Wylder's Hand Part 10

So, in due course having smoked my cheroot, I jerked the stump into the fire. Of course I could not think of depriving myself of candle-light; and being already of a thoughtful, old-bachelor temperament, and averse from burning houses, I placed one of my tall wax-lights in a basin on the table by my bed--in which I soon effected a lodgment, and lay with a comparative sense of security.

Then I heard two o'clock strike; but shortly after, as I suppose, sleep overtook me, and I have no distinct idea for how long my slumber lasted.

The fire was very low when I awoke, and saw a figure--and a very odd one--seated by the embers, and stooping over the grate, with a pair of long hands expanded, as it seemed, to catch the warmth of the sinking fire.

It was that of a very tall old man, entirely dressed in white flannel--a very long spencer, and some sort of white swathing about his head. His back was toward me; and he stooped without the slightest motion over the fire-place, in the att.i.tude I have described.

As I looked, he suddenly turned toward me, and fixed upon me a cold, and as it seemed, a wrathful gaze, over his shoulder. It was a bleached and a long-chinned face--the countenance of Lorne's portrait--only more faded, sinister, and apathetic. And having, as it were, secured its awful command over me by a protracted gaze, he rose, supernaturally lean and tall, and drew near the side of my bed.

I continued to stare upon this apparition with the most dreadful fascination I ever experienced in my life. For two or three seconds I literally could not move. When I did, I am not ashamed to confess, it was to plunge my head under the bed-clothes, with the childish instinct of terror; and there I lay breathless, for what seemed to me not far from ten minutes, during which there was no sound, nor other symptom of its presence.

On a sudden the bed-clothes were gently lifted at my feet, and I sprang backwards, sitting upright against the back of the bed, and once more under the gaze of that long-chinned old man.

A voice, as peculiar as the appearance of the figure, said:--

'You are in my bed--I died in it a great many years ago. I am Uncle Lorne; and when I am not here, a devil goes up and down in the room. See!

he had his face to your ear when I came in. I came from Dorcas Brandon's bed-chamber door, where her evil angel told me a thing;--and Mark Wylder must not seek to marry her, for he will be buried alive if he does, and he will, maybe, never get up again. Say your prayers when I go out, and come here no more.'

He paused, as if these incredible words were to sink into my memory; and then, in the same tone, and with the same countenance, he asked--

'Is the blood on my forehead?'

I don't know whether I answered.

'So soon as a calamity is within twelve hours, the blood comes upon my forehead, as they found me in the morning--it is a sign.'

The old man then drew back slowly, and disappeared behind the curtains at the foot of the bed, and I saw no more of him during the rest of that odious night.

So long as this apparition remained before me, I never doubted its being supernatural. I don't think mortal ever suffered horror more intense. My very hair was dripping with a cold moisture. For some seconds I hardly knew where I was. But soon a reaction came, and I felt convinced that the apparition was a living man. It was no process of reason or philosophy, but simply I became persuaded of it, and something like rage overcame my terrors.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PONY CARRIAGE

So soon as daylight came, I made a swift cold water toilet, and got out into the open air, with a solemn resolution to see the hated interior of that bed-room no more. When I met Lord Chelford in his early walk that morning, I'm sure I looked myself like a ghost--at all events, very wild and seedy--for he asked me, more seriously than usual, how I was; and I think I would have told him the story of my adventure, despite the secret ridicule with which, I fancied, he would receive it, had it not been for a certain insurmountable disgust and horror which held me tongue-tied upon the affair.

I told him, however, that I had dreamed dreams, and was restless and uncomfortable in my present berth, and begged his interest with the housekeeper to have my quarters changed to the lower storey--quite resolved to remove to the 'Brandon Arms,' rather than encounter another such night as I had pa.s.sed.

Stanley Lake did not appear that day; Wylder was glowering and abstracted--worse company than usual; and Rachel seemed to have quite pa.s.sed from his recollection.

While Rachel Lake was, as usual, busy in her little garden that day, Lord Chelford, on his way to the town, by the pretty mill-road, took off his hat to her with a smiling salutation, and leaning on the paling, he said--

'I often wonder how you make your flowers grow here--you have so little sun among the trees--and yet, it is so pretty and flowery; it remains in my memory as if the sun were always shining specially on this little garden.'

Miss Lake laughed.

'I am very proud of it. They try not to blow, but I never let them alone till they do. See all my watering-pots, and pruning-scissors, my sticks, and ba.s.s-mat, and gla.s.s covers. Skill and industry conquer churlish nature--and this is my Versailles.'

'I don't believe in those sticks, and scissors, and watering-pots. You won't tell your secret; but I'm sure it's an influence--you smile and whisper to them.'

