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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10052-0.txt b/10052-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e182141 --- /dev/null +++ b/10052-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3093 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10052 *** + + THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT + + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen + + By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + + 1881 + + + + +I + +THE OPEN DOOR. + + +I took the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18--, for the +temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent +home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly +appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose +education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to +school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home +altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these +expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended +itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway +between. “Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School +every morning; it will do him all the good in the world,” Dr. Simson +said; “and when it is bad weather, there is the train.” His mother +accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have +hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more +invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the +North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of +the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to +acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his +schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in +these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there +had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either +my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one +left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply +sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to +school,--to combine the advantages of the two systems,--seemed to be +everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood +everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have +masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that +never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays. +Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should +like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more +than twenty-five,--an age at which I see the young fellows now groping +about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives. +However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which +elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it. + +Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country--one of the +richest in Scotland--which lies between the Pentland Hills and the +Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam--like a bent bow, +embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses--of the great estuary +on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like +those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of +the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to +a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. +Edinburgh--with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill, +its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur’s Seat lying +crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his +repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to +take care of itself without him--lay at our right hand. From the lawn +and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. +The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated +and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color +and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and +blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose. + +The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of +the deep little ravine, down which a stream--which ought to have been a +lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river--flowed between its rocks and +trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its +earlier life been sacrificed to trade, and was grimy with paper-making. +But this did not affect our pleasure in it so much as I have known it to +affect other streams. Perhaps our water was more rapid; perhaps less +clogged with dirt and refuse. Our side of the dell was charmingly +_accidenté_, and clothed with fine trees, through which various paths +wound down to the river-side and to the village bridge which crossed the +stream. The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic +houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in +Scotland. The blue slates and the gray stone are sworn foes to the +picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior +of an old-fashioned hewed and galleried church, with its little family +settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire +like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. +Still a cluster of houses on differing elevations, with scraps of garden +coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening +of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the +slow wagon lumbering along, gives a centre to the landscape. It was +cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. Within ourselves +we had walks in plenty, the glen being always beautiful in all its +phases, whether the woods were green in the spring or ruddy in the +autumn. In the park which surrounded the house were the ruins of the +former mansion of Brentwood,--a much smaller and less important house +than the solid Georgian edifice which we inhabited. The ruins were +picturesque, however, and gave importance to the place. Even we, who were +but temporary tenants, felt a vague pride in them, as if they somehow +reflected a certain consequence upon ourselves. The old building had the +remains of a tower,--an indistinguishable mass of mason-work, +over-grown with ivy; and the shells of walls attached to this were half +filled up with soil. I had never examined it closely, I am ashamed to +say. There was a large room, or what had been a large room, with the +lower part of the windows still existing, on the principal floor, and +underneath other windows, which were perfect, though half filled up with +fallen soil, and waving with a wild growth of brambles and chance growths +of all kinds. This was the oldest part of all. At a little distance were +some very commonplace and disjointed fragments of building, one of them +suggesting a certain pathos by its very commonness and the complete wreck +which it showed. This was the end of a low gable, a bit of gray wall, all +incrusted with lichens, in which was a common door-way. Probably it had +been a servants’ entrance, a backdoor, or opening into what are called +“the offices” in Scotland. No offices remained to be entered,--pantry and +kitchen had all been swept out of being; but there stood the door-way +open and vacant, free to all the winds, to the rabbits, and every wild +creature. It struck my eye, the first time I went to Brentwood, like a +melancholy comment upon a life that was over. A door that led to +nothing,--closed once, perhaps, with anxious care, bolted and guarded, +now void of any meaning. It impressed me, I remember, from the first; so +perhaps it may be said that my mind was prepared to attach to it an +importance which nothing justified. + +The summer was a very happy period of repose for us all. The warmth of +Indian suns was still in our veins. It seemed to us that we could never +have enough of the greenness, the dewiness, the freshness of the northern +landscape. Even its mists were pleasant to us, taking all the fever out +of us, and pouring in vigor and refreshment. In autumn we followed the +fashion of the time, and went away for change which we did not in the +least require. It was when the family had settled down for the winter, +when the days were short and dark, and the rigorous reign of frost upon +us, that the incidents occurred which alone could justify me in intruding +upon the world my private affairs. These incidents were, however, of so +curious a character, that I hope my inevitable references to my own +family and pressing personal interests will meet with a general pardon. + +I was absent in London when these events began. In London an old Indian +plunges back into the interests with which all his previous life has been +associated, and meets old friends at every step. I had been circulating +among some half-dozen of these,--enjoying the return to my former life in +shadow, though I had been so thankful in substance to throw it +aside,--and had missed some of my home letters, what with going down from +Friday to Monday to old Benbow’s place in the country, and stopping on +the way back to dine and sleep at Sellar’s and to take a look into +Cross’s stables, which occupied another day. It is never safe to miss +one’s letters. In this transitory life, as the Prayer-book says, how can +one ever be certain what is going to happen? All was well at home. I knew +exactly (I thought) what they would have to say to me: “The weather has +been so fine, that Roland has not once gone by train, and he enjoys the +ride beyond anything.” “Dear papa, be sure that you don’t forget +anything, but bring us so-and-so, and so-and-so,”--a list as long as my +arm. Dear girls and dearer mother! I would not for the world have +forgotten their commissions, or lost their little letters, for all the +Benbows and Crosses in the world. + +But I was confident in my home-comfort and peacefulness. When I got back +to my club, however, three or four letters were lying for one, upon some +of which I noticed the “immediate,” “urgent,” which old-fashioned people +and anxious people still believe will influence the post-office and +quicken the speed of the mails. I was about to open one of these, when +the club porter brought me two telegrams, one of which, he said, had +arrived the night before. I opened, as was to be expected, the last +first, and this was what I read: “Why don’t you come or answer? For God’s +sake, come. He is much worse.” This was a thunderbolt to fall upon a +man’s head who had one only son, and he the light of his eyes! The other +telegram, which I opened with hands trembling so much that I lost time by +my haste, was to much the same purport: “No better; doctor afraid of +brain-fever. Calls for you day and night. Let nothing detain you.” The +first thing I did was to look up the time-tables to see if there was any +way of getting off sooner than by the night-train, though I knew well +enough there was not; and then I read the letters, which furnished, alas! +too clearly, all the details. They told me that the boy had been pale for +some time, with a scared look. His mother had noticed it before I left +home, but would not say anything to alarm me. This look had increased day +by day: and soon it was observed that Roland came home at a wild gallop +through the park, his pony panting and in foam, himself “as white as a +sheet,” but with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. For a long +time he had resisted all questioning, but at length had developed such +strange changes of mood, showing a reluctance to go to school, a desire +to be fetched in the carriage at night,--which was a ridiculous piece of +luxury,--an unwillingness to go out into the grounds, and nervous start +at every sound, that his mother had insisted upon an explanation. When +the boy--our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was--began to talk +to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared +to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr. +Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do. + +I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart. +How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot +tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in +anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses +could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early +in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man +in the face, at whom I gasped, “What news?” My wife had sent the +brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign. +His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so +wildly free,--“Just the same.” Just the same! What might that mean? The +horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we +dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the +trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why +had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb +the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home, +I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp +it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in +the world,--when my boy was ill!--to grumble and groan in. But I had no +reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning +along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if +they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale +face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the +wind blew the flame about. “He is sleeping,” she said in a whisper, as if +her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also +in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses’ furniture and the +sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the +steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and +it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the +horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way, +or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwards, +though at the moment I was not capable of anything but to ask questions +and to hear of the condition of the boy. + +I looked at him from the door of his room, for we were afraid to go near, +lest we should disturb that blessed sleep. It looked like actual sleep, +not the lethargy into which my wife told me he would sometimes fall. She +told me everything in the next room, which communicated with his, rising +now and then and going to the door of communication; and in this there +was much that was very startling and confusing to the mind. It appeared +that ever since the winter began--since it was early dark, and night had +fallen before his return from school--he had been hearing voices among +the ruins: at first only a groaning, he said, at which his pony was as +much alarmed as he was, but by degrees a voice. The tears ran down my +wife’s cheeks as she described to me how he would start up in the night +and cry out, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with a +pathos which rent her heart. And she sitting there all the time, only +longing to do everything his heart could desire! But though she would try +to soothe him, crying, “You are at home, my darling. I am here. Don’t you +know me? Your mother is here!” he would only stare at her, and after a +while spring up again with the same cry. At other times he would be quite +reasonable, she said, asking eagerly when I was coming, but declaring +that he must go with me as soon as I did so, “to let them in.” “The +doctor thinks his nervous system must have received a shock,” my wife +said. “Oh, Henry, can it be that we have pushed him on too much with his +work--a delicate boy like Roland? And what is his work in comparison with +his health? Even you would think little of honors or prizes if it hurt +the boy’s health.” Even I!--as if I were an inhuman father sacrificing my +child to my ambition. But I would not increase her trouble by taking any +notice. After awhile they persuaded me to lie down, to rest, and to eat, +none of which things had been possible since I received their letters. +The mere fact of being on the spot, of course, in itself was a great +thing; and when I knew that I could be called in a moment, as soon as he +was awake and wanted me, I felt capable, even in the dark, chill morning +twilight, to snatch an hour or two’s sleep. As it happened, I was so +worn out with the strain of anxiety, and he so quieted and consoled by +knowing I had come, that I was not disturbed till the afternoon, when the +twilight had again settled down. There was just daylight enough to see +his face when I went to him; and what a change in a fortnight! He was +paler and more worn, I thought, than even in those dreadful days in the +plains before we left India. His hair seemed to me to have grown long and +lank; his eyes were like blazing lights projecting out of his white face. +He got hold of my hand in a cold and tremulous clutch, and waved to +everybody to go away. “Go away--even mother,” he said; “go away.” This +went to her heart; for she did not like that even I should have more of +the boy’s confidence than herself; but my wife has never been a woman to +think of herself, and she left us alone. “Are they all gone?” he said +eagerly. “They would not let me speak. The doctor treated me as if I were +a fool. You know I am not a fool, papa.” + +“Yes, yes, my boy, I know. But you are ill, and quiet is so necessary. +You are not only not a fool, Roland, but you are reasonable and +understand. When you are ill you must deny yourself; you must not do +everything that you might do being well.” + +He waved his thin hand with a sort of indignation. “Then, father, I am +not ill,” he cried. “Oh, I thought when you came you would not stop +me,--you would see the sense of it! What do you think is the matter with +me, all of you? Simson is well enough; but he is only a doctor. What do +you think is the matter with me? I am no more ill than you are. A doctor, +of course, he thinks you are ill the moment he looks at you--that’s what +he’s there for--and claps you into bed.” + +“Which is the best place for you at present, my dear boy.” + +“I made up my mind,” cried the little fellow, “that I would stand it till +you came home. I said to myself, I won’t frighten mother and the girls. +But now, father,” he cried, half jumping out of bed, “it’s not illness: +it’s a secret.” + +His eyes shone so wildly, his face was so swept with strong feeling, that +my heart sank within me. It could be nothing but fever that did it, and +fever had been so fatal. I got him into my arms to put him back into +bed. “Roland,” I said, humoring the poor child, which I knew was the +only way, “if you are going to tell me this secret to do any good, you +know you must be quite quiet, and not excite yourself. If you excite +yourself, I must not let you speak.” + +“Yes, father,” said the boy. He was quiet directly, like a man, as if he +quite understood. When I had laid him back on his pillow, he looked up at +me with that grateful, sweet look with which children, when they are ill, +break one’s heart, the water coming into his eyes in his weakness. “I was +sure as soon as you were here you would know what to do,” he said. + +“To be sure, my boy. Now keep quiet, and tell it all out like a man.” To +think I was telling lies to my own child! for I did it only to humor him, +thinking, poor little fellow, his brain was wrong. + +“Yes, father. Father, there is some one in the park--some one that has +been badly used.” + +“Hush, my dear; you remember there is to be no excitement. Well, who +is this somebody, and who has been ill-using him? We will soon put +a stop to that.” + +“All,” cried Roland, “but it is not so easy as you think. I don’t know +who it is. It is just a cry. Oh, if you could hear it! It gets into my +head in my sleep. I heard it as clear--as clear; and they think that I +am dreaming, or raving perhaps,” the boy said, with a sort of +disdainful smile. + +This look of his perplexed me; it was less like fever than I thought. +“Are you quite sure you have not dreamed it, Roland?” I said. + +“Dreamed?--that!” He was springing up again when he suddenly bethought +himself, and lay down flat, with the same sort of smile on his face. “The +pony heard it, too,” he said. “She jumped as if she had been shot. If I +had not grasped at the reins--for I was frightened, father--” + +“No shame to you, my boy,” said I, though I scarcely knew why. + +“If I hadn’t held to her like a leech, she’d have pitched me over her +head, and never drew breath till we were at the door. Did the pony dream +it?” he said, with a soft disdain, yet indulgence for my foolishness. +Then he added slowly, “It was only a cry the first time, and all the +time before you went away. I wouldn’t tell you, for it was so wretched +to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I +went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you +went I heard it really first; and this is what he says.” He raised +himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: “‘Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!’” As he said the words a mist +came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and +changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a +shower of heavy tears. + +Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the +disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I +thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true. + +“This is very touching, Roland,” I said. + +“Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard +it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she’s given over to +Simson, and that fellow’s a doctor, and never thinks of anything but +clapping you into bed.” + +“We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland.” + +“No, no,” said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; “oh, +no; that’s the good of him; that’s what he’s for; I know that. But +you--you are different; you are just father; and you’ll do +something--directly, papa, directly; this very night.” + +“Surely,” I said. “No doubt it is some little lost child.” + +He gave me a sudden, swift look, investigating my face as though to see +whether, after all, this was everything my eminence as “father” came +to,--no more than that. Then he got hold of my shoulder, clutching it +with his thin hand. “Look here,” he said, with a quiver in his voice; +“suppose it wasn’t--living at all!” + +“My dear boy, how then could you have heard it?” I said. + +He turned away from me with a pettish exclamation,--“As if you didn’t +know better than that!” + +“Do you want to tell me it is a ghost?” I said. + +Roland withdrew his hand; his countenance assumed an aspect of great +dignity and gravity; a slight quiver remained about his lips. “Whatever +it was--you always said we were not to call names. It was something--in +trouble. Oh, father, in terrible trouble!” + +“But, my boy,” I said (I was at my wits’ end), “if it was a child +that was lost, or any poor human creature--but, Roland, what do you +want me to do?” + +“I should know if I was you,” said the child eagerly. “That is what I +always said to myself,--Father will know. Oh, papa, papa, to have to +face it night after night, in such terrible, terrible trouble, and never +to be able to do it any good! I don’t want to cry; it’s like a baby, I +know; but what can I do else? Out there all by itself in the ruin, and +nobody to help it! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” cried my generous +boy. And in his weakness he burst out, after many attempts to restrain +it, into a great childish fit of sobbing and tears. + +I do not know that I ever was in a greater perplexity, in my life; and +afterwards, when I thought of it, there was something comic in it too. It +is bad enough to find your child’s mind possessed with the conviction +that he has seen, or heard, a ghost; but that he should require you to go +instantly and help that ghost was the most bewildering experience that +had ever come my way. I am a sober man myself, and not superstitious--at +least any more than everybody is superstitious. Of course I do not +believe in ghosts; but I don’t deny, any more than other people, that +there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand. My blood got a +sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; +for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and +all that men most hate and fear for their children. But that I should +take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was +such a mission as was enough to confuse any man. I did my best to console +my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was +too sharp for me: he would have none of my caresses. With sobs breaking +in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his +eyelids, he yet returned to the charge. + +“It will be there now!--it will be there all the night! Oh, think, +papa,--think if it was me! I can’t rest for thinking of it. Don’t!” he +cried, putting away my hand,--“don’t! You go and help it, and mother can +take care of me.” + +“But, Roland, what can I do?” + +My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and +gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of. +“I was sure you would know as soon as you came. I always said, Father +will know. And mother,” he cried, with a softening of repose upon his +face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his +bed,--“mother can come and take care of me.” + +I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a +child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in +Scotland. I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was +greatly eased about Roland. He might be under a hallucination; but his +head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else +did. The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it. +“How do you think he is?” they said in a breath, coming round me, laying +hold of me. “Not half so ill as I expected,” I said; “not very bad at +all.” “Oh, papa, you are a darling!” cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying +upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped +both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all. I knew nothing +about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me: they had a +feeling that all would go right now. God is very good to you when your +children look to you like that. It makes one humble, not proud. I was not +worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a +father to Roland’s ghost,--which made me almost laugh, though I might +just as well have cried. It was the strangest mission that ever was +intrusted to mortal man. + +It was then I remembered suddenly the looks of the men when they turned +to take the brougham to the stables in the dark that morning. They had +not liked it, and the horses had not liked it. I remembered that even in +my anxiety about Roland I had heard them tearing along the avenue back to +the stables, and had made a memorandum mentally that I must speak of it. +It seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to go to the stables +now and make a few inquiries. It is impossible to fathom the minds of +rustics; there might be some devilry of practical joking, for anything I +knew; or they might have some interest in getting up a bad reputation for +the Brentwood avenue. It was getting dark by the time I went out, and +nobody who knows the country will need to be told how black is the +darkness of a November night under high laurel-bushes and yew-trees. I +walked into the heart of the shrubberies two or three times, not seeing a +step before me, till I came out upon the broader carriage-road, where the +trees opened a little, and there was a faint gray glimmer of sky visible, +under which the great limes and elms stood darkling like ghosts; but it +grew black again as I approached the corner where the ruins lay. Both +eyes and ears were on the alert, as may be supposed; but I could see +nothing in the absolute gloom, and, so far as I can recollect, I heard +nothing. Nevertheless there came a strong impression upon me that +somebody was there. It is a sensation which most people have felt. I have +seen when it has been strong enough to awake me out of sleep, the sense +of some one looking at me. I suppose my imagination had been affected by +Roland’s story; and the mystery of the darkness is always full of +suggestions. I stamped my feet violently on the gravel to rouse myself, +and called out sharply, “Who’s there?” Nobody answered, nor did I expect +any one to answer, but the impression had been made. I was so foolish +that I did not like to look back, but went sideways, keeping an eye on +the gloom behind. It was with great relief that I spied the light in the +stables, making a sort of oasis in the darkness. I walked very quickly +into the midst of that lighted and cheerful place, and thought the clank +of the groom’s pail one of the pleasantest sounds I had ever heard. The +coachman was the head of this little colony, and it was to his house I +went to pursue my investigations. He was a native of the district, and +had taken care of the place in the absence of the family for years; it +was impossible but that he must know everything that was going on, and +all the traditions of the place. The men, I could see, eyed me anxiously +when I thus appeared at such an hour among them, and followed me with +their eyes to Jarvis’s house, where he lived alone with his old wife, +their children being all married and out in the world. Mrs. Jarvis met me +with anxious questions. How was the poor young gentleman? But the others +knew, I could see by their faces, that not even this was the foremost +thing in my mind. + + * * * * * + +“Noises?--ou ay, there’ll be noises,--the wind in the trees, and the +water soughing down the glen. As for tramps, Cornel, no, there’s little +o’ that kind o’ cattle about here; and Merran at the gate’s a careful +body.” Jarvis moved about with some embarrassment from one leg to +another as he spoke. He kept in the shade, and did not look at me more +than he could help. Evidently his mind was perturbed, and he had +reasons for keeping his own counsel. His wife sat by, giving him a quick +look now and then, but saying nothing. The kitchen was very snug and +warm and bright,--as different as could be from the chill and mystery of +the night outside. + +“I think you are trifling with me, Jarvis,” I said. + +“Triflin’, Cornel? No me. What would I trifle for? If the deevil himsel +was in the auld hoose, I have no interest in ’t one way or another--” + +“Sandy, hold your peace!” cried his wife imperatively. + +“And what am I to hold my peace for, wi’ the Cornel standing there asking +a’ thae questions? I’m saying, if the deevil himsel--” + +“And I’m telling ye hold your peace!” cried the woman, in great +excitement. “Dark November weather and lang nichts, and us that ken a’ we +ken. How daur ye name--a name that shouldna be spoken?” She threw down +her stocking and got up, also in great agitation. “I tellt ye you never +could keep it. It’s no a thing that will hide, and the haill toun kens as +weel as you or me. Tell the Cornel straight out--or see, I’ll do it. I +dinna hold wi’ your secrets, and a secret that the haill toun kens!” She +snapped her fingers with an air of large disdain. As for Jarvis, ruddy +and big as he was, he shrank to nothing before this decided woman. He +repeated to her two or three times her own adjuration, “Hold your peace!” +then, suddenly changing his tone, cried out, “Tell him then, confound +ye! I’ll wash my hands o’t. If a’ the ghosts in Scotland were in the auld +hoose, is that ony concern o’ mine?” + +After this I elicited without much difficulty the whole story. In the +opinion of the Jarvises, and of everybody about, the certainty that the +place was haunted was beyond all doubt. As Sandy and his wife warmed to +the tale, one tripping up another in their eagerness to tell everything, +it gradually developed as distinct a superstition as I ever heard, and +not without poetry and pathos. How long it was since the voice had been +heard first, nobody could tell with certainty. Jarvis’s opinion was that +his father, who had been coachman at Brentwood before him, had never +heard anything about it, and that the whole thing had arisen within the +last ten years, since the complete dismantling of the old house; which +was a wonderfully modern date for a tale so well authenticated. According +to these witnesses, and to several whom I questioned afterwards, and who +were all in perfect agreement, it was only in the months of November and +December that “the visitation” occurred. During these months, the darkest +of the year, scarcely a night passed without the recurrence of these +inexplicable cries. Nothing, it was said, had ever been seen,--at least, +nothing that could be identified. Some people, bolder or more imaginative +than the others, had seen the darkness moving, Mrs. Jarvis said, with +unconscious poetry. It began when night fell, and continued, at +intervals, till day broke. Very often it was only all inarticulate cry +and moaning, but sometimes the words which had taken possession of my +poor boy’s fancy had been distinctly audible,--“Oh, mother, let me in!” +The Jarvises were not aware that there had ever been any investigation +into it. The estate of Brentwood had lapsed into the hands of a distant +branch of the family, who had lived but little there; and of the many +people who had taken it, as I had done, few had remained through two +Decembers. And nobody had taken the trouble to make a very close +examination into the facts. “No, no,” Jarvis said, shaking his head, +“No, no, Cornel. Wha wad set themsels up for a laughin’-stock to a’ the +country-side, making a wark about a ghost? Naebody believes in ghosts. It +bid to be the wind in the trees, the last gentleman said, or some effec’ +o’ the water wrastlin’ among the rocks. He said it was a’ quite easy +explained; but he gave up the hoose. And when you cam, Cornel, we were +awfu’ anxious you should never hear. What for should I have spoiled the +bargain and hairmed the property for no-thing?” + +“Do you call my child’s life nothing?” I said in the trouble of the +moment, unable to restrain myself. “And instead of telling this all to +me, you have told it to him,--to a delicate boy, a child unable to sift +evidence or judge for himself, a tender-hearted young creature--” + +I was walking about the room with an anger all the hotter that I felt it +to be most likely quite unjust. My heart was full of bitterness against +the stolid retainers of a family who were content to risk other people’s +children and comfort rather than let a house be empty. If I had been +warned I might have taken precautions, or left the place, or sent Roland +away, a hundred things which now I could not do; and here I was with my +boy in a brain-fever, and his life, the most precious life on earth, +hanging in the balance, dependent on whether or not I could get to the +reason of a commonplace ghost-story! I paced about in high wrath, not +seeing what I was to do; for to take Roland away, even if he were able to +travel, would not settle his agitated mind; and I feared even that a +scientific explanation of refracted sound or reverberation, or any other +of the easy certainties with which we elder men are silenced, would have +very little effect upon the boy. + +“Cornel,” said Jarvis solemnly, “and _she’ll_ bear me witness,--the young +gentleman never heard a word from me--no, nor from either groom or +gardener; I’ll gie ye my word for that. In the first place, he’s no a lad +that invites ye to talk. There are some that are, and some that arena. +Some will draw ye on, till ye’ve tellt them a’ the clatter of the toun, +and a’ ye ken, and whiles mair. But Maister Roland, his mind’s fu’ of his +books. He’s aye civil and kind, and a fine lad; but no that sort. And ye +see it’s for a’ our interest, Cornel, that you should stay at Brentwood. +I took it upon me mysel to pass the word,--‘No a syllable to Maister +Roland, nor to the young leddies--no a syllable.’ The women-servants, +that have little reason to be out at night, ken little or nothing about +it. And some think it grand to have a ghost so long as they’re no in the +way of coming across it. If you had been tellt the story to begin with, +maybe ye would have thought so yourself.” + +This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my +perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all +the family would have considered the possession of a ghost a distinct +advantage. It is the fashion of the times. We never think what a risk it +is to play with young imaginations, but cry out, in the fashionable +jargon, “A ghost!--nothing else was wanted to make it perfect.” I should +not have been above this myself. I should have smiled, of course, at the +idea of the ghost at all, but then to feel that it was mine would have +pleased my vanity. Oh, yes, I claim no exemption. The girls would have +been delighted. I could fancy their eagerness, their interest, and +excitement. No; if we had been told, it would have done no good,--we +should have made the bargain all the more eagerly, the fools that we are. +“And there has been no attempt to investigate it,” I said, “to see what +it really is?” + +“Eh, Cornel,” said the coachman’s wife, “wha would investigate, as ye +call it, a thing that nobody believes in? Ye would be the laughin’-stock +of a’ the country-side, as my man says.” + +“But you believe in it,” I said, turning upon her hastily. The woman was +taken by surprise. She made a step backward out of my way. + +“Lord, Cornel, how ye frichten a body! Me!--there’s awfu’ strange things +in this world. An unlearned person doesna ken what to think. But the +minister and the gentry they just laugh in your face. Inquire into the +thing that is not! Na, na, we just let it be.” + +“Come with me, Jarvis,” I said hastily, “and we’ll make an attempt at +least. Say nothing to the men or to anybody. I’ll come back after dinner, +and we’ll make a serious attempt to see what it is, if it is anything. If +I hear it,--which I doubt,--you may be sure I shall never rest till I +make it out. Be ready for me about ten o’clock.” + +“Me, Cornel!” Jarvis said, in a faint voice. I had not been looking at +him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest +change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman. “Me, Cornel!” he +repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. His ruddy face hung in +flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half +extinguished in his throat. Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon +me in a deprecating, imbecile way. “There’s nothing I wouldna do to +pleasure ye, Cornel,” taking a step further back. “I’m sure _she_ kens +I’ve aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken +gentleman--” Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing +his hands. + +“Well?” I said. + +“But eh, sir!” he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, +“if ye’ll reflect that I am no used to my feet. With a horse atween my +legs, or the reins in my hand, I’m maybe nae worse than other men; but on +fit, Cornel--It’s no the--bogles--but I’ve been cavalry, ye see,” with a +little hoarse laugh, “a’ my life. To face a thing ye dinna understan’--on +your feet, Cornel.” + +“Well, sir, if _I_ do it,” said I tartly, “why shouldn’t you?” + +“Eh, Cornel, there’s an awfu’ difference. In the first place, ye tramp +about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires +me mair than a hunard miles’ drive; and then ye’re a gentleman, and do +your ain pleasure; and you’re no so auld as me; and it’s for your ain +bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then--” + +“He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it,” the woman said. + +“Will you come with me?” I said, turning to her. + +She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment. “Me!” with a +scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh. “I wouldna say but +what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer +with an auld silly woman at his heels?” + +The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it. +“I’m sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis,” I said. “I must find some +one else, I suppose.” + +Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short. My +butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed +to fear anything,--man or devil,--certainly not the former; and I felt +that I was losing time. The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me. +They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies. Outside, +the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit. I +don’t know if perhaps they had been listening,--at least standing as near +as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation. I waved my hand to +them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very +apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go. + +And it will be thought very strange, but it would be weak not to add, +that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged +to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy’s health, perhaps his +life, depended on the result of my inquiry,--I felt the most +unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity +was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I +daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and +attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I +had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in +me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began, +like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It +was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower, +loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so +solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we +were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the +path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with +a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The +contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a +little to myself. “Oh, it’s only the old gable,” I said aloud, with a +little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones +reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly. +What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in +the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been +shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly +it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again, +this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was +chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed +to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No, +not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,--a perfectly soft, +faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating. +Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear +myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and +emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in +the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had +an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,--something cold +creeping over me, up into my hair, and down to my feet, which refused to +move. I cried out, with a trembling voice, “Who is there?” as I had done +before; but there was no reply. + +I got home I don’t quite know how; but in my mind there was no longer +any indifference as to the thing, whatever it was, that haunted these +ruins. My scepticism disappeared like a mist. I was as firmly determined +that there was something as Roland was. I did not for a moment pretend +to myself that it was possible I could be deceived; there were movements +and noises which I understood all about,--cracklings of small branches +in the frost, and little rolls of gravel on the path, such as have a +very eerie sound sometimes, and perplex you with wonder as to who has +done it, _when there is no real mystery_; but I assure you all these +little movements of nature don’t affect you one bit _when there is +something_. I understood _them_. I did not understand the sigh. That was +not simple nature; there was meaning in it, feeling, the soul of a +creature invisible. This is the thing that human nature trembles at,--a +creature invisible, yet with sensations, feelings, a power somehow of +expressing itself. I had not the same sense of unwillingness to turn my +back upon the scene of the mystery which I had experienced in going to +the stables; but I almost ran home, impelled by eagerness to get +everything done that had to be done, in order to apply myself to finding +it out. Bagley was in the hall as usual when I went in. He was always +there in the afternoon, always with the appearance of perfect +occupation, yet, so far as I know, never doing anything. The door was +open, so that I hurried in without any pause, breathless; but the sight +of his calm regard, as he came to help me off with my overcoat, subdued +me in a moment. Anything out of the way, anything incomprehensible, +faded to nothing in the presence of Bagley. You saw and wondered how +_he_ was made: the parting of his hair, the tie of his white neckcloth, +the fit of his trousers, all perfect as works of art; but you could see +how they were done, which makes all the difference. I flung myself upon +him, so to speak, without waiting to note the extreme unlikeness of the +man to anything of the kind I meant. “Bagley,” I said, “I want you to +come out with me to-night to watch for--” + +“Poachers, Colonel?” he said, a gleam of pleasure running all over him. + +“No, Bagley; a great deal worse,” I cried. + +“Yes, Colonel; at what hour, sir?” the man said; but then I had not told +him what it was. + +It was ten o’clock when we set out. All was perfectly quiet indoors. My +wife was with Roland, who had been quite calm, she said, and who (though, +no doubt, the fever must run its course) had been better ever since I +came. I told Bagley to put on a thick greatcoat over his evening coat, +and did the same myself, with strong boots; for the soil was like a +sponge, or worse. Talking to him, I almost forgot what we were going to +do. It was darker even than it had been before, and Bagley kept very +close to me as we went along. I had a small lantern in my hand, which +gave us a partial guidance. We had come to the corner where the path +turns. On one side was the bowling-green, which the girls had taken +possession of for their croquet-ground,--a wonderful enclosure surrounded +by high hedges of holly, three hundred years old and more; on the other, +the ruins. Both were black as night; but before we got so far, there was +a little opening in which we could just discern the trees and the lighter +line of the road. I thought it best to pause there and take breath. +“Bagley,” I said, “there is something about these ruins I don’t +understand. It is there I am going. Keep your eyes open and your wits +about you. Be ready to pounce upon any stranger you see,--anything, man +or woman. Don’t hurt, but seize anything you see.” “Colonel,” said +Bagley, with a little tremor in his breath, “they do say there’s things +there--as is neither man nor woman.” There was no time for words. “Are +you game to follow me, my man? that’s the question,” I said. Bagley fell +in without a word, and saluted. I knew then I had nothing to fear. + +We went, so far as I could guess, exactly as I had come; when I heard +that sigh. The darkness, however, was so complete that all marks, as of +trees or paths, disappeared. One moment we felt our feet on the gravel, +another sinking noiselessly into the slippery grass, that was all. I had +shut up my lantern, not wishing to scare any one, whoever it might be. +Bagley followed, it seemed to me, exactly in my footsteps as I made my +way, as I supposed, towards the mass of the ruined house. We seemed to +take a long time groping along seeking this; the squash of the wet soil +under our feet was the only thing that marked our progress. After a while +I stood still to see, or rather feel, where we were. The darkness was +very still, but no stiller than is usual in a winter’s night. The sounds +I have mentioned--the crackling of twigs, the roll of a pebble, the sound +of some rustle in the dead leaves, or creeping creature on the +grass--were audible when you listened, all mysterious enough when your +mind is disengaged, but to me cheering now as signs of the livingness of +nature, even in the death of the frost. As we stood still there came up +from the trees in the glen the prolonged hoot of an owl. Bagley started +with alarm, being in a state of general nervousness, and not knowing what +he was afraid of. But to me the sound was encouraging and pleasant, being +so comprehensible. + +“An owl,” I said, under my breath. “Y--es, Colonel,” said Bagley, his +teeth chattering. We stood still about five minutes, while it broke into +the still brooding of the air, the sound widening out in circles, dying +upon the darkness. This sound, which is not a cheerful one, made me +almost gay. It was natural, and relieved the tension of the mind. I moved +on with new courage, my nervous excitement calming down. + +When all at once, quite suddenly, close to us, at our feet, there broke +out a cry. I made a spring backwards in the first moment of surprise and +horror, and in doing so came sharply against the same rough masonry and +brambles that had struck me before. This new sound came upwards from the +ground,--a low, moaning, wailing voice, full of suffering and pain. The +contrast between it and the hoot of the owl was indescribable,--the one +with a wholesome wildness and naturalness that hurt nobody; the other, a +sound that made one’s blood curdle, full of human misery. With a great +deal of fumbling,--for in spite of everything I could do to keep up my +courage my hands shook,--I managed to remove the slide of my lantern. The +light leaped out like something living, and made the place visible in a +moment. We were what would have been inside the ruined building had +anything remained but the gable-wall which I have described. It was close +to us, the vacant door-way in it going out straight into the blackness +outside. The light showed the bit of wall, the ivy glistening upon it in +clouds of dark green, the bramble-branches waving, and below, the open +door,--a door that led to nothing. It was from this the voice came which +died out just as the light flashed upon this strange scene. There was a +moment’s silence, and then it broke forth again. The sound was so near, +so penetrating, so pitiful, that, in the nervous start I gave, the light +fell out of my hand. As I groped for it in the dark my hand was clutched +by Bagley, who, I think, must have dropped upon his knees; but I was too +much perturbed myself to think much of this. He clutched at me in the +confusion of his terror, forgetting all his usual decorum. “For God’s +sake, what is it, sir?” he gasped. If I yielded, there was evidently an +end of both of us. “I can’t tell,” I said, “any more than you; that’s +what we’ve got to find out. Up, man, up!” I pulled him to his feet. “Will +you go round and examine the other side, or will you stay here with the +lantern?” Bagley gasped at me with a face of horror. “Can’t we stay +together, Colonel?” he said; his knees were trembling under him. I pushed +him against the corner of the wall, and put the light into his hands. +“Stand fast till I come back; shake yourself together, man; let nothing +pass you,” I said. The voice was within two or three feet of us; of that +there could be no doubt. + +I went myself to the other side of the wall, keeping close to it. The +light shook in Bagley’s hand, but, tremulous though it was, shone out +through the vacant door, one oblong block of light marking all the +crumbling corners and hanging masses of foliage. Was that something dark +huddled in a heap by the side of it? I pushed forward across the light in +the door-way, and fell upon it with my hands; but it was only a +juniper-bush growing close against the wall. Meanwhile, the sight of my +figure crossing the door-way had brought Bagley’s nervous excitement to a +height: he flew at me, gripping my shoulder. “I’ve got him, Colonel! +I’ve got him!” he cried, with a voice of sudden exultation. He thought it +was a man, and was at once relieved. But at that moment the voice burst +forth again between us, at our feet,--more close to us than any separate +being could be. He dropped off from me, and fell against the wall, his +jaw dropping as if he were dying. I suppose, at the same moment, he saw +that it was me whom he had clutched. I, for my part, had scarcely more +command of myself. I snatched the light out of his hand, and flashed it +all about me wildly. Nothing,--the juniper-bush which I thought I had +never seen before, the heavy growth of the glistening ivy, the brambles +waving. It was close to my ears now, crying, crying, pleading as if for +life. Either I heard the same words Roland had heard, or else, in my +excitement, his imagination got possession of mine. The voice went on, +growing into distinct articulation, but wavering about, now from one +point, now from another, as if the owner of it were moving slowly back +and forward. “Mother! mother!” and then an outburst of wailing. As my +mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one’s mind gets accustomed to +anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was +pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes--but that must have +been excitement--I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then +another burst, “Oh, mother! mother!” All this close, close to the space +where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a +creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way, +which no one could either shut or open more. + +“Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?” I cried, +stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes +glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to +answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious +imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how +long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting +hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a +scene any one could understand,--a something shut out, restlessly +wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself +down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. “Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!” Every +word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried +to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do +something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially +overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound +of sobs and moaning. I cried out, “In the name of God, who are you?” with +a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane, +seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I +did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest +there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I +had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could +bear. But there was no answer; the moaning went on, and then, as if it +had been real, the voice rose a little higher again, the words +recommenced, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with an +expression that was heart-breaking to hear. + +_As if it had been real_! What do I mean by that? I suppose I got less +alarmed as the thing went on. I began to recover the use of my senses,--I +seemed to explain it all to myself by saying that this had once happened, +that it was a recollection of a real scene. Why there should have seemed +something quite satisfactory and composing in this explanation I cannot +tell, but so it was. I began to listen almost as if it had been a play, +forgetting Bagley, who, I almost think, had fainted, leaning against the +wall. I was startled out of this strange spectatorship that had fallen +upon me by the sudden rush of something which made my heart jump once +more, a large black figure in the door-way waving its arms. “Come in! +come in! come in!” it shouted out hoarsely at the top of a deep bass +voice, and then poor Bagley fell down senseless across the threshold. He +was less sophisticated than I,--he had not been able to bear it any +longer. I took him for something supernatural, as he took me, and it was +some time before I awoke to the necessities of the moment. I remembered +only after, that from the time I began to give my attention to the man, I +heard the other voice no more. It was some time before I brought him to. +It must have been a strange scene: the lantern making a luminous spot in +the darkness, the man’s white face lying on the black earth, I over him, +doing what I could for him, probably I should have been thought to be +murdering him had any one seen us. When at last I succeeded in pouring a +little brandy down his throat, he sat up and looked about him wildly. +“What’s up?” he said; then recognizing me, tried to struggle to his feet +with a faint “Beg your pardon, Colonel.” I got him home as best I could, +making him lean upon my arm. The great fellow was as weak as a child. +Fortunately he did not for some time remember what had happened. From the +time Bagley fell the voice had stopped, and all was still. + + * * * * * + +“You’ve got an epidemic in your house, Colonel,” Simson said to me next +morning. “What’s the meaning of it all? Here’s your butler raving about a +voice. This will never do, you know; and so far as I can make out, you +are in it too.” + +“Yes, I am in it, Doctor. I thought I had better speak to you. Of course +you are treating Roland all right, but the boy is not raving, he is as +sane as you or me. It’s all true.” + +“As sane as--I--or you. I never thought the boy insane. He’s got cerebral +excitement, fever. I don’t know what you’ve got. There’s something very +queer about the look of your eyes.” + +“Come,” said I, “you can’t put us all to bed, you know. You had better +listen and hear the symptoms in full.” + +The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but he listened to me patiently. He +did not believe a word of the story, that was clear; but he heard it all +from beginning to end. “My dear fellow,” he said, “the boy told me just +the same. It’s an epidemic. When one person falls a victim to this sort +of thing, it’s as safe as can be,--there’s always two or three.” + +“Then how do you account for it?” I said. + +“Oh, account for it!--that’s a different matter; there’s no accounting +for the freaks our brains are subject to. If it’s delusion, if it’s some +trick of the echoes or the winds,--some phonetic disturbance or other--” + +“Come with me to-night, and judge for yourself,” I said. + +Upon this he laughed aloud, then said, “That’s not such a bad idea; but +it would ruin me forever if it were known that John Simson was +ghost-hunting.” + +“There it is,” said I; “you dart down on us who are unlearned with your +phonetic disturbances, but you daren’t examine what the thing really is +for fear of being laughed at. That’s science!” + +“It’s not science,--it’s common-sense,” said the Doctor. “The thing has +delusion on the front of it. It is encouraging an unwholesome tendency +even to examine. What good could come of it? Even if I am convinced, I +shouldn’t believe.” + +“I should have said so yesterday; and I don’t want you to be convinced or +to believe,” said I. “If you prove it to be a delusion, I shall be very +much obliged to you for one. Come; somebody must go with me.” + +“You are cool,” said the Doctor. “You’ve disabled this poor fellow of +yours, and made him--on that point--a lunatic for life; and now you want +to disable me. But, for once, I’ll do it. To save appearance, if you’ll +give me a bed, I’ll come over after my last rounds.” + +It was agreed that I should meet him at the gate, and that we should +visit the scene of last night’s occurrences before we came to the house, +so that nobody might be the wiser. It was scarcely possible to hope that +the cause of Bagley’s sudden illness should not somehow steal into the +knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be +done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had +to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal +for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but +he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with +which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm. +“Father?” he said quietly. “Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to +it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any +conclusion--yet. I am neglecting nothing you said,” I cried. What I could +not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the +mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given +him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone +so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. “You must trust +me,” I said. “Yes, father. Father understands,” he said to himself, as if +to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about +the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought; +but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that +aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious +part of it all. + +That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and +I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming +experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without +thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a +coil of taper which he had ready for use. “There is nothing like light,” +he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a +sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we +went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken +occasionally by a bitter cry. “Perhaps that is your voice,” said the +Doctor; “I thought it must be something of the kind. That’s a poor brute +caught in some of these infernal traps of yours; you’ll find it among the +bushes somewhere.” I said nothing. I felt no particular fear, but a +triumphant satisfaction in what was to follow. I led him to the spot +where Bagley and I had stood on the previous night. All was silent as a +winter night could be,--so silent that we heard far off the sound of the +horses in the stables, the shutting of a window at the house. Simson +lighted his taper and went peering about, poking into all the corners. We +looked like two conspirators lying in wait for some unfortunate +traveller; but not a sound broke the quiet. The moaning had stopped +before we came up; a star or two shone over us in the sky, looking down +as if surprised at our strange proceedings. Dr. Simson did nothing but +utter subdued laughs under his breath. “I thought as much,” he said. “It +is just the same with tables and all other kinds of ghostly apparatus; a +sceptic’s presence stops everything. When I am present nothing ever comes +off. How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here? Oh, I don’t +complain; only when _you_ are satisfied, _I_ am--quite.” + +I will not deny that I was disappointed beyond measure by this result. It +made me look like a credulous fool. It gave the Doctor such a pull over +me as nothing else could. I should point all his morals for years to +come; and his materialism, his scepticism, would be increased beyond +endurance. “It seems, indeed,” I said, “that there is to be no--” +“Manifestation,” he said, laughing; “that is what all the mediums say. No +manifestations, in consequence of the presence of an unbeliever.” His +laugh sounded very uncomfortable to me in the silence; and it was now +near midnight. But that laugh seemed the signal; before it died away the +moaning we had heard before was resumed. It started from some distance +off, and came towards us, nearer and nearer, like some one walking along +and moaning to himself. There could be no idea now that it was a hare +caught in a trap. The approach was slow, like that of a weak person, with +little halts and pauses. We heard it coming along the grass straight +towards the vacant door-way. Simson had been a little startled by the +first sound. He said hastily, “That child has no business to be out so +late.” But he felt, as well as I, that this was no child’s voice. As it +came nearer, he grew silent, and, going to the door-way with his taper, +stood looking out towards the sound. The taper being unprotected blew +about in the night air, though there was scarcely any wind. I threw the +light of my lantern steady and white across the same space. It was in a +blaze of light in the midst of the blackness. A little icy thrill had +gone over me at the first sound, but as it came close, I confess that my +only feeling was satisfaction. The scoffer could scoff no more. The light +touched his own face, and showed a very perplexed countenance. If he was +afraid, he concealed it with great success, but he was perplexed. And +then all that had happened on the previous night was enacted once more. +It fell strangely upon me with a sense of repetition. Every cry, every +sob seemed the same as before. I listened almost without any emotion at +all in my own person, thinking of its effect upon Simson. He maintained a +very bold front, on the whole. All that coming and going of the voice +was, if our ears could be trusted, exactly in front of the vacant, blank +door-way, blazing full of light, which caught and shone in the glistening +leaves of the great hollies at a little distance. Not a rabbit could have +crossed the turf without being seen; but there was nothing. After a time, +Simson, with a certain caution and bodily reluctance, as it seemed to me, +went out with his roll of taper into this space. His figure showed +against the holly in full outline. Just at this moment the voice sank, as +was its custom, and seemed to fling itself down at the door. Simson +recoiled violently, as if some one had come up against him, then turned, +and held his taper low, as if examining something. “Do you see anybody?” +I cried in a whisper, feeling the chill of nervous panic steal over me at +this action. “It’s nothing but a--confounded juniper-bush,” he said. This +I knew very well to be nonsense, for the juniper-bush was on the other +side. He went about after this round and round, poking his taper +everywhere, then returned to me on the inner side of the wall. He scoffed +no longer; his face was contracted and pale. “How long does this go on?” +he whispered to me, like a man who does not wish to interrupt some one +who is speaking. I had become too much perturbed myself to remark whether +the successions and changes of the voice were the same as last night. It +suddenly went out in the air almost as he was speaking, with a soft +reiterated sob dying away. If there had been anything to be seen, I +should have said that the person was at that moment crouching on the +ground close to the door. + +We walked home very silent afterwards. It was only when we were in sight +of the house that I said, “What do you think of it?” “I can’t tell what +to think of it,” he said quickly. He took--though he was a very temperate +man--not the claret I was going to offer him, but some brandy from the +tray, and swallowed it almost undiluted. “Mind you, I don’t believe a +word of it,” he said, when he had lighted his candle; “but I can’t tell +what to think,” he turned round to add, when he was half-way upstairs. + +All of this, however, did me no good with the solution of my problem. I +was to help this weeping, sobbing thing, which was already to me as +distinct a personality as anything I knew; or what should I say to +Roland? It was on my heart that my boy would die if I could not find some +way of helping this creature. You may be surprised that I should speak of +it in this way. I did not know if it was man or woman; but I no more +doubted that it was a soul in pain than I doubted my own being; and it +was my business to soothe this pain,--to deliver it, if that was +possible. Was ever such a task given to an anxious father trembling for +his only boy? I felt in my heart, fantastic as it may appear, that I must +fulfill this somehow, or part with my child; and you may conceive that +rather than do that I was ready to die. But even my dying would not have +advanced me, unless by bringing me into the same world with that seeker +at the door. + + * * * * * + +Next morning Simson was out before breakfast, and came in with evident +signs of the damp grass on his boots, and a look of worry and weariness, +which did not say much for the night he had passed. He improved a little +after breakfast, and visited his two patients,--for Bagley was still an +invalid. I went out with him on his way to the train, to hear what he +had to say about the boy. “He is going on very well,” he said; “there are +no complications as yet. But mind you, that’s not a boy to be trifled +with, Mortimer. Not a word to him about last night.” I had to tell him +then of my last interview with Roland, and of the impossible demand he +had made upon me, by which, though he tried to laugh, he was much +discomposed, as I could see. “We must just perjure ourselves all round,” +he said, “and swear you exorcised it;” but the man was too kind-hearted +to be satisfied with that. “It’s frightfully serious for you, Mortimer. I +can’t laugh as I should like to. I wish I saw a way out of it, for your +sake. By the way,” he added shortly, “didn’t you notice that juniper-bush +on the left-hand side?” “There was one on the right hand of the door. I +noticed you made that mistake last night.” “Mistake!” he cried, with a +curious low laugh, pulling up the collar of his coat as though he felt +the cold,--“there’s no juniper there this morning, left or right. Just go +and see.” As he stepped into the train a few minutes after, he looked +back upon me and beckoned me for a parting word. “I’m coming back +to-night,” he said. + +I don’t think I had any feeling about this as I turned away from that +common bustle of the railway which made my private preoccupations feel so +strangely out of date. There had been a distinct satisfaction in my mind +before, that his scepticism had been so entirely defeated. But the more +serious part of the matter pressed upon me now. I went straight from the +railway to the manse, which stood on a little plateau on the side of the +river opposite to the woods of Brentwood. The minister was one of a class +which is not so common in Scotland as it used to be. He was a man of good +family, well educated in the Scotch way, strong in philosophy, not so +strong in Greek, strongest of all in experience,--a man who had “come +across,” in the course of his life, most people of note that had ever +been in Scotland, and who was said to be very sound in doctrine, without +infringing the toleration with which old men, who are good men, are +generally endowed. He was old-fashioned; perhaps he did not think so much +about the troublous problems of theology as many of the young men, nor +ask himself any hard questions about the Confession of Faith; but he +understood human nature, which is perhaps better. He received me with a +cordial welcome. + +“Come away, Colonel Mortimer,” he said; “I’m all the more glad to see +you, that I feel it’s a good sign for the boy. He’s doing well?--God be +praised,--and the Lord bless him and keep him. He has many a poor body’s +prayers, and that can do nobody harm.” + +“He will need them all, Dr. Moncrieff,” I said, “and your counsel too.” +And I told him the story,--more than I had told Simson. The old clergyman +listened to me with many suppressed exclamations, and at the end the +water stood in his eyes. + +“That’s just beautiful,” he said. “I do not mind to have heard anything +like it; it’s as fine as Burns when he wished deliverance to one--that is +prayed for in no kirk. Ay, ay! so he would have you console the poor lost +spirit? God bless the boy! There’s something more than common in that, +Colonel Mortimer. And also the faith of him in his father!--I would like +to put that into a sermon.” Then the old gentleman gave me an alarmed +look, and said, “No, no; I was not meaning a sermon; but I must write it +down for the ‘Children’s Record.’” I saw the thought that passed through +his mind. Either he thought, or he feared I would think, of a funeral +sermon. You may believe this did not make me more cheerful. + +I can scarcely say that Dr. Moncrieff gave me any advice. How could any +one advise on such a subject? But he said, “I think I’ll come too. I’m an +old man; I’m less liable to be frightened than those that are further off +the world unseen. It behooves me to think of my own journey there. I’ve +no cut-and-dry beliefs on the subject. I’ll come too; and maybe at the +moment the Lord will put into our heads what to do.” + +This gave me a little comfort,--more than Simson had given me. To be +clear about the cause of it was not my grand desire. It was another thing +that was in my mind,--my boy. As for the poor soul at the open door, I +had no more doubt, as I have said, of its existence than I had of my own. +It was no ghost to me. I knew the creature, and it was in trouble. That +was my feeling about it, as it was Roland’s. To hear it first was a great +shock to my nerves, but not now; a man will get accustomed to anything. +But to do something for it was the great problem; how was I to be +serviceable to a being that was invisible, that was mortal no longer? +“Maybe at the moment the Lord will put it into our heads.” This is very +old-fashioned phraseology, and a week before, most likely, I should have +smiled (though always with kindness) at Dr. Moncrieff’s credulity; but +there was a great comfort, whether rational or otherwise I cannot say, in +the mere sound of the words. + +The road to the station and the village lay through the glen, not by the +ruins; but though the sunshine and the fresh air, and the beauty of the +trees, and the sound of the water were all very soothing to the spirits, +my mind was so full of my own subject that I could not refrain from +turning to the right hand as I got to the top of the glen, and going +straight to the place which I may call the scene of all my thoughts. It +was lying full in the sunshine, like all the rest of the world. The +ruined gable looked due east, and in the present aspect of the sun the +light streamed down through the door-way as our lantern had done, +throwing a flood of light upon the damp grass beyond. There was a strange +suggestion in the open door,--so futile, a kind of emblem of vanity: all +free around, so that you could go where you pleased, and yet that +semblance of an enclosure,--that way of entrance, unnecessary, leading to +nothing. And why any creature should pray and weep to get in--to nothing, +or be kept out--by nothing, you could not dwell upon it, or it made your +brain go round. I remembered, however, what Simson said about the +juniper, with a little smile on my own mind as to the inaccuracy of +recollection which even a scientific man will be guilty of. I could see +now the light of my lantern gleaming upon the wet glistening surface of +the spiky leaves at the right hand,--and he ready to go to the stake for +it that it was the left! I went round to make sure. And then I saw what +he had said. Right or left there was no juniper at all! I was confounded +by this, though it was entirely a matter of detail nothing at all,--a +bush of brambles waving, the grass growing up to the very walls. But +after all, though it gave me a shock for a moment, what did that matter? +There were marks as if a number of footsteps had been up and down in +front of the door, but these might have been our steps; and all was +bright and peaceful and still. I poked about the other ruin--the larger +ruins of the old house--for some time, as I had done before. There were +marks upon the grass here and there--I could not call them +footsteps--all about; but that told for nothing one way or another. I had +examined the ruined rooms closely the first day. They were half filled up +with soil and _debris_, withered brackens and bramble,--no refuge for any +one there. It vexed me that Jarvis should see me coming from that spot +when he came up to me for his orders. I don’t know whether my nocturnal +expeditions had got wind among the servants, but there was a significant +look in his face. Something in it I felt was like my own sensation when +Simson in the midst of his scepticism was struck dumb. Jarvis felt +satisfied that his veracity had been put beyond question. I never spoke +to a servant of mine in such a peremptory tone before. I sent him away +“with a flea in his lug,” as the man described it afterwards. +Interference of any kind was intolerable to me at such a moment. + +But what was strangest of all was, that I could not face Roland. I did +not go up to his room, as I would have naturally done, at once. This the +girls could not understand. They saw there was some mystery in it. +“Mother has gone to lie down,” Agatha said; “he has had such a good +night.” “But he wants you so, papa!” cried little Jeanie, always with her +two arms embracing mine in a pretty way she had. I was obliged to go at +last, but what could I say? I could only kiss him, and tell him to keep +still,--that I was doing all I could. There is something mystical about +the patience of a child. “It will come all right, won’t it, father?” he +said. “God grant it may! I hope so, Roland.” “Oh, yes, it will come all +right.” Perhaps he understood that in the midst of my anxiety I could not +stay with him as I should have done otherwise. But the girls were more +surprised than it is possible to describe. They looked at me with +wondering eyes. “If I were ill, papa, and you only stayed with me a +moment, I should break my heart,” said Agatha. But the boy had a +sympathetic feeling. He knew that of my own will I would not have done +it. I shut myself up in the library, where I could not rest, but kept +pacing up and down like a caged beast. What could I do? and if I could do +nothing, what would become of my boy? These were the questions that, +without ceasing, pursued each other through my mind. + +Simson came out to dinner, and when the house was all still, and most of +the servants in bed, we went out and met Dr. Moncrieff, as we had +appointed, at the head of the glen. Simson, for his part, was disposed to +scoff at the Doctor. “If there are to be any spells, you know, I’ll cut +the whole concern,” he said. I did not make him any reply. I had not +invited him; he could go or come as he pleased. He was very talkative, +far more so than suited my humor, as we went on. “One thing is certain, +you know; there must be some human agency,” he said. “It is all bosh +about apparitions. I never have investigated the laws of sound to any +great extent, and there’s a great deal in ventriloquism that we don’t +know much about.” “If it’s the same to you,” I said, “I wish you’d keep +all that to yourself, Simson. It doesn’t suit my state of mind.” “Oh, I +hope I know how to respect idiosyncrasy,” he said. The very tone of his +voice irritated me beyond measure. These scientific fellows, I wonder +people put up with them as they do, when you have no mind for their +cold-blooded confidence. Dr. Moncrieff met us about eleven o’clock, the +same time as on the previous night. He was a large man, with a venerable +countenance and white hair,--old, but in full vigor, and thinking less +of a cold night walk than many a younger man. He had his lantern, as I +had. We were fully provided with means of lighting the place, and we were +all of us resolute men. We had a rapid consultation as we went up, and +the result was that we divided to different posts. Dr. Moncrieff remained +inside the wall--if you can call that inside where there was no wall but +one. Simson placed himself on the side next the ruins, so as to intercept +any communication with the old house, which was what his mind was fixed +upon. I was posted on the other side. To say that nothing could come near +without being seen was self-evident. It had been so also on the previous +night. Now, with our three lights in the midst of the darkness, the whole +place seemed illuminated. Dr. Moncrieff’s lantern, which was a large one, +without any means of shutting up,--an old-fashioned lantern with a +pierced and ornamental top,--shone steadily, the rays shooting out of it +upward into the gloom. He placed it on the grass, where the middle of the +room, if this had been a room, would have been. The usual effect of the +light streaming out of the door-way was prevented by the illumination +which Simson and I on either side supplied. With these differences, +everything seemed as on the previous night. + +And what occurred was exactly the same, with the same air of repetition, +point for point, as I had formerly remarked. I declare that it seemed to +me as if I were pushed against, put aside, by the owner of the voice as +he paced up and down in his trouble,--though these are perfectly futile +words, seeing that the stream of light from my lantern, and that from +Simson’s taper, lay broad and clear, without a shadow, without the +smallest break, across the entire breadth of the grass. I had ceased even +to be alarmed, for my part. My heart was rent with pity and +trouble,--pity for the poor suffering human creature that moaned and +pleaded so, and trouble for myself and my boy. God! if I could not find +any help,--and what help could I find?--Roland would die. + +We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I +knew, by experience, it would be. Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was +quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places. +My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice. I was +used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first. But just +as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there +suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, +and my heart into my mouth. It was a voice inside the wall,--the +minister’s well-known voice. I would have been prepared for it in any +kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard. It came out +with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance. “Willie, +Willie! Oh, God preserve us! is it you?” + +These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the +invisible creature had ceased to have. I thought the old man, whom I +had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror. I made a dash +round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the +thought. He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague +and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet. I +lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward. He was very +pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted +lips. He neither saw nor heard me. We that had gone through this +experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little +strength to bear it. But he was not even aware that I was there. His +whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness. He held out his +hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear. He +went on speaking all the time. “Willie, if it is you,--and it’s you, if +it is not a delusion of Satan,--Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting +them that know you not? Why came ye not to me?” + +He seemed to wait for an answer. When his voice ceased, his countenance, +every line moving, continued to speak. Simson gave me another terrible +shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much +awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without +seeing Simson, speaking to some one else. His voice took a tone of +expostulation:-- + +“Is this right to come here? Your mother’s gone with your name on her +lips. Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad? Do ye +think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature? No!--I +forbid ye! I forbid ye!” cried the old man. The sobbing voice had begun +to resume its cries. He made a step forward, calling out the last words +in a voice of command. “I forbid ye! Cry out no more to man. Go home, ye +wandering spirit! go home! Do you hear me?--me that christened ye, that +have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!” Here +the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness. “And her too, poor +woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon. She’s not here. You’ll find +her with the Lord. Go there and seek her, not here. Do you hear me, lad? +go after her there. He’ll let you in, though it’s late. Man, take heart! +if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven’s gate, and not +your poor mother’s ruined door.” + +He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had +done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, +but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled. Then the +minister spoke again, “Are you hearing me, Will? Oh, laddie, you’ve liked +the beggarly elements all your days. Be done with them now. Go home to +the Father--the Father! Are you hearing me?” Here the old man sank down +upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble +in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness. I resisted +as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon +my knees. Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression +in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes +wild, staring. It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and +wonder, that we were praying. All the time the voice, with a low arrested +sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought. + +“Lord,” the minister said,--“Lord, take him into Thy everlasting +habitations. The mother he cries to is with Thee. Who can open to him but +Thee? Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee? +Lord, let that woman there draw him inower! Let her draw him inower!” + +I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly +within the door. The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I +felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the +ground,--for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my +foolishness I thought. Simson held out his hand to me to help me up. He +was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost +inarticulate. “It’s gone,” he said, stammering,--“it’s gone!” We leaned +upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the +whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and +yet as long as I live I will never forget it,--the shining of the +strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all +the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and +uplifted hands. A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us. +By intervals a single syllable, “Lord! Lord!” came from the old +minister’s lips. He saw none of us, nor thought of us. I never knew how +long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our +lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did. But at last he +rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his +arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and +solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,--to what? to the silent +earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but +spectators gasping an Amen! + +It seemed to me that it must be the middle of the night, as we all walked +back. It was in reality very late. Dr. Moncrieff put his arm into mine. +He walked slowly, with an air of exhaustion. It was as if we were coming +from a death-bed. Something hushed and solemnized the very air. There was +that sense of relief in it which there always is at the end of a +death-struggle. And nature, persistent, never daunted, came back in all +of us, as we returned into the ways of life. We said nothing to each +other, indeed, for a time; but when we got clear of the trees and +reached the opening near the house, where we could see the sky, Dr. +Moncrieff himself was the first to speak. “I must be going,” he said; +“it’s very late, I’m afraid. I will go down the glen, as I came.” + +“But not alone. I am going with you, Doctor.” + +“Well, I will not oppose it. I am an old man, and agitation wearies more +than work. Yes; I’ll be thankful of your arm. To-night, Colonel, you’ve +done me more good turns than one.” + +I pressed his hand on my arm, not feeling able to speak. But Simson, +who turned with us, and who had gone along all this time with his taper +flaring, in entire unconsciousness, came to himself, apparently at the +sound of our voices, and put out that wild little torch with a quick +movement, as if of shame. “Let me carry your lantern,” he said; “it is +heavy.” He recovered with a spring; and in a moment, from the +awe-stricken spectator he had been, became himself, sceptical and +cynical. “I should like to ask you a question,” he said. “Do you +believe in Purgatory, Doctor? It’s not in the tenets of the Church, so +far as I know.” + +“Sir,” said Dr. Moncrieff, “an old man like me is sometimes not very +sure what he believes. There is just one thing I am certain of--and that +is the loving-kindness of God.” + +“But I thought that was in this life. I am no theologian--” + +“Sir,” said the old man again, with a tremor in him which I could feel +going over all his frame, “if I saw a friend of mine within the gates of +hell, I would not despair but his Father would take him by the hand +still, if he cried like _you_.” + +“I allow it is very strange, very strange. I cannot see through it. That +there must be human agency, I feel sure. Doctor, what made you decide +upon the person and the name?” + +The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show +if he were asked how he recognized his brother. “Tuts!” he said, in +familiar speech; then more solemnly, “How should I not recognize a person +that I know better--far better--than I know you?” + +“Then you saw the man?” + +Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little +impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went +on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which +were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very +still,--not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches, +which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending. +When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,--about the height +of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his +own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation, +waiting for him. “Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?” +she cried. + +“Far from that--better. God bless him!” Dr. Moncrieff said. + +I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have +pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent, +by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many +nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly +gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I +have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It +was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace +and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a +sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping, +satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we +found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and +gave me a smile: “I think he is a great deal better; but you are very +late,” she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the +Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own +color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy, +half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the +interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his +forehead, which was moist and cool. “All is well, Roland,” I said. He +looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his +cheek upon it, and so went to sleep. + + * * * * * + +For some nights after, I watched among the ruins, spending all the dark +hours up to midnight patrolling about the bit of wall which was +associated with so many emotions; but I heard nothing, and saw nothing +beyond the quiet course of nature; nor, so far as I am aware, has +anything been heard again. Dr. Moncrieff gave me the history of the +youth, whom he never hesitated to name. I did not ask, as Simson did, how +he recognized him. He had been a prodigal,--weak, foolish, easily imposed +upon, and “led away,” as people say. All that we had heard had passed +actually in life, the Doctor said. The young man had come home thus a day +or two after his mother died,--who was no more than the housekeeper in +the old house,--and distracted with the news, had thrown himself down at +the door and called upon her to let him in. The old man could scarcely +speak of it for tears. To me it seemed as if--Heaven help us, how little +do we know about anything!--a scene like that might impress itself +somehow upon the hidden heart of nature. I do not pretend to know how, +but the repetition had struck me at the time as, in its terrible +strangeness and incomprehensibility, almost mechanical,--as if the unseen +actor could not exceed or vary, but was bound to re-enact the whole. One +thing that struck me, however, greatly, was the likeness between the old +minister and my boy in the manner of regarding these strange phenomena. +Dr. Moncrieff was not terrified, as I had been myself, and all the rest +of us. It was no “ghost,” as I fear we all vulgarly considered it, to +him,--but a poor creature whom he knew under these conditions, just as +he had known him in the flesh, having no doubt of his identity. And to +Roland it was the same. This spirit in pain,--if it was a spirit,--this +voice out of the unseen,--was a poor fellow-creature in misery, to be +succored and helped out of his trouble, to my boy. He spoke to me quite +frankly about it when he got better. “I knew father would find out some +way,” he said. And this was when he was strong and well, and all idea +that he would turn hysterical or become a seer of visions had happily +passed away. + + * * * * * + +I must add one curious fact, which does not seem to me to have any +relation to the above, but which Simson made great use of, as the human +agency which he was determined to find somehow. We had examined the ruins +very closely at the time of these occurrences; but afterwards, when all +was over, as we went casually about them one Sunday afternoon in the +idleness of that unemployed day, Simson with his stick penetrated an old +window which had been entirely blocked up with fallen soil. He jumped +down into it in great excitement, and called me to follow. There we found +a little hole,--for it was more a hole than a room,--entirely hidden +under the ivy and ruins, in which there was a quantity of straw laid in a +corner, as if some one had made a bed there, and some remains of crusts +about the floor. Some one had lodged there, and not very long before, he +made out; and that this unknown being was the author of all the +mysterious sounds we heard he is convinced. “I told you it was human +agency,” he said triumphantly. He forgets, I suppose, how he and I stood +with our lights, seeing nothing, while the space between us was audibly +traversed by something that could speak, and sob, and suffer. There is no +argument with men of this kind. He is ready to get up a laugh against me +on this slender ground. “I was puzzled myself,--I could not make it +out,--but I always felt convinced human agency was at the bottom of it. +And here it is,--and a clever fellow he must have been,” the Doctor says. + +Bagley left my service as soon as he got well. He assured me it was no +want of respect, but he could not stand “them kind of things;” and the +man was so shaken and ghastly that I was glad to give him a present and +let him go. For my own part, I made a point of staying out the +time--two years--for which I had taken Brentwood; but I did not renew +my tenancy. By that time we had settled, and found for ourselves a +pleasant home of our own. + +I must add, that when the Doctor defies me, I can always bring back +gravity to his countenance, and a pause in his railing, when I remind him +of the juniper-bush. To me that was a matter of little importance. I +could believe I was mistaken. I did not care about it one way or other; +but on his mind the effect was different. The miserable voice, the spirit +in pain, he could think of as the result of ventriloquism, or +reverberation, or--anything you please: an elaborate prolonged hoax, +executed somehow by the tramp that had found a lodging in the old tower; +but the juniper-bush staggered him. Things have effects so different on +the minds of different men. + + + + +II + +THE PORTRAIT + + +At the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my +father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a +little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe +I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the +red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, +builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and +irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms +large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, +with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was +cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to +economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it +was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the +primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the +cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at +this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses,--the +kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the +neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last +inhabitants; and the furniture was faded, even a little dingy,--nothing +to brag of. I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were +faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and +had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright +if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at +home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I +had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays +as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had +died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and +silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of +my father’s had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of +me; but she, too, had died long, long ago, my mourning for her being one +of the first things I could recollect. And she had no successor. There +were, indeed, a housekeeper and some maids,--the latter of whom I only +saw disappearing at the end of a passage, or whisking out of a room when +one of “the gentlemen” appeared. Mrs. Weir, indeed, I saw nearly every +day; but a curtsey, a smile, a pair of nice round arms which she caressed +while folding them across her ample waist, and a large white apron, were +all I knew of her. This was the only female influence in the house. The +drawing-room I was aware of only as a place of deadly good order, into +which nobody ever entered. It had three long windows opening on the lawn, +and communicated at the upper end, which was rounded like a great bay, +with the conservatory. Sometimes I gazed into it as a child from without, +wondering at the needlework on the chairs, the screens, the +looking-glasses which never reflected any living face. My father did not +like the room, which probably was not wonderful, though it never occurred +to me in those early days to inquire why. + +I may say here, though it will probably be disappointing to those who +form a sentimental idea of the capabilities of children, that it did +not occur to me either, in these early days, to make any inquiry about +my mother. There was no room in life, as I knew it, for any such +person; nothing suggested to my mind either the fact that she must have +existed, or that there was need of her in the house. I accepted, as I +believe most children do, the facts of existence, on the basis with +which I had first made acquaintance with them, without question or +remark. As a matter of fact, I was aware that it was rather dull at +home; but neither by comparison with the books I read, nor by the +communications received from my school-fellows, did this seem to me +anything remarkable. And I was possibly somewhat dull too by nature, +for I did not mind. I was fond of reading, and for that there was +unbounded opportunity. I had a little ambition in respect to work, and +that too could be prosecuted undisturbed. When I went to the +university, my society lay almost entirely among men; but by that time +and afterwards, matters had of course greatly changed with me, and +though I recognized women as part of the economy of nature, and did not +indeed by any means dislike or avoid them, yet the idea of connecting +them at all with my own home never entered into my head. That continued +to be as it had always been, when at intervals I descended upon the +cool, grave, colorless place, in the midst of my traffic with the +world: always very still, well-ordered, serious,--the cooking very +good, the comfort perfect; old Morphew, the butler, a little older (but +very little older, perhaps on the whole less old, since in my childhood +I had thought him a kind of Methuselah); and Mrs. Weir, less active, +covering up her arms in sleeves, but folding and caressing them just as +always. I remember looking in from the lawn through the windows upon +that deadly-orderly drawing-room, with a humorous recollection of my +childish admiration and wonder, and feeling that it must be kept so +forever and ever, and that to go into it would break some sort of +amusing mock mystery, some pleasantly ridiculous spell. + +But it was only at rare intervals that I went home. In the long vacation, +as in my school holidays, my father often went abroad with me, so that we +had gone over a great deal of the Continent together very pleasantly. He +was old in proportion to the age of his son, being a man of sixty when I +was twenty, but that did not disturb the pleasure of the relations +between us. I don’t know that they were ever very confidential. On my +side there was but little to communicate, for I did not get into scrapes +nor fall in love, the two predicaments which demand sympathy and +confidences. And as for my father himself, I was never aware what there +could be to communicate on his side. I knew his life exactly,--what he +did almost at every hour of the day; under what circumstances of the +temperature he would ride and when walk; how often and with what guests +he would indulge in the occasional break of a dinner-party, a serious +pleasure,--perhaps, indeed, less a pleasure than a duty. All this I knew +as well as he did, and also his views on public matters, his political +opinions, which naturally were different from mine. What ground, then, +remained for confidence? I did not know any. We were both of us of a +reserved nature, not apt to enter into our religious feelings, for +instance. There are many people who think reticence on such subjects a +sign of the most reverential way of contemplating them. Of this I am far +from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial +to my own mind. + +And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I +did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an +Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a +semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years, +invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and +disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, “no +occasion” to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never +given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be +his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not +oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to +exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and +expressed his satisfaction in my return. “Of course,” he said, “I am not +glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken; +but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I +am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man--” + +“I don’t see any difference, sir,” said I; “everything here seems exactly +the same as when I went away--” + +He smiled, and shook his head. “It is true enough,” he said; “after we +have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a +plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an +inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the +fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to +have you here.” + +“If I had known that,” I said, “and that you wanted me, I should have +come in any circumstances. As there are only two of us in the world--” + +“Yes,” he said, “there are only two of us in the world; but still I +should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career.” + +“It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself,” I said rather +bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear. + +He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, “It is an ill wind that blows +nobody good,” with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain +gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in +all the world to whom I owed any duty. I had not been without dreams of +warmer affections, but they had come to nothing--not tragically, but in +the ordinary way. I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but +not that which I did want,--which was not a thing to make any unmanly +moan about, but in the ordinary course of events. Such disappointments +happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and +sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so. + +However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,--in a +position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my +contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much +money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the +future. On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no +occupation. The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an +advantage. I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into +the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one +through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was +not a walk but a lounge. The country was silent and full of +thoughts,--thoughts not always very agreeable,--whereas there were always +the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be +heard,--all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very +impoverished version for the idle man. I did not like it, but I felt +myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand. The +rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner. I might +have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for +that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, +and fully contented with my lot. + +It was possibly my own want of occupation which made me observe with +surprise, after a while, how much occupied my father was. He had +expressed himself glad of my return; but now that I had returned, I saw +very little of him. Most of his time was spent in his library, as had +always been the case. But on the few visits I paid him there, I could not +but perceive that the aspect of the library was much changed. It had +acquired the look of a business-room, almost an office. There were large +business-like books on the table, which I could not associate with +anything he could naturally have to do; and his correspondence was very +large. I thought he closed one of those books hurriedly as I came in, and +pushed it away, as if he did not wish me to see it. This surprised me at +the moment without arousing any other feeling; but afterwards I +remembered it with a clearer sense of what it meant. He was more absorbed +altogether than I had been used to see him. He was visited by men +sometimes not of very prepossessing appearance. Surprise grew in my mind +without any very distinct idea of the reason of it; and it was not till +after a chance conversation with Morphew that my vague uneasiness began +to take definite shape. It was begun without any special intention on my +part. Morphew had informed me that master was very busy, on some occasion +when I wanted to see him. And I was a little annoyed to be thus put off. +“It appears to me that my father is always busy,” I said hastily. Morphew +then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent. + +“A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion,” he said. + +This startled me much, and I asked hurriedly, “What do you mean?” without +reflecting that to ask for private information from a servant about my +father’s habits was as bad as investigating into a stranger’s affairs. It +did not strike me in the same light. + +“Mr. Philip,” said Morphew, “a thing ’as ’appened as ’appens more often +than it ought to. Master has got awful keen about money in his old age.” + +“That’s a new thing for him,” I said. + +“No, sir, begging your pardon, it ain’t a new thing. He was once +broke of it, and that wasn’t easy done; but it’s come back, if you’ll +excuse me saying so. And I don’t know as he’ll ever be broke of it +again at his age.” + +I felt more disposed to be angry than disturbed by this. “You must be +making some ridiculous mistake,” I said. “And if you were not so old a +friend as you are, Morphew, I should not have allowed my father to be so +spoken of to me.” + +The old man gave me a half-astonished, half-contemptuous look. “He’s been +my master a deal longer than he’s been your father,” he said, turning on +his heel. The assumption was so comical that my anger could not stand in +face of it. I went out, having been on my way to the door when this +conversation occurred, and took my usual lounge about, which was not a +satisfactory sort of amusement. Its vanity and emptiness appeared to be +more evident than usual to-day. I met half-a-dozen people I knew, and had +as many pieces of news confided to me. I went up and down the length of +the High Street. I made a small purchase or two. And then I turned +homeward, despising myself, yet finding no alternative within my reach. +Would a long country walk have been more virtuous? It would at least have +been more wholesome; but that was all that could be said. My mind did +not dwell on Morphew’s communication. It seemed without sense or meaning +to me; and after the excellent joke about his superior interest in his +master to mine in my father, was dismissed lightly enough from my mind. I +tried to invent some way of telling this to my father without letting him +perceive that Morphew had been finding faults in him, or I listening; for +it seemed a pity to lose so good a joke. However, as I returned home, +something happened which put the joke entirely out of my head. It is +curious when a new subject of trouble or anxiety has been suggested to +the mind in an unexpected way, how often a second advertisement follows +immediately after the first, and gives to that a potency which in itself +it had not possessed. + +I was approaching our own door, wondering whether my father had gone, and +whether, on my return, I should find him at leisure,--for I had several +little things to say to him,--when I noticed a poor woman lingering about +the closed gates. She had a baby sleeping in her arms. It was a spring +night, the stars shining in the twilight, and everything soft and dim; +and the woman’s figure was like a shadow, flitting about, now here, now +there, on one side or another of the gate. She stopped when she saw me +approaching, and hesitated for a moment, then seemed to take a sudden +resolution. I watched her without knowing, with a prevision that she was +going to address me, though with no sort of idea as to the subject of her +address. She came up to me doubtfully, it seemed, yet certainly, as I +felt, and when she was close to me, dropped a sort of hesitating curtsey, +and said, “It’s Mr. Philip?” in a low voice. + +“What do you want with me?” I said. + +Then she poured forth suddenly, without warning or preparation, her long +speech,--a flood of words which must have been all ready and waiting at +the doors of her lips for utterance. “Oh, sir, I want to speak to you! I +can’t believe you’ll be so hard, for you’re young; and I can’t believe +he’ll be so hard if so be as his own son, as I’ve always heard he had but +one, ’ll speak up for us. Oh, gentleman, it is easy for the likes of you, +that, if you ain’t comfortable in one room, can just walk into another; +but if one room is all you have, and every bit of furniture you have +taken out of it, and nothing but the four walls left,--not so much as the +cradle for the child, or a chair for your man to sit down upon when he +comes from his work, or a saucepan to cook him his supper--” + +“My good woman,” I said, “who can have taken all that from you? Surely +nobody can be so cruel?” + +“You say it’s cruel!” she cried with a sort of triumph. “Oh, I knowed you +would, or any true gentleman that don’t hold with screwing poor folks. +Just go and say that to him inside there for the love of God. Tell him +to think what he’s doing, driving poor creatures to despair. Summer’s +coming, the Lord be praised, but yet it’s bitter cold at night with your +counterpane gone; and when you’ve been working hard all day, and nothing +but four bare walls to come home to, and all your poor little sticks of +furniture that you’ve saved up for, and got together one by one, all +gone, and you no better than when you started, or rather worse, for then +you was young. Oh, sir!” the woman’s voice rose into a sort of passionate +wail. And then she added, beseechingly, recovering herself, “Oh, speak +for us; he’ll not refuse his own son--” + +“To whom am I to speak? Who is it that has done this to you?” I said. + +The woman hesitated again, looking keenly in my face, then repeated with +a slight faltering, “It’s Mr. Philip?” as if that made everything right. + +“Yes; I am Philip Canning,” I said; “but what have I to do with this? +and to whom am I to speak?” + +She began to whimper, crying and stopping herself. “Oh, please, sir! it’s +Mr. Canning as owns all the house property about; it’s him that our court +and the lane and everything belongs to. And he’s taken the bed from under +us, and the baby’s cradle, although it’s said in the Bible as you’re not +to take poor folks’ bed.” + +“My father!” I cried in spite of myself; “then it must be some agent, +some one else in his name. You may be sure he knows nothing of it. Of +course I shall speak to him at once.” + +“Oh, God bless you, sir,” said the woman. But then she added, in a lower +tone, “It’s no agent. It’s one as never knows trouble. It’s him that +lives in that grand house.” But this was said under her breath, evidently +not for me to hear. + +Morphew’s words flashed through my mind as she spoke. What was this? Did +it afford an explanation of the much-occupied hours, the big books, the +strange visitors? I took the poor woman’s name, and gave her something +to procure a few comforts for the night, and went indoors disturbed and +troubled. It was impossible to believe that my father himself would +have acted thus; but he was not a man to brook interference, and I did +not see how to introduce the subject, what to say. I could but hope +that, at the moment of broaching it, words would be put into my mouth, +which often happens in moments of necessity, one knows not how, even +when one’s theme is not so all-important as that for which such help has +been promised. As usual, I did not see my father till dinner. I have +said that our dinners were very good, luxurious in a simple way, +everything excellent in its kind, well cooked, well served,--the +perfection of comfort without show,--which is a combination very dear to +the English heart. I said nothing till Morphew, with his solemn +attention to everything that was going, had retired; and then it was +with some strain of courage that I began. + +“I was stopped outside the gate to-day by a curious sort of +petitioner,--a poor woman, who seems to be one of your tenants, sir, but +whom your agent must have been rather too hard upon.” + +“My agent? Who is that?” said my father quietly. + +“I don’t know his name, and I doubt his competence. The poor creature +seems to have had everything taken from her,--her bed, her child’s +cradle.” + +“No doubt she was behind with her rent.” + +“Very likely, sir. She seemed very poor,” said I. + +“You take it coolly,” said my father, with an upward glance, half-amused, +not in the least shocked by my statement. “But when a man, or a woman +either, takes a house, I suppose you will allow that they ought to pay +rent for it.” + +“Certainly, sir,” I replied, “when they have got anything to pay.” + +“I don’t allow the reservation,” he said. But he was not angry, which I +had feared he would be. + +“I think,” I continued, “that your agent must be too severe. And this +emboldens me to say something which has been in my mind for some +time”--(these were the words, no doubt, which I had hoped would be put +into my month; they were the suggestion of the moment, and yet as I said +them it was with the most complete conviction of their truth)--“and that +is this: I am doing nothing; my time hangs heavy on my hands. Make me +your agent. I will see for myself, and save you from such mistakes; and +it will be an occupation--” + +“Mistakes? What warrant have you for saying these are mistakes?” he said +testily; then after a moment: “This is a strange proposal from you, Phil. +Do you know what it is you are offering?