, for Nora was a very "proper" little girl,--"and just as I thought that, _he_ seemed to know I was there, for he slowly turned his head from the stove and looked at me, and then I saw his face. Oh, mamma!"

"Was there anything frightening about it?" I said.

"I don't know," the child went on. "It was not like any face I ever saw, and yet it does not _sound_ strange. He had nice, rather wavy fair hair, and I think he must _have been_ nice-looking. His eyes were blue, and he had a little fair moustache. But he was so _fearfully_ pale, and a look over all that I can't describe. And his eyes when he looked at me _seemed not to see me_, and yet they turned on me. They looked dreadfully sad, and though they were so close to me, as if they were miles and miles away. Then his lips parted slightly, very slightly, as if he were going to speak. Mamma," Nora went on impressively, "they would have spoken if _I_ had said the least word--I felt they would. But just then--and remember, mamma, it couldn't have been yet two seconds since I came in, I hadn't yet had _time_ to get frightened--just then there came over me the most awful feeling. I _knew_ it was not a real man, and I seemed to hear myself saying inside my mind, 'It is a ghost,' and while I seemed to be saying it--I had not moved my eyes--while I looked at him----"

"He disappeared?"

"No, mamma, he did not even disappear. He was just _no longer there_.

I was staring at nothing! Then came a sort of wild fear. I turned and rushed downstairs, even without my boot, and all the way the horrible feeling was that even though he was no longer there he might still be coming after me. I should not have cared if there had been twenty tipsy peasants downstairs! But I found Lieschen. Of course I said nothing to her; I only asked her to come up with a light to help me to find my boot, and as soon as I had put it on I came outside, and ran up and down--it was a long time, I think--till you and Reggie came at last.

Mamma, _can_ you explain it?"

How I longed to be able to do so! But I would not deceive the child.

Besides, it would have been useless.

"No, dear. As yet I cannot. But I will try to understand it. There are several ways it may be explained. Have you ever heard of optical delusions, Nora?"

"I am not sure. You must tell me;" and she looked at me so appealingly, and with such readiness to believe whatever I told her, that I felt I would give anything to restore her to her former happy fearlessness.