Lewie Part 8

"'Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of the house?' I asked in as careless a tone as I could a.s.sume."

"'No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep;'

answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which I thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, 'Why ye ain't afeard on us, be ye?'"

"'I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little nervous.'"

"'Well,' said she, 'ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. We shan't do ye no harm, I reckon,' and she left me and descended the ladder."

"Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went to reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had pa.s.sed on the way to the room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descend two steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be sure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of grain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and with great difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where a door should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair in the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if any one did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to give me warning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it might continue to burn all night."

"I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; I would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed an hour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in subdued tones they talked together below. At the end of that time the door opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart, as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb.

The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded on the floor of the little pa.s.sage, which led to my room, I shrieked, 'Who is there? what do you want?'"

"'Bless your soul it's only me; you need not scream so,' said the old woman. 'I'm only going to the bin for some corn-meal to make mush for your breakfast.'"

"'I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed,' I heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; 'you ought to see the _chist_, and the things she's got piled on top of it, all standing in the door-way.'"

"At this the men's voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded horribly to me. 'Yes,' I thought to myself, 'how easy it would be for them to murder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the tale.' Soon after this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, sleep must have overpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if the house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total darkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room."

"Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried 'help! help! murder!'

and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up the ladder way, and soon the old woman's night-cap appeared over the chest.

'What _is_ the matter now?' she cried with some impatience, 'you certainly are the most _narvous_ lodger I've ever had yet.'"

"'Matter enough,' said I, 'there is some one in my room. Didn't you hear that awful crash?'"

"'Pshaw! it's only our old black cat!' said the old woman; 'he always comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out.'"

"'Can he climb the ladder?' I asked."

"'Just like a _human_,' said the old woman; and, pushing aside the chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room, threw him out."

"Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to new horrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and outside the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then the door opened, and a smothered voice said, 'Mother, is the water hot?'"

"'Yes, bilin',' answered the old woman; 'are the knives sharp?'"

"'All ready,' answered the young man; 'where's father?'"

"'He's gone to the loft,' said the old woman; and then came some whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laugh at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I had experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be murdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft, my kind old friend being the first victim. Still I thought I might be in time to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of our escape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried on my shawl, and cautiously descended the ladder; but my blood froze with horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the pa.s.sage below I encountered the old woman; she had just come into the house, and had an old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought she gave a guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:"

"'Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morning for?'"

"'What are _you_ all up so early in the morning for?' I asked, in a voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart."

"'Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs this morning,' she answered; 'but we tried to keep so quiet as not to disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would wake ye.'"

"The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my arms round the old woman's neck, and confessing all my unjust suspicions, but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With a tranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and was soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs, in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me."

"Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast table, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a family of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land in Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearing where they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable log dwelling; and the old woman a.s.sured us that if we would stop and visit them, if we ever pa.s.sed that way again, we should not have to climb a ladder, for they were going to have a 'reg'lar stairway in t'other house.'"

"When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money almost with scorn."

"'No, no,' said the old man, 'we haven't got quite so low as that yet; and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a night's lodging from a traveller. We don't keep _tavern_ here.'"

"The old woman's parting advice to me was to try and 'git over my _narvousness_; and she thought I hadn't better drink no more strong green tea.'"

"'I think your tea _was_ strong last night, my friend,' said I; 'and that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been telling you, made me very uneasy and restless.'"

"'Well,' said the old woman, 'I hope ye won't be so suspicious of us next time ye come; for it's a _cartain_ fact, that we never murdered any _human_ yet. We do kill _hogs_; that I won't deny.' And she laughed so heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears and suspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story."

"I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to him all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have rolled out of the gig. That night, which was _last_ night, found us in the old gentleman's hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as cordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good friends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with G.o.d's blessing, two days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother.--And here, with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss Edwards' letter closed."

VIII.

Bitter Disappointments.

"Oh! art thou found?

But yet to find thee thus!"

VESPERS OF PALERMO.

It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a long time after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various were the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must have fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; though why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her brother, still remained a mystery.

At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was short, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had a terrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearance with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few weeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was ready for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge of it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for returning to the home of the old clergyman.

"She is evidently very unhappy," said Mr. Wharton, "and perhaps her funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I will send her the means without delay."

But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far between. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engaged to be married to a young physician of that place. She seemed now very happy, and full of bright antic.i.p.ations, not the least cheering of which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when she should travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this was the last letter they ever received from Miss Edwards.

That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It was from a physician, and ran thus:

SIR,--I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I found her raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I suppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with her ravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage; and when the other pa.s.sengers went on was too ill to proceed with them.

I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of that time, I had the happiness to find that her fever had entirely left her, and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, extremely weak, and feeling a.s.sured, she said, that she should never be able to reach the home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family,) she begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated and entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said she had a communication which it was due to you that she should make, and she charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and send the package to you in case she did not leave that place alive. She was busily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attracted her to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alight from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. A person in the room with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed from the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods.

When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have been obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be made under the circ.u.mstances. The accompanying package I found just as she left it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now comply with her earnest request and enclose it to you.

With respect, &c.

JAMES MASTEN.

The ma.n.u.script, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards' well known hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently trembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions, that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following communication:

"Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I have pa.s.sed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I have tried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I am resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! are all failing."

"With the fondest antic.i.p.ations I reached the village, where I expected to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were approaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured the joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the landlord hesitated, as if perplexed."