--to be a collector of rents, +going about from door to door, from week to week; to look after wretched +little bits of repairs, drains, etc.; to get paid, which, after all, is +the chief thing, and not to be taken in by tales of poverty.” + +“Not to let you be taken in by men without pity,” I said. + +He gave me a strange glance, which I did not very well understand, and +said abruptly, a thing which, so far as I remember, he had never in my +life said before, “You’ve become a little like your mother, Phil--” + +“My mother!” the reference was so unusual--nay, so unprecedented--that I +was greatly startled. It seemed to me like the sudden introduction of a +quite new element in the stagnant atmosphere, as well as a new party to +our conversation. My father looked across the table, as if with some +astonishment at my tone of surprise. + +“Is that so very extraordinary?” he said. + +“No; of course it is not extraordinary that I should resemble my mother. +Only--I have heard very little of her--almost nothing.” + +“That is true.” He got up and placed himself before the fire, which was +very low, as the night was not cold--had not been cold heretofore at +least; but it seemed to me now that a little chill came into the dim and +faded room. Perhaps it looked more dull from the suggestion of a +something brighter, warmer, that might have been. “Talking of mistakes,” +he said, “perhaps that was one: to sever you entirely from her side of +the house. But I did not care for the connection. You will understand how +it is that I speak of it now when I tell you--” He stopped here, however, +said nothing more for a minute or so, and then rang the bell. Morphew +came, as he always did, very deliberately, so that some time elapsed in +silence, during which my surprise grew. When the old man appeared at the +door--“Have you put the lights in the drawing-room, as I told you?” my +father said. + +“Yes, sir; and opened the box, sir; and it’s a--it’s a speaking +likeness--” + +This the old man got out in a great hurry, as if afraid that his master +would stop him. My father did so with a wave of his hand. + +“That’s enough. I asked no information. You can go now.” + +The door closed upon us, and there was again a pause. My subject had +floated away altogether like a mist, though I had been so concerned about +it. I tried to resume, but could not. Something seemed to arrest my very +breathing; and yet in this dull, respectable house of ours, where +everything breathed good character and integrity, it was certain that +there could be no shameful mystery to reveal. It was some time before my +father spoke, not from any purpose that I could see, but apparently +because his mind was busy with probably unaccustomed thoughts. + +“You scarcely know the drawing-room, Phil,” he said at last. + +“Very little. I have never seen it used. I have a little awe of it, to +tell the truth.” + +“That should not be. There is no reason for that. But a man by himself, +as I have been for the greater part of my life, has no occasion for a +drawing-room. I always, as a matter of preference, sat among my books; +however, I ought to have thought of the impression on you.” + +“Oh, it is not important,” I said; “the awe was childish. I have not +thought of it since I came home.” + +“It never was anything very splendid at the best,” said he. He lifted the +lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my +offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of +seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom +of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair +and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, +his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was +taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment +with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and +bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more +intimately than any other creature in the world,--I was familiar with +every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not +know him at all? + + * * * * * + +The drawing-room was already lighted with a flickering array of candles +upon the mantelpiece and along the walls, producing the pretty, starry +effect which candles give without very much light. As I had not the +smallest idea what I was about to see, for Morphew’s “speaking likeness” +was very hurriedly said, and only half comprehensible in the bewilderment +of my faculties, my first glance was at this very unusual illumination, +for which I could assign no reason. The next showed me a large +full-length portrait, still in the box in which apparently it had +travelled, placed upright, supported against a table in the centre of the +room. My father walked straight up to it, motioned to me to place a +smaller table close to the picture on the left side, and put his lamp +upon that. Then he waved his hand towards it, and stood aside that I +might see. + +It was a full-length portrait of a very young woman--I might say a girl +scarcely twenty--in a white dress, made in a very simple old fashion, +though I was too little accustomed to female costume to be able to fix +the date. It might have been a hundred years old, or twenty, for aught I +knew. The face had an expression of youth, candor, and simplicity more +than any face I had ever seen,--or so, at least in my surprise, I +thought. The eyes were a little wistful, with something which was almost +anxiety which at least was not content--in them; a faint, almost +imperceptible, curve in the lids. The complexion was of a dazzling +fairness, the hair light, but the eyes dark, which gave individuality to +the face. It would have been as lovely had the eyes been blue,--probably +more so,--but their darkness gave a touch of character, a slight discord, +which made the harmony finer. It was not, perhaps, beautiful in the +highest sense of the word. The girl must have been too young, too slight, +too little developed for actual beauty; but a face which so invited love +and confidence I never saw. One smiled at it with instinctive affection. +“What a sweet face!” I said. “What a lovely girl! Who is she? Is this one +of the relations you were speaking of on the other side?” + +My father made me no reply. He stood aside, looking at it as if he knew +it too well to require to look,--as if the picture was already in his +eyes. “Yes,” he said, after an interval, with a long-drawn breath, “she +was a lovely girl, as you say.” + +“Was?--then she is dead. What a pity!” I said; “what a pity! so young and +so sweet!” + +We stood gazing at her thus, in her beautiful stillness and calm,--two +men, the younger of us full-grown and conscious of many experiences, the +other an old man,--before this impersonation of tender youth. At length +he said, with a slight tremulousness in his voice, “Does nothing suggest +to you who she is, Phil?” + +I turned round to look at him with profound astonishment, but he turned +away from my look. A sort of quiver passed over his face. “That is your +mother,” he said, and walked suddenly away, leaving me there. + +My mother! + +I stood for a moment in a kind of consternation before the white-robed +innocent creature, to me no more than a child; then a sudden laugh broke +from me, without any will of mine something ludicrous, as well as +something awful, was in it. When the laugh was over, I found myself with +tears in my eyes, gazing, holding my breath. The soft features seemed to +melt, the lips to move, the anxiety in the eyes to become a personal +inquiry. Ah, no! nothing of the kind; only because of the water in mine. +My mother! oh, fair and gentle creature, scarcely woman, how could any +man’s voice call her by that name! I had little idea enough of what it +meant,--had heard it laughed at, scoffed at, reverenced, but never had +learned to place it even among the ideal powers of life. Yet if it meant +anything at all, what it meant was worth thinking of. What did she ask, +looking at me with those eyes? What would she have said if “those lips +had language”? If I had known her only as Cowper did--with a child’s +recollection--there might have been some thread, some faint but +comprehensible link, between us; but now all that I felt was the curious +incongruity. Poor child! I said to myself; so sweet a creature: poor +little tender soul! as if she had been a little sister, a child of +mine,--but my mother! I cannot tell how long I stood looking at her, +studying the candid, sweet face, which surely had germs in it of +everything that was good and beautiful; and sorry, with a profound +regret, that she had died and never carried these promises to +fulfillment. Poor girl! poor people who had loved her! These were my +thoughts; with a curious vertigo and giddiness of my whole being in the +sense of a mysterious relationship, which it was beyond my power to +understand. + +Presently my father came back, possibly because I had been a long time +unconscious of the passage of the minutes, or perhaps because he was +himself restless in the strange disturbance of his habitual calm. He came +in and put his arm within mine, leaning his weight partially upon me, +with an affectionate suggestion which went deeper than words. I pressed +his arm to my side: it was more between us two grave Englishmen than any +embracing. + +“I cannot understand it,” I said. + +“No. I don’t wonder at that; but if it is strange to you, Phil, think how +much more strange to me! That is the partner of my life. I have never had +another, or thought of another. That--girl! If we are to meet again, as I +have always hoped we should meet again, what am I to say to her,--I, an +old man? Yes; I know what you mean. I am not an old man for my years; but +my years are threescore and ten, and the play is nearly played out. How +am I to meet that young creature? We used to say to each other that it +was forever, that we never could be but one, that it was for life and +death. But what--what am I to say to her, Phil, when I meet her again, +that--that angel? No, it is not her being an angel that troubles me; but +she is so young! She is like my--my granddaughter,” he cried, with a +burst of what was half sobs, half laughter; “and she is my wife,--and I +am an old man--an old man! And so much has happened that she could not +understand.” + +I was too much startled by this strange complaint to know what to say. +It was not my own trouble, and I answered it in the conventional way. + +“They are not as we are, sir,” I said; “they look upon us with larger, +other eyes than ours.” + +“Ah! you don’t know what I mean,” he said quickly; and in the interval he +had subdued his emotion. “At first, after she died, it was my consolation +to think that I should meet her again,--that we never could be really +parted. But, my God, how I have changed since then! I am another man,--I +am a different being. I was not very young even then,--twenty years older +than she was; but her youth renewed mine. I was not an unfit partner; she +asked no better, and knew as much more than I did in some things,--being +so much nearer the source,--as I did in others that were of the world. +But I have gone a long way since then, Phil,--a long way; and there she +stands, just where I left her.” + +I pressed his arm again. “Father,” I said, which was a title I seldom +used, “we are not to suppose that in a higher life the mind stands +still.” I did not feel myself qualified to discuss such topics, but +something one must say. + +“Worse, worse!” he replied; “then she too will be, like me, a different +being, and we shall meet as what? as strangers, as people who have lost +sight of each other, with a long past between us,--we who parted, my God! +with--with--” + +His voice broke and ended for a moment then while, surprised and almost +shocked by what he said, I cast about in my mind what to reply, he +withdrew his arm suddenly from mine, and said in his usual tone, “Where +shall we hang the picture, Phil? It must be here in this room. What do +you think will be the best light?” + +This sudden alteration took me still more by surprise, and gave me almost +an additional shock; but it was evident that I must follow the changes of +his mood, or at least the sudden repression of sentiment which he +originated. We went into that simpler question with great seriousness, +consulting which would be the best light. “You know I can scarcely +advise,” I said; “I have never been familiar with this room. I should +like to put off, if you don’t mind, till daylight.” + +“I think,” he said, “that this would be the best place.” It was on the +other side of the fireplace, on the wall which faced the windows,--not +the best light, I knew enough to be aware, for an oil-painting. When I +said so, however, he answered me with a little impatience, “It does not +matter very much about the best light; there will be nobody to see it but +you and me. I have my reasons--” There was a small table standing against +the wall at this spot, on which he had his hand as he spoke. Upon it +stood a little basket in very fine lace-like wicker-work. His hand must +have trembled, for the table shook, and the basket fell, its contents +turning out upon the carpet,--little bits of needlework, colored silks, a +small piece of knitting half done. He laughed as they rolled out at his +feet, and tried to stoop to collect them, then tottered to a chair, and +covered for a moment his face with his hands. + +No need to ask what they were. No woman’s work had been seen in the house +since I could recollect it. I gathered them up reverently and put them +back. I could see, ignorant as I was, that the bit of knitting was +something for an infant. What could I do less than put it to my lips? It +had been left in the doing--for me. + +“Yes, I think this is the best place,” my father said a minute after, in +his usual tone. + +We placed it there that evening with our own hands. The picture was +large, and in a heavy frame, but my father would let no one help me but +himself. And then, with a superstition for which I never could give any +reason even to myself, having removed the packings, we closed and locked +the door, leaving the candles about the room, in their soft, strange +illumination, lighting the first night of her return to her old place. + +That night no more was said. My father went to his room early, which was +not his habit. He had never, however, accustomed me to sit late with him +in the library. I had a little study or smoking-room of my own, in which +all my special treasures were, the collections of my travels and my +favorite books,--and where I always sat after prayers, a ceremonial which +was regularly kept up in the house. I retired as usual this night to my +room, and, as usual, read,--but to-night somewhat vaguely, often pausing +to think. When it was quite late, I went out by the glass door to the +lawn, and walked round the house, with the intention of looking in at the +drawing-room windows, as I had done when a child. But I had forgotten +that these windows were all shuttered at night; and nothing but a faint +penetration of the light within through the crevices bore witness to the +installment of the new dweller there. + +In the morning my father was entirely himself again. He told me without +emotion of the manner in which he had obtained the picture. It had +belonged to my mother’s family, and had fallen eventually into the hands +of a cousin of hers, resident abroad,--“A man whom I did not like, and +who did not like me,” my father said; “there was, or had been, some +rivalry, he thought: a mistake, but he was never aware of that. He +refused all my requests to have a copy made. You may suppose, Phil, that +I wished this very much. Had I succeeded, you would have been acquainted, +at least, with your mother’s appearance, and need not have sustained this +shock. But he would not consent. It gave him, I think, a certain pleasure +to think that he had the only picture. But now he is dead, and out of +remorse, or with some other intention, has left it to me.” + +“That looks like kindness,” said I. + +“Yes; or something else. He might have thought that by so doing he was +establishing a claim upon me,” my father said; but he did not seem +disposed to add any more. On whose behalf he meant to establish a claim I +did not know, nor who the man was who had laid us under so great an +obligation on his death-bed. He _had_ established a claim on me at least; +though, as he was dead, I could not see on whose behalf it was. And my +father said nothing more; he seemed to dislike the subject. When I +attempted to return to it, he had recourse to his letters or his +newspapers. Evidently he had made up his mind to say no more. + +Afterwards I went into the drawing-room, to look at the picture once +more. It seemed to me that the anxiety in her eyes was not so evident as +I had thought it last night. The light possibly was more favorable. She +stood just above the place where, I make no doubt, she had sat in life, +where her little work-basket was,--not very much above it. The picture +was full-length, and we had hung it low, so that she might have been +stepping into the room, and was little above my own level as I stood and +looked at her again. Once more I smiled at the strange thought that this +young creature--so young, almost childish--could be my mother; and once +more my eyes grew wet looking at her. He was a benefactor, indeed, who +had given her back to us. I said to myself, that if I could ever do +anything for him or his, I would certainly do it, for my--for this lovely +young creature’s sake. And with this in my mind, and all the thoughts +that came with it, I am obliged to confess that the other matter, which I +had been so full of on the previous night, went entirely out of my head. + + * * * * * + +It is rarely, however, that such matters are allowed to slip out of one’s +mind. When I went out in the afternoon for my usual stroll,--or rather +when I returned from that stroll,--I saw once more before me the woman +with her baby, whose story had filled me with dismay on the previous +evening. She was waiting at the gate as before, and, “Oh, gentleman, but +haven’t you got some news to give me?” she said. + +“My good woman,--I--have been greatly occupied. I have had--no time to do +anything.” + +“Ah!” she said, with a little cry of disappointment, “my man said not to +make too sure, and that the ways of the gentlefolks is hard to know.” + +“I cannot explain to you,” I said, as gently as I could, “what it is that +has made me forget you. It was an event that can only do you good in the +end. Go home now, and see the man that took your things from you, and +tell him to come to me. I promise you it shall all be put right.” + +The woman looked at me in astonishment, then burst forth, as it seemed, +involuntarily, “What! without asking no questions?” After this there came +a storm of tears and blessings, from which I made haste to escape, but +not without carrying that curious commentary on my rashness away with +me,--“Without asking no questions?” It might be foolish, perhaps; but +after all, how slight a matter. To make the poor creature comfortable at +the cost of what,--a box or two of cigars, perhaps, or some other trifle. +And if it should be her own fault, or her husband’s--what then? Had I +been punished for all my faults, where should I have been now? And if the +advantage should be only temporary, what then? To be relieved and +comforted even for a day or two, was not that something to count in life? +Thus I quenched the fiery dart of criticism which my _protégée_ herself +had thrown into the transaction, not without a certain sense of the humor +of it. Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, +to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty +performed in his name. This one case I had taken out of the category of +wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence +in my own person,--for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor +creature’s rent as well as redeem her goods,--and, whatever might happen +to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands. The man came +presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father’s agent in the +matter. “I don’t know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it,” he said. “He +don’t want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property. He +always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things +worse in the end. His rule is, ‘Never more than a month, Stevens;’ that’s +what Mr. Canning says to me, sir. He says, ‘More than that they can’t +pay. It’s no use trying.’ And it’s a good rule; it’s a very good rule. He +won’t hear none of their stories, sir. Bless you, you’d never get a penny +of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales. But if so +be as you’ll pay Mrs. Jordan’s rent, it’s none of my business how it’s +paid, so long as it’s paid, and I’ll send her back her things. But +they’ll just have to be took next time,” he added composedly. “Over and +over; it’s always the same story with them sort of poor folks,--they’re +too poor for anything, that’s the truth,” the man said. + +Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone. “Mr. Philip,” he +said, “you’ll excuse me, sir, but if you’re going to pay all the poor +folks’ rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at +once, for it’s without end--” + +“I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; +and we’ll soon put a stop to that,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt. + +“Manage for--master,” he said, with a face of consternation. “You, +Mr. Philip!” + +“You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew.” + +He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, “Master, sir,--master +don’t let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master’s--not one to be +managed. Don’t you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God.” +The old man was quite pale. + +“Quarrel!” I said. “I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don’t +mean to begin now.” + +Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was +dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a +great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in +which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as +he threw on the coals and wood. “He’ll not like it,--we all know as he’ll +not like it. Master won’t stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,”--this last he +discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door. + +I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he +was even half amused. “I don’t think that plan of yours will hold water, +Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,--that’s +an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you +are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no +difference to me. I am quite content if I get my money, even out of your +pockets,--so long as it amuses you. But as my collector, you know, which +you are good enough to propose to be--” + +“Of course I should act under your orders,” I said; “but at least you +might be sure that I would not commit you to any--to any--” I paused +for a word. + +“Act of oppression,” he said, with a smile--“piece of cruelty, +exaction--there are half-a-dozen words--” + +“Sir--” I cried. + +“Stop, Phil, and let us understand each other. I hope I have always been +a just man. I do my duty on my side, and I expect it from others. It is +your benevolence that is cruel. I have calculated anxiously how much +credit it is safe to allow; but I will allow no man, or woman either, to +go beyond what he or she can make up. My law is fixed. Now you +understand. My agents, as you call them, originate nothing; they execute +only what I decide--” + +“But then no circumstances are taken into account,--no bad luck, no evil +chances, no loss unexpected.” + +“There are no evil chances,” he said; “there is no bad luck; they reap as +they sow. No, I don’t go among them to be cheated by their stories, and +spend quite unnecessary emotion in sympathizing with them. You will find +it much better for you that I don’t. I deal with them on a general rule, +made, I assure you, not without a great deal of thought.” + +“And must it always be so?” I said. “Is there no way of ameliorating or +bringing in a better state of things?” + +“It seems not,” he said; “we don’t get ‘no forrarder’ in that +direction so far as I can see.” And then he turned the conversation to +general matters. + +I retired to my room greatly discouraged that night. In former ages--or +so one is led to suppose--and in the lower primitive classes who still +linger near the primeval type, action of any kind was, and is, easier +than amid the complication of our higher civilization. A bad man is a +distinct entity, against whom you know more or less what steps to take. A +tyrant, an oppressor, a bad landlord, a man who lets miserable tenements +at a rack-rent (to come down to particulars), and exposes his wretched +tenants to all those abominations of which we have heard so much--well! +he is more or less a satisfactory opponent. There he is, and there is +nothing to be said for him--down with him! and let there be an end of his +wickedness. But when, on the contrary, you have before you a good man, a +just man, who has considered deeply a question which you allow to be full +of difficulty; who regrets, but cannot, being human, avert the miseries +which to some unhappy individuals follow from the very wisdom of his +rule,--what can you do? What is to be done? Individual benevolence at +haphazard may balk him here and there, but what have you to put in the +place of his well-considered scheme? Charity which makes paupers? or what +else? I had not considered the question deeply, but it seemed to me that +I now came to a blank wall, which my vague human sentiment of pity and +scorn could find no way to breach. There must be wrong somewhere, but +where? There must be some change for the better to be made, but how? + +I was seated with a book before me on the table, with my head supported +on my hands. My eyes were on the printed page, but I was not reading; my +mind was full of these thoughts, my heart of great discouragement and +despondency,--a sense that I could do nothing, yet that there surely must +and ought, if I but knew it, be something to do. The fire which Morphew +had built up before dinner was dying out, the shaded lamp on my table +left all the corners in a mysterious twilight. The house was perfectly +still, no one moving: my father in the library, where, after the habit of +many solitary years, he liked to be left alone, and I here in my retreat, +preparing for the formation of similar habits. I thought all at once of +the third member of the party, the new-comer, alone too in the room that +had been hers; and there suddenly occurred to me a strong desire to take +up my lamp and go to the drawing-room and visit her, to see whether her +soft, angelic face would give any inspiration. I restrained, however, +this futile impulse,--for what could the picture say?--and instead +wondered what might have been had she lived, had she been there, warmly +enthroned beside the warm domestic centre, the hearth which would have +been a common sanctuary, the true home. In that case what might have +been? Alas! the question was no more simple to answer than the other: she +might have been there alone too, her husband’s business, her son’s +thoughts, as far from her as now, when her silent representative held her +old place in the silence and darkness. I had known it so, often enough. +Love itself does not always give comprehension and sympathy. It might be +that she was more to us there, in the sweet image of her undeveloped +beauty, than she might have been had she lived and grown to maturity and +fading, like the rest. + +I cannot be certain whether my mind was still lingering on this not very +cheerful reflection, or if it had been left behind, when the strange +occurrence came of which I have now to tell. Can I call it an occurrence? +My eyes were on my book, when I thought I heard the sound of a door +opening and shutting, but so far away and faint that if real at all it +must have been in a far corner of the house. I did not move except to +lift my eyes from the book as one does instinctively the better to +listen; when--But I cannot tell, nor have I ever been able to describe +exactly what it was. My heart made all at once a sudden leap in my +breast. I am aware that this language is figurative, and that the heart +cannot leap; but it is a figure so entirely justified by sensation, that +no one will have any difficulty in understanding what I mean. My heart +leaped up and began beating wildly in my throat, in my ears, as if my +whole being had received a sudden and intolerable shock. The sound went +through my head like the dizzy sound of some strange mechanism, a +thousand wheels and springs circling, echoing, working in my brain. I +felt the blood bound in my veins, my mouth became dry, my eyes hot; a +sense of something insupportable took possession of me. I sprang to my +feet, and then I sat down again. I cast a quick glance round me beyond +the brief circle of the lamplight, but there was nothing there to +account in any way for this sudden extraordinary rush of sensation, nor +could I feel any meaning in it, any suggestion, any moral impression. I +thought I must be going to be ill, and got out my watch and felt my +pulse: it was beating furiously, about one hundred and twenty-five throbs +in a minute. I knew of no illness that could come on like this without +warning, in a moment, and I tried to subdue myself, to say to myself that +it was nothing, some flutter of the nerves, some physical disturbance. I +laid myself down upon my sofa to try if rest would help me, and kept +still, as long as the thumping and throbbing of this wild, excited +mechanism within, like a wild beast plunging and struggling, would let +me. I am quite aware of the confusion of the metaphor; the reality was +just so. It was like a mechanism deranged, going wildly with +ever-increasing precipitation, like those horrible wheels that from time +to time catch a helpless human being in them and tear him to pieces; but +at the same time it was like a maddened living creature making the +wildest efforts to get free. + +When I could bear this no longer I got up and walked about my room; then +having still a certain command of myself, though I could not master the +commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the +shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and +tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung +the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I +should be moved to do,--to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what; +or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving +lunatic,--I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don’t know +what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement, +as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight, +there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet, +the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my +hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been +faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more +anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I +passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any +volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my +father’s library with my lamp in my hand. + +He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished +to see me hurrying in with my light. “Phil!” he said, surprised. I +remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down +the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. “What is the +matter?” he cried. “Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?” + +I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild +commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my +heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to +express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him, +confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone +through, and its sudden cessation. “The matter?” I cried; “I don’t +know what is the matter.” + +My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me +as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in +them,--his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his +looks were severe. “You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you +ought to know better,” he said. + +Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had +happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I, now +that it was over, understand myself; but he saw enough to make him aware +that the disturbance in me was serious, and not caused by any folly of my +own. He was very kind as soon as he had assured himself of this, and +talked, taking pains to bring me back to unexciting subjects. He had a +letter in his hand with a very deep border of black when I came in. I +observed it, without taking any notice or associating it with anything I +knew. He had many correspondents; and although we were excellent friends, +we had never been on those confidential terms which warrant one man in +asking another from whom a special letter has come. We were not so near +to each other as this, though we were father and son. After a while I +went back to my own room, and finished the evening in my usual way, +without any return of the excitement which, now that it was over, looked +to me like some extraordinary dream. What had it meant? Had it meant +anything? I said to myself that it must be purely physical, something +gone temporarily amiss, which had righted itself. It was physical; the +excitement did not affect my mind. I was independent of it all the time, +a spectator of my own agitation, a clear proof that, whatever it was, it +had affected my bodily organization alone. + +Next day I returned to the problem which I had not been able to solve. I +found out my petitioner in the back street, and that she was happy in the +recovery of her possessions, which to my eyes indeed did not seem very +worthy either of lamentation or delight. Nor was her house the tidy house +which injured virtue should have when restored to its humble rights. She +was not injured virtue, it was clear. She made me a great many curtseys, +and poured forth a number of blessings. Her “man” came in while I was +there, and hoped in a gruff voice that God would reward me, and that the +old gentleman’d let ’em alone. I did not like the look of the man. It +seemed to me that in the dark lane behind the house of a winter’s night +he would not be a pleasant person to find in one’s way. Nor was this all: +when I went out into the little street which it appeared was all, or +almost all, my father’s property, a number of groups formed in my way, +and at least half-a-dozen applicants sidled up. “I’ve more claims nor +Mary Jordan any day,” said one; “I’ve lived on Squire Canning’s property, +one place and another, this twenty year.” “And what do you say to me?” +said another; “I’ve six children to her two, bless you, sir, and ne’er a +father to do for them.” I believed in my father’s rule before I got out +of the street, and approved his wisdom in keeping himself free from +personal contact with his tenants. Yet when I looked back upon the +swarming thoroughfare, the mean little houses, the women at their doors +all so open-mouthed and eager to contend for my favor, my heart sank +within me at the thought that out of their misery some portion of our +wealth came, I don’t care how small a portion; that I, young and strong, +should be kept idle and in luxury, in some part through the money screwed +out of their necessities, obtained sometimes by the sacrifice of +everything they prized! Of course I know all the ordinary commonplaces of +life as well as any one,--that if you build a house with your hand or +your money, and let it, the rent of it is your just due; and must be +paid. But yet-- + +“Don’t you think, sir,” I said that evening at dinner, the subject being +reintroduced by my father himself, “that we have some duty towards them +when we draw so much from them?” + +“Certainly,” he said; “I take as much trouble about their drains as I do +about my own.” + +“That is always something, I suppose.” + +“Something! it is a great deal; it is more than they get anywhere else. I +keep them clean, as far as that’s possible. I give them at least the +means of keeping clean, and thus check disease, and prolong life, which +is more, I assure you, than they’ve any right to expect.” + +I was not prepared with arguments as I ought to have been. That is all in +the Gospel according to Adam Smith, which my father had been brought up +in, but of which the tenets had begun to be less binding in my day. I +wanted something more, or else something less; but my views were not so +clear, nor my system so logical and well-built, as that upon which my +father rested his conscience, and drew his percentage with a light heart. + +Yet I thought there were signs in him of some perturbation. I met him one +morning coming out of the room in which the portrait hung, as if he had +gone to look at it stealthily. He was shaking his head, and saying “No, +no,” to himself, not perceiving me, and I stepped aside when I saw him so +absorbed. For myself, I entered that room but little. I went outside, as +I had so often done when I was a child, and looked through the windows +into the still and now sacred place, which had always impressed me with +a certain awe. Looked at so, the slight figure in its white dress seemed +to be stepping down into the room from some slight visionary altitude, +looking with that which had seemed to me at first anxiety, which I +sometimes represented to myself now as a wistful curiosity, as if she +were looking for the life which might have been hers. Where was the +existence that had belonged to her, the sweet household place, the infant +she had left? She would no more recognize the man who thus came to look +at her as through a veil, with a mystic reverence, than I could recognize +her. I could never be her child to her, any more than she could be a +mother to me. + + * * * * * + +Thus time passed on for several quiet days. There was nothing to make us +give any special heed to the passage of time, life being very uneventful +and its habits unvaried. My mind was very much preoccupied by my father’s +tenants. He had a great deal of property in the town which was so near +us,--streets of small houses, the best-paying property (I was assured) of +any. I was very anxious to come to some settled conclusion: on the one +hand, not to let myself be carried away by sentiment; on the other, not +to allow my strongly roused feelings to fall into the blank of routine, +as his had done. I was seated one evening in my own sitting-room, busy +with this matter,--busy with calculations as to cost and profit, with an +anxious desire to convince him, either that his profits were greater than +justice allowed, or that they carried with them a more urgent duty than +he had conceived. + +It was night, but not late, not more than ten o’clock, the household +still astir. Everything was quiet,--not the solemnity of midnight +silence, in which there is always something of mystery, but the +soft-breathing quiet of the evening, full of the faint habitual sounds of +a human dwelling, a consciousness of life about. And I was very busy with +my figures, interested, feeling no room in my mind for any other thought. +The singular experience which had startled me so much had passed over +very quickly, and there had been no return. I had ceased to think of it; +indeed, I had never thought of it save for the moment, setting it down +after it was over to a physical cause without much difficulty. At this +time I was far too busy to have thoughts to spare for anything, or room +for imagination; and when suddenly in a moment, without any warning, the +first symptom returned, I started with it into determined resistance, +resolute not to be fooled by any mock influence which could resolve +itself into the action of nerves or ganglions. The first symptom; as +before, was that my heart sprang up with a bound, as if a cannon had been +fired at my ear. My whole being responded with a start. The pen fell out +of my fingers, the figures went out of my head as if all faculty had +departed; and yet I was conscious for a time at least of keeping my +self-control. I was like the rider of a frightened horse, rendered almost +wild by something which in the mystery of its voiceless being it has +seen, something on the road which it will not pass, but wildly plunging, +resisting every persuasion, turns from, with ever-increasing passion. The +rider himself after a time becomes infected with this inexplainable +desperation of terror, and I suppose I must have done so; but for a time +I kept the upper hand. I would not allow myself to spring up as I wished, +as my impulse was, but sat there doggedly, clinging to my books, to my +table, fixing myself on I did not mind what, to resist the flood of +sensation, of emotion, which was sweeping through me, carrying me away. I +tried to continue my calculations. I tried to stir myself up with +recollections of the miserable sights I had seen, the poverty, the +helplessness. I tried to work myself into indignation; but all through +these efforts I felt the contagion growing upon me, my mind falling into +sympathy with all those straining faculties of the body, startled, +excited, driven wild by something, I knew not what. It was not fear. I +was like a ship at sea straining and plunging against wind and tide, but +I was not afraid. I am obliged to use these metaphors, otherwise I could +give no explanation of my condition, seized upon against my will, and +torn from all those moorings of reason to which I clung with desperation, +as long as I had the strength. + +When I got up from my chair at last, the battle was lost, so far as my +powers of self-control were concerned. I got up, or rather was dragged +up, from my seat, clutching at these material things round me as with a +last effort to hold my own. But that was no longer possible; I was +overcome. I stood for a moment looking round me feebly, feeling myself +begin to babble with stammering lips, which was the alternative of +shrieking, and which I seemed to choose as a lesser evil. What I said +was, “What am I to do?” and after a while, “What do you want me to do?” +although throughout I saw no one, heard no voice, and had in reality not +power enough in my dizzy and confused brain to know what I myself meant. +I stood thus for a moment, looking blankly round me for guidance, +repeating the question, which seemed after a time to become almost +mechanical, “What do you want me to do?” though I neither knew to whom I +addressed it nor why I said it. Presently--whether in answer, whether in +mere yielding of nature, I cannot tell--I became aware of a difference: +not a lessening of the agitation, but a softening, as if my powers of +resistance being exhausted, a gentler force, a more benignant influence, +had room. I felt myself consent to whatever it was. My heart melted in +the midst of the tumult; I seemed to give myself up, and move as if drawn +by some one whose arm was in mine, as if softly swept along, not +forcibly, but with an utter consent of all my faculties to do I knew not +what, for love of I knew not whom. For love,--that was how it +seemed,--not by force, as when I went before. But my steps took the same +course: I went through the dim passages in an exaltation indescribable, +and opened the door of my father’s room. + +He was seated there at his table as usual, the light of the lamp falling +on his white hair; he looked up with some surprise at the sound of the +opening door. “Phil,” he said, and with a look of wondering apprehension +on his face, watched my approach. I went straight up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. “Phil, what is the matter? What do you want with +me? What is it?” he said. + +“Father, I can’t tell you. I come not of myself. There must be something +in it, though I don’t know what it is. This is the second time I have +been brought to you here.” + +“Are you going--?” He stopped himself. The exclamation had been begun +with an angry intention. He stopped, looking at me with a scared look, as +if perhaps it might be true. + +“Do you mean mad? I don’t think so. I have no delusions that I know of. +Father, think--do you know any reason why I am brought here? for some +cause there must be.” + +I stood with my hand upon the back of his chair. His table was covered +with papers, among which were several letters with the broad black border +which I had before observed. I noticed this now in my excitement without +any distinct association of thoughts, for that I was not capable of; but +the black border caught my eye. And I was conscious that he too gave a +hurried glance at them, and with one hand swept them away. + +“Philip,” he said, pushing back his chair, “you must be ill, my poor boy. +Evidently we have not been treating you rightly; you have been more ill +all through than I supposed. Let me persuade you to go to bed.” + +“I am perfectly well,” I said. “Father, don’t let us deceive one another. +I am neither a man to go mad nor to see ghosts. What it is that has got +the command over me I can’t tell; but there is some cause for it. You are +doing something or planning something with which I have a right to +interfere.” + +He turned round squarely in his chair, with a spark in his blue eyes. +He was not a man to be meddled with. “I have yet to learn what can +give my son a right to interfere. I am in possession of all my +faculties, I hope.” + +“Father,” I cried, “won’t you listen to me? No one can say I have been +undutiful or disrespectful. I am a man, with a right to speak my mind, +and I have done so; but this is different. I am not here by my own will. +Something that is stronger than I has brought me. There is something in +your mind which disturbs--others. I don’t know what I am saying. This is +not what I meant to say; but you know the meaning better than I. Some +one--who can speak to you only by me--speaks to you by me; and I know +that you understand.” + +He gazed up at me, growing pale, and his underlip fell. I, for my part, +felt that my message was delivered. My heart sank into a stillness so +sudden that it made me faint. The light swam in my eyes; everything went +round with me. I kept upright only by my hold upon the chair; and in the +sense of utter weakness that followed, I dropped on my knees I think +first, then on the nearest seat that presented itself, and, covering my +face with my hands, had hard ado not to sob, in the sudden removal of +that strange influence,--the relaxation of the strain. + +There was silence between us for some time; then he said, but with a +voice slightly broken, “I don’t understand you, Phil. You must have +taken some fancy into your mind which my slower intelligence--Speak out +what you want to say. What do you find fault with? Is it all--all that +woman Jordan?” + +He gave a short, forced laugh as he broke off, and shook me +almost roughly by the shoulder, saying, “Speak out! what--what do +you want to say?” + +“It seems, sir, that I have said everything.” My voice trembled more than +his, but not in the same way. “I have told you that I did not come by my +own will,--quite otherwise. I resisted as long as I could: now all is +said. It is for you to judge whether it was worth the trouble or not.” + +He got up from his seat in a hurried way. “You would have me as--mad as +yourself,” he said, then sat down again as quickly. “Come, Phil: if it +will please you, not to make a breach,--the first breach between us,--you +shall have your way. I consent to your looking into that matter about the +poor tenants. Your mind shall not be upset about that, even though I +don’t enter into all your views.” + +“Thank you,” I said; “but, father, that is not what it is.” + +“Then it is a piece of folly,” he said angrily. “I suppose you mean--but +this is a matter in which I choose to judge for myself.” + +“You know what I mean,” I said, as quietly as I could, “though I don’t +myself know; that proves there is good reason for it. Will you do one +thing for me before I leave you? Come with me into the drawing-room--” + +“What end,” he said, with again the tremble in his voice, “is to be +served by that?” + +“I don’t very well know; but to look at her, you and I together, will +always do something for us, sir. As for breach, there can be no breach +when we stand there.” + +He got up, trembling like an old man, which he was, but which he never +looked like save at moments of emotion like this, and told me to take the +light; then stopped when he had got half-way across the room. “This is a +piece of theatrical sentimentality,” he said. “No, Phil, I will not go. I +will not bring her into any such--Put down the lamp, and, if you will +take my advice, go to bed.” + +“At least,” I said, “I will trouble you no more, father, to-night. So +long as you understand, there need be no more to say.” + +He gave me a very curt “good-night,” and turned back to his papers,--the +letters with the black edge, either by my imagination or in reality, +always keeping uppermost. I went to my own room for my lamp, and then +alone proceeded to the silent shrine in which the portrait hung. I at +least would look at her to-night. I don’t know whether I asked myself, +in so many words, if it were she who--or if it was any one--I knew +nothing; but my heart was drawn with a softness--born, perhaps, of the +great weakness in which I was left after that visitation--to her, to look +at her, to see, perhaps, if there was any sympathy, any approval in her +face. I set down my lamp on the table where her little work-basket still +was; the light threw a gleam upward upon her,--she seemed more than ever +to be stepping into the room, coming down towards me, coming back to her +life. Ah, no! her life was lost and vanished: all mine stood between her +and the days she knew. She looked at me with eyes that did not change. +The anxiety I had seen at first seemed now a wistful, subdued question; +but that difference was not in her look but in mine. + + * * * * * + +I need not linger on the intervening time. The doctor who attended us +usually, came in next day “by accident,” and we had a long conversation. +On the following day a very impressive yet genial gentleman from town +lunched with us,--a friend of my father’s, Dr. Something; but the +introduction was hurried, and I did not catch his name. He, too, had a +long talk with me afterwards, my father being called away to speak to +some one on business. Dr.---- drew me out on the subject of the dwellings +of the poor. He said he heard I took great interest in this question, +which had come so much to the front at the present moment. He was +interested in it too, and wanted to know the view I took. I explained at +considerable length that my view did not concern the general subject, on +which I had scarcely thought, so much as the individual mode of +management of my father’s estate. He was a most patient and intelligent +listener, agreeing with me on some points, differing in others; and his +visit was very pleasant. I had no idea until after of its special object; +though a certain puzzled look and slight shake of the head when my father +returned, might have thrown some light upon it. The report of the medical +experts in my case must, however, have been quite satisfactory, for I +heard nothing more of them. It was, I think, a fortnight later when the +next and last of these strange experiences came. + +This time it was morning, about noon,--a wet and rather dismal spring +day. The half-spread leaves seemed to tap at the window, with an appeal +to be taken in; the primroses, that showed golden upon the grass at the +roots of the trees, just beyond the smooth-shorn grass of the lawn, were +all drooped and sodden among their sheltering leaves. The very growth +seemed dreary--the sense of spring in the air making the feeling of +winter a grievance, instead of the natural effect which it had conveyed a +few months before. I had been writing letters, and was cheerful enough, +going back among the associates of my old life, with, perhaps, a little +longing for its freedom and independence, but at the same time a not +ungrateful consciousness that for the moment my present tranquillity +might be best. + +This was my condition--a not unpleasant one--when suddenly the now +well-known symptoms of the visitation to which I had become subject +suddenly seized upon me,--the leap of the heart; the sudden, causeless, +overwhelming physical excitement, which I could neither ignore nor allay. +I was terrified beyond description, beyond reason, when I became +conscious that this was about to begin over again: what purpose did it +answer; what good was in it? My father indeed understood the meaning of +it though I did not understand; but it was little agreeable to be thus +made a helpless instrument, without any will of mine, in an operation of +which I knew nothing; and to enact the part of the oracle unwillingly, +with suffering and such a strain as it took me days to get over. I +resisted, not as before, but yet desperately, trying with better +knowledge to keep down the growing passion. I hurried to my room and +swallowed a dose of a sedative which had been given me to procure sleep +on my first return from India. I saw Morphew in the hall, and called him +to talk to him, and cheat myself, if possible, by that means. Morphew +lingered, however, and, before he came, I was beyond conversation. I +heard him speak, his voice coming vaguely through the turmoil which was +already in my ears, but what he said I have never known. I stood staring, +trying to recover my power of attention, with an aspect which ended by +completely frightening the man. He cried out at last that he was sure I +was ill, that he must bring me something; which words penetrated more or +less into my maddened brain. It became impressed upon me that he was +going to get some one--one of my father’s doctors, perhaps--to prevent +me from acting, to stop my interference, and that if I waited a moment +longer I might be too late. A vague idea seized me at the same time, of +taking refuge with the portrait,--going to its feet, throwing myself +there, perhaps, till the paroxysm should be over. But it was not there +that my footsteps were directed. I can remember making an effort to open +the door of the drawing-room, and feeling myself swept past it, as if by +a gale of wind. It was not there that I had to go. I knew very well where +I had to go,--once more on my confused and voiceless mission to my +father, who understood, although I could not understand. + +Yet as it was daylight, and all was clear, I could not help noting one or +two circumstances on my way. I saw some one sitting in the hall as if +waiting,--a woman, a girl, a black-shrouded figure, with a thick veil +over her face; and asked myself who she was, and what she wanted there. +This question, which had nothing to do with my present condition, somehow +got into my mind, and was tossed up and down upon the tumultuous tide +like a stray log on the breast of a fiercely rolling stream, now +submerged, now coming uppermost, at the mercy of the waters. It did not +stop me for a moment, as I hurried towards my father’s room, but it got +upon the current of my mind. I flung open my father’s door, and closed it +again after me, without seeing who was there or how he was engaged. The +full clearness of the daylight did not identify him as the lamp did at +night. He looked up at the sound of the door, with a glance of +apprehension; and rising suddenly, interrupting some one who was standing +speaking to him with much earnestness and even vehemence, came forward to +meet me. “I cannot be disturbed at present,” he said quickly; “I am +busy.” Then seeing the look in my face, which by this time he knew, he +too changed color. “Phil,” he said, in a low, imperative voice, “wretched +boy, go away--go away; don’t let a stranger see you--” + +“I can’t go away,” I said. “It is impossible. You know why I have come. I +cannot, if I would. It is more powerful than I--” + +“Go, sir,” he said; “go at once; no more of this folly. I will not have +you in this room: Go-go!” + +I made no answer. I don’t know that I could have done so. There had +never been any struggle between us before; but I had no power to do +one thing or another. The tumult within me was in full career. I heard +indeed what he said, and was able to reply; but his words, too, were +like straws tossed upon the tremendous stream. I saw now with my +feverish eyes who the other person present was. It was a woman, dressed +also in mourning similar to the one in the hall; but this a middle-aged +woman, like a respectable servant. She had been crying, and in the +pause caused by this encounter between my father and myself, dried her +eyes with a handkerchief, which she rolled like a ball in her hand, +evidently in strong emotion. She turned and looked at me as my father +spoke to me, for a moment with a gleam of hope, then falling back into +her former attitude. + +My father returned to his seat. He was much agitated too, though doing +all that was possible to conceal it. My inopportune arrival was evidently +a great and unlooked-for vexation to him. He gave me the only look of +passionate displeasure I have ever had from him, as he sat down again; +but he said nothing more. + +“You must understand,” he said, addressing the woman, “that I have said +my last words on this subject. I don’t choose to enter into it again in +the presence of my son, who is not well enough to be made a party to any +discussion. I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble in vain, +but you were warned beforehand, and you have only yourself to blame. I +acknowledge no claim, and nothing you can say will change my resolution. +I must beg you to go away. All this is very painful and quite useless. I +acknowledge no claim.” + +“Oh, sir,” she cried, her eyes beginning once more to flow, her speech +interrupted by little sobs. “Maybe I did wrong to speak of a claim. I’m +not educated to argue with a gentleman. Maybe we have no claim. But if +it’s not by right, oh, Mr. Canning, won’t you let your heart be touched +by pity? She don’t know what I’m saying, poor dear. She’s not one to beg +and pray for herself, as I’m doing for her. Oh, sir, she’s so young! +She’s so lone in this world,--not a friend to stand by her, nor a house +to take her in! You are the nearest to her of any one that’s left in this +world. She hasn’t a relation,--not one so near as you,--oh!” she cried, +with a sudden thought, turning quickly round upon me, “this gentleman’s +your son! Now I think of it, it’s not your relation she is, but his, +through his mother! That’s nearer, nearer! Oh, sir! you’re young; your +heart should be more tender. Here is my young lady that has no one in the +world to look to her. Your own flesh and blood; your mother’s +cousin,--your mother’s--” + +My father called to her to stop, with a voice of thunder. “Philip, leave +us at once. It is not a matter to be discussed with you.” + +And then in a moment it became clear to me what it was. It had been with +difficulty that I had kept myself still. My breast was laboring with the +fever of an impulse poured into me, more than I could contain. And now +for the first time I knew why. I hurried towards him, and took his hand, +though he resisted, into mine. Mine were burning, but his like ice: their +touch burnt me with its chill, like fire. “This is what it is?” I cried. +“I had no knowledge before. I don’t know now what is being asked of you. +But, father, understand! You know, and I know now, that some one sends +me,--some one--who has a right to interfere.” + +He pushed me away with all his might. “You are mad,” he cried. “What +right have you to think--? Oh, you are mad--mad! I have seen it +coming on--” + +The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict +with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between +men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not +take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to +go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst +from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my +withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and +easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large +and vague through the mist of fever. “I am not going away,” I said. “I am +going for another messenger,--one you can’t gainsay.” + +My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, “I will have nothing +touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned--” + +I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was +conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no +one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the +hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and +touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of +alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the +summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at +her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small, +cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,--not +cold,--it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and +spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications +of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection, +without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a +little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet +terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned +with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was +entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms +above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the +last outcry of nature,--“Agnes!” then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon +himself, into his chair. + +I had no leisure to think how he was, or whether he could hear what I +said. I had my message to deliver. “Father,” I said, laboring with my +panting breath, “it is for this that heaven has opened, and one whom I +never saw, one whom I know not, has taken possession of me. Had we been +less earthly, we should have seen her--herself, and not merely her image. +I have not even known what she meant. I have been as a fool without +understanding. This is the third time I have come to you with her +message, without knowing what to say. But now I have found it out. This +is her message. I have found it out at last.” There was an awful +pause,--a pause in which no one moved or breathed. Then there came a +broken voice out of my father’s chair. He had not understood, though I +think he heard what I said. He put out two feeble hands. “Phil--I think I +am dying--has she--has she come for me?” he said. + +We had to carry him to his bed. What struggles he had gone through before +I cannot tell. He had stood fast, and had refused to be moved, and now he +fell,--like an old tower, like an old tree. The necessity there was for +thinking of him saved me from the physical consequences which had +prostrated me on a former occasion. I had no leisure now for any +consciousness of how matters went with myself. + +His delusion was not wonderful, but most natural. She was clothed in +black from head to foot, instead of the white dress of the portrait. She +had no knowledge of the conflict, of nothing but that she was called for, +that her fate might depend on the next few minutes. In her eyes there was +a pathetic question, a line of anxiety in the lids, an innocent appeal in +the looks. And the face the same: the same lips, sensitive, ready to +quiver; the same innocent, candid brow; the look of a common race, which +is more subtle than mere resemblance. How I knew that it was so I cannot +tell, nor any man. It was the other, the elder,--ah, no! not elder; the +ever young, the Agnes to whom age can never come, she who they say was +the mother of a man who never saw her,--it was she who led her kinswoman, +her representative, into our hearts. + + * * * * * + +My father recovered after a few days: he had taken cold, it was said, the +day before; and naturally, at seventy, a small matter is enough to upset +the balance even of a strong man. He got quite well; but he was willing +enough afterwards to leave the management of that ticklish kind of +property which involves human well-being in my hands, who could move +about more freely, and see with my own eyes how things were going on. He +liked home better, and had more pleasure in his personal existence in the +end of his life. Agnes is now my wife, as he had, of course, foreseen. It +was not merely the disinclination to receive her father’s daughter, or to +take upon him a new responsibility, that had moved him, to do him +justice; but both these motives had told strongly. I have never been +told, and now will never be told, what his griefs against my mother’s +family, and specially against that cousin, had been; but that he had been +very determined, deeply prejudiced, there can be no doubt. It turned out +after, that the first occasion on which I had been mysteriously +commissioned to him with a message which I did not understand, and which +for that time he did not understand, was the evening of the day on which +he had received the dead man’s letter, appealing to him--to him, a man +whom he had wronged--on behalf of the child who was about to be left +friendless in the world. The second time, further letters--from the nurse +who was the only guardian of the orphan, and the chaplain of the place +where her father had died, taking it for granted that my father’s house +was her natural refuge--had been received. The third I have already +described, and its results. + +For a long time after, my mind was never without a lurking fear that the +influence which had once taken possession of me might return again. Why +should I have feared to be influenced, to be the messenger of a blessed +creature, whose wishes could be nothing but heavenly? Who can say? Flesh +and blood is not made for such encounters: they were more than I could +bear. But nothing of the kind has ever occurred again. + +Agnes had her peaceful domestic throne established under the picture. +My father wished it to be so, and spent his evenings there in the +warmth and light, instead of in the old library,--in the narrow circle +cleared by our lamp out of the darkness, as long as he lived. It is +supposed by strangers that the picture on the wall is that of my wife; +and I have always been glad that it should be so supposed. She who was +my mother, who came back to me and became as my soul for three strange +moments and no more, but with whom I can feel no credible relationship +as she stands there, has retired for me into the tender regions of the +unseen. She has passed once more into the secret company of those +shadows, who can only become real in an atmosphere fitted to modify and +harmonize all differences, and make all wonders possible,--the light of +the perfect day. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door and The Portrait, by +Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10052 *** diff --git a/10052-h/10052-h.htm b/10052-h/10052-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..efb4e38 --- /dev/null +++ b/10052-h/10052-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3138 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="ens"> + <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Open Door, and The Portrait, by Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} + +.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} + +.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} + + h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} + + h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:120%;} + + hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; +padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} + + table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:4px ridge gray; +font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} + + body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + + img {border:none;} + +.figcenter {margin-top:3%;margin-bottom:3%;clear:both; +margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + @media print, handheld + {.figcenter + {page-break-before: avoid;} + } + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} +</style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10052 ***</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="311" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td><a href="#I"><b>I, The Open Door</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#II"><b>II, The Portrait</b></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<h1>THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT</h1> + +<p class="cb">Stories of the Seen and the Unseen<br /> +<br /> +By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant<br /> +<br /> +1881</p> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I<br /><br /> +THE OPEN DOOR.</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I took</span> the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18—, for the +temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent +home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly +appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose +education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to +school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home +altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these +expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended +itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway +between. “Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School +every morning; it will do him all the good in the world,” Dr. Simson +said; “and when it is bad weather, there is the train.” His mother +accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have +hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more +invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the +North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of +the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to +acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his +schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in +these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there +had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either +my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one +left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply +sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to +school,—to combine the advantages of the two systems,—seemed to be +everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood +everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have +masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that +never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays. +Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should +like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more +than twenty-five,—an age at which I see the young fellows now groping +about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives. +However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which +elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it.</p> + +<p>Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country—one of the +richest in Scotland—which lies between the Pentland Hills and the +Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam—like a bent bow, +embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses—of the great estuary +on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like +those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of +the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to +a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. +Edinburgh—with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill, +its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur’s Seat lying +crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his +repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to +take care of itself without him—lay at our right hand. From the lawn +and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. +The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated +and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color +and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and +blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose.</p> + +<p>The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of +the deep little ravine, down which a stream—which ought to have been a +lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river—flowed between its rocks and +trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its +earlier life been sacrificed to trade, and was grimy with paper-making. +But this did not affect our pleasure in it so much as I have known it to +affect other streams. Perhaps our water was more rapid; perhaps less +clogged with dirt and refuse. Our side of the dell was charmingly +<i>accidenté</i>, and clothed with fine trees, through which various paths +wound down to the river-side and to the village bridge which crossed the +stream. The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic +houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in +Scotland. The blue slates and the gray stone are sworn foes to the +picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior +of an old-fashioned hewed and galleried church, with its little family +settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire +like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. +Still a cluster of houses on differing elevations, with scraps of garden +coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening +of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the +slow wagon lumbering along, gives a centre to the landscape. It was +cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. Within ourselves +we had walks in plenty, the glen being always beautiful in all its +phases, whether the woods were green in the spring or ruddy in the +autumn. In the park which surrounded the house were the ruins of the +former mansion of Brentwood,—a much smaller and less important house +than the solid Georgian edifice which we inhabited. The ruins were +picturesque, however, and gave importance to the place. Even we, who were +but temporary tenants, felt a vague pride in them, as if they somehow +reflected a certain consequence upon ourselves. The old building had the +remains of a tower,—an indistinguishable mass of mason-work, +over-grown with ivy; and the shells of walls attached to this were half +filled up with soil. I had never examined it closely, I am ashamed to +say. There was a large room, or what had been a large room, with the +lower part of the windows still existing, on the principal floor, and +underneath other windows, which were perfect, though half filled up with +fallen soil, and waving with a wild growth of brambles and chance growths +of all kinds. This was the oldest part of all. At a little distance were +some very commonplace and disjointed fragments of building, one of them +suggesting a certain pathos by its very commonness and the complete wreck +which it showed. This was the end of a low gable, a bit of gray wall, all +incrusted with lichens, in which was a common door-way. Probably it had +been a servants’ entrance, a backdoor, or opening into what are called +“the offices” in Scotland. No offices remained to be entered,—pantry and +kitchen had all been swept out of being; but there stood the door-way +open and vacant, free to all the winds, to the rabbits, and every wild +creature. It struck my eye, the first time I went to Brentwood, like a +melancholy comment upon a life that was over. A door that led to +nothing,—closed once, perhaps, with anxious care, bolted and guarded, +now void of any meaning. It impressed me, I remember, from the first; so +perhaps it may be said that my mind was prepared to attach to it an +importance which nothing justified.</p> + +<p>The summer was a very happy period of repose for us all. The warmth of +Indian suns was still in our veins. It seemed to us that we could never +have enough of the greenness, the dewiness, the freshness of the northern +landscape. Even its mists were pleasant to us, taking all the fever out +of us, and pouring in vigor and refreshment. In autumn we followed the +fashion of the time, and went away for change which we did not in the +least require. It was when the family had settled down for the winter, +when the days were short and dark, and the rigorous reign of frost upon +us, that the incidents occurred which alone could justify me in intruding +upon the world my private affairs. These incidents were, however, of so +curious a character, that I hope my inevitable references to my own +family and pressing personal interests will meet with a general pardon.</p> + +<p>I was absent in London when these events began. In London an old Indian +plunges back into the interests with which all his previous life has been +associated, and meets old friends at every step. I had been circulating +among some half-dozen of these,—enjoying the return to my former life in +shadow, though I had been so thankful in substance to throw it +aside,—and had missed some of my home letters, what with going down from +Friday to Monday to old Benbow’s place in the country, and stopping on +the way back to dine and sleep at Sellar’s and to take a look into +Cross’s stables, which occupied another day. It is never safe to miss +one’s letters. In this transitory life, as the Prayer-book says, how can +one ever be certain what is going to happen? All was well at home. I knew +exactly (I thought) what they would have to say to me: “The weather has +been so fine, that Roland has not once gone by train, and he enjoys the +ride beyond anything.” “Dear papa, be sure that you don’t forget +anything, but bring us so-and-so, and so-and-so,”—a list as long as my +arm. Dear girls and dearer mother! I would not for the world have +forgotten their commissions, or lost their little letters, for all the +Benbows and Crosses in the world.</p> + +<p>But I was confident in my home-comfort and peacefulness. When I got back +to my club, however, three or four letters were lying for one, upon some +of which I noticed the “immediate,” “urgent,” which old-fashioned people +and anxious people still believe will influence the post-office and +quicken the speed of the mails. I was about to open one of these, when +the club porter brought me two telegrams, one of which, he said, had +arrived the night before. I opened, as was to be expected, the last +first, and this was what I read: “Why don’t you come or answer? For God’s +sake, come. He is much worse.” This was a thunderbolt to fall upon a +man’s head who had one only son, and he the light of his eyes! The other +telegram, which I opened with hands trembling so much that I lost time by +my haste, was to much the same purport: “No better; doctor afraid of +brain-fever. Calls for you day and night. Let nothing detain you.” The +first thing I did was to look up the time-tables to see if there was any +way of getting off sooner than by the night-train, though I knew well +enough there was not; and then I read the letters, which furnished, alas! +too clearly, all the details. They told me that the boy had been pale for +some time, with a scared look. His mother had noticed it before I left +home, but would not say anything to alarm me. This look had increased day +by day: and soon it was observed that Roland came home at a wild gallop +through the park, his pony panting and in foam, himself “as white as a +sheet,” but with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. For a long +time he had resisted all questioning, but at length had developed such +strange changes of mood, showing a reluctance to go to school, a desire +to be fetched in the carriage at night,—which was a ridiculous piece of +luxury,—an unwillingness to go out into the grounds, and nervous start +at every sound, that his mother had insisted upon an explanation. When +the boy—our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was—began to talk +to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared +to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr. +Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do.</p> + +<p>I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart. +How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot +tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in +anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses +could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early +in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man +in the face, at whom I gasped, “What news?” My wife had sent the +brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign. +His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so +wildly free,—“Just the same.” Just the same! What might that mean? The +horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we +dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the +trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why +had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb +the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home, +I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp +it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in +the world,—when my boy was ill!—to grumble and groan in. But I had no +reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning +along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if +they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale +face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the +wind blew the flame about. “He is sleeping,” she said in a whisper, as if +her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also +in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses’ furniture and the +sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the +steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and +it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the +horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way, +or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwards, +though at the moment I was not capable of anything but to ask questions +and to hear of the condition of the boy.</p> + +<p>I looked at him from the door of his room, for we were afraid to go near, +lest we should disturb that blessed sleep. It looked like actual sleep, +not the lethargy into which my wife told me he would sometimes fall. She +told me everything in the next room, which communicated with his, rising +now and then and going to the door of communication; and in this there +was much that was very startling and confusing to the mind. It appeared +that ever since the winter began—since it was early dark, and night had +fallen before his return from school—he had been hearing voices among +the ruins: at first only a groaning, he said, at which his pony was as +much alarmed as he was, but by degrees a voice. The tears ran down my +wife’s cheeks as she described to me how he would start up in the night +and cry out, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with a +pathos which rent her heart. And she sitting there all the time, only +longing to do everything his heart could desire! But though she would try +to soothe him, crying, “You are at home, my darling. I am here. Don’t you +know me? Your mother is here!” he would only stare at her, and after a +while spring up again with the same cry. At other times he would be quite +reasonable, she said, asking eagerly when I was coming, but declaring +that he must go with me as soon as I did so, “to let them in.” “The +doctor thinks his nervous system must have received a shock,” my wife +said. “Oh, Henry, can it be that we have pushed him on too much with his +work—a delicate boy like Roland? And what is his work in comparison with +his health? Even you would think little of honors or prizes if it hurt +the boy’s health.” Even I!—as if I were an inhuman father sacrificing my +child to my ambition. But I would not increase her trouble by taking any +notice. After awhile they persuaded me to lie down, to rest, and to eat, +none of which things had been possible since I received their letters. +The mere fact of being on the spot, of course, in itself was a great +thing; and when I knew that I could be called in a moment, as soon as he +was awake and wanted me, I felt capable, even in the dark, chill morning +twilight, to snatch an hour or two’s sleep. As it happened, I was so +worn out with the strain of anxiety, and he so quieted and consoled by +knowing I had come, that I was not disturbed till the afternoon, when the +twilight had again settled down. There was just daylight enough to see +his face when I went to him; and what a change in a fortnight! He was +paler and more worn, I thought, than even in those dreadful days in the +plains before we left India. His hair seemed to me to have grown long and +lank; his eyes were like blazing lights projecting out of his white face. +He got hold of my hand in a cold and tremulous clutch, and waved to +everybody to go away. “Go away—even mother,” he said; “go away.” This +went to her heart; for she did not like that even I should have more of +the boy’s confidence than herself; but my wife has never been a woman to +think of herself, and she left us alone. “Are they all gone?” he said +eagerly. “They would not let me speak. The doctor treated me as if I were +a fool. You know I am not a fool, papa.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, my boy, I know. But you are ill, and quiet is so necessary. +You are not only not a fool, Roland, but you are reasonable and +understand. When you are ill you must deny yourself; you must not do +everything that you might do being well.”</p> + +<p>He waved his thin hand with a sort of indignation. “Then, father, I am +not ill,” he cried. “Oh, I thought when you came you would not stop +me,—you would see the sense of it! What do you think is the matter with +me, all of you? Simson is well enough; but he is only a doctor. What do +you think is the matter with me? I am no more ill than you are. A doctor, +of course, he thinks you are ill the moment he looks at you—that’s what +he’s there for—and claps you into bed.”</p> + +<p>“Which is the best place for you at present, my dear boy.”</p> + +<p>“I made up my mind,” cried the little fellow, “that I would stand it till +you came home. I said to myself, I won’t frighten mother and the girls. +But now, father,” he cried, half jumping out of bed, “it’s not illness: +it’s a secret.”</p> + +<p>His eyes shone so wildly, his face was so swept with strong feeling, that +my heart sank within me. It could be nothing but fever that did it, and +fever had been so fatal. I got him into my arms to put him back into +bed. “Roland,” I said, humoring the poor child, which I knew was the +only way, “if you are going to tell me this secret to do any good, you +know you must be quite quiet, and not excite yourself. If you excite +yourself, I must not let you speak.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father,” said the boy. He was quiet directly, like a man, as if he +quite understood. When I had laid him back on his pillow, he looked up at +me with that grateful, sweet look with which children, when they are ill, +break one’s heart, the water coming into his eyes in his weakness. “I was +sure as soon as you were here you would know what to do,” he said.</p> + +<p>“To be sure, my boy. Now keep quiet, and tell it all out like a man.” To +think I was telling lies to my own child! for I did it only to humor him, +thinking, poor little fellow, his brain was wrong.</p> + +<p>“Yes, father. Father, there is some one in the park—some one that has +been badly used.”</p> + +<p>“Hush, my dear; you remember there is to be no excitement. Well, who +is this somebody, and who has been ill-using him? We will soon put +a stop to that.”</p> + +<p>“All,” cried Roland, “but it is not so easy as you think. I don’t know +who it is. It is just a cry. Oh, if you could hear it! It gets into my +head in my sleep. I heard it as clear—as clear; and they think that I +am dreaming, or raving perhaps,” the boy said, with a sort of +disdainful smile.</p> + +<p>This look of his perplexed me; it was less like fever than I thought. +“Are you quite sure you have not dreamed it, Roland?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Dreamed?—that!” He was springing up again when he suddenly bethought +himself, and lay down flat, with the same sort of smile on his face. “The +pony heard it, too,” he said. “She jumped as if she had been shot. If I +had not grasped at the reins—for I was frightened, father—”</p> + +<p>“No shame to you, my boy,” said I, though I scarcely knew why.</p> + +<p>“If I hadn’t held to her like a leech, she’d have pitched me over her +head, and never drew breath till we were at the door. Did the pony dream +it?” he said, with a soft disdain, yet indulgence for my foolishness. +Then he added slowly, “It was only a cry the first time, and all the +time before you went away. I wouldn’t tell you, for it was so wretched +to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I +went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you +went I heard it really first; and this is what he says.” He raised +himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!’<span class="lftspc">”</span> As he said the words a mist +came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and +changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a +shower of heavy tears.</p> + +<p>Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the +disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I +thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true.</p> + +<p>“This is very touching, Roland,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard +it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she’s given over to +Simson, and that fellow’s a doctor, and never thinks of anything but +clapping you into bed.”</p> + +<p>“We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; “oh, +no; that’s the good of him; that’s what he’s for; I know that. But +you—you are different; you are just father; and you’ll do +something—directly, papa, directly; this very night.”</p> + +<p>“Surely,” I said. “No doubt it is some little lost child.”</p> + +<p>He gave me a sudden, swift look, investigating my face as though to see +whether, after all, this was everything my eminence as “father” came +to,—no more than that. Then he got hold of my shoulder, clutching it +with his thin hand. “Look here,” he said, with a quiver in his voice; +“suppose it wasn’t—living at all!”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy, how then could you have heard it?” I said.</p> + +<p>He turned away from me with a pettish exclamation,—“As if you didn’t +know better than that!”</p> + +<p>“Do you want to tell me it is a ghost?” I said.</p> + +<p>Roland withdrew his hand; his countenance assumed an aspect of great +dignity and gravity; a slight quiver remained about his lips. “Whatever +it was—you always said we were not to call names. It was something—in +trouble. Oh, father, in terrible trouble!”</p> + +<p>“But, my boy,” I said (I was at my wits’ end), “if it was a child +that was lost, or any poor human creature—but, Roland, what do you +want me to do?”</p> + +<p>“I should know if I was you,” said the child eagerly. “That is what I +always said to myself,—Father will know. Oh, papa, papa, to have to +face it night after night, in such terrible, terrible trouble, and never +to be able to do it any good! I don’t want to cry; it’s like a baby, I +know; but what can I do else? Out there all by itself in the ruin, and +nobody to help it! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” cried my generous +boy. And in his weakness he burst out, after many attempts to restrain +it, into a great childish fit of sobbing and tears.</p> + +<p>I do not know that I ever was in a greater perplexity, in my life; and +afterwards, when I thought of it, there was something comic in it too. It +is bad enough to find your child’s mind possessed with the conviction +that he has seen, or heard, a ghost; but that he should require you to go +instantly and help that ghost was the most bewildering experience that +had ever come my way. I am a sober man myself, and not superstitious—at +least any more than everybody is superstitious. Of course I do not +believe in ghosts; but I don’t deny, any more than other people, that +there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand. My blood got a +sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; +for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and +all that men most hate and fear for their children. But that I should +take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was +such a mission as was enough to confuse any man. I did my best to console +my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was +too sharp for me: he would have none of my caresses. With sobs breaking +in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his +eyelids, he yet returned to the charge.</p> + +<p>“It will be there now!—it will be there all the night! Oh, think, +papa,—think if it was me! I can’t rest for thinking of it. Don’t!” he +cried, putting away my hand,—“don’t! You go and help it, and mother can +take care of me.”</p> + +<p>“But, Roland, what can I do?”</p> + +<p>My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and +gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of. +“I was sure you would know as soon as you came. I always said, Father +will know. And mother,” he cried, with a softening of repose upon his +face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his +bed,—“mother can come and take care of me.”</p> + +<p>I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a +child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in +Scotland. I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was +greatly eased about Roland. He might be under a hallucination; but his +head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else +did. The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it. +“How do you think he is?” they said in a breath, coming round me, laying +hold of me. “Not half so ill as I expected,” I said; “not very bad at +all.” “Oh, papa, you are a darling!” cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying +upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped +both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all. I knew nothing +about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me: they had a +feeling that all would go right now. God is very good to you when your +children look to you like that. It makes one humble, not proud. I was not +worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a +father to Roland’s ghost,—which made me almost laugh, though I might +just as well have cried. It was the strangest mission that ever was +intrusted to mortal man.</p> + +<p>It was then I remembered suddenly the looks of the men when they turned +to take the brougham to the stables in the dark that morning. They had +not liked it, and the horses had not liked it. I remembered that even in +my anxiety about Roland I had heard them tearing along the avenue back to +the stables, and had made a memorandum mentally that I must speak of it. +It seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to go to the stables +now and make a few inquiries. It is impossible to fathom the minds of +rustics; there might be some devilry of practical joking, for anything I +knew; or they might have some interest in getting up a bad reputation for +the Brentwood avenue. It was getting dark by the time I went out, and +nobody who knows the country will need to be told how black is the +darkness of a November night under high laurel-bushes and yew-trees. I +walked into the heart of the shrubberies two or three times, not seeing a +step before me, till I came out upon the broader carriage-road, where the +trees opened a little, and there was a faint gray glimmer of sky visible, +under which the great limes and elms stood darkling like ghosts; but it +grew black again as I approached the corner where the ruins lay. Both +eyes and ears were on the alert, as may be supposed; but I could see +nothing in the absolute gloom, and, so far as I can recollect, I heard +nothing. Nevertheless there came a strong impression upon me that +somebody was there. It is a sensation which most people have felt. I have +seen when it has been strong enough to awake me out of sleep, the sense +of some one looking at me. I suppose my imagination had been affected by +Roland’s story; and the mystery of the darkness is always full of +suggestions. I stamped my feet violently on the gravel to rouse myself, +and called out sharply, “Who’s there?” Nobody answered, nor did I expect +any one to answer, but the impression had been made. I was so foolish +that I did not like to look back, but went sideways, keeping an eye on +the gloom behind. It was with great relief that I spied the light in the +stables, making a sort of oasis in the darkness. I walked very quickly +into the midst of that lighted and cheerful place, and thought the clank +of the groom’s pail one of the pleasantest sounds I had ever heard. The +coachman was the head of this little colony, and it was to his house I +went to pursue my investigations. He was a native of the district, and +had taken care of the place in the absence of the family for years; it +was impossible but that he must know everything that was going on, and +all the traditions of the place. The men, I could see, eyed me anxiously +when I thus appeared at such an hour among them, and followed me with +their eyes to Jarvis’s house, where he lived alone with his old wife, +their children being all married and out in the world. Mrs. Jarvis met me +with anxious questions. How was the poor young gentleman? But the others +knew, I could see by their faces, that not even this was the foremost +thing in my mind.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>“Noises?—ou ay, there’ll be noises,—the wind in the trees, and the +water soughing down the glen. As for tramps, Cornel, no, there’s little +o’ that kind o’ cattle about here; and Merran at the gate’s a careful +body.” Jarvis moved about with some embarrassment from one leg to +another as he spoke. He kept in the shade, and did not look at me more +than he could help. Evidently his mind was perturbed, and he had +reasons for keeping his own counsel. His wife sat by, giving him a quick +look now and then, but saying nothing. The kitchen was very snug and +warm and bright,—as different as could be from the chill and mystery of +the night outside.</p> + +<p>“I think you are trifling with me, Jarvis,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Triflin’, Cornel? No me. What would I trifle for? If the deevil himsel +was in the auld hoose, I have no interest in ’t one way or another—”</p> + +<p>“Sandy, hold your peace!” cried his wife imperatively.</p> + +<p>“And what am I to hold my peace for, wi’ the Cornel standing there asking +a’ thae questions? I’m saying, if the deevil himsel—”</p> + +<p>“And I’m telling ye hold your peace!” cried the woman, in great +excitement. “Dark November weather and lang nichts, and us that ken a’ we +ken. How daur ye name—a name that shouldna be spoken?” She threw down +her stocking and got up, also in great agitation. “I tellt ye you never +could keep it. It’s no a thing that will hide, and the haill toun kens as +weel as you or me. Tell the Cornel straight out—or see, I’ll do it. I +dinna hold wi’ your secrets, and a secret that the haill toun kens!” She +snapped her fingers with an air of large disdain. As for Jarvis, ruddy +and big as he was, he shrank to nothing before this decided woman. He +repeated to her two or three times her own adjuration, “Hold your peace!” +then, suddenly changing his tone, cried out, “Tell him then, confound +ye! I’ll wash my hands o’t. If a’ the ghosts in Scotland were in the auld +hoose, is that ony concern o’ mine?”