She smiled--without raising her eyes--on the flower she was tying up; and, indeed, it was such a smile as must have made it happy--and she said, gaily--

'You forget that Lord Chelford pa.s.ses this way sometimes, and shines upon them, too.'

'No, he's a dull, earthly dog; and if he shines here, it is only in reflected light'

'Margery, child, fetch me the scissors.'

And a hobble-de-hoy of a girl, with round eyes, and a long white-ap.r.o.n, and bare arms, came down the little walk, and--eyeing the peer with an awful curiosity--presented the shears to the charming Atropos, who clipped off the withered blossoms that had bloomed their hour, and were to c.u.mber the stalk no more.

'Now, you see what art may do; how _pa.s.see_ this creature was till I made her toilet, and how wonderfully the poor old beauty looks now,' and she glanced complacently at the plant she had just trimmed.

'Well, it is young again and beautiful; but no--I have no faith in the scissors; I still believe in the influence--from the tips of your fingers, your looks, and tones. Flowers, like fairies, have their favourites, whom they smile on and obey; and I think this is a haunted glen--trees, flowers, all have an intelligence and a feeling--and I am sure you see wonderful things, by moonlight, from your window.'

With a strange meaning echo, those words returned to her afterwards--'I'm sure you see wonderful things, by moonlight, from your window.'

But no matter; the winged words--making pleasant music--flew pleasantly away, now among transparent leaves and glimmering sun; by-and-by, in moonlight, they will return to the cas.e.m.e.nt piping the same tune, in ghostly tones.

And as they chatted in this strain, Rachel paused on a sudden, with upraised hand, listening pleasantly.

'I hear the pony-carriage; Dorcas is coming,' she said.

And the tinkle of tiny wheels, coming down the road, was audible.

'There's a pleasant sense of adventure, too, in the midst of your seclusion. Sudden arrivals and pa.s.sing pilgrims, like me, leaning over the paling, and refreshed by the glimpse the rogue steals of this charming oratory. Yes; here comes the fair Brunnisende.'

And he made his salutation. Miss Brandon smiled from under her gipsy-hat very pleasantly for her.

'Will you come with me for a drive, Radie?' she asked.

'Yes, dear--delighted. Margery, bring my gloves and cloak.' And she unpinned the faded silk shawl that did duty in the garden, and drew off her gauntlets, and showed her pretty hands; and Margery popped her cloak on her shoulders, and the young lady pulled on her gloves. All ready in a moment, like a young lady of energy; and chatting merrily she sat down beside her cousin, who held the reins. As there were no more gates to open, Miss Brandon dismissed the servant, who stood at the ponies' heads, and who, touching his hat with his white glove, received his _conge_, and strode with willing steps up the road.

'Will you take me for your footman as far as the town?' asked Lord Chelford; so, with permission, up he jumped behind, and away they whirled, close over the ground, on toy wheels ringing merrily on the shingle, he leaning over the back and chatting pleasantly with the young ladies as they drove on.

They drew up at the Brandon Arms, and little girls courtesied at doors, and householders peeped from their windows, not standing close to the panes, but respectfully back, at the great lady and the n.o.bleman, who was now taking his leave.

And next they pulled up at that official rendezvous, with white-washed front--and 'post-office,' in white letters on a brown board over its door, and its black, hinged window-pane, through which Mr. Driver--or, in his absence, Miss Anne Driver--answered questions, and transacted affairs officially.

In the rear of this establishment were kept some dogs of Lawyer Larkin's; and just as the ladies arrived, that person emerged, looking overpoweringly gentlemanlike, in a white hat, gray paletot, lavender trowsers, and white riding gloves. He was in a righteous and dignified way pleased to present himself in so becoming a costume, and moreover in good company, for Stanley Lake was going with him to Dutton for a day's sport, which neither of them cared for. But Stanley hoped to pump the attorney, and the attorney, I'm afraid, liked being a.s.sociated with the fashionable captain; and so they were each pleased in the way that suited them.

The attorney, being long as well as lank, had to stoop under the doorway, but drew himself up handsomely on coming out, and a.s.sumed his easy, high-bred style, which, although he was not aware of it, was very nearly insupportable, and smiled very engagingly, and meant to talk a little about the weather; but Miss Brandon made him one of her gravest and slightest bows, and suddenly saw Mrs. Brown at her shop door on the other side, and had a word to say to her.

And now Stanley Lake drew up in the tax-cart, and greeted the ladies, and told them how he meant to pa.s.s the day; and the dogs being put in, and the attorney, I'm afraid a little spited at his reception, in possession of the reins, they drove down the little street at a great pace, and disappeared round the corner; and in a minute more the young ladies, in the opposite direction, resumed their drive. The ponies, being grave and trustworthy, and having the road quite to themselves, needed little looking after, and Miss Brandon was free to converse with her companion.

'I think, Rachel, you have a lover,' she said.