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The proposal was received with applause, and all the company joining hands, our host included, sung the following ditty:--
SONG OF THE WONDER CLUB.
As we join hand in hand Let us sing to our band, And lift up our voice in a ditty; May memories well stored E'er enliven our board With the wondrous, the weird, and the witty.
Let each thirsty soul Round the merry punch bowl Drink deep to our brotherhood's founding, And loud be the cheers That resound in the ears Of the member with tale most astounding.
Round the merry Yule flame May our band of the same Meet year after year in their niches, And list as of yore To our tales by the score Of phantoms, wraiths, goblins, and witches.
Then our song's jocund sound, When our nectar flows round, Sure Olympus was never so merry.
Right jovial our crew, Whate'er be the brew, Whether brandy, port, whisky or sherry.
Now whate'er befall, Here's a "good-night" to all, May Queen Mab with her train cheer our slumber; And with one last toast, Let us drown every ghost, Or goblin, or ghoul, in a b.u.mper.
The song at an end, a last b.u.mper was drunk by way of a nightcap, and each gallant member or guest walked, or staggered, as the case might be, off to bed.
"Ho, steward!" cried the captain, to the landlord; "douse the glims, and show the pa.s.sengers to their cabins. Where have you slung my hammock?"
Our host provided candles for each of his guests, and bidding them all "good-night," gave a yawn, and followed the example of the rest.
CHAPTER V.
THE HEADLESS LADY.--THE ARTIST'S FIRST STORY.
The morning following the saturnalia was cold and bleak. Without it was snowing hard, and the windows of the old inn were covered with frost crystals. Breakfast was late, few of the members of the club having yet risen, apparently not yet recovered from the effects of the previous evening.
The landlord exerted himself to make the interior of his inn as cheerful as the gloomy state of the weather would permit. A large log crackled on the hearth, and the breakfast table teemed with all the delicacies that the inn could boast of; coffee, toast, hot rolls, eggs and bacon, ham, chicken, tongue, and fresh b.u.t.ter. One by one the guests made their appearance. They seemed to have slept well, for they looked none the worse for their last night's carousal.
The last to enter the breakfast room was our fresh arrival, Mr. Vand.y.k.e McGuilp. He presented a very different appearance to any of the rest. He was pale and haggard, and his hair hung disordered over his eyes.
"I'm afraid you have not slept well, Mr. McGuilp," said Mr. Oldstone.
"What is the matter? It surely can't be the punch, for you drank less than any of us last night. Why, I don't believe you drank more than a couple of gla.s.ses the whole time; but perhaps you are not accustomed to these orgies, and a little upsets you. Look at us--seasoned old casks all of us--we are as jolly as ever. As for myself, I never felt better in all my life."
"Oh, it is not that," replied our artist; "but I feel somehow I pa.s.sed an indifferent night."
Dr. Bleedem felt the pulse and looked at the tongue of the new guest, and p.r.o.nounced him a little feverish, but said that it would soon pa.s.s over.
"My blessed eyes!" cried the captain, "if the gentleman doesn't look as scared as I felt when the shark was at my heels last night. What say you mine host?"
"Well, Captain," said the landlord, "if I might venture a remark, the gentleman looks as if he had had a visit from the _headless lady_."
McGuilp started.
"Why do you start, sir?" inquired Mr. Blackdeed, who alone had noticed the action, his eye being ever open to anything of a dramatic effect.
"A little nervousness, that is all," replied the artist. "I feel far from well this morning."
"I a.s.sure you, your action was quite dramatic," said the tragedian.
"Oblige me by repeating it. Thank you; I'll practise it before the gla.s.s this morning. It will just do for my tragedy, when the wicked baron, who is in the act of carrying off a lady by force, is suddenly checked in his career by the appearance of the spirit of her brother, whom he has murdered."
"Ha! What's that all about?" cried Oldstone, who had p.r.i.c.ked up his ears at something resembling a story, while the rest were gossiping on indifferent matters. "You must act us a scene out of that tragedy, Blackdeed; remember, we had no story from you last night."
"Breakfast is ready, gentlemen," said the landlord.
The guests flocked round the table and commenced their repast.
"By the by, landlord," said McGuilp, as that worthy was about to quit the room, "you give your inn a curious name. Is there any origin to it?"
"Well, sir," replied the landlord, "it was my grandfather, or great grandfather, who gave it that name--I'm not sure which."
"But--but, is there no origin to it?--no legend connected with----"
"Oh, as to that, your honour," said the landlord, "folks used to say that this house was haunted by a lady without a head; but that's a long time ago. I don't exactly recollect the particulars of the story, but I have heard my father say, when I was a youngster, that he had seen her; but it's five and thirty years come Michaelmas that this inn has been in my hands, and I never see anything of the sort, sir. No, sir; depend upon it, she don't 'walk' now, sir. Even in my father's time her visits used to be rare, though my grandfather used to tell me lots of stories about her when I was a child."
"Do you remember any of those stories?"
"Not now, sir. I only remember hearing say that the lady was a nun; but for what offence she was beheaded I can't exactly call to mind now."
"Perhaps I might be able to refresh your memory," said the artist. "What would you say if I really had had a visit from the headless lady last night?"
"You, sir!" exclaimed the landlord in great astonishment. "You don't mean to say that you really _did see_----"
"The headless lady. Yes, I do; I mean to say that I had a visit from her last night."
The landlord opened his eyes and mouth with a look of awe. The guests remained as if petrified. The captain's red face grew a shade less so.
Mr. Parna.s.sus became livid. The tragedian's hair stood on end. Mr.
Oldstone looked a few years older, while the countenances of the whole company betrayed various grades of wonder and consternation.
"Ahem!" coughed the chairman of the previous evening, at length breaking silence. "Perhaps you would not mind telling us about your experiences of last night, Mr. McGuilp? I am sure we are all most curious to hear something about this mysterious lady. I have never met anyone yet who could say that they had seen her, though I have heard over and over again that she used to 'walk.'"
Thus entreated, our artist proceeded as follows:
Well, then, after I left you, gentlemen, last night, before I retired to rest, in looking round my apartment, I was much struck with an old portrait, painted in a very early style, of a lady in a nun's dress. In spite of the hard style of the period, there was something in the face--a sort of resigned melancholy--that interested me exceedingly.
Still it was little more than a pa.s.sing glance that I bestowed on the picture, for I felt very sleepy, and more inclined for bed than for criticising works of art. I accordingly undressed as quickly as I could, blew out the light, and in two minutes was fast asleep.
I could not have enjoyed more than a quarter-of-an-hour's repose, when I was suddenly awakened by what felt like a cold hand pressed upon my forehead. I started up, and tried to call out, but could not raise my voice above a whisper. I looked in the direction in which I expected to find the person who had awakened me, but could see nothing.
All was pitch dark around me, but I heard, or thought I heard, a deep sigh as I strained my ears to catch some sound of the intruder.
"Who's there?" I called out, in a husky whisper; but I received no reply.
Beginning to be alarmed, fancying that some dishonest person had entered my chamber to rob me, or else that it was someone of the household given to walking in their sleep, I sat up in bed and peered into the darkness.