</p> + +<p>After this I elicited without much difficulty the whole story. In the +opinion of the Jarvises, and of everybody about, the certainty that the +place was haunted was beyond all doubt. As Sandy and his wife warmed to +the tale, one tripping up another in their eagerness to tell everything, +it gradually developed as distinct a superstition as I ever heard, and +not without poetry and pathos. How long it was since the voice had been +heard first, nobody could tell with certainty. Jarvis’s opinion was that +his father, who had been coachman at Brentwood before him, had never +heard anything about it, and that the whole thing had arisen within the +last ten years, since the complete dismantling of the old house; which +was a wonderfully modern date for a tale so well authenticated. According +to these witnesses, and to several whom I questioned afterwards, and who +were all in perfect agreement, it was only in the months of November and +December that “the visitation” occurred. During these months, the darkest +of the year, scarcely a night passed without the recurrence of these +inexplicable cries. Nothing, it was said, had ever been seen,—at least, +nothing that could be identified. Some people, bolder or more imaginative +than the others, had seen the darkness moving, Mrs. Jarvis said, with +unconscious poetry. It began when night fell, and continued, at +intervals, till day broke. Very often it was only all inarticulate cry +and moaning, but sometimes the words which had taken possession of my +poor boy’s fancy had been distinctly audible,—“Oh, mother, let me in!” +The Jarvises were not aware that there had ever been any investigation +into it. The estate of Brentwood had lapsed into the hands of a distant +branch of the family, who had lived but little there; and of the many +people who had taken it, as I had done, few had remained through two +Decembers. And nobody had taken the trouble to make a very close +examination into the facts. “No, no,” Jarvis said, shaking his head, +“No, no, Cornel. Wha wad set themsels up for a laughin’-stock to a’ the +country-side, making a wark about a ghost? Naebody believes in ghosts. It +bid to be the wind in the trees, the last gentleman said, or some effec’ +o’ the water wrastlin’ among the rocks. He said it was a’ quite easy +explained; but he gave up the hoose. And when you cam, Cornel, we were +awfu’ anxious you should never hear. What for should I have spoiled the +bargain and hairmed the property for no-thing?”</p> + +<p>“Do you call my child’s life nothing?” I said in the trouble of the +moment, unable to restrain myself. “And instead of telling this all to +me, you have told it to him,—to a delicate boy, a child unable to sift +evidence or judge for himself, a tender-hearted young creature—”</p> + +<p>I was walking about the room with an anger all the hotter that I felt it +to be most likely quite unjust. My heart was full of bitterness against +the stolid retainers of a family who were content to risk other people’s +children and comfort rather than let a house be empty. If I had been +warned I might have taken precautions, or left the place, or sent Roland +away, a hundred things which now I could not do; and here I was with my +boy in a brain-fever, and his life, the most precious life on earth, +hanging in the balance, dependent on whether or not I could get to the +reason of a commonplace ghost-story! I paced about in high wrath, not +seeing what I was to do; for to take Roland away, even if he were able to +travel, would not settle his agitated mind; and I feared even that a +scientific explanation of refracted sound or reverberation, or any other +of the easy certainties with which we elder men are silenced, would have +very little effect upon the boy.</p> + +<p>“Cornel,” said Jarvis solemnly, “and <i>she’ll</i> bear me witness,—the young +gentleman never heard a word from me—no, nor from either groom or +gardener; I’ll gie ye my word for that. In the first place, he’s no a lad +that invites ye to talk. There are some that are, and some that arena. +Some will draw ye on, till ye’ve tellt them a’ the clatter of the toun, +and a’ ye ken, and whiles mair. But Maister Roland, his mind’s fu’ of his +books. He’s aye civil and kind, and a fine lad; but no that sort. And ye +see it’s for a’ our interest, Cornel, that you should stay at Brentwood. +I took it upon me mysel to pass the word,—‘No a syllable to Maister +Roland, nor to the young leddies—no a syllable.’ The women-servants, +that have little reason to be out at night, ken little or nothing about +it. And some think it grand to have a ghost so long as they’re no in the +way of coming across it. If you had been tellt the story to begin with, +maybe ye would have thought so yourself.”</p> + +<p>This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my +perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all +the family would have considered the possession of a ghost a distinct +advantage. It is the fashion of the times. We never think what a risk it +is to play with young imaginations, but cry out, in the fashionable +jargon, “A ghost!—nothing else was wanted to make it perfect.” I should +not have been above this myself. I should have smiled, of course, at the +idea of the ghost at all, but then to feel that it was mine would have +pleased my vanity. Oh, yes, I claim no exemption. The girls would have +been delighted. I could fancy their eagerness, their interest, and +excitement. No; if we had been told, it would have done no good,—we +should have made the bargain all the more eagerly, the fools that we are. +“And there has been no attempt to investigate it,” I said, “to see what +it really is?”</p> + +<p>“Eh, Cornel,” said the coachman’s wife, “wha would investigate, as ye +call it, a thing that nobody believes in? Ye would be the laughin’-stock +of a’ the country-side, as my man says.”</p> + +<p>“But you believe in it,” I said, turning upon her hastily. The woman was +taken by surprise. She made a step backward out of my way.</p> + +<p>“Lord, Cornel, how ye frichten a body! Me!—there’s awfu’ strange things +in this world. An unlearned person doesna ken what to think. But the +minister and the gentry they just laugh in your face. Inquire into the +thing that is not! Na, na, we just let it be.”</p> + +<p>“Come with me, Jarvis,” I said hastily, “and we’ll make an attempt at +least. Say nothing to the men or to anybody. I’ll come back after dinner, +and we’ll make a serious attempt to see what it is, if it is anything. If +I hear it,—which I doubt,—you may be sure I shall never rest till I +make it out. Be ready for me about ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Me, Cornel!” Jarvis said, in a faint voice. I had not been looking at +him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest +change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman. “Me, Cornel!” he +repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. His ruddy face hung in +flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half +extinguished in his throat. Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon +me in a deprecating, imbecile way. “There’s nothing I wouldna do to +pleasure ye, Cornel,” taking a step further back. “I’m sure <i>she</i> kens +I’ve aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken +gentleman—” Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing +his hands.</p> + +<p>“Well?” I said.</p> + +<p>“But eh, sir!” he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, +“if ye’ll reflect that I am no used to my feet. With a horse atween my +legs, or the reins in my hand, I’m maybe nae worse than other men; but on +fit, Cornel—It’s no the—bogles—but I’ve been cavalry, ye see,” with a +little hoarse laugh, “a’ my life. To face a thing ye dinna understan’—on +your feet, Cornel.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, if <i>I</i> do it,” said I tartly, “why shouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Eh, Cornel, there’s an awfu’ difference. In the first place, ye tramp +about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires +me mair than a hunard miles’ drive; and then ye’re a gentleman, and do +your ain pleasure; and you’re no so auld as me; and it’s for your ain +bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then—”</p> + +<p>“He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it,” the woman said.</p> + +<p>“Will you come with me?” I said, turning to her.</p> + +<p>She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment. “Me!” with a +scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh. “I wouldna say but +what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer +with an auld silly woman at his heels?”</p> + +<p>The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it. +“I’m sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis,” I said. “I must find some +one else, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short. My +butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed +to fear anything,—man or devil,—certainly not the former; and I felt +that I was losing time. The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me. +They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies. Outside, +the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit. I +don’t know if perhaps they had been listening,—at least standing as near +as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation. I waved my hand to +them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very +apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go.</p> + +<p>And it will be thought very strange, but it would be weak not to add, +that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged +to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy’s health, perhaps his +life, depended on the result of my inquiry,—I felt the most +unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity +was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I +daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and +attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I +had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in +me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began, +like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It +was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower, +loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so +solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we +were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the +path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with +a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The +contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a +little to myself. “Oh, it’s only the old gable,” I said aloud, with a +little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones +reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly. +What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in +the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been +shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly +it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again, +this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was +chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed +to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No, +not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,—a perfectly soft, +faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating. +Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear +myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and +emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in +the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had +an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,—something cold +creeping over me, up into my hair, and down to my feet, which refused to +move. I cried out, with a trembling voice, “Who is there?” as I had done +before; but there was no reply.</p> + +<p>I got home I don’t quite know how; but in my mind there was no longer +any indifference as to the thing, whatever it was, that haunted these +ruins. My scepticism disappeared like a mist. I was as firmly determined +that there was something as Roland was. I did not for a moment pretend +to myself that it was possible I could be deceived; there were movements +and noises which I understood all about,—cracklings of small branches +in the frost, and little rolls of gravel on the path, such as have a +very eerie sound sometimes, and perplex you with wonder as to who has +done it, <i>when there is no real mystery</i>; but I assure you all these +little movements of nature don’t affect you one bit <i>when there is +something</i>. I understood <i>them</i>. I did not understand the sigh. That was +not simple nature; there was meaning in it, feeling, the soul of a +creature invisible. This is the thing that human nature trembles at,—a +creature invisible, yet with sensations, feelings, a power somehow of +expressing itself. I had not the same sense of unwillingness to turn my +back upon the scene of the mystery which I had experienced in going to +the stables; but I almost ran home, impelled by eagerness to get +everything done that had to be done, in order to apply myself to finding +it out. Bagley was in the hall as usual when I went in. He was always +there in the afternoon, always with the appearance of perfect +occupation, yet, so far as I know, never doing anything. The door was +open, so that I hurried in without any pause, breathless; but the sight +of his calm regard, as he came to help me off with my overcoat, subdued +me in a moment. Anything out of the way, anything incomprehensible, +faded to nothing in the presence of Bagley. You saw and wondered how +<i>he</i> was made: the parting of his hair, the tie of his white neckcloth, +the fit of his trousers, all perfect as works of art; but you could see +how they were done, which makes all the difference. I flung myself upon +him, so to speak, without waiting to note the extreme unlikeness of the +man to anything of the kind I meant. “Bagley,” I said, “I want you to +come out with me to-night to watch for—”</p> + +<p>“Poachers, Colonel?” he said, a gleam of pleasure running all over him.</p> + +<p>“No, Bagley; a great deal worse,” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Colonel; at what hour, sir?” the man said; but then I had not told +him what it was.</p> + +<p>It was ten o’clock when we set out. All was perfectly quiet indoors. My +wife was with Roland, who had been quite calm, she said, and who (though, +no doubt, the fever must run its course) had been better ever since I +came. I told Bagley to put on a thick greatcoat over his evening coat, +and did the same myself, with strong boots; for the soil was like a +sponge, or worse. Talking to him, I almost forgot what we were going to +do. It was darker even than it had been before, and Bagley kept very +close to me as we went along. I had a small lantern in my hand, which +gave us a partial guidance. We had come to the corner where the path +turns. On one side was the bowling-green, which the girls had taken +possession of for their croquet-ground,—a wonderful enclosure surrounded +by high hedges of holly, three hundred years old and more; on the other, +the ruins. Both were black as night; but before we got so far, there was +a little opening in which we could just discern the trees and the lighter +line of the road. I thought it best to pause there and take breath. +“Bagley,” I said, “there is something about these ruins I don’t +understand. It is there I am going. Keep your eyes open and your wits +about you. Be ready to pounce upon any stranger you see,—anything, man +or woman. Don’t hurt, but seize anything you see.” “Colonel,” said +Bagley, with a little tremor in his breath, “they do say there’s things +there—as is neither man nor woman.” There was no time for words. “Are +you game to follow me, my man? that’s the question,” I said. Bagley fell +in without a word, and saluted. I knew then I had nothing to fear.</p> + +<p>We went, so far as I could guess, exactly as I had come; when I heard +that sigh. The darkness, however, was so complete that all marks, as of +trees or paths, disappeared. One moment we felt our feet on the gravel, +another sinking noiselessly into the slippery grass, that was all. I had +shut up my lantern, not wishing to scare any one, whoever it might be. +Bagley followed, it seemed to me, exactly in my footsteps as I made my +way, as I supposed, towards the mass of the ruined house. We seemed to +take a long time groping along seeking this; the squash of the wet soil +under our feet was the only thing that marked our progress. After a while +I stood still to see, or rather feel, where we were. The darkness was +very still, but no stiller than is usual in a winter’s night. The sounds +I have mentioned—the crackling of twigs, the roll of a pebble, the sound +of some rustle in the dead leaves, or creeping creature on the +grass—were audible when you listened, all mysterious enough when your +mind is disengaged, but to me cheering now as signs of the livingness of +nature, even in the death of the frost. As we stood still there came up +from the trees in the glen the prolonged hoot of an owl. Bagley started +with alarm, being in a state of general nervousness, and not knowing what +he was afraid of. But to me the sound was encouraging and pleasant, being +so comprehensible.</p> + +<p>“An owl,” I said, under my breath. “Y—es, Colonel,” said Bagley, his +teeth chattering. We stood still about five minutes, while it broke into +the still brooding of the air, the sound widening out in circles, dying +upon the darkness. This sound, which is not a cheerful one, made me +almost gay. It was natural, and relieved the tension of the mind. I moved +on with new courage, my nervous excitement calming down.</p> + +<p>When all at once, quite suddenly, close to us, at our feet, there broke +out a cry. I made a spring backwards in the first moment of surprise and +horror, and in doing so came sharply against the same rough masonry and +brambles that had struck me before. This new sound came upwards from the +ground,—a low, moaning, wailing voice, full of suffering and pain. The +contrast between it and the hoot of the owl was indescribable,—the one +with a wholesome wildness and naturalness that hurt nobody; the other, a +sound that made one’s blood curdle, full of human misery. With a great +deal of fumbling,—for in spite of everything I could do to keep up my +courage my hands shook,—I managed to remove the slide of my lantern. The +light leaped out like something living, and made the place visible in a +moment. We were what would have been inside the ruined building had +anything remained but the gable-wall which I have described. It was close +to us, the vacant door-way in it going out straight into the blackness +outside. The light showed the bit of wall, the ivy glistening upon it in +clouds of dark green, the bramble-branches waving, and below, the open +door,—a door that led to nothing. It was from this the voice came which +died out just as the light flashed upon this strange scene. There was a +moment’s silence, and then it broke forth again. The sound was so near, +so penetrating, so pitiful, that, in the nervous start I gave, the light +fell out of my hand. As I groped for it in the dark my hand was clutched +by Bagley, who, I think, must have dropped upon his knees; but I was too +much perturbed myself to think much of this. He clutched at me in the +confusion of his terror, forgetting all his usual decorum. “For God’s +sake, what is it, sir?” he gasped. If I yielded, there was evidently an +end of both of us. “I can’t tell,” I said, “any more than you; that’s +what we’ve got to find out. Up, man, up!” I pulled him to his feet. “Will +you go round and examine the other side, or will you stay here with the +lantern?” Bagley gasped at me with a face of horror. “Can’t we stay +together, Colonel?” he said; his knees were trembling under him. I pushed +him against the corner of the wall, and put the light into his hands. +“Stand fast till I come back; shake yourself together, man; let nothing +pass you,” I said. The voice was within two or three feet of us; of that +there could be no doubt.</p> + +<p>I went myself to the other side of the wall, keeping close to it. The +light shook in Bagley’s hand, but, tremulous though it was, shone out +through the vacant door, one oblong block of light marking all the +crumbling corners and hanging masses of foliage. Was that something dark +huddled in a heap by the side of it? I pushed forward across the light in +the door-way, and fell upon it with my hands; but it was only a +juniper-bush growing close against the wall. Meanwhile, the sight of my +figure crossing the door-way had brought Bagley’s nervous excitement to a +height: he flew at me, gripping my shoulder. “I’ve got him, Colonel! +I’ve got him!” he cried, with a voice of sudden exultation. He thought it +was a man, and was at once relieved. But at that moment the voice burst +forth again between us, at our feet,—more close to us than any separate +being could be. He dropped off from me, and fell against the wall, his +jaw dropping as if he were dying. I suppose, at the same moment, he saw +that it was me whom he had clutched. I, for my part, had scarcely more +command of myself. I snatched the light out of his hand, and flashed it +all about me wildly. Nothing,—the juniper-bush which I thought I had +never seen before, the heavy growth of the glistening ivy, the brambles +waving. It was close to my ears now, crying, crying, pleading as if for +life. Either I heard the same words Roland had heard, or else, in my +excitement, his imagination got possession of mine. The voice went on, +growing into distinct articulation, but wavering about, now from one +point, now from another, as if the owner of it were moving slowly back +and forward. “Mother! mother!” and then an outburst of wailing. As my +mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one’s mind gets accustomed to +anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was +pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes—but that must have +been excitement—I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then +another burst, “Oh, mother! mother!” All this close, close to the space +where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a +creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way, +which no one could either shut or open more.</p> + +<p>“Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?” I cried, +stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes +glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to +answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious +imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how +long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting +hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a +scene any one could understand,—a something shut out, restlessly +wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself +down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. “Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!” Every +word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried +to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do +something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially +overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound +of sobs and moaning. I cried out, “In the name of God, who are you?” with +a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane, +seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I +did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest +there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I +had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could +bear. But there was no answer; the moaning went on, and then, as if it +had been real, the voice rose a little higher again, the words +recommenced, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with an +expression that was heart-breaking to hear.</p> + +<p><i>As if it had been real</i>! What do I mean by that? I suppose I got less +alarmed as the thing went on. I began to recover the use of my senses,—I +seemed to explain it all to myself by saying that this had once happened, +that it was a recollection of a real scene. Why there should have seemed +something quite satisfactory and composing in this explanation I cannot +tell, but so it was. I began to listen almost as if it had been a play, +forgetting Bagley, who, I almost think, had fainted, leaning against the +wall. I was startled out of this strange spectatorship that had fallen +upon me by the sudden rush of something which made my heart jump once +more, a large black figure in the door-way waving its arms. “Come in! +come in! come in!” it shouted out hoarsely at the top of a deep bass +voice, and then poor Bagley fell down senseless across the threshold. He +was less sophisticated than I,—he had not been able to bear it any +longer. I took him for something supernatural, as he took me, and it was +some time before I awoke to the necessities of the moment. I remembered +only after, that from the time I began to give my attention to the man, I +heard the other voice no more. It was some time before I brought him to. +It must have been a strange scene: the lantern making a luminous spot in +the darkness, the man’s white face lying on the black earth, I over him, +doing what I could for him, probably I should have been thought to be +murdering him had any one seen us. When at last I succeeded in pouring a +little brandy down his throat, he sat up and looked about him wildly. +“What’s up?” he said; then recognizing me, tried to struggle to his feet +with a faint “Beg your pardon, Colonel.” I got him home as best I could, +making him lean upon my arm. The great fellow was as weak as a child. +Fortunately he did not for some time remember what had happened. From the +time Bagley fell the voice had stopped, and all was still.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>“You’ve got an epidemic in your house, Colonel,” Simson said to me next +morning. “What’s the meaning of it all? Here’s your butler raving about a +voice. This will never do, you know; and so far as I can make out, you +are in it too.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am in it, Doctor. I thought I had better speak to you. Of course +you are treating Roland all right, but the boy is not raving, he is as +sane as you or me. It’s all true.”</p> + +<p>“As sane as—I—or you. I never thought the boy insane. He’s got cerebral +excitement, fever. I don’t know what you’ve got. There’s something very +queer about the look of your eyes.”</p> + +<p>“Come,” said I, “you can’t put us all to bed, you know. You had better +listen and hear the symptoms in full.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but he listened to me patiently. He +did not believe a word of the story, that was clear; but he heard it all +from beginning to end. “My dear fellow,” he said, “the boy told me just +the same. It’s an epidemic. When one person falls a victim to this sort +of thing, it’s as safe as can be,—there’s always two or three.”</p> + +<p>“Then how do you account for it?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, account for it!—that’s a different matter; there’s no accounting +for the freaks our brains are subject to. If it’s delusion, if it’s some +trick of the echoes or the winds,—some phonetic disturbance or other—”</p> + +<p>“Come with me to-night, and judge for yourself,” I said.</p> + +<p>Upon this he laughed aloud, then said, “That’s not such a bad idea; but +it would ruin me forever if it were known that John Simson was +ghost-hunting.”</p> + +<p>“There it is,” said I; “you dart down on us who are unlearned with your +phonetic disturbances, but you daren’t examine what the thing really is +for fear of being laughed at. That’s science!”</p> + +<p>“It’s not science,—it’s common-sense,” said the Doctor. “The thing has +delusion on the front of it. It is encouraging an unwholesome tendency +even to examine. What good could come of it? Even if I am convinced, I +shouldn’t believe.”</p> + +<p>“I should have said so yesterday; and I don’t want you to be convinced or +to believe,” said I. “If you prove it to be a delusion, I shall be very +much obliged to you for one. Come; somebody must go with me.”</p> + +<p>“You are cool,” said the Doctor. “You’ve disabled this poor fellow of +yours, and made him—on that point—a lunatic for life; and now you want +to disable me. But, for once, I’ll do it. To save appearance, if you’ll +give me a bed, I’ll come over after my last rounds.”</p> + +<p>It was agreed that I should meet him at the gate, and that we should +visit the scene of last night’s occurrences before we came to the house, +so that nobody might be the wiser. It was scarcely possible to hope that +the cause of Bagley’s sudden illness should not somehow steal into the +knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be +done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had +to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal +for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but +he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with +which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm. +“Father?” he said quietly. “Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to +it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any +conclusion—yet. I am neglecting nothing you said,” I cried. What I could +not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the +mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given +him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone +so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. “You must trust +me,” I said. “Yes, father. Father understands,” he said to himself, as if +to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about +the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought; +but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that +aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious +part of it all.</p> + +<p>That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and +I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming +experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without +thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a +coil of taper which he had ready for use. “There is nothing like light,” +he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a +sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we +went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken +occasionally by a bitter cry. “Perhaps that is your voice,” said the +Doctor; “I thought it must be something of the kind. That’s a poor brute +caught in some of these infernal traps of yours; you’ll find it among the +bushes somewhere.” I said nothing. I felt no particular fear, but a +triumphant satisfaction in what was to follow. I led him to the spot +where Bagley and I had stood on the previous night. All was silent as a +winter night could be,—so silent that we heard far off the sound of the +horses in the stables, the shutting of a window at the house. Simson +lighted his taper and went peering about, poking into all the corners. We +looked like two conspirators lying in wait for some unfortunate +traveller; but not a sound broke the quiet. The moaning had stopped +before we came up; a star or two shone over us in the sky, looking down +as if surprised at our strange proceedings. Dr. Simson did nothing but +utter subdued laughs under his breath. “I thought as much,” he said. “It +is just the same with tables and all other kinds of ghostly apparatus; a +sceptic’s presence stops everything. When I am present nothing ever comes +off. How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here? Oh, I don’t +complain; only when <i>you</i> are satisfied, <i>I</i> am—quite.”</p> + +<p>I will not deny that I was disappointed beyond measure by this result. It +made me look like a credulous fool. It gave the Doctor such a pull over +me as nothing else could. I should point all his morals for years to +come; and his materialism, his scepticism, would be increased beyond +endurance. “It seems, indeed,” I said, “that there is to be no—” +“Manifestation,” he said, laughing; “that is what all the mediums say. No +manifestations, in consequence of the presence of an unbeliever.” His +laugh sounded very uncomfortable to me in the silence; and it was now +near midnight. But that laugh seemed the signal; before it died away the +moaning we had heard before was resumed. It started from some distance +off, and came towards us, nearer and nearer, like some one walking along +and moaning to himself. There could be no idea now that it was a hare +caught in a trap. The approach was slow, like that of a weak person, with +little halts and pauses. We heard it coming along the grass straight +towards the vacant door-way. Simson had been a little startled by the +first sound. He said hastily, “That child has no business to be out so +late.” But he felt, as well as I, that this was no child’s voice. As it +came nearer, he grew silent, and, going to the door-way with his taper, +stood looking out towards the sound. The taper being unprotected blew +about in the night air, though there was scarcely any wind. I threw the +light of my lantern steady and white across the same space. It was in a +blaze of light in the midst of the blackness. A little icy thrill had +gone over me at the first sound, but as it came close, I confess that my +only feeling was satisfaction. The scoffer could scoff no more. The light +touched his own face, and showed a very perplexed countenance. If he was +afraid, he concealed it with great success, but he was perplexed. And +then all that had happened on the previous night was enacted once more. +It fell strangely upon me with a sense of repetition. Every cry, every +sob seemed the same as before. I listened almost without any emotion at +all in my own person, thinking of its effect upon Simson. He maintained a +very bold front, on the whole. All that coming and going of the voice +was, if our ears could be trusted, exactly in front of the vacant, blank +door-way, blazing full of light, which caught and shone in the glistening +leaves of the great hollies at a little distance. Not a rabbit could have +crossed the turf without being seen; but there was nothing. After a time, +Simson, with a certain caution and bodily reluctance, as it seemed to me, +went out with his roll of taper into this space. His figure showed +against the holly in full outline. Just at this moment the voice sank, as +was its custom, and seemed to fling itself down at the door. Simson +recoiled violently, as if some one had come up against him, then turned, +and held his taper low, as if examining something. “Do you see anybody?” +I cried in a whisper, feeling the chill of nervous panic steal over me at +this action. “It’s nothing but a—confounded juniper-bush,” he said. This +I knew very well to be nonsense, for the juniper-bush was on the other +side. He went about after this round and round, poking his taper +everywhere, then returned to me on the inner side of the wall. He scoffed +no longer; his face was contracted and pale. “How long does this go on?” +he whispered to me, like a man who does not wish to interrupt some one +who is speaking. I had become too much perturbed myself to remark whether +the successions and changes of the voice were the same as last night. It +suddenly went out in the air almost as he was speaking, with a soft +reiterated sob dying away. If there had been anything to be seen, I +should have said that the person was at that moment crouching on the +ground close to the door.</p> + +<p>We walked home very silent afterwards. It was only when we were in sight +of the house that I said, “What do you think of it?” “I can’t tell what +to think of it,” he said quickly. He took—though he was a very temperate +man—not the claret I was going to offer him, but some brandy from the +tray, and swallowed it almost undiluted. “Mind you, I don’t believe a +word of it,” he said, when he had lighted his candle; “but I can’t tell +what to think,” he turned round to add, when he was half-way upstairs.</p> + +<p>All of this, however, did me no good with the solution of my problem. I +was to help this weeping, sobbing thing, which was already to me as +distinct a personality as anything I knew; or what should I say to +Roland? It was on my heart that my boy would die if I could not find some +way of helping this creature. You may be surprised that I should speak of +it in this way. I did not know if it was man or woman; but I no more +doubted that it was a soul in pain than I doubted my own being; and it +was my business to soothe this pain,—to deliver it, if that was +possible. Was ever such a task given to an anxious father trembling for +his only boy? I felt in my heart, fantastic as it may appear, that I must +fulfill this somehow, or part with my child; and you may conceive that +rather than do that I was ready to die. But even my dying would not have +advanced me, unless by bringing me into the same world with that seeker +at the door.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Next morning Simson was out before breakfast, and came in with evident +signs of the damp grass on his boots, and a look of worry and weariness, +which did not say much for the night he had passed. He improved a little +after breakfast, and visited his two patients,—for Bagley was still an +invalid. I went out with him on his way to the train, to hear what he +had to say about the boy. “He is going on very well,” he said; “there are +no complications as yet. But mind you, that’s not a boy to be trifled +with, Mortimer. Not a word to him about last night.” I had to tell him +then of my last interview with Roland, and of the impossible demand he +had made upon me, by which, though he tried to laugh, he was much +discomposed, as I could see. “We must just perjure ourselves all round,” +he said, “and swear you exorcised it;” but the man was too kind-hearted +to be satisfied with that. “It’s frightfully serious for you, Mortimer. I +can’t laugh as I should like to. I wish I saw a way out of it, for your +sake. By the way,” he added shortly, “didn’t you notice that juniper-bush +on the left-hand side?” “There was one on the right hand of the door. I +noticed you made that mistake last night.” “Mistake!” he cried, with a +curious low laugh, pulling up the collar of his coat as though he felt +the cold,—“there’s no juniper there this morning, left or right. Just go +and see.” As he stepped into the train a few minutes after, he looked +back upon me and beckoned me for a parting word. “I’m coming back +to-night,” he said.</p> + +<p>I don’t think I had any feeling about this as I turned away from that +common bustle of the railway which made my private preoccupations feel so +strangely out of date. There had been a distinct satisfaction in my mind +before, that his scepticism had been so entirely defeated. But the more +serious part of the matter pressed upon me now. I went straight from the +railway to the manse, which stood on a little plateau on the side of the +river opposite to the woods of Brentwood. The minister was one of a class +which is not so common in Scotland as it used to be. He was a man of good +family, well educated in the Scotch way, strong in philosophy, not so +strong in Greek, strongest of all in experience,—a man who had “come +across,” in the course of his life, most people of note that had ever +been in Scotland, and who was said to be very sound in doctrine, without +infringing the toleration with which old men, who are good men, are +generally endowed. He was old-fashioned; perhaps he did not think so much +about the troublous problems of theology as many of the young men, nor +ask himself any hard questions about the Confession of Faith; but he +understood human nature, which is perhaps better. He received me with a +cordial welcome.</p> + +<p>“Come away, Colonel Mortimer,” he said; “I’m all the more glad to see +you, that I feel it’s a good sign for the boy. He’s doing well?—God be +praised,—and the Lord bless him and keep him. He has many a poor body’s +prayers, and that can do nobody harm.”</p> + +<p>“He will need them all, Dr. Moncrieff,” I said, “and your counsel too.” +And I told him the story,—more than I had told Simson. The old clergyman +listened to me with many suppressed exclamations, and at the end the +water stood in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“That’s just beautiful,” he said. “I do not mind to have heard anything +like it; it’s as fine as Burns when he wished deliverance to one—that is +prayed for in no kirk. Ay, ay! so he would have you console the poor lost +spirit? God bless the boy! There’s something more than common in that, +Colonel Mortimer. And also the faith of him in his father!—I would like +to put that into a sermon.” Then the old gentleman gave me an alarmed +look, and said, “No, no; I was not meaning a sermon; but I must write it +down for the ‘Children’s Record.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> I saw the thought that passed through +his mind. Either he thought, or he feared I would think, of a funeral +sermon. You may believe this did not make me more cheerful.</p> + +<p>I can scarcely say that Dr. Moncrieff gave me any advice. How could any +one advise on such a subject? But he said, “I think I’ll come too. I’m an +old man; I’m less liable to be frightened than those that are further off +the world unseen. It behooves me to think of my own journey there. I’ve +no cut-and-dry beliefs on the subject. I’ll come too; and maybe at the +moment the Lord will put into our heads what to do.”</p> + +<p>This gave me a little comfort,—more than Simson had given me. To be +clear about the cause of it was not my grand desire. It was another thing +that was in my mind,—my boy. As for the poor soul at the open door, I +had no more doubt, as I have said, of its existence than I had of my own. +It was no ghost to me. I knew the creature, and it was in trouble. That +was my feeling about it, as it was Roland’s. To hear it first was a great +shock to my nerves, but not now; a man will get accustomed to anything. +But to do something for it was the great problem; how was I to be +serviceable to a being that was invisible, that was mortal no longer? +“Maybe at the moment the Lord will put it into our heads.” This is very +old-fashioned phraseology, and a week before, most likely, I should have +smiled (though always with kindness) at Dr. Moncrieff’s credulity; but +there was a great comfort, whether rational or otherwise I cannot say, in +the mere sound of the words.</p> + +<p>The road to the station and the village lay through the glen, not by the +ruins; but though the sunshine and the fresh air, and the beauty of the +trees, and the sound of the water were all very soothing to the spirits, +my mind was so full of my own subject that I could not refrain from +turning to the right hand as I got to the top of the glen, and going +straight to the place which I may call the scene of all my thoughts. It +was lying full in the sunshine, like all the rest of the world. The +ruined gable looked due east, and in the present aspect of the sun the +light streamed down through the door-way as our lantern had done, +throwing a flood of light upon the damp grass beyond. There was a strange +suggestion in the open door,—so futile, a kind of emblem of vanity: all +free around, so that you could go where you pleased, and yet that +semblance of an enclosure,—that way of entrance, unnecessary, leading to +nothing. And why any creature should pray and weep to get in—to nothing, +or be kept out—by nothing, you could not dwell upon it, or it made your +brain go round. I remembered, however, what Simson said about the +juniper, with a little smile on my own mind as to the inaccuracy of +recollection which even a scientific man will be guilty of. I could see +now the light of my lantern gleaming upon the wet glistening surface of +the spiky leaves at the right hand,—and he ready to go to the stake for +it that it was the left! I went round to make sure. And then I saw what +he had said. Right or left there was no juniper at all! I was confounded +by this, though it was entirely a matter of detail nothing at all,—a +bush of brambles waving, the grass growing up to the very walls. But +after all, though it gave me a shock for a moment, what did that matter? +There were marks as if a number of footsteps had been up and down in +front of the door, but these might have been our steps; and all was +bright and peaceful and still. I poked about the other ruin—the larger +ruins of the old house—for some time, as I had done before. There were +marks upon the grass here and there—I could not call them +footsteps—all about; but that told for nothing one way or another. I had +examined the ruined rooms closely the first day. They were half filled up +with soil and <i>debris</i>, withered brackens and bramble,—no refuge for any +one there. It vexed me that Jarvis should see me coming from that spot +when he came up to me for his orders. I don’t know whether my nocturnal +expeditions had got wind among the servants, but there was a significant +look in his face. Something in it I felt was like my own sensation when +Simson in the midst of his scepticism was struck dumb. Jarvis felt +satisfied that his veracity had been put beyond question. I never spoke +to a servant of mine in such a peremptory tone before. I sent him away +“with a flea in his lug,” as the man described it afterwards. +Interference of any kind was intolerable to me at such a moment.</p> + +<p>But what was strangest of all was, that I could not face Roland. I did +not go up to his room, as I would have naturally done, at once. This the +girls could not understand. They saw there was some mystery in it. +“Mother has gone to lie down,” Agatha said; “he has had such a good +night.” “But he wants you so, papa!” cried little Jeanie, always with her +two arms embracing mine in a pretty way she had. I was obliged to go at +last, but what could I say? I could only kiss him, and tell him to keep +still,—that I was doing all I could. There is something mystical about +the patience of a child. “It will come all right, won’t it, father?” he +said. “God grant it may! I hope so, Roland.” “Oh, yes, it will come all +right.” Perhaps he understood that in the midst of my anxiety I could not +stay with him as I should have done otherwise. But the girls were more +surprised than it is possible to describe. They looked at me with +wondering eyes. “If I were ill, papa, and you only stayed with me a +moment, I should break my heart,” said Agatha. But the boy had a +sympathetic feeling. He knew that of my own will I would not have done +it. I shut myself up in the library, where I could not rest, but kept +pacing up and down like a caged beast. What could I do? and if I could do +nothing, what would become of my boy? These were the questions that, +without ceasing, pursued each other through my mind.</p> + +<p>Simson came out to dinner, and when the house was all still, and most of +the servants in bed, we went out and met Dr. Moncrieff, as we had +appointed, at the head of the glen. Simson, for his part, was disposed to +scoff at the Doctor. “If there are to be any spells, you know, I’ll cut +the whole concern,” he said. I did not make him any reply. I had not +invited him; he could go or come as he pleased. He was very talkative, +far more so than suited my humor, as we went on. “One thing is certain, +you know; there must be some human agency,” he said. “It is all bosh +about apparitions. I never have investigated the laws of sound to any +great extent, and there’s a great deal in ventriloquism that we don’t +know much about.” “If it’s the same to you,” I said, “I wish you’d keep +all that to yourself, Simson. It doesn’t suit my state of mind.” “Oh, I +hope I know how to respect idiosyncrasy,” he said. The very tone of his +voice irritated me beyond measure. These scientific fellows, I wonder +people put up with them as they do, when you have no mind for their +cold-blooded confidence. Dr. Moncrieff met us about eleven o’clock, the +same time as on the previous night. He was a large man, with a venerable +countenance and white hair,—old, but in full vigor, and thinking less +of a cold night walk than many a younger man. He had his lantern, as I +had. We were fully provided with means of lighting the place, and we were +all of us resolute men. We had a rapid consultation as we went up, and +the result was that we divided to different posts. Dr. Moncrieff remained +inside the wall—if you can call that inside where there was no wall but +one. Simson placed himself on the side next the ruins, so as to intercept +any communication with the old house, which was what his mind was fixed +upon. I was posted on the other side. To say that nothing could come near +without being seen was self-evident. It had been so also on the previous +night. Now, with our three lights in the midst of the darkness, the whole +place seemed illuminated. Dr. Moncrieff’s lantern, which was a large one, +without any means of shutting up,—an old-fashioned lantern with a +pierced and ornamental top,—shone steadily, the rays shooting out of it +upward into the gloom. He placed it on the grass, where the middle of the +room, if this had been a room, would have been. The usual effect of the +light streaming out of the door-way was prevented by the illumination +which Simson and I on either side supplied. With these differences, +everything seemed as on the previous night.</p> + +<p>And what occurred was exactly the same, with the same air of repetition, +point for point, as I had formerly remarked. I declare that it seemed to +me as if I were pushed against, put aside, by the owner of the voice as +he paced up and down in his trouble,—though these are perfectly futile +words, seeing that the stream of light from my lantern, and that from +Simson’s taper, lay broad and clear, without a shadow, without the +smallest break, across the entire breadth of the grass. I had ceased even +to be alarmed, for my part. My heart was rent with pity and +trouble,—pity for the poor suffering human creature that moaned and +pleaded so, and trouble for myself and my boy. God! if I could not find +any help,—and what help could I find?—Roland would die.</p> + +<p>We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I +knew, by experience, it would be. Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was +quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places. +My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice. I was +used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first. But just +as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there +suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, +and my heart into my mouth. It was a voice inside the wall,—the +minister’s well-known voice. I would have been prepared for it in any +kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard. It came out +with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance. “Willie, +Willie! Oh, God preserve us! is it you?”</p> + +<p>These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the +invisible creature had ceased to have. I thought the old man, whom I +had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror. I made a dash +round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the +thought. He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague +and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet. I +lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward. He was very +pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted +lips. He neither saw nor heard me. We that had gone through this +experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little +strength to bear it. But he was not even aware that I was there. His +whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness. He held out his +hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear. He +went on speaking all the time. “Willie, if it is you,—and it’s you, if +it is not a delusion of Satan,—Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting +them that know you not? Why came ye not to me?”</p> + +<p>He seemed to wait for an answer. When his voice ceased, his countenance, +every line moving, continued to speak. Simson gave me another terrible +shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much +awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without +seeing Simson, speaking to some one else. His voice took a tone of +expostulation:—</p> + +<p>“Is this right to come here? Your mother’s gone with your name on her +lips. Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad? Do ye +think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature? No!—I +forbid ye! I forbid ye!” cried the old man. The sobbing voice had begun +to resume its cries. He made a step forward, calling out the last words +in a voice of command. “I forbid ye! Cry out no more to man. Go home, ye +wandering spirit! go home! Do you hear me?—me that christened ye, that +have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!” Here +the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness. “And her too, poor +woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon. She’s not here. You’ll find +her with the Lord. Go there and seek her, not here. Do you hear me, lad? +go after her there. He’ll let you in, though it’s late. Man, take heart! +if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven’s gate, and not +your poor mother’s ruined door.”</p> + +<p>He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had +done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, +but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled. Then the +minister spoke again, “Are you hearing me, Will? Oh, laddie, you’ve liked +the beggarly elements all your days. Be done with them now. Go home to +the Father—the Father! Are you hearing me?” Here the old man sank down +upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble +in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness. I resisted +as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon +my knees. Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression +in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes +wild, staring. It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and +wonder, that we were praying. All the time the voice, with a low arrested +sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought.</p> + +<p>“Lord,” the minister said,—“Lord, take him into Thy everlasting +habitations. The mother he cries to is with Thee. Who can open to him but +Thee? Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee? +Lord, let that woman there draw him inower! Let her draw him inower!”</p> + +<p>I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly +within the door. The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I +felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the +ground,—for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my +foolishness I thought. Simson held out his hand to me to help me up. He +was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost +inarticulate. “It’s gone,” he said, stammering,—“it’s gone!” We leaned +upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the +whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and +yet as long as I live I will never forget it,—the shining of the +strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all +the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and +uplifted hands. A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us. +By intervals a single syllable, “Lord! Lord!” came from the old +minister’s lips. He saw none of us, nor thought of us. I never knew how +long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our +lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did. But at last he +rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his +arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and +solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,—to what? to the silent +earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but +spectators gasping an Amen!</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that it must be the middle of the night, as we all walked +back. It was in reality very late. Dr. Moncrieff put his arm into mine. +He walked slowly, with an air of exhaustion. It was as if we were coming +from a death-bed. Something hushed and solemnized the very air. There was +that sense of relief in it which there always is at the end of a +death-struggle. And nature, persistent, never daunted, came back in all +of us, as we returned into the ways of life. We said nothing to each +other, indeed, for a time; but when we got clear of the trees and +reached the opening near the house, where we could see the sky, Dr. +Moncrieff himself was the first to speak. “I must be going,” he said; +“it’s very late, I’m afraid. I will go down the glen, as I came.”</p> + +<p>“But not alone. I am going with you, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will not oppose it. I am an old man, and agitation wearies more +than work. Yes; I’ll be thankful of your arm. To-night, Colonel, you’ve +done me more good turns than one.”</p> + +<p>I pressed his hand on my arm, not feeling able to speak. But Simson, +who turned with us, and who had gone along all this time with his taper +flaring, in entire unconsciousness, came to himself, apparently at the +sound of our voices, and put out that wild little torch with a quick +movement, as if of shame. “Let me carry your lantern,” he said; “it is +heavy.” He recovered with a spring; and in a moment, from the +awe-stricken spectator he had been, became himself, sceptical and +cynical. “I should like to ask you a question,” he said. “Do you +believe in Purgatory, Doctor? It’s not in the tenets of the Church, so +far as I know.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said Dr. Moncrieff, “an old man like me is sometimes not very +sure what he believes. There is just one thing I am certain of—and that +is the loving-kindness of God.”</p> + +<p>“But I thought that was in this life. I am no theologian—”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the old man again, with a tremor in him which I could feel +going over all his frame, “if I saw a friend of mine within the gates of +hell, I would not despair but his Father would take him by the hand +still, if he cried like <i>you</i>.”</p> + +<p>“I allow it is very strange, very strange. I cannot see through it. That +there must be human agency, I feel sure. Doctor, what made you decide +upon the person and the name?”</p> + +<p>The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show +if he were asked how he recognized his brother. “Tuts!” he said, in +familiar speech; then more solemnly, “How should I not recognize a person +that I know better—far better—than I know you?”</p> + +<p>“Then you saw the man?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little +impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went +on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which +were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very +still,—not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches, +which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending. +When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,—about the height +of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his +own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation, +waiting for him. “Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?” +she cried.</p> + +<p>“Far from that—better. God bless him!” Dr. Moncrieff said.</p> + +<p>I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have +pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent, +by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many +nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly +gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I +have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It +was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace +and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a +sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping, +satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we +found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and +gave me a smile: “I think he is a great deal better; but you are very +late,” she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the +Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own +color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy, +half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the +interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his +forehead, which was moist and cool. “All is well, Roland,” I said. He +looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his +cheek upon it, and so went to sleep.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>For some nights after, I watched among the ruins, spending all the dark +hours up to midnight patrolling about the bit of wall which was +associated with so many emotions; but I heard nothing, and saw nothing +beyond the quiet course of nature; nor, so far as I am aware, has +anything been heard again. Dr. Moncrieff gave me the history of the +youth, whom he never hesitated to name. I did not ask, as Simson did, how +he recognized him. He had been a prodigal,—weak, foolish, easily imposed +upon, and “led away,” as people say. All that we had heard had passed +actually in life, the Doctor said. The young man had come home thus a day +or two after his mother died,—who was no more than the housekeeper in +the old house,—and distracted with the news, had thrown himself down at +the door and called upon her to let him in. The old man could scarcely +speak of it for tears. To me it seemed as if—Heaven help us, how little +do we know about anything!—a scene like that might impress itself +somehow upon the hidden heart of nature. I do not pretend to know how, +but the repetition had struck me at the time as, in its terrible +strangeness and incomprehensibility, almost mechanical,—as if the unseen +actor could not exceed or vary, but was bound to re-enact the whole. One +thing that struck me, however, greatly, was the likeness between the old +minister and my boy in the manner of regarding these strange phenomena. +Dr. Moncrieff was not terrified, as I had been myself, and all the rest +of us. It was no “ghost,” as I fear we all vulgarly considered it, to +him,—but a poor creature whom he knew under these conditions, just as +he had known him in the flesh, having no doubt of his identity. And to +Roland it was the same. This spirit in pain,—if it was a spirit,—this +voice out of the unseen,—was a poor fellow-creature in misery, to be +succored and helped out of his trouble, to my boy. He spoke to me quite +frankly about it when he got better. “I knew father would find out some +way,” he said. And this was when he was strong and well, and all idea +that he would turn hysterical or become a seer of visions had happily +passed away.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>I must add one curious fact, which does not seem to me to have any +relation to the above, but which Simson made great use of, as the human +agency which he was determined to find somehow. We had examined the ruins +very closely at the time of these occurrences; but afterwards, when all +was over, as we went casually about them one Sunday afternoon in the +idleness of that unemployed day, Simson with his stick penetrated an old +window which had been entirely blocked up with fallen soil. He jumped +down into it in great excitement, and called me to follow. There we found +a little hole,—for it was more a hole than a room,—entirely hidden +under the ivy and ruins, in which there was a quantity of straw laid in a +corner, as if some one had made a bed there, and some remains of crusts +about the floor. Some one had lodged there, and not very long before, he +made out; and that this unknown being was the author of all the +mysterious sounds we heard he is convinced. “I told you it was human +agency,” he said triumphantly. He forgets, I suppose, how he and I stood +with our lights, seeing nothing, while the space between us was audibly +traversed by something that could speak, and sob, and suffer. There is no +argument with men of this kind. He is ready to get up a laugh against me +on this slender ground. “I was puzzled myself,—I could not make it +out,—but I always felt convinced human agency was at the bottom of it. +And here it is,—and a clever fellow he must have been,” the Doctor says.</p> + +<p>Bagley left my service as soon as he got well. He assured me it was no +want of respect, but he could not stand “them kind of things;” and the +man was so shaken and ghastly that I was glad to give him a present and +let him go. For my own part, I made a point of staying out the +time—two years—for which I had taken Brentwood; but I did not renew +my tenancy. By that time we had settled, and found for ourselves a +pleasant home of our own.</p> + +<p>I must add, that when the Doctor defies me, I can always bring back +gravity to his countenance, and a pause in his railing, when I remind him +of the juniper-bush. To me that was a matter of little importance. I +could believe I was mistaken. I did not care about it one way or other; +but on his mind the effect was different. The miserable voice, the spirit +in pain, he could think of as the result of ventriloquism, or +reverberation, or—anything you please: an elaborate prolonged hoax, +executed somehow by the tramp that had found a lodging in the old tower; +but the juniper-bush staggered him. Things have effects so different on +the minds of different men.</p> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<br /><br /> +THE PORTRAIT</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my +father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a +little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe +I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the +red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, +builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and +irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms +large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, +with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was +cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to +economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it +was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the +primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the +cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at +this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses,—the +kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the +neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last +inhabitants; and the furniture was faded, even a little dingy,—nothing +to brag of. I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were +faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and +had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright +if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at +home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I +had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays +as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had +died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and +silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of +my father’s had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of +me; but she, too, had died long, long ago, my mourning for her being one +of the first things I could recollect. And she had no successor. There +were, indeed, a housekeeper and some maids,—the latter of whom I only +saw disappearing at the end of a passage, or whisking out of a room when +one of “the gentlemen” appeared. Mrs. Weir, indeed, I saw nearly every +day; but a curtsey, a smile, a pair of nice round arms which she caressed +while folding them across her ample waist, and a large white apron, were +all I knew of her. This was the only female influence in the house. The +drawing-room I was aware of only as a place of deadly good order, into +which nobody ever entered. It had three long windows opening on the lawn, +and communicated at the upper end, which was rounded like a great bay, +with the conservatory. Sometimes I gazed into it as a child from without, +wondering at the needlework on the chairs, the screens, the +looking-glasses which never reflected any living face. My father did not +like the room, which probably was not wonderful, though it never occurred +to me in those early days to inquire why.</p> + +<p>I may say here, though it will probably be disappointing to those who +form a sentimental idea of the capabilities of children, that it did +not occur to me either, in these early days, to make any inquiry about +my mother. There was no room in life, as I knew it, for any such +person; nothing suggested to my mind either the fact that she must have +existed, or that there was need of her in the house. I accepted, as I +believe most children do, the facts of existence, on the basis with +which I had first made acquaintance with them, without question or +remark. As a matter of fact, I was aware that it was rather dull at +home; but neither by comparison with the books I read, nor by the +communications received from my school-fellows, did this seem to me +anything remarkable. And I was possibly somewhat dull too by nature, +for I did not mind. I was fond of reading, and for that there was +unbounded opportunity. I had a little ambition in respect to work, and +that too could be prosecuted undisturbed. When I went to the +university, my society lay almost entirely among men; but by that time +and afterwards, matters had of course greatly changed with me, and +though I recognized women as part of the economy of nature, and did not +indeed by any means dislike or avoid them, yet the idea of connecting +them at all with my own home never entered into my head. That continued +to be as it had always been, when at intervals I descended upon the +cool, grave, colorless place, in the midst of my traffic with the +world: always very still, well-ordered, serious,—the cooking very +good, the comfort perfect; old Morphew, the butler, a little older (but +very little older, perhaps on the whole less old, since in my childhood +I had thought him a kind of Methuselah); and Mrs. Weir, less active, +covering up her arms in sleeves, but folding and caressing them just as +always. I remember looking in from the lawn through the windows upon +that deadly-orderly drawing-room, with a humorous recollection of my +childish admiration and wonder, and feeling that it must be kept so +forever and ever, and that to go into it would break some sort of +amusing mock mystery, some pleasantly ridiculous spell.</p> + +<p>But it was only at rare intervals that I went home. In the long vacation, +as in my school holidays, my father often went abroad with me, so that we +had gone over a great deal of the Continent together very pleasantly. He +was old in proportion to the age of his son, being a man of sixty when I +was twenty, but that did not disturb the pleasure of the relations +between us. I don’t know that they were ever very confidential. On my +side there was but little to communicate, for I did not get into scrapes +nor fall in love, the two predicaments which demand sympathy and +confidences. And as for my father himself, I was never aware what there +could be to communicate on his side. I knew his life exactly,—what he +did almost at every hour of the day; under what circumstances of the +temperature he would ride and when walk; how often and with what guests +he would indulge in the occasional break of a dinner-party, a serious +pleasure,—perhaps, indeed, less a pleasure than a duty. All this I knew +as well as he did, and also his views on public matters, his political +opinions, which naturally were different from mine. What ground, then, +remained for confidence? I did not know any. We were both of us of a +reserved nature, not apt to enter into our religious feelings, for +instance. There are many people who think reticence on such subjects a +sign of the most reverential way of contemplating them. Of this I am far +from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial +to my own mind.</p> + +<p>And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I +did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an +Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a +semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years, +invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and +disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, “no +occasion” to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never +given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be +his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not +oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to +exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and +expressed his satisfaction in my return. “Of course,” he said, “I am not +glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken; +but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I +am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any difference, sir,” said I; “everything here seems exactly +the same as when I went away—”</p> + +<p>He smiled, and shook his head. “It is true enough,” he said; “after we +have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a +plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an +inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the +fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to +have you here.”</p> + +<p>“If I had known that,” I said, “and that you wanted me, I should have +come in any circumstances. As there are only two of us in the world—”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “there are only two of us in the world; but still I +should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career.”</p> + +<p>“It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself,” I said rather +bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear.</p> + +<p>He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, “It is an ill wind that blows +nobody good,” with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain +gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in +all the world to whom I owed any duty. I had not been without dreams of +warmer affections, but they had come to nothing—not tragically, but in +the ordinary way. I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but +not that which I did want,—which was not a thing to make any unmanly +moan about, but in the ordinary course of events. Such disappointments +happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and +sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so.</p> + +<p>However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,—in a +position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my +contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much +money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the +future. On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no +occupation. The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an +advantage. I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into +the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one +through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was +not a walk but a lounge. The country was silent and full of +thoughts,—thoughts not always very agreeable,—whereas there were always +the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be +heard,—all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very +impoverished version for the idle man. I did not like it, but I felt +myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand. The +rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner. I might +have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for +that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, +and fully contented with my lot.</p> + +<p>It was possibly my own want of occupation which made me observe with +surprise, after a while, how much occupied my father was. He had +expressed himself glad of my return; but now that I had returned, I saw +very little of him. Most of his time was spent in his library, as had +always been the case. But on the few visits I paid him there, I could not +but perceive that the aspect of the library was much changed. It had +acquired the look of a business-room, almost an office. There were large +business-like books on the table, which I could not associate with +anything he could naturally have to do; and his correspondence was very +large. I thought he closed one of those books hurriedly as I came in, and +pushed it away, as if he did not wish me to see it. This surprised me at +the moment without arousing any other feeling; but afterwards I +remembered it with a clearer sense of what it meant. He was more absorbed +altogether than I had been used to see him. He was visited by men +sometimes not of very prepossessing appearance. Surprise grew in my mind +without any very distinct idea of the reason of it; and it was not till +after a chance conversation with Morphew that my vague uneasiness began +to take definite shape. It was begun without any special intention on my +part. Morphew had informed me that master was very busy, on some occasion +when I wanted to see him. And I was a little annoyed to be thus put off. +“It appears to me that my father is always busy,” I said hastily. Morphew +then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent.</p> + +<p>“A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion,” he said.</p> + +<p>This startled me much, and I asked hurriedly, “What do you mean?” without +reflecting that to ask for private information from a servant about my +father’s habits was as bad as investigating into a stranger’s affairs. It +did not strike me in the same light.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Philip,” said Morphew, “a thing ’as ’appened as ’appens more often +than it ought to. Master has got awful keen about money in his old age.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a new thing for him,” I said.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, begging your pardon, it ain’t a new thing. He was once +broke of it, and that wasn’t easy done; but it’s come back, if you’ll +excuse me saying so. And I don’t know as he’ll ever be broke of it +again at his age.”</p> + +<p>I felt more disposed to be angry than disturbed by this. “You must be +making some ridiculous mistake,” I said. “And if you were not so old a +friend as you are, Morphew, I should not have allowed my father to be so +spoken of to me.”</p> + +<p>The old man gave me a half-astonished, half-contemptuous look. “He’s been +my master a deal longer than he’s been your father,” he said, turning on +his heel. The assumption was so comical that my anger could not stand in +face of it. I went out, having been on my way to the door when this +conversation occurred, and took my usual lounge about, which was not a +satisfactory sort of amusement. Its vanity and emptiness appeared to be +more evident than usual to-day. I met half-a-dozen people I knew, and had +as many pieces of news confided to me. I went up and down the length of +the High Street. I made a small purchase or two. And then I turned +homeward, despising myself, yet finding no alternative within my reach. +Would a long country walk have been more virtuous? It would at least have +been more wholesome; but that was all that could be said. My mind did +not dwell on Morphew’s communication. It seemed without sense or meaning +to me; and after the excellent joke about his superior interest in his +master to mine in my father, was dismissed lightly enough from my mind. I +tried to invent some way of telling this to my father without letting him +perceive that Morphew had been finding faults in him, or I listening; for +it seemed a pity to lose so good a joke. However, as I returned home, +something happened which put the joke entirely out of my head. It is +curious when a new subject of trouble or anxiety has been suggested to +the mind in an unexpected way, how often a second advertisement follows +immediately after the first, and gives to that a potency which in itself +it had not possessed.</p> + +<p>I was approaching our own door, wondering whether my father had gone, and +whether, on my return, I should find him at leisure,—for I had several +little things to say to him,—when I noticed a poor woman lingering about +the closed gates. She had a baby sleeping in her arms. It was a spring +night, the stars shining in the twilight, and everything soft and dim; +and the woman’s figure was like a shadow, flitting about, now here, now +there, on one side or another of the gate. She stopped when she saw me +approaching, and hesitated for a moment, then seemed to take a sudden +resolution. I watched her without knowing, with a prevision that she was +going to address me, though with no sort of idea as to the subject of her +address. She came up to me doubtfully, it seemed, yet certainly, as I +felt, and when she was close to me, dropped a sort of hesitating curtsey, +and said, “It’s Mr. Philip?” in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“What do you want with me?” I said.</p> + +<p>Then she poured forth suddenly, without warning or preparation, her long +speech,—a flood of words which must have been all ready and waiting at +the doors of her lips for utterance. “Oh, sir, I want to speak to you! I +can’t believe you’ll be so hard, for you’re young; and I can’t believe +he’ll be so hard if so be as his own son, as I’ve always heard he had but +one, ’ll speak up for us. Oh, gentleman, it is easy for the likes of you, +that, if you ain’t comfortable in one room, can just walk into another; +but if one room is all you have, and every bit of furniture you have +taken out of it, and nothing but the four walls left,—not so much as the +cradle for the child, or a chair for your man to sit down upon when he +comes from his work, or a saucepan to cook him his supper—”</p> + +<p>“My good woman,” I said, “who can have taken all that from you? Surely +nobody can be so cruel?”</p> + +<p>“You say it’s cruel!” she cried with a sort of triumph. “Oh, I knowed you +would, or any true gentleman that don’t hold with screwing poor folks. +Just go and say that to him inside there for the love of God. Tell him +to think what he’s doing, driving poor creatures to despair. Summer’s +coming, the Lord be praised, but yet it’s bitter cold at night with your +counterpane gone; and when you’ve been working hard all day, and nothing +but four bare walls to come home to, and all your poor little sticks of +furniture that you’ve saved up for, and got together one by one, all +gone, and you no better than when you started, or rather worse, for then +you was young. Oh, sir!” the woman’s voice rose into a sort of passionate +wail. And then she added, beseechingly, recovering herself, “Oh, speak +for us; he’ll not refuse his own son—”</p> + +<p>“To whom am I to speak? Who is it that has done this to you?” I said.</p> + +<p>The woman hesitated again, looking keenly in my face, then repeated with +a slight faltering, “It’s Mr. Philip?” as if that made everything right.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I am Philip Canning,” I said; “but what have I to do with this? +and to whom am I to speak?”</p> + +<p>She began to whimper, crying and stopping herself. “Oh, please, sir! it’s +Mr. Canning as owns all the house property about; it’s him that our court +and the lane and everything belongs to. And he’s taken the bed from under +us, and the baby’s cradle, although it’s said in the Bible as you’re not +to take poor folks’ bed.”</p> + +<p>“My father!” I cried in spite of myself; “then it must be some agent, +some one else in his name. You may be sure he knows nothing of it. Of +course I shall speak to him at once.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, God bless you, sir,” said the woman. But then she added, in a lower +tone, “It’s no agent. It’s one as never knows trouble. It’s him that +lives in that grand house.” But this was said under her breath, evidently +not for me to hear.</p> + +<p>Morphew’s words flashed through my mind as she spoke. What was this? Did +it afford an explanation of the much-occupied hours, the big books, the +strange visitors? I took the poor woman’s name, and gave her something +to procure a few comforts for the night, and went indoors disturbed and +troubled. It was impossible to believe that my father himself would +have acted thus; but he was not a man to brook interference, and I did +not see how to introduce the subject, what to say. I could but hope +that, at the moment of broaching it, words would be put into my mouth, +which often happens in moments of necessity, one knows not how, even +when one’s theme is not so all-important as that for which such help has +been promised. As usual, I did not see my father till dinner. I have +said that our dinners were very good, luxurious in a simple way, +everything excellent in its kind, well cooked, well served,—the +perfection of comfort without show,—which is a combination very dear to +the English heart. I said nothing till Morphew, with his solemn +attention to everything that was going, had retired; and then it was +with some strain of courage that I began.</p> + +<p>“I was stopped outside the gate to-day by a curious sort of +petitioner,—a poor woman, who seems to be one of your tenants, sir, but +whom your agent must have been rather too hard upon.”</p> + +<p>“My agent? Who is that?” said my father quietly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know his name, and I doubt his competence. The poor creature +seems to have had everything taken from her,—her bed, her child’s +cradle.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt she was behind with her rent.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely, sir. She seemed very poor,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You take it coolly,” said my father, with an upward glance, half-amused, +not in the least shocked by my statement. “But when a man, or a woman +either, takes a house, I suppose you will allow that they ought to pay +rent for it.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir,” I replied, “when they have got anything to pay.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t allow the reservation,” he said. But he was not angry, which I +had feared he would be.</p> + +<p>“I think,” I continued, “that your agent must be too severe. And this +emboldens me to say something which has been in my mind for some +time”—(these were the words, no doubt, which I had hoped would be put +into my month; they were the suggestion of the moment, and yet as I said +them it was with the most complete conviction of their truth)—“and that +is this: I am doing nothing; my time hangs heavy on my hands. Make me +your agent. I will see for myself, and save you from such mistakes; and +it will be an occupation—”</p> + +<p>“Mistakes? What warrant have you for saying these are mistakes?” he said +testily; then after a moment: “This is a strange proposal from you, Phil. +Do you know what it is you are offering?—to be a collector of rents, +going about from door to door, from week to week; to look after wretched +little bits of repairs, drains, etc.; to get paid, which, after all, is +the chief thing, and not to be taken in by tales of poverty.”</p> + +<p>“Not to let you be taken in by men without pity,” I said.</p> + +<p>He gave me a strange glance, which I did not very well understand, and +said abruptly, a thing which, so far as I remember, he had never in my +life said before, “You’ve become a little like your mother, Phil—”</p> + +<p>“My mother!” the reference was so unusual—nay, so unprecedented—that I +was greatly startled. It seemed to me like the sudden introduction of a +quite new element in the stagnant atmosphere, as well as a new party to +our conversation. My father looked across the table, as if with some +astonishment at my tone of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Is that so very extraordinary?” he said.</p> + +<p>“No; of course it is not extraordinary that I should resemble my mother. +Only—I have heard very little of her—almost nothing.”</p> + +<p>“That is true.” He got up and placed himself before the fire, which was +very low, as the night was not cold—had not been cold heretofore at +least; but it seemed to me now that a little chill came into the dim and +faded room. Perhaps it looked more dull from the suggestion of a +something brighter, warmer, that might have been. “Talking of mistakes,” +he said, “perhaps that was one: to sever you entirely from her side of +the house. But I did not care for the connection. You will understand how +it is that I speak of it now when I tell you—” He stopped here, however, +said nothing more for a minute or so, and then rang the bell. Morphew +came, as he always did, very deliberately, so that some time elapsed in +silence, during which my surprise grew. When the old man appeared at the +door—“Have you put the lights in the drawing-room, as I told you?” my +father said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; and opened the box, sir; and it’s a—it’s a speaking +likeness—”</p> + +<p>This the old man got out in a great hurry, as if afraid that his master +would stop him. My father did so with a wave of his hand.</p> + +<p>“That’s enough. I asked no information. You can go now.”</p> + +<p>The door closed upon us, and there was again a pause. My subject had +floated away altogether like a mist, though I had been so concerned about +it. I tried to resume, but could not. Something seemed to arrest my very +breathing; and yet in this dull, respectable house of ours, where +everything breathed good character and integrity, it was certain that +there could be no shameful mystery to reveal. It was some time before my +father spoke, not from any purpose that I could see, but apparently +because his mind was busy with probably unaccustomed thoughts.</p> + +<p>“You scarcely know the drawing-room, Phil,” he said at last.</p> + +<p>“Very little. I have never seen it used. I have a little awe of it, to +tell the truth.”</p> + +<p>“That should not be. There is no reason for that. But a man by himself, +as I have been for the greater part of my life, has no occasion for a +drawing-room. I always, as a matter of preference, sat among my books; +however, I ought to have thought of the impression on you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is not important,” I said; “the awe was childish. I have not +thought of it since I came home.”</p> + +<p>“It never was anything very splendid at the best,” said he. He lifted the +lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my +offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of +seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom +of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair +and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, +his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was +taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment +with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and +bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more +intimately than any other creature in the world,—I was familiar with +every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not +know him at all?</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The drawing-room was already lighted with a flickering array of candles +upon the mantelpiece and along the walls, producing the pretty, starry +effect which candles give without very much light. As I had not the +smallest idea what I was about to see, for Morphew’s “speaking likeness” +was very hurriedly said, and only half comprehensible in the bewilderment +of my faculties, my first glance was at this very unusual illumination, +for which I could assign no reason. The next showed me a large +full-length portrait, still in the box in which apparently it had +travelled, placed upright, supported against a table in the centre of the +room. My father walked straight up to it, motioned to me to place a +smaller table close to the picture on the left side, and put his lamp +upon that. Then he waved his hand towards it, and stood aside that I +might see.</p> + +<p>It was a full-length portrait of a very young woman—I might say a girl +scarcely twenty—in a white dress, made in a very simple old fashion, +though I was too little accustomed to female costume to be able to fix +the date. It might have been a hundred years old, or twenty, for aught I +knew. The face had an expression of youth, candor, and simplicity more +than any face I had ever seen,—or so, at least in my surprise, I +thought. The eyes were a little wistful, with something which was almost +anxiety which at least was not content—in them; a faint, almost +imperceptible, curve in the lids. The complexion was of a dazzling +fairness, the hair light, but the eyes dark, which gave individuality to +the face. It would have been as lovely had the eyes been blue,—probably +more so,—but their darkness gave a touch of character, a slight discord, +which made the harmony finer. It was not, perhaps, beautiful in the +highest sense of the word. The girl must have been too young, too slight, +too little developed for actual beauty; but a face which so invited love +and confidence I never saw. One smiled at it with instinctive affection. +“What a sweet face!” I said. “What a lovely girl! Who is she? Is this one +of the relations you were speaking of on the other side?”</p> + +<p>My father made me no reply. He stood aside, looking at it as if he knew +it too well to require to look,—as if the picture was already in his +eyes. “Yes,” he said, after an interval, with a long-drawn breath, “she +was a lovely girl, as you say.”</p> + +<p>“Was?—then she is dead. What a pity!” I said; “what a pity! so young and +so sweet!”</p> + +<p>We stood gazing at her thus, in her beautiful stillness and calm,—two +men, the younger of us full-grown and conscious of many experiences, the +other an old man,—before this impersonation of tender youth. At length +he said, with a slight tremulousness in his voice, “Does nothing suggest +to you who she is, Phil?”</p> + +<p>I turned round to look at him with profound astonishment, but he turned +away from my look. A sort of quiver passed over his face. “That is your +mother,” he said, and walked suddenly away, leaving me there.</p> + +<p>My mother!</p> + +<p>I stood for a moment in a kind of consternation before the white-robed +innocent creature, to me no more than a child; then a sudden laugh broke +from me, without any will of mine something ludicrous, as well as +something awful, was in it. When the laugh was over, I found myself with +tears in my eyes, gazing, holding my breath. The soft features seemed to +melt, the lips to move, the anxiety in the eyes to become a personal +inquiry. Ah, no! nothing of the kind; only because of the water in mine. +My mother! oh, fair and gentle creature, scarcely woman, how could any +man’s voice call her by that name! I had little idea enough of what it +meant,—had heard it laughed at, scoffed at, reverenced, but never had +learned to place it even among the ideal powers of life. Yet if it meant +anything at all, what it meant was worth thinking of. What did she ask, +looking at me with those eyes? What would she have said if “those lips +had language”? If I had known her only as Cowper did—with a child’s +recollection—there might have been some thread, some faint but +comprehensible link, between us; but now all that I felt was the curious +incongruity. Poor child! I said to myself; so sweet a creature: poor +little tender soul! as if she had been a little sister, a child of +mine,—but my mother! I cannot tell how long I stood looking at her, +studying the candid, sweet face, which surely had germs in it of +everything that was good and beautiful; and sorry, with a profound +regret, that she had died and never carried these promises to +fulfillment. Poor girl! poor people who had loved her! These were my +thoughts; with a curious vertigo and giddiness of my whole being in the +sense of a mysterious relationship, which it was beyond my power to +understand.</p> + +<p>Presently my father came back, possibly because I had been a long time +unconscious of the passage of the minutes, or perhaps because he was +himself restless in the strange disturbance of his habitual calm. He came +in and put his arm within mine, leaning his weight partially upon me, +with an affectionate suggestion which went deeper than words. I pressed +his arm to my side: it was more between us two grave Englishmen than any +embracing.</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand it,” I said.</p> + +<p>“No. I don’t wonder at that; but if it is strange to you, Phil, think how +much more strange to me! That is the partner of my life. I have never had +another, or thought of another. That—girl! If we are to meet again, as I +have always hoped we should meet again, what am I to say to her,—I, an +old man? Yes; I know what you mean. I am not an old man for my years; but +my years are threescore and ten, and the play is nearly played out. How +am I to meet that young creature? We used to say to each other that it +was forever, that we never could be but one, that it was for life and +death. But what—what am I to say to her, Phil, when I meet her again, +that—that angel? No, it is not her being an angel that troubles me; but +she is so young! She is like my—my granddaughter,” he cried, with a +burst of what was half sobs, half laughter; “and she is my wife,—and I +am an old man—an old man! And so much has happened that she could not +understand.”</p> + +<p>I was too much startled by this strange complaint to know what to say. +It was not my own trouble, and I answered it in the conventional way.</p> + +<p>“They are not as we are, sir,” I said; “they look upon us with larger, +other eyes than ours.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! you don’t know what I mean,” he said quickly; and in the interval he +had subdued his emotion. “At first, after she died, it was my consolation +to think that I should meet her again,—that we never could be really +parted. But, my God, how I have changed since then! I am another man,—I +am a different being. I was not very young even then,—twenty years older +than she was; but her youth renewed mine. I was not an unfit partner; she +asked no better, and knew as much more than I did in some things,—being +so much nearer the source,—as I did in others that were of the world. +But I have gone a long way since then, Phil,—a long way; and there she +stands, just where I left her.”</p> + +<p>I pressed his arm again. “Father,” I said, which was a title I seldom +used, “we are not to suppose that in a higher life the mind stands +still.” I did not feel myself qualified to discuss such topics, but +something one must say.</p> + +<p>“Worse, worse!” he replied; “then she too will be, like me, a different +being, and we shall meet as what? as strangers, as people who have lost +sight of each other, with a long past between us,—we who parted, my God! +with—with—”</p> + +<p>His voice broke and ended for a moment then while, surprised and almost +shocked by what he said, I cast about in my mind what to reply, he +withdrew his arm suddenly from mine, and said in his usual tone, “Where +shall we hang the picture, Phil? It must be here in this room. What do +you think will be the best light?”</p> + +<p>This sudden alteration took me still more by surprise, and gave me almost +an additional shock; but it was evident that I must follow the changes of +his mood, or at least the sudden repression of sentiment which he +originated. We went into that simpler question with great seriousness, +consulting which would be the best light. “You know I can scarcely +advise,” I said; “I have never been familiar with this room. I should +like to put off, if you don’t mind, till daylight.”</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said, “that this would be the best place.” It was on the +other side of the fireplace, on the wall which faced the windows,—not +the best light, I knew enough to be aware, for an oil-painting. When I +said so, however, he answered me with a little impatience, “It does not +matter very much about the best light; there will be nobody to see it but +you and me. I have my reasons—” There was a small table standing against +the wall at this spot, on which he had his hand as he spoke. Upon it +stood a little basket in very fine lace-like wicker-work. His hand must +have trembled, for the table shook, and the basket fell, its contents +turning out upon the carpet,—little bits of needlework, colored silks, a +small piece of knitting half done. He laughed as they rolled out at his +feet, and tried to stoop to collect them, then tottered to a chair, and +covered for a moment his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>No need to ask what they were. No woman’s work had been seen in the house +since I could recollect it. I gathered them up reverently and put them +back. I could see, ignorant as I was, that the bit of knitting was +something for an infant. What could I do less than put it to my lips? It +had been left in the doing—for me.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think this is the best place,” my father said a minute after, in +his usual tone.</p> + +<p>We placed it there that evening with our own hands. The picture was +large, and in a heavy frame, but my father would let no one help me but +himself. And then, with a superstition for which I never could give any +reason even to myself, having removed the packings, we closed and locked +the door, leaving the candles about the room, in their soft, strange +illumination, lighting the first night of her return to her old place.</p> + +<p>That night no more was said. My father went to his room early, which was +not his habit. He had never, however, accustomed me to sit late with him +in the library. I had a little study or smoking-room of my own, in which +all my special treasures were, the collections of my travels and my +favorite books,—and where I always sat after prayers, a ceremonial which +was regularly kept up in the house. I retired as usual this night to my +room, and, as usual, read,—but to-night somewhat vaguely, often pausing +to think. When it was quite late, I went out by the glass door to the +lawn, and walked round the house, with the intention of looking in at the +drawing-room windows, as I had done when a child. But I had forgotten +that these windows were all shuttered at night; and nothing but a faint +penetration of the light within through the crevices bore witness to the +installment of the new dweller there.</p> + +<p>In the morning my father was entirely himself again. He told me without +emotion of the manner in which he had obtained the picture. It had +belonged to my mother’s family, and had fallen eventually into the hands +of a cousin of hers, resident abroad,—“A man whom I did not like, and +who did not like me,” my father said; “there was, or had been, some +rivalry, he thought: a mistake, but he was never aware of that. He +refused all my requests to have a copy made. You may suppose, Phil, that +I wished this very much. Had I succeeded, you would have been acquainted, +at least, with your mother’s appearance, and need not have sustained this +shock. But he would not consent. It gave him, I think, a certain pleasure +to think that he had the only picture. But now he is dead, and out of +remorse, or with some other intention, has left it to me.”</p> + +<p>“That looks like kindness,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes; or something else. He might have thought that by so doing he was +establishing a claim upon me,” my father said; but he did not seem +disposed to add any more. On whose behalf he meant to establish a claim I +did not know, nor who the man was who had laid us under so great an +obligation on his death-bed. He <i>had</i> established a claim on me at least; +though, as he was dead, I could not see on whose behalf it was. And my +father said nothing more; he seemed to dislike the subject. When I +attempted to return to it, he had recourse to his letters or his +newspapers. Evidently he had made up his mind to say no more.</p> + +<p>Afterwards I went into the drawing-room, to look at the picture once +more. It seemed to me that the anxiety in her eyes was not so evident as +I had thought it last night. The light possibly was more favorable. She +stood just above the place where, I make no doubt, she had sat in life, +where her little work-basket was,—not very much above it. The picture +was full-length, and we had hung it low, so that she might have been +stepping into the room, and was little above my own level as I stood and +looked at her again. Once more I smiled at the strange thought that this +young creature—so young, almost childish—could be my mother; and once +more my eyes grew wet looking at her. He was a benefactor, indeed, who +had given her back to us. I said to myself, that if I could ever do +anything for him or his, I would certainly do it, for my—for this lovely +young creature’s sake. And with this in my mind, and all the thoughts +that came with it, I am obliged to confess that the other matter, which I +had been so full of on the previous night, went entirely out of my head.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>It is rarely, however, that such matters are allowed to slip out of one’s +mind. When I went out in the afternoon for my usual stroll,—or rather +when I returned from that stroll,—I saw once more before me the woman +with her baby, whose story had filled me with dismay on the previous +evening. She was waiting at the gate as before, and, “Oh, gentleman, but +haven’t you got some news to give me?” she said.</p> + +<p>“My good woman,—I—have been greatly occupied. I have had—no time to do +anything.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she said, with a little cry of disappointment, “my man said not to +make too sure, and that the ways of the gentlefolks is hard to know.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot explain to you,” I said, as gently as I could, “what it is that +has made me forget you. It was an event that can only do you good in the +end. Go home now, and see the man that took your things from you, and +tell him to come to me. I promise you it shall all be put right.”</p> + +<p>The woman looked at me in astonishment, then burst forth, as it seemed, +involuntarily, “What! without asking no questions?” After this there came +a storm of tears and blessings, from which I made haste to escape, but +not without carrying that curious commentary on my rashness away with +me,—“Without asking no questions?” It might be foolish, perhaps; but +after all, how slight a matter. To make the poor creature comfortable at +the cost of what,—a box or two of cigars, perhaps, or some other trifle. +And if it should be her own fault, or her husband’s—what then? Had I +been punished for all my faults, where should I have been now? And if the +advantage should be only temporary, what then? To be relieved and +comforted even for a day or two, was not that something to count in life? +Thus I quenched the fiery dart of criticism which my <i>protégée</i> herself +had thrown into the transaction, not without a certain sense of the humor +of it. Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, +to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty +performed in his name. This one case I had taken out of the category of +wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence +in my own person,—for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor +creature’s rent as well as redeem her goods,—and, whatever might happen +to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands. The man came +presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father’s agent in the +matter. “I don’t know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it,” he said. “He +don’t want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property. He +always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things +worse in the end. His rule is, ‘Never more than a month, Stevens;’ that’s +what Mr. Canning says to me, sir. He says, ‘More than that they can’t +pay. It’s no use trying.’ And it’s a good rule; it’s a very good rule. He +won’t hear none of their stories, sir. Bless you, you’d never get a penny +of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales. But if so +be as you’ll pay Mrs. Jordan’s rent, it’s none of my business how it’s +paid, so long as it’s paid, and I’ll send her back her things. But +they’ll just have to be took next time,” he added composedly. “Over and +over; it’s always the same story with them sort of poor folks,—they’re +too poor for anything, that’s the truth,” the man said.</p> + +<p>Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone. “Mr. Philip,” he +said, “you’ll excuse me, sir, but if you’re going to pay all the poor +folks’ rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at +once, for it’s without end—”</p> + +<p>“I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; +and we’ll soon put a stop to that,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt.</p> + +<p>“Manage for—master,” he said, with a face of consternation. “You, +Mr. Philip!”</p> + +<p>“You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew.”</p> + +<p>He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, “Master, sir,—master +don’t let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master’s—not one to be +managed. Don’t you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God.” +The old man was quite pale.</p> + +<p>“Quarrel!” I said. “I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don’t +mean to begin now.”</p> + +<p>Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was +dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a +great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in +which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as +he threw on the coals and wood. “He’ll not like it,—we all know as he’ll +not like it. Master won’t stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,”—this last he +discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door.</p> + +<p>I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he +was even half amused. “I don’t think that plan of yours will hold water, +Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,—that’s +an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you +are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no +difference to me. I am quite content if I get my money, even out of your +pockets,—so long as it amuses you. But as my collector, you know, which +you are good enough to propose to be—”</p> + +<p>“Of course I should act under your orders,” I said; “but at least you +might be sure that I would not commit you to any—to any—” I paused +for a word.</p> + +<p>“Act of oppression,” he said, with a smile—“piece of cruelty, +exaction—there are half-a-dozen words—”</p> + +<p>“Sir—” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Phil, and let us understand each other. I hope I have always been +a just man. I do my duty on my side, and I expect it from others. It is +your benevolence that is cruel. I have calculated anxiously how much +credit it is safe to allow; but I will allow no man, or woman either, to +go beyond what he or she can make up. My law is fixed. Now you +understand. My agents, as you call them, originate nothing; they execute +only what I decide—”</p> + +<p>“But then no circumstances are taken into account,—no bad luck, no evil +chances, no loss unexpected.”</p> + +<p>“There are no evil chances,” he said; “there is no bad luck; they reap as +they sow. No, I don’t go among them to be cheated by their stories, and +spend quite unnecessary emotion in sympathizing with them. You will find +it much better for you that I don’t. I deal with them on a general rule, +made, I assure you, not without a great deal of thought.”</p> + +<p>“And must it always be so?” I said. “Is there no way of ameliorating or +bringing in a better state of things?”</p> + +<p>“It seems not,” he said; “we don’t get ‘no forrarder’ in that +direction so far as I can see.” And then he turned the conversation to +general matters.</p> + +<p>I retired to my room greatly discouraged that night. In former ages—or +so one is led to suppose—and in the lower primitive classes who still +linger near the primeval type, action of any kind was, and is, easier +than amid the complication of our higher civilization. A bad man is a +distinct entity, against whom you know more or less what steps to take. A +tyrant, an oppressor, a bad landlord, a man who lets miserable tenements +at a rack-rent (to come down to particulars), and exposes his wretched +tenants to all those abominations of which we have heard so much—well! +he is more or less a satisfactory opponent. There he is, and there is +nothing to be said for him—down with him! and let there be an end of his +wickedness. But when, on the contrary, you have before you a good man, a +just man, who has considered deeply a question which you allow to be full +of difficulty; who regrets, but cannot, being human, avert the miseries +which to some unhappy individuals follow from the very wisdom of his +rule,—what can you do? What is to be done? Individual benevolence at +haphazard may balk him here and there, but what have you to put in the +place of his well-considered scheme? Charity which makes paupers? or what +else? I had not considered the question deeply, but it seemed to me that +I now came to a blank wall, which my vague human sentiment of pity and +scorn could find no way to breach. There must be wrong somewhere, but +where? There must be some change for the better to be made, but how?</p> + +<p>I was seated with a book before me on the table, with my head supported +on my hands. My eyes were on the printed page, but I was not reading; my +mind was full of these thoughts, my heart of great discouragement and +despondency,—a sense that I could do nothing, yet that there surely must +and ought, if I but knew it, be something to do. The fire which Morphew +had built up before dinner was dying out, the shaded lamp on my table +left all the corners in a mysterious twilight. The house was perfectly +still, no one moving: my father in the library, where, after the habit of +many solitary years, he liked to be left alone, and I here in my retreat, +preparing for the formation of similar habits. I thought all at once of +the third member of the party, the new-comer, alone too in the room that +had been hers; and there suddenly occurred to me a strong desire to take +up my lamp and go to the drawing-room and visit her, to see whether her +soft, angelic face would give any inspiration. I restrained, however, +this futile impulse,—for what could the picture say?—and instead +wondered what might have been had she lived, had she been there, warmly +enthroned beside the warm domestic centre, the hearth which would have +been a common sanctuary, the true home. In that case what might have +been? Alas! the question was no more simple to answer than the other: she +might have been there alone too, her husband’s business, her son’s +thoughts, as far from her as now, when her silent representative held her +old place in the silence and darkness. I had known it so, often enough. +Love itself does not always give comprehension and sympathy. It might be +that she was more to us there, in the sweet image of her undeveloped +beauty, than she might have been had she lived and grown to maturity and +fading, like the rest.</p> + +<p>I cannot be certain whether my mind was still lingering on this not very +cheerful reflection, or if it had been left behind, when the strange +occurrence came of which I have now to tell. Can I call it an occurrence? +My eyes were on my book, when I thought I heard the sound of a door +opening and shutting, but so far away and faint that if real at all it +must have been in a far corner of the house. I did not move except to +lift my eyes from the book as one does instinctively the better to +listen; when—But I cannot tell, nor have I ever been able to describe +exactly what it was. My heart made all at once a sudden leap in my +breast. I am aware that this language is figurative, and that the heart +cannot leap; but it is a figure so entirely justified by sensation, that +no one will have any difficulty in understanding what I mean. My heart +leaped up and began beating wildly in my throat, in my ears, as if my +whole being had received a sudden and intolerable shock. The sound went +through my head like the dizzy sound of some strange mechanism, a +thousand wheels and springs circling, echoing, working in my brain. I +felt the blood bound in my veins, my mouth became dry, my eyes hot; a +sense of something insupportable took possession of me. I sprang to my +feet, and then I sat down again. I cast a quick glance round me beyond +the brief circle of the lamplight, but there was nothing there to +account in any way for this sudden extraordinary rush of sensation, nor +could I feel any meaning in it, any suggestion, any moral impression. I +thought I must be going to be ill, and got out my watch and felt my +pulse: it was beating furiously, about one hundred and twenty-five throbs +in a minute. I knew of no illness that could come on like this without +warning, in a moment, and I tried to subdue myself, to say to myself that +it was nothing, some flutter of the nerves, some physical disturbance. I +laid myself down upon my sofa to try if rest would help me, and kept +still, as long as the thumping and throbbing of this wild, excited +mechanism within, like a wild beast plunging and struggling, would let +me. I am quite aware of the confusion of the metaphor; the reality was +just so. It was like a mechanism deranged, going wildly with +ever-increasing precipitation, like those horrible wheels that from time +to time catch a helpless human being in them and tear him to pieces; but +at the same time it was like a maddened living creature making the +wildest efforts to get free.</p> + +<p>When I could bear this no longer I got up and walked about my room; then +having still a certain command of myself, though I could not master the +commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the +shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and +tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung +the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I +should be moved to do,—to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what; +or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving +lunatic,—I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don’t know +what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement, +as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight, +there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet, +the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my +hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been +faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more +anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I +passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any +volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my +father’s library with my lamp in my hand.</p> + +<p>He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished +to see me hurrying in with my light. “Phil!” he said, surprised. I +remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down +the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. “What is the +matter?” he cried. “Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?”</p> + +<p>I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild +commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my +heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to +express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him, +confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone +through, and its sudden cessation. “The matter?” I cried; “I don’t +know what is the matter.”</p> + +<p>My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me +as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in +them,—his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his +looks were severe. “You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you +ought to know better,” he said.</p> + +<p>Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had +happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I, now +that it was over, understand myself; but he saw enough to make him aware +that the disturbance in me was serious, and not caused by any folly of my +own. He was very kind as soon as he had assured himself of this, and +talked, taking pains to bring me back to unexciting subjects. He had a +letter in his hand with a very deep border of black when I came in. I +observed it, without taking any notice or associating it with anything I +knew. He had many correspondents; and although we were excellent friends, +we had never been on those confidential terms which warrant one man in +asking another from whom a special letter has come. We were not so near +to each other as this, though we were father and son. After a while I +went back to my own room, and finished the evening in my usual way, +without any return of the excitement which, now that it was over, looked +to me like some extraordinary dream. What had it meant? Had it meant +anything? I said to myself that it must be purely physical, something +gone temporarily amiss, which had righted itself. It was physical; the +excitement did not affect my mind. I was independent of it all the time, +a spectator of my own agitation, a clear proof that, whatever it was, it +had affected my bodily organization alone.</p> + +<p>Next day I returned to the problem which I had not been able to solve. I +found out my petitioner in the back street, and that she was happy in the +recovery of her possessions, which to my eyes indeed did not seem very +worthy either of lamentation or delight. Nor was her house the tidy house +which injured virtue should have when restored to its humble rights. She +was not injured virtue, it was clear. She made me a great many curtseys, +and poured forth a number of blessings. Her “man” came in while I was +there, and hoped in a gruff voice that God would reward me, and that the +old gentleman’d let ’em alone. I did not like the look of the man. It +seemed to me that in the dark lane behind the house of a winter’s night +he would not be a pleasant person to find in one’s way. Nor was this all: +when I went out into the little street which it appeared was all, or +almost all, my father’s property, a number of groups formed in my way, +and at least half-a-dozen applicants sidled up. “I’ve more claims nor +Mary Jordan any day,” said one; “I’ve lived on Squire Canning’s property, +one place and another, this twenty year.” “And what do you say to me?” +said another; “I’ve six children to her two, bless you, sir, and ne’er a +father to do for them.” I believed in my father’s rule before I got out +of the street, and approved his wisdom in keeping himself free from +personal contact with his tenants. Yet when I looked back upon the +swarming thoroughfare, the mean little houses, the women at their doors +all so open-mouthed and eager to contend for my favor, my heart sank +within me at the thought that out of their misery some portion of our +wealth came, I don’t care how small a portion; that I, young and strong, +should be kept idle and in luxury, in some part through the money screwed +out of their necessities, obtained sometimes by the sacrifice of +everything they prized! Of course I know all the ordinary commonplaces of +life as well as any one,—that if you build a house with your hand or +your money, and let it, the rent of it is your just due; and must be +paid. But yet—</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think, sir,” I said that evening at dinner, the subject being +reintroduced by my father himself, “that we have some duty towards them +when we draw so much from them?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” he said; “I take as much trouble about their drains as I do +about my own.”</p> + +<p>“That is always something, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Something! it is a great deal; it is more than they get anywhere else. I +keep them clean, as far as that’s possible. I give them at least the +means of keeping clean, and thus check disease, and prolong life, which +is more, I assure you, than they’ve any right to expect.”</p> + +<p>I was not prepared with arguments as I ought to have been. That is all in +the Gospel according to Adam Smith, which my father had been brought up +in, but of which the tenets had begun to be less binding in my day. I +wanted something more, or else something less; but my views were not so +clear, nor my system so logical and well-built, as that upon which my +father rested his conscience, and drew his percentage with a light heart.</p> + +<p>Yet I thought there were signs in him of some perturbation. I met him one +morning coming out of the room in which the portrait hung, as if he had +gone to look at it stealthily. He was shaking his head, and saying “No, +no,” to himself, not perceiving me, and I stepped aside when I saw him so +absorbed. For myself, I entered that room but little. I went outside, as +I had so often done when I was a child, and looked through the windows +into the still and now sacred place, which had always impressed me with +a certain awe. Looked at so, the slight figure in its white dress seemed +to be stepping down into the room from some slight visionary altitude, +looking with that which had seemed to me at first anxiety, which I +sometimes represented to myself now as a wistful curiosity, as if she +were looking for the life which might have been hers. Where was the +existence that had belonged to her, the sweet household place, the infant +she had left? She would no more recognize the man who thus came to look +at her as through a veil, with a mystic reverence, than I could recognize +her. I could never be her child to her, any more than she could be a +mother to me.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Thus time passed on for several quiet days. There was nothing to make us +give any special heed to the passage of time, life being very uneventful +and its habits unvaried. My mind was very much preoccupied by my father’s +tenants. He had a great deal of property in the town which was so near +us,—streets of small houses, the best-paying property (I was assured) of +any. I was very anxious to come to some settled conclusion: on the one +hand, not to let myself be carried away by sentiment; on the other, not +to allow my strongly roused feelings to fall into the blank of routine, +as his had done. I was seated one evening in my own sitting-room, busy +with this matter,—busy with calculations as to cost and profit, with an +anxious desire to convince him, either that his profits were greater than +justice allowed, or that they carried with them a more urgent duty than +he had conceived.</p> + +<p>It was night, but not late, not more than ten o’clock, the household +still astir. Everything was quiet,—not the solemnity of midnight +silence, in which there is always something of mystery, but the +soft-breathing quiet of the evening, full of the faint habitual sounds of +a human dwelling, a consciousness of life about. And I was very busy with +my figures, interested, feeling no room in my mind for any other thought. +The singular experience which had startled me so much had passed over +very quickly, and there had been no return. I had ceased to think of it; +indeed, I had never thought of it save for the moment, setting it down +after it was over to a physical cause without much difficulty. At this +time I was far too busy to have thoughts to spare for anything, or room +for imagination; and when suddenly in a moment, without any warning, the +first symptom returned, I started with it into determined resistance, +resolute not to be fooled by any mock influence which could resolve +itself into the action of nerves or ganglions. The first symptom; as +before, was that my heart sprang up with a bound, as if a cannon had been +fired at my ear. My whole being responded with a start. The pen fell out +of my fingers, the figures went out of my head as if all faculty had +departed; and yet I was conscious for a time at least of keeping my +self-control. I was like the rider of a frightened horse, rendered almost +wild by something which in the mystery of its voiceless being it has +seen, something on the road which it will not pass, but wildly plunging, +resisting every persuasion, turns from, with ever-increasing passion. The +rider himself after a time becomes infected with this inexplainable +desperation of terror, and I suppose I must have done so; but for a time +I kept the upper hand. I would not allow myself to spring up as I wished, +as my impulse was, but sat there doggedly, clinging to my books, to my +table, fixing myself on I did not mind what, to resist the flood of +sensation, of emotion, which was sweeping through me, carrying me away. I +tried to continue my calculations. I tried to stir myself up with +recollections of the miserable sights I had seen, the poverty, the +helplessness. I tried to work myself into indignation; but all through +these efforts I felt the contagion growing upon me, my mind falling into +sympathy with all those straining faculties of the body, startled, +excited, driven wild by something, I knew not what. It was not fear. I +was like a ship at sea straining and plunging against wind and tide, but +I was not afraid. I am obliged to use these metaphors, otherwise I could +give no explanation of my condition, seized upon against my will, and +torn from all those moorings of reason to which I clung with desperation, +as long as I had the strength.</p> + +<p>When I got up from my chair at last, the battle was lost, so far as my +powers of self-control were concerned. I got up, or rather was dragged +up, from my seat, clutching at these material things round me as with a +last effort to hold my own. But that was no longer possible; I was +overcome. I stood for a moment looking round me feebly, feeling myself +begin to babble with stammering lips, which was the alternative of +shrieking, and which I seemed to choose as a lesser evil. What I said +was, “What am I to do?” and after a while, “What do you want me to do?” +although throughout I saw no one, heard no voice, and had in reality not +power enough in my dizzy and confused brain to know what I myself meant. +I stood thus for a moment, looking blankly round me for guidance, +repeating the question, which seemed after a time to become almost +mechanical, “What do you want me to do?” though I neither knew to whom I +addressed it nor why I said it. Presently—whether in answer, whether in +mere yielding of nature, I cannot tell—I became aware of a difference: +not a lessening of the agitation, but a softening, as if my powers of +resistance being exhausted, a gentler force, a more benignant influence, +had room. I felt myself consent to whatever it was. My heart melted in +the midst of the tumult; I seemed to give myself up, and move as if drawn +by some one whose arm was in mine, as if softly swept along, not +forcibly, but with an utter consent of all my faculties to do I knew not +what, for love of I knew not whom. For love,—that was how it +seemed,—not by force, as when I went before. But my steps took the same +course: I went through the dim passages in an exaltation indescribable, +and opened the door of my father’s room.</p> + +<p>He was seated there at his table as usual, the light of the lamp falling +on his white hair; he looked up with some surprise at the sound of the +opening door. “Phil,” he said, and with a look of wondering apprehension +on his face, watched my approach. I went straight up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. “Phil, what is the matter? What do you want with +me? What is it?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Father, I can’t tell you. I come not of myself. There must be something +in it, though I don’t know what it is. This is the second time I have +been brought to you here.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going—?” He stopped himself. The exclamation had been begun +with an angry intention. He stopped, looking at me with a scared look, as +if perhaps it might be true.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean mad? I don’t think so. I have no delusions that I know of. +Father, think—do you know any reason why I am brought here? for some +cause there must be.”</p> + +<p>I stood with my hand upon the back of his chair. His table was covered +with papers, among which were several letters with the broad black border +which I had before observed. I noticed this now in my excitement without +any distinct association of thoughts, for that I was not capable of; but +the black border caught my eye. And I was conscious that he too gave a +hurried glance at them, and with one hand swept them away.</p> + +<p>“Philip,” he said, pushing back his chair, “you must be ill, my poor boy. +Evidently we have not been treating you rightly; you have been more ill +all through than I supposed. Let me persuade you to go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“I am perfectly well,” I said. “Father, don’t let us deceive one another. +I am neither a man to go mad nor to see ghosts. What it is that has got +the command over me I can’t tell; but there is some cause for it. You are +doing something or planning something with which I have a right to +interfere.”</p> + +<p>He turned round squarely in his chair, with a spark in his blue eyes. +He was not a man to be meddled with. “I have yet to learn what can +give my son a right to interfere. I am in possession of all my +faculties, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Father,” I cried, “won’t you listen to me? No one can say I have been +undutiful or disrespectful. I am a man, with a right to speak my mind, +and I have done so; but this is different. I am not here by my own will. +Something that is stronger than I has brought me. There is something in +your mind which disturbs—others. I don’t know what I am saying. This is +not what I meant to say; but you know the meaning better than I. Some +one—who can speak to you only by me—speaks to you by me; and I know +that you understand.”</p> + +<p>He gazed up at me, growing pale, and his underlip fell. I, for my part, +felt that my message was delivered. My heart sank into a stillness so +sudden that it made me faint. The light swam in my eyes; everything went +round with me. I kept upright only by my hold upon the chair; and in the +sense of utter weakness that followed, I dropped on my knees I think +first, then on the nearest seat that presented itself, and, covering my +face with my hands, had hard ado not to sob, in the sudden removal of +that strange influence,—the relaxation of the strain.</p> + +<p>There was silence between us for some time; then he said, but with a +voice slightly broken, “I don’t understand you, Phil. You must have +taken some fancy into your mind which my slower intelligence—Speak out +what you want to say. What do you find fault with? Is it all—all that +woman Jordan?”</p> + +<p>He gave a short, forced laugh as he broke off, and shook me +almost roughly by the shoulder, saying, “Speak out! what—what do +you want to say?”</p> + +<p>“It seems, sir, that I have said everything.” My voice trembled more than +his, but not in the same way. “I have told you that I did not come by my +own will,—quite otherwise. I resisted as long as I could: now all is +said. It is for you to judge whether it was worth the trouble or not.”</p> + +<p>He got up from his seat in a hurried way. “You would have me as—mad as +yourself,” he said, then sat down again as quickly. “Come, Phil: if it +will please you, not to make a breach,—the first breach between us,—you +shall have your way. I consent to your looking into that matter about the +poor tenants. Your mind shall not be upset about that, even though I +don’t enter into all your views.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” I said; “but, father, that is not what it is.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is a piece of folly,” he said angrily. “I suppose you mean—but +this is a matter in which I choose to judge for myself.”</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean,” I said, as quietly as I could, “though I don’t +myself know; that proves there is good reason for it. Will you do one +thing for me before I leave you? Come with me into the drawing-room—”</p> + +<p>“What end,” he said, with again the tremble in his voice, “is to be +served by that?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t very well know; but to look at her, you and I together, will +always do something for us, sir. As for breach, there can be no breach +when we stand there.”</p> + +<p>He got up, trembling like an old man, which he was, but which he never +looked like save at moments of emotion like this, and told me to take the +light; then stopped when he had got half-way across the room. “This is a +piece of theatrical sentimentality,” he said. “No, Phil, I will not go. I +will not bring her into any such—Put down the lamp, and, if you will +take my advice, go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“At least,” I said, “I will trouble you no more, father, to-night. So +long as you understand, there need be no more to say.”</p> + +<p>He gave me a very curt “good-night,” and turned back to his papers,—the +letters with the black edge, either by my imagination or in reality, +always keeping uppermost. I went to my own room for my lamp, and then +alone proceeded to the silent shrine in which the portrait hung. I at +least would look at her to-night. I don’t know whether I asked myself, +in so many words, if it were she who—or if it was any one—I knew +nothing; but my heart was drawn with a softness—born, perhaps, of the +great weakness in which I was left after that visitation—to her, to look +at her, to see, perhaps, if there was any sympathy, any approval in her +face. I set down my lamp on the table where her little work-basket still +was; the light threw a gleam upward upon her,—she seemed more than ever +to be stepping into the room, coming down towards me, coming back to her +life. Ah, no! her life was lost and vanished: all mine stood between her +and the days she knew. She looked at me with eyes that did not change. +The anxiety I had seen at first seemed now a wistful, subdued question; +but that difference was not in her look but in mine.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>I need not linger on the intervening time. The doctor who attended us +usually, came in next day “by accident,” and we had a long conversation. +On the following day a very impressive yet genial gentleman from town +lunched with us,—a friend of my father’s, Dr. Something; but the +introduction was hurried, and I did not catch his name. He, too, had a +long talk with me afterwards, my father being called away to speak to +some one on business. Dr.—— drew me out on the subject of the dwellings +of the poor. He said he heard I took great interest in this question, +which had come so much to the front at the present moment. He was +interested in it too, and wanted to know the view I took. I explained at +considerable length that my view did not concern the general subject, on +which I had scarcely thought, so much as the individual mode of +management of my father’s estate. He was a most patient and intelligent +listener, agreeing with me on some points, differing in others; and his +visit was very pleasant. I had no idea until after of its special object; +though a certain puzzled look and slight shake of the head when my father +returned, might have thrown some light upon it. The report of the medical +experts in my case must, however, have been quite satisfactory, for I +heard nothing more of them. It was, I think, a fortnight later when the +next and last of these strange experiences came.</p> + +<p>This time it was morning, about noon,—a wet and rather dismal spring +day. The half-spread leaves seemed to tap at the window, with an appeal +to be taken in; the primroses, that showed golden upon the grass at the +roots of the trees, just beyond the smooth-shorn grass of the lawn, were +all drooped and sodden among their sheltering leaves. The very growth +seemed dreary—the sense of spring in the air making the feeling of +winter a grievance, instead of the natural effect which it had conveyed a +few months before. I had been writing letters, and was cheerful enough, +going back among the associates of my old life, with, perhaps, a little +longing for its freedom and independence, but at the same time a not +ungrateful consciousness that for the moment my present tranquillity +might be best.</p> + +<p>This was my condition—a not unpleasant one—when suddenly the now +well-known symptoms of the visitation to which I had become subject +suddenly seized upon me,—the leap of the heart; the sudden, causeless, +overwhelming physical excitement, which I could neither ignore nor allay. +I was terrified beyond description, beyond reason, when I became +conscious that this was about to begin over again: what purpose did it +answer; what good was in it? My father indeed understood the meaning of +it though I did not understand; but it was little agreeable to be thus +made a helpless instrument, without any will of mine, in an operation of +which I knew nothing; and to enact the part of the oracle unwillingly, +with suffering and such a strain as it took me days to get over. I +resisted, not as before, but yet desperately, trying with better +knowledge to keep down the growing passion. I hurried to my room and +swallowed a dose of a sedative which had been given me to procure sleep +on my first return from India. I saw Morphew in the hall, and called him +to talk to him, and cheat myself, if possible, by that means. Morphew +lingered, however, and, before he came, I was beyond conversation. I +heard him speak, his voice coming vaguely through the turmoil which was +already in my ears, but what he said I have never known. I stood staring, +trying to recover my power of attention, with an aspect which ended by +completely frightening the man. He cried out at last that he was sure I +was ill, that he must bring me something; which words penetrated more or +less into my maddened brain. It became impressed upon me that he was +going to get some one—one of my father’s doctors, perhaps—to prevent +me from acting, to stop my interference, and that if I waited a moment +longer I might be too late. A vague idea seized me at the same time, of +taking refuge with the portrait,—going to its feet, throwing myself +there, perhaps, till the paroxysm should be over. But it was not there +that my footsteps were directed. I can remember making an effort to open +the door of the drawing-room, and feeling myself swept past it, as if by +a gale of wind. It was not there that I had to go. I knew very well where +I had to go,—once more on my confused and voiceless mission to my +father, who understood, although I could not understand.</p> + +<p>Yet as it was daylight, and all was clear, I could not help noting one or +two circumstances on my way. I saw some one sitting in the hall as if +waiting,—a woman, a girl, a black-shrouded figure, with a thick veil +over her face; and asked myself who she was, and what she wanted there. +This question, which had nothing to do with my present condition, somehow +got into my mind, and was tossed up and down upon the tumultuous tide +like a stray log on the breast of a fiercely rolling stream, now +submerged, now coming uppermost, at the mercy of the waters. It did not +stop me for a moment, as I hurried towards my father’s room, but it got +upon the current of my mind. I flung open my father’s door, and closed it +again after me, without seeing who was there or how he was engaged. The +full clearness of the daylight did not identify him as the lamp did at +night. He looked up at the sound of the door, with a glance of +apprehension; and rising suddenly, interrupting some one who was standing +speaking to him with much earnestness and even vehemence, came forward to +meet me. “I cannot be disturbed at present,” he said quickly; “I am +busy.” Then seeing the look in my face, which by this time he knew, he +too changed color. “Phil,” he said, in a low, imperative voice, “wretched +boy, go away—go away; don’t let a stranger see you—”</p> + +<p>“I can’t go away,” I said. “It is impossible. You know why I have come. I +cannot, if I would. It is more powerful than I—”</p> + +<p>“Go, sir,” he said; “go at once; no more of this folly. I will not have +you in this room: Go-go!”</p> + +<p>I made no answer. I don’t know that I could have done so. There had +never been any struggle between us before; but I had no power to do +one thing or another. The tumult within me was in full career. I heard +indeed what he said, and was able to reply; but his words, too, were +like straws tossed upon the tremendous stream. I saw now with my +feverish eyes who the other person present was. It was a woman, dressed +also in mourning similar to the one in the hall; but this a middle-aged +woman, like a respectable servant. She had been crying, and in the +pause caused by this encounter between my father and myself, dried her +eyes with a handkerchief, which she rolled like a ball in her hand, +evidently in strong emotion. She turned and looked at me as my father +spoke to me, for a moment with a gleam of hope, then falling back into +her former attitude.</p> + +<p>My father returned to his seat. He was much agitated too, though doing +all that was possible to conceal it. My inopportune arrival was evidently +a great and unlooked-for vexation to him. He gave me the only look of +passionate displeasure I have ever had from him, as he sat down again; +but he said nothing more.</p> + +<p>“You must understand,” he said, addressing the woman, “that I have said +my last words on this subject. I don’t choose to enter into it again in +the presence of my son, who is not well enough to be made a party to any +discussion. I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble in vain, +but you were warned beforehand, and you have only yourself to blame. I +acknowledge no claim, and nothing you can say will change my resolution. +I must beg you to go away. All this is very painful and quite useless. I +acknowledge no claim.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir,” she cried, her eyes beginning once more to flow, her speech +interrupted by little sobs. “Maybe I did wrong to speak of a claim. I’m +not educated to argue with a gentleman. Maybe we have no claim. But if +it’s not by right, oh, Mr. Canning, won’t you let your heart be touched +by pity? She don’t know what I’m saying, poor dear. She’s not one to beg +and pray for herself, as I’m doing for her. Oh, sir, she’s so young! +She’s so lone in this world,—not a friend to stand by her, nor a house +to take her in! You are the nearest to her of any one that’s left in this +world. She hasn’t a relation,—not one so near as you,—oh!” she cried, +with a sudden thought, turning quickly round upon me, “this gentleman’s +your son! Now I think of it, it’s not your relation she is, but his, +through his mother! That’s nearer, nearer! Oh, sir! you’re young; your +heart should be more tender. Here is my young lady that has no one in the +world to look to her. Your own flesh and blood; your mother’s +cousin,—your mother’s—”</p> + +<p>My father called to her to stop, with a voice of thunder. “Philip, leave +us at once. It is not a matter to be discussed with you.”</p> + +<p>And then in a moment it became clear to me what it was. It had been with +difficulty that I had kept myself still. My breast was laboring with the +fever of an impulse poured into me, more than I could contain. And now +for the first time I knew why. I hurried towards him, and took his hand, +though he resisted, into mine. Mine were burning, but his like ice: their +touch burnt me with its chill, like fire. “This is what it is?” I cried. +“I had no knowledge before. I don’t know now what is being asked of you. +But, father, understand! You know, and I know now, that some one sends +me,—some one—who has a right to interfere.”</p> + +<p>He pushed me away with all his might. “You are mad,” he cried. “What +right have you to think—? Oh, you are mad—mad! I have seen it +coming on—”</p> + +<p>The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict +with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between +men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not +take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to +go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst +from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my +withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and +easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large +and vague through the mist of fever. “I am not going away,” I said. “I am +going for another messenger,—one you can’t gainsay.”</p> + +<p>My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, “I will have nothing +touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned—”</p> + +<p>I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was +conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no +one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the +hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and +touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of +alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the +summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at +her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small, +cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,—not +cold,—it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and +spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications +of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection, +without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a +little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet +terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned +with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was +entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms +above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the +last outcry of nature,—“Agnes!” then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon +himself, into his chair.</p> + +<p>I had no leisure to think how he was, or whether he could hear what I +said. I had my message to deliver. “Father,” I said, laboring with my +panting breath, “it is for this that heaven has opened, and one whom I +never saw, one whom I know not, has taken possession of me. Had we been +less earthly, we should have seen her—herself, and not merely her image. +I have not even known what she meant. I have been as a fool without +understanding. This is the third time I have come to you with her +message, without knowing what to say. But now I have found it out. This +is her message. I have found it out at last.” There was an awful +pause,—a pause in which no one moved or breathed. Then there came a +broken voice out of my father’s chair. He had not understood, though I +think he heard what I said. He put out two feeble hands. “Phil—I think I +am dying—has she—has she come for me?” he said.</p> + +<p>We had to carry him to his bed. What struggles he had gone through before +I cannot tell. He had stood fast, and had refused to be moved, and now he +fell,—like an old tower, like an old tree. The necessity there was for +thinking of him saved me from the physical consequences which had +prostrated me on a former occasion. I had no leisure now for any +consciousness of how matters went with myself.</p> + +<p>His delusion was not wonderful, but most natural. She was clothed in +black from head to foot, instead of the white dress of the portrait. She +had no knowledge of the conflict, of nothing but that she was called for, +that her fate might depend on the next few minutes. In her eyes there was +a pathetic question, a line of anxiety in the lids, an innocent appeal in +the looks. And the face the same: the same lips, sensitive, ready to +quiver; the same innocent, candid brow; the look of a common race, which +is more subtle than mere resemblance. How I knew that it was so I cannot +tell, nor any man. It was the other, the elder,—ah, no! not elder; the +ever young, the Agnes to whom age can never come, she who they say was +the mother of a man who never saw her,—it was she who led her kinswoman, +her representative, into our hearts.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>My father recovered after a few days: he had taken cold, it was said, the +day before; and naturally, at seventy, a small matter is enough to upset +the balance even of a strong man. He got quite well; but he was willing +enough afterwards to leave the management of that ticklish kind of +property which involves human well-being in my hands, who could move +about more freely, and see with my own eyes how things were going on. He +liked home better, and had more pleasure in his personal existence in the +end of his life. Agnes is now my wife, as he had, of course, foreseen. It +was not merely the disinclination to receive her father’s daughter, or to +take upon him a new responsibility, that had moved him, to do him +justice; but both these motives had told strongly. I have never been +told, and now will never be told, what his griefs against my mother’s +family, and specially against that cousin, had been; but that he had been +very determined, deeply prejudiced, there can be no doubt. It turned out +after, that the first occasion on which I had been mysteriously +commissioned to him with a message which I did not understand, and which +for that time he did not understand, was the evening of the day on which +he had received the dead man’s letter, appealing to him—to him, a man +whom he had wronged—on behalf of the child who was about to be left +friendless in the world. The second time, further letters—from the nurse +who was the only guardian of the orphan, and the chaplain of the place +where her father had died, taking it for granted that my father’s house +was her natural refuge—had been received. The third I have already +described, and its results.</p> + +<p>For a long time after, my mind was never without a lurking fear that the +influence which had once taken possession of me might return again. Why +should I have feared to be influenced, to be the messenger of a blessed +creature, whose wishes could be nothing but heavenly? Who can say? Flesh +and blood is not made for such encounters: they were more than I could +bear. But nothing of the kind has ever occurred again.</p> + +<p>Agnes had her peaceful domestic throne established under the picture. +My father wished it to be so, and spent his evenings there in the +warmth and light, instead of in the old library,—in the narrow circle +cleared by our lamp out of the darkness, as long as he lived. It is +supposed by strangers that the picture on the wall is that of my wife; +and I have always been glad that it should be so supposed. She who was +my mother, who came back to me and became as my soul for three strange +moments and no more, but with whom I can feel no credible relationship +as she stands there, has retired for me into the tender regions of the +unseen. She has passed once more into the secret company of those +shadows, who can only become real in an atmosphere fitted to modify and +harmonize all differences, and make all wonders possible,—the light of +the perfect day.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10052 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/10052-h/images/cover.jpg b/10052-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a6bec48 --- /dev/null +++ b/10052-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eddca9f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10052 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10052) diff --git a/old/10052-0.txt b/old/10052-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0c7036e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10052-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3490 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door, and the Portrait. +by Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Open Door, and the Portrait. + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen. + +Author: Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant + +Release Date: November 11, 2003 [EBook #10052] +Posting Date: May 8, 2017 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT. *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Mary Meehan +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + + THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT + + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen + + By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + + 1881 + + + + +I + +THE OPEN DOOR. + + +I took the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18--, for the +temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent +home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly +appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose +education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to +school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home +altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these +expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended +itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway +between. “Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School +every morning; it will do him all the good in the world,” Dr. Simson +said; “and when it is bad weather, there is the train.” His mother +accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have +hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more +invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the +North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of +the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to +acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his +schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in +these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there +had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either +my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one +left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply +sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to +school,--to combine the advantages of the two systems,--seemed to be +everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood +everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have +masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that +never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays. +Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should +like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more +than twenty-five,--an age at which I see the young fellows now groping +about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives. +However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which +elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it. + +Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country--one of the +richest in Scotland--which lies between the Pentland Hills and the +Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam--like a bent bow, +embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses--of the great estuary +on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like +those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of +the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to +a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. +Edinburgh--with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill, +its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur’s Seat lying +crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his +repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to +take care of itself without him--lay at our right hand. From the lawn +and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. +The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated +and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color +and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and +blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose. + +The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of +the deep little ravine, down which a stream--which ought to have been a +lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river--flowed between its rocks and +trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its +earlier life been sacrificed to trade, and was grimy with paper-making. +But this did not affect our pleasure in it so much as I have known it to +affect other streams. Perhaps our water was more rapid; perhaps less +clogged with dirt and refuse. Our side of the dell was charmingly +_accidenté_, and clothed with fine trees, through which various paths +wound down to the river-side and to the village bridge which crossed the +stream. The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic +houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in +Scotland. The blue slates and the gray stone are sworn foes to the +picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior +of an old-fashioned hewed and galleried church, with its little family +settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire +like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. +Still a cluster of houses on differing elevations, with scraps of garden +coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening +of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the +slow wagon lumbering along, gives a centre to the landscape. It was +cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. Within ourselves +we had walks in plenty, the glen being always beautiful in all its +phases, whether the woods were green in the spring or ruddy in the +autumn. In the park which surrounded the house were the ruins of the +former mansion of Brentwood,--a much smaller and less important house +than the solid Georgian edifice which we inhabited. The ruins were +picturesque, however, and gave importance to the place. Even we, who were +but temporary tenants, felt a vague pride in them, as if they somehow +reflected a certain consequence upon ourselves. The old building had the +remains of a tower,--an indistinguishable mass of mason-work, +over-grown with ivy; and the shells of walls attached to this were half +filled up with soil. I had never examined it closely, I am ashamed to +say. There was a large room, or what had been a large room, with the +lower part of the windows still existing, on the principal floor, and +underneath other windows, which were perfect, though half filled up with +fallen soil, and waving with a wild growth of brambles and chance growths +of all kinds. This was the oldest part of all. At a little distance were +some very commonplace and disjointed fragments of building, one of them +suggesting a certain pathos by its very commonness and the complete wreck +which it showed. This was the end of a low gable, a bit of gray wall, all +incrusted with lichens, in which was a common door-way. Probably it had +been a servants’ entrance, a backdoor, or opening into what are called +“the offices” in Scotland. No offices remained to be entered,--pantry and +kitchen had all been swept out of being; but there stood the door-way +open and vacant, free to all the winds, to the rabbits, and every wild +creature. It struck my eye, the first time I went to Brentwood, like a +melancholy comment upon a life that was over. A door that led to +nothing,--closed once, perhaps, with anxious care, bolted and guarded, +now void of any meaning. It impressed me, I remember, from the first; so +perhaps it may be said that my mind was prepared to attach to it an +importance which nothing justified. + +The summer was a very happy period of repose for us all. The warmth of +Indian suns was still in our veins. It seemed to us that we could never +have enough of the greenness, the dewiness, the freshness of the northern +landscape. Even its mists were pleasant to us, taking all the fever out +of us, and pouring in vigor and refreshment. In autumn we followed the +fashion of the time, and went away for change which we did not in the +least require. It was when the family had settled down for the winter, +when the days were short and dark, and the rigorous reign of frost upon +us, that the incidents occurred which alone could justify me in intruding +upon the world my private affairs. These incidents were, however, of so +curious a character, that I hope my inevitable references to my own +family and pressing personal interests will meet with a general pardon. + +I was absent in London when these events began. In London an old Indian +plunges back into the interests with which all his previous life has been +associated, and meets old friends at every step. I had been circulating +among some half-dozen of these,--enjoying the return to my former life in +shadow, though I had been so thankful in substance to throw it +aside,--and had missed some of my home letters, what with going down from +Friday to Monday to old Benbow’s place in the country, and stopping on +the way back to dine and sleep at Sellar’s and to take a look into +Cross’s stables, which occupied another day. It is never safe to miss +one’s letters. In this transitory life, as the Prayer-book says, how can +one ever be certain what is going to happen? All was well at home. I knew +exactly (I thought) what they would have to say to me: “The weather has +been so fine, that Roland has not once gone by train, and he enjoys the +ride beyond anything.” “Dear papa, be sure that you don’t forget +anything, but bring us so-and-so, and so-and-so,”--a list as long as my +arm. Dear girls and dearer mother! I would not for the world have +forgotten their commissions, or lost their little letters, for all the +Benbows and Crosses in the world. + +But I was confident in my home-comfort and peacefulness. When I got back +to my club, however, three or four letters were lying for one, upon some +of which I noticed the “immediate,” “urgent,” which old-fashioned people +and anxious people still believe will influence the post-office and +quicken the speed of the mails. I was about to open one of these, when +the club porter brought me two telegrams, one of which, he said, had +arrived the night before. I opened, as was to be expected, the last +first, and this was what I read: “Why don’t you come or answer? For God’s +sake, come. He is much worse.” This was a thunderbolt to fall upon a +man’s head who had one only son, and he the light of his eyes! The other +telegram, which I opened with hands trembling so much that I lost time by +my haste, was to much the same purport: “No better; doctor afraid of +brain-fever. Calls for you day and night. Let nothing detain you.” The +first thing I did was to look up the time-tables to see if there was any +way of getting off sooner than by the night-train, though I knew well +enough there was not; and then I read the letters, which furnished, alas! +too clearly, all the details. They told me that the boy had been pale for +some time, with a scared look. His mother had noticed it before I left +home, but would not say anything to alarm me. This look had increased day +by day: and soon it was observed that Roland came home at a wild gallop +through the park, his pony panting and in foam, himself “as white as a +sheet,” but with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. For a long +time he had resisted all questioning, but at length had developed such +strange changes of mood, showing a reluctance to go to school, a desire +to be fetched in the carriage at night,--which was a ridiculous piece of +luxury,--an unwillingness to go out into the grounds, and nervous start +at every sound, that his mother had insisted upon an explanation. When +the boy--our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was--began to talk +to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared +to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr. +Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do. + +I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart. +How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot +tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in +anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses +could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early +in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man +in the face, at whom I gasped, “What news?” My wife had sent the +brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign. +His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so +wildly free,--“Just the same.” Just the same! What might that mean? The +horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we +dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the +trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why +had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb +the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home, +I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp +it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in +the world,--when my boy was ill!--to grumble and groan in. But I had no +reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning +along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if +they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale +face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the +wind blew the flame about. “He is sleeping,” she said in a whisper, as if +her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also +in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses’ furniture and the +sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the +steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and +it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the +horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way, +or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwards, +though at the moment I was not capable of anything but to ask questions +and to hear of the condition of the boy. + +I looked at him from the door of his room, for we were afraid to go near, +lest we should disturb that blessed sleep. It looked like actual sleep, +not the lethargy into which my wife told me he would sometimes fall. She +told me everything in the next room, which communicated with his, rising +now and then and going to the door of communication; and in this there +was much that was very startling and confusing to the mind. It appeared +that ever since the winter began--since it was early dark, and night had +fallen before his return from school--he had been hearing voices among +the ruins: at first only a groaning, he said, at which his pony was as +much alarmed as he was, but by degrees a voice. The tears ran down my +wife’s cheeks as she described to me how he would start up in the night +and cry out, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with a +pathos which rent her heart. And she sitting there all the time, only +longing to do everything his heart could desire! But though she would try +to soothe him, crying, “You are at home, my darling. I am here. Don’t you +know me? Your mother is here!” he would only stare at her, and after a +while spring up again with the same cry. At other times he would be quite +reasonable, she said, asking eagerly when I was coming, but declaring +that he must go with me as soon as I did so, “to let them in.” “The +doctor thinks his nervous system must have received a shock,” my wife +said. “Oh, Henry, can it be that we have pushed him on too much with his +work--a delicate boy like Roland? And what is his work in comparison with +his health? Even you would think little of honors or prizes if it hurt +the boy’s health.” Even I!--as if I were an inhuman father sacrificing my +child to my ambition. But I would not increase her trouble by taking any +notice. After awhile they persuaded me to lie down, to rest, and to eat, +none of which things had been possible since I received their letters. +The mere fact of being on the spot, of course, in itself was a great +thing; and when I knew that I could be called in a moment, as soon as he +was awake and wanted me, I felt capable, even in the dark, chill morning +twilight, to snatch an hour or two’s sleep. As it happened, I was so +worn out with the strain of anxiety, and he so quieted and consoled by +knowing I had come, that I was not disturbed till the afternoon, when the +twilight had again settled down. There was just daylight enough to see +his face when I went to him; and what a change in a fortnight! He was +paler and more worn, I thought, than even in those dreadful days in the +plains before we left India. His hair seemed to me to have grown long and +lank; his eyes were like blazing lights projecting out of his white face. +He got hold of my hand in a cold and tremulous clutch, and waved to +everybody to go away. “Go away--even mother,” he said; “go away.” This +went to her heart; for she did not like that even I should have more of +the boy’s confidence than herself; but my wife has never been a woman to +think of herself, and she left us alone. “Are they all gone?” he said +eagerly. “They would not let me speak. The doctor treated me as if I were +a fool. You know I am not a fool, papa.” + +“Yes, yes, my boy, I know. But you are ill, and quiet is so necessary. +You are not only not a fool, Roland, but you are reasonable and +understand. When you are ill you must deny yourself; you must not do +everything that you might do being well.” + +He waved his thin hand with a sort of indignation. “Then, father, I am +not ill,” he cried. “Oh, I thought when you came you would not stop +me,--you would see the sense of it! What do you think is the matter with +me, all of you? Simson is well enough; but he is only a doctor. What do +you think is the matter with me? I am no more ill than you are. A doctor, +of course, he thinks you are ill the moment he looks at you--that’s what +he’s there for--and claps you into bed.” + +“Which is the best place for you at present, my dear boy.” + +“I made up my mind,” cried the little fellow, “that I would stand it till +you came home. I said to myself, I won’t frighten mother and the girls. +But now, father,” he cried, half jumping out of bed, “it’s not illness: +it’s a secret.” + +His eyes shone so wildly, his face was so swept with strong feeling, that +my heart sank within me. It could be nothing but fever that did it, and +fever had been so fatal. I got him into my arms to put him back into +bed. “Roland,” I said, humoring the poor child, which I knew was the +only way, “if you are going to tell me this secret to do any good, you +know you must be quite quiet, and not excite yourself. If you excite +yourself, I must not let you speak.” + +“Yes, father,” said the boy. He was quiet directly, like a man, as if he +quite understood. When I had laid him back on his pillow, he looked up at +me with that grateful, sweet look with which children, when they are ill, +break one’s heart, the water coming into his eyes in his weakness. “I was +sure as soon as you were here you would know what to do,” he said. + +“To be sure, my boy. Now keep quiet, and tell it all out like a man.” To +think I was telling lies to my own child! for I did it only to humor him, +thinking, poor little fellow, his brain was wrong. + +“Yes, father. Father, there is some one in the park--some one that has +been badly used.” + +“Hush, my dear; you remember there is to be no excitement. Well, who +is this somebody, and who has been ill-using him? We will soon put +a stop to that.” + +“All,” cried Roland, “but it is not so easy as you think. I don’t know +who it is. It is just a cry. Oh, if you could hear it! It gets into my +head in my sleep. I heard it as clear--as clear; and they think that I +am dreaming, or raving perhaps,” the boy said, with a sort of +disdainful smile. + +This look of his perplexed me; it was less like fever than I thought. +“Are you quite sure you have not dreamed it, Roland?” I said. + +“Dreamed?--that!” He was springing up again when he suddenly bethought +himself, and lay down flat, with the same sort of smile on his face. “The +pony heard it, too,” he said. “She jumped as if she had been shot. If I +had not grasped at the reins--for I was frightened, father--” + +“No shame to you, my boy,” said I, though I scarcely knew why. + +“If I hadn’t held to her like a leech, she’d have pitched me over her +head, and never drew breath till we were at the door. Did the pony dream +it?” he said, with a soft disdain, yet indulgence for my foolishness. +Then he added slowly, “It was only a cry the first time, and all the +time before you went away. I wouldn’t tell you, for it was so wretched +to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I +went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you +went I heard it really first; and this is what he says.” He raised +himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: “‘Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!’” As he said the words a mist +came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and +changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a +shower of heavy tears. + +Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the +disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I +thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true. + +“This is very touching, Roland,” I said. + +“Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard +it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she’s given over to +Simson, and that fellow’s a doctor, and never thinks of anything but +clapping you into bed.” + +“We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland.” + +“No, no,” said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; “oh, +no; that’s the good of him; that’s what he’s for; I know that. But +you--you are different; you are just father; and you’ll do +something--directly, papa, directly; this very night.” + +“Surely,” I said. “No doubt it is some little lost child.” + +He gave me a sudden, swift look, investigating my face as though to see +whether, after all, this was everything my eminence as “father” came +to,--no more than that. Then he got hold of my shoulder, clutching it +with his thin hand. “Look here,” he said, with a quiver in his voice; +“suppose it wasn’t--living at all!” + +“My dear boy, how then could you have heard it?” I said. + +He turned away from me with a pettish exclamation,--“As if you didn’t +know better than that!” + +“Do you want to tell me it is a ghost?” I said. + +Roland withdrew his hand; his countenance assumed an aspect of great +dignity and gravity; a slight quiver remained about his lips. “Whatever +it was--you always said we were not to call names. It was something--in +trouble. Oh, father, in terrible trouble!” + +“But, my boy,” I said (I was at my wits’ end), “if it was a child +that was lost, or any poor human creature--but, Roland, what do you +want me to do?” + +“I should know if I was you,” said the child eagerly. “That is what I +always said to myself,--Father will know. Oh, papa, papa, to have to +face it night after night, in such terrible, terrible trouble, and never +to be able to do it any good! I don’t want to cry; it’s like a baby, I +know; but what can I do else? Out there all by itself in the ruin, and +nobody to help it! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” cried my generous +boy. And in his weakness he burst out, after many attempts to restrain +it, into a great childish fit of sobbing and tears. + +I do not know that I ever was in a greater perplexity, in my life; and +afterwards, when I thought of it, there was something comic in it too. It +is bad enough to find your child’s mind possessed with the conviction +that he has seen, or heard, a ghost; but that he should require you to go +instantly and help that ghost was the most bewildering experience that +had ever come my way. I am a sober man myself, and not superstitious--at +least any more than everybody is superstitious. Of course I do not +believe in ghosts; but I don’t deny, any more than other people, that +there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand. My blood got a +sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; +for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and +all that men most hate and fear for their children. But that I should +take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was +such a mission as was enough to confuse any man. I did my best to console +my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was +too sharp for me: he would have none of my caresses. With sobs breaking +in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his +eyelids, he yet returned to the charge. + +“It will be there now!--it will be there all the night! Oh, think, +papa,--think if it was me! I can’t rest for thinking of it. Don’t!” he +cried, putting away my hand,--“don’t! You go and help it, and mother can +take care of me.” + +“But, Roland, what can I do?” + +My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and +gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of. +“I was sure you would know as soon as you came. I always said, Father +will know. And mother,” he cried, with a softening of repose upon his +face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his +bed,--“mother can come and take care of me.” + +I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a +child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in +Scotland. I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was +greatly eased about Roland. He might be under a hallucination; but his +head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else +did. The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it. +“How do you think he is?” they said in a breath, coming round me, laying +hold of me. “Not half so ill as I expected,” I said; “not very bad at +all.” “Oh, papa, you are a darling!” cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying +upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped +both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all. I knew nothing +about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me: they had a +feeling that all would go right now. God is very good to you when your +children look to you like that. It makes one humble, not proud. I was not +worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a +father to Roland’s ghost,--which made me almost laugh, though I might +just as well have cried. It was the strangest mission that ever was +intrusted to mortal man. + +It was then I remembered suddenly the looks of the men when they turned +to take the brougham to the stables in the dark that morning. They had +not liked it, and the horses had not liked it. I remembered that even in +my anxiety about Roland I had heard them tearing along the avenue back to +the stables, and had made a memorandum mentally that I must speak of it. +It seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to go to the stables +now and make a few inquiries. It is impossible to fathom the minds of +rustics; there might be some devilry of practical joking, for anything I +knew; or they might have some interest in getting up a bad reputation for +the Brentwood avenue. It was getting dark by the time I went out, and +nobody who knows the country will need to be told how black is the +darkness of a November night under high laurel-bushes and yew-trees. I +walked into the heart of the shrubberies two or three times, not seeing a +step before me, till I came out upon the broader carriage-road, where the +trees opened a little, and there was a faint gray glimmer of sky visible, +under which the great limes and elms stood darkling like ghosts; but it +grew black again as I approached the corner where the ruins lay. Both +eyes and ears were on the alert, as may be supposed; but I could see +nothing in the absolute gloom, and, so far as I can recollect, I heard +nothing. Nevertheless there came a strong impression upon me that +somebody was there. It is a sensation which most people have felt. I have +seen when it has been strong enough to awake me out of sleep, the sense +of some one looking at me. I suppose my imagination had been affected by +Roland’s story; and the mystery of the darkness is always full of +suggestions. I stamped my feet violently on the gravel to rouse myself, +and called out sharply, “Who’s there?” Nobody answered, nor did I expect +any one to answer, but the impression had been made. I was so foolish +that I did not like to look back, but went sideways, keeping an eye on +the gloom behind. It was with great relief that I spied the light in the +stables, making a sort of oasis in the darkness. I walked very quickly +into the midst of that lighted and cheerful place, and thought the clank +of the groom’s pail one of the pleasantest sounds I had ever heard. The +coachman was the head of this little colony, and it was to his house I +went to pursue my investigations. He was a native of the district, and +had taken care of the place in the absence of the family for years; it +was impossible but that he must know everything that was going on, and +all the traditions of the place. The men, I could see, eyed me anxiously +when I thus appeared at such an hour among them, and followed me with +their eyes to Jarvis’s house, where he lived alone with his old wife, +their children being all married and out in the world. Mrs. Jarvis met me +with anxious questions. How was the poor young gentleman? But the others +knew, I could see by their faces, that not even this was the foremost +thing in my mind. + + * * * * * + +“Noises?--ou ay, there’ll be noises,--the wind in the trees, and the +water soughing down the glen. As for tramps, Cornel, no, there’s little +o’ that kind o’ cattle about here; and Merran at the gate’s a careful +body.” Jarvis moved about with some embarrassment from one leg to +another as he spoke. He kept in the shade, and did not look at me more +than he could help. Evidently his mind was perturbed, and he had +reasons for keeping his own counsel. His wife sat by, giving him a quick +look now and then, but saying nothing. The kitchen was very snug and +warm and bright,--as different as could be from the chill and mystery of +the night outside. + +“I think you are trifling with me, Jarvis,” I said. + +“Triflin’, Cornel? No me. What would I trifle for? If the deevil himsel +was in the auld hoose, I have no interest in ’t one way or another--” + +“Sandy, hold your peace!” cried his wife imperatively. + +“And what am I to hold my peace for, wi’ the Cornel standing there asking +a’ thae questions? I’m saying, if the deevil himsel--” + +“And I’m telling ye hold your peace!” cried the woman, in great +excitement. “Dark November weather and lang nichts, and us that ken a’ we +ken. How daur ye name--a name that shouldna be spoken?” She threw down +her stocking and got up, also in great agitation. “I tellt ye you never +could keep it. It’s no a thing that will hide, and the haill toun kens as +weel as you or me. Tell the Cornel straight out--or see, I’ll do it. I +dinna hold wi’ your secrets, and a secret that the haill toun kens!” She +snapped her fingers with an air of large disdain. As for Jarvis, ruddy +and big as he was, he shrank to nothing before this decided woman. He +repeated to her two or three times her own adjuration, “Hold your peace!” +then, suddenly changing his tone, cried out, “Tell him then, confound +ye! I’ll wash my hands o’t. If a’ the ghosts in Scotland were in the auld +hoose, is that ony concern o’ mine?” + +After this I elicited without much difficulty the whole story. In the +opinion of the Jarvises, and of everybody about, the certainty that the +place was haunted was beyond all doubt. As Sandy and his wife warmed to +the tale, one tripping up another in their eagerness to tell everything, +it gradually developed as distinct a superstition as I ever heard, and +not without poetry and pathos. How long it was since the voice had been +heard first, nobody could tell with certainty. Jarvis’s opinion was that +his father, who had been coachman at Brentwood before him, had never +heard anything about it, and that the whole thing had arisen within the +last ten years, since the complete dismantling of the old house; which +was a wonderfully modern date for a tale so well authenticated. According +to these witnesses, and to several whom I questioned afterwards, and who +were all in perfect agreement, it was only in the months of November and +December that “the visitation” occurred. During these months, the darkest +of the year, scarcely a night passed without the recurrence of these +inexplicable cries. Nothing, it was said, had ever been seen,--at least, +nothing that could be identified. Some people, bolder or more imaginative +than the others, had seen the darkness moving, Mrs. Jarvis said, with +unconscious poetry. It began when night fell, and continued, at +intervals, till day broke. Very often it was only all inarticulate cry +and moaning, but sometimes the words which had taken possession of my +poor boy’s fancy had been distinctly audible,--“Oh, mother, let me in!” +The Jarvises were not aware that there had ever been any investigation +into it. The estate of Brentwood had lapsed into the hands of a distant +branch of the family, who had lived but little there; and of the many +people who had taken it, as I had done, few had remained through two +Decembers. And nobody had taken the trouble to make a very close +examination into the facts. “No, no,” Jarvis said, shaking his head, +“No, no, Cornel. Wha wad set themsels up for a laughin’-stock to a’ the +country-side, making a wark about a ghost? Naebody believes in ghosts. It +bid to be the wind in the trees, the last gentleman said, or some effec’ +o’ the water wrastlin’ among the rocks. He said it was a’ quite easy +explained; but he gave up the hoose. And when you cam, Cornel, we were +awfu’ anxious you should never hear. What for should I have spoiled the +bargain and hairmed the property for no-thing?” + +“Do you call my child’s life nothing?” I said in the trouble of the +moment, unable to restrain myself. “And instead of telling this all to +me, you have told it to him,--to a delicate boy, a child unable to sift +evidence or judge for himself, a tender-hearted young creature--” + +I was walking about the room with an anger all the hotter that I felt it +to be most likely quite unjust. My heart was full of bitterness against +the stolid retainers of a family who were content to risk other people’s +children and comfort rather than let a house be empty. If I had been +warned I might have taken precautions, or left the place, or sent Roland +away, a hundred things which now I could not do; and here I was with my +boy in a brain-fever, and his life, the most precious life on earth, +hanging in the balance, dependent on whether or not I could get to the +reason of a commonplace ghost-story! I paced about in high wrath, not +seeing what I was to do; for to take Roland away, even if he were able to +travel, would not settle his agitated mind; and I feared even that a +scientific explanation of refracted sound or reverberation, or any other +of the easy certainties with which we elder men are silenced, would have +very little effect upon the boy. + +“Cornel,” said Jarvis solemnly, “and _she’ll_ bear me witness,--the young +gentleman never heard a word from me--no, nor from either groom or +gardener; I’ll gie ye my word for that. In the first place, he’s no a lad +that invites ye to talk. There are some that are, and some that arena. +Some will draw ye on, till ye’ve tellt them a’ the clatter of the toun, +and a’ ye ken, and whiles mair. But Maister Roland, his mind’s fu’ of his +books. He’s aye civil and kind, and a fine lad; but no that sort. And ye +see it’s for a’ our interest, Cornel, that you should stay at Brentwood. +I took it upon me mysel to pass the word,--‘No a syllable to Maister +Roland, nor to the young leddies--no a syllable.’ The women-servants, +that have little reason to be out at night, ken little or nothing about +it. And some think it grand to have a ghost so long as they’re no in the +way of coming across it. If you had been tellt the story to begin with, +maybe ye would have thought so yourself.” + +This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my +perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all +the family would have considered the possession of a ghost a distinct +advantage. It is the fashion of the times. We never think what a risk it +is to play with young imaginations, but cry out, in the fashionable +jargon, “A ghost!--nothing else was wanted to make it perfect.” I should +not have been above this myself. I should have smiled, of course, at the +idea of the ghost at all, but then to feel that it was mine would have +pleased my vanity. Oh, yes, I claim no exemption. The girls would have +been delighted. I could fancy their eagerness, their interest, and +excitement. No; if we had been told, it would have done no good,--we +should have made the bargain all the more eagerly, the fools that we are. +“And there has been no attempt to investigate it,” I said, “to see what +it really is?” + +“Eh, Cornel,” said the coachman’s wife, “wha would investigate, as ye +call it, a thing that nobody believes in? Ye would be the laughin’-stock +of a’ the country-side, as my man says.” + +“But you believe in it,” I said, turning upon her hastily. The woman was +taken by surprise. She made a step backward out of my way. + +“Lord, Cornel, how ye frichten a body! Me!--there’s awfu’ strange things +in this world. An unlearned person doesna ken what to think. But the +minister and the gentry they just laugh in your face. Inquire into the +thing that is not! Na, na, we just let it be.” + +“Come with me, Jarvis,” I said hastily, “and we’ll make an attempt at +least. Say nothing to the men or to anybody. I’ll come back after dinner, +and we’ll make a serious attempt to see what it is, if it is anything. If +I hear it,--which I doubt,--you may be sure I shall never rest till I +make it out. Be ready for me about ten o’clock.” + +“Me, Cornel!” Jarvis said, in a faint voice. I had not been looking at +him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest +change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman. “Me, Cornel!” he +repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. His ruddy face hung in +flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half +extinguished in his throat. Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon +me in a deprecating, imbecile way. “There’s nothing I wouldna do to +pleasure ye, Cornel,” taking a step further back. “I’m sure _she_ kens +I’ve aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken +gentleman--” Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing +his hands. + +“Well?” I said. + +“But eh, sir!” he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, +“if ye’ll reflect that I am no used to my feet. With a horse atween my +legs, or the reins in my hand, I’m maybe nae worse than other men; but on +fit, Cornel--It’s no the--bogles--but I’ve been cavalry, ye see,” with a +little hoarse laugh, “a’ my life. To face a thing ye dinna understan’--on +your feet, Cornel.” + +“Well, sir, if _I_ do it,” said I tartly, “why shouldn’t you?” + +“Eh, Cornel, there’s an awfu’ difference. In the first place, ye tramp +about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires +me mair than a hunard miles’ drive; and then ye’re a gentleman, and do +your ain pleasure; and you’re no so auld as me; and it’s for your ain +bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then--” + +“He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it,” the woman said. + +“Will you come with me?” I said, turning to her. + +She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment. “Me!” with a +scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh. “I wouldna say but +what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer +with an auld silly woman at his heels?” + +The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it. +“I’m sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis,” I said. “I must find some +one else, I suppose.” + +Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short. My +butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed +to fear anything,--man or devil,--certainly not the former; and I felt +that I was losing time. The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me. +They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies. Outside, +the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit. I +don’t know if perhaps they had been listening,--at least standing as near +as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation. I waved my hand to +them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very +apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go. + +And it will be thought very strange, but it would be weak not to add, +that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged +to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy’s health, perhaps his +life, depended on the result of my inquiry,--I felt the most +unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity +was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I +daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and +attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I +had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in +me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began, +like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It +was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower, +loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so +solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we +were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the +path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with +a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The +contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a +little to myself. “Oh, it’s only the old gable,” I said aloud, with a +little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones +reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly. +What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in +the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been +shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly +it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again, +this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was +chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed +to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No, +not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,--a perfectly soft, +faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating. +Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear +myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and +emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in +the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had +an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,--something cold +creeping over me, up into my hair, and down to my feet, which refused to +move. I cried out, with a trembling voice, “Who is there?” as I had done +before; but there was no reply. + +I got home I don’t quite know how; but in my mind there was no longer +any indifference as to the thing, whatever it was, that haunted these +ruins. My scepticism disappeared like a mist. I was as firmly determined +that there was something as Roland was. I did not for a moment pretend +to myself that it was possible I could be deceived; there were movements +and noises which I understood all about,--cracklings of small branches +in the frost, and little rolls of gravel on the path, such as have a +very eerie sound sometimes, and perplex you with wonder as to who has +done it, _when there is no real mystery_; but I assure you all these +little movements of nature don’t affect you one bit _when there is +something_. I understood _them_. I did not understand the sigh. That was +not simple nature; there was meaning in it, feeling, the soul of a +creature invisible. This is the thing that human nature trembles at,--a +creature invisible, yet with sensations, feelings, a power somehow of +expressing itself. I had not the same sense of unwillingness to turn my +back upon the scene of the mystery which I had experienced in going to +the stables; but I almost ran home, impelled by eagerness to get +everything done that had to be done, in order to apply myself to finding +it out. Bagley was in the hall as usual when I went in. He was always +there in the afternoon, always with the appearance of perfect +occupation, yet, so far as I know, never doing anything. The door was +open, so that I hurried in without any pause, breathless; but the sight +of his calm regard, as he came to help me off with my overcoat, subdued +me in a moment. Anything out of the way, anything incomprehensible, +faded to nothing in the presence of Bagley. You saw and wondered how +_he_ was made: the parting of his hair, the tie of his white neckcloth, +the fit of his trousers, all perfect as works of art; but you could see +how they were done, which makes all the difference. I flung myself upon +him, so to speak, without waiting to note the extreme unlikeness of the +man to anything of the kind I meant. “Bagley,” I said, “I want you to +come out with me to-night to watch for--” + +“Poachers, Colonel?” he said, a gleam of pleasure running all over him. + +“No, Bagley; a great deal worse,” I cried. + +“Yes, Colonel; at what hour, sir?” the man said; but then I had not told +him what it was. + +It was ten o’clock when we set out. All was perfectly quiet indoors. My +wife was with Roland, who had been quite calm, she said, and who (though, +no doubt, the fever must run its course) had been better ever since I +came. I told Bagley to put on a thick greatcoat over his evening coat, +and did the same myself, with strong boots; for the soil was like a +sponge, or worse. Talking to him, I almost forgot what we were going to +do. It was darker even than it had been before, and Bagley kept very +close to me as we went along. I had a small lantern in my hand, which +gave us a partial guidance. We had come to the corner where the path +turns. On one side was the bowling-green, which the girls had taken +possession of for their croquet-ground,--a wonderful enclosure surrounded +by high hedges of holly, three hundred years old and more; on the other, +the ruins. Both were black as night; but before we got so far, there was +a little opening in which we could just discern the trees and the lighter +line of the road. I thought it best to pause there and take breath. +“Bagley,” I said, “there is something about these ruins I don’t +understand. It is there I am going. Keep your eyes open and your wits +about you. Be ready to pounce upon any stranger you see,--anything, man +or woman. Don’t hurt, but seize anything you see.” “Colonel,” said +Bagley, with a little tremor in his breath, “they do say there’s things +there--as is neither man nor woman.” There was no time for words. “Are +you game to follow me, my man? that’s the question,” I said. Bagley fell +in without a word, and saluted. I knew then I had nothing to fear. + +We went, so far as I could guess, exactly as I had come; when I heard +that sigh. The darkness, however, was so complete that all marks, as of +trees or paths, disappeared. One moment we felt our feet on the gravel, +another sinking noiselessly into the slippery grass, that was all. I had +shut up my lantern, not wishing to scare any one, whoever it might be. +Bagley followed, it seemed to me, exactly in my footsteps as I made my +way, as I supposed, towards the mass of the ruined house. We seemed to +take a long time groping along seeking this; the squash of the wet soil +under our feet was the only thing that marked our progress. After a while +I stood still to see, or rather feel, where we were. The darkness was +very still, but no stiller than is usual in a winter’s night. The sounds +I have mentioned--the crackling of twigs, the roll of a pebble, the sound +of some rustle in the dead leaves, or creeping creature on the +grass--were audible when you listened, all mysterious enough when your +mind is disengaged, but to me cheering now as signs of the livingness of +nature, even in the death of the frost. As we stood still there came up +from the trees in the glen the prolonged hoot of an owl. Bagley started +with alarm, being in a state of general nervousness, and not knowing what +he was afraid of. But to me the sound was encouraging and pleasant, being +so comprehensible. + +“An owl,” I said, under my breath. “Y--es, Colonel,” said Bagley, his +teeth chattering. We stood still about five minutes, while it broke into +the still brooding of the air, the sound widening out in circles, dying +upon the darkness. This sound, which is not a cheerful one, made me +almost gay. It was natural, and relieved the tension of the mind. I moved +on with new courage, my nervous excitement calming down. + +When all at once, quite suddenly, close to us, at our feet, there broke +out a cry. I made a spring backwards in the first moment of surprise and +horror, and in doing so came sharply against the same rough masonry and +brambles that had struck me before. This new sound came upwards from the +ground,--a low, moaning, wailing voice, full of suffering and pain. The +contrast between it and the hoot of the owl was indescribable,--the one +with a wholesome wildness and naturalness that hurt nobody; the other, a +sound that made one’s blood curdle, full of human misery. With a great +deal of fumbling,--for in spite of everything I could do to keep up my +courage my hands shook,--I managed to remove the slide of my lantern. The +light leaped out like something living, and made the place visible in a +moment. We were what would have been inside the ruined building had +anything remained but the gable-wall which I have described. It was close +to us, the vacant door-way in it going out straight into the blackness +outside. The light showed the bit of wall, the ivy glistening upon it in +clouds of dark green, the bramble-branches waving, and below, the open +door,--a door that led to nothing. It was from this the voice came which +died out just as the light flashed upon this strange scene. There was a +moment’s silence, and then it broke forth again. The sound was so near, +so penetrating, so pitiful, that, in the nervous start I gave, the light +fell out of my hand. As I groped for it in the dark my hand was clutched +by Bagley, who, I think, must have dropped upon his knees; but I was too +much perturbed myself to think much of this. He clutched at me in the +confusion of his terror, forgetting all his usual decorum. “For God’s +sake, what is it, sir?” he gasped. If I yielded, there was evidently an +end of both of us. “I can’t tell,” I said, “any more than you; that’s +what we’ve got to find out. Up, man, up!” I pulled him to his feet. “Will +you go round and examine the other side, or will you stay here with the +lantern?” Bagley gasped at me with a face of horror. “Can’t we stay +together, Colonel?” he said; his knees were trembling under him. I pushed +him against the corner of the wall, and put the light into his hands. +“Stand fast till I come back; shake yourself together, man; let nothing +pass you,” I said. The voice was within two or three feet of us; of that +there could be no doubt. + +I went myself to the other side of the wall, keeping close to it. The +light shook in Bagley’s hand, but, tremulous though it was, shone out +through the vacant door, one oblong block of light marking all the +crumbling corners and hanging masses of foliage. Was that something dark +huddled in a heap by the side of it? I pushed forward across the light in +the door-way, and fell upon it with my hands; but it was only a +juniper-bush growing close against the wall. Meanwhile, the sight of my +figure crossing the door-way had brought Bagley’s nervous excitement to a +height: he flew at me, gripping my shoulder. “I’ve got him, Colonel! +I’ve got him!” he cried, with a voice of sudden exultation. He thought it +was a man, and was at once relieved. But at that moment the voice burst +forth again between us, at our feet,--more close to us than any separate +being could be. He dropped off from me, and fell against the wall, his +jaw dropping as if he were dying. I suppose, at the same moment, he saw +that it was me whom he had clutched. I, for my part, had scarcely more +command of myself. I snatched the light out of his hand, and flashed it +all about me wildly. Nothing,--the juniper-bush which I thought I had +never seen before, the heavy growth of the glistening ivy, the brambles +waving. It was close to my ears now, crying, crying, pleading as if for +life. Either I heard the same words Roland had heard, or else, in my +excitement, his imagination got possession of mine. The voice went on, +growing into distinct articulation, but wavering about, now from one +point, now from another, as if the owner of it were moving slowly back +and forward. “Mother! mother!” and then an outburst of wailing. As my +mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one’s mind gets accustomed to +anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was +pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes--but that must have +been excitement--I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then +another burst, “Oh, mother! mother!” All this close, close to the space +where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a +creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way, +which no one could either shut or open more. + +“Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?” I cried, +stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes +glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to +answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious +imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how +long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting +hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a +scene any one could understand,--a something shut out, restlessly +wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself +down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. “Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!” Every +word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried +to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do +something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially +overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound +of sobs and moaning. I cried out, “In the name of God, who are you?” with +a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane, +seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I +did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest +there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I +had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could +bear. But there was no answer; the moaning went on, and then, as if it +had been real, the voice rose a little higher again, the words +recommenced, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with an +expression that was heart-breaking to hear. + +_As if it had been real_! What do I mean by that? I suppose I got less +alarmed as the thing went on. I began to recover the use of my senses,--I +seemed to explain it all to myself by saying that this had once happened, +that it was a recollection of a real scene. Why there should have seemed +something quite satisfactory and composing in this explanation I cannot +tell, but so it was. I began to listen almost as if it had been a play, +forgetting Bagley, who, I almost think, had fainted, leaning against the +wall. I was startled out of this strange spectatorship that had fallen +upon me by the sudden rush of something which made my heart jump once +more, a large black figure in the door-way waving its arms. “Come in! +come in! come in!” it shouted out hoarsely at the top of a deep bass +voice, and then poor Bagley fell down senseless across the threshold. He +was less sophisticated than I,--he had not been able to bear it any +longer. I took him for something supernatural, as he took me, and it was +some time before I awoke to the necessities of the moment. I remembered +only after, that from the time I began to give my attention to the man, I +heard the other voice no more. It was some time before I brought him to. +It must have been a strange scene: the lantern making a luminous spot in +the darkness, the man’s white face lying on the black earth, I over him, +doing what I could for him, probably I should have been thought to be +murdering him had any one seen us. When at last I succeeded in pouring a +little brandy down his throat, he sat up and looked about him wildly. +“What’s up?” he said; then recognizing me, tried to struggle to his feet +with a faint “Beg your pardon, Colonel.” I got him home as best I could, +making him lean upon my arm. The great fellow was as weak as a child. +Fortunately he did not for some time remember what had happened. From the +time Bagley fell the voice had stopped, and all was still. + + * * * * * + +“You’ve got an epidemic in your house, Colonel,” Simson said to me next +morning. “What’s the meaning of it all? Here’s your butler raving about a +voice. This will never do, you know; and so far as I can make out, you +are in it too.” + +“Yes, I am in it, Doctor. I thought I had better speak to you. Of course +you are treating Roland all right, but the boy is not raving, he is as +sane as you or me. It’s all true.” + +“As sane as--I--or you. I never thought the boy insane. He’s got cerebral +excitement, fever. I don’t know what you’ve got. There’s something very +queer about the look of your eyes.” + +“Come,” said I, “you can’t put us all to bed, you know. You had better +listen and hear the symptoms in full.” + +The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but he listened to me patiently. He +did not believe a word of the story, that was clear; but he heard it all +from beginning to end. “My dear fellow,” he said, “the boy told me just +the same. It’s an epidemic. When one person falls a victim to this sort +of thing, it’s as safe as can be,--there’s always two or three.” + +“Then how do you account for it?” I said. + +“Oh, account for it!--that’s a different matter; there’s no accounting +for the freaks our brains are subject to. If it’s delusion, if it’s some +trick of the echoes or the winds,--some phonetic disturbance or other--” + +“Come with me to-night, and judge for yourself,” I said. + +Upon this he laughed aloud, then said, “That’s not such a bad idea; but +it would ruin me forever if it were known that John Simson was +ghost-hunting.” + +“There it is,” said I; “you dart down on us who are unlearned with your +phonetic disturbances, but you daren’t examine what the thing really is +for fear of being laughed at. That’s science!” + +“It’s not science,--it’s common-sense,” said the Doctor. “The thing has +delusion on the front of it. It is encouraging an unwholesome tendency +even to examine. What good could come of it? Even if I am convinced, I +shouldn’t believe.” + +“I should have said so yesterday; and I don’t want you to be convinced or +to believe,” said I. “If you prove it to be a delusion, I shall be very +much obliged to you for one. Come; somebody must go with me.” + +“You are cool,” said the Doctor. “You’ve disabled this poor fellow of +yours, and made him--on that point--a lunatic for life; and now you want +to disable me. But, for once, I’ll do it. To save appearance, if you’ll +give me a bed, I’ll come over after my last rounds.” + +It was agreed that I should meet him at the gate, and that we should +visit the scene of last night’s occurrences before we came to the house, +so that nobody might be the wiser. It was scarcely possible to hope that +the cause of Bagley’s sudden illness should not somehow steal into the +knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be +done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had +to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal +for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but +he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with +which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm. +“Father?” he said quietly. “Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to +it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any +conclusion--yet. I am neglecting nothing you said,” I cried. What I could +not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the +mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given +him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone +so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. “You must trust +me,” I said. “Yes, father. Father understands,” he said to himself, as if +to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about +the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought; +but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that +aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious +part of it all. + +That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and +I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming +experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without +thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a +coil of taper which he had ready for use. “There is nothing like light,” +he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a +sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we +went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken +occasionally by a bitter cry. “Perhaps that is your voice,” said the +Doctor; “I thought it must be something of the kind. That’s a poor brute +caught in some of these infernal traps of yours; you’ll find it among the +bushes somewhere.” I said nothing. I felt no particular fear, but a +triumphant satisfaction in what was to follow. I led him to the spot +where Bagley and I had stood on the previous night. All was silent as a +winter night could be,--so silent that we heard far off the sound of the +horses in the stables, the shutting of a window at the house. Simson +lighted his taper and went peering about, poking into all the corners. We +looked like two conspirators lying in wait for some unfortunate +traveller; but not a sound broke the quiet. The moaning had stopped +before we came up; a star or two shone over us in the sky, looking down +as if surprised at our strange proceedings. Dr. Simson did nothing but +utter subdued laughs under his breath. “I thought as much,” he said. “It +is just the same with tables and all other kinds of ghostly apparatus; a +sceptic’s presence stops everything. When I am present nothing ever comes +off. How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here? Oh, I don’t +complain; only when _you_ are satisfied, _I_ am--quite.” + +I will not deny that I was disappointed beyond measure by this result. It +made me look like a credulous fool. It gave the Doctor such a pull over +me as nothing else could. I should point all his morals for years to +come; and his materialism, his scepticism, would be increased beyond +endurance. “It seems, indeed,” I said, “that there is to be no--” +“Manifestation,” he said, laughing; “that is what all the mediums say. No +manifestations, in consequence of the presence of an unbeliever.” His +laugh sounded very uncomfortable to me in the silence; and it was now +near midnight. But that laugh seemed the signal; before it died away the +moaning we had heard before was resumed. It started from some distance +off, and came towards us, nearer and nearer, like some one walking along +and moaning to himself. There could be no idea now that it was a hare +caught in a trap. The approach was slow, like that of a weak person, with +little halts and pauses. We heard it coming along the grass straight +towards the vacant door-way. Simson had been a little startled by the +first sound. He said hastily, “That child has no business to be out so +late.” But he felt, as well as I, that this was no child’s voice. As it +came nearer, he grew silent, and, going to the door-way with his taper, +stood looking out towards the sound. The taper being unprotected blew +about in the night air, though there was scarcely any wind. I threw the +light of my lantern steady and white across the same space. It was in a +blaze of light in the midst of the blackness. A little icy thrill had +gone over me at the first sound, but as it came close, I confess that my +only feeling was satisfaction. The scoffer could scoff no more. The light +touched his own face, and showed a very perplexed countenance. If he was +afraid, he concealed it with great success, but he was perplexed. And +then all that had happened on the previous night was enacted once more. +It fell strangely upon me with a sense of repetition. Every cry, every +sob seemed the same as before. I listened almost without any emotion at +all in my own person, thinking of its effect upon Simson. He maintained a +very bold front, on the whole. All that coming and going of the voice +was, if our ears could be trusted, exactly in front of the vacant, blank +door-way, blazing full of light, which caught and shone in the glistening +leaves of the great hollies at a little distance. Not a rabbit could have +crossed the turf without being seen; but there was nothing. After a time, +Simson, with a certain caution and bodily reluctance, as it seemed to me, +went out with his roll of taper into this space. His figure showed +against the holly in full outline. Just at this moment the voice sank, as +was its custom, and seemed to fling itself down at the door. Simson +recoiled violently, as if some one had come up against him, then turned, +and held his taper low, as if examining something. “Do you see anybody?” +I cried in a whisper, feeling the chill of nervous panic steal over me at +this action. “It’s nothing but a--confounded juniper-bush,” he said. This +I knew very well to be nonsense, for the juniper-bush was on the other +side. He went about after this round and round, poking his taper +everywhere, then returned to me on the inner side of the wall. He scoffed +no longer; his face was contracted and pale. “How long does this go on?” +he whispered to me, like a man who does not wish to interrupt some one +who is speaking. I had become too much perturbed myself to remark whether +the successions and changes of the voice were the same as last night. It +suddenly went out in the air almost as he was speaking, with a soft +reiterated sob dying away. If there had been anything to be seen, I +should have said that the person was at that moment crouching on the +ground close to the door. + +We walked home very silent afterwards. It was only when we were in sight +of the house that I said, “What do you think of it?” “I can’t tell what +to think of it,” he said quickly. He took--though he was a very temperate +man--not the claret I was going to offer him, but some brandy from the +tray, and swallowed it almost undiluted. “Mind you, I don’t believe a +word of it,” he said, when he had lighted his candle; “but I can’t tell +what to think,” he turned round to add, when he was half-way upstairs. + +All of this, however, did me no good with the solution of my problem. I +was to help this weeping, sobbing thing, which was already to me as +distinct a personality as anything I knew; or what should I say to +Roland? It was on my heart that my boy would die if I could not find some +way of helping this creature. You may be surprised that I should speak of +it in this way. I did not know if it was man or woman; but I no more +doubted that it was a soul in pain than I doubted my own being; and it +was my business to soothe this pain,--to deliver it, if that was +possible. Was ever such a task given to an anxious father trembling for +his only boy? I felt in my heart, fantastic as it may appear, that I must +fulfill this somehow, or part with my child; and you may conceive that +rather than do that I was ready to die. But even my dying would not have +advanced me, unless by bringing me into the same world with that seeker +at the door. + + * * * * * + +Next morning Simson was out before breakfast, and came in with evident +signs of the damp grass on his boots, and a look of worry and weariness, +which did not say much for the night he had passed. He improved a little +after breakfast, and visited his two patients,--for Bagley was still an +invalid. I went out with him on his way to the train, to hear what he +had to say about the boy. “He is going on very well,” he said; “there are +no complications as yet. But mind you, that’s not a boy to be trifled +with, Mortimer. Not a word to him about last night.” I had to tell him +then of my last interview with Roland, and of the impossible demand he +had made upon me, by which, though he tried to laugh, he was much +discomposed, as I could see. “We must just perjure ourselves all round,” +he said, “and swear you exorcised it;” but the man was too kind-hearted +to be satisfied with that. “It’s frightfully serious for you, Mortimer. I +can’t laugh as I should like to. I wish I saw a way out of it, for your +sake. By the way,” he added shortly, “didn’t you notice that juniper-bush +on the left-hand side?” “There was one on the right hand of the door. I +noticed you made that mistake last night.” “Mistake!” he cried, with a +curious low laugh, pulling up the collar of his coat as though he felt +the cold,--“there’s no juniper there this morning, left or right. Just go +and see.” As he stepped into the train a few minutes after, he looked +back upon me and beckoned me for a parting word. “I’m coming back +to-night,” he said. + +I don’t think I had any feeling about this as I turned away from that +common bustle of the railway which made my private preoccupations feel so +strangely out of date. There had been a distinct satisfaction in my mind +before, that his scepticism had been so entirely defeated. But the more +serious part of the matter pressed upon me now. I went straight from the +railway to the manse, which stood on a little plateau on the side of the +river opposite to the woods of Brentwood. The minister was one of a class +which is not so common in Scotland as it used to be. He was a man of good +family, well educated in the Scotch way, strong in philosophy, not so +strong in Greek, strongest of all in experience,--a man who had “come +across,” in the course of his life, most people of note that had ever +been in Scotland, and who was said to be very sound in doctrine, without +infringing the toleration with which old men, who are good men, are +generally endowed. He was old-fashioned; perhaps he did not think so much +about the troublous problems of theology as many of the young men, nor +ask himself any hard questions about the Confession of Faith; but he +understood human nature, which is perhaps better. He received me with a +cordial welcome. + +“Come away, Colonel Mortimer,” he said; “I’m all the more glad to see +you, that I feel it’s a good sign for the boy. He’s doing well?--God be +praised,--and the Lord bless him and keep him. He has many a poor body’s +prayers, and that can do nobody harm.” + +“He will need them all, Dr. Moncrieff,” I said, “and your counsel too.” +And I told him the story,--more than I had told Simson. The old clergyman +listened to me with many suppressed exclamations, and at the end the +water stood in his eyes. + +“That’s just beautiful,” he said. “I do not mind to have heard anything +like it; it’s as fine as Burns when he wished deliverance to one--that is +prayed for in no kirk. Ay, ay! so he would have you console the poor lost +spirit? God bless the boy! There’s something more than common in that, +Colonel Mortimer. And also the faith of him in his father!--I would like +to put that into a sermon.” Then the old gentleman gave me an alarmed +look, and said, “No, no; I was not meaning a sermon; but I must write it +down for the ‘Children’s Record.’” I saw the thought that passed through +his mind. Either he thought, or he feared I would think, of a funeral +sermon. You may believe this did not make me more cheerful. + +I can scarcely say that Dr. Moncrieff gave me any advice. How could any +one advise on such a subject? But he said, “I think I’ll come too. I’m an +old man; I’m less liable to be frightened than those that are further off +the world unseen. It behooves me to think of my own journey there. I’ve +no cut-and-dry beliefs on the subject. I’ll come too; and maybe at the +moment the Lord will put into our heads what to do.” + +This gave me a little comfort,--more than Simson had given me. To be +clear about the cause of it was not my grand desire. It was another thing +that was in my mind,--my boy. As for the poor soul at the open door, I +had no more doubt, as I have said, of its existence than I had of my own. +It was no ghost to me. I knew the creature, and it was in trouble. That +was my feeling about it, as it was Roland’s. To hear it first was a great +shock to my nerves, but not now; a man will get accustomed to anything. +But to do something for it was the great problem; how was I to be +serviceable to a being that was invisible, that was mortal no longer? +“Maybe at the moment the Lord will put it into our heads.” This is very +old-fashioned phraseology, and a week before, most likely, I should have +smiled (though always with kindness) at Dr. Moncrieff’s credulity; but +there was a great comfort, whether rational or otherwise I cannot say, in +the mere sound of the words. + +The road to the station and the village lay through the glen, not by the +ruins; but though the sunshine and the fresh air, and the beauty of the +trees, and the sound of the water were all very soothing to the spirits, +my mind was so full of my own subject that I could not refrain from +turning to the right hand as I got to the top of the glen, and going +straight to the place which I may call the scene of all my thoughts. It +was lying full in the sunshine, like all the rest of the world. The +ruined gable looked due east, and in the present aspect of the sun the +light streamed down through the door-way as our lantern had done, +throwing a flood of light upon the damp grass beyond. There was a strange +suggestion in the open door,--so futile, a kind of emblem of vanity: all +free around, so that you could go where you pleased, and yet that +semblance of an enclosure,--that way of entrance, unnecessary, leading to +nothing. And why any creature should pray and weep to get in--to nothing, +or be kept out--by nothing, you could not dwell upon it, or it made your +brain go round. I remembered, however, what Simson said about the +juniper, with a little smile on my own mind as to the inaccuracy of +recollection which even a scientific man will be guilty of. I could see +now the light of my lantern gleaming upon the wet glistening surface of +the spiky leaves at the right hand,--and he ready to go to the stake for +it that it was the left! I went round to make sure. And then I saw what +he had said. Right or left there was no juniper at all! I was confounded +by this, though it was entirely a matter of detail nothing at all,--a +bush of brambles waving, the grass growing up to the very walls. But +after all, though it gave me a shock for a moment, what did that matter? +There were marks as if a number of footsteps had been up and down in +front of the door, but these might have been our steps; and all was +bright and peaceful and still. I poked about the other ruin--the larger +ruins of the old house--for some time, as I had done before. There were +marks upon the grass here and there--I could not call them +footsteps--all about; but that told for nothing one way or another. I had +examined the ruined rooms closely the first day. They were half filled up +with soil and _debris_, withered brackens and bramble,--no refuge for any +one there. It vexed me that Jarvis should see me coming from that spot +when he came up to me for his orders. I don’t know whether my nocturnal +expeditions had got wind among the servants, but there was a significant +look in his face. Something in it I felt was like my own sensation when +Simson in the midst of his scepticism was struck dumb. Jarvis felt +satisfied that his veracity had been put beyond question. I never spoke +to a servant of mine in such a peremptory tone before. I sent him away +“with a flea in his lug,” as the man described it afterwards. +Interference of any kind was intolerable to me at such a moment. + +But what was strangest of all was, that I could not face Roland. I did +not go up to his room, as I would have naturally done, at once. This the +girls could not understand. They saw there was some mystery in it. +“Mother has gone to lie down,” Agatha said; “he has had such a good +night.” “But he wants you so, papa!” cried little Jeanie, always with her +two arms embracing mine in a pretty way she had. I was obliged to go at +last, but what could I say? I could only kiss him, and tell him to keep +still,--that I was doing all I could. There is something mystical about +the patience of a child. “It will come all right, won’t it, father?” he +said. “God grant it may! I hope so, Roland.” “Oh, yes, it will come all +right.” Perhaps he understood that in the midst of my anxiety I could not +stay with him as I should have done otherwise. But the girls were more +surprised than it is possible to describe. They looked at me with +wondering eyes. “If I were ill, papa, and you only stayed with me a +moment, I should break my heart,” said Agatha. But the boy had a +sympathetic feeling. He knew that of my own will I would not have done +it. I shut myself up in the library, where I could not rest, but kept +pacing up and down like a caged beast. What could I do? and if I could do +nothing, what would become of my boy? These were the questions that, +without ceasing, pursued each other through my mind. + +Simson came out to dinner, and when the house was all still, and most of +the servants in bed, we went out and met Dr. Moncrieff, as we had +appointed, at the head of the glen. Simson, for his part, was disposed to +scoff at the Doctor. “If there are to be any spells, you know, I’ll cut +the whole concern,” he said. I did not make him any reply. I had not +invited him; he could go or come as he pleased. He was very talkative, +far more so than suited my humor, as we went on. “One thing is certain, +you know; there must be some human agency,” he said. “It is all bosh +about apparitions. I never have investigated the laws of sound to any +great extent, and there’s a great deal in ventriloquism that we don’t +know much about.” “If it’s the same to you,” I said, “I wish you’d keep +all that to yourself, Simson. It doesn’t suit my state of mind.” “Oh, I +hope I know how to respect idiosyncrasy,” he said. The very tone of his +voice irritated me beyond measure. These scientific fellows, I wonder +people put up with them as they do, when you have no mind for their +cold-blooded confidence. Dr. Moncrieff met us about eleven o’clock, the +same time as on the previous night. He was a large man, with a venerable +countenance and white hair,--old, but in full vigor, and thinking less +of a cold night walk than many a younger man. He had his lantern, as I +had. We were fully provided with means of lighting the place, and we were +all of us resolute men. We had a rapid consultation as we went up, and +the result was that we divided to different posts. Dr. Moncrieff remained +inside the wall--if you can call that inside where there was no wall but +one. Simson placed himself on the side next the ruins, so as to intercept +any communication with the old house, which was what his mind was fixed +upon. I was posted on the other side. To say that nothing could come near +without being seen was self-evident. It had been so also on the previous +night. Now, with our three lights in the midst of the darkness, the whole +place seemed illuminated. Dr. Moncrieff’s lantern, which was a large one, +without any means of shutting up,--an old-fashioned lantern with a +pierced and ornamental top,--shone steadily, the rays shooting out of it +upward into the gloom. He placed it on the grass, where the middle of the +room, if this had been a room, would have been. The usual effect of the +light streaming out of the door-way was prevented by the illumination +which Simson and I on either side supplied. With these differences, +everything seemed as on the previous night. + +And what occurred was exactly the same, with the same air of repetition, +point for point, as I had formerly remarked. I declare that it seemed to +me as if I were pushed against, put aside, by the owner of the voice as +he paced up and down in his trouble,--though these are perfectly futile +words, seeing that the stream of light from my lantern, and that from +Simson’s taper, lay broad and clear, without a shadow, without the +smallest break, across the entire breadth of the grass. I had ceased even +to be alarmed, for my part. My heart was rent with pity and +trouble,--pity for the poor suffering human creature that moaned and +pleaded so, and trouble for myself and my boy. God! if I could not find +any help,--and what help could I find?--Roland would die. + +We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I +knew, by experience, it would be. Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was +quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places. +My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice. I was +used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first. But just +as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there +suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, +and my heart into my mouth. It was a voice inside the wall,--the +minister’s well-known voice. I would have been prepared for it in any +kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard. It came out +with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance. “Willie, +Willie! Oh, God preserve us! is it you?” + +These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the +invisible creature had ceased to have. I thought the old man, whom I +had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror. I made a dash +round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the +thought. He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague +and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet. I +lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward. He was very +pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted +lips. He neither saw nor heard me. We that had gone through this +experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little +strength to bear it. But he was not even aware that I was there. His +whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness. He held out his +hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear. He +went on speaking all the time. “Willie, if it is you,--and it’s you, if +it is not a delusion of Satan,--Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting +them that know you not? Why came ye not to me?” + +He seemed to wait for an answer. When his voice ceased, his countenance, +every line moving, continued to speak. Simson gave me another terrible +shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much +awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without +seeing Simson, speaking to some one else. His voice took a tone of +expostulation:-- + +“Is this right to come here? Your mother’s gone with your name on her +lips. Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad? Do ye +think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature? No!--I +forbid ye! I forbid ye!” cried the old man. The sobbing voice had begun +to resume its cries. He made a step forward, calling out the last words +in a voice of command. “I forbid ye! Cry out no more to man. Go home, ye +wandering spirit! go home! Do you hear me?--me that christened ye, that +have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!” Here +the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness. “And her too, poor +woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon. She’s not here. You’ll find +her with the Lord. Go there and seek her, not here. Do you hear me, lad? +go after her there. He’ll let you in, though it’s late. Man, take heart! +if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven’s gate, and not +your poor mother’s ruined door.” + +He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had +done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, +but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled. Then the +minister spoke again, “Are you hearing me, Will? Oh, laddie, you’ve liked +the beggarly elements all your days. Be done with them now. Go home to +the Father--the Father! Are you hearing me?” Here the old man sank down +upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble +in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness. I resisted +as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon +my knees. Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression +in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes +wild, staring. It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and +wonder, that we were praying. All the time the voice, with a low arrested +sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought. + +“Lord,” the minister said,--“Lord, take him into Thy everlasting +habitations. The mother he cries to is with Thee. Who can open to him but +Thee? Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee? +Lord, let that woman there draw him inower! Let her draw him inower!” + +I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly +within the door. The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I +felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the +ground,--for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my +foolishness I thought. Simson held out his hand to me to help me up. He +was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost +inarticulate. “It’s gone,” he said, stammering,--“it’s gone!” We leaned +upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the +whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and +yet as long as I live I will never forget it,--the shining of the +strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all +the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and +uplifted hands. A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us. +By intervals a single syllable, “Lord! Lord!” came from the old +minister’s lips. He saw none of us, nor thought of us. I never knew how +long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our +lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did. But at last he +rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his +arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and +solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,--to what? to the silent +earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but +spectators gasping an Amen! + +It seemed to me that it must be the middle of the night, as we all walked +back. It was in reality very late. Dr. Moncrieff put his arm into mine. +He walked slowly, with an air of exhaustion. It was as if we were coming +from a death-bed. Something hushed and solemnized the very air. There was +that sense of relief in it which there always is at the end of a +death-struggle. And nature, persistent, never daunted, came back in all +of us, as we returned into the ways of life. We said nothing to each +other, indeed, for a time; but when we got clear of the trees and +reached the opening near the house, where we could see the sky, Dr. +Moncrieff himself was the first to speak. “I must be going,” he said; +“it’s very late, I’m afraid. I will go down the glen, as I came.” + +“But not alone. I am going with you, Doctor.” + +“Well, I will not oppose it. I am an old man, and agitation wearies more +than work. Yes; I’ll be thankful of your arm. To-night, Colonel, you’ve +done me more good turns than one.” + +I pressed his hand on my arm, not feeling able to speak. But Simson, +who turned with us, and who had gone along all this time with his taper +flaring, in entire unconsciousness, came to himself, apparently at the +sound of our voices, and put out that wild little torch with a quick +movement, as if of shame. “Let me carry your lantern,” he said; “it is +heavy.” He recovered with a spring; and in a moment, from the +awe-stricken spectator he had been, became himself, sceptical and +cynical. “I should like to ask you a question,” he said. “Do you +believe in Purgatory, Doctor? It’s not in the tenets of the Church, so +far as I know.” + +“Sir,” said Dr. Moncrieff, “an old man like me is sometimes not very +sure what he believes. There is just one thing I am certain of--and that +is the loving-kindness of God.” + +“But I thought that was in this life. I am no theologian--” + +“Sir,” said the old man again, with a tremor in him which I could feel +going over all his frame, “if I saw a friend of mine within the gates of +hell, I would not despair but his Father would take him by the hand +still, if he cried like _you_.” + +“I allow it is very strange, very strange. I cannot see through it. That +there must be human agency, I feel sure. Doctor, what made you decide +upon the person and the name?” + +The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show +if he were asked how he recognized his brother. “Tuts!” he said, in +familiar speech; then more solemnly, “How should I not recognize a person +that I know better--far better--than I know you?” + +“Then you saw the man?” + +Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little +impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went +on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which +were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very +still,--not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches, +which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending. +When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,--about the height +of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his +own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation, +waiting for him. “Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?” +she cried. + +“Far from that--better. God bless him!” Dr. Moncrieff said. + +I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have +pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent, +by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many +nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly +gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I +have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It +was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace +and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a +sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping, +satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we +found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and +gave me a smile: “I think he is a great deal better; but you are very +late,” she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the +Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own +color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy, +half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the +interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his +forehead, which was moist and cool. “All is well, Roland,” I said. He +looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his +cheek upon it, and so went to sleep. + + * * * * * + +For some nights after, I watched among the ruins, spending all the dark +hours up to midnight patrolling about the bit of wall which was +associated with so many emotions; but I heard nothing, and saw nothing +beyond the quiet course of nature; nor, so far as I am aware, has +anything been heard again. Dr. Moncrieff gave me the history of the +youth, whom he never hesitated to name. I did not ask, as Simson did, how +he recognized him. He had been a prodigal,--weak, foolish, easily imposed +upon, and “led away,” as people say. All that we had heard had passed +actually in life, the Doctor said. The young man had come home thus a day +or two after his mother died,--who was no more than the housekeeper in +the old house,--and distracted with the news, had thrown himself down at +the door and called upon her to let him in. The old man could scarcely +speak of it for tears. To me it seemed as if--Heaven help us, how little +do we know about anything!--a scene like that might impress itself +somehow upon the hidden heart of nature. I do not pretend to know how, +but the repetition had struck me at the time as, in its terrible +strangeness and incomprehensibility, almost mechanical,--as if the unseen +actor could not exceed or vary, but was bound to re-enact the whole. One +thing that struck me, however, greatly, was the likeness between the old +minister and my boy in the manner of regarding these strange phenomena. +Dr. Moncrieff was not terrified, as I had been myself, and all the rest +of us. It was no “ghost,” as I fear we all vulgarly considered it, to +him,--but a poor creature whom he knew under these conditions, just as +he had known him in the flesh, having no doubt of his identity. And to +Roland it was the same. This spirit in pain,--if it was a spirit,--this +voice out of the unseen,--was a poor fellow-creature in misery, to be +succored and helped out of his trouble, to my boy. He spoke to me quite +frankly about it when he got better. “I knew father would find out some +way,” he said. And this was when he was strong and well, and all idea +that he would turn hysterical or become a seer of visions had happily +passed away. + + * * * * * + +I must add one curious fact, which does not seem to me to have any +relation to the above, but which Simson made great use of, as the human +agency which he was determined to find somehow. We had examined the ruins +very closely at the time of these occurrences; but afterwards, when all +was over, as we went casually about them one Sunday afternoon in the +idleness of that unemployed day, Simson with his stick penetrated an old +window which had been entirely blocked up with fallen soil. He jumped +down into it in great excitement, and called me to follow. There we found +a little hole,--for it was more a hole than a room,--entirely hidden +under the ivy and ruins, in which there was a quantity of straw laid in a +corner, as if some one had made a bed there, and some remains of crusts +about the floor. Some one had lodged there, and not very long before, he +made out; and that this unknown being was the author of all the +mysterious sounds we heard he is convinced. “I told you it was human +agency,” he said triumphantly. He forgets, I suppose, how he and I stood +with our lights, seeing nothing, while the space between us was audibly +traversed by something that could speak, and sob, and suffer. There is no +argument with men of this kind. He is ready to get up a laugh against me +on this slender ground. “I was puzzled myself,--I could not make it +out,--but I always felt convinced human agency was at the bottom of it. +And here it is,--and a clever fellow he must have been,” the Doctor says. + +Bagley left my service as soon as he got well. He assured me it was no +want of respect, but he could not stand “them kind of things;” and the +man was so shaken and ghastly that I was glad to give him a present and +let him go. For my own part, I made a point of staying out the +time--two years--for which I had taken Brentwood; but I did not renew +my tenancy. By that time we had settled, and found for ourselves a +pleasant home of our own. + +I must add, that when the Doctor defies me, I can always bring back +gravity to his countenance, and a pause in his railing, when I remind him +of the juniper-bush. To me that was a matter of little importance. I +could believe I was mistaken. I did not care about it one way or other; +but on his mind the effect was different. The miserable voice, the spirit +in pain, he could think of as the result of ventriloquism, or +reverberation, or--anything you please: an elaborate prolonged hoax, +executed somehow by the tramp that had found a lodging in the old tower; +but the juniper-bush staggered him. Things have effects so different on +the minds of different men. + + + + +II + +THE PORTRAIT + + +At the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my +father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a +little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe +I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the +red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, +builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and +irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms +large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, +with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was +cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to +economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it +was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the +primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the +cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at +this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses,--the +kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the +neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last +inhabitants; and the furniture was faded, even a little dingy,--nothing +to brag of. I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were +faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and +had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright +if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at +home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I +had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays +as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had +died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and +silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of +my father’s had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of +me; but she, too, had died long, long ago, my mourning for her being one +of the first things I could recollect. And she had no successor. There +were, indeed, a housekeeper and some maids,--the latter of whom I only +saw disappearing at the end of a passage, or whisking out of a room when +one of “the gentlemen” appeared. Mrs. Weir, indeed, I saw nearly every +day; but a curtsey, a smile, a pair of nice round arms which she caressed +while folding them across her ample waist, and a large white apron, were +all I knew of her. This was the only female influence in the house. The +drawing-room I was aware of only as a place of deadly good order, into +which nobody ever entered. It had three long windows opening on the lawn, +and communicated at the upper end, which was rounded like a great bay, +with the conservatory. Sometimes I gazed into it as a child from without, +wondering at the needlework on the chairs, the screens, the +looking-glasses which never reflected any living face. My father did not +like the room, which probably was not wonderful, though it never occurred +to me in those early days to inquire why. + +I may say here, though it will probably be disappointing to those who +form a sentimental idea of the capabilities of children, that it did +not occur to me either, in these early days, to make any inquiry about +my mother. There was no room in life, as I knew it, for any such +person; nothing suggested to my mind either the fact that she must have +existed, or that there was need of her in the house. I accepted, as I +believe most children do, the facts of existence, on the basis with +which I had first made acquaintance with them, without question or +remark. As a matter of fact, I was aware that it was rather dull at +home; but neither by comparison with the books I read, nor by the +communications received from my school-fellows, did this seem to me +anything remarkable. And I was possibly somewhat dull too by nature, +for I did not mind. I was fond of reading, and for that there was +unbounded opportunity. I had a little ambition in respect to work, and +that too could be prosecuted undisturbed. When I went to the +university, my society lay almost entirely among men; but by that time +and afterwards, matters had of course greatly changed with me, and +though I recognized women as part of the economy of nature, and did not +indeed by any means dislike or avoid them, yet the idea of connecting +them at all with my own home never entered into my head. That continued +to be as it had always been, when at intervals I descended upon the +cool, grave, colorless place, in the midst of my traffic with the +world: always very still, well-ordered, serious,--the cooking very +good, the comfort perfect; old Morphew, the butler, a little older (but +very little older, perhaps on the whole less old, since in my childhood +I had thought him a kind of Methuselah); and Mrs. Weir, less active, +covering up her arms in sleeves, but folding and caressing them just as +always. I remember looking in from the lawn through the windows upon +that deadly-orderly drawing-room, with a humorous recollection of my +childish admiration and wonder, and feeling that it must be kept so +forever and ever, and that to go into it would break some sort of +amusing mock mystery, some pleasantly ridiculous spell. + +But it was only at rare intervals that I went home. In the long vacation, +as in my school holidays, my father often went abroad with me, so that we +had gone over a great deal of the Continent together very pleasantly. He +was old in proportion to the age of his son, being a man of sixty when I +was twenty, but that did not disturb the pleasure of the relations +between us. I don’t know that they were ever very confidential. On my +side there was but little to communicate, for I did not get into scrapes +nor fall in love, the two predicaments which demand sympathy and +confidences. And as for my father himself, I was never aware what there +could be to communicate on his side. I knew his life exactly,--what he +did almost at every hour of the day; under what circumstances of the +temperature he would ride and when walk; how often and with what guests +he would indulge in the occasional break of a dinner-party, a serious +pleasure,--perhaps, indeed, less a pleasure than a duty. All this I knew +as well as he did, and also his views on public matters, his political +opinions, which naturally were different from mine. What ground, then, +remained for confidence? I did not know any. We were both of us of a +reserved nature, not apt to enter into our religious feelings, for +instance. There are many people who think reticence on such subjects a +sign of the most reverential way of contemplating them. Of this I am far +from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial +to my own mind. + +And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I +did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an +Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a +semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years, +invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and +disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, “no +occasion” to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never +given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be +his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not +oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to +exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and +expressed his satisfaction in my return. “Of course,” he said, “I am not +glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken; +but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I +am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man--” + +“I don’t see any difference, sir,” said I; “everything here seems exactly +the same as when I went away--” + +He smiled, and shook his head. “It is true enough,” he said; “after we +have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a +plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an +inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the +fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to +have you here.” + +“If I had known that,” I said, “and that you wanted me, I should have +come in any circumstances. As there are only two of us in the world--” + +“Yes,” he said, “there are only two of us in the world; but still I +should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career.” + +“It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself,” I said rather +bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear. + +He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, “It is an ill wind that blows +nobody good,” with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain +gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in +all the world to whom I owed any duty. I had not been without dreams of +warmer affections, but they had come to nothing--not tragically, but in +the ordinary way. I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but +not that which I did want,--which was not a thing to make any unmanly +moan about, but in the ordinary course of events. Such disappointments +happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and +sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so. + +However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,--in a +position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my +contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much +money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the +future. On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no +occupation. The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an +advantage. I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into +the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one +through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was +not a walk but a lounge. The country was silent and full of +thoughts,--thoughts not always very agreeable,--whereas there were always +the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be +heard,--all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very +impoverished version for the idle man. I did not like it, but I felt +myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand. The +rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner. I might +have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for +that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, +and fully contented with my lot. + +It was possibly my own want of occupation which made me observe with +surprise, after a while, how much occupied my father was. He had +expressed himself glad of my return; but now that I had returned, I saw +very little of him. Most of his time was spent in his library, as had +always been the case. But on the few visits I paid him there, I could not +but perceive that the aspect of the library was much changed. It had +acquired the look of a business-room, almost an office. There were large +business-like books on the table, which I could not associate with +anything he could naturally have to do; and his correspondence was very +large. I thought he closed one of those books hurriedly as I came in, and +pushed it away, as if he did not wish me to see it. This surprised me at +the moment without arousing any other feeling; but afterwards I +remembered it with a clearer sense of what it meant. He was more absorbed +altogether than I had been used to see him. He was visited by men +sometimes not of very prepossessing appearance. Surprise grew in my mind +without any very distinct idea of the reason of it; and it was not till +after a chance conversation with Morphew that my vague uneasiness began +to take definite shape. It was begun without any special intention on my +part. Morphew had informed me that master was very busy, on some occasion +when I wanted to see him. And I was a little annoyed to be thus put off. +“It appears to me that my father is always busy,” I said hastily. Morphew +then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent. + +“A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion,” he said. + +This startled me much, and I asked hurriedly, “What do you mean?” without +reflecting that to ask for private information from a servant about my +father’s habits was as bad as investigating into a stranger’s affairs. It +did not strike me in the same light. + +“Mr. Philip,” said Morphew, “a thing ’as ’appened as ’appens more often +than it ought to. Master has got awful keen about money in his old age.” + +“That’s a new thing for him,” I said. + +“No, sir, begging your pardon, it ain’t a new thing. He was once +broke of it, and that wasn’t easy done; but it’s come back, if you’ll +excuse me saying so. And I don’t know as he’ll ever be broke of it +again at his age.” + +I felt more disposed to be angry than disturbed by this. “You must be +making some ridiculous mistake,” I said. “And if you were not so old a +friend as you are, Morphew, I should not have allowed my father to be so +spoken of to me.” + +The old man gave me a half-astonished, half-contemptuous look. “He’s been +my master a deal longer than he’s been your father,” he said, turning on +his heel. The assumption was so comical that my anger could not stand in +face of it. I went out, having been on my way to the door when this +conversation occurred, and took my usual lounge about, which was not a +satisfactory sort of amusement. Its vanity and emptiness appeared to be +more evident than usual to-day. I met half-a-dozen people I knew, and had +as many pieces of news confided to me. I went up and down the length of +the High Street. I made a small purchase or two. And then I turned +homeward, despising myself, yet finding no alternative within my reach. +Would a long country walk have been more virtuous? It would at least have +been more wholesome; but that was all that could be said. My mind did +not dwell on Morphew’s communication. It seemed without sense or meaning +to me; and after the excellent joke about his superior interest in his +master to mine in my father, was dismissed lightly enough from my mind. I +tried to invent some way of telling this to my father without letting him +perceive that Morphew had been finding faults in him, or I listening; for +it seemed a pity to lose so good a joke. However, as I returned home, +something happened which put the joke entirely out of my head. It is +curious when a new subject of trouble or anxiety has been suggested to +the mind in an unexpected way, how often a second advertisement follows +immediately after the first, and gives to that a potency which in itself +it had not possessed. + +I was approaching our own door, wondering whether my father had gone, and +whether, on my return, I should find him at leisure,--for I had several +little things to say to him,--when I noticed a poor woman lingering about +the closed gates. She had a baby sleeping in her arms. It was a spring +night, the stars shining in the twilight, and everything soft and dim; +and the woman’s figure was like a shadow, flitting about, now here, now +there, on one side or another of the gate. She stopped when she saw me +approaching, and hesitated for a moment, then seemed to take a sudden +resolution. I watched her without knowing, with a prevision that she was +going to address me, though with no sort of idea as to the subject of her +address. She came up to me doubtfully, it seemed, yet certainly, as I +felt, and when she was close to me, dropped a sort of hesitating curtsey, +and said, “It’s Mr. Philip?” in a low voice. + +“What do you want with me?” I said. + +Then she poured forth suddenly, without warning or preparation, her long +speech,--a flood of words which must have been all ready and waiting at +the doors of her lips for utterance. “Oh, sir, I want to speak to you! I +can’t believe you’ll be so hard, for you’re young; and I can’t believe +he’ll be so hard if so be as his own son, as I’ve always heard he had but +one, ’ll speak up for us. Oh, gentleman, it is easy for the likes of you, +that, if you ain’t comfortable in one room, can just walk into another; +but if one room is all you have, and every bit of furniture you have +taken out of it, and nothing but the four walls left,--not so much as the +cradle for the child, or a chair for your man to sit down upon when he +comes from his work, or a saucepan to cook him his supper--” + +“My good woman,” I said, “who can have taken all that from you? Surely +nobody can be so cruel?” + +“You say it’s cruel!” she cried with a sort of triumph. “Oh, I knowed you +would, or any true gentleman that don’t hold with screwing poor folks. +Just go and say that to him inside there for the love of God. Tell him +to think what he’s doing, driving poor creatures to despair. Summer’s +coming, the Lord be praised, but yet it’s bitter cold at night with your +counterpane gone; and when you’ve been working hard all day, and nothing +but four bare walls to come home to, and all your poor little sticks of +furniture that you’ve saved up for, and got together one by one, all +gone, and you no better than when you started, or rather worse, for then +you was young. Oh, sir!” the woman’s voice rose into a sort of passionate +wail. And then she added, beseechingly, recovering herself, “Oh, speak +for us; he’ll not refuse his own son--” + +“To whom am I to speak? Who is it that has done this to you?” I said. + +The woman hesitated again, looking keenly in my face, then repeated with +a slight faltering, “It’s Mr. Philip?” as if that made everything right. + +“Yes; I am Philip Canning,” I said; “but what have I to do with this? +and to whom am I to speak?” + +She began to whimper, crying and stopping herself. “Oh, please, sir! it’s +Mr. Canning as owns all the house property about; it’s him that our court +and the lane and everything belongs to. And he’s taken the bed from under +us, and the baby’s cradle, although it’s said in the Bible as you’re not +to take poor folks’ bed.” + +“My father!” I cried in spite of myself; “then it must be some agent, +some one else in his name. You may be sure he knows nothing of it. Of +course I shall speak to him at once.” + +“Oh, God bless you, sir,” said the woman. But then she added, in a lower +tone, “It’s no agent. It’s one as never knows trouble. It’s him that +lives in that grand house.” But this was said under her breath, evidently +not for me to hear. + +Morphew’s words flashed through my mind as she spoke. What was this? Did +it afford an explanation of the much-occupied hours, the big books, the +strange visitors? I took the poor woman’s name, and gave her something +to procure a few comforts for the night, and went indoors disturbed and +troubled. It was impossible to believe that my father himself would +have acted thus; but he was not a man to brook interference, and I did +not see how to introduce the subject, what to say. I could but hope +that, at the moment of broaching it, words would be put into my mouth, +which often happens in moments of necessity, one knows not how, even +when one’s theme is not so all-important as that for which such help has +been promised. As usual, I did not see my father till dinner. I have +said that our dinners were very good, luxurious in a simple way, +everything excellent in its kind, well cooked, well served,--the +perfection of comfort without show,--which is a combination very dear to +the English heart. I said nothing till Morphew, with his solemn +attention to everything that was going, had retired; and then it was +with some strain of courage that I began. + +“I was stopped outside the gate to-day by a curious sort of +petitioner,--a poor woman, who seems to be one of your tenants, sir, but +whom your agent must have been rather too hard upon.” + +“My agent? Who is that?” said my father quietly. + +“I don’t know his name, and I doubt his competence. The poor creature +seems to have had everything taken from her,--her bed, her child’s +cradle.” + +“No doubt she was behind with her rent.” + +“Very likely, sir. She seemed very poor,” said I. + +“You take it coolly,” said my father, with an upward glance, half-amused, +not in the least shocked by my statement. “But when a man, or a woman +either, takes a house, I suppose you will allow that they ought to pay +rent for it.” + +“Certainly, sir,” I replied, “when they have got anything to pay.” + +“I don’t allow the reservation,” he said. But he was not angry, which I +had feared he would be. + +“I think,” I continued, “that your agent must be too severe. And this +emboldens me to say something which has been in my mind for some +time”--(these were the words, no doubt, which I had hoped would be put +into my month; they were the suggestion of the moment, and yet as I said +them it was with the most complete conviction of their truth)--“and that +is this: I am doing nothing; my time hangs heavy on my hands. Make me +your agent. I will see for myself, and save you from such mistakes; and +it will be an occupation--” + +“Mistakes? What warrant have you for saying these are mistakes?” he said +testily; then after a moment: “This is a strange proposal from you, Phil. +Do you know what it is you are offering?--to be a collector of rents, +going about from door to door, from week to week; to look after wretched +little bits of repairs, drains, etc.; to get paid, which, after all, is +the chief thing, and not to be taken in by tales of poverty.” + +“Not to let you be taken in by men without pity,” I said. + +He gave me a strange glance, which I did not very well understand, and +said abruptly, a thing which, so far as I remember, he had never in my +life said before, “You’ve become a little like your mother, Phil--” + +“My mother!” the reference was so unusual--nay, so unprecedented--that I +was greatly startled. It seemed to me like the sudden introduction of a +quite new element in the stagnant atmosphere, as well as a new party to +our conversation. My father looked across the table, as if with some +astonishment at my tone of surprise. + +“Is that so very extraordinary?” he said. + +“No; of course it is not extraordinary that I should resemble my mother. +Only--I have heard very little of her--almost nothing.” + +“That is true.” He got up and placed himself before the fire, which was +very low, as the night was not cold--had not been cold heretofore at +least; but it seemed to me now that a little chill came into the dim and +faded room. Perhaps it looked more dull from the suggestion of a +something brighter, warmer, that might have been. “Talking of mistakes,” +he said, “perhaps that was one: to sever you entirely from her side of +the house. But I did not care for the connection. You will understand how +it is that I speak of it now when I tell you--” He stopped here, however, +said nothing more for a minute or so, and then rang the bell. Morphew +came, as he always did, very deliberately, so that some time elapsed in +silence, during which my surprise grew. When the old man appeared at the +door--“Have you put the lights in the drawing-room, as I told you?” my +father said. + +“Yes, sir; and opened the box, sir; and it’s a--it’s a speaking +likeness--” + +This the old man got out in a great hurry, as if afraid that his master +would stop him. My father did so with a wave of his hand. + +“That’s enough. I asked no information. You can go now.” + +The door closed upon us, and there was again a pause. My subject had +floated away altogether like a mist, though I had been so concerned about +it. I tried to resume, but could not. Something seemed to arrest my very +breathing; and yet in this dull, respectable house of ours, where +everything breathed good character and integrity, it was certain that +there could be no shameful mystery to reveal. It was some time before my +father spoke, not from any purpose that I could see, but apparently +because his mind was busy with probably unaccustomed thoughts. + +“You scarcely know the drawing-room, Phil,” he said at last. + +“Very little. I have never seen it used. I have a little awe of it, to +tell the truth.” + +“That should not be. There is no reason for that. But a man by himself, +as I have been for the greater part of my life, has no occasion for a +drawing-room. I always, as a matter of preference, sat among my books; +however, I ought to have thought of the impression on you.” + +“Oh, it is not important,” I said; “the awe was childish. I have not +thought of it since I came home.” + +“It never was anything very splendid at the best,” said he. He lifted the +lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my +offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of +seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom +of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair +and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, +his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was +taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment +with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and +bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more +intimately than any other creature in the world,--I was familiar with +every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not +know him at all? + + * * * * * + +The drawing-room was already lighted with a flickering array of candles +upon the mantelpiece and along the walls, producing the pretty, starry +effect which candles give without very much light. As I had not the +smallest idea what I was about to see, for Morphew’s “speaking likeness” +was very hurriedly said, and only half comprehensible in the bewilderment +of my faculties, my first glance was at this very unusual illumination, +for which I could assign no reason. The next showed me a large +full-length portrait, still in the box in which apparently it had +travelled, placed upright, supported against a table in the centre of the +room. My father walked straight up to it, motioned to me to place a +smaller table close to the picture on the left side, and put his lamp +upon that. Then he waved his hand towards it, and stood aside that I +might see. + +It was a full-length portrait of a very young woman--I might say a girl +scarcely twenty--in a white dress, made in a very simple old fashion, +though I was too little accustomed to female costume to be able to fix +the date. It might have been a hundred years old, or twenty, for aught I +knew. The face had an expression of youth, candor, and simplicity more +than any face I had ever seen,--or so, at least in my surprise, I +thought. The eyes were a little wistful, with something which was almost +anxiety which at least was not content--in them; a faint, almost +imperceptible, curve in the lids. The complexion was of a dazzling +fairness, the hair light, but the eyes dark, which gave individuality to +the face. It would have been as lovely had the eyes been blue,--probably +more so,--but their darkness gave a touch of character, a slight discord, +which made the harmony finer. It was not, perhaps, beautiful in the +highest sense of the word. The girl must have been too young, too slight, +too little developed for actual beauty; but a face which so invited love +and confidence I never saw. One smiled at it with instinctive affection. +“What a sweet face!” I said. “What a lovely girl! Who is she? Is this one +of the relations you were speaking of on the other side?” + +My father made me no reply. He stood aside, looking at it as if he knew +it too well to require to look,--as if the picture was already in his +eyes. “Yes,” he said, after an interval, with a long-drawn breath, “she +was a lovely girl, as you say.” + +“Was?--then she is dead. What a pity!” I said; “what a pity! so young and +so sweet!” + +We stood gazing at her thus, in her beautiful stillness and calm,--two +men, the younger of us full-grown and conscious of many experiences, the +other an old man,--before this impersonation of tender youth. At length +he said, with a slight tremulousness in his voice, “Does nothing suggest +to you who she is, Phil?” + +I turned round to look at him with profound astonishment, but he turned +away from my look. A sort of quiver passed over his face. “That is your +mother,” he said, and walked suddenly away, leaving me there. + +My mother! + +I stood for a moment in a kind of consternation before the white-robed +innocent creature, to me no more than a child; then a sudden laugh broke +from me, without any will of mine something ludicrous, as well as +something awful, was in it. When the laugh was over, I found myself with +tears in my eyes, gazing, holding my breath. The soft features seemed to +melt, the lips to move, the anxiety in the eyes to become a personal +inquiry. Ah, no! nothing of the kind; only because of the water in mine. +My mother! oh, fair and gentle creature, scarcely woman, how could any +man’s voice call her by that name! I had little idea enough of what it +meant,--had heard it laughed at, scoffed at, reverenced, but never had +learned to place it even among the ideal powers of life. Yet if it meant +anything at all, what it meant was worth thinking of. What did she ask, +looking at me with those eyes? What would she have said if “those lips +had language”? If I had known her only as Cowper did--with a child’s +recollection--there might have been some thread, some faint but +comprehensible link, between us; but now all that I felt was the curious +incongruity. Poor child! I said to myself; so sweet a creature: poor +little tender soul! as if she had been a little sister, a child of +mine,--but my mother! I cannot tell how long I stood looking at her, +studying the candid, sweet face, which surely had germs in it of +everything that was good and beautiful; and sorry, with a profound +regret, that she had died and never carried these promises to +fulfillment. Poor girl! poor people who had loved her! These were my +thoughts; with a curious vertigo and giddiness of my whole being in the +sense of a mysterious relationship, which it was beyond my power to +understand. + +Presently my father came back, possibly because I had been a long time +unconscious of the passage of the minutes, or perhaps because he was +himself restless in the strange disturbance of his habitual calm. He came +in and put his arm within mine, leaning his weight partially upon me, +with an affectionate suggestion which went deeper than words. I pressed +his arm to my side: it was more between us two grave Englishmen than any +embracing. + +“I cannot understand it,” I said. + +“No. I don’t wonder at that; but if it is strange to you, Phil, think how +much more strange to me! That is the partner of my life. I have never had +another, or thought of another. That--girl! If we are to meet again, as I +have always hoped we should meet again, what am I to say to her,--I, an +old man? Yes; I know what you mean. I am not an old man for my years; but +my years are threescore and ten, and the play is nearly played out. How +am I to meet that young creature? We used to say to each other that it +was forever, that we never could be but one, that it was for life and +death. But what--what am I to say to her, Phil, when I meet her again, +that--that angel? No, it is not her being an angel that troubles me; but +she is so young! She is like my--my granddaughter,” he cried, with a +burst of what was half sobs, half laughter; “and she is my wife,--and I +am an old man--an old man! And so much has happened that she could not +understand.” + +I was too much startled by this strange complaint to know what to say. +It was not my own trouble, and I answered it in the conventional way. + +“They are not as we are, sir,” I said; “they look upon us with larger, +other eyes than ours.” + +“Ah! you don’t know what I mean,” he said quickly; and in the interval he +had subdued his emotion. “At first, after she died, it was my consolation +to think that I should meet her again,--that we never could be really +parted. But, my God, how I have changed since then! I am another man,--I +am a different being. I was not very young even then,--twenty years older +than she was; but her youth renewed mine. I was not an unfit partner; she +asked no better, and knew as much more than I did in some things,--being +so much nearer the source,--as I did in others that were of the world. +But I have gone a long way since then, Phil,--a long way; and there she +stands, just where I left her.” + +I pressed his arm again. “Father,” I said, which was a title I seldom +used, “we are not to suppose that in a higher life the mind stands +still.” I did not feel myself qualified to discuss such topics, but +something one must say. + +“Worse, worse!” he replied; “then she too will be, like me, a different +being, and we shall meet as what? as strangers, as people who have lost +sight of each other, with a long past between us,--we who parted, my God! +with--with--” + +His voice broke and ended for a moment then while, surprised and almost +shocked by what he said, I cast about in my mind what to reply, he +withdrew his arm suddenly from mine, and said in his usual tone, “Where +shall we hang the picture, Phil? It must be here in this room. What do +you think will be the best light?” + +This sudden alteration took me still more by surprise, and gave me almost +an additional shock; but it was evident that I must follow the changes of +his mood, or at least the sudden repression of sentiment which he +originated. We went into that simpler question with great seriousness, +consulting which would be the best light. “You know I can scarcely +advise,” I said; “I have never been familiar with this room. I should +like to put off, if you don’t mind, till daylight.” + +“I think,” he said, “that this would be the best place.” It was on the +other side of the fireplace, on the wall which faced the windows,--not +the best light, I knew enough to be aware, for an oil-painting. When I +said so, however, he answered me with a little impatience, “It does not +matter very much about the best light; there will be nobody to see it but +you and me. I have my reasons--” There was a small table standing against +the wall at this spot, on which he had his hand as he spoke. Upon it +stood a little basket in very fine lace-like wicker-work. His hand must +have trembled, for the table shook, and the basket fell, its contents +turning out upon the carpet,--little bits of needlework, colored silks, a +small piece of knitting half done. He laughed as they rolled out at his +feet, and tried to stoop to collect them, then tottered to a chair, and +covered for a moment his face with his hands. + +No need to ask what they were. No woman’s work had been seen in the house +since I could recollect it. I gathered them up reverently and put them +back. I could see, ignorant as I was, that the bit of knitting was +something for an infant. What could I do less than put it to my lips? It +had been left in the doing--for me. + +“Yes, I think this is the best place,” my father said a minute after, in +his usual tone. + +We placed it there that evening with our own hands. The picture was +large, and in a heavy frame, but my father would let no one help me but +himself. And then, with a superstition for which I never could give any +reason even to myself, having removed the packings, we closed and locked +the door, leaving the candles about the room, in their soft, strange +illumination, lighting the first night of her return to her old place. + +That night no more was said. My father went to his room early, which was +not his habit. He had never, however, accustomed me to sit late with him +in the library. I had a little study or smoking-room of my own, in which +all my special treasures were, the collections of my travels and my +favorite books,--and where I always sat after prayers, a ceremonial which +was regularly kept up in the house. I retired as usual this night to my +room, and, as usual, read,--but to-night somewhat vaguely, often pausing +to think. When it was quite late, I went out by the glass door to the +lawn, and walked round the house, with the intention of looking in at the +drawing-room windows, as I had done when a child. But I had forgotten +that these windows were all shuttered at night; and nothing but a faint +penetration of the light within through the crevices bore witness to the +installment of the new dweller there. + +In the morning my father was entirely himself again. He told me without +emotion of the manner in which he had obtained the picture. It had +belonged to my mother’s family, and had fallen eventually into the hands +of a cousin of hers, resident abroad,--“A man whom I did not like, and +who did not like me,” my father said; “there was, or had been, some +rivalry, he thought: a mistake, but he was never aware of that. He +refused all my requests to have a copy made. You may suppose, Phil, that +I wished this very much. Had I succeeded, you would have been acquainted, +at least, with your mother’s appearance, and need not have sustained this +shock. But he would not consent. It gave him, I think, a certain pleasure +to think that he had the only picture. But now he is dead, and out of +remorse, or with some other intention, has left it to me.” + +“That looks like kindness,” said I. + +“Yes; or something else. He might have thought that by so doing he was +establishing a claim upon me,” my father said; but he did not seem +disposed to add any more. On whose behalf he meant to establish a claim I +did not know, nor who the man was who had laid us under so great an +obligation on his death-bed. He _had_ established a claim on me at least; +though, as he was dead, I could not see on whose behalf it was. And my +father said nothing more; he seemed to dislike the subject. When I +attempted to return to it, he had recourse to his letters or his +newspapers. Evidently he had made up his mind to say no more. + +Afterwards I went into the drawing-room, to look at the picture once +more. It seemed to me that the anxiety in her eyes was not so evident as +I had thought it last night. The light possibly was more favorable. She +stood just above the place where, I make no doubt, she had sat in life, +where her little work-basket was,--not very much above it. The picture +was full-length, and we had hung it low, so that she might have been +stepping into the room, and was little above my own level as I stood and +looked at her again. Once more I smiled at the strange thought that this +young creature--so young, almost childish--could be my mother; and once +more my eyes grew wet looking at her. He was a benefactor, indeed, who +had given her back to us. I said to myself, that if I could ever do +anything for him or his, I would certainly do it, for my--for this lovely +young creature’s sake. And with this in my mind, and all the thoughts +that came with it, I am obliged to confess that the other matter, which I +had been so full of on the previous night, went entirely out of my head. + + * * * * * + +It is rarely, however, that such matters are allowed to slip out of one’s +mind. When I went out in the afternoon for my usual stroll,--or rather +when I returned from that stroll,--I saw once more before me the woman +with her baby, whose story had filled me with dismay on the previous +evening. She was waiting at the gate as before, and, “Oh, gentleman, but +haven’t you got some news to give me?” she said. + +“My good woman,--I--have been greatly occupied. I have had--no time to do +anything.” + +“Ah!” she said, with a little cry of disappointment, “my man said not to +make too sure, and that the ways of the gentlefolks is hard to know.” + +“I cannot explain to you,” I said, as gently as I could, “what it is that +has made me forget you. It was an event that can only do you good in the +end. Go home now, and see the man that took your things from you, and +tell him to come to me. I promise you it shall all be put right.” + +The woman looked at me in astonishment, then burst forth, as it seemed, +involuntarily, “What! without asking no questions?” After this there came +a storm of tears and blessings, from which I made haste to escape, but +not without carrying that curious commentary on my rashness away with +me,--“Without asking no questions?” It might be foolish, perhaps; but +after all, how slight a matter. To make the poor creature comfortable at +the cost of what,--a box or two of cigars, perhaps, or some other trifle. +And if it should be her own fault, or her husband’s--what then? Had I +been punished for all my faults, where should I have been now? And if the +advantage should be only temporary, what then? To be relieved and +comforted even for a day or two, was not that something to count in life? +Thus I quenched the fiery dart of criticism which my _protégée_ herself +had thrown into the transaction, not without a certain sense of the humor +of it. Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, +to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty +performed in his name. This one case I had taken out of the category of +wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence +in my own person,--for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor +creature’s rent as well as redeem her goods,--and, whatever might happen +to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands. The man came +presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father’s agent in the +matter. “I don’t know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it,” he said. “He +don’t want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property. He +always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things +worse in the end. His rule is, ‘Never more than a month, Stevens;’ that’s +what Mr. Canning says to me, sir. He says, ‘More than that they can’t +pay. It’s no use trying.’ And it’s a good rule; it’s a very good rule. He +won’t hear none of their stories, sir. Bless you, you’d never get a penny +of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales. But if so +be as you’ll pay Mrs. Jordan’s rent, it’s none of my business how it’s +paid, so long as it’s paid, and I’ll send her back her things. But +they’ll just have to be took next time,” he added composedly. “Over and +over; it’s always the same story with them sort of poor folks,--they’re +too poor for anything, that’s the truth,” the man said. + +Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone. “Mr. Philip,” he +said, “you’ll excuse me, sir, but if you’re going to pay all the poor +folks’ rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at +once, for it’s without end--” + +“I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; +and we’ll soon put a stop to that,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt. + +“Manage for--master,” he said, with a face of consternation. “You, +Mr. Philip!” + +“You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew.” + +He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, “Master, sir,--master +don’t let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master’s--not one to be +managed. Don’t you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God.” +The old man was quite pale. + +“Quarrel!” I said. “I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don’t +mean to begin now.” + +Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was +dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a +great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in +which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as +he threw on the coals and wood. “He’ll not like it,--we all know as he’ll +not like it. Master won’t stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,”--this last he +discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door. + +I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he +was even half amused. “I don’t think that plan of yours will hold water, +Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,--that’s +an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you +are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no +difference to me. I am quite content if I get my money, even out of your +pockets,--so long as it amuses you. But as my collector, you know, which +you are good enough to propose to be--” + +“Of course I should act under your orders,” I said; “but at least you +might be sure that I would not commit you to any--to any--” I paused +for a word. + +“Act of oppression,” he said, with a smile--“piece of cruelty, +exaction--there are half-a-dozen words--” + +“Sir--” I cried. + +“Stop, Phil, and let us understand each other. I hope I have always been +a just man. I do my duty on my side, and I expect it from others. It is +your benevolence that is cruel. I have calculated anxiously how much +credit it is safe to allow; but I will allow no man, or woman either, to +go beyond what he or she can make up. My law is fixed. Now you +understand. My agents, as you call them, originate nothing; they execute +only what I decide--” + +“But then no circumstances are taken into account,--no bad luck, no evil +chances, no loss unexpected.” + +“There are no evil chances,” he said; “there is no bad luck; they reap as +they sow. No, I don’t go among them to be cheated by their stories, and +spend quite unnecessary emotion in sympathizing with them. You will find +it much better for you that I don’t. I deal with them on a general rule, +made, I assure you, not without a great deal of thought.” + +“And must it always be so?” I said. “Is there no way of ameliorating or +bringing in a better state of things?” + +“It seems not,” he said; “we don’t get ‘no forrarder’ in that +direction so far as I can see.” And then he turned the conversation to +general matters. + +I retired to my room greatly discouraged that night. In former ages--or +so one is led to suppose--and in the lower primitive classes who still +linger near the primeval type, action of any kind was, and is, easier +than amid the complication of our higher civilization. A bad man is a +distinct entity, against whom you know more or less what steps to take. A +tyrant, an oppressor, a bad landlord, a man who lets miserable tenements +at a rack-rent (to come down to particulars), and exposes his wretched +tenants to all those abominations of which we have heard so much--well! +he is more or less a satisfactory opponent. There he is, and there is +nothing to be said for him--down with him! and let there be an end of his +wickedness. But when, on the contrary, you have before you a good man, a +just man, who has considered deeply a question which you allow to be full +of difficulty; who regrets, but cannot, being human, avert the miseries +which to some unhappy individuals follow from the very wisdom of his +rule,--what can you do? What is to be done? Individual benevolence at +haphazard may balk him here and there, but what have you to put in the +place of his well-considered scheme? Charity which makes paupers? or what +else? I had not considered the question deeply, but it seemed to me that +I now came to a blank wall, which my vague human sentiment of pity and +scorn could find no way to breach. There must be wrong somewhere, but +where? There must be some change for the better to be made, but how? + +I was seated with a book before me on the table, with my head supported +on my hands. My eyes were on the printed page, but I was not reading; my +mind was full of these thoughts, my heart of great discouragement and +despondency,--a sense that I could do nothing, yet that there surely must +and ought, if I but knew it, be something to do. The fire which Morphew +had built up before dinner was dying out, the shaded lamp on my table +left all the corners in a mysterious twilight. The house was perfectly +still, no one moving: my father in the library, where, after the habit of +many solitary years, he liked to be left alone, and I here in my retreat, +preparing for the formation of similar habits. I thought all at once of +the third member of the party, the new-comer, alone too in the room that +had been hers; and there suddenly occurred to me a strong desire to take +up my lamp and go to the drawing-room and visit her, to see whether her +soft, angelic face would give any inspiration. I restrained, however, +this futile impulse,--for what could the picture say?--and instead +wondered what might have been had she lived, had she been there, warmly +enthroned beside the warm domestic centre, the hearth which would have +been a common sanctuary, the true home. In that case what might have +been? Alas! the question was no more simple to answer than the other: she +might have been there alone too, her husband’s business, her son’s +thoughts, as far from her as now, when her silent representative held her +old place in the silence and darkness. I had known it so, often enough. +Love itself does not always give comprehension and sympathy. It might be +that she was more to us there, in the sweet image of her undeveloped +beauty, than she might have been had she lived and grown to maturity and +fading, like the rest. + +I cannot be certain whether my mind was still lingering on this not very +cheerful reflection, or if it had been left behind, when the strange +occurrence came of which I have now to tell. Can I call it an occurrence? +My eyes were on my book, when I thought I heard the sound of a door +opening and shutting, but so far away and faint that if real at all it +must have been in a far corner of the house. I did not move except to +lift my eyes from the book as one does instinctively the better to +listen; when--But I cannot tell, nor have I ever been able to describe +exactly what it was. My heart made all at once a sudden leap in my +breast. I am aware that this language is figurative, and that the heart +cannot leap; but it is a figure so entirely justified by sensation, that +no one will have any difficulty in understanding what I mean. My heart +leaped up and began beating wildly in my throat, in my ears, as if my +whole being had received a sudden and intolerable shock. The sound went +through my head like the dizzy sound of some strange mechanism, a +thousand wheels and springs circling, echoing, working in my brain. I +felt the blood bound in my veins, my mouth became dry, my eyes hot; a +sense of something insupportable took possession of me. I sprang to my +feet, and then I sat down again. I cast a quick glance round me beyond +the brief circle of the lamplight, but there was nothing there to +account in any way for this sudden extraordinary rush of sensation, nor +could I feel any meaning in it, any suggestion, any moral impression. I +thought I must be going to be ill, and got out my watch and felt my +pulse: it was beating furiously, about one hundred and twenty-five throbs +in a minute. I knew of no illness that could come on like this without +warning, in a moment, and I tried to subdue myself, to say to myself that +it was nothing, some flutter of the nerves, some physical disturbance. I +laid myself down upon my sofa to try if rest would help me, and kept +still, as long as the thumping and throbbing of this wild, excited +mechanism within, like a wild beast plunging and struggling, would let +me. I am quite aware of the confusion of the metaphor; the reality was +just so. It was like a mechanism deranged, going wildly with +ever-increasing precipitation, like those horrible wheels that from time +to time catch a helpless human being in them and tear him to pieces; but +at the same time it was like a maddened living creature making the +wildest efforts to get free. + +When I could bear this no longer I got up and walked about my room; then +having still a certain command of myself, though I could not master the +commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the +shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and +tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung +the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I +should be moved to do,--to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what; +or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving +lunatic,--I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don’t know +what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement, +as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight, +there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet, +the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my +hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been +faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more +anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I +passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any +volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my +father’s library with my lamp in my hand. + +He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished +to see me hurrying in with my light. “Phil!” he said, surprised. I +remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down +the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. “What is the +matter?” he cried. “Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?” + +I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild +commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my +heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to +express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him, +confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone +through, and its sudden cessation. “The matter?” I cried; “I don’t +know what is the matter.” + +My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me +as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in +them,--his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his +looks were severe. “You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you +ought to know better,” he said. + +Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had +happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I, now +that it was over, understand myself; but he saw enough to make him aware +that the disturbance in me was serious, and not caused by any folly of my +own. He was very kind as soon as he had assured himself of this, and +talked, taking pains to bring me back to unexciting subjects. He had a +letter in his hand with a very deep border of black when I came in. I +observed it, without taking any notice or associating it with anything I +knew. He had many correspondents; and although we were excellent friends, +we had never been on those confidential terms which warrant one man in +asking another from whom a special letter has come. We were not so near +to each other as this, though we were father and son. After a while I +went back to my own room, and finished the evening in my usual way, +without any return of the excitement which, now that it was over, looked +to me like some extraordinary dream. What had it meant? Had it meant +anything? I said to myself that it must be purely physical, something +gone temporarily amiss, which had righted itself. It was physical; the +excitement did not affect my mind. I was independent of it all the time, +a spectator of my own agitation, a clear proof that, whatever it was, it +had affected my bodily organization alone. + +Next day I returned to the problem which I had not been able to solve. I +found out my petitioner in the back street, and that she was happy in the +recovery of her possessions, which to my eyes indeed did not seem very +worthy either of lamentation or delight. Nor was her house the tidy house +which injured virtue should have when restored to its humble rights. She +was not injured virtue, it was clear. She made me a great many curtseys, +and poured forth a number of blessings. Her “man” came in while I was +there, and hoped in a gruff voice that God would reward me, and that the +old gentleman’d let ’em alone. I did not like the look of the man. It +seemed to me that in the dark lane behind the house of a winter’s night +he would not be a pleasant person to find in one’s way. Nor was this all: +when I went out into the little street which it appeared was all, or +almost all, my father’s property, a number of groups formed in my way, +and at least half-a-dozen applicants sidled up. “I’ve more claims nor +Mary Jordan any day,” said one; “I’ve lived on Squire Canning’s property, +one place and another, this twenty year.” “And what do you say to me?” +said another; “I’ve six children to her two, bless you, sir, and ne’er a +father to do for them.” I believed in my father’s rule before I got out +of the street, and approved his wisdom in keeping himself free from +personal contact with his tenants. Yet when I looked back upon the +swarming thoroughfare, the mean little houses, the women at their doors +all so open-mouthed and eager to contend for my favor, my heart sank +within me at the thought that out of their misery some portion of our +wealth came, I don’t care how small a portion; that I, young and strong, +should be kept idle and in luxury, in some part through the money screwed +out of their necessities, obtained sometimes by the sacrifice of +everything they prized! Of course I know all the ordinary commonplaces of +life as well as any one,--that if you build a house with your hand or +your money, and let it, the rent of it is your just due; and must be +paid. But yet-- + +“Don’t you think, sir,” I said that evening at dinner, the subject being +reintroduced by my father himself, “that we have some duty towards them +when we draw so much from them?” + +“Certainly,” he said; “I take as much trouble about their drains as I do +about my own.” + +“That is always something, I suppose.” + +“Something! it is a great deal; it is more than they get anywhere else. I +keep them clean, as far as that’s possible. I give them at least the +means of keeping clean, and thus check disease, and prolong life, which +is more, I assure you, than they’ve any right to expect.” + +I was not prepared with arguments as I ought to have been. That is all in +the Gospel according to Adam Smith, which my father had been brought up +in, but of which the tenets had begun to be less binding in my day. I +wanted something more, or else something less; but my views were not so +clear, nor my system so logical and well-built, as that upon which my +father rested his conscience, and drew his percentage with a light heart. + +Yet I thought there were signs in him of some perturbation. I met him one +morning coming out of the room in which the portrait hung, as if he had +gone to look at it stealthily. He was shaking his head, and saying “No, +no,” to himself, not perceiving me, and I stepped aside when I saw him so +absorbed. For myself, I entered that room but little. I went outside, as +I had so often done when I was a child, and looked through the windows +into the still and now sacred place, which had always impressed me with +a certain awe. Looked at so, the slight figure in its white dress seemed +to be stepping down into the room from some slight visionary altitude, +looking with that which had seemed to me at first anxiety, which I +sometimes represented to myself now as a wistful curiosity, as if she +were looking for the life which might have been hers. Where was the +existence that had belonged to her, the sweet household place, the infant +she had left? She would no more recognize the man who thus came to look +at her as through a veil, with a mystic reverence, than I could recognize +her. I could never be her child to her, any more than she could be a +mother to me. + + * * * * * + +Thus time passed on for several quiet days. There was nothing to make us +give any special heed to the passage of time, life being very uneventful +and its habits unvaried. My mind was very much preoccupied by my father’s +tenants. He had a great deal of property in the town which was so near +us,--streets of small houses, the best-paying property (I was assured) of +any. I was very anxious to come to some settled conclusion: on the one +hand, not to let myself be carried away by sentiment; on the other, not +to allow my strongly roused feelings to fall into the blank of routine, +as his had done. I was seated one evening in my own sitting-room, busy +with this matter,--busy with calculations as to cost and profit, with an +anxious desire to convince him, either that his profits were greater than +justice allowed, or that they carried with them a more urgent duty than +he had conceived. + +It was night, but not late, not more than ten o’clock, the household +still astir. Everything was quiet,--not the solemnity of midnight +silence, in which there is always something of mystery, but the +soft-breathing quiet of the evening, full of the faint habitual sounds of +a human dwelling, a consciousness of life about. And I was very busy with +my figures, interested, feeling no room in my mind for any other thought. +The singular experience which had startled me so much had passed over +very quickly, and there had been no return. I had ceased to think of it; +indeed, I had never thought of it save for the moment, setting it down +after it was over to a physical cause without much difficulty. At this +time I was far too busy to have thoughts to spare for anything, or room +for imagination; and when suddenly in a moment, without any warning, the +first symptom returned, I started with it into determined resistance, +resolute not to be fooled by any mock influence which could resolve +itself into the action of nerves or ganglions. The first symptom; as +before, was that my heart sprang up with a bound, as if a cannon had been +fired at my ear. My whole being responded with a start. The pen fell out +of my fingers, the figures went out of my head as if all faculty had +departed; and yet I was conscious for a time at least of keeping my +self-control. I was like the rider of a frightened horse, rendered almost +wild by something which in the mystery of its voiceless being it has +seen, something on the road which it will not pass, but wildly plunging, +resisting every persuasion, turns from, with ever-increasing passion. The +rider himself after a time becomes infected with this inexplainable +desperation of terror, and I suppose I must have done so; but for a time +I kept the upper hand. I would not allow myself to spring up as I wished, +as my impulse was, but sat there doggedly, clinging to my books, to my +table, fixing myself on I did not mind what, to resist the flood of +sensation, of emotion, which was sweeping through me, carrying me away. I +tried to continue my calculations. I tried to stir myself up with +recollections of the miserable sights I had seen, the poverty, the +helplessness. I tried to work myself into indignation; but all through +these efforts I felt the contagion growing upon me, my mind falling into +sympathy with all those straining faculties of the body, startled, +excited, driven wild by something, I knew not what. It was not fear. I +was like a ship at sea straining and plunging against wind and tide, but +I was not afraid. I am obliged to use these metaphors, otherwise I could +give no explanation of my condition, seized upon against my will, and +torn from all those moorings of reason to which I clung with desperation, +as long as I had the strength. + +When I got up from my chair at last, the battle was lost, so far as my +powers of self-control were concerned. I got up, or rather was dragged +up, from my seat, clutching at these material things round me as with a +last effort to hold my own. But that was no longer possible; I was +overcome. I stood for a moment looking round me feebly, feeling myself +begin to babble with stammering lips, which was the alternative of +shrieking, and which I seemed to choose as a lesser evil. What I said +was, “What am I to do?” and after a while, “What do you want me to do?” +although throughout I saw no one, heard no voice, and had in reality not +power enough in my dizzy and confused brain to know what I myself meant. +I stood thus for a moment, looking blankly round me for guidance, +repeating the question, which seemed after a time to become almost +mechanical, “What do you want me to do?” though I neither knew to whom I +addressed it nor why I said it. Presently--whether in answer, whether in +mere yielding of nature, I cannot tell--I became aware of a difference: +not a lessening of the agitation, but a softening, as if my powers of +resistance being exhausted, a gentler force, a more benignant influence, +had room. I felt myself consent to whatever it was. My heart melted in +the midst of the tumult; I seemed to give myself up, and move as if drawn +by some one whose arm was in mine, as if softly swept along, not +forcibly, but with an utter consent of all my faculties to do I knew not +what, for love of I knew not whom. For love,--that was how it +seemed,--not by force, as when I went before. But my steps took the same +course: I went through the dim passages in an exaltation indescribable, +and opened the door of my father’s room. + +He was seated there at his table as usual, the light of the lamp falling +on his white hair; he looked up with some surprise at the sound of the +opening door. “Phil,” he said, and with a look of wondering apprehension +on his face, watched my approach. I went straight up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. “Phil, what is the matter? What do you want with +me? What is it?” he said. + +“Father, I can’t tell you. I come not of myself. There must be something +in it, though I don’t know what it is. This is the second time I have +been brought to you here.” + +“Are you going--?” He stopped himself. The exclamation had been begun +with an angry intention. He stopped, looking at me with a scared look, as +if perhaps it might be true. + +“Do you mean mad? I don’t think so. I have no delusions that I know of. +Father, think--do you know any reason why I am brought here? for some +cause there must be.” + +I stood with my hand upon the back of his chair. His table was covered +with papers, among which were several letters with the broad black border +which I had before observed. I noticed this now in my excitement without +any distinct association of thoughts, for that I was not capable of; but +the black border caught my eye. And I was conscious that he too gave a +hurried glance at them, and with one hand swept them away. + +“Philip,” he said, pushing back his chair, “you must be ill, my poor boy. +Evidently we have not been treating you rightly; you have been more ill +all through than I supposed. Let me persuade you to go to bed.” + +“I am perfectly well,” I said. “Father, don’t let us deceive one another. +I am neither a man to go mad nor to see ghosts. What it is that has got +the command over me I can’t tell; but there is some cause for it. You are +doing something or planning something with which I have a right to +interfere.” + +He turned round squarely in his chair, with a spark in his blue eyes. +He was not a man to be meddled with. “I have yet to learn what can +give my son a right to interfere. I am in possession of all my +faculties, I hope.” + +“Father,” I cried, “won’t you listen to me? No one can say I have been +undutiful or disrespectful. I am a man, with a right to speak my mind, +and I have done so; but this is different. I am not here by my own will. +Something that is stronger than I has brought me. There is something in +your mind which disturbs--others. I don’t know what I am saying. This is +not what I meant to say; but you know the meaning better than I. Some +one--who can speak to you only by me--speaks to you by me; and I know +that you understand.” + +He gazed up at me, growing pale, and his underlip fell. I, for my part, +felt that my message was delivered. My heart sank into a stillness so +sudden that it made me faint. The light swam in my eyes; everything went +round with me. I kept upright only by my hold upon the chair; and in the +sense of utter weakness that followed, I dropped on my knees I think +first, then on the nearest seat that presented itself, and, covering my +face with my hands, had hard ado not to sob, in the sudden removal of +that strange influence,--the relaxation of the strain. + +There was silence between us for some time; then he said, but with a +voice slightly broken, “I don’t understand you, Phil. You must have +taken some fancy into your mind which my slower intelligence--Speak out +what you want to say. What do you find fault with? Is it all--all that +woman Jordan?” + +He gave a short, forced laugh as he broke off, and shook me +almost roughly by the shoulder, saying, “Speak out! what--what do +you want to say?” + +“It seems, sir, that I have said everything.” My voice trembled more than +his, but not in the same way. “I have told you that I did not come by my +own will,--quite otherwise. I resisted as long as I could: now all is +said. It is for you to judge whether it was worth the trouble or not.” + +He got up from his seat in a hurried way. “You would have me as--mad as +yourself,” he said, then sat down again as quickly. “Come, Phil: if it +will please you, not to make a breach,--the first breach between us,--you +shall have your way. I consent to your looking into that matter about the +poor tenants. Your mind shall not be upset about that, even though I +don’t enter into all your views.” + +“Thank you,” I said; “but, father, that is not what it is.” + +“Then it is a piece of folly,” he said angrily. “I suppose you mean--but +this is a matter in which I choose to judge for myself.” + +“You know what I mean,” I said, as quietly as I could, “though I don’t +myself know; that proves there is good reason for it. Will you do one +thing for me before I leave you? Come with me into the drawing-room--” + +“What end,” he said, with again the tremble in his voice, “is to be +served by that?” + +“I don’t very well know; but to look at her, you and I together, will +always do something for us, sir. As for breach, there can be no breach +when we stand there.” + +He got up, trembling like an old man, which he was, but which he never +looked like save at moments of emotion like this, and told me to take the +light; then stopped when he had got half-way across the room. “This is a +piece of theatrical sentimentality,” he said. “No, Phil, I will not go. I +will not bring her into any such--Put down the lamp, and, if you will +take my advice, go to bed.” + +“At least,” I said, “I will trouble you no more, father, to-night. So +long as you understand, there need be no more to say.” + +He gave me a very curt “good-night,” and turned back to his papers,--the +letters with the black edge, either by my imagination or in reality, +always keeping uppermost. I went to my own room for my lamp, and then +alone proceeded to the silent shrine in which the portrait hung. I at +least would look at her to-night. I don’t know whether I asked myself, +in so many words, if it were she who--or if it was any one--I knew +nothing; but my heart was drawn with a softness--born, perhaps, of the +great weakness in which I was left after that visitation--to her, to look +at her, to see, perhaps, if there was any sympathy, any approval in her +face. I set down my lamp on the table where her little work-basket still +was; the light threw a gleam upward upon her,--she seemed more than ever +to be stepping into the room, coming down towards me, coming back to her +life. Ah, no! her life was lost and vanished: all mine stood between her +and the days she knew. She looked at me with eyes that did not change. +The anxiety I had seen at first seemed now a wistful, subdued question; +but that difference was not in her look but in mine. + + * * * * * + +I need not linger on the intervening time. The doctor who attended us +usually, came in next day “by accident,” and we had a long conversation. +On the following day a very impressive yet genial gentleman from town +lunched with us,--a friend of my father’s, Dr. Something; but the +introduction was hurried, and I did not catch his name. He, too, had a +long talk with me afterwards, my father being called away to speak to +some one on business. Dr.---- drew me out on the subject of the dwellings +of the poor. He said he heard I took great interest in this question, +which had come so much to the front at the present moment. He was +interested in it too, and wanted to know the view I took. I explained at +considerable length that my view did not concern the general subject, on +which I had scarcely thought, so much as the individual mode of +management of my father’s estate. He was a most patient and intelligent +listener, agreeing with me on some points, differing in others; and his +visit was very pleasant. I had no idea until after of its special object; +though a certain puzzled look and slight shake of the head when my father +returned, might have thrown some light upon it. The report of the medical +experts in my case must, however, have been quite satisfactory, for I +heard nothing more of them. It was, I think, a fortnight later when the +next and last of these strange experiences came. + +This time it was morning, about noon,--a wet and rather dismal spring +day. The half-spread leaves seemed to tap at the window, with an appeal +to be taken in; the primroses, that showed golden upon the grass at the +roots of the trees, just beyond the smooth-shorn grass of the lawn, were +all drooped and sodden among their sheltering leaves. The very growth +seemed dreary--the sense of spring in the air making the feeling of +winter a grievance, instead of the natural effect which it had conveyed a +few months before. I had been writing letters, and was cheerful enough, +going back among the associates of my old life, with, perhaps, a little +longing for its freedom and independence, but at the same time a not +ungrateful consciousness that for the moment my present tranquillity +might be best. + +This was my condition--a not unpleasant one--when suddenly the now +well-known symptoms of the visitation to which I had become subject +suddenly seized upon me,--the leap of the heart; the sudden, causeless, +overwhelming physical excitement, which I could neither ignore nor allay. +I was terrified beyond description, beyond reason, when I became +conscious that this was about to begin over again: what purpose did it +answer; what good was in it? My father indeed understood the meaning of +it though I did not understand; but it was little agreeable to be thus +made a helpless instrument, without any will of mine, in an operation of +which I knew nothing; and to enact the part of the oracle unwillingly, +with suffering and such a strain as it took me days to get over. I +resisted, not as before, but yet desperately, trying with better +knowledge to keep down the growing passion. I hurried to my room and +swallowed a dose of a sedative which had been given me to procure sleep +on my first return from India. I saw Morphew in the hall, and called him +to talk to him, and cheat myself, if possible, by that means. Morphew +lingered, however, and, before he came, I was beyond conversation. I +heard him speak, his voice coming vaguely through the turmoil which was +already in my ears, but what he said I have never known. I stood staring, +trying to recover my power of attention, with an aspect which ended by +completely frightening the man. He cried out at last that he was sure I +was ill, that he must bring me something; which words penetrated more or +less into my maddened brain. It became impressed upon me that he was +going to get some one--one of my father’s doctors, perhaps--to prevent +me from acting, to stop my interference, and that if I waited a moment +longer I might be too late. A vague idea seized me at the same time, of +taking refuge with the portrait,--going to its feet, throwing myself +there, perhaps, till the paroxysm should be over. But it was not there +that my footsteps were directed. I can remember making an effort to open +the door of the drawing-room, and feeling myself swept past it, as if by +a gale of wind. It was not there that I had to go. I knew very well where +I had to go,--once more on my confused and voiceless mission to my +father, who understood, although I could not understand. + +Yet as it was daylight, and all was clear, I could not help noting one or +two circumstances on my way. I saw some one sitting in the hall as if +waiting,--a woman, a girl, a black-shrouded figure, with a thick veil +over her face; and asked myself who she was, and what she wanted there. +This question, which had nothing to do with my present condition, somehow +got into my mind, and was tossed up and down upon the tumultuous tide +like a stray log on the breast of a fiercely rolling stream, now +submerged, now coming uppermost, at the mercy of the waters. It did not +stop me for a moment, as I hurried towards my father’s room, but it got +upon the current of my mind. I flung open my father’s door, and closed it +again after me, without seeing who was there or how he was engaged. The +full clearness of the daylight did not identify him as the lamp did at +night. He looked up at the sound of the door, with a glance of +apprehension; and rising suddenly, interrupting some one who was standing +speaking to him with much earnestness and even vehemence, came forward to +meet me. “I cannot be disturbed at present,” he said quickly; “I am +busy.” Then seeing the look in my face, which by this time he knew, he +too changed color. “Phil,” he said, in a low, imperative voice, “wretched +boy, go away--go away; don’t let a stranger see you--” + +“I can’t go away,” I said. “It is impossible. You know why I have come. I +cannot, if I would. It is more powerful than I--” + +“Go, sir,” he said; “go at once; no more of this folly. I will not have +you in this room: Go-go!” + +I made no answer. I don’t know that I could have done so. There had +never been any struggle between us before; but I had no power to do +one thing or another. The tumult within me was in full career. I heard +indeed what he said, and was able to reply; but his words, too, were +like straws tossed upon the tremendous stream. I saw now with my +feverish eyes who the other person present was. It was a woman, dressed +also in mourning similar to the one in the hall; but this a middle-aged +woman, like a respectable servant. She had been crying, and in the +pause caused by this encounter between my father and myself, dried her +eyes with a handkerchief, which she rolled like a ball in her hand, +evidently in strong emotion. She turned and looked at me as my father +spoke to me, for a moment with a gleam of hope, then falling back into +her former attitude. + +My father returned to his seat. He was much agitated too, though doing +all that was possible to conceal it. My inopportune arrival was evidently +a great and unlooked-for vexation to him. He gave me the only look of +passionate displeasure I have ever had from him, as he sat down again; +but he said nothing more. + +“You must understand,” he said, addressing the woman, “that I have said +my last words on this subject. I don’t choose to enter into it again in +the presence of my son, who is not well enough to be made a party to any +discussion. I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble in vain, +but you were warned beforehand, and you have only yourself to blame. I +acknowledge no claim, and nothing you can say will change my resolution. +I must beg you to go away. All this is very painful and quite useless. I +acknowledge no claim.” + +“Oh, sir,” she cried, her eyes beginning once more to flow, her speech +interrupted by little sobs. “Maybe I did wrong to speak of a claim. I’m +not educated to argue with a gentleman. Maybe we have no claim. But if +it’s not by right, oh, Mr. Canning, won’t you let your heart be touched +by pity? She don’t know what I’m saying, poor dear. She’s not one to beg +and pray for herself, as I’m doing for her. Oh, sir, she’s so young! +She’s so lone in this world,--not a friend to stand by her, nor a house +to take her in! You are the nearest to her of any one that’s left in this +world. She hasn’t a relation,--not one so near as you,--oh!” she cried, +with a sudden thought, turning quickly round upon me, “this gentleman’s +your son! Now I think of it, it’s not your relation she is, but his, +through his mother! That’s nearer, nearer! Oh, sir! you’re young; your +heart should be more tender. Here is my young lady that has no one in the +world to look to her. Your own flesh and blood; your mother’s +cousin,--your mother’s--” + +My father called to her to stop, with a voice of thunder. “Philip, leave +us at once. It is not a matter to be discussed with you.” + +And then in a moment it became clear to me what it was. It had been with +difficulty that I had kept myself still. My breast was laboring with the +fever of an impulse poured into me, more than I could contain. And now +for the first time I knew why. I hurried towards him, and took his hand, +though he resisted, into mine. Mine were burning, but his like ice: their +touch burnt me with its chill, like fire. “This is what it is?” I cried. +“I had no knowledge before. I don’t know now what is being asked of you. +But, father, understand! You know, and I know now, that some one sends +me,--some one--who has a right to interfere.” + +He pushed me away with all his might. “You are mad,” he cried. “What +right have you to think--? Oh, you are mad--mad! I have seen it +coming on--” + +The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict +with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between +men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not +take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to +go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst +from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my +withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and +easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large +and vague through the mist of fever. “I am not going away,” I said. “I am +going for another messenger,--one you can’t gainsay.” + +My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, “I will have nothing +touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned--” + +I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was +conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no +one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the +hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and +touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of +alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the +summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at +her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small, +cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,--not +cold,--it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and +spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications +of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection, +without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a +little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet +terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned +with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was +entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms +above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the +last outcry of nature,--“Agnes!” then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon +himself, into his chair. + +I had no leisure to think how he was, or whether he could hear what I +said. I had my message to deliver. “Father,” I said, laboring with my +panting breath, “it is for this that heaven has opened, and one whom I +never saw, one whom I know not, has taken possession of me. Had we been +less earthly, we should have seen her--herself, and not merely her image. +I have not even known what she meant. I have been as a fool without +understanding. This is the third time I have come to you with her +message, without knowing what to say. But now I have found it out. This +is her message. I have found it out at last.” There was an awful +pause,--a pause in which no one moved or breathed. Then there came a +broken voice out of my father’s chair. He had not understood, though I +think he heard what I said. He put out two feeble hands. “Phil--I think I +am dying--has she--has she come for me?” he said. + +We had to carry him to his bed. What struggles he had gone through before +I cannot tell. He had stood fast, and had refused to be moved, and now he +fell,--like an old tower, like an old tree. The necessity there was for +thinking of him saved me from the physical consequences which had +prostrated me on a former occasion. I had no leisure now for any +consciousness of how matters went with myself. + +His delusion was not wonderful, but most natural. She was clothed in +black from head to foot, instead of the white dress of the portrait. She +had no knowledge of the conflict, of nothing but that she was called for, +that her fate might depend on the next few minutes. In her eyes there was +a pathetic question, a line of anxiety in the lids, an innocent appeal in +the looks. And the face the same: the same lips, sensitive, ready to +quiver; the same innocent, candid brow; the look of a common race, which +is more subtle than mere resemblance. How I knew that it was so I cannot +tell, nor any man. It was the other, the elder,--ah, no! not elder; the +ever young, the Agnes to whom age can never come, she who they say was +the mother of a man who never saw her,--it was she who led her kinswoman, +her representative, into our hearts. + + * * * * * + +My father recovered after a few days: he had taken cold, it was said, the +day before; and naturally, at seventy, a small matter is enough to upset +the balance even of a strong man. He got quite well; but he was willing +enough afterwards to leave the management of that ticklish kind of +property which involves human well-being in my hands, who could move +about more freely, and see with my own eyes how things were going on. He +liked home better, and had more pleasure in his personal existence in the +end of his life. Agnes is now my wife, as he had, of course, foreseen. It +was not merely the disinclination to receive her father’s daughter, or to +take upon him a new responsibility, that had moved him, to do him +justice; but both these motives had told strongly. I have never been +told, and now will never be told, what his griefs against my mother’s +family, and specially against that cousin, had been; but that he had been +very determined, deeply prejudiced, there can be no doubt. It turned out +after, that the first occasion on which I had been mysteriously +commissioned to him with a message which I did not understand, and which +for that time he did not understand, was the evening of the day on which +he had received the dead man’s letter, appealing to him--to him, a man +whom he had wronged--on behalf of the child who was about to be left +friendless in the world. The second time, further letters--from the nurse +who was the only guardian of the orphan, and the chaplain of the place +where her father had died, taking it for granted that my father’s house +was her natural refuge--had been received. The third I have already +described, and its results. + +For a long time after, my mind was never without a lurking fear that the +influence which had once taken possession of me might return again. Why +should I have feared to be influenced, to be the messenger of a blessed +creature, whose wishes could be nothing but heavenly? Who can say? Flesh +and blood is not made for such encounters: they were more than I could +bear. But nothing of the kind has ever occurred again. + +Agnes had her peaceful domestic throne established under the picture. +My father wished it to be so, and spent his evenings there in the +warmth and light, instead of in the old library,--in the narrow circle +cleared by our lamp out of the darkness, as long as he lived. It is +supposed by strangers that the picture on the wall is that of my wife; +and I have always been glad that it should be so supposed. She who was +my mother, who came back to me and became as my soul for three strange +moments and no more, but with whom I can feel no credible relationship +as she stands there, has retired for me into the tender regions of the +unseen. She has passed once more into the secret company of those +shadows, who can only become real in an atmosphere fitted to modify and +harmonize all differences, and make all wonders possible,--the light of +the perfect day. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door and The Portrait, by +Margaret O. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/10052-0.zip b/old/10052-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..020d47f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10052-0.zip diff --git a/old/10052-8.txt b/old/10052-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa5479e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10052-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3511 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door, and the Portrait. +by Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Open Door, and the Portrait. + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen. + +Author: Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant + +Release Date: November 11, 2003 [EBook #10052] +[Last updated: May 8, 2017] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT. *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Mary Meehan +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT + + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen + + By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + + 1881 + + + + +I + +THE OPEN DOOR. + + +I took the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18--, for the +temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent +home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly +appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose +education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to +school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home +altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these +expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended +itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway +between. "Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School +every morning; it will do him all the good in the world," Dr. Simson +said; "and when it is bad weather, there is the train." His mother +accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have +hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more +invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the +North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of +the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to +acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his +schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in +these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there +had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either +my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one +left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply +sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to +school,--to combine the advantages of the two systems,--seemed to be +everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood +everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have +masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that +never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays. +Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should +like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more +than twenty-five,--an age at which I see the young fellows now groping +about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives. +However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which +elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it. + +Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country--one of the +richest in Scotland--which lies between the Pentland Hills and the +Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam--like a bent bow, +embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses--of the great estuary +on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like +those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of +the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to +a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. +Edinburgh--with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill, +its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur's Seat lying +crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his +repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to +take care of itself without him--lay at our right hand. From the lawn +and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. +The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated +and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color +and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and +blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose. + +The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of +the deep little ravine, down which a stream--which ought to have been a +lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river--flowed between its rocks and +trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its +earlier life been sacrificed to trade, and was grimy with paper-making. +But this did not affect our pleasure in it so much as I have known it to +affect other streams. Perhaps our water was more rapid; perhaps less +clogged with dirt and refuse. Our side of the dell was charmingly +_accident_, and clothed with fine trees, through which various paths +wound down to the river-side and to the village bridge which crossed the +stream. The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic +houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in +Scotland. The blue slates and the gray stone are sworn foes to the +picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior +of an old-fashioned hewed and galleried church, with its little family +settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire +like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. +Still a cluster of houses on differing elevations, with scraps of garden +coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening +of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the +slow wagon lumbering along, gives a centre to the landscape. It was +cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. Within ourselves +we had walks in plenty, the glen being always beautiful in all its +phases, whether the woods were green in the spring or ruddy in the +autumn. In the park which surrounded the house were the ruins of the +former mansion of Brentwood,--a much smaller and less important house +than the solid Georgian edifice which we inhabited. The ruins were +picturesque, however, and gave importance to the place. Even we, who were +but temporary tenants, felt a vague pride in them, as if they somehow +reflected a certain consequence upon ourselves. The old building had the +remains of a tower,--an indistinguishable mass of mason-work, +over-grown with ivy; and the shells of walls attached to this were half +filled up with soil. I had never examined it closely, I am ashamed to +say. There was a large room, or what had been a large room, with the +lower part of the windows still existing, on the principal floor, and +underneath other windows, which were perfect, though half filled up with +fallen soil, and waving with a wild growth of brambles and chance growths +of all kinds. This was the oldest part of all. At a little distance were +some very commonplace and disjointed fragments of building, one of them +suggesting a certain pathos by its very commonness and the complete wreck +which it showed. This was the end of a low gable, a bit of gray wall, all +incrusted with lichens, in which was a common door-way. Probably it had +been a servants' entrance, a backdoor, or opening into what are called +"the offices" in Scotland. No offices remained to be entered,--pantry and +kitchen had all been swept out of being; but there stood the door-way +open and vacant, free to all the winds, to the rabbits, and every wild +creature. It struck my eye, the first time I went to Brentwood, like a +melancholy comment upon a life that was over. A door that led to +nothing,--closed once, perhaps, with anxious care, bolted and guarded, +now void of any meaning. It impressed me, I remember, from the first; so +perhaps it may be said that my mind was prepared to attach to it an +importance which nothing justified. + +The summer was a very happy period of repose for us all. The warmth of +Indian suns was still in our veins. It seemed to us that we could never +have enough of the greenness, the dewiness, the freshness of the northern +landscape. Even its mists were pleasant to us, taking all the fever out +of us, and pouring in vigor and refreshment. In autumn we followed the +fashion of the time, and went away for change which we did not in the +least require. It was when the family had settled down for the winter, +when the days were short and dark, and the rigorous reign of frost upon +us, that the incidents occurred which alone could justify me in intruding +upon the world my private affairs. These incidents were, however, of so +curious a character, that I hope my inevitable references to my own +family and pressing personal interests will meet with a general pardon. + +I was absent in London when these events began. In London an old Indian +plunges back into the interests with which all his previous life has been +associated, and meets old friends at every step. I had been circulating +among some half-dozen of these,--enjoying the return to my former life in +shadow, though I had been so thankful in substance to throw it +aside,--and had missed some of my home letters, what with going down from +Friday to Monday to old Benbow's place in the country, and stopping on +the way back to dine and sleep at Sellar's and to take a look into +Cross's stables, which occupied another day. It is never safe to miss +one's letters. In this transitory life, as the Prayer-book says, how can +one ever be certain what is going to happen? All was well at home. I knew +exactly (I thought) what they would have to say to me: "The weather has +been so fine, that Roland has not once gone by train, and he enjoys the +ride beyond anything." "Dear papa, be sure that you don't forget +anything, but bring us so-and-so, and so-and-so,"--a list as long as my +arm. Dear girls and dearer mother! I would not for the world have +forgotten their commissions, or lost their little letters, for all the +Benbows and Crosses in the world. + +But I was confident in my home-comfort and peacefulness. When I got back +to my club, however, three or four letters were lying for one, upon some +of which I noticed the "immediate," "urgent," which old-fashioned people +and anxious people still believe will influence the post-office and +quicken the speed of the mails. I was about to open one of these, when +the club porter brought me two telegrams, one of which, he said, had +arrived the night before. I opened, as was to be expected, the last +first, and this was what I read: "Why don't you come or answer? For God's +sake, come. He is much worse." This was a thunderbolt to fall upon a +man's head who had one only son, and he the light of his eyes! The other +telegram, which I opened with hands trembling so much that I lost time by +my haste, was to much the same purport: "No better; doctor afraid of +brain-fever. Calls for you day and night. Let nothing detain you." The +first thing I did was to look up the time-tables to see if there was any +way of getting off sooner than by the night-train, though I knew well +enough there was not; and then I read the letters, which furnished, alas! +too clearly, all the details. They told me that the boy had been pale for +some time, with a scared look. His mother had noticed it before I left +home, but would not say anything to alarm me. This look had increased day +by day: and soon it was observed that Roland came home at a wild gallop +through the park, his pony panting and in foam, himself "as white as a +sheet," but with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. For a long +time he had resisted all questioning, but at length had developed such +strange changes of mood, showing a reluctance to go to school, a desire +to be fetched in the carriage at night,--which was a ridiculous piece of +luxury,--an unwillingness to go out into the grounds, and nervous start +at every sound, that his mother had insisted upon an explanation. When +the boy--our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was--began to talk +to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared +to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr. +Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do. + +I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart. +How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot +tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in +anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses +could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early +in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man +in the face, at whom I gasped, "What news?" My wife had sent the +brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign. +His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so +wildly free,--"Just the same." Just the same! What might that mean? The +horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we +dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the +trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why +had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb +the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home, +I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp +it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in +the world,--when my boy was ill!--to grumble and groan in. But I had no +reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning +along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if +they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale +face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the +wind blew the flame about. "He is sleeping," she said in a whisper, as if +her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also +in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses' furniture and the +sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the +steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and +it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the +horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way, +or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwards, +though at the moment I was not capable of anything but to ask questions +and to hear of the condition of the boy. + +I looked at him from the door of his room, for we were afraid to go near, +lest we should disturb that blessed sleep. It looked like actual sleep, +not the lethargy into which my wife told me he would sometimes fall. She +told me everything in the next room, which communicated with his, rising +now and then and going to the door of communication; and in this there +was much that was very startling and confusing to the mind. It appeared +that ever since the winter began--since it was early dark, and night had +fallen before his return from school--he had been hearing voices among +the ruins: at first only a groaning, he said, at which his pony was as +much alarmed as he was, but by degrees a voice. The tears ran down my +wife's cheeks as she described to me how he would start up in the night +and cry out, "Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!" with a +pathos which rent her heart. And she sitting there all the time, only +longing to do everything his heart could desire! But though she would try +to soothe him, crying, "You are at home, my darling. I am here. Don't you +know me? Your mother is here!" he would only stare at her, and after a +while spring up again with the same cry. At other times he would be quite +reasonable, she said, asking eagerly when I was coming, but declaring +that he must go with me as soon as I did so, "to let them in." "The +doctor thinks his nervous system must have received a shock," my wife +said. "Oh, Henry, can it be that we have pushed him on too much with his +work--a delicate boy like Roland? And what is his work in comparison with +his health? Even you would think little of honors or prizes if it hurt +the boy's health." Even I!--as if I were an inhuman father sacrificing my +child to my ambition. But I would not increase her trouble by taking any +notice. After awhile they persuaded me to lie down, to rest, and to eat, +none of which things had been possible since I received their letters. +The mere fact of being on the spot, of course, in itself was a great +thing; and when I knew that I could be called in a moment, as soon as he +was awake and wanted me, I felt capable, even in the dark, chill morning +twilight, to snatch an hour or two's sleep. As it happened, I was so +worn out with the strain of anxiety, and he so quieted and consoled by +knowing I had come, that I was not disturbed till the afternoon, when the +twilight had again settled down. There was just daylight enough to see +his face when I went to him; and what a change in a fortnight! He was +paler and more worn, I thought, than even in those dreadful days in the +plains before we left India. His hair seemed to me to have grown long and +lank; his eyes were like blazing lights projecting out of his white face. +He got hold of my hand in a cold and tremulous clutch, and waved to +everybody to go away. "Go away--even mother," he said; "go away." This +went to her heart; for she did not like that even I should have more of +the boy's confidence than herself; but my wife has never been a woman to +think of herself, and she left us alone. "Are they all gone?" he said +eagerly. "They would not let me speak. The doctor treated me as if I were +a fool. You know I am not a fool, papa." + +"Yes, yes, my boy, I know. But you are ill, and quiet is so necessary. +You are not only not a fool, Roland, but you are reasonable and +understand. When you are ill you must deny yourself; you must not do +everything that you might do being well." + +He waved his thin hand with a sort of indignation. "Then, father, I am +not ill," he cried. "Oh, I thought when you came you would not stop +me,--you would see the sense of it! What do you think is the matter with +me, all of you? Simson is well enough; but he is only a doctor. What do +you think is the matter with me? I am no more ill than you are. A doctor, +of course, he thinks you are ill the moment he looks at you--that's what +he's there for--and claps you into bed." + +"Which is the best place for you at present, my dear boy." + +"I made up my mind," cried the little fellow, "that I would stand it till +you came home. I said to myself, I won't frighten mother and the girls. +But now, father," he cried, half jumping out of bed, "it's not illness: +it's a secret." + +His eyes shone so wildly, his face was so swept with strong feeling, that +my heart sank within me. It could be nothing but fever that did it, and +fever had been so fatal. I got him into my arms to put him back into +bed. "Roland," I said, humoring the poor child, which I knew was the +only way, "if you are going to tell me this secret to do any good, you +know you must be quite quiet, and not excite yourself. If you excite +yourself, I must not let you speak." + +"Yes, father," said the boy. He was quiet directly, like a man, as if he +quite understood. When I had laid him back on his pillow, he looked up at +me with that grateful, sweet look with which children, when they are ill, +break one's heart, the water coming into his eyes in his weakness. "I was +sure as soon as you were here you would know what to do," he said. + +"To be sure, my boy. Now keep quiet, and tell it all out like a man." To +think I was telling lies to my own child! for I did it only to humor him, +thinking, poor little fellow, his brain was wrong. + +"Yes, father. Father, there is some one in the park--some one that has +been badly used." + +"Hush, my dear; you remember there is to be no excitement. Well, who +is this somebody, and who has been ill-using him? We will soon put +a stop to that." + +"All," cried Roland, "but it is not so easy as you think. I don't know +who it is. It is just a cry. Oh, if you could hear it! It gets into my +head in my sleep. I heard it as clear--as clear; and they think that I +am dreaming, or raving perhaps," the boy said, with a sort of +disdainful smile. + +This look of his perplexed me; it was less like fever than I thought. +"Are you quite sure you have not dreamed it, Roland?" I said. + +"Dreamed?--that!" He was springing up again when he suddenly bethought +himself, and lay down flat, with the same sort of smile on his face. "The +pony heard it, too," he said. "She jumped as if she had been shot. If I +had not grasped at the reins--for I was frightened, father--" + +"No shame to you, my boy," said I, though I scarcely knew why. + +"If I hadn't held to her like a leech, she'd have pitched me over her +head, and never drew breath till we were at the door. Did the pony dream +it?" he said, with a soft disdain, yet indulgence for my foolishness. +Then he added slowly, "It was only a cry the first time, and all the +time before you went away. I wouldn't tell you, for it was so wretched +to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I +went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you +went I heard it really first; and this is what he says." He raised +himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: "'Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!'" As he said the words a mist +came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and +changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a +shower of heavy tears. + +Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the +disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I +thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true. + +"This is very touching, Roland," I said. + +"Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard +it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she's given over to +Simson, and that fellow's a doctor, and never thinks of anything but +clapping you into bed." + +"We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland." + +"No, no," said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; "oh, +no; that's the good of him; that's what he's for; I know that. But +you--you are different; you are just father; and you'll do +something--directly, papa, directly; this very night." + +"Surely," I said. "No doubt it is some little lost child." + +He gave me a sudden, swift look, investigating my face as though to see +whether, after all, this was everything my eminence as "father" came +to,--no more than that. Then he got hold of my shoulder, clutching it +with his thin hand. "Look here," he said, with a quiver in his voice; +"suppose it wasn't--living at all!" + +"My dear boy, how then could you have heard it?" I said. + +He turned away from me with a pettish exclamation,--"As if you didn't +know better than that!" + +"Do you want to tell me it is a ghost?" I said. + +Roland withdrew his hand; his countenance assumed an aspect of great +dignity and gravity; a slight quiver remained about his lips. "Whatever +it was--you always said we were not to call names. It was something--in +trouble. Oh, father, in terrible trouble!" + +"But, my boy," I said (I was at my wits' end), "if it was a child +that was lost, or any poor human creature--but, Roland, what do you +want me to do?" + +"I should know if I was you," said the child eagerly. "That is what I +always said to myself,--Father will know. Oh, papa, papa, to have to +face it night after night, in such terrible, terrible trouble, and never +to be able to do it any good! I don't want to cry; it's like a baby, I +know; but what can I do else? Out there all by itself in the ruin, and +nobody to help it! I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" cried my generous +boy. And in his weakness he burst out, after many attempts to restrain +it, into a great childish fit of sobbing and tears. + +I do not know that I ever was in a greater perplexity, in my life; and +afterwards, when I thought of it, there was something comic in it too. It +is bad enough to find your child's mind possessed with the conviction +that he has seen, or heard, a ghost; but that he should require you to go +instantly and help that ghost was the most bewildering experience that +had ever come my way. I am a sober man myself, and not superstitious--at +least any more than everybody is superstitious. Of course I do not +believe in ghosts; but I don't deny, any more than other people, that +there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand. My blood got a +sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; +for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and +all that men most hate and fear for their children. But that I should +take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was +such a mission as was enough to confuse any man. I did my best to console +my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was +too sharp for me: he would have none of my caresses. With sobs breaking +in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his +eyelids, he yet returned to the charge. + +"It will be there now!--it will be there all the night! Oh, think, +papa,--think if it was me! I can't rest for thinking of it. Don't!" he +cried, putting away my hand,--"don't! You go and help it, and mother can +take care of me." + +"But, Roland, what can I do?" + +My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and +gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of. +"I was sure you would know as soon as you came. I always said, Father +will know. And mother," he cried, with a softening of repose upon his +face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his +bed,--"mother can come and take care of me." + +I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a +child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in +Scotland. I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was +greatly eased about Roland. He might be under a hallucination; but his +head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else +did. The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it. +"How do you think he is?" they said in a breath, coming round me, laying +hold of me. "Not half so ill as I expected," I said; "not very bad at +all." "Oh, papa, you are a darling!" cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying +upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped +both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all. I knew nothing +about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me: they had a +feeling that all would go right now. God is very good to you when your +children look to you like that. It makes one humble, not proud. I was not +worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a +father to Roland's ghost,--which made me almost laugh, though I might +just as well have cried. It was the strangest mission that ever was +intrusted to mortal man. + +It was then I remembered suddenly the looks of the men when they turned +to take the brougham to the stables in the dark that morning. They had +not liked it, and the horses had not liked it. I remembered that even in +my anxiety about Roland I had heard them tearing along the avenue back to +the stables, and had made a memorandum mentally that I must speak of it. +It seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to go to the stables +now and make a few inquiries. It is impossible to fathom the minds of +rustics; there might be some devilry of practical joking, for anything I +knew; or they might have some interest in getting up a bad reputation for +the Brentwood avenue. It was getting dark by the time I went out, and +nobody who knows the country will need to be told how black is the +darkness of a November night under high laurel-bushes and yew-trees. I +walked into the heart of the shrubberies two or three times, not seeing a +step before me, till I came out upon the broader carriage-road, where the +trees opened a little, and there was a faint gray glimmer of sky visible, +under which the great limes and elms stood darkling like ghosts; but it +grew black again as I approached the corner where the ruins lay. Both +eyes and ears were on the alert, as may be supposed; but I could see +nothing in the absolute gloom, and, so far as I can recollect, I heard +nothing. Nevertheless there came a strong impression upon me that +somebody was there. It is a sensation which most people have felt. I have +seen when it has been strong enough to awake me out of sleep, the sense +of some one looking at me. I suppose my imagination had been affected by +Roland's story; and the mystery of the darkness is always full of +suggestions. I stamped my feet violently on the gravel to rouse myself, +and called out sharply, "Who's there?" Nobody answered, nor did I expect +any one to answer, but the impression had been made. I was so foolish +that I did not like to look back, but went sideways, keeping an eye on +the gloom behind. It was with great relief that I spied the light in the +stables, making a sort of oasis in the darkness. I walked very quickly +into the midst of that lighted and cheerful place, and thought the clank +of the groom's pail one of the pleasantest sounds I had ever heard. The +coachman was the head of this little colony, and it was to his house I +went to pursue my investigations. He was a native of the district, and +had taken care of the place in the absence of the family for years; it +was impossible but that he must know everything that was going on, and +all the traditions of the place. The men, I could see, eyed me anxiously +when I thus appeared at such an hour among them, and followed me with +their eyes to Jarvis's house, where he lived alone with his old wife, +their children being all married and out in the world. Mrs. Jarvis met me +with anxious questions. How was the poor young gentleman? But the others +knew, I could see by their faces, that not even this was the foremost +thing in my mind. + + * * * * * + +"Noises?--ou ay, there'll be noises,--the wind in the trees, and the +water soughing down the glen. As for tramps, Cornel, no, there's little +o' that kind o' cattle about here; and Merran at the gate's a careful +body." Jarvis moved about with some embarrassment from one leg to +another as he spoke. He kept in the shade, and did not look at me more +than he could help. Evidently his mind was perturbed, and he had +reasons for keeping his own counsel. His wife sat by, giving him a quick +look now and then, but saying nothing. The kitchen was very snug and +warm and bright,--as different as could be from the chill and mystery of +the night outside. + +"I think you are trifling with me, Jarvis," I said. + +"Triflin', Cornel? No me. What would I trifle for? If the deevil himsel +was in the auld hoose, I have no interest in 't one way or another--" + +"Sandy, hold your peace!" cried his wife imperatively. + +"And what am I to hold my peace for, wi' the Cornel standing there asking +a' thae questions? I'm saying, if the deevil himsel--" + +"And I'm telling ye hold your peace!" cried the woman, in great +excitement. "Dark November weather and lang nichts, and us that ken a' we +ken. How daur ye name--a name that shouldna be spoken?" She threw down +her stocking and got up, also in great agitation. "I tellt ye you never +could keep it. It's no a thing that will hide, and the haill toun kens as +weel as you or me. Tell the Cornel straight out--or see, I'll do it. I +dinna hold wi' your secrets, and a secret that the haill toun kens!" She +snapped her fingers with an air of large disdain. As for Jarvis, ruddy +and big as he was, he shrank to nothing before this decided woman. He +repeated to her two or three times her own adjuration, "Hold your peace!" +then, suddenly changing his tone, cried out, "Tell him then, confound +ye! I'll wash my hands o't. If a' the ghosts in Scotland were in the auld +hoose, is that ony concern o' mine?" + +After this I elicited without much difficulty the whole story. In the +opinion of the Jarvises, and of everybody about, the certainty that the +place was haunted was beyond all doubt. As Sandy and his wife warmed to +the tale, one tripping up another in their eagerness to tell everything, +it gradually developed as distinct a superstition as I ever heard, and +not without poetry and pathos. How long it was since the voice had been +heard first, nobody could tell with certainty. Jarvis's opinion was that +his father, who had been coachman at Brentwood before him, had never +heard anything about it, and that the whole thing had arisen within the +last ten years, since the complete dismantling of the old house; which +was a wonderfully modern date for a tale so well authenticated. According +to these witnesses, and to several whom I questioned afterwards, and who +were all in perfect agreement, it was only in the months of November and +December that "the visitation" occurred. During these months, the darkest +of the year, scarcely a night passed without the recurrence of these +inexplicable cries. Nothing, it was said, had ever been seen,--at least, +nothing that could be identified. Some people, bolder or more imaginative +than the others, had seen the darkness moving, Mrs. Jarvis said, with +unconscious poetry. It began when night fell, and continued, at +intervals, till day broke. Very often it was only all inarticulate cry +and moaning, but sometimes the words which had taken possession of my +poor boy's fancy had been distinctly audible,--"Oh, mother, let me in!" +The Jarvises were not aware that there had ever been any investigation +into it. The estate of Brentwood had lapsed into the hands of a distant +branch of the family, who had lived but little there; and of the many +people who had taken it, as I had done, few had remained through two +Decembers. And nobody had taken the trouble to make a very close +examination into the facts. "No, no," Jarvis said, shaking his head, +"No, no, Cornel. Wha wad set themsels up for a laughin'-stock to a' the +country-side, making a wark about a ghost? Naebody believes in ghosts. It +bid to be the wind in the trees, the last gentleman said, or some effec' +o' the water wrastlin' among the rocks. He said it was a' quite easy +explained; but he gave up the hoose. And when you cam, Cornel, we were +awfu' anxious you should never hear. What for should I have spoiled the +bargain and hairmed the property for no-thing?" + +"Do you call my child's life nothing?" I said in the trouble of the +moment, unable to restrain myself. "And instead of telling this all to +me, you have told it to him,--to a delicate boy, a child unable to sift +evidence or judge for himself, a tender-hearted young creature--" + +I was walking about the room with an anger all the hotter that I felt it +to be most likely quite unjust. My heart was full of bitterness against +the stolid retainers of a family who were content to risk other people's +children and comfort rather than let a house be empty. If I had been +warned I might have taken precautions, or left the place, or sent Roland +away, a hundred things which now I could not do; and here I was with my +boy in a brain-fever, and his life, the most precious life on earth, +hanging in the balance, dependent on whether or not I could get to the +reason of a commonplace ghost-story! I paced about in high wrath, not +seeing what I was to do; for to take Roland away, even if he were able to +travel, would not settle his agitated mind; and I feared even that a +scientific explanation of refracted sound or reverberation, or any other +of the easy certainties with which we elder men are silenced, would have +very little effect upon the boy. + +"Cornel," said Jarvis solemnly, "and _she'll_ bear me witness,--the young +gentleman never heard a word from me--no, nor from either groom or +gardener; I'll gie ye my word for that. In the first place, he's no a lad +that invites ye to talk. There are some that are, and some that arena. +Some will draw ye on, till ye've tellt them a' the clatter of the toun, +and a' ye ken, and whiles mair. But Maister Roland, his mind's fu' of his +books. He's aye civil and kind, and a fine lad; but no that sort. And ye +see it's for a' our interest, Cornel, that you should stay at Brentwood. +I took it upon me mysel to pass the word,--'No a syllable to Maister +Roland, nor to the young leddies--no a syllable.' The women-servants, +that have little reason to be out at night, ken little or nothing about +it. And some think it grand to have a ghost so long as they're no in the +way of coming across it. If you had been tellt the story to begin with, +maybe ye would have thought so yourself." + +This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my +perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all +the family would have considered the possession of a ghost a distinct +advantage. It is the fashion of the times. We never think what a risk it +is to play with young imaginations, but cry out, in the fashionable +jargon, "A ghost!--nothing else was wanted to make it perfect." I should +not have been above this myself. I should have smiled, of course, at the +idea of the ghost at all, but then to feel that it was mine would have +pleased my vanity. Oh, yes, I claim no exemption. The girls would have +been delighted. I could fancy their eagerness, their interest, and +excitement. No; if we had been told, it would have done no good,--we +should have made the bargain all the more eagerly, the fools that we are. +"And there has been no attempt to investigate it," I said, "to see what +it really is?" + +"Eh, Cornel," said the coachman's wife, "wha would investigate, as ye +call it, a thing that nobody believes in? Ye would be the laughin'-stock +of a' the country-side, as my man says." + +"But you believe in it," I said, turning upon her hastily. The woman was +taken by surprise. She made a step backward out of my way. + +"Lord, Cornel, how ye frichten a body! Me!--there's awfu' strange things +in this world. An unlearned person doesna ken what to think. But the +minister and the gentry they just laugh in your face. Inquire into the +thing that is not! Na, na, we just let it be." + +"Come with me, Jarvis," I said hastily, "and we'll make an attempt at +least. Say nothing to the men or to anybody. I'll come back after dinner, +and we'll make a serious attempt to see what it is, if it is anything. If +I hear it,--which I doubt,--you may be sure I shall never rest till I +make it out. Be ready for me about ten o'clock." + +"Me, Cornel!" Jarvis said, in a faint voice. I had not been looking at +him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest +change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman. "Me, Cornel!" he +repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. His ruddy face hung in +flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half +extinguished in his throat. Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon +me in a deprecating, imbecile way. "There's nothing I wouldna do to +pleasure ye, Cornel," taking a step further back. "I'm sure _she_ kens +I've aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken +gentleman--" Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing +his hands. + +"Well?" I said. + +"But eh, sir!" he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, +"if ye'll reflect that I am no used to my feet. With a horse atween my +legs, or the reins in my hand, I'm maybe nae worse than other men; but on +fit, Cornel--It's no the--bogles--but I've been cavalry, ye see," with a +little hoarse laugh, "a' my life. To face a thing ye dinna understan'--on +your feet, Cornel." + +"Well, sir, if _I_ do it," said I tartly, "why shouldn't you?" + +"Eh, Cornel, there's an awfu' difference. In the first place, ye tramp +about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires +me mair than a hunard miles' drive; and then ye're a gentleman, and do +your ain pleasure; and you're no so auld as me; and it's for your ain +bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then--" + +"He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it," the woman said. + +"Will you come with me?" I said, turning to her. + +She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment. "Me!" with a +scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh. "I wouldna say but +what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer +with an auld silly woman at his heels?" + +The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it. +"I'm sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis," I said. "I must find some +one else, I suppose." + +Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short. My +butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed +to fear anything,--man or devil,--certainly not the former; and I felt +that I was losing time. The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me. +They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies. Outside, +the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit. I +don't know if perhaps they had been listening,--at least standing as near +as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation. I waved my hand to +them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very +apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go. + +And it will be thought very strange, but it would be weak not to add, +that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged +to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy's health, perhaps his +life, depended on the result of my inquiry,--I felt the most +unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity +was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I +daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and +attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I +had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in +me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began, +like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It +was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower, +loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so +solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we +were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the +path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with +a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The +contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a +little to myself. "Oh, it's only the old gable," I said aloud, with a +little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones +reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly. +What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in +the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been +shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly +it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again, +this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was +chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed +to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No, +not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,--a perfectly soft, +faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating. +Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear +myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and +emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in +the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had +an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,--something cold +creeping over me, up into my hair, and down to my feet, which refused to +move. I cried out, with a trembling voice, "Who is there?" as I had done +before; but there was no reply. + +I got home I don't quite know how; but in my mind there was no longer +any indifference as to the thing, whatever it was, that haunted these +ruins. My scepticism disappeared like a mist. I was as firmly determined +that there was something as Roland was. I did not for a moment pretend +to myself that it was possible I could be deceived; there were movements +and noises which I understood all about,--cracklings of small branches +in the frost, and little rolls of gravel on the path, such as have a +very eerie sound sometimes, and perplex you with wonder as to who has +done it, _when there is no real mystery_; but I assure you all these +little movements of nature don't affect you one bit _when there is +something_. I understood _them_. I did not understand the sigh. That was +not simple nature; there was meaning in it, feeling, the soul of a +creature invisible. This is the thing that human nature trembles at,--a +creature invisible, yet with sensations, feelings, a power somehow of +expressing itself. I had not the same sense of unwillingness to turn my +back upon the scene of the mystery which I had experienced in going to +the stables; but I almost ran home, impelled by eagerness to get +everything done that had to be done, in order to apply myself to finding +it out. Bagley was in the hall as usual when I went in. He was always +there in the afternoon, always with the appearance of perfect +occupation, yet, so far as I know, never doing anything. The door was +open, so that I hurried in without any pause, breathless; but the sight +of his calm regard, as he came to help me off with my overcoat, subdued +me in a moment. Anything out of the way, anything incomprehensible, +faded to nothing in the presence of Bagley. You saw and wondered how +_he_ was made: the parting of his hair, the tie of his white neckcloth, +the fit of his trousers, all perfect as works of art; but you could see +how they were done, which makes all the difference. I flung myself upon +him, so to speak, without waiting to note the extreme unlikeness of the +man to anything of the kind I meant. "Bagley," I said, "I want you to +come out with me to-night to watch for--" + +"Poachers, Colonel?" he said, a gleam of pleasure running all over him. + +"No, Bagley; a great deal worse," I cried. + +"Yes, Colonel; at what hour, sir?" the man said; but then I had not told +him what it was. + +It was ten o'clock when we set out. All was perfectly quiet indoors. My +wife was with Roland, who had been quite calm, she said, and who (though, +no doubt, the fever must run its course) had been better ever since I +came. I told Bagley to put on a thick greatcoat over his evening coat, +and did the same myself, with strong boots; for the soil was like a +sponge, or worse. Talking to him, I almost forgot what we were going to +do. It was darker even than it had been before, and Bagley kept very +close to me as we went along. I had a small lantern in my hand, which +gave us a partial guidance. We had come to the corner where the path +turns. On one side was the bowling-green, which the girls had taken +possession of for their croquet-ground,--a wonderful enclosure surrounded +by high hedges of holly, three hundred years old and more; on the other, +the ruins. Both were black as night; but before we got so far, there was +a little opening in which we could just discern the trees and the lighter +line of the road. I thought it best to pause there and take breath. +"Bagley," I said, "there is something about these ruins I don't +understand. It is there I am going. Keep your eyes open and your wits +about you. Be ready to pounce upon any stranger you see,--anything, man +or woman. Don't hurt, but seize anything you see." "Colonel," said +Bagley, with a little tremor in his breath, "they do say there's things +there--as is neither man nor woman." There was no time for words. "Are +you game to follow me, my man? that's the question," I said. Bagley fell +in without a word, and saluted. I knew then I had nothing to fear. + +We went, so far as I could guess, exactly as I had come; when I heard +that sigh. The darkness, however, was so complete that all marks, as of +trees or paths, disappeared. One moment we felt our feet on the gravel, +another sinking noiselessly into the slippery grass, that was all. I had +shut up my lantern, not wishing to scare any one, whoever it might be. +Bagley followed, it seemed to me, exactly in my footsteps as I made my +way, as I supposed, towards the mass of the ruined house. We seemed to +take a long time groping along seeking this; the squash of the wet soil +under our feet was the only thing that marked our progress. After a while +I stood still to see, or rather feel, where we were. The darkness was +very still, but no stiller than is usual in a winter's night. The sounds +I have mentioned--the crackling of twigs, the roll of a pebble, the sound +of some rustle in the dead leaves, or creeping creature on the +grass--were audible when you listened, all mysterious enough when your +mind is disengaged, but to me cheering now as signs of the livingness of +nature, even in the death of the frost. As we stood still there came up +from the trees in the glen the prolonged hoot of an owl. Bagley started +with alarm, being in a state of general nervousness, and not knowing what +he was afraid of. But to me the sound was encouraging and pleasant, being +so comprehensible. + +"An owl," I said, under my breath. "Y--es, Colonel," said Bagley, his +teeth chattering. We stood still about five minutes, while it broke into +the still brooding of the air, the sound widening out in circles, dying +upon the darkness. This sound, which is not a cheerful one, made me +almost gay. It was natural, and relieved the tension of the mind. I moved +on with new courage, my nervous excitement calming down. + +When all at once, quite suddenly, close to us, at our feet, there broke +out a cry. I made a spring backwards in the first moment of surprise and +horror, and in doing so came sharply against the same rough masonry and +brambles that had struck me before. This new sound came upwards from the +ground,--a low, moaning, wailing voice, full of suffering and pain. The +contrast between it and the hoot of the owl was indescribable,--the one +with a wholesome wildness and naturalness that hurt nobody; the other, a +sound that made one's blood curdle, full of human misery. With a great +deal of fumbling,--for in spite of everything I could do to keep up my +courage my hands shook,--I managed to remove the slide of my lantern. The +light leaped out like something living, and made the place visible in a +moment. We were what would have been inside the ruined building had +anything remained but the gable-wall which I have described. It was close +to us, the vacant door-way in it going out straight into the blackness +outside. The light showed the bit of wall, the ivy glistening upon it in +clouds of dark green, the bramble-branches waving, and below, the open +door,--a door that led to nothing. It was from this the voice came which +died out just as the light flashed upon this strange scene. There was a +moment's silence, and then it broke forth again. The sound was so near, +so penetrating, so pitiful, that, in the nervous start I gave, the light +fell out of my hand. As I groped for it in the dark my hand was clutched +by Bagley, who, I think, must have dropped upon his knees; but I was too +much perturbed myself to think much of this. He clutched at me in the +confusion of his terror, forgetting all his usual decorum. "For God's +sake, what is it, sir?" he gasped. If I yielded, there was evidently an +end of both of us. "I can't tell," I said, "any more than you; that's +what we've got to find out. Up, man, up!" I pulled him to his feet. "Will +you go round and examine the other side, or will you stay here with the +lantern?" Bagley gasped at me with a face of horror. "Can't we stay +together, Colonel?" he said; his knees were trembling under him. I pushed +him against the corner of the wall, and put the light into his hands. +"Stand fast till I come back; shake yourself together, man; let nothing +pass you," I said. The voice was within two or three feet of us; of that +there could be no doubt. + +I went myself to the other side of the wall, keeping close to it. The +light shook in Bagley's hand, but, tremulous though it was, shone out +through the vacant door, one oblong block of light marking all the +crumbling corners and hanging masses of foliage. Was that something dark +huddled in a heap by the side of it? I pushed forward across the light in +the door-way, and fell upon it with my hands; but it was only a +juniper-bush growing close against the wall. Meanwhile, the sight of my +figure crossing the door-way had brought Bagley's nervous excitement to a +height: he flew at me, gripping my shoulder. "I've got him, Colonel! +I've got him!" he cried, with a voice of sudden exultation. He thought it +was a man, and was at once relieved. But at that moment the voice burst +forth again between us, at our feet,--more close to us than any separate +being could be. He dropped off from me, and fell against the wall, his +jaw dropping as if he were dying. I suppose, at the same moment, he saw +that it was me whom he had clutched. I, for my part, had scarcely more +command of myself. I snatched the light out of his hand, and flashed it +all about me wildly. Nothing,--the juniper-bush which I thought I had +never seen before, the heavy growth of the glistening ivy, the brambles +waving. It was close to my ears now, crying, crying, pleading as if for +life. Either I heard the same words Roland had heard, or else, in my +excitement, his imagination got possession of mine. The voice went on, +growing into distinct articulation, but wavering about, now from one +point, now from another, as if the owner of it were moving slowly back +and forward. "Mother! mother!" and then an outburst of wailing. As my +mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one's mind gets accustomed to +anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was +pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes--but that must have +been excitement--I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then +another burst, "Oh, mother! mother!" All this close, close to the space +where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a +creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way, +which no one could either shut or open more. + +"Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?" I cried, +stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes +glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to +answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious +imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how +long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting +hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a +scene any one could understand,--a something shut out, restlessly +wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself +down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. "Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!" Every +word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried +to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do +something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially +overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound +of sobs and moaning. I cried out, "In the name of God, who are you?" with +a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane, +seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I +did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest +there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I +had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could +bear. But there was no answer; the moaning went on, and then, as if it +had been real, the voice rose a little higher again, the words +recommenced, "Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!" with an +expression that was heart-breaking to hear. + +_As if it had been real_! What do I mean by that? I suppose I got less +alarmed as the thing went on. I began to recover the use of my senses,--I +seemed to explain it all to myself by saying that this had once happened, +that it was a recollection of a real scene. Why there should have seemed +something quite satisfactory and composing in this explanation I cannot +tell, but so it was. I began to listen almost as if it had been a play, +forgetting Bagley, who, I almost think, had fainted, leaning against the +wall. I was startled out of this strange spectatorship that had fallen +upon me by the sudden rush of something which made my heart jump once +more, a large black figure in the door-way waving its arms. "Come in! +come in! come in!" it shouted out hoarsely at the top of a deep bass +voice, and then poor Bagley fell down senseless across the threshold. He +was less sophisticated than I,--he had not been able to bear it any +longer. I took him for something supernatural, as he took me, and it was +some time before I awoke to the necessities of the moment. I remembered +only after, that from the time I began to give my attention to the man, I +heard the other voice no more. It was some time before I brought him to. +It must have been a strange scene: the lantern making a luminous spot in +the darkness, the man's white face lying on the black earth, I over him, +doing what I could for him, probably I should have been thought to be +murdering him had any one seen us. When at last I succeeded in pouring a +little brandy down his throat, he sat up and looked about him wildly. +"What's up?" he said; then recognizing me, tried to struggle to his feet +with a faint "Beg your pardon, Colonel." I got him home as best I could, +making him lean upon my arm. The great fellow was as weak as a child. +Fortunately he did not for some time remember what had happened. From the +time Bagley fell the voice had stopped, and all was still. + + * * * * * + +"You've got an epidemic in your house, Colonel," Simson said to me next +morning. "What's the meaning of it all? Here's your butler raving about a +voice. This will never do, you know; and so far as I can make out, you +are in it too." + +"Yes, I am in it, Doctor. I thought I had better speak to you. Of course +you are treating Roland all right, but the boy is not raving, he is as +sane as you or me. It's all true." + +"As sane as--I--or you. I never thought the boy insane. He's got cerebral +excitement, fever. I don't know what you've got. There's something very +queer about the look of your eyes." + +"Come," said I, "you can't put us all to bed, you know. You had better +listen and hear the symptoms in full." + +The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but he listened to me patiently. He +did not believe a word of the story, that was clear; but he heard it all +from beginning to end. "My dear fellow," he said, "the boy told me just +the same. It's an epidemic. When one person falls a victim to this sort +of thing, it's as safe as can be,--there's always two or three." + +"Then how do you account for it?" I said. + +"Oh, account for it!--that's a different matter; there's no accounting +for the freaks our brains are subject to. If it's delusion, if it's some +trick of the echoes or the winds,--some phonetic disturbance or other--" + +"Come with me to-night, and judge for yourself," I said. + +Upon this he laughed aloud, then said, "That's not such a bad idea; but +it would ruin me forever if it were known that John Simson was +ghost-hunting." + +"There it is," said I; "you dart down on us who are unlearned with your +phonetic disturbances, but you daren't examine what the thing really is +for fear of being laughed at. That's science!" + +"It's not science,--it's common-sense," said the Doctor. "The thing has +delusion on the front of it. It is encouraging an unwholesome tendency +even to examine. What good could come of it? Even if I am convinced, I +shouldn't believe." + +"I should have said so yesterday; and I don't want you to be convinced or +to believe," said I. "If you prove it to be a delusion, I shall be very +much obliged to you for one. Come; somebody must go with me." + +"You are cool," said the Doctor. "You've disabled this poor fellow of +yours, and made him--on that point--a lunatic for life; and now you want +to disable me. But, for once, I'll do it. To save appearance, if you'll +give me a bed, I'll come over after my last rounds." + +It was agreed that I should meet him at the gate, and that we should +visit the scene of last night's occurrences before we came to the house, +so that nobody might be the wiser. It was scarcely possible to hope that +the cause of Bagley's sudden illness should not somehow steal into the +knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be +done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had +to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal +for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but +he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with +which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm. +"Father?" he said quietly. "Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to +it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any +conclusion--yet. I am neglecting nothing you said," I cried. What I could +not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the +mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given +him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone +so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. "You must trust +me," I said. "Yes, father. Father understands," he said to himself, as if +to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about +the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought; +but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that +aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious +part of it all. + +That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and +I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming +experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without +thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a +coil of taper which he had ready for use. "There is nothing like light," +he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a +sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we +went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken +occasionally by a bitter cry. "Perhaps that is your voice," said the +Doctor; "I thought it must be something of the kind. That's a poor brute +caught in some of these infernal traps of yours; you'll find it among the +bushes somewhere." I said nothing. I felt no particular fear, but a +triumphant satisfaction in what was to follow. I led him to the spot +where Bagley and I had stood on the previous night. All was silent as a +winter night could be,--so silent that we heard far off the sound of the +horses in the stables, the shutting of a window at the house. Simson +lighted his taper and went peering about, poking into all the corners. We +looked like two conspirators lying in wait for some unfortunate +traveller; but not a sound broke the quiet. The moaning had stopped +before we came up; a star or two shone over us in the sky, looking down +as if surprised at our strange proceedings. Dr. Simson did nothing but +utter subdued laughs under his breath. "I thought as much," he said. "It +is just the same with tables and all other kinds of ghostly apparatus; a +sceptic's presence stops everything. When I am present nothing ever comes +off. How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here? Oh, I don't +complain; only when _you_ are satisfied, _I_ am--quite." + +I will not deny that I was disappointed beyond measure by this result. It +made me look like a credulous fool. It gave the Doctor such a pull over +me as nothing else could. I should point all his morals for years to +come; and his materialism, his scepticism, would be increased beyond +endurance. "It seems, indeed," I said, "that there is to be no--" +"Manifestation," he said, laughing; "that is what all the mediums say. No +manifestations, in consequence of the presence of an unbeliever." His +laugh sounded very uncomfortable to me in the silence; and it was now +near midnight. But that laugh seemed the signal; before it died away the +moaning we had heard before was resumed. It started from some distance +off, and came towards us, nearer and nearer, like some one walking along +and moaning to himself. There could be no idea now that it was a hare +caught in a trap. The approach was slow, like that of a weak person, with +little halts and pauses. We heard it coming along the grass straight +towards the vacant door-way. Simson had been a little startled by the +first sound. He said hastily, "That child has no business to be out so +late." But he felt, as well as I, that this was no child's voice. As it +came nearer, he grew silent, and, going to the door-way with his taper, +stood looking out towards the sound. The taper being unprotected blew +about in the night air, though there was scarcely any wind. I threw the +light of my lantern steady and white across the same space. It was in a +blaze of light in the midst of the blackness. A little icy thrill had +gone over me at the first sound, but as it came close, I confess that my +only feeling was satisfaction. The scoffer could scoff no more. The light +touched his own face, and showed a very perplexed countenance. If he was +afraid, he concealed it with great success, but he was perplexed. And +then all that had happened on the previous night was enacted once more. +It fell strangely upon me with a sense of repetition. Every cry, every +sob seemed the same as before. I listened almost without any emotion at +all in my own person, thinking of its effect upon Simson. He maintained a +very bold front, on the whole. All that coming and going of the voice +was, if our ears could be trusted, exactly in front of the vacant, blank +door-way, blazing full of light, which caught and shone in the glistening +leaves of the great hollies at a little distance. Not a rabbit could have +crossed the turf without being seen; but there was nothing. After a time, +Simson, with a certain caution and bodily reluctance, as it seemed to me, +went out with his roll of taper into this space. His figure showed +against the holly in full outline. Just at this moment the voice sank, as +was its custom, and seemed to fling itself down at the door. Simson +recoiled violently, as if some one had come up against him, then turned, +and held his taper low, as if examining something. "Do you see anybody?" +I cried in a whisper, feeling the chill of nervous panic steal over me at +this action. "It's nothing but a--confounded juniper-bush," he said. This +I knew very well to be nonsense, for the juniper-bush was on the other +side. He went about after this round and round, poking his taper +everywhere, then returned to me on the inner side of the wall. He scoffed +no longer; his face was contracted and pale. "How long does this go on?" +he whispered to me, like a man who does not wish to interrupt some one +who is speaking. I had become too much perturbed myself to remark whether +the successions and changes of the voice were the same as last night. It +suddenly went out in the air almost as he was speaking, with a soft +reiterated sob dying away. If there had been anything to be seen, I +should have said that the person was at that moment crouching on the +ground close to the door. + +We walked home very silent afterwards. It was only when we were in sight +of the house that I said, "What do you think of it?" "I can't tell what +to think of it," he said quickly. He took--though he was a very temperate +man--not the claret I was going to offer him, but some brandy from the +tray, and swallowed it almost undiluted. "Mind you, I don't believe a +word of it," he said, when he had lighted his candle; "but I can't tell +what to think," he turned round to add, when he was half-way upstairs. + +All of this, however, did me no good with the solution of my problem. I +was to help this weeping, sobbing thing, which was already to me as +distinct a personality as anything I knew; or what should I say to +Roland? It was on my heart that my boy would die if I could not find some +way of helping this creature. You may be surprised that I should speak of +it in this way. I did not know if it was man or woman; but I no more +doubted that it was a soul in pain than I doubted my own being; and it +was my business to soothe this pain,--to deliver it, if that was +possible. Was ever such a task given to an anxious father trembling for +his only boy? I felt in my heart, fantastic as it may appear, that I must +fulfill this somehow, or part with my child; and you may conceive that +rather than do that I was ready to die. But even my dying would not have +advanced me, unless by bringing me into the same world with that seeker +at the door. + + * * * * * + +Next morning Simson was out before breakfast, and came in with evident +signs of the damp grass on his boots, and a look of worry and weariness, +which did not say much for the night he had passed. He improved a little +after breakfast, and visited his two patients,--for Bagley was still an +invalid. I went out with him on his way to the train, to hear what he +had to say about the boy. "He is going on very well," he said; "there are +no complications as yet. But mind you, that's not a boy to be trifled +with, Mortimer. Not a word to him about last night." I had to tell him +then of my last interview with Roland, and of the impossible demand he +had made upon me, by which, though he tried to laugh, he was much +discomposed, as I could see. "We must just perjure ourselves all round," +he said, "and swear you exorcised it;" but the man was too kind-hearted +to be satisfied with that. "It's frightfully serious for you, Mortimer. I +can't laugh as I should like to. I wish I saw a way out of it, for your +sake. By the way," he added shortly, "didn't you notice that juniper-bush +on the left-hand side?" "There was one on the right hand of the door. I +noticed you made that mistake last night." "Mistake!" he cried, with a +curious low laugh, pulling up the collar of his coat as though he felt +the cold,--"there's no juniper there this morning, left or right. Just go +and see." As he stepped into the train a few minutes after, he looked +back upon me and beckoned me for a parting word. "I'm coming back +to-night," he said. + +I don't think I had any feeling about this as I turned away from that +common bustle of the railway which made my private preoccupations feel so +strangely out of date. There had been a distinct satisfaction in my mind +before, that his scepticism had been so entirely defeated. But the more +serious part of the matter pressed upon me now. I went straight from the +railway to the manse, which stood on a little plateau on the side of the +river opposite to the woods of Brentwood. The minister was one of a class +which is not so common in Scotland as it used to be. He was a man of good +family, well educated in the Scotch way, strong in philosophy, not so +strong in Greek, strongest of all in experience,--a man who had "come +across," in the course of his life, most people of note that had ever +been in Scotland, and who was said to be very sound in doctrine, without +infringing the toleration with which old men, who are good men, are +generally endowed. He was old-fashioned; perhaps he did not think so much +about the troublous problems of theology as many of the young men, nor +ask himself any hard questions about the Confession of Faith; but he +understood human nature, which is perhaps better. He received me with a +cordial welcome. + +"Come away, Colonel Mortimer," he said; "I'm all the more glad to see +you, that I feel it's a good sign for the boy. He's doing well?--God be +praised,--and the Lord bless him and keep him. He has many a poor body's +prayers, and that can do nobody harm." + +"He will need them all, Dr. Moncrieff," I said, "and your counsel too." +And I told him the story,--more than I had told Simson. The old clergyman +listened to me with many suppressed exclamations, and at the end the +water stood in his eyes. + +"That's just beautiful," he said. "I do not mind to have heard anything +like it; it's as fine as Burns when he wished deliverance to one--that is +prayed for in no kirk. Ay, ay! so he would have you console the poor lost +spirit? God bless the boy! There's something more than common in that, +Colonel Mortimer. And also the faith of him in his father!--I would like +to put that into a sermon." Then the old gentleman gave me an alarmed +look, and said, "No, no; I was not meaning a sermon; but I must write it +down for the 'Children's Record.'" I saw the thought that passed through +his mind. Either he thought, or he feared I would think, of a funeral +sermon. You may believe this did not make me more cheerful. + +I can scarcely say that Dr. Moncrieff gave me any advice. How could any +one advise on such a subject? But he said, "I think I'll come too. I'm an +old man; I'm less liable to be frightened than those that are further off +the world unseen. It behooves me to think of my own journey there. I've +no cut-and-dry beliefs on the subject. I'll come too; and maybe at the +moment the Lord will put into our heads what to do." + +This gave me a little comfort,--more than Simson had given me. To be +clear about the cause of it was not my grand desire. It was another thing +that was in my mind,--my boy. As for the poor soul at the open door, I +had no more doubt, as I have said, of its existence than I had of my own. +It was no ghost to me. I knew the creature, and it was in trouble. That +was my feeling about it, as it was Roland's. To hear it first was a great +shock to my nerves, but not now; a man will get accustomed to anything. +But to do something for it was the great problem; how was I to be +serviceable to a being that was invisible, that was mortal no longer? +"Maybe at the moment the Lord will put it into our heads." This is very +old-fashioned phraseology, and a week before, most likely, I should have +smiled (though always with kindness) at Dr. Moncrieff's credulity; but +there was a great comfort, whether rational or otherwise I cannot say, in +the mere sound of the words. + +The road to the station and the village lay through the glen, not by the +ruins; but though the sunshine and the fresh air, and the beauty of the +trees, and the sound of the water were all very soothing to the spirits, +my mind was so full of my own subject that I could not refrain from +turning to the right hand as I got to the top of the glen, and going +straight to the place which I may call the scene of all my thoughts. It +was lying full in the sunshine, like all the rest of the world. The +ruined gable looked due east, and in the present aspect of the sun the +light streamed down through the door-way as our lantern had done, +throwing a flood of light upon the damp grass beyond. There was a strange +suggestion in the open door,--so futile, a kind of emblem of vanity: all +free around, so that you could go where you pleased, and yet that +semblance of an enclosure,--that way of entrance, unnecessary, leading to +nothing. And why any creature should pray and weep to get in--to nothing, +or be kept out--by nothing, you could not dwell upon it, or it made your +brain go round. I remembered, however, what Simson said about the +juniper, with a little smile on my own mind as to the inaccuracy of +recollection which even a scientific man will be guilty of. I could see +now the light of my lantern gleaming upon the wet glistening surface of +the spiky leaves at the right hand,--and he ready to go to the stake for +it that it was the left! I went round to make sure. And then I saw what +he had said. Right or left there was no juniper at all! I was confounded +by this, though it was entirely a matter of detail nothing at all,--a +bush of brambles waving, the grass growing up to the very walls. But +after all, though it gave me a shock for a moment, what did that matter? +There were marks as if a number of footsteps had been up and down in +front of the door, but these might have been our steps; and all was +bright and peaceful and still. I poked about the other ruin--the larger +ruins of the old house--for some time, as I had done before. There were +marks upon the grass here and there--I could not call them +footsteps--all about; but that told for nothing one way or another. I had +examined the ruined rooms closely the first day. They were half filled up +with soil and _debris_, withered brackens and bramble,--no refuge for any +one there. It vexed me that Jarvis should see me coming from that spot +when he came up to me for his orders. I don't know whether my nocturnal +expeditions had got wind among the servants, but there was a significant +look in his face. Something in it I felt was like my own sensation when +Simson in the midst of his scepticism was struck dumb. Jarvis felt +satisfied that his veracity had been put beyond question. I never spoke +to a servant of mine in such a peremptory tone before. I sent him away +"with a flea in his lug," as the man described it afterwards. +Interference of any kind was intolerable to me at such a moment. + +But what was strangest of all was, that I could not face Roland. I did +not go up to his room, as I would have naturally done, at once. This the +girls could not understand. They saw there was some mystery in it. +"Mother has gone to lie down," Agatha said; "he has had such a good +night." "But he wants you so, papa!" cried little Jeanie, always with her +two arms embracing mine in a pretty way she had. I was obliged to go at +last, but what could I say? I could only kiss him, and tell him to keep +still,--that I was doing all I could. There is something mystical about +the patience of a child. "It will come all right, won't it, father?" he +said. "God grant it may! I hope so, Roland." "Oh, yes, it will come all +right." Perhaps he understood that in the midst of my anxiety I could not +stay with him as I should have done otherwise. But the girls were more +surprised than it is possible to describe. They looked at me with +wondering eyes. "If I were ill, papa, and you only stayed with me a +moment, I should break my heart," said Agatha. But the boy had a +sympathetic feeling. He knew that of my own will I would not have done +it. I shut myself up in the library, where I could not rest, but kept +pacing up and down like a caged beast. What could I do? and if I could do +nothing, what would become of my boy? These were the questions that, +without ceasing, pursued each other through my mind. + +Simson came out to dinner, and when the house was all still, and most of +the servants in bed, we went out and met Dr. Moncrieff, as we had +appointed, at the head of the glen. Simson, for his part, was disposed to +scoff at the Doctor. "If there are to be any spells, you know, I'll cut +the whole concern," he said. I did not make him any reply. I had not +invited him; he could go or come as he pleased. He was very talkative, +far more so than suited my humor, as we went on. "One thing is certain, +you know; there must be some human agency," he said. "It is all bosh +about apparitions. I never have investigated the laws of sound to any +great extent, and there's a great deal in ventriloquism that we don't +know much about." "If it's the same to you," I said, "I wish you'd keep +all that to yourself, Simson. It doesn't suit my state of mind." "Oh, I +hope I know how to respect idiosyncrasy," he said. The very tone of his +voice irritated me beyond measure. These scientific fellows, I wonder +people put up with them as they do, when you have no mind for their +cold-blooded confidence. Dr. Moncrieff met us about eleven o'clock, the +same time as on the previous night. He was a large man, with a venerable +countenance and white hair,--old, but in full vigor, and thinking less +of a cold night walk than many a younger man. He had his lantern, as I +had. We were fully provided with means of lighting the place, and we were +all of us resolute men. We had a rapid consultation as we went up, and +the result was that we divided to different posts. Dr. Moncrieff remained +inside the wall--if you can call that inside where there was no wall but +one. Simson placed himself on the side next the ruins, so as to intercept +any communication with the old house, which was what his mind was fixed +upon. I was posted on the other side. To say that nothing could come near +without being seen was self-evident. It had been so also on the previous +night. Now, with our three lights in the midst of the darkness, the whole +place seemed illuminated. Dr. Moncrieff's lantern, which was a large one, +without any means of shutting up,--an old-fashioned lantern with a +pierced and ornamental top,--shone steadily, the rays shooting out of it +upward into the gloom. He placed it on the grass, where the middle of the +room, if this had been a room, would have been. The usual effect of the +light streaming out of the door-way was prevented by the illumination +which Simson and I on either side supplied. With these differences, +everything seemed as on the previous night. + +And what occurred was exactly the same, with the same air of repetition, +point for point, as I had formerly remarked. I declare that it seemed to +me as if I were pushed against, put aside, by the owner of the voice as +he paced up and down in his trouble,--though these are perfectly futile +words, seeing that the stream of light from my lantern, and that from +Simson's taper, lay broad and clear, without a shadow, without the +smallest break, across the entire breadth of the grass. I had ceased even +to be alarmed, for my part. My heart was rent with pity and +trouble,--pity for the poor suffering human creature that moaned and +pleaded so, and trouble for myself and my boy. God! if I could not find +any help,--and what help could I find?--Roland would die. + +We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I +knew, by experience, it would be. Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was +quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places. +My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice. I was +used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first. But just +as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there +suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, +and my heart into my mouth. It was a voice inside the wall,--the +minister's well-known voice. I would have been prepared for it in any +kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard. It came out +with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance. "Willie, +Willie! Oh, God preserve us! is it you?" + +These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the +invisible creature had ceased to have. I thought the old man, whom I +had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror. I made a dash +round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the +thought. He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague +and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet. I +lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward. He was very +pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted +lips. He neither saw nor heard me. We that had gone through this +experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little +strength to bear it. But he was not even aware that I was there. His +whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness. He held out his +hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear. He +went on speaking all the time. "Willie, if it is you,--and it's you, if +it is not a delusion of Satan,--Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting +them that know you not? Why came ye not to me?" + +He seemed to wait for an answer. When his voice ceased, his countenance, +every line moving, continued to speak. Simson gave me another terrible +shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much +awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without +seeing Simson, speaking to some one else. His voice took a tone of +expostulation:-- + +"Is this right to come here? Your mother's gone with your name on her +lips. Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad? Do ye +think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature? No!--I +forbid ye! I forbid ye!" cried the old man. The sobbing voice had begun +to resume its cries. He made a step forward, calling out the last words +in a voice of command. "I forbid ye! Cry out no more to man. Go home, ye +wandering spirit! go home! Do you hear me?--me that christened ye, that +have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!" Here +the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness. "And her too, poor +woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon. She's not here. You'll find +her with the Lord. Go there and seek her, not here. Do you hear me, lad? +go after her there. He'll let you in, though it's late. Man, take heart! +if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven's gate, and not +your poor mother's ruined door." + +He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had +done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, +but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled. Then the +minister spoke again, "Are you hearing me, Will? Oh, laddie, you've liked +the beggarly elements all your days. Be done with them now. Go home to +the Father--the Father! Are you hearing me?" Here the old man sank down +upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble +in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness. I resisted +as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon +my knees. Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression +in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes +wild, staring. It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and +wonder, that we were praying. All the time the voice, with a low arrested +sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought. + +"Lord," the minister said,--"Lord, take him into Thy everlasting +habitations. The mother he cries to is with Thee. Who can open to him but +Thee? Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee? +Lord, let that woman there draw him inower! Let her draw him inower!" + +I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly +within the door. The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I +felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the +ground,--for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my +foolishness I thought. Simson held out his hand to me to help me up. He +was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost +inarticulate. "It's gone," he said, stammering,--"it's gone!" We leaned +upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the +whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and +yet as long as I live I will never forget it,--the shining of the +strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all +the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and +uplifted hands. A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us. +By intervals a single syllable, "Lord! Lord!" came from the old +minister's lips. He saw none of us, nor thought of us. I never knew how +long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our +lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did. But at last he +rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his +arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and +solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,--to what? to the silent +earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but +spectators gasping an Amen! + +It seemed to me that it must be the middle of the night, as we all walked +back. It was in reality very late. Dr. Moncrieff put his arm into mine. +He walked slowly, with an air of exhaustion. It was as if we were coming +from a death-bed. Something hushed and solemnized the very air. There was +that sense of relief in it which there always is at the end of a +death-struggle. And nature, persistent, never daunted, came back in all +of us, as we returned into the ways of life. We said nothing to each +other, indeed, for a time; but when we got clear of the trees and +reached the opening near the house, where we could see the sky, Dr. +Moncrieff himself was the first to speak. "I must be going," he said; +"it's very late, I'm afraid. I will go down the glen, as I came." + +"But not alone. I am going with you, Doctor." + +"Well, I will not oppose it. I am an old man, and agitation wearies more +than work. Yes; I'll be thankful of your arm. To-night, Colonel, you've +done me more good turns than one." + +I pressed his hand on my arm, not feeling able to speak. But Simson, +who turned with us, and who had gone along all this time with his taper +flaring, in entire unconsciousness, came to himself, apparently at the +sound of our voices, and put out that wild little torch with a quick +movement, as if of shame. "Let me carry your lantern," he said; "it is +heavy." He recovered with a spring; and in a moment, from the +awe-stricken spectator he had been, became himself, sceptical and +cynical. "I should like to ask you a question," he said. "Do you +believe in Purgatory, Doctor? It's not in the tenets of the Church, so +far as I know." + +"Sir," said Dr. Moncrieff, "an old man like me is sometimes not very +sure what he believes. There is just one thing I am certain of--and that +is the loving-kindness of God." + +"But I thought that was in this life. I am no theologian--" + +"Sir," said the old man again, with a tremor in him which I could feel +going over all his frame, "if I saw a friend of mine within the gates of +hell, I would not despair but his Father would take him by the hand +still, if he cried like _you_." + +"I allow it is very strange, very strange. I cannot see through it. That +there must be human agency, I feel sure. Doctor, what made you decide +upon the person and the name?" + +The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show +if he were asked how he recognized his brother. "Tuts!" he said, in +familiar speech; then more solemnly, "How should I not recognize a person +that I know better--far better--than I know you?" + +"Then you saw the man?" + +Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little +impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went +on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which +were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very +still,--not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches, +which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending. +When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,--about the height +of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his +own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation, +waiting for him. "Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?" +she cried. + +"Far from that--better. God bless him!" Dr. Moncrieff said. + +I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have +pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent, +by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many +nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly +gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I +have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It +was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace +and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a +sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping, +satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we +found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and +gave me a smile: "I think he is a great deal better; but you are very +late," she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the +Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own +color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy, +half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the +interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his +forehead, which was moist and cool. "All is well, Roland," I said. He +looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his +cheek upon it, and so went to sleep. + + * * * * * + +For some nights after, I watched among the ruins, spending all the dark +hours up to midnight patrolling about the bit of wall which was +associated with so many emotions; but I heard nothing, and saw nothing +beyond the quiet course of nature; nor, so far as I am aware, has +anything been heard again. Dr. Moncrieff gave me the history of the +youth, whom he never hesitated to name. I did not ask, as Simson did, how +he recognized him. He had been a prodigal,--weak, foolish, easily imposed +upon, and "led away," as people say. All that we had heard had passed +actually in life, the Doctor said. The young man had come home thus a day +or two after his mother died,--who was no more than the housekeeper in +the old house,--and distracted with the news, had thrown himself down at +the door and called upon her to let him in. The old man could scarcely +speak of it for tears. To me it seemed as if--Heaven help us, how little +do we know about anything!--a scene like that might impress itself +somehow upon the hidden heart of nature. I do not pretend to know how, +but the repetition had struck me at the time as, in its terrible +strangeness and incomprehensibility, almost mechanical,--as if the unseen +actor could not exceed or vary, but was bound to re-enact the whole. One +thing that struck me, however, greatly, was the likeness between the old +minister and my boy in the manner of regarding these strange phenomena. +Dr. Moncrieff was not terrified, as I had been myself, and all the rest +of us. It was no "ghost," as I fear we all vulgarly considered it, to +him,--but a poor creature whom he knew under these conditions, just as +he had known him in the flesh, having no doubt of his identity. And to +Roland it was the same. This spirit in pain,--if it was a spirit,--this +voice out of the unseen,--was a poor fellow-creature in misery, to be +succored and helped out of his trouble, to my boy. He spoke to me quite +frankly about it when he got better. "I knew father would find out some +way," he said. And this was when he was strong and well, and all idea +that he would turn hysterical or become a seer of visions had happily +passed away. + + * * * * * + +I must add one curious fact, which does not seem to me to have any +relation to the above, but which Simson made great use of, as the human +agency which he was determined to find somehow. We had examined the ruins +very closely at the time of these occurrences; but afterwards, when all +was over, as we went casually about them one Sunday afternoon in the +idleness of that unemployed day, Simson with his stick penetrated an old +window which had been entirely blocked up with fallen soil. He jumped +down into it in great excitement, and called me to follow. There we found +a little hole,--for it was more a hole than a room,--entirely hidden +under the ivy and ruins, in which there was a quantity of straw laid in a +corner, as if some one had made a bed there, and some remains of crusts +about the floor. Some one had lodged there, and not very long before, he +made out; and that this unknown being was the author of all the +mysterious sounds we heard he is convinced. "I told you it was human +agency," he said triumphantly. He forgets, I suppose, how he and I stood +with our lights, seeing nothing, while the space between us was audibly +traversed by something that could speak, and sob, and suffer. There is no +argument with men of this kind. He is ready to get up a laugh against me +on this slender ground. "I was puzzled myself,--I could not make it +out,--but I always felt convinced human agency was at the bottom of it. +And here it is,--and a clever fellow he must have been," the Doctor says. + +Bagley left my service as soon as he got well. He assured me it was no +want of respect, but he could not stand "them kind of things;" and the +man was so shaken and ghastly that I was glad to give him a present and +let him go. For my own part, I made a point of staying out the +time--two years--for which I had taken Brentwood; but I did not renew +my tenancy. By that time we had settled, and found for ourselves a +pleasant home of our own. + +I must add, that when the Doctor defies me, I can always bring back +gravity to his countenance, and a pause in his railing, when I remind him +of the juniper-bush. To me that was a matter of little importance. I +could believe I was mistaken. I did not care about it one way or other; +but on his mind the effect was different. The miserable voice, the spirit +in pain, he could think of as the result of ventriloquism, or +reverberation, or--anything you please: an elaborate prolonged hoax, +executed somehow by the tramp that had found a lodging in the old tower; +but the juniper-bush staggered him. Things have effects so different on +the minds of different men. + + + + +II + +THE PORTRAIT + + +At the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my +father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a +little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe +I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the +red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, +builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and +irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms +large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, +with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was +cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to +economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it +was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the +primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the +cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at +this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses,--the +kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the +neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last +inhabitants; and the furniture was faded, even a little dingy,--nothing +to brag of. I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were +faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and +had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright +if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at +home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I +had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays +as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had +died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and +silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of +my father's had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of +me; but she, too, had died long, long ago, my mourning for her being one +of the first things I could recollect. And she had no successor. There +were, indeed, a housekeeper and some maids,--the latter of whom I only +saw disappearing at the end of a passage, or whisking out of a room when +one of "the gentlemen" appeared. Mrs. Weir, indeed, I saw nearly every +day; but a curtsey, a smile, a pair of nice round arms which she caressed +while folding them across her ample waist, and a large white apron, were +all I knew of her. This was the only female influence in the house. The +drawing-room I was aware of only as a place of deadly good order, into +which nobody ever entered. It had three long windows opening on the lawn, +and communicated at the upper end, which was rounded like a great bay, +with the conservatory. Sometimes I gazed into it as a child from without, +wondering at the needlework on the chairs, the screens, the +looking-glasses which never reflected any living face. My father did not +like the room, which probably was not wonderful, though it never occurred +to me in those early days to inquire why. + +I may say here, though it will probably be disappointing to those who +form a sentimental idea of the capabilities of children, that it did +not occur to me either, in these early days, to make any inquiry about +my mother. There was no room in life, as I knew it, for any such +person; nothing suggested to my mind either the fact that she must have +existed, or that there was need of her in the house. I accepted, as I +believe most children do, the facts of existence, on the basis with +which I had first made acquaintance with them, without question or +remark. As a matter of fact, I was aware that it was rather dull at +home; but neither by comparison with the books I read, nor by the +communications received from my school-fellows, did this seem to me +anything remarkable. And I was possibly somewhat dull too by nature, +for I did not mind. I was fond of reading, and for that there was +unbounded opportunity. I had a little ambition in respect to work, and +that too could be prosecuted undisturbed. When I went to the +university, my society lay almost entirely among men; but by that time +and afterwards, matters had of course greatly changed with me, and +though I recognized women as part of the economy of nature, and did not +indeed by any means dislike or avoid them, yet the idea of connecting +them at all with my own home never entered into my head. That continued +to be as it had always been, when at intervals I descended upon the +cool, grave, colorless place, in the midst of my traffic with the +world: always very still, well-ordered, serious,--the cooking very +good, the comfort perfect; old Morphew, the butler, a little older (but +very little older, perhaps on the whole less old, since in my childhood +I had thought him a kind of Methuselah); and Mrs. Weir, less active, +covering up her arms in sleeves, but folding and caressing them just as +always. I remember looking in from the lawn through the windows upon +that deadly-orderly drawing-room, with a humorous recollection of my +childish admiration and wonder, and feeling that it must be kept so +forever and ever, and that to go into it would break some sort of +amusing mock mystery, some pleasantly ridiculous spell. + +But it was only at rare intervals that I went home. In the long vacation, +as in my school holidays, my father often went abroad with me, so that we +had gone over a great deal of the Continent together very pleasantly. He +was old in proportion to the age of his son, being a man of sixty when I +was twenty, but that did not disturb the pleasure of the relations +between us. I don't know that they were ever very confidential. On my +side there was but little to communicate, for I did not get into scrapes +nor fall in love, the two predicaments which demand sympathy and +confidences. And as for my father himself, I was never aware what there +could be to communicate on his side. I knew his life exactly,--what he +did almost at every hour of the day; under what circumstances of the +temperature he would ride and when walk; how often and with what guests +he would indulge in the occasional break of a dinner-party, a serious +pleasure,--perhaps, indeed, less a pleasure than a duty. All this I knew +as well as he did, and also his views on public matters, his political +opinions, which naturally were different from mine. What ground, then, +remained for confidence? I did not know any. We were both of us of a +reserved nature, not apt to enter into our religious feelings, for +instance. There are many people who think reticence on such subjects a +sign of the most reverential way of contemplating them. Of this I am far +from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial +to my own mind. + +And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I +did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an +Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a +semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years, +invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and +disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, "no +occasion" to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never +given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be +his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not +oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to +exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and +expressed his satisfaction in my return. "Of course," he said, "I am not +glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken; +but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I +am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man--" + +"I don't see any difference, sir," said I; "everything here seems exactly +the same as when I went away--" + +He smiled, and shook his head. "It is true enough," he said; "after we +have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a +plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an +inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the +fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to +have you here." + +"If I had known that," I said, "and that you wanted me, I should have +come in any circumstances. As there are only two of us in the world--" + +"Yes," he said, "there are only two of us in the world; but still I +should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career." + +"It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself," I said rather +bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear. + +He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, "It is an ill wind that blows +nobody good," with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain +gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in +all the world to whom I owed any duty. I had not been without dreams of +warmer affections, but they had come to nothing--not tragically, but in +the ordinary way. I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but +not that which I did want,--which was not a thing to make any unmanly +moan about, but in the ordinary course of events. Such disappointments +happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and +sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so. + +However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,--in a +position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my +contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much +money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the +future. On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no +occupation. The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an +advantage. I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into +the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one +through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was +not a walk but a lounge. The country was silent and full of +thoughts,--thoughts not always very agreeable,--whereas there were always +the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be +heard,--all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very +impoverished version for the idle man. I did not like it, but I felt +myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand. The +rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner. I might +have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for +that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, +and fully contented with my lot. + +It was possibly my own want of occupation which made me observe with +surprise, after a while, how much occupied my father was. He had +expressed himself glad of my return; but now that I had returned, I saw +very little of him. Most of his time was spent in his library, as had +always been the case. But on the few visits I paid him there, I could not +but perceive that the aspect of the library was much changed. It had +acquired the look of a business-room, almost an office. There were large +business-like books on the table, which I could not associate with +anything he could naturally have to do; and his correspondence was very +large. I thought he closed one of those books hurriedly as I came in, and +pushed it away, as if he did not wish me to see it. This surprised me at +the moment without arousing any other feeling; but afterwards I +remembered it with a clearer sense of what it meant. He was more absorbed +altogether than I had been used to see him. He was visited by men +sometimes not of very prepossessing appearance. Surprise grew in my mind +without any very distinct idea of the reason of it; and it was not till +after a chance conversation with Morphew that my vague uneasiness began +to take definite shape. It was begun without any special intention on my +part. Morphew had informed me that master was very busy, on some occasion +when I wanted to see him. And I was a little annoyed to be thus put off. +"It appears to me that my father is always busy," I said hastily. Morphew +then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent. + +"A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion," he said. + +This startled me much, and I asked hurriedly, "What do you mean?" without +reflecting that to ask for private information from a servant about my +father's habits was as bad as investigating into a stranger's affairs. It +did not strike me in the same light. + +"Mr. Philip," said Morphew, "a thing 'as 'appened as 'appens more often +than it ought to. Master has got awful keen about money in his old age." + +"That's a new thing for him," I said. + +"No, sir, begging your pardon, it ain't a new thing. He was once +broke of it, and that wasn't easy done; but it's come back, if you'll +excuse me saying so. And I don't know as he'll ever be broke of it +again at his age." + +I felt more disposed to be angry than disturbed by this. "You must be +making some ridiculous mistake," I said. "And if you were not so old a +friend as you are, Morphew, I should not have allowed my father to be so +spoken of to me." + +The old man gave me a half-astonished, half-contemptuous look. "He's been +my master a deal longer than he's been your father," he said, turning on +his heel. The assumption was so comical that my anger could not stand in +face of it. I went out, having been on my way to the door when this +conversation occurred, and took my usual lounge about, which was not a +satisfactory sort of amusement. Its vanity and emptiness appeared to be +more evident than usual to-day. I met half-a-dozen people I knew, and had +as many pieces of news confided to me. I went up and down the length of +the High Street. I made a small purchase or two. And then I turned +homeward, despising myself, yet finding no alternative within my reach. +Would a long country walk have been more virtuous? It would at least have +been more wholesome; but that was all that could be said. My mind did +not dwell on Morphew's communication. It seemed without sense or meaning +to me; and after the excellent joke about his superior interest in his +master to mine in my father, was dismissed lightly enough from my mind. I +tried to invent some way of telling this to my father without letting him +perceive that Morphew had been finding faults in him, or I listening; for +it seemed a pity to lose so good a joke. However, as I returned home, +something happened which put the joke entirely out of my head. It is +curious when a new subject of trouble or anxiety has been suggested to +the mind in an unexpected way, how often a second advertisement follows +immediately after the first, and gives to that a potency which in itself +it had not possessed. + +I was approaching our own door, wondering whether my father had gone, and +whether, on my return, I should find him at leisure,--for I had several +little things to say to him,--when I noticed a poor woman lingering about +the closed gates. She had a baby sleeping in her arms. It was a spring +night, the stars shining in the twilight, and everything soft and dim; +and the woman's figure was like a shadow, flitting about, now here, now +there, on one side or another of the gate. She stopped when she saw me +approaching, and hesitated for a moment, then seemed to take a sudden +resolution. I watched her without knowing, with a prevision that she was +going to address me, though with no sort of idea as to the subject of her +address. She came up to me doubtfully, it seemed, yet certainly, as I +felt, and when she was close to me, dropped a sort of hesitating curtsey, +and said, "It's Mr. Philip?" in a low voice. + +"What do you want with me?" I said. + +Then she poured forth suddenly, without warning or preparation, her long +speech,--a flood of words which must have been all ready and waiting at +the doors of her lips for utterance. "Oh, sir, I want to speak to you! I +can't believe you'll be so hard, for you're young; and I can't believe +he'll be so hard if so be as his own son, as I've always heard he had but +one, 'll speak up for us. Oh, gentleman, it is easy for the likes of you, +that, if you ain't comfortable in one room, can just walk into another; +but if one room is all you have, and every bit of furniture you have +taken out of it, and nothing but the four walls left,--not so much as the +cradle for the child, or a chair for your man to sit down upon when he +comes from his work, or a saucepan to cook him his supper--" + +"My good woman," I said, "who can have taken all that from you? Surely +nobody can be so cruel?" + +"You say it's cruel!" she cried with a sort of triumph. "Oh, I knowed you +would, or any true gentleman that don't hold with screwing poor folks. +Just go and say that to him inside there for the love of God. Tell him +to think what he's doing, driving poor creatures to despair. Summer's +coming, the Lord be praised, but yet it's bitter cold at night with your +counterpane gone; and when you've been working hard all day, and nothing +but four bare walls to come home to, and all your poor little sticks of +furniture that you've saved up for, and got together one by one, all +gone, and you no better than when you started, or rather worse, for then +you was young. Oh, sir!" the woman's voice rose into a sort of passionate +wail. And then she added, beseechingly, recovering herself, "Oh, speak +for us; he'll not refuse his own son--" + +"To whom am I to speak? Who is it that has done this to you?" I said. + +The woman hesitated again, looking keenly in my face, then repeated with +a slight faltering, "It's Mr. Philip?" as if that made everything right. + +"Yes; I am Philip Canning," I said; "but what have I to do with this? +and to whom am I to speak?" + +She began to whimper, crying and stopping herself. "Oh, please, sir! it's +Mr. Canning as owns all the house property about; it's him that our court +and the lane and everything belongs to. And he's taken the bed from under +us, and the baby's cradle, although it's said in the Bible as you're not +to take poor folks' bed." + +"My father!" I cried in spite of myself; "then it must be some agent, +some one else in his name. You may be sure he knows nothing of it. Of +course I shall speak to him at once." + +"Oh, God bless you, sir," said the woman. But then she added, in a lower +tone, "It's no agent. It's one as never knows trouble. It's him that +lives in that grand house." But this was said under her breath, evidently +not for me to hear. + +Morphew's words flashed through my mind as she spoke. What was this? Did +it afford an explanation of the much-occupied hours, the big books, the +strange visitors? I took the poor woman's name, and gave her something +to procure a few comforts for the night, and went indoors disturbed and +troubled. It was impossible to believe that my father himself would +have acted thus; but he was not a man to brook interference, and I did +not see how to introduce the subject, what to say. I could but hope +that, at the moment of broaching it, words would be put into my mouth, +which often happens in moments of necessity, one knows not how, even +when one's theme is not so all-important as that for which such help has +been promised. As usual, I did not see my father till dinner. I have +said that our dinners were very good, luxurious in a simple way, +everything excellent in its kind, well cooked, well served,--the +perfection of comfort without show,--which is a combination very dear to +the English heart. I said nothing till Morphew, with his solemn +attention to everything that was going, had retired; and then it was +with some strain of courage that I began. + +"I was stopped outside the gate to-day by a curious sort of +petitioner,--a poor woman, who seems to be one of your tenants, sir, but +whom your agent must have been rather too hard upon." + +"My agent? Who is that?" said my father quietly. + +"I don't know his name, and I doubt his competence. The poor creature +seems to have had everything taken from her,--her bed, her child's +cradle." + +"No doubt she was behind with her rent." + +"Very likely, sir. She seemed very poor," said I. + +"You take it coolly," said my father, with an upward glance, half-amused, +not in the least shocked by my statement. "But when a man, or a woman +either, takes a house, I suppose you will allow that they ought to pay +rent for it." + +"Certainly, sir," I replied, "when they have got anything to pay." + +"I don't allow the reservation," he said. But he was not angry, which I +had feared he would be. + +"I think," I continued, "that your agent must be too severe. And this +emboldens me to say something which has been in my mind for some +time"--(these were the words, no doubt, which I had hoped would be put +into my month; they were the suggestion of the moment, and yet as I said +them it was with the most complete conviction of their truth)--"and that +is this: I am doing nothing; my time hangs heavy on my hands. Make me +your agent. I will see for myself, and save you from such mistakes; and +it will be an occupation--" + +"Mistakes? What warrant have you for saying these are mistakes?" he said +testily; then after a moment: "This is a strange proposal from you, Phil. +Do you know what it is you are offering?--to be a collector of rents, +going about from door to door, from week to week; to look after wretched +little bits of repairs, drains, etc.; to get paid, which, after all, is +the chief thing, and not to be taken in by tales of poverty." + +"Not to let you be taken in by men without pity," I said. + +He gave me a strange glance, which I did not very well understand, and +said abruptly, a thing which, so far as I remember, he had never in my +life said before, "You've become a little like your mother, Phil--" + +"My mother!" the reference was so unusual--nay, so unprecedented--that I +was greatly startled. It seemed to me like the sudden introduction of a +quite new element in the stagnant atmosphere, as well as a new party to +our conversation. My father looked across the table, as if with some +astonishment at my tone of surprise. + +"Is that so very extraordinary?" he said. + +"No; of course it is not extraordinary that I should resemble my mother. +Only--I have heard very little of her--almost nothing." + +"That is true." He got up and placed himself before the fire, which was +very low, as the night was not cold--had not been cold heretofore at +least; but it seemed to me now that a little chill came into the dim and +faded room. Perhaps it looked more dull from the suggestion of a +something brighter, warmer, that might have been. "Talking of mistakes," +he said, "perhaps that was one: to sever you entirely from her side of +the house. But I did not care for the connection. You will understand how +it is that I speak of it now when I tell you--" He stopped here, however, +said nothing more for a minute or so, and then rang the bell. Morphew +came, as he always did, very deliberately, so that some time elapsed in +silence, during which my surprise grew. When the old man appeared at the +door--"Have you put the lights in the drawing-room, as I told you?" my +father said. + +"Yes, sir; and opened the box, sir; and it's a--it's a speaking +likeness--" + +This the old man got out in a great hurry, as if afraid that his master +would stop him. My father did so with a wave of his hand. + +"That's enough. I asked no information. You can go now." + +The door closed upon us, and there was again a pause. My subject had +floated away altogether like a mist, though I had been so concerned about +it. I tried to resume, but could not. Something seemed to arrest my very +breathing; and yet in this dull, respectable house of ours, where +everything breathed good character and integrity, it was certain that +there could be no shameful mystery to reveal. It was some time before my +father spoke, not from any purpose that I could see, but apparently +because his mind was busy with probably unaccustomed thoughts. + +"You scarcely know the drawing-room, Phil," he said at last. + +"Very little. I have never seen it used. I have a little awe of it, to +tell the truth." + +"That should not be. There is no reason for that. But a man by himself, +as I have been for the greater part of my life, has no occasion for a +drawing-room. I always, as a matter of preference, sat among my books; +however, I ought to have thought of the impression on you." + +"Oh, it is not important," I said; "the awe was childish. I have not +thought of it since I came home." + +"It never was anything very splendid at the best," said he. He lifted the +lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my +offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of +seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom +of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair +and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, +his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was +taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment +with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and +bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more +intimately than any other creature in the world,--I was familiar with +every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not +know him at all? + + * * * * * + +The drawing-room was already lighted with a flickering array of candles +upon the mantelpiece and along the walls, producing the pretty, starry +effect which candles give without very much light. As I had not the +smallest idea what I was about to see, for Morphew's "speaking likeness" +was very hurriedly said, and only half comprehensible in the bewilderment +of my faculties, my first glance was at this very unusual illumination, +for which I could assign no reason. The next showed me a large +full-length portrait, still in the box in which apparently it had +travelled, placed upright, supported against a table in the centre of the +room. My father walked straight up to it, motioned to me to place a +smaller table close to the picture on the left side, and put his lamp +upon that. Then he waved his hand towards it, and stood aside that I +might see. + +It was a full-length portrait of a very young woman--I might say a girl +scarcely twenty--in a white dress, made in a very simple old fashion, +though I was too little accustomed to female costume to be able to fix +the date. It might have been a hundred years old, or twenty, for aught I +knew. The face had an expression of youth, candor, and simplicity more +than any face I had ever seen,--or so, at least in my surprise, I +thought. The eyes were a little wistful, with something which was almost +anxiety which at least was not content--in them; a faint, almost +imperceptible, curve in the lids. The complexion was of a dazzling +fairness, the hair light, but the eyes dark, which gave individuality to +the face. It would have been as lovely had the eyes been blue,--probably +more so,--but their darkness gave a touch of character, a slight discord, +which made the harmony finer. It was not, perhaps, beautiful in the +highest sense of the word. The girl must have been too young, too slight, +too little developed for actual beauty; but a face which so invited love +and confidence I never saw. One smiled at it with instinctive affection. +"What a sweet face!" I said. "What a lovely girl! Who is she? Is this one +of the relations you were speaking of on the other side?" + +My father made me no reply. He stood aside, looking at it as if he knew +it too well to require to look,--as if the picture was already in his +eyes. "Yes," he said, after an interval, with a long-drawn breath, "she +was a lovely girl, as you say." + +"Was?--then she is dead. What a pity!" I said; "what a pity! so young and +so sweet!" + +We stood gazing at her thus, in her beautiful stillness and calm,--two +men, the younger of us full-grown and conscious of many experiences, the +other an old man,--before this impersonation of tender youth. At length +he said, with a slight tremulousness in his voice, "Does nothing suggest +to you who she is, Phil?" + +I turned round to look at him with profound astonishment, but he turned +away from my look. A sort of quiver passed over his face. "That is your +mother," he said, and walked suddenly away, leaving me there. + +My mother! + +I stood for a moment in a kind of consternation before the white-robed +innocent creature, to me no more than a child; then a sudden laugh broke +from me, without any will of mine something ludicrous, as well as +something awful, was in it. When the laugh was over, I found myself with +tears in my eyes, gazing, holding my breath. The soft features seemed to +melt, the lips to move, the anxiety in the eyes to become a personal +inquiry. Ah, no! nothing of the kind; only because of the water in mine. +My mother! oh, fair and gentle creature, scarcely woman, how could any +man's voice call her by that name! I had little idea enough of what it +meant,--had heard it laughed at, scoffed at, reverenced, but never had +learned to place it even among the ideal powers of life. Yet if it meant +anything at all, what it meant was worth thinking of. What did she ask, +looking at me with those eyes? What would she have said if "those lips +had language"? If I had known her only as Cowper did--with a child's +recollection--there might have been some thread, some faint but +comprehensible link, between us; but now all that I felt was the curious +incongruity. Poor child! I said to myself; so sweet a creature: poor +little tender soul! as if she had been a little sister, a child of +mine,--but my mother! I cannot tell how long I stood looking at her, +studying the candid, sweet face, which surely had germs in it of +everything that was good and beautiful; and sorry, with a profound +regret, that she had died and never carried these promises to +fulfillment. Poor girl! poor people who had loved her! These were my +thoughts; with a curious vertigo and giddiness of my whole being in the +sense of a mysterious relationship, which it was beyond my power to +understand. + +Presently my father came back, possibly because I had been a long time +unconscious of the passage of the minutes, or perhaps because he was +himself restless in the strange disturbance of his habitual calm. He came +in and put his arm within mine, leaning his weight partially upon me, +with an affectionate suggestion which went deeper than words. I pressed +his arm to my side: it was more between us two grave Englishmen than any +embracing. + +"I cannot understand it," I said. + +"No. I don't wonder at that; but if it is strange to you, Phil, think how +much more strange to me! That is the partner of my life. I have never had +another, or thought of another. That--girl! If we are to meet again, as I +have always hoped we should meet again, what am I to say to her,--I, an +old man? Yes; I know what you mean. I am not an old man for my years; but +my years are threescore and ten, and the play is nearly played out. How +am I to meet that young creature? We used to say to each other that it +was forever, that we never could be but one, that it was for life and +death. But what--what am I to say to her, Phil, when I meet her again, +that--that angel? No, it is not her being an angel that troubles me; but +she is so young! She is like my--my granddaughter," he cried, with a +burst of what was half sobs, half laughter; "and she is my wife,--and I +am an old man--an old man! And so much has happened that she could not +understand." + +I was too much startled by this strange complaint to know what to say. +It was not my own trouble, and I answered it in the conventional way. + +"They are not as we are, sir," I said; "they look upon us with larger, +other eyes than ours." + +"Ah! you don't know what I mean," he said quickly; and in the interval he +had subdued his emotion. "At first, after she died, it was my consolation +to think that I should meet her again,--that we never could be really +parted. But, my God, how I have changed since then! I am another man,--I +am a different being. I was not very young even then,--twenty years older +than she was; but her youth renewed mine. I was not an unfit partner; she +asked no better, and knew as much more than I did in some things,--being +so much nearer the source,--as I did in others that were of the world. +But I have gone a long way since then, Phil,--a long way; and there she +stands, just where I left her." + +I pressed his arm again. "Father," I said, which was a title I seldom +used, "we are not to suppose that in a higher life the mind stands +still." I did not feel myself qualified to discuss such topics, but +something one must say. + +"Worse, worse!" he replied; "then she too will be, like me, a different +being, and we shall meet as what? as strangers, as people who have lost +sight of each other, with a long past between us,--we who parted, my God! +with--with--" + +His voice broke and ended for a moment then while, surprised and almost +shocked by what he said, I cast about in my mind what to reply, he +withdrew his arm suddenly from mine, and said in his usual tone, "Where +shall we hang the picture, Phil? It must be here in this room. What do +you think will be the best light?" + +This sudden alteration took me still more by surprise, and gave me almost +an additional shock; but it was evident that I must follow the changes of +his mood, or at least the sudden repression of sentiment which he +originated. We went into that simpler question with great seriousness, +consulting which would be the best light. "You know I can scarcely +advise," I said; "I have never been familiar with this room. I should +like to put off, if you don't mind, till daylight." + +"I think," he said, "that this would be the best place." It was on the +other side of the fireplace, on the wall which faced the windows,--not +the best light, I knew enough to be aware, for an oil-painting. When I +said so, however, he answered me with a little impatience, "It does not +matter very much about the best light; there will be nobody to see it but +you and me. I have my reasons--" There was a small table standing against +the wall at this spot, on which he had his hand as he spoke. Upon it +stood a little basket in very fine lace-like wicker-work. His hand must +have trembled, for the table shook, and the basket fell, its contents +turning out upon the carpet,--little bits of needlework, colored silks, a +small piece of knitting half done. He laughed as they rolled out at his +feet, and tried to stoop to collect them, then tottered to a chair, and +covered for a moment his face with his hands. + +No need to ask what they were. No woman's work had been seen in the house +since I could recollect it. I gathered them up reverently and put them +back. I could see, ignorant as I was, that the bit of knitting was +something for an infant. What could I do less than put it to my lips? It +had been left in the doing--for me. + +"Yes, I think this is the best place," my father said a minute after, in +his usual tone. + +We placed it there that evening with our own hands. The picture was +large, and in a heavy frame, but my father would let no one help me but +himself. And then, with a superstition for which I never could give any +reason even to myself, having removed the packings, we closed and locked +the door, leaving the candles about the room, in their soft, strange +illumination, lighting the first night of her return to her old place. + +That night no more was said. My father went to his room early, which was +not his habit. He had never, however, accustomed me to sit late with him +in the library. I had a little study or smoking-room of my own, in which +all my special treasures were, the collections of my travels and my +favorite books,--and where I always sat after prayers, a ceremonial which +was regularly kept up in the house. I retired as usual this night to my +room, and, as usual, read,--but to-night somewhat vaguely, often pausing +to think. When it was quite late, I went out by the glass door to the +lawn, and walked round the house, with the intention of looking in at the +drawing-room windows, as I had done when a child. But I had forgotten +that these windows were all shuttered at night; and nothing but a faint +penetration of the light within through the crevices bore witness to the +installment of the new dweller there. + +In the morning my father was entirely himself again. He told me without +emotion of the manner in which he had obtained the picture. It had +belonged to my mother's family, and had fallen eventually into the hands +of a cousin of hers, resident abroad,--"A man whom I did not like, and +who did not like me," my father said; "there was, or had been, some +rivalry, he thought: a mistake, but he was never aware of that. He +refused all my requests to have a copy made. You may suppose, Phil, that +I wished this very much. Had I succeeded, you would have been acquainted, +at least, with your mother's appearance, and need not have sustained this +shock. But he would not consent. It gave him, I think, a certain pleasure +to think that he had the only picture. But now he is dead, and out of +remorse, or with some other intention, has left it to me." + +"That looks like kindness," said I. + +"Yes; or something else. He might have thought that by so doing he was +establishing a claim upon me," my father said; but he did not seem +disposed to add any more. On whose behalf he meant to establish a claim I +did not know, nor who the man was who had laid us under so great an +obligation on his death-bed. He _had_ established a claim on me at least; +though, as he was dead, I could not see on whose behalf it was. And my +father said nothing more; he seemed to dislike the subject. When I +attempted to return to it, he had recourse to his letters or his +newspapers. Evidently he had made up his mind to say no more. + +Afterwards I went into the drawing-room, to look at the picture once +more. It seemed to me that the anxiety in her eyes was not so evident as +I had thought it last night. The light possibly was more favorable. She +stood just above the place where, I make no doubt, she had sat in life, +where her little work-basket was,--not very much above it. The picture +was full-length, and we had hung it low, so that she might have been +stepping into the room, and was little above my own level as I stood and +looked at her again. Once more I smiled at the strange thought that this +young creature--so young, almost childish--could be my mother; and once +more my eyes grew wet looking at her. He was a benefactor, indeed, who +had given her back to us. I said to myself, that if I could ever do +anything for him or his, I would certainly do it, for my--for this lovely +young creature's sake. And with this in my mind, and all the thoughts +that came with it, I am obliged to confess that the other matter, which I +had been so full of on the previous night, went entirely out of my head. + + * * * * * + +It is rarely, however, that such matters are allowed to slip out of one's +mind. When I went out in the afternoon for my usual stroll,--or rather +when I returned from that stroll,--I saw once more before me the woman +with her baby, whose story had filled me with dismay on the previous +evening. She was waiting at the gate as before, and, "Oh, gentleman, but +haven't you got some news to give me?" she said. + +"My good woman,--I--have been greatly occupied. I have had--no time to do +anything." + +"Ah!" she said, with a little cry of disappointment, "my man said not to +make too sure, and that the ways of the gentlefolks is hard to know." + +"I cannot explain to you," I said, as gently as I could, "what it is that +has made me forget you. It was an event that can only do you good in the +end. Go home now, and see the man that took your things from you, and +tell him to come to me. I promise you it shall all be put right." + +The woman looked at me in astonishment, then burst forth, as it seemed, +involuntarily, "What! without asking no questions?" After this there came +a storm of tears and blessings, from which I made haste to escape, but +not without carrying that curious commentary on my rashness away with +me,--"Without asking no questions?" It might be foolish, perhaps; but +after all, how slight a matter. To make the poor creature comfortable at +the cost of what,--a box or two of cigars, perhaps, or some other trifle. +And if it should be her own fault, or her husband's--what then? Had I +been punished for all my faults, where should I have been now? And if the +advantage should be only temporary, what then? To be relieved and +comforted even for a day or two, was not that something to count in life? +Thus I quenched the fiery dart of criticism which my _protge_ herself +had thrown into the transaction, not without a certain sense of the humor +of it. Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, +to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty +performed in his name. This one case I had taken out of the category of +wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence +in my own person,--for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor +creature's rent as well as redeem her goods,--and, whatever might happen +to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands. The man came +presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father's agent in the +matter. "I don't know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it," he said. "He +don't want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property. He +always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things +worse in the end. His rule is, 'Never more than a month, Stevens;' that's +what Mr. Canning says to me, sir. He says, 'More than that they can't +pay. It's no use trying.' And it's a good rule; it's a very good rule. He +won't hear none of their stories, sir. Bless you, you'd never get a penny +of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales. But if so +be as you'll pay Mrs. Jordan's rent, it's none of my business how it's +paid, so long as it's paid, and I'll send her back her things. But +they'll just have to be took next time," he added composedly. "Over and +over; it's always the same story with them sort of poor folks,--they're +too poor for anything, that's the truth," the man said. + +Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone. "Mr. Philip," he +said, "you'll excuse me, sir, but if you're going to pay all the poor +folks' rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at +once, for it's without end--" + +"I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; +and we'll soon put a stop to that," I said, more cheerfully than I felt. + +"Manage for--master," he said, with a face of consternation. "You, +Mr. Philip!" + +"You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew." + +He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, "Master, sir,--master +don't let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master's--not one to be +managed. Don't you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God." +The old man was quite pale. + +"Quarrel!" I said. "I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don't +mean to begin now." + +Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was +dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a +great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in +which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as +he threw on the coals and wood. "He'll not like it,--we all know as he'll +not like it. Master won't stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,"--this last he +discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door. + +I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he +was even half amused. "I don't think that plan of yours will hold water, +Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,--that's +an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you +are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no +difference to me. I am quite content if I get my money, even out of your +pockets,--so long as it amuses you. But as my collector, you know, which +you are good enough to propose to be--" + +"Of course I should act under your orders," I said; "but at least you +might be sure that I would not commit you to any--to any--" I paused +for a word. + +"Act of oppression," he said, with a smile--"piece of cruelty, +exaction--there are half-a-dozen words--" + +"Sir--" I cried. + +"Stop, Phil, and let us understand each other. I hope I have always been +a just man. I do my duty on my side, and I expect it from others. It is +your benevolence that is cruel. I have calculated anxiously how much +credit it is safe to allow; but I will allow no man, or woman either, to +go beyond what he or she can make up. My law is fixed. Now you +understand. My agents, as you call them, originate nothing; they execute +only what I decide--" + +"But then no circumstances are taken into account,--no bad luck, no evil +chances, no loss unexpected." + +"There are no evil chances," he said; "there is no bad luck; they reap as +they sow. No, I don't go among them to be cheated by their stories, and +spend quite unnecessary emotion in sympathizing with them. You will find +it much better for you that I don't. I deal with them on a general rule, +made, I assure you, not without a great deal of thought." + +"And must it always be so?" I said. "Is there no way of ameliorating or +bringing in a better state of things?" + +"It seems not," he said; "we don't get 'no forrarder' in that +direction so far as I can see." And then he turned the conversation to +general matters. + +I retired to my room greatly discouraged that night. In former ages--or +so one is led to suppose--and in the lower primitive classes who still +linger near the primeval type, action of any kind was, and is, easier +than amid the complication of our higher civilization. A bad man is a +distinct entity, against whom you know more or less what steps to take. A +tyrant, an oppressor, a bad landlord, a man who lets miserable tenements +at a rack-rent (to come down to particulars), and exposes his wretched +tenants to all those abominations of which we have heard so much--well! +he is more or less a satisfactory opponent. There he is, and there is +nothing to be said for him--down with him! and let there be an end of his +wickedness. But when, on the contrary, you have before you a good man, a +just man, who has considered deeply a question which you allow to be full +of difficulty; who regrets, but cannot, being human, avert the miseries +which to some unhappy individuals follow from the very wisdom of his +rule,--what can you do? What is to be done? Individual benevolence at +haphazard may balk him here and there, but what have you to put in the +place of his well-considered scheme? Charity which makes paupers? or what +else? I had not considered the question deeply, but it seemed to me that +I now came to a blank wall, which my vague human sentiment of pity and +scorn could find no way to breach. There must be wrong somewhere, but +where? There must be some change for the better to be made, but how? + +I was seated with a book before me on the table, with my head supported +on my hands. My eyes were on the printed page, but I was not reading; my +mind was full of these thoughts, my heart of great discouragement and +despondency,--a sense that I could do nothing, yet that there surely must +and ought, if I but knew it, be something to do. The fire which Morphew +had built up before dinner was dying out, the shaded lamp on my table +left all the corners in a mysterious twilight. The house was perfectly +still, no one moving: my father in the library, where, after the habit of +many solitary years, he liked to be left alone, and I here in my retreat, +preparing for the formation of similar habits. I thought all at once of +the third member of the party, the new-comer, alone too in the room that +had been hers; and there suddenly occurred to me a strong desire to take +up my lamp and go to the drawing-room and visit her, to see whether her +soft, angelic face would give any inspiration. I restrained, however, +this futile impulse,--for what could the picture say?--and instead +wondered what might have been had she lived, had she been there, warmly +enthroned beside the warm domestic centre, the hearth which would have +been a common sanctuary, the true home. In that case what might have +been? Alas! the question was no more simple to answer than the other: she +might have been there alone too, her husband's business, her son's +thoughts, as far from her as now, when her silent representative held her +old place in the silence and darkness. I had known it so, often enough. +Love itself does not always give comprehension and sympathy. It might be +that she was more to us there, in the sweet image of her undeveloped +beauty, than she might have been had she lived and grown to maturity and +fading, like the rest. + +I cannot be certain whether my mind was still lingering on this not very +cheerful reflection, or if it had been left behind, when the strange +occurrence came of which I have now to tell. Can I call it an occurrence? +My eyes were on my book, when I thought I heard the sound of a door +opening and shutting, but so far away and faint that if real at all it +must have been in a far corner of the house. I did not move except to +lift my eyes from the book as one does instinctively the better to +listen; when--But I cannot tell, nor have I ever been able to describe +exactly what it was. My heart made all at once a sudden leap in my +breast. I am aware that this language is figurative, and that the heart +cannot leap; but it is a figure so entirely justified by sensation, that +no one will have any difficulty in understanding what I mean. My heart +leaped up and began beating wildly in my throat, in my ears, as if my +whole being had received a sudden and intolerable shock. The sound went +through my head like the dizzy sound of some strange mechanism, a +thousand wheels and springs circling, echoing, working in my brain. I +felt the blood bound in my veins, my mouth became dry, my eyes hot; a +sense of something insupportable took possession of me. I sprang to my +feet, and then I sat down again. I cast a quick glance round me beyond +the brief circle of the lamplight, but there was nothing there to +account in any way for this sudden extraordinary rush of sensation, nor +could I feel any meaning in it, any suggestion, any moral impression. I +thought I must be going to be ill, and got out my watch and felt my +pulse: it was beating furiously, about one hundred and twenty-five throbs +in a minute. I knew of no illness that could come on like this without +warning, in a moment, and I tried to subdue myself, to say to myself that +it was nothing, some flutter of the nerves, some physical disturbance. I +laid myself down upon my sofa to try if rest would help me, and kept +still, as long as the thumping and throbbing of this wild, excited +mechanism within, like a wild beast plunging and struggling, would let +me. I am quite aware of the confusion of the metaphor; the reality was +just so. It was like a mechanism deranged, going wildly with +ever-increasing precipitation, like those horrible wheels that from time +to time catch a helpless human being in them and tear him to pieces; but +at the same time it was like a maddened living creature making the +wildest efforts to get free. + +When I could bear this no longer I got up and walked about my room; then +having still a certain command of myself, though I could not master the +commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the +shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and +tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung +the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I +should be moved to do,--to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what; +or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving +lunatic,--I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don't know +what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement, +as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight, +there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet, +the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my +hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been +faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more +anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I +passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any +volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my +father's library with my lamp in my hand. + +He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished +to see me hurrying in with my light. "Phil!" he said, surprised. I +remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down +the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. "What is the +matter?" he cried. "Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?" + +I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild +commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my +heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to +express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him, +confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone +through, and its sudden cessation. "The matter?" I cried; "I don't +know what is the matter." + +My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me +as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in +them,--his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his +looks were severe. "You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you +ought to know better," he said. + +Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had +happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I, now +that it was over, understand myself; but he saw enough to make him aware +that the disturbance in me was serious, and not caused by any folly of my +own. He was very kind as soon as he had assured himself of this, and +talked, taking pains to bring me back to unexciting subjects. He had a +letter in his hand with a very deep border of black when I came in. I +observed it, without taking any notice or associating it with anything I +knew. He had many correspondents; and although we were excellent friends, +we had never been on those confidential terms which warrant one man in +asking another from whom a special letter has come. We were not so near +to each other as this, though we were father and son. After a while I +went back to my own room, and finished the evening in my usual way, +without any return of the excitement which, now that it was over, looked +to me like some extraordinary dream. What had it meant? Had it meant +anything? I said to myself that it must be purely physical, something +gone temporarily amiss, which had righted itself. It was physical; the +excitement did not affect my mind. I was independent of it all the time, +a spectator of my own agitation, a clear proof that, whatever it was, it +had affected my bodily organization alone. + +Next day I returned to the problem which I had not been able to solve. I +found out my petitioner in the back street, and that she was happy in the +recovery of her possessions, which to my eyes indeed did not seem very +worthy either of lamentation or delight. Nor was her house the tidy house +which injured virtue should have when restored to its humble rights. She +was not injured virtue, it was clear. She made me a great many curtseys, +and poured forth a number of blessings. Her "man" came in while I was +there, and hoped in a gruff voice that God would reward me, and that the +old gentleman'd let 'em alone. I did not like the look of the man. It +seemed to me that in the dark lane behind the house of a winter's night +he would not be a pleasant person to find in one's way. Nor was this all: +when I went out into the little street which it appeared was all, or +almost all, my father's property, a number of groups formed in my way, +and at least half-a-dozen applicants sidled up. "I've more claims nor +Mary Jordan any day," said one; "I've lived on Squire Canning's property, +one place and another, this twenty year." "And what do you say to me?" +said another; "I've six children to her two, bless you, sir, and ne'er a +father to do for them." I believed in my father's rule before I got out +of the street, and approved his wisdom in keeping himself free from +personal contact with his tenants. Yet when I looked back upon the +swarming thoroughfare, the mean little houses, the women at their doors +all so open-mouthed and eager to contend for my favor, my heart sank +within me at the thought that out of their misery some portion of our +wealth came, I don't care how small a portion; that I, young and strong, +should be kept idle and in luxury, in some part through the money screwed +out of their necessities, obtained sometimes by the sacrifice of +everything they prized! Of course I know all the ordinary commonplaces of +life as well as any one,--that if you build a house with your hand or +your money, and let it, the rent of it is your just due; and must be +paid. But yet-- + +"Don't you think, sir," I said that evening at dinner, the subject being +reintroduced by my father himself, "that we have some duty towards them +when we draw so much from them?" + +"Certainly," he said; "I take as much trouble about their drains as I do +about my own." + +"That is always something, I suppose." + +"Something! it is a great deal; it is more than they get anywhere else. I +keep them clean, as far as that's possible. I give them at least the +means of keeping clean, and thus check disease, and prolong life, which +is more, I assure you, than they've any right to expect." + +I was not prepared with arguments as I ought to have been. That is all in +the Gospel according to Adam Smith, which my father had been brought up +in, but of which the tenets had begun to be less binding in my day. I +wanted something more, or else something less; but my views were not so +clear, nor my system so logical and well-built, as that upon which my +father rested his conscience, and drew his percentage with a light heart. + +Yet I thought there were signs in him of some perturbation. I met him one +morning coming out of the room in which the portrait hung, as if he had +gone to look at it stealthily. He was shaking his head, and saying "No, +no," to himself, not perceiving me, and I stepped aside when I saw him so +absorbed. For myself, I entered that room but little. I went outside, as +I had so often done when I was a child, and looked through the windows +into the still and now sacred place, which had always impressed me with +a certain awe. Looked at so, the slight figure in its white dress seemed +to be stepping down into the room from some slight visionary altitude, +looking with that which had seemed to me at first anxiety, which I +sometimes represented to myself now as a wistful curiosity, as if she +were looking for the life which might have been hers. Where was the +existence that had belonged to her, the sweet household place, the infant +she had left? She would no more recognize the man who thus came to look +at her as through a veil, with a mystic reverence, than I could recognize +her. I could never be her child to her, any more than she could be a +mother to me. + + * * * * * + +Thus time passed on for several quiet days. There was nothing to make us +give any special heed to the passage of time, life being very uneventful +and its habits unvaried. My mind was very much preoccupied by my father's +tenants. He had a great deal of property in the town which was so near +us,--streets of small houses, the best-paying property (I was assured) of +any. I was very anxious to come to some settled conclusion: on the one +hand, not to let myself be carried away by sentiment; on the other, not +to allow my strongly roused feelings to fall into the blank of routine, +as his had done. I was seated one evening in my own sitting-room, busy +with this matter,--busy with calculations as to cost and profit, with an +anxious desire to convince him, either that his profits were greater than +justice allowed, or that they carried with them a more urgent duty than +he had conceived. + +It was night, but not late, not more than ten o'clock, the household +still astir. Everything was quiet,--not the solemnity of midnight +silence, in which there is always something of mystery, but the +soft-breathing quiet of the evening, full of the faint habitual sounds of +a human dwelling, a consciousness of life about. And I was very busy with +my figures, interested, feeling no room in my mind for any other thought. +The singular experience which had startled me so much had passed over +very quickly, and there had been no return. I had ceased to think of it; +indeed, I had never thought of it save for the moment, setting it down +after it was over to a physical cause without much difficulty. At this +time I was far too busy to have thoughts to spare for anything, or room +for imagination; and when suddenly in a moment, without any warning, the +first symptom returned, I started with it into determined resistance, +resolute not to be fooled by any mock influence which could resolve +itself into the action of nerves or ganglions. The first symptom; as +before, was that my heart sprang up with a bound, as if a cannon had been +fired at my ear. My whole being responded with a start. The pen fell out +of my fingers, the figures went out of my head as if all faculty had +departed; and yet I was conscious for a time at least of keeping my +self-control. I was like the rider of a frightened horse, rendered almost +wild by something which in the mystery of its voiceless being it has +seen, something on the road which it will not pass, but wildly plunging, +resisting every persuasion, turns from, with ever-increasing passion. The +rider himself after a time becomes infected with this inexplainable +desperation of terror, and I suppose I must have done so; but for a time +I kept the upper hand. I would not allow myself to spring up as I wished, +as my impulse was, but sat there doggedly, clinging to my books, to my +table, fixing myself on I did not mind what, to resist the flood of +sensation, of emotion, which was sweeping through me, carrying me away. I +tried to continue my calculations. I tried to stir myself up with +recollections of the miserable sights I had seen, the poverty, the +helplessness. I tried to work myself into indignation; but all through +these efforts I felt the contagion growing upon me, my mind falling into +sympathy with all those straining faculties of the body, startled, +excited, driven wild by something, I knew not what. It was not fear. I +was like a ship at sea straining and plunging against wind and tide, but +I was not afraid. I am obliged to use these metaphors, otherwise I could +give no explanation of my condition, seized upon against my will, and +torn from all those moorings of reason to which I clung with desperation, +as long as I had the strength. + +When I got up from my chair at last, the battle was lost, so far as my +powers of self-control were concerned. I got up, or rather was dragged +up, from my seat, clutching at these material things round me as with a +last effort to hold my own. But that was no longer possible; I was +overcome. I stood for a moment looking round me feebly, feeling myself +begin to babble with stammering lips, which was the alternative of +shrieking, and which I seemed to choose as a lesser evil. What I said +was, "What am I to do?" and after a while, "What do you want me to do?" +although throughout I saw no one, heard no voice, and had in reality not +power enough in my dizzy and confused brain to know what I myself meant. +I stood thus for a moment, looking blankly round me for guidance, +repeating the question, which seemed after a time to become almost +mechanical, "What do you want me to do?" though I neither knew to whom I +addressed it nor why I said it. Presently--whether in answer, whether in +mere yielding of nature, I cannot tell--I became aware of a difference: +not a lessening of the agitation, but a softening, as if my powers of +resistance being exhausted, a gentler force, a more benignant influence, +had room. I felt myself consent to whatever it was. My heart melted in +the midst of the tumult; I seemed to give myself up, and move as if drawn +by some one whose arm was in mine, as if softly swept along, not +forcibly, but with an utter consent of all my faculties to do I knew not +what, for love of I knew not whom. For love,--that was how it +seemed,--not by force, as when I went before. But my steps took the same +course: I went through the dim passages in an exaltation indescribable, +and opened the door of my father's room. + +He was seated there at his table as usual, the light of the lamp falling +on his white hair; he looked up with some surprise at the sound of the +opening door. "Phil," he said, and with a look of wondering apprehension +on his face, watched my approach. I went straight up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. "Phil, what is the matter? What do you want with +me? What is it?" he said. + +"Father, I can't tell you. I come not of myself. There must be something +in it, though I don't know what it is. This is the second time I have +been brought to you here." + +"Are you going--?" He stopped himself. The exclamation had been begun +with an angry intention. He stopped, looking at me with a scared look, as +if perhaps it might be true. + +"Do you mean mad? I don't think so. I have no delusions that I know of. +Father, think--do you know any reason why I am brought here? for some +cause there must be." + +I stood with my hand upon the back of his chair. His table was covered +with papers, among which were several letters with the broad black border +which I had before observed. I noticed this now in my excitement without +any distinct association of thoughts, for that I was not capable of; but +the black border caught my eye. And I was conscious that he too gave a +hurried glance at them, and with one hand swept them away. + +"Philip," he said, pushing back his chair, "you must be ill, my poor boy. +Evidently we have not been treating you rightly; you have been more ill +all through than I supposed. Let me persuade you to go to bed." + +"I am perfectly well," I said. "Father, don't let us deceive one another. +I am neither a man to go mad nor to see ghosts. What it is that has got +the command over me I can't tell; but there is some cause for it. You are +doing something or planning something with which I have a right to +interfere." + +He turned round squarely in his chair, with a spark in his blue eyes. +He was not a man to be meddled with. "I have yet to learn what can +give my son a right to interfere. I am in possession of all my +faculties, I hope." + +"Father," I cried, "won't you listen to me? No one can say I have been +undutiful or disrespectful. I am a man, with a right to speak my mind, +and I have done so; but this is different. I am not here by my own will. +Something that is stronger than I has brought me. There is something in +your mind which disturbs--others. I don't know what I am saying. This is +not what I meant to say; but you know the meaning better than I. Some +one--who can speak to you only by me--speaks to you by me; and I know +that you understand." + +He gazed up at me, growing pale, and his underlip fell. I, for my part, +felt that my message was delivered. My heart sank into a stillness so +sudden that it made me faint. The light swam in my eyes; everything went +round with me. I kept upright only by my hold upon the chair; and in the +sense of utter weakness that followed, I dropped on my knees I think +first, then on the nearest seat that presented itself, and, covering my +face with my hands, had hard ado not to sob, in the sudden removal of +that strange influence,--the relaxation of the strain. + +There was silence between us for some time; then he said, but with a +voice slightly broken, "I don't understand you, Phil. You must have +taken some fancy into your mind which my slower intelligence--Speak out +what you want to say. What do you find fault with? Is it all--all that +woman Jordan?" + +He gave a short, forced laugh as he broke off, and shook me +almost roughly by the shoulder, saying, "Speak out! what--what do +you want to say?" + +"It seems, sir, that I have said everything." My voice trembled more than +his, but not in the same way. "I have told you that I did not come by my +own will,--quite otherwise. I resisted as long as I could: now all is +said. It is for you to judge whether it was worth the trouble or not." + +He got up from his seat in a hurried way. "You would have me as--mad as +yourself," he said, then sat down again as quickly. "Come, Phil: if it +will please you, not to make a breach,--the first breach between us,--you +shall have your way. I consent to your looking into that matter about the +poor tenants. Your mind shall not be upset about that, even though I +don't enter into all your views." + +"Thank you," I said; "but, father, that is not what it is." + +"Then it is a piece of folly," he said angrily. "I suppose you mean--but +this is a matter in which I choose to judge for myself." + +"You know what I mean," I said, as quietly as I could, "though I don't +myself know; that proves there is good reason for it. Will you do one +thing for me before I leave you? Come with me into the drawing-room--" + +"What end," he said, with again the tremble in his voice, "is to be +served by that?" + +"I don't very well know; but to look at her, you and I together, will +always do something for us, sir. As for breach, there can be no breach +when we stand there." + +He got up, trembling like an old man, which he was, but which he never +looked like save at moments of emotion like this, and told me to take the +light; then stopped when he had got half-way across the room. "This is a +piece of theatrical sentimentality," he said. "No, Phil, I will not go. I +will not bring her into any such--Put down the lamp, and, if you will +take my advice, go to bed." + +"At least," I said, "I will trouble you no more, father, to-night. So +long as you understand, there need be no more to say." + +He gave me a very curt "good-night," and turned back to his papers,--the +letters with the black edge, either by my imagination or in reality, +always keeping uppermost. I went to my own room for my lamp, and then +alone proceeded to the silent shrine in which the portrait hung. I at +least would look at her to-night. I don't know whether I asked myself, +in so many words, if it were she who--or if it was any one--I knew +nothing; but my heart was drawn with a softness--born, perhaps, of the +great weakness in which I was left after that visitation--to her, to look +at her, to see, perhaps, if there was any sympathy, any approval in her +face. I set down my lamp on the table where her little work-basket still +was; the light threw a gleam upward upon her,--she seemed more than ever +to be stepping into the room, coming down towards me, coming back to her +life. Ah, no! her life was lost and vanished: all mine stood between her +and the days she knew. She looked at me with eyes that did not change. +The anxiety I had seen at first seemed now a wistful, subdued question; +but that difference was not in her look but in mine. + + * * * * * + +I need not linger on the intervening time. The doctor who attended us +usually, came in next day "by accident," and we had a long conversation. +On the following day a very impressive yet genial gentleman from town +lunched with us,--a friend of my father's, Dr. Something; but the +introduction was hurried, and I did not catch his name. He, too, had a +long talk with me afterwards, my father being called away to speak to +some one on business. Dr.---- drew me out on the subject of the dwellings +of the poor. He said he heard I took great interest in this question, +which had come so much to the front at the present moment. He was +interested in it too, and wanted to know the view I took. I explained at +considerable length that my view did not concern the general subject, on +which I had scarcely thought, so much as the individual mode of +management of my father's estate. He was a most patient and intelligent +listener, agreeing with me on some points, differing in others; and his +visit was very pleasant. I had no idea until after of its special object; +though a certain puzzled look and slight shake of the head when my father +returned, might have thrown some light upon it. The report of the medical +experts in my case must, however, have been quite satisfactory, for I +heard nothing more of them. It was, I think, a fortnight later when the +next and last of these strange experiences came. + +This time it was morning, about noon,--a wet and rather dismal spring +day. The half-spread leaves seemed to tap at the window, with an appeal +to be taken in; the primroses, that showed golden upon the grass at the +roots of the trees, just beyond the smooth-shorn grass of the lawn, were +all drooped and sodden among their sheltering leaves. The very growth +seemed dreary--the sense of spring in the air making the feeling of +winter a grievance, instead of the natural effect which it had conveyed a +few months before. I had been writing letters, and was cheerful enough, +going back among the associates of my old life, with, perhaps, a little +longing for its freedom and independence, but at the same time a not +ungrateful consciousness that for the moment my present tranquillity +might be best. + +This was my condition--a not unpleasant one--when suddenly the now +well-known symptoms of the visitation to which I had become subject +suddenly seized upon me,--the leap of the heart; the sudden, causeless, +overwhelming physical excitement, which I could neither ignore nor allay. +I was terrified beyond description, beyond reason, when I became +conscious that this was about to begin over again: what purpose did it +answer; what good was in it? My father indeed understood the meaning of +it though I did not understand; but it was little agreeable to be thus +made a helpless instrument, without any will of mine, in an operation of +which I knew nothing; and to enact the part of the oracle unwillingly, +with suffering and such a strain as it took me days to get over. I +resisted, not as before, but yet desperately, trying with better +knowledge to keep down the growing passion. I hurried to my room and +swallowed a dose of a sedative which had been given me to procure sleep +on my first return from India. I saw Morphew in the hall, and called him +to talk to him, and cheat myself, if possible, by that means. Morphew +lingered, however, and, before he came, I was beyond conversation. I +heard him speak, his voice coming vaguely through the turmoil which was +already in my ears, but what he said I have never known. I stood staring, +trying to recover my power of attention, with an aspect which ended by +completely frightening the man. He cried out at last that he was sure I +was ill, that he must bring me something; which words penetrated more or +less into my maddened brain. It became impressed upon me that he was +going to get some one--one of my father's doctors, perhaps--to prevent +me from acting, to stop my interference, and that if I waited a moment +longer I might be too late. A vague idea seized me at the same time, of +taking refuge with the portrait,--going to its feet, throwing myself +there, perhaps, till the paroxysm should be over. But it was not there +that my footsteps were directed. I can remember making an effort to open +the door of the drawing-room, and feeling myself swept past it, as if by +a gale of wind. It was not there that I had to go. I knew very well where +I had to go,--once more on my confused and voiceless mission to my +father, who understood, although I could not understand. + +Yet as it was daylight, and all was clear, I could not help noting one or +two circumstances on my way. I saw some one sitting in the hall as if +waiting,--a woman, a girl, a black-shrouded figure, with a thick veil +over her face; and asked myself who she was, and what she wanted there. +This question, which had nothing to do with my present condition, somehow +got into my mind, and was tossed up and down upon the tumultuous tide +like a stray log on the breast of a fiercely rolling stream, now +submerged, now coming uppermost, at the mercy of the waters. It did not +stop me for a moment, as I hurried towards my father's room, but it got +upon the current of my mind. I flung open my father's door, and closed it +again after me, without seeing who was there or how he was engaged. The +full clearness of the daylight did not identify him as the lamp did at +night. He looked up at the sound of the door, with a glance of +apprehension; and rising suddenly, interrupting some one who was standing +speaking to him with much earnestness and even vehemence, came forward to +meet me. "I cannot be disturbed at present," he said quickly; "I am +busy." Then seeing the look in my face, which by this time he knew, he +too changed color. "Phil," he said, in a low, imperative voice, "wretched +boy, go away--go away; don't let a stranger see you--" + +"I can't go away," I said. "It is impossible. You know why I have come. I +cannot, if I would. It is more powerful than I--" + +"Go, sir," he said; "go at once; no more of this folly. I will not have +you in this room: Go-go!" + +I made no answer. I don't know that I could have done so. There had +never been any struggle between us before; but I had no power to do +one thing or another. The tumult within me was in full career. I heard +indeed what he said, and was able to reply; but his words, too, were +like straws tossed upon the tremendous stream. I saw now with my +feverish eyes who the other person present was. It was a woman, dressed +also in mourning similar to the one in the hall; but this a middle-aged +woman, like a respectable servant. She had been crying, and in the +pause caused by this encounter between my father and myself, dried her +eyes with a handkerchief, which she rolled like a ball in her hand, +evidently in strong emotion. She turned and looked at me as my father +spoke to me, for a moment with a gleam of hope, then falling back into +her former attitude. + +My father returned to his seat. He was much agitated too, though doing +all that was possible to conceal it. My inopportune arrival was evidently +a great and unlooked-for vexation to him. He gave me the only look of +passionate displeasure I have ever had from him, as he sat down again; +but he said nothing more. + +"You must understand," he said, addressing the woman, "that I have said +my last words on this subject. I don't choose to enter into it again in +the presence of my son, who is not well enough to be made a party to any +discussion. I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble in vain, +but you were warned beforehand, and you have only yourself to blame. I +acknowledge no claim, and nothing you can say will change my resolution. +I must beg you to go away. All this is very painful and quite useless. I +acknowledge no claim." + +"Oh, sir," she cried, her eyes beginning once more to flow, her speech +interrupted by little sobs. "Maybe I did wrong to speak of a claim. I'm +not educated to argue with a gentleman. Maybe we have no claim. But if +it's not by right, oh, Mr. Canning, won't you let your heart be touched +by pity? She don't know what I'm saying, poor dear. She's not one to beg +and pray for herself, as I'm doing for her. Oh, sir, she's so young! +She's so lone in this world,--not a friend to stand by her, nor a house +to take her in! You are the nearest to her of any one that's left in this +world. She hasn't a relation,--not one so near as you,--oh!" she cried, +with a sudden thought, turning quickly round upon me, "this gentleman's +your son! Now I think of it, it's not your relation she is, but his, +through his mother! That's nearer, nearer! Oh, sir! you're young; your +heart should be more tender. Here is my young lady that has no one in the +world to look to her. Your own flesh and blood; your mother's +cousin,--your mother's--" + +My father called to her to stop, with a voice of thunder. "Philip, leave +us at once. It is not a matter to be discussed with you." + +And then in a moment it became clear to me what it was. It had been with +difficulty that I had kept myself still. My breast was laboring with the +fever of an impulse poured into me, more than I could contain. And now +for the first time I knew why. I hurried towards him, and took his hand, +though he resisted, into mine. Mine were burning, but his like ice: their +touch burnt me with its chill, like fire. "This is what it is?" I cried. +"I had no knowledge before. I don't know now what is being asked of you. +But, father, understand! You know, and I know now, that some one sends +me,--some one--who has a right to interfere." + +He pushed me away with all his might. "You are mad," he cried. "What +right have you to think--? Oh, you are mad--mad! I have seen it +coming on--" + +The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict +with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between +men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not +take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to +go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst +from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my +withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and +easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large +and vague through the mist of fever. "I am not going away," I said. "I am +going for another messenger,--one you can't gainsay." + +My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, "I will have nothing +touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned--" + +I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was +conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no +one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the +hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and +touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of +alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the +summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at +her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small, +cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,--not +cold,--it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and +spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications +of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection, +without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a +little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet +terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned +with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was +entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms +above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the +last outcry of nature,--"Agnes!" then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon +himself, into his chair. + +I had no leisure to think how he was, or whether he could hear what I +said. I had my message to deliver. "Father," I said, laboring with my +panting breath, "it is for this that heaven has opened, and one whom I +never saw, one whom I know not, has taken possession of me. Had we been +less earthly, we should have seen her--herself, and not merely her image. +I have not even known what she meant. I have been as a fool without +understanding. This is the third time I have come to you with her +message, without knowing what to say. But now I have found it out. This +is her message. I have found it out at last." There was an awful +pause,--a pause in which no one moved or breathed. Then there came a +broken voice out of my father's chair. He had not understood, though I +think he heard what I said. He put out two feeble hands. "Phil--I think I +am dying--has she--has she come for me?" he said. + +We had to carry him to his bed. What struggles he had gone through before +I cannot tell. He had stood fast, and had refused to be moved, and now he +fell,--like an old tower, like an old tree. The necessity there was for +thinking of him saved me from the physical consequences which had +prostrated me on a former occasion. I had no leisure now for any +consciousness of how matters went with myself. + +His delusion was not wonderful, but most natural. She was clothed in +black from head to foot, instead of the white dress of the portrait. She +had no knowledge of the conflict, of nothing but that she was called for, +that her fate might depend on the next few minutes. In her eyes there was +a pathetic question, a line of anxiety in the lids, an innocent appeal in +the looks. And the face the same: the same lips, sensitive, ready to +quiver; the same innocent, candid brow; the look of a common race, which +is more subtle than mere resemblance. How I knew that it was so I cannot +tell, nor any man. It was the other, the elder,--ah, no! not elder; the +ever young, the Agnes to whom age can never come, she who they say was +the mother of a man who never saw her,--it was she who led her kinswoman, +her representative, into our hearts. + + * * * * * + +My father recovered after a few days: he had taken cold, it was said, the +day before; and naturally, at seventy, a small matter is enough to upset +the balance even of a strong man. He got quite well; but he was willing +enough afterwards to leave the management of that ticklish kind of +property which involves human well-being in my hands, who could move +about more freely, and see with my own eyes how things were going on. He +liked home better, and had more pleasure in his personal existence in the +end of his life. Agnes is now my wife, as he had, of course, foreseen. It +was not merely the disinclination to receive her father's daughter, or to +take upon him a new responsibility, that had moved him, to do him +justice; but both these motives had told strongly. I have never been +told, and now will never be told, what his griefs against my mother's +family, and specially against that cousin, had been; but that he had been +very determined, deeply prejudiced, there can be no doubt. It turned out +after, that the first occasion on which I had been mysteriously +commissioned to him with a message which I did not understand, and which +for that time he did not understand, was the evening of the day on which +he had received the dead man's letter, appealing to him--to him, a man +whom he had wronged--on behalf of the child who was about to be left +friendless in the world. The second time, further letters--from the nurse +who was the only guardian of the orphan, and the chaplain of the place +where her father had died, taking it for granted that my father's house +was her natural refuge--had been received. The third I have already +described, and its results. + +For a long time after, my mind was never without a lurking fear that the +influence which had once taken possession of me might return again. Why +should I have feared to be influenced, to be the messenger of a blessed +creature, whose wishes could be nothing but heavenly? Who can say? Flesh +and blood is not made for such encounters: they were more than I could +bear. But nothing of the kind has ever occurred again. + +Agnes had her peaceful domestic throne established under the picture. +My father wished it to be so, and spent his evenings there in the +warmth and light, instead of in the old library,--in the narrow circle +cleared by our lamp out of the darkness, as long as he lived. It is +supposed by strangers that the picture on the wall is that of my wife; +and I have always been glad that it should be so supposed. She who was +my mother, who came back to me and became as my soul for three strange +moments and no more, but with whom I can feel no credible relationship +as she stands there, has retired for me into the tender regions of the +unseen. She has passed once more into the secret company of those +shadows, who can only become real in an atmosphere fitted to modify and +harmonize all differences, and make all wonders possible,--the light of +the perfect day. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door, and the Portrait. +by Margaret O. 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Wilson Oliphant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: The Open Door and The Portrait + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen + +Author: Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + +Release Date: November 11, 2003 [EBook #10052] +Posting Date: May 8, 2017 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN DOOR AND THE PORTRAIT *** + + + + + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="311" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td><a href="#I"><b>I, The Open Door</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#II"><b>II, The Portrait</b></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<h1>THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT</h1> + +<p class="cb">Stories of the Seen and the Unseen<br /> +<br /> +By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant<br /> +<br /> +1881</p> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I<br /><br /> +THE OPEN DOOR.</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">I took</span> the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18—, for the +temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent +home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly +appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose +education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to +school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home +altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these +expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended +itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway +between. “Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School +every morning; it will do him all the good in the world,” Dr. Simson +said; “and when it is bad weather, there is the train.” His mother +accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have +hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more +invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the +North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of +the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to +acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his +schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in +these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there +had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either +my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one +left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply +sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to +school,—to combine the advantages of the two systems,—seemed to be +everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood +everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have +masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that +never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays. +Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should +like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more +than twenty-five,—an age at which I see the young fellows now groping +about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives. +However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which +elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it.</p> + +<p>Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country—one of the +richest in Scotland—which lies between the Pentland Hills and the +Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam—like a bent bow, +embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses—of the great estuary +on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like +those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of +the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to +a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. +Edinburgh—with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill, +its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur’s Seat lying +crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his +repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to +take care of itself without him—lay at our right hand. From the lawn +and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. +The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated +and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color +and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and +blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose.</p> + +<p>The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of +the deep little ravine, down which a stream—which ought to have been a +lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river—flowed between its rocks and +trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its +earlier life been sacrificed to trade, and was grimy with paper-making. +But this did not affect our pleasure in it so much as I have known it to +affect other streams. Perhaps our water was more rapid; perhaps less +clogged with dirt and refuse. Our side of the dell was charmingly +<i>accidenté</i>, and clothed with fine trees, through which various paths +wound down to the river-side and to the village bridge which crossed the +stream. The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic +houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in +Scotland. The blue slates and the gray stone are sworn foes to the +picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior +of an old-fashioned hewed and galleried church, with its little family +settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire +like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. +Still a cluster of houses on differing elevations, with scraps of garden +coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening +of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the +slow wagon lumbering along, gives a centre to the landscape. It was +cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. Within ourselves +we had walks in plenty, the glen being always beautiful in all its +phases, whether the woods were green in the spring or ruddy in the +autumn. In the park which surrounded the house were the ruins of the +former mansion of Brentwood,—a much smaller and less important house +than the solid Georgian edifice which we inhabited. The ruins were +picturesque, however, and gave importance to the place. Even we, who were +but temporary tenants, felt a vague pride in them, as if they somehow +reflected a certain consequence upon ourselves. The old building had the +remains of a tower,—an indistinguishable mass of mason-work, +over-grown with ivy; and the shells of walls attached to this were half +filled up with soil. I had never examined it closely, I am ashamed to +say. There was a large room, or what had been a large room, with the +lower part of the windows still existing, on the principal floor, and +underneath other windows, which were perfect, though half filled up with +fallen soil, and waving with a wild growth of brambles and chance growths +of all kinds. This was the oldest part of all. At a little distance were +some very commonplace and disjointed fragments of building, one of them +suggesting a certain pathos by its very commonness and the complete wreck +which it showed. This was the end of a low gable, a bit of gray wall, all +incrusted with lichens, in which was a common door-way. Probably it had +been a servants’ entrance, a backdoor, or opening into what are called +“the offices” in Scotland. No offices remained to be entered,—pantry and +kitchen had all been swept out of being; but there stood the door-way +open and vacant, free to all the winds, to the rabbits, and every wild +creature. It struck my eye, the first time I went to Brentwood, like a +melancholy comment upon a life that was over. A door that led to +nothing,—closed once, perhaps, with anxious care, bolted and guarded, +now void of any meaning. It impressed me, I remember, from the first; so +perhaps it may be said that my mind was prepared to attach to it an +importance which nothing justified.</p> + +<p>The summer was a very happy period of repose for us all. The warmth of +Indian suns was still in our veins. It seemed to us that we could never +have enough of the greenness, the dewiness, the freshness of the northern +landscape. Even its mists were pleasant to us, taking all the fever out +of us, and pouring in vigor and refreshment. In autumn we followed the +fashion of the time, and went away for change which we did not in the +least require. It was when the family had settled down for the winter, +when the days were short and dark, and the rigorous reign of frost upon +us, that the incidents occurred which alone could justify me in intruding +upon the world my private affairs. These incidents were, however, of so +curious a character, that I hope my inevitable references to my own +family and pressing personal interests will meet with a general pardon.</p> + +<p>I was absent in London when these events began. In London an old Indian +plunges back into the interests with which all his previous life has been +associated, and meets old friends at every step. I had been circulating +among some half-dozen of these,—enjoying the return to my former life in +shadow, though I had been so thankful in substance to throw it +aside,—and had missed some of my home letters, what with going down from +Friday to Monday to old Benbow’s place in the country, and stopping on +the way back to dine and sleep at Sellar’s and to take a look into +Cross’s stables, which occupied another day. It is never safe to miss +one’s letters. In this transitory life, as the Prayer-book says, how can +one ever be certain what is going to happen? All was well at home. I knew +exactly (I thought) what they would have to say to me: “The weather has +been so fine, that Roland has not once gone by train, and he enjoys the +ride beyond anything.” “Dear papa, be sure that you don’t forget +anything, but bring us so-and-so, and so-and-so,”—a list as long as my +arm. Dear girls and dearer mother! I would not for the world have +forgotten their commissions, or lost their little letters, for all the +Benbows and Crosses in the world.</p> + +<p>But I was confident in my home-comfort and peacefulness. When I got back +to my club, however, three or four letters were lying for one, upon some +of which I noticed the “immediate,” “urgent,” which old-fashioned people +and anxious people still believe will influence the post-office and +quicken the speed of the mails. I was about to open one of these, when +the club porter brought me two telegrams, one of which, he said, had +arrived the night before. I opened, as was to be expected, the last +first, and this was what I read: “Why don’t you come or answer? For God’s +sake, come. He is much worse.” This was a thunderbolt to fall upon a +man’s head who had one only son, and he the light of his eyes! The other +telegram, which I opened with hands trembling so much that I lost time by +my haste, was to much the same purport: “No better; doctor afraid of +brain-fever. Calls for you day and night. Let nothing detain you.” The +first thing I did was to look up the time-tables to see if there was any +way of getting off sooner than by the night-train, though I knew well +enough there was not; and then I read the letters, which furnished, alas! +too clearly, all the details. They told me that the boy had been pale for +some time, with a scared look. His mother had noticed it before I left +home, but would not say anything to alarm me. This look had increased day +by day: and soon it was observed that Roland came home at a wild gallop +through the park, his pony panting and in foam, himself “as white as a +sheet,” but with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. For a long +time he had resisted all questioning, but at length had developed such +strange changes of mood, showing a reluctance to go to school, a desire +to be fetched in the carriage at night,—which was a ridiculous piece of +luxury,—an unwillingness to go out into the grounds, and nervous start +at every sound, that his mother had insisted upon an explanation. When +the boy—our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was—began to talk +to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared +to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr. +Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do.</p> + +<p>I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart. +How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot +tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in +anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses +could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early +in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man +in the face, at whom I gasped, “What news?” My wife had sent the +brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign. +His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so +wildly free,—“Just the same.” Just the same! What might that mean? The +horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we +dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the +trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why +had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb +the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home, +I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp +it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in +the world,—when my boy was ill!—to grumble and groan in. But I had no +reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning +along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if +they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale +face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the +wind blew the flame about. “He is sleeping,” she said in a whisper, as if +her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also +in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses’ furniture and the +sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the +steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and +it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the +horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way, +or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwards, +though at the moment I was not capable of anything but to ask questions +and to hear of the condition of the boy.</p> + +<p>I looked at him from the door of his room, for we were afraid to go near, +lest we should disturb that blessed sleep. It looked like actual sleep, +not the lethargy into which my wife told me he would sometimes fall. She +told me everything in the next room, which communicated with his, rising +now and then and going to the door of communication; and in this there +was much that was very startling and confusing to the mind. It appeared +that ever since the winter began—since it was early dark, and night had +fallen before his return from school—he had been hearing voices among +the ruins: at first only a groaning, he said, at which his pony was as +much alarmed as he was, but by degrees a voice. The tears ran down my +wife’s cheeks as she described to me how he would start up in the night +and cry out, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with a +pathos which rent her heart. And she sitting there all the time, only +longing to do everything his heart could desire! But though she would try +to soothe him, crying, “You are at home, my darling. I am here. Don’t you +know me? Your mother is here!” he would only stare at her, and after a +while spring up again with the same cry. At other times he would be quite +reasonable, she said, asking eagerly when I was coming, but declaring +that he must go with me as soon as I did so, “to let them in.” “The +doctor thinks his nervous system must have received a shock,” my wife +said. “Oh, Henry, can it be that we have pushed him on too much with his +work—a delicate boy like Roland? And what is his work in comparison with +his health? Even you would think little of honors or prizes if it hurt +the boy’s health.” Even I!—as if I were an inhuman father sacrificing my +child to my ambition. But I would not increase her trouble by taking any +notice. After awhile they persuaded me to lie down, to rest, and to eat, +none of which things had been possible since I received their letters. +The mere fact of being on the spot, of course, in itself was a great +thing; and when I knew that I could be called in a moment, as soon as he +was awake and wanted me, I felt capable, even in the dark, chill morning +twilight, to snatch an hour or two’s sleep. As it happened, I was so +worn out with the strain of anxiety, and he so quieted and consoled by +knowing I had come, that I was not disturbed till the afternoon, when the +twilight had again settled down. There was just daylight enough to see +his face when I went to him; and what a change in a fortnight! He was +paler and more worn, I thought, than even in those dreadful days in the +plains before we left India. His hair seemed to me to have grown long and +lank; his eyes were like blazing lights projecting out of his white face. +He got hold of my hand in a cold and tremulous clutch, and waved to +everybody to go away. “Go away—even mother,” he said; “go away.” This +went to her heart; for she did not like that even I should have more of +the boy’s confidence than herself; but my wife has never been a woman to +think of herself, and she left us alone. “Are they all gone?” he said +eagerly. “They would not let me speak. The doctor treated me as if I were +a fool. You know I am not a fool, papa.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, my boy, I know. But you are ill, and quiet is so necessary. +You are not only not a fool, Roland, but you are reasonable and +understand. When you are ill you must deny yourself; you must not do +everything that you might do being well.”</p> + +<p>He waved his thin hand with a sort of indignation. “Then, father, I am +not ill,” he cried. “Oh, I thought when you came you would not stop +me,—you would see the sense of it! What do you think is the matter with +me, all of you? Simson is well enough; but he is only a doctor. What do +you think is the matter with me? I am no more ill than you are. A doctor, +of course, he thinks you are ill the moment he looks at you—that’s what +he’s there for—and claps you into bed.”</p> + +<p>“Which is the best place for you at present, my dear boy.”</p> + +<p>“I made up my mind,” cried the little fellow, “that I would stand it till +you came home. I said to myself, I won’t frighten mother and the girls. +But now, father,” he cried, half jumping out of bed, “it’s not illness: +it’s a secret.”</p> + +<p>His eyes shone so wildly, his face was so swept with strong feeling, that +my heart sank within me. It could be nothing but fever that did it, and +fever had been so fatal. I got him into my arms to put him back into +bed. “Roland,” I said, humoring the poor child, which I knew was the +only way, “if you are going to tell me this secret to do any good, you +know you must be quite quiet, and not excite yourself. If you excite +yourself, I must not let you speak.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, father,” said the boy. He was quiet directly, like a man, as if he +quite understood. When I had laid him back on his pillow, he looked up at +me with that grateful, sweet look with which children, when they are ill, +break one’s heart, the water coming into his eyes in his weakness. “I was +sure as soon as you were here you would know what to do,” he said.</p> + +<p>“To be sure, my boy. Now keep quiet, and tell it all out like a man.” To +think I was telling lies to my own child! for I did it only to humor him, +thinking, poor little fellow, his brain was wrong.</p> + +<p>“Yes, father. Father, there is some one in the park—some one that has +been badly used.”</p> + +<p>“Hush, my dear; you remember there is to be no excitement. Well, who +is this somebody, and who has been ill-using him? We will soon put +a stop to that.”</p> + +<p>“All,” cried Roland, “but it is not so easy as you think. I don’t know +who it is. It is just a cry. Oh, if you could hear it! It gets into my +head in my sleep. I heard it as clear—as clear; and they think that I +am dreaming, or raving perhaps,” the boy said, with a sort of +disdainful smile.</p> + +<p>This look of his perplexed me; it was less like fever than I thought. +“Are you quite sure you have not dreamed it, Roland?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Dreamed?—that!” He was springing up again when he suddenly bethought +himself, and lay down flat, with the same sort of smile on his face. “The +pony heard it, too,” he said. “She jumped as if she had been shot. If I +had not grasped at the reins—for I was frightened, father—”</p> + +<p>“No shame to you, my boy,” said I, though I scarcely knew why.</p> + +<p>“If I hadn’t held to her like a leech, she’d have pitched me over her +head, and never drew breath till we were at the door. Did the pony dream +it?” he said, with a soft disdain, yet indulgence for my foolishness. +Then he added slowly, “It was only a cry the first time, and all the +time before you went away. I wouldn’t tell you, for it was so wretched +to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I +went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you +went I heard it really first; and this is what he says.” He raised +himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!’<span class="lftspc">”</span> As he said the words a mist +came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and +changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a +shower of heavy tears.</p> + +<p>Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the +disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I +thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true.</p> + +<p>“This is very touching, Roland,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard +it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she’s given over to +Simson, and that fellow’s a doctor, and never thinks of anything but +clapping you into bed.”</p> + +<p>“We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; “oh, +no; that’s the good of him; that’s what he’s for; I know that. But +you—you are different; you are just father; and you’ll do +something—directly, papa, directly; this very night.”</p> + +<p>“Surely,” I said. “No doubt it is some little lost child.”</p> + +<p>He gave me a sudden, swift look, investigating my face as though to see +whether, after all, this was everything my eminence as “father” came +to,—no more than that. Then he got hold of my shoulder, clutching it +with his thin hand. “Look here,” he said, with a quiver in his voice; +“suppose it wasn’t—living at all!”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy, how then could you have heard it?” I said.</p> + +<p>He turned away from me with a pettish exclamation,—“As if you didn’t +know better than that!”</p> + +<p>“Do you want to tell me it is a ghost?” I said.</p> + +<p>Roland withdrew his hand; his countenance assumed an aspect of great +dignity and gravity; a slight quiver remained about his lips. “Whatever +it was—you always said we were not to call names. It was something—in +trouble. Oh, father, in terrible trouble!”</p> + +<p>“But, my boy,” I said (I was at my wits’ end), “if it was a child +that was lost, or any poor human creature—but, Roland, what do you +want me to do?”</p> + +<p>“I should know if I was you,” said the child eagerly. “That is what I +always said to myself,—Father will know. Oh, papa, papa, to have to +face it night after night, in such terrible, terrible trouble, and never +to be able to do it any good! I don’t want to cry; it’s like a baby, I +know; but what can I do else? Out there all by itself in the ruin, and +nobody to help it! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” cried my generous +boy. And in his weakness he burst out, after many attempts to restrain +it, into a great childish fit of sobbing and tears.</p> + +<p>I do not know that I ever was in a greater perplexity, in my life; and +afterwards, when I thought of it, there was something comic in it too. It +is bad enough to find your child’s mind possessed with the conviction +that he has seen, or heard, a ghost; but that he should require you to go +instantly and help that ghost was the most bewildering experience that +had ever come my way. I am a sober man myself, and not superstitious—at +least any more than everybody is superstitious. Of course I do not +believe in ghosts; but I don’t deny, any more than other people, that +there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand. My blood got a +sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; +for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and +all that men most hate and fear for their children. But that I should +take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was +such a mission as was enough to confuse any man. I did my best to console +my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was +too sharp for me: he would have none of my caresses. With sobs breaking +in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his +eyelids, he yet returned to the charge.</p> + +<p>“It will be there now!—it will be there all the night! Oh, think, +papa,—think if it was me! I can’t rest for thinking of it. Don’t!” he +cried, putting away my hand,—“don’t! You go and help it, and mother can +take care of me.”</p> + +<p>“But, Roland, what can I do?”</p> + +<p>My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and +gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of. +“I was sure you would know as soon as you came. I always said, Father +will know. And mother,” he cried, with a softening of repose upon his +face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his +bed,—“mother can come and take care of me.”</p> + +<p>I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a +child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in +Scotland. I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was +greatly eased about Roland. He might be under a hallucination; but his +head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else +did. The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it. +“How do you think he is?” they said in a breath, coming round me, laying +hold of me. “Not half so ill as I expected,” I said; “not very bad at +all.” “Oh, papa, you are a darling!” cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying +upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped +both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all. I knew nothing +about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me: they had a +feeling that all would go right now. God is very good to you when your +children look to you like that. It makes one humble, not proud. I was not +worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a +father to Roland’s ghost,—which made me almost laugh, though I might +just as well have cried. It was the strangest mission that ever was +intrusted to mortal man.</p> + +<p>It was then I remembered suddenly the looks of the men when they turned +to take the brougham to the stables in the dark that morning. They had +not liked it, and the horses had not liked it. I remembered that even in +my anxiety about Roland I had heard them tearing along the avenue back to +the stables, and had made a memorandum mentally that I must speak of it. +It seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to go to the stables +now and make a few inquiries. It is impossible to fathom the minds of +rustics; there might be some devilry of practical joking, for anything I +knew; or they might have some interest in getting up a bad reputation for +the Brentwood avenue. It was getting dark by the time I went out, and +nobody who knows the country will need to be told how black is the +darkness of a November night under high laurel-bushes and yew-trees. I +walked into the heart of the shrubberies two or three times, not seeing a +step before me, till I came out upon the broader carriage-road, where the +trees opened a little, and there was a faint gray glimmer of sky visible, +under which the great limes and elms stood darkling like ghosts; but it +grew black again as I approached the corner where the ruins lay. Both +eyes and ears were on the alert, as may be supposed; but I could see +nothing in the absolute gloom, and, so far as I can recollect, I heard +nothing. Nevertheless there came a strong impression upon me that +somebody was there. It is a sensation which most people have felt. I have +seen when it has been strong enough to awake me out of sleep, the sense +of some one looking at me. I suppose my imagination had been affected by +Roland’s story; and the mystery of the darkness is always full of +suggestions. I stamped my feet violently on the gravel to rouse myself, +and called out sharply, “Who’s there?” Nobody answered, nor did I expect +any one to answer, but the impression had been made. I was so foolish +that I did not like to look back, but went sideways, keeping an eye on +the gloom behind. It was with great relief that I spied the light in the +stables, making a sort of oasis in the darkness. I walked very quickly +into the midst of that lighted and cheerful place, and thought the clank +of the groom’s pail one of the pleasantest sounds I had ever heard. The +coachman was the head of this little colony, and it was to his house I +went to pursue my investigations. He was a native of the district, and +had taken care of the place in the absence of the family for years; it +was impossible but that he must know everything that was going on, and +all the traditions of the place. The men, I could see, eyed me anxiously +when I thus appeared at such an hour among them, and followed me with +their eyes to Jarvis’s house, where he lived alone with his old wife, +their children being all married and out in the world. Mrs. Jarvis met me +with anxious questions. How was the poor young gentleman? But the others +knew, I could see by their faces, that not even this was the foremost +thing in my mind.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>“Noises?—ou ay, there’ll be noises,—the wind in the trees, and the +water soughing down the glen. As for tramps, Cornel, no, there’s little +o’ that kind o’ cattle about here; and Merran at the gate’s a careful +body.” Jarvis moved about with some embarrassment from one leg to +another as he spoke. He kept in the shade, and did not look at me more +than he could help. Evidently his mind was perturbed, and he had +reasons for keeping his own counsel. His wife sat by, giving him a quick +look now and then, but saying nothing. The kitchen was very snug and +warm and bright,—as different as could be from the chill and mystery of +the night outside.</p> + +<p>“I think you are trifling with me, Jarvis,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Triflin’, Cornel? No me. What would I trifle for? If the deevil himsel +was in the auld hoose, I have no interest in ’t one way or another—”</p> + +<p>“Sandy, hold your peace!” cried his wife imperatively.</p> + +<p>“And what am I to hold my peace for, wi’ the Cornel standing there asking +a’ thae questions? I’m saying, if the deevil himsel—”</p> + +<p>“And I’m telling ye hold your peace!” cried the woman, in great +excitement. “Dark November weather and lang nichts, and us that ken a’ we +ken. How daur ye name—a name that shouldna be spoken?” She threw down +her stocking and got up, also in great agitation. “I tellt ye you never +could keep it. It’s no a thing that will hide, and the haill toun kens as +weel as you or me. Tell the Cornel straight out—or see, I’ll do it. I +dinna hold wi’ your secrets, and a secret that the haill toun kens!” She +snapped her fingers with an air of large disdain. As for Jarvis, ruddy +and big as he was, he shrank to nothing before this decided woman. He +repeated to her two or three times her own adjuration, “Hold your peace!” +then, suddenly changing his tone, cried out, “Tell him then, confound +ye! I’ll wash my hands o’t. If a’ the ghosts in Scotland were in the auld +hoose, is that ony concern o’ mine?”</p> + +<p>After this I elicited without much difficulty the whole story. In the +opinion of the Jarvises, and of everybody about, the certainty that the +place was haunted was beyond all doubt. As Sandy and his wife warmed to +the tale, one tripping up another in their eagerness to tell everything, +it gradually developed as distinct a superstition as I ever heard, and +not without poetry and pathos. How long it was since the voice had been +heard first, nobody could tell with certainty. Jarvis’s opinion was that +his father, who had been coachman at Brentwood before him, had never +heard anything about it, and that the whole thing had arisen within the +last ten years, since the complete dismantling of the old house; which +was a wonderfully modern date for a tale so well authenticated. According +to these witnesses, and to several whom I questioned afterwards, and who +were all in perfect agreement, it was only in the months of November and +December that “the visitation” occurred. During these months, the darkest +of the year, scarcely a night passed without the recurrence of these +inexplicable cries. Nothing, it was said, had ever been seen,—at least, +nothing that could be identified. Some people, bolder or more imaginative +than the others, had seen the darkness moving, Mrs. Jarvis said, with +unconscious poetry. It began when night fell, and continued, at +intervals, till day broke. Very often it was only all inarticulate cry +and moaning, but sometimes the words which had taken possession of my +poor boy’s fancy had been distinctly audible,—“Oh, mother, let me in!” +The Jarvises were not aware that there had ever been any investigation +into it. The estate of Brentwood had lapsed into the hands of a distant +branch of the family, who had lived but little there; and of the many +people who had taken it, as I had done, few had remained through two +Decembers. And nobody had taken the trouble to make a very close +examination into the facts. “No, no,” Jarvis said, shaking his head, +“No, no, Cornel. Wha wad set themsels up for a laughin’-stock to a’ the +country-side, making a wark about a ghost? Naebody believes in ghosts. It +bid to be the wind in the trees, the last gentleman said, or some effec’ +o’ the water wrastlin’ among the rocks. He said it was a’ quite easy +explained; but he gave up the hoose. And when you cam, Cornel, we were +awfu’ anxious you should never hear. What for should I have spoiled the +bargain and hairmed the property for no-thing?”</p> + +<p>“Do you call my child’s life nothing?” I said in the trouble of the +moment, unable to restrain myself. “And instead of telling this all to +me, you have told it to him,—to a delicate boy, a child unable to sift +evidence or judge for himself, a tender-hearted young creature—”</p> + +<p>I was walking about the room with an anger all the hotter that I felt it +to be most likely quite unjust. My heart was full of bitterness against +the stolid retainers of a family who were content to risk other people’s +children and comfort rather than let a house be empty. If I had been +warned I might have taken precautions, or left the place, or sent Roland +away, a hundred things which now I could not do; and here I was with my +boy in a brain-fever, and his life, the most precious life on earth, +hanging in the balance, dependent on whether or not I could get to the +reason of a commonplace ghost-story! I paced about in high wrath, not +seeing what I was to do; for to take Roland away, even if he were able to +travel, would not settle his agitated mind; and I feared even that a +scientific explanation of refracted sound or reverberation, or any other +of the easy certainties with which we elder men are silenced, would have +very little effect upon the boy.</p> + +<p>“Cornel,” said Jarvis solemnly, “and <i>she’ll</i> bear me witness,—the young +gentleman never heard a word from me—no, nor from either groom or +gardener; I’ll gie ye my word for that. In the first place, he’s no a lad +that invites ye to talk. There are some that are, and some that arena. +Some will draw ye on, till ye’ve tellt them a’ the clatter of the toun, +and a’ ye ken, and whiles mair. But Maister Roland, his mind’s fu’ of his +books. He’s aye civil and kind, and a fine lad; but no that sort. And ye +see it’s for a’ our interest, Cornel, that you should stay at Brentwood. +I took it upon me mysel to pass the word,—‘No a syllable to Maister +Roland, nor to the young leddies—no a syllable.’ The women-servants, +that have little reason to be out at night, ken little or nothing about +it. And some think it grand to have a ghost so long as they’re no in the +way of coming across it. If you had been tellt the story to begin with, +maybe ye would have thought so yourself.”</p> + +<p>This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my +perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all +the family would have considered the possession of a ghost a distinct +advantage. It is the fashion of the times. We never think what a risk it +is to play with young imaginations, but cry out, in the fashionable +jargon, “A ghost!—nothing else was wanted to make it perfect.” I should +not have been above this myself. I should have smiled, of course, at the +idea of the ghost at all, but then to feel that it was mine would have +pleased my vanity. Oh, yes, I claim no exemption. The girls would have +been delighted. I could fancy their eagerness, their interest, and +excitement. No; if we had been told, it would have done no good,—we +should have made the bargain all the more eagerly, the fools that we are. +“And there has been no attempt to investigate it,” I said, “to see what +it really is?”</p> + +<p>“Eh, Cornel,” said the coachman’s wife, “wha would investigate, as ye +call it, a thing that nobody believes in? Ye would be the laughin’-stock +of a’ the country-side, as my man says.”</p> + +<p>“But you believe in it,” I said, turning upon her hastily. The woman was +taken by surprise. She made a step backward out of my way.</p> + +<p>“Lord, Cornel, how ye frichten a body! Me!—there’s awfu’ strange things +in this world. An unlearned person doesna ken what to think. But the +minister and the gentry they just laugh in your face. Inquire into the +thing that is not! Na, na, we just let it be.”</p> + +<p>“Come with me, Jarvis,” I said hastily, “and we’ll make an attempt at +least. Say nothing to the men or to anybody. I’ll come back after dinner, +and we’ll make a serious attempt to see what it is, if it is anything. If +I hear it,—which I doubt,—you may be sure I shall never rest till I +make it out. Be ready for me about ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Me, Cornel!” Jarvis said, in a faint voice. I had not been looking at +him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest +change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman. “Me, Cornel!” he +repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. His ruddy face hung in +flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half +extinguished in his throat. Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon +me in a deprecating, imbecile way. “There’s nothing I wouldna do to +pleasure ye, Cornel,” taking a step further back. “I’m sure <i>she</i> kens +I’ve aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken +gentleman—” Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing +his hands.</p> + +<p>“Well?” I said.</p> + +<p>“But eh, sir!” he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, +“if ye’ll reflect that I am no used to my feet. With a horse atween my +legs, or the reins in my hand, I’m maybe nae worse than other men; but on +fit, Cornel—It’s no the—bogles—but I’ve been cavalry, ye see,” with a +little hoarse laugh, “a’ my life. To face a thing ye dinna understan’—on +your feet, Cornel.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, if <i>I</i> do it,” said I tartly, “why shouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Eh, Cornel, there’s an awfu’ difference. In the first place, ye tramp +about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires +me mair than a hunard miles’ drive; and then ye’re a gentleman, and do +your ain pleasure; and you’re no so auld as me; and it’s for your ain +bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then—”</p> + +<p>“He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it,” the woman said.</p> + +<p>“Will you come with me?” I said, turning to her.</p> + +<p>She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment. “Me!” with a +scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh. “I wouldna say but +what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer +with an auld silly woman at his heels?”</p> + +<p>The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it. +“I’m sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis,” I said. “I must find some +one else, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short. My +butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed +to fear anything,—man or devil,—certainly not the former; and I felt +that I was losing time. The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me. +They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies. Outside, +the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit. I +don’t know if perhaps they had been listening,—at least standing as near +as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation. I waved my hand to +them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very +apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go.</p> + +<p>And it will be thought very strange, but it would be weak not to add, +that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged +to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy’s health, perhaps his +life, depended on the result of my inquiry,—I felt the most +unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity +was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I +daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and +attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I +had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in +me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began, +like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It +was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower, +loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so +solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we +were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the +path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with +a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The +contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a +little to myself. “Oh, it’s only the old gable,” I said aloud, with a +little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones +reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly. +What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in +the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been +shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly +it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again, +this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was +chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed +to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No, +not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,—a perfectly soft, +faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating. +Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear +myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and +emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in +the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had +an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,—something cold +creeping over me, up into my hair, and down to my feet, which refused to +move. I cried out, with a trembling voice, “Who is there?” as I had done +before; but there was no reply.</p> + +<p>I got home I don’t quite know how; but in my mind there was no longer +any indifference as to the thing, whatever it was, that haunted these +ruins. My scepticism disappeared like a mist. I was as firmly determined +that there was something as Roland was. I did not for a moment pretend +to myself that it was possible I could be deceived; there were movements +and noises which I understood all about,—cracklings of small branches +in the frost, and little rolls of gravel on the path, such as have a +very eerie sound sometimes, and perplex you with wonder as to who has +done it, <i>when there is no real mystery</i>; but I assure you all these +little movements of nature don’t affect you one bit <i>when there is +something</i>. I understood <i>them</i>. I did not understand the sigh. That was +not simple nature; there was meaning in it, feeling, the soul of a +creature invisible. This is the thing that human nature trembles at,—a +creature invisible, yet with sensations, feelings, a power somehow of +expressing itself. I had not the same sense of unwillingness to turn my +back upon the scene of the mystery which I had experienced in going to +the stables; but I almost ran home, impelled by eagerness to get +everything done that had to be done, in order to apply myself to finding +it out. Bagley was in the hall as usual when I went in. He was always +there in the afternoon, always with the appearance of perfect +occupation, yet, so far as I know, never doing anything. The door was +open, so that I hurried in without any pause, breathless; but the sight +of his calm regard, as he came to help me off with my overcoat, subdued +me in a moment. Anything out of the way, anything incomprehensible, +faded to nothing in the presence of Bagley. You saw and wondered how +<i>he</i> was made: the parting of his hair, the tie of his white neckcloth, +the fit of his trousers, all perfect as works of art; but you could see +how they were done, which makes all the difference. I flung myself upon +him, so to speak, without waiting to note the extreme unlikeness of the +man to anything of the kind I meant. “Bagley,” I said, “I want you to +come out with me to-night to watch for—”</p> + +<p>“Poachers, Colonel?” he said, a gleam of pleasure running all over him.</p> + +<p>“No, Bagley; a great deal worse,” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Colonel; at what hour, sir?” the man said; but then I had not told +him what it was.</p> + +<p>It was ten o’clock when we set out. All was perfectly quiet indoors. My +wife was with Roland, who had been quite calm, she said, and who (though, +no doubt, the fever must run its course) had been better ever since I +came. I told Bagley to put on a thick greatcoat over his evening coat, +and did the same myself, with strong boots; for the soil was like a +sponge, or worse. Talking to him, I almost forgot what we were going to +do. It was darker even than it had been before, and Bagley kept very +close to me as we went along. I had a small lantern in my hand, which +gave us a partial guidance. We had come to the corner where the path +turns. On one side was the bowling-green, which the girls had taken +possession of for their croquet-ground,—a wonderful enclosure surrounded +by high hedges of holly, three hundred years old and more; on the other, +the ruins. Both were black as night; but before we got so far, there was +a little opening in which we could just discern the trees and the lighter +line of the road. I thought it best to pause there and take breath. +“Bagley,” I said, “there is something about these ruins I don’t +understand. It is there I am going. Keep your eyes open and your wits +about you. Be ready to pounce upon any stranger you see,—anything, man +or woman. Don’t hurt, but seize anything you see.” “Colonel,” said +Bagley, with a little tremor in his breath, “they do say there’s things +there—as is neither man nor woman.” There was no time for words. “Are +you game to follow me, my man? that’s the question,” I said. Bagley fell +in without a word, and saluted. I knew then I had nothing to fear.</p> + +<p>We went, so far as I could guess, exactly as I had come; when I heard +that sigh. The darkness, however, was so complete that all marks, as of +trees or paths, disappeared. One moment we felt our feet on the gravel, +another sinking noiselessly into the slippery grass, that was all. I had +shut up my lantern, not wishing to scare any one, whoever it might be. +Bagley followed, it seemed to me, exactly in my footsteps as I made my +way, as I supposed, towards the mass of the ruined house. We seemed to +take a long time groping along seeking this; the squash of the wet soil +under our feet was the only thing that marked our progress. After a while +I stood still to see, or rather feel, where we were. The darkness was +very still, but no stiller than is usual in a winter’s night. The sounds +I have mentioned—the crackling of twigs, the roll of a pebble, the sound +of some rustle in the dead leaves, or creeping creature on the +grass—were audible when you listened, all mysterious enough when your +mind is disengaged, but to me cheering now as signs of the livingness of +nature, even in the death of the frost. As we stood still there came up +from the trees in the glen the prolonged hoot of an owl. Bagley started +with alarm, being in a state of general nervousness, and not knowing what +he was afraid of. But to me the sound was encouraging and pleasant, being +so comprehensible.</p> + +<p>“An owl,” I said, under my breath. “Y—es, Colonel,” said Bagley, his +teeth chattering. We stood still about five minutes, while it broke into +the still brooding of the air, the sound widening out in circles, dying +upon the darkness. This sound, which is not a cheerful one, made me +almost gay. It was natural, and relieved the tension of the mind. I moved +on with new courage, my nervous excitement calming down.</p> + +<p>When all at once, quite suddenly, close to us, at our feet, there broke +out a cry. I made a spring backwards in the first moment of surprise and +horror, and in doing so came sharply against the same rough masonry and +brambles that had struck me before. This new sound came upwards from the +ground,—a low, moaning, wailing voice, full of suffering and pain. The +contrast between it and the hoot of the owl was indescribable,—the one +with a wholesome wildness and naturalness that hurt nobody; the other, a +sound that made one’s blood curdle, full of human misery. With a great +deal of fumbling,—for in spite of everything I could do to keep up my +courage my hands shook,—I managed to remove the slide of my lantern. The +light leaped out like something living, and made the place visible in a +moment. We were what would have been inside the ruined building had +anything remained but the gable-wall which I have described. It was close +to us, the vacant door-way in it going out straight into the blackness +outside. The light showed the bit of wall, the ivy glistening upon it in +clouds of dark green, the bramble-branches waving, and below, the open +door,—a door that led to nothing. It was from this the voice came which +died out just as the light flashed upon this strange scene. There was a +moment’s silence, and then it broke forth again. The sound was so near, +so penetrating, so pitiful, that, in the nervous start I gave, the light +fell out of my hand. As I groped for it in the dark my hand was clutched +by Bagley, who, I think, must have dropped upon his knees; but I was too +much perturbed myself to think much of this. He clutched at me in the +confusion of his terror, forgetting all his usual decorum. “For God’s +sake, what is it, sir?” he gasped. If I yielded, there was evidently an +end of both of us. “I can’t tell,” I said, “any more than you; that’s +what we’ve got to find out. Up, man, up!” I pulled him to his feet. “Will +you go round and examine the other side, or will you stay here with the +lantern?” Bagley gasped at me with a face of horror. “Can’t we stay +together, Colonel?” he said; his knees were trembling under him. I pushed +him against the corner of the wall, and put the light into his hands. +“Stand fast till I come back; shake yourself together, man; let nothing +pass you,” I said. The voice was within two or three feet of us; of that +there could be no doubt.</p> + +<p>I went myself to the other side of the wall, keeping close to it. The +light shook in Bagley’s hand, but, tremulous though it was, shone out +through the vacant door, one oblong block of light marking all the +crumbling corners and hanging masses of foliage. Was that something dark +huddled in a heap by the side of it? I pushed forward across the light in +the door-way, and fell upon it with my hands; but it was only a +juniper-bush growing close against the wall. Meanwhile, the sight of my +figure crossing the door-way had brought Bagley’s nervous excitement to a +height: he flew at me, gripping my shoulder. “I’ve got him, Colonel! +I’ve got him!” he cried, with a voice of sudden exultation. He thought it +was a man, and was at once relieved. But at that moment the voice burst +forth again between us, at our feet,—more close to us than any separate +being could be. He dropped off from me, and fell against the wall, his +jaw dropping as if he were dying. I suppose, at the same moment, he saw +that it was me whom he had clutched. I, for my part, had scarcely more +command of myself. I snatched the light out of his hand, and flashed it +all about me wildly. Nothing,—the juniper-bush which I thought I had +never seen before, the heavy growth of the glistening ivy, the brambles +waving. It was close to my ears now, crying, crying, pleading as if for +life. Either I heard the same words Roland had heard, or else, in my +excitement, his imagination got possession of mine. The voice went on, +growing into distinct articulation, but wavering about, now from one +point, now from another, as if the owner of it were moving slowly back +and forward. “Mother! mother!” and then an outburst of wailing. As my +mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one’s mind gets accustomed to +anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was +pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes—but that must have +been excitement—I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then +another burst, “Oh, mother! mother!” All this close, close to the space +where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a +creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way, +which no one could either shut or open more.</p> + +<p>“Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?” I cried, +stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes +glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to +answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious +imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how +long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting +hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a +scene any one could understand,—a something shut out, restlessly +wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself +down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. “Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!” Every +word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried +to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do +something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially +overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound +of sobs and moaning. I cried out, “In the name of God, who are you?” with +a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane, +seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I +did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest +there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I +had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could +bear. But there was no answer; the moaning went on, and then, as if it +had been real, the voice rose a little higher again, the words +recommenced, “Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!” with an +expression that was heart-breaking to hear.</p> + +<p><i>As if it had been real</i>! What do I mean by that? I suppose I got less +alarmed as the thing went on. I began to recover the use of my senses,—I +seemed to explain it all to myself by saying that this had once happened, +that it was a recollection of a real scene. Why there should have seemed +something quite satisfactory and composing in this explanation I cannot +tell, but so it was. I began to listen almost as if it had been a play, +forgetting Bagley, who, I almost think, had fainted, leaning against the +wall. I was startled out of this strange spectatorship that had fallen +upon me by the sudden rush of something which made my heart jump once +more, a large black figure in the door-way waving its arms. “Come in! +come in! come in!” it shouted out hoarsely at the top of a deep bass +voice, and then poor Bagley fell down senseless across the threshold. He +was less sophisticated than I,—he had not been able to bear it any +longer. I took him for something supernatural, as he took me, and it was +some time before I awoke to the necessities of the moment. I remembered +only after, that from the time I began to give my attention to the man, I +heard the other voice no more. It was some time before I brought him to. +It must have been a strange scene: the lantern making a luminous spot in +the darkness, the man’s white face lying on the black earth, I over him, +doing what I could for him, probably I should have been thought to be +murdering him had any one seen us. When at last I succeeded in pouring a +little brandy down his throat, he sat up and looked about him wildly. +“What’s up?” he said; then recognizing me, tried to struggle to his feet +with a faint “Beg your pardon, Colonel.” I got him home as best I could, +making him lean upon my arm. The great fellow was as weak as a child. +Fortunately he did not for some time remember what had happened. From the +time Bagley fell the voice had stopped, and all was still.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>“You’ve got an epidemic in your house, Colonel,” Simson said to me next +morning. “What’s the meaning of it all? Here’s your butler raving about a +voice. This will never do, you know; and so far as I can make out, you +are in it too.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am in it, Doctor. I thought I had better speak to you. Of course +you are treating Roland all right, but the boy is not raving, he is as +sane as you or me. It’s all true.”</p> + +<p>“As sane as—I—or you. I never thought the boy insane. He’s got cerebral +excitement, fever. I don’t know what you’ve got. There’s something very +queer about the look of your eyes.”</p> + +<p>“Come,” said I, “you can’t put us all to bed, you know. You had better +listen and hear the symptoms in full.”</p> + +<p>The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but he listened to me patiently. He +did not believe a word of the story, that was clear; but he heard it all +from beginning to end. “My dear fellow,” he said, “the boy told me just +the same. It’s an epidemic. When one person falls a victim to this sort +of thing, it’s as safe as can be,—there’s always two or three.”</p> + +<p>“Then how do you account for it?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, account for it!—that’s a different matter; there’s no accounting +for the freaks our brains are subject to. If it’s delusion, if it’s some +trick of the echoes or the winds,—some phonetic disturbance or other—”</p> + +<p>“Come with me to-night, and judge for yourself,” I said.</p> + +<p>Upon this he laughed aloud, then said, “That’s not such a bad idea; but +it would ruin me forever if it were known that John Simson was +ghost-hunting.”</p> + +<p>“There it is,” said I; “you dart down on us who are unlearned with your +phonetic disturbances, but you daren’t examine what the thing really is +for fear of being laughed at. That’s science!”</p> + +<p>“It’s not science,—it’s common-sense,” said the Doctor. “The thing has +delusion on the front of it. It is encouraging an unwholesome tendency +even to examine. What good could come of it? Even if I am convinced, I +shouldn’t believe.”</p> + +<p>“I should have said so yesterday; and I don’t want you to be convinced or +to believe,” said I. “If you prove it to be a delusion, I shall be very +much obliged to you for one. Come; somebody must go with me.”</p> + +<p>“You are cool,” said the Doctor. “You’ve disabled this poor fellow of +yours, and made him—on that point—a lunatic for life; and now you want +to disable me. But, for once, I’ll do it. To save appearance, if you’ll +give me a bed, I’ll come over after my last rounds.”</p> + +<p>It was agreed that I should meet him at the gate, and that we should +visit the scene of last night’s occurrences before we came to the house, +so that nobody might be the wiser. It was scarcely possible to hope that +the cause of Bagley’s sudden illness should not somehow steal into the +knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be +done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had +to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal +for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but +he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with +which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm. +“Father?” he said quietly. “Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to +it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any +conclusion—yet. I am neglecting nothing you said,” I cried. What I could +not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the +mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given +him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone +so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. “You must trust +me,” I said. “Yes, father. Father understands,” he said to himself, as if +to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about +the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought; +but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that +aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious +part of it all.</p> + +<p>That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and +I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming +experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without +thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a +coil of taper which he had ready for use. “There is nothing like light,” +he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a +sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we +went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken +occasionally by a bitter cry. “Perhaps that is your voice,” said the +Doctor; “I thought it must be something of the kind. That’s a poor brute +caught in some of these infernal traps of yours; you’ll find it among the +bushes somewhere.” I said nothing. I felt no particular fear, but a +triumphant satisfaction in what was to follow. I led him to the spot +where Bagley and I had stood on the previous night. All was silent as a +winter night could be,—so silent that we heard far off the sound of the +horses in the stables, the shutting of a window at the house. Simson +lighted his taper and went peering about, poking into all the corners. We +looked like two conspirators lying in wait for some unfortunate +traveller; but not a sound broke the quiet. The moaning had stopped +before we came up; a star or two shone over us in the sky, looking down +as if surprised at our strange proceedings. Dr. Simson did nothing but +utter subdued laughs under his breath. “I thought as much,” he said. “It +is just the same with tables and all other kinds of ghostly apparatus; a +sceptic’s presence stops everything. When I am present nothing ever comes +off. How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here? Oh, I don’t +complain; only when <i>you</i> are satisfied, <i>I</i> am—quite.”</p> + +<p>I will not deny that I was disappointed beyond measure by this result. It +made me look like a credulous fool. It gave the Doctor such a pull over +me as nothing else could. I should point all his morals for years to +come; and his materialism, his scepticism, would be increased beyond +endurance. “It seems, indeed,” I said, “that there is to be no—” +“Manifestation,” he said, laughing; “that is what all the mediums say. No +manifestations, in consequence of the presence of an unbeliever.” His +laugh sounded very uncomfortable to me in the silence; and it was now +near midnight. But that laugh seemed the signal; before it died away the +moaning we had heard before was resumed. It started from some distance +off, and came towards us, nearer and nearer, like some one walking along +and moaning to himself. There could be no idea now that it was a hare +caught in a trap. The approach was slow, like that of a weak person, with +little halts and pauses. We heard it coming along the grass straight +towards the vacant door-way. Simson had been a little startled by the +first sound. He said hastily, “That child has no business to be out so +late.” But he felt, as well as I, that this was no child’s voice. As it +came nearer, he grew silent, and, going to the door-way with his taper, +stood looking out towards the sound. The taper being unprotected blew +about in the night air, though there was scarcely any wind. I threw the +light of my lantern steady and white across the same space. It was in a +blaze of light in the midst of the blackness. A little icy thrill had +gone over me at the first sound, but as it came close, I confess that my +only feeling was satisfaction. The scoffer could scoff no more. The light +touched his own face, and showed a very perplexed countenance. If he was +afraid, he concealed it with great success, but he was perplexed. And +then all that had happened on the previous night was enacted once more. +It fell strangely upon me with a sense of repetition. Every cry, every +sob seemed the same as before. I listened almost without any emotion at +all in my own person, thinking of its effect upon Simson. He maintained a +very bold front, on the whole. All that coming and going of the voice +was, if our ears could be trusted, exactly in front of the vacant, blank +door-way, blazing full of light, which caught and shone in the glistening +leaves of the great hollies at a little distance. Not a rabbit could have +crossed the turf without being seen; but there was nothing. After a time, +Simson, with a certain caution and bodily reluctance, as it seemed to me, +went out with his roll of taper into this space. His figure showed +against the holly in full outline. Just at this moment the voice sank, as +was its custom, and seemed to fling itself down at the door. Simson +recoiled violently, as if some one had come up against him, then turned, +and held his taper low, as if examining something. “Do you see anybody?” +I cried in a whisper, feeling the chill of nervous panic steal over me at +this action. “It’s nothing but a—confounded juniper-bush,” he said. This +I knew very well to be nonsense, for the juniper-bush was on the other +side. He went about after this round and round, poking his taper +everywhere, then returned to me on the inner side of the wall. He scoffed +no longer; his face was contracted and pale. “How long does this go on?” +he whispered to me, like a man who does not wish to interrupt some one +who is speaking. I had become too much perturbed myself to remark whether +the successions and changes of the voice were the same as last night. It +suddenly went out in the air almost as he was speaking, with a soft +reiterated sob dying away. If there had been anything to be seen, I +should have said that the person was at that moment crouching on the +ground close to the door.</p> + +<p>We walked home very silent afterwards. It was only when we were in sight +of the house that I said, “What do you think of it?” “I can’t tell what +to think of it,” he said quickly. He took—though he was a very temperate +man—not the claret I was going to offer him, but some brandy from the +tray, and swallowed it almost undiluted. “Mind you, I don’t believe a +word of it,” he said, when he had lighted his candle; “but I can’t tell +what to think,” he turned round to add, when he was half-way upstairs.</p> + +<p>All of this, however, did me no good with the solution of my problem. I +was to help this weeping, sobbing thing, which was already to me as +distinct a personality as anything I knew; or what should I say to +Roland? It was on my heart that my boy would die if I could not find some +way of helping this creature. You may be surprised that I should speak of +it in this way. I did not know if it was man or woman; but I no more +doubted that it was a soul in pain than I doubted my own being; and it +was my business to soothe this pain,—to deliver it, if that was +possible. Was ever such a task given to an anxious father trembling for +his only boy? I felt in my heart, fantastic as it may appear, that I must +fulfill this somehow, or part with my child; and you may conceive that +rather than do that I was ready to die. But even my dying would not have +advanced me, unless by bringing me into the same world with that seeker +at the door.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Next morning Simson was out before breakfast, and came in with evident +signs of the damp grass on his boots, and a look of worry and weariness, +which did not say much for the night he had passed. He improved a little +after breakfast, and visited his two patients,—for Bagley was still an +invalid. I went out with him on his way to the train, to hear what he +had to say about the boy. “He is going on very well,” he said; “there are +no complications as yet. But mind you, that’s not a boy to be trifled +with, Mortimer. Not a word to him about last night.” I had to tell him +then of my last interview with Roland, and of the impossible demand he +had made upon me, by which, though he tried to laugh, he was much +discomposed, as I could see. “We must just perjure ourselves all round,” +he said, “and swear you exorcised it;” but the man was too kind-hearted +to be satisfied with that. “It’s frightfully serious for you, Mortimer. I +can’t laugh as I should like to. I wish I saw a way out of it, for your +sake. By the way,” he added shortly, “didn’t you notice that juniper-bush +on the left-hand side?” “There was one on the right hand of the door. I +noticed you made that mistake last night.” “Mistake!” he cried, with a +curious low laugh, pulling up the collar of his coat as though he felt +the cold,—“there’s no juniper there this morning, left or right. Just go +and see.” As he stepped into the train a few minutes after, he looked +back upon me and beckoned me for a parting word. “I’m coming back +to-night,” he said.</p> + +<p>I don’t think I had any feeling about this as I turned away from that +common bustle of the railway which made my private preoccupations feel so +strangely out of date. There had been a distinct satisfaction in my mind +before, that his scepticism had been so entirely defeated. But the more +serious part of the matter pressed upon me now. I went straight from the +railway to the manse, which stood on a little plateau on the side of the +river opposite to the woods of Brentwood. The minister was one of a class +which is not so common in Scotland as it used to be. He was a man of good +family, well educated in the Scotch way, strong in philosophy, not so +strong in Greek, strongest of all in experience,—a man who had “come +across,” in the course of his life, most people of note that had ever +been in Scotland, and who was said to be very sound in doctrine, without +infringing the toleration with which old men, who are good men, are +generally endowed. He was old-fashioned; perhaps he did not think so much +about the troublous problems of theology as many of the young men, nor +ask himself any hard questions about the Confession of Faith; but he +understood human nature, which is perhaps better. He received me with a +cordial welcome.</p> + +<p>“Come away, Colonel Mortimer,” he said; “I’m all the more glad to see +you, that I feel it’s a good sign for the boy. He’s doing well?—God be +praised,—and the Lord bless him and keep him. He has many a poor body’s +prayers, and that can do nobody harm.”</p> + +<p>“He will need them all, Dr. Moncrieff,” I said, “and your counsel too.” +And I told him the story,—more than I had told Simson. The old clergyman +listened to me with many suppressed exclamations, and at the end the +water stood in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“That’s just beautiful,” he said. “I do not mind to have heard anything +like it; it’s as fine as Burns when he wished deliverance to one—that is +prayed for in no kirk. Ay, ay! so he would have you console the poor lost +spirit? God bless the boy! There’s something more than common in that, +Colonel Mortimer. And also the faith of him in his father!—I would like +to put that into a sermon.” Then the old gentleman gave me an alarmed +look, and said, “No, no; I was not meaning a sermon; but I must write it +down for the ‘Children’s Record.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> I saw the thought that passed through +his mind. Either he thought, or he feared I would think, of a funeral +sermon. You may believe this did not make me more cheerful.</p> + +<p>I can scarcely say that Dr. Moncrieff gave me any advice. How could any +one advise on such a subject? But he said, “I think I’ll come too. I’m an +old man; I’m less liable to be frightened than those that are further off +the world unseen. It behooves me to think of my own journey there. I’ve +no cut-and-dry beliefs on the subject. I’ll come too; and maybe at the +moment the Lord will put into our heads what to do.”</p> + +<p>This gave me a little comfort,—more than Simson had given me. To be +clear about the cause of it was not my grand desire. It was another thing +that was in my mind,—my boy. As for the poor soul at the open door, I +had no more doubt, as I have said, of its existence than I had of my own. +It was no ghost to me. I knew the creature, and it was in trouble. That +was my feeling about it, as it was Roland’s. To hear it first was a great +shock to my nerves, but not now; a man will get accustomed to anything. +But to do something for it was the great problem; how was I to be +serviceable to a being that was invisible, that was mortal no longer? +“Maybe at the moment the Lord will put it into our heads.” This is very +old-fashioned phraseology, and a week before, most likely, I should have +smiled (though always with kindness) at Dr. Moncrieff’s credulity; but +there was a great comfort, whether rational or otherwise I cannot say, in +the mere sound of the words.</p> + +<p>The road to the station and the village lay through the glen, not by the +ruins; but though the sunshine and the fresh air, and the beauty of the +trees, and the sound of the water were all very soothing to the spirits, +my mind was so full of my own subject that I could not refrain from +turning to the right hand as I got to the top of the glen, and going +straight to the place which I may call the scene of all my thoughts. It +was lying full in the sunshine, like all the rest of the world. The +ruined gable looked due east, and in the present aspect of the sun the +light streamed down through the door-way as our lantern had done, +throwing a flood of light upon the damp grass beyond. There was a strange +suggestion in the open door,—so futile, a kind of emblem of vanity: all +free around, so that you could go where you pleased, and yet that +semblance of an enclosure,—that way of entrance, unnecessary, leading to +nothing. And why any creature should pray and weep to get in—to nothing, +or be kept out—by nothing, you could not dwell upon it, or it made your +brain go round. I remembered, however, what Simson said about the +juniper, with a little smile on my own mind as to the inaccuracy of +recollection which even a scientific man will be guilty of. I could see +now the light of my lantern gleaming upon the wet glistening surface of +the spiky leaves at the right hand,—and he ready to go to the stake for +it that it was the left! I went round to make sure. And then I saw what +he had said. Right or left there was no juniper at all! I was confounded +by this, though it was entirely a matter of detail nothing at all,—a +bush of brambles waving, the grass growing up to the very walls. But +after all, though it gave me a shock for a moment, what did that matter? +There were marks as if a number of footsteps had been up and down in +front of the door, but these might have been our steps; and all was +bright and peaceful and still. I poked about the other ruin—the larger +ruins of the old house—for some time, as I had done before. There were +marks upon the grass here and there—I could not call them +footsteps—all about; but that told for nothing one way or another. I had +examined the ruined rooms closely the first day. They were half filled up +with soil and <i>debris</i>, withered brackens and bramble,—no refuge for any +one there. It vexed me that Jarvis should see me coming from that spot +when he came up to me for his orders. I don’t know whether my nocturnal +expeditions had got wind among the servants, but there was a significant +look in his face. Something in it I felt was like my own sensation when +Simson in the midst of his scepticism was struck dumb. Jarvis felt +satisfied that his veracity had been put beyond question. I never spoke +to a servant of mine in such a peremptory tone before. I sent him away +“with a flea in his lug,” as the man described it afterwards. +Interference of any kind was intolerable to me at such a moment.</p> + +<p>But what was strangest of all was, that I could not face Roland. I did +not go up to his room, as I would have naturally done, at once. This the +girls could not understand. They saw there was some mystery in it. +“Mother has gone to lie down,” Agatha said; “he has had such a good +night.” “But he wants you so, papa!” cried little Jeanie, always with her +two arms embracing mine in a pretty way she had. I was obliged to go at +last, but what could I say? I could only kiss him, and tell him to keep +still,—that I was doing all I could. There is something mystical about +the patience of a child. “It will come all right, won’t it, father?” he +said. “God grant it may! I hope so, Roland.” “Oh, yes, it will come all +right.” Perhaps he understood that in the midst of my anxiety I could not +stay with him as I should have done otherwise. But the girls were more +surprised than it is possible to describe. They looked at me with +wondering eyes. “If I were ill, papa, and you only stayed with me a +moment, I should break my heart,” said Agatha. But the boy had a +sympathetic feeling. He knew that of my own will I would not have done +it. I shut myself up in the library, where I could not rest, but kept +pacing up and down like a caged beast. What could I do? and if I could do +nothing, what would become of my boy? These were the questions that, +without ceasing, pursued each other through my mind.</p> + +<p>Simson came out to dinner, and when the house was all still, and most of +the servants in bed, we went out and met Dr. Moncrieff, as we had +appointed, at the head of the glen. Simson, for his part, was disposed to +scoff at the Doctor. “If there are to be any spells, you know, I’ll cut +the whole concern,” he said. I did not make him any reply. I had not +invited him; he could go or come as he pleased. He was very talkative, +far more so than suited my humor, as we went on. “One thing is certain, +you know; there must be some human agency,” he said. “It is all bosh +about apparitions. I never have investigated the laws of sound to any +great extent, and there’s a great deal in ventriloquism that we don’t +know much about.” “If it’s the same to you,” I said, “I wish you’d keep +all that to yourself, Simson. It doesn’t suit my state of mind.” “Oh, I +hope I know how to respect idiosyncrasy,” he said. The very tone of his +voice irritated me beyond measure. These scientific fellows, I wonder +people put up with them as they do, when you have no mind for their +cold-blooded confidence. Dr. Moncrieff met us about eleven o’clock, the +same time as on the previous night. He was a large man, with a venerable +countenance and white hair,—old, but in full vigor, and thinking less +of a cold night walk than many a younger man. He had his lantern, as I +had. We were fully provided with means of lighting the place, and we were +all of us resolute men. We had a rapid consultation as we went up, and +the result was that we divided to different posts. Dr. Moncrieff remained +inside the wall—if you can call that inside where there was no wall but +one. Simson placed himself on the side next the ruins, so as to intercept +any communication with the old house, which was what his mind was fixed +upon. I was posted on the other side. To say that nothing could come near +without being seen was self-evident. It had been so also on the previous +night. Now, with our three lights in the midst of the darkness, the whole +place seemed illuminated. Dr. Moncrieff’s lantern, which was a large one, +without any means of shutting up,—an old-fashioned lantern with a +pierced and ornamental top,—shone steadily, the rays shooting out of it +upward into the gloom. He placed it on the grass, where the middle of the +room, if this had been a room, would have been. The usual effect of the +light streaming out of the door-way was prevented by the illumination +which Simson and I on either side supplied. With these differences, +everything seemed as on the previous night.</p> + +<p>And what occurred was exactly the same, with the same air of repetition, +point for point, as I had formerly remarked. I declare that it seemed to +me as if I were pushed against, put aside, by the owner of the voice as +he paced up and down in his trouble,—though these are perfectly futile +words, seeing that the stream of light from my lantern, and that from +Simson’s taper, lay broad and clear, without a shadow, without the +smallest break, across the entire breadth of the grass. I had ceased even +to be alarmed, for my part. My heart was rent with pity and +trouble,—pity for the poor suffering human creature that moaned and +pleaded so, and trouble for myself and my boy. God! if I could not find +any help,—and what help could I find?—Roland would die.</p> + +<p>We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I +knew, by experience, it would be. Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was +quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places. +My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice. I was +used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first. But just +as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there +suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, +and my heart into my mouth. It was a voice inside the wall,—the +minister’s well-known voice. I would have been prepared for it in any +kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard. It came out +with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance. “Willie, +Willie! Oh, God preserve us! is it you?”</p> + +<p>These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the +invisible creature had ceased to have. I thought the old man, whom I +had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror. I made a dash +round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the +thought. He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague +and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet. I +lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward. He was very +pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted +lips. He neither saw nor heard me. We that had gone through this +experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little +strength to bear it. But he was not even aware that I was there. His +whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness. He held out his +hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear. He +went on speaking all the time. “Willie, if it is you,—and it’s you, if +it is not a delusion of Satan,—Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting +them that know you not? Why came ye not to me?”</p> + +<p>He seemed to wait for an answer. When his voice ceased, his countenance, +every line moving, continued to speak. Simson gave me another terrible +shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much +awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without +seeing Simson, speaking to some one else. His voice took a tone of +expostulation:—</p> + +<p>“Is this right to come here? Your mother’s gone with your name on her +lips. Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad? Do ye +think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature? No!—I +forbid ye! I forbid ye!” cried the old man. The sobbing voice had begun +to resume its cries. He made a step forward, calling out the last words +in a voice of command. “I forbid ye! Cry out no more to man. Go home, ye +wandering spirit! go home! Do you hear me?—me that christened ye, that +have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!” Here +the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness. “And her too, poor +woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon. She’s not here. You’ll find +her with the Lord. Go there and seek her, not here. Do you hear me, lad? +go after her there. He’ll let you in, though it’s late. Man, take heart! +if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven’s gate, and not +your poor mother’s ruined door.”</p> + +<p>He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had +done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, +but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled. Then the +minister spoke again, “Are you hearing me, Will? Oh, laddie, you’ve liked +the beggarly elements all your days. Be done with them now. Go home to +the Father—the Father! Are you hearing me?” Here the old man sank down +upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble +in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness. I resisted +as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon +my knees. Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression +in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes +wild, staring. It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and +wonder, that we were praying. All the time the voice, with a low arrested +sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought.</p> + +<p>“Lord,” the minister said,—“Lord, take him into Thy everlasting +habitations. The mother he cries to is with Thee. Who can open to him but +Thee? Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee? +Lord, let that woman there draw him inower! Let her draw him inower!”</p> + +<p>I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly +within the door. The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I +felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the +ground,—for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my +foolishness I thought. Simson held out his hand to me to help me up. He +was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost +inarticulate. “It’s gone,” he said, stammering,—“it’s gone!” We leaned +upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the +whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and +yet as long as I live I will never forget it,—the shining of the +strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all +the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and +uplifted hands. A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us. +By intervals a single syllable, “Lord! Lord!” came from the old +minister’s lips. He saw none of us, nor thought of us. I never knew how +long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our +lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did. But at last he +rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his +arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and +solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,—to what? to the silent +earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but +spectators gasping an Amen!</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that it must be the middle of the night, as we all walked +back. It was in reality very late. Dr. Moncrieff put his arm into mine. +He walked slowly, with an air of exhaustion. It was as if we were coming +from a death-bed. Something hushed and solemnized the very air. There was +that sense of relief in it which there always is at the end of a +death-struggle. And nature, persistent, never daunted, came back in all +of us, as we returned into the ways of life. We said nothing to each +other, indeed, for a time; but when we got clear of the trees and +reached the opening near the house, where we could see the sky, Dr. +Moncrieff himself was the first to speak. “I must be going,” he said; +“it’s very late, I’m afraid. I will go down the glen, as I came.”</p> + +<p>“But not alone. I am going with you, Doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will not oppose it. I am an old man, and agitation wearies more +than work. Yes; I’ll be thankful of your arm. To-night, Colonel, you’ve +done me more good turns than one.”</p> + +<p>I pressed his hand on my arm, not feeling able to speak. But Simson, +who turned with us, and who had gone along all this time with his taper +flaring, in entire unconsciousness, came to himself, apparently at the +sound of our voices, and put out that wild little torch with a quick +movement, as if of shame. “Let me carry your lantern,” he said; “it is +heavy.” He recovered with a spring; and in a moment, from the +awe-stricken spectator he had been, became himself, sceptical and +cynical. “I should like to ask you a question,” he said. “Do you +believe in Purgatory, Doctor? It’s not in the tenets of the Church, so +far as I know.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said Dr. Moncrieff, “an old man like me is sometimes not very +sure what he believes. There is just one thing I am certain of—and that +is the loving-kindness of God.”</p> + +<p>“But I thought that was in this life. I am no theologian—”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said the old man again, with a tremor in him which I could feel +going over all his frame, “if I saw a friend of mine within the gates of +hell, I would not despair but his Father would take him by the hand +still, if he cried like <i>you</i>.”</p> + +<p>“I allow it is very strange, very strange. I cannot see through it. That +there must be human agency, I feel sure. Doctor, what made you decide +upon the person and the name?”</p> + +<p>The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show +if he were asked how he recognized his brother. “Tuts!” he said, in +familiar speech; then more solemnly, “How should I not recognize a person +that I know better—far better—than I know you?”</p> + +<p>“Then you saw the man?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little +impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went +on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which +were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very +still,—not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches, +which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending. +When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,—about the height +of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his +own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation, +waiting for him. “Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?” +she cried.</p> + +<p>“Far from that—better. God bless him!” Dr. Moncrieff said.</p> + +<p>I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have +pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent, +by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many +nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly +gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I +have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It +was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace +and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a +sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping, +satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we +found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and +gave me a smile: “I think he is a great deal better; but you are very +late,” she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the +Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own +color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy, +half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the +interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his +forehead, which was moist and cool. “All is well, Roland,” I said. He +looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his +cheek upon it, and so went to sleep.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>For some nights after, I watched among the ruins, spending all the dark +hours up to midnight patrolling about the bit of wall which was +associated with so many emotions; but I heard nothing, and saw nothing +beyond the quiet course of nature; nor, so far as I am aware, has +anything been heard again. Dr. Moncrieff gave me the history of the +youth, whom he never hesitated to name. I did not ask, as Simson did, how +he recognized him. He had been a prodigal,—weak, foolish, easily imposed +upon, and “led away,” as people say. All that we had heard had passed +actually in life, the Doctor said. The young man had come home thus a day +or two after his mother died,—who was no more than the housekeeper in +the old house,—and distracted with the news, had thrown himself down at +the door and called upon her to let him in. The old man could scarcely +speak of it for tears. To me it seemed as if—Heaven help us, how little +do we know about anything!—a scene like that might impress itself +somehow upon the hidden heart of nature. I do not pretend to know how, +but the repetition had struck me at the time as, in its terrible +strangeness and incomprehensibility, almost mechanical,—as if the unseen +actor could not exceed or vary, but was bound to re-enact the whole. One +thing that struck me, however, greatly, was the likeness between the old +minister and my boy in the manner of regarding these strange phenomena. +Dr. Moncrieff was not terrified, as I had been myself, and all the rest +of us. It was no “ghost,” as I fear we all vulgarly considered it, to +him,—but a poor creature whom he knew under these conditions, just as +he had known him in the flesh, having no doubt of his identity. And to +Roland it was the same. This spirit in pain,—if it was a spirit,—this +voice out of the unseen,—was a poor fellow-creature in misery, to be +succored and helped out of his trouble, to my boy. He spoke to me quite +frankly about it when he got better. “I knew father would find out some +way,” he said. And this was when he was strong and well, and all idea +that he would turn hysterical or become a seer of visions had happily +passed away.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>I must add one curious fact, which does not seem to me to have any +relation to the above, but which Simson made great use of, as the human +agency which he was determined to find somehow. We had examined the ruins +very closely at the time of these occurrences; but afterwards, when all +was over, as we went casually about them one Sunday afternoon in the +idleness of that unemployed day, Simson with his stick penetrated an old +window which had been entirely blocked up with fallen soil. He jumped +down into it in great excitement, and called me to follow. There we found +a little hole,—for it was more a hole than a room,—entirely hidden +under the ivy and ruins, in which there was a quantity of straw laid in a +corner, as if some one had made a bed there, and some remains of crusts +about the floor. Some one had lodged there, and not very long before, he +made out; and that this unknown being was the author of all the +mysterious sounds we heard he is convinced. “I told you it was human +agency,” he said triumphantly. He forgets, I suppose, how he and I stood +with our lights, seeing nothing, while the space between us was audibly +traversed by something that could speak, and sob, and suffer. There is no +argument with men of this kind. He is ready to get up a laugh against me +on this slender ground. “I was puzzled myself,—I could not make it +out,—but I always felt convinced human agency was at the bottom of it. +And here it is,—and a clever fellow he must have been,” the Doctor says.</p> + +<p>Bagley left my service as soon as he got well. He assured me it was no +want of respect, but he could not stand “them kind of things;” and the +man was so shaken and ghastly that I was glad to give him a present and +let him go. For my own part, I made a point of staying out the +time—two years—for which I had taken Brentwood; but I did not renew +my tenancy. By that time we had settled, and found for ourselves a +pleasant home of our own.</p> + +<p>I must add, that when the Doctor defies me, I can always bring back +gravity to his countenance, and a pause in his railing, when I remind him +of the juniper-bush. To me that was a matter of little importance. I +could believe I was mistaken. I did not care about it one way or other; +but on his mind the effect was different. The miserable voice, the spirit +in pain, he could think of as the result of ventriloquism, or +reverberation, or—anything you please: an elaborate prolonged hoax, +executed somehow by the tramp that had found a lodging in the old tower; +but the juniper-bush staggered him. Things have effects so different on +the minds of different men.</p> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<br /><br /> +THE PORTRAIT</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">At</span> the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my +father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a +little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe +I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the +red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, +builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and +irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms +large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, +with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was +cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to +economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it +was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the +primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the +cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at +this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses,—the +kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the +neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last +inhabitants; and the furniture was faded, even a little dingy,—nothing +to brag of. I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were +faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and +had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright +if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at +home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I +had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays +as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had +died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and +silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of +my father’s had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of +me; but she, too, had died long, long ago, my mourning for her being one +of the first things I could recollect. And she had no successor. There +were, indeed, a housekeeper and some maids,—the latter of whom I only +saw disappearing at the end of a passage, or whisking out of a room when +one of “the gentlemen” appeared. Mrs. Weir, indeed, I saw nearly every +day; but a curtsey, a smile, a pair of nice round arms which she caressed +while folding them across her ample waist, and a large white apron, were +all I knew of her. This was the only female influence in the house. The +drawing-room I was aware of only as a place of deadly good order, into +which nobody ever entered. It had three long windows opening on the lawn, +and communicated at the upper end, which was rounded like a great bay, +with the conservatory. Sometimes I gazed into it as a child from without, +wondering at the needlework on the chairs, the screens, the +looking-glasses which never reflected any living face. My father did not +like the room, which probably was not wonderful, though it never occurred +to me in those early days to inquire why.</p> + +<p>I may say here, though it will probably be disappointing to those who +form a sentimental idea of the capabilities of children, that it did +not occur to me either, in these early days, to make any inquiry about +my mother. There was no room in life, as I knew it, for any such +person; nothing suggested to my mind either the fact that she must have +existed, or that there was need of her in the house. I accepted, as I +believe most children do, the facts of existence, on the basis with +which I had first made acquaintance with them, without question or +remark. As a matter of fact, I was aware that it was rather dull at +home; but neither by comparison with the books I read, nor by the +communications received from my school-fellows, did this seem to me +anything remarkable. And I was possibly somewhat dull too by nature, +for I did not mind. I was fond of reading, and for that there was +unbounded opportunity. I had a little ambition in respect to work, and +that too could be prosecuted undisturbed. When I went to the +university, my society lay almost entirely among men; but by that time +and afterwards, matters had of course greatly changed with me, and +though I recognized women as part of the economy of nature, and did not +indeed by any means dislike or avoid them, yet the idea of connecting +them at all with my own home never entered into my head. That continued +to be as it had always been, when at intervals I descended upon the +cool, grave, colorless place, in the midst of my traffic with the +world: always very still, well-ordered, serious,—the cooking very +good, the comfort perfect; old Morphew, the butler, a little older (but +very little older, perhaps on the whole less old, since in my childhood +I had thought him a kind of Methuselah); and Mrs. Weir, less active, +covering up her arms in sleeves, but folding and caressing them just as +always. I remember looking in from the lawn through the windows upon +that deadly-orderly drawing-room, with a humorous recollection of my +childish admiration and wonder, and feeling that it must be kept so +forever and ever, and that to go into it would break some sort of +amusing mock mystery, some pleasantly ridiculous spell.</p> + +<p>But it was only at rare intervals that I went home. In the long vacation, +as in my school holidays, my father often went abroad with me, so that we +had gone over a great deal of the Continent together very pleasantly. He +was old in proportion to the age of his son, being a man of sixty when I +was twenty, but that did not disturb the pleasure of the relations +between us. I don’t know that they were ever very confidential. On my +side there was but little to communicate, for I did not get into scrapes +nor fall in love, the two predicaments which demand sympathy and +confidences. And as for my father himself, I was never aware what there +could be to communicate on his side. I knew his life exactly,—what he +did almost at every hour of the day; under what circumstances of the +temperature he would ride and when walk; how often and with what guests +he would indulge in the occasional break of a dinner-party, a serious +pleasure,—perhaps, indeed, less a pleasure than a duty. All this I knew +as well as he did, and also his views on public matters, his political +opinions, which naturally were different from mine. What ground, then, +remained for confidence? I did not know any. We were both of us of a +reserved nature, not apt to enter into our religious feelings, for +instance. There are many people who think reticence on such subjects a +sign of the most reverential way of contemplating them. Of this I am far +from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial +to my own mind.</p> + +<p>And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I +did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an +Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a +semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years, +invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and +disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, “no +occasion” to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never +given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be +his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not +oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to +exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and +expressed his satisfaction in my return. “Of course,” he said, “I am not +glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken; +but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I +am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any difference, sir,” said I; “everything here seems exactly +the same as when I went away—”</p> + +<p>He smiled, and shook his head. “It is true enough,” he said; “after we +have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a +plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an +inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the +fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to +have you here.”</p> + +<p>“If I had known that,” I said, “and that you wanted me, I should have +come in any circumstances. As there are only two of us in the world—”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “there are only two of us in the world; but still I +should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career.”</p> + +<p>“It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself,” I said rather +bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear.</p> + +<p>He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, “It is an ill wind that blows +nobody good,” with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain +gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in +all the world to whom I owed any duty. I had not been without dreams of +warmer affections, but they had come to nothing—not tragically, but in +the ordinary way. I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but +not that which I did want,—which was not a thing to make any unmanly +moan about, but in the ordinary course of events. Such disappointments +happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and +sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so.</p> + +<p>However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,—in a +position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my +contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much +money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the +future. On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no +occupation. The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an +advantage. I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into +the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one +through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was +not a walk but a lounge. The country was silent and full of +thoughts,—thoughts not always very agreeable,—whereas there were always +the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be +heard,—all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very +impoverished version for the idle man. I did not like it, but I felt +myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand. The +rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner. I might +have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for +that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, +and fully contented with my lot.</p> + +<p>It was possibly my own want of occupation which made me observe with +surprise, after a while, how much occupied my father was. He had +expressed himself glad of my return; but now that I had returned, I saw +very little of him. Most of his time was spent in his library, as had +always been the case. But on the few visits I paid him there, I could not +but perceive that the aspect of the library was much changed. It had +acquired the look of a business-room, almost an office. There were large +business-like books on the table, which I could not associate with +anything he could naturally have to do; and his correspondence was very +large. I thought he closed one of those books hurriedly as I came in, and +pushed it away, as if he did not wish me to see it. This surprised me at +the moment without arousing any other feeling; but afterwards I +remembered it with a clearer sense of what it meant. He was more absorbed +altogether than I had been used to see him. He was visited by men +sometimes not of very prepossessing appearance. Surprise grew in my mind +without any very distinct idea of the reason of it; and it was not till +after a chance conversation with Morphew that my vague uneasiness began +to take definite shape. It was begun without any special intention on my +part. Morphew had informed me that master was very busy, on some occasion +when I wanted to see him. And I was a little annoyed to be thus put off. +“It appears to me that my father is always busy,” I said hastily. Morphew +then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent.</p> + +<p>“A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion,” he said.</p> + +<p>This startled me much, and I asked hurriedly, “What do you mean?” without +reflecting that to ask for private information from a servant about my +father’s habits was as bad as investigating into a stranger’s affairs. It +did not strike me in the same light.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Philip,” said Morphew, “a thing ’as ’appened as ’appens more often +than it ought to. Master has got awful keen about money in his old age.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a new thing for him,” I said.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, begging your pardon, it ain’t a new thing. He was once +broke of it, and that wasn’t easy done; but it’s come back, if you’ll +excuse me saying so. And I don’t know as he’ll ever be broke of it +again at his age.”</p> + +<p>I felt more disposed to be angry than disturbed by this. “You must be +making some ridiculous mistake,” I said. “And if you were not so old a +friend as you are, Morphew, I should not have allowed my father to be so +spoken of to me.”</p> + +<p>The old man gave me a half-astonished, half-contemptuous look. “He’s been +my master a deal longer than he’s been your father,” he said, turning on +his heel. The assumption was so comical that my anger could not stand in +face of it. I went out, having been on my way to the door when this +conversation occurred, and took my usual lounge about, which was not a +satisfactory sort of amusement. Its vanity and emptiness appeared to be +more evident than usual to-day. I met half-a-dozen people I knew, and had +as many pieces of news confided to me. I went up and down the length of +the High Street. I made a small purchase or two. And then I turned +homeward, despising myself, yet finding no alternative within my reach. +Would a long country walk have been more virtuous? It would at least have +been more wholesome; but that was all that could be said. My mind did +not dwell on Morphew’s communication. It seemed without sense or meaning +to me; and after the excellent joke about his superior interest in his +master to mine in my father, was dismissed lightly enough from my mind. I +tried to invent some way of telling this to my father without letting him +perceive that Morphew had been finding faults in him, or I listening; for +it seemed a pity to lose so good a joke. However, as I returned home, +something happened which put the joke entirely out of my head. It is +curious when a new subject of trouble or anxiety has been suggested to +the mind in an unexpected way, how often a second advertisement follows +immediately after the first, and gives to that a potency which in itself +it had not possessed.</p> + +<p>I was approaching our own door, wondering whether my father had gone, and +whether, on my return, I should find him at leisure,—for I had several +little things to say to him,—when I noticed a poor woman lingering about +the closed gates. She had a baby sleeping in her arms. It was a spring +night, the stars shining in the twilight, and everything soft and dim; +and the woman’s figure was like a shadow, flitting about, now here, now +there, on one side or another of the gate. She stopped when she saw me +approaching, and hesitated for a moment, then seemed to take a sudden +resolution. I watched her without knowing, with a prevision that she was +going to address me, though with no sort of idea as to the subject of her +address. She came up to me doubtfully, it seemed, yet certainly, as I +felt, and when she was close to me, dropped a sort of hesitating curtsey, +and said, “It’s Mr. Philip?” in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“What do you want with me?” I said.</p> + +<p>Then she poured forth suddenly, without warning or preparation, her long +speech,—a flood of words which must have been all ready and waiting at +the doors of her lips for utterance. “Oh, sir, I want to speak to you! I +can’t believe you’ll be so hard, for you’re young; and I can’t believe +he’ll be so hard if so be as his own son, as I’ve always heard he had but +one, ’ll speak up for us. Oh, gentleman, it is easy for the likes of you, +that, if you ain’t comfortable in one room, can just walk into another; +but if one room is all you have, and every bit of furniture you have +taken out of it, and nothing but the four walls left,—not so much as the +cradle for the child, or a chair for your man to sit down upon when he +comes from his work, or a saucepan to cook him his supper—”</p> + +<p>“My good woman,” I said, “who can have taken all that from you? Surely +nobody can be so cruel?”</p> + +<p>“You say it’s cruel!” she cried with a sort of triumph. “Oh, I knowed you +would, or any true gentleman that don’t hold with screwing poor folks. +Just go and say that to him inside there for the love of God. Tell him +to think what he’s doing, driving poor creatures to despair. Summer’s +coming, the Lord be praised, but yet it’s bitter cold at night with your +counterpane gone; and when you’ve been working hard all day, and nothing +but four bare walls to come home to, and all your poor little sticks of +furniture that you’ve saved up for, and got together one by one, all +gone, and you no better than when you started, or rather worse, for then +you was young. Oh, sir!” the woman’s voice rose into a sort of passionate +wail. And then she added, beseechingly, recovering herself, “Oh, speak +for us; he’ll not refuse his own son—”</p> + +<p>“To whom am I to speak? Who is it that has done this to you?” I said.</p> + +<p>The woman hesitated again, looking keenly in my face, then repeated with +a slight faltering, “It’s Mr. Philip?” as if that made everything right.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I am Philip Canning,” I said; “but what have I to do with this? +and to whom am I to speak?”</p> + +<p>She began to whimper, crying and stopping herself. “Oh, please, sir! it’s +Mr. Canning as owns all the house property about; it’s him that our court +and the lane and everything belongs to. And he’s taken the bed from under +us, and the baby’s cradle, although it’s said in the Bible as you’re not +to take poor folks’ bed.”</p> + +<p>“My father!” I cried in spite of myself; “then it must be some agent, +some one else in his name. You may be sure he knows nothing of it. Of +course I shall speak to him at once.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, God bless you, sir,” said the woman. But then she added, in a lower +tone, “It’s no agent. It’s one as never knows trouble. It’s him that +lives in that grand house.” But this was said under her breath, evidently +not for me to hear.</p> + +<p>Morphew’s words flashed through my mind as she spoke. What was this? Did +it afford an explanation of the much-occupied hours, the big books, the +strange visitors? I took the poor woman’s name, and gave her something +to procure a few comforts for the night, and went indoors disturbed and +troubled. It was impossible to believe that my father himself would +have acted thus; but he was not a man to brook interference, and I did +not see how to introduce the subject, what to say. I could but hope +that, at the moment of broaching it, words would be put into my mouth, +which often happens in moments of necessity, one knows not how, even +when one’s theme is not so all-important as that for which such help has +been promised. As usual, I did not see my father till dinner. I have +said that our dinners were very good, luxurious in a simple way, +everything excellent in its kind, well cooked, well served,—the +perfection of comfort without show,—which is a combination very dear to +the English heart. I said nothing till Morphew, with his solemn +attention to everything that was going, had retired; and then it was +with some strain of courage that I began.</p> + +<p>“I was stopped outside the gate to-day by a curious sort of +petitioner,—a poor woman, who seems to be one of your tenants, sir, but +whom your agent must have been rather too hard upon.”</p> + +<p>“My agent? Who is that?” said my father quietly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know his name, and I doubt his competence. The poor creature +seems to have had everything taken from her,—her bed, her child’s +cradle.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt she was behind with her rent.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely, sir. She seemed very poor,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You take it coolly,” said my father, with an upward glance, half-amused, +not in the least shocked by my statement. “But when a man, or a woman +either, takes a house, I suppose you will allow that they ought to pay +rent for it.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir,” I replied, “when they have got anything to pay.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t allow the reservation,” he said. But he was not angry, which I +had feared he would be.</p> + +<p>“I think,” I continued, “that your agent must be too severe. And this +emboldens me to say something which has been in my mind for some +time”—(these were the words, no doubt, which I had hoped would be put +into my month; they were the suggestion of the moment, and yet as I said +them it was with the most complete conviction of their truth)—“and that +is this: I am doing nothing; my time hangs heavy on my hands. Make me +your agent. I will see for myself, and save you from such mistakes; and +it will be an occupation—”</p> + +<p>“Mistakes? What warrant have you for saying these are mistakes?” he said +testily; then after a moment: “This is a strange proposal from you, Phil. +Do you know what it is you are offering?—to be a collector of rents, +going about from door to door, from week to week; to look after wretched +little bits of repairs, drains, etc.; to get paid, which, after all, is +the chief thing, and not to be taken in by tales of poverty.”</p> + +<p>“Not to let you be taken in by men without pity,” I said.</p> + +<p>He gave me a strange glance, which I did not very well understand, and +said abruptly, a thing which, so far as I remember, he had never in my +life said before, “You’ve become a little like your mother, Phil—”</p> + +<p>“My mother!” the reference was so unusual—nay, so unprecedented—that I +was greatly startled. It seemed to me like the sudden introduction of a +quite new element in the stagnant atmosphere, as well as a new party to +our conversation. My father looked across the table, as if with some +astonishment at my tone of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Is that so very extraordinary?” he said.</p> + +<p>“No; of course it is not extraordinary that I should resemble my mother. +Only—I have heard very little of her—almost nothing.”</p> + +<p>“That is true.” He got up and placed himself before the fire, which was +very low, as the night was not cold—had not been cold heretofore at +least; but it seemed to me now that a little chill came into the dim and +faded room. Perhaps it looked more dull from the suggestion of a +something brighter, warmer, that might have been. “Talking of mistakes,” +he said, “perhaps that was one: to sever you entirely from her side of +the house. But I did not care for the connection. You will understand how +it is that I speak of it now when I tell you—” He stopped here, however, +said nothing more for a minute or so, and then rang the bell. Morphew +came, as he always did, very deliberately, so that some time elapsed in +silence, during which my surprise grew. When the old man appeared at the +door—“Have you put the lights in the drawing-room, as I told you?” my +father said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; and opened the box, sir; and it’s a—it’s a speaking +likeness—”</p> + +<p>This the old man got out in a great hurry, as if afraid that his master +would stop him. My father did so with a wave of his hand.</p> + +<p>“That’s enough. I asked no information. You can go now.”</p> + +<p>The door closed upon us, and there was again a pause. My subject had +floated away altogether like a mist, though I had been so concerned about +it. I tried to resume, but could not. Something seemed to arrest my very +breathing; and yet in this dull, respectable house of ours, where +everything breathed good character and integrity, it was certain that +there could be no shameful mystery to reveal. It was some time before my +father spoke, not from any purpose that I could see, but apparently +because his mind was busy with probably unaccustomed thoughts.</p> + +<p>“You scarcely know the drawing-room, Phil,” he said at last.</p> + +<p>“Very little. I have never seen it used. I have a little awe of it, to +tell the truth.”</p> + +<p>“That should not be. There is no reason for that. But a man by himself, +as I have been for the greater part of my life, has no occasion for a +drawing-room. I always, as a matter of preference, sat among my books; +however, I ought to have thought of the impression on you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is not important,” I said; “the awe was childish. I have not +thought of it since I came home.”</p> + +<p>“It never was anything very splendid at the best,” said he. He lifted the +lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my +offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of +seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom +of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair +and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, +his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was +taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment +with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and +bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more +intimately than any other creature in the world,—I was familiar with +every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not +know him at all?</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The drawing-room was already lighted with a flickering array of candles +upon the mantelpiece and along the walls, producing the pretty, starry +effect which candles give without very much light. As I had not the +smallest idea what I was about to see, for Morphew’s “speaking likeness” +was very hurriedly said, and only half comprehensible in the bewilderment +of my faculties, my first glance was at this very unusual illumination, +for which I could assign no reason. The next showed me a large +full-length portrait, still in the box in which apparently it had +travelled, placed upright, supported against a table in the centre of the +room. My father walked straight up to it, motioned to me to place a +smaller table close to the picture on the left side, and put his lamp +upon that. Then he waved his hand towards it, and stood aside that I +might see.</p> + +<p>It was a full-length portrait of a very young woman—I might say a girl +scarcely twenty—in a white dress, made in a very simple old fashion, +though I was too little accustomed to female costume to be able to fix +the date. It might have been a hundred years old, or twenty, for aught I +knew. The face had an expression of youth, candor, and simplicity more +than any face I had ever seen,—or so, at least in my surprise, I +thought. The eyes were a little wistful, with something which was almost +anxiety which at least was not content—in them; a faint, almost +imperceptible, curve in the lids. The complexion was of a dazzling +fairness, the hair light, but the eyes dark, which gave individuality to +the face. It would have been as lovely had the eyes been blue,—probably +more so,—but their darkness gave a touch of character, a slight discord, +which made the harmony finer. It was not, perhaps, beautiful in the +highest sense of the word. The girl must have been too young, too slight, +too little developed for actual beauty; but a face which so invited love +and confidence I never saw. One smiled at it with instinctive affection. +“What a sweet face!” I said. “What a lovely girl! Who is she? Is this one +of the relations you were speaking of on the other side?”</p> + +<p>My father made me no reply. He stood aside, looking at it as if he knew +it too well to require to look,—as if the picture was already in his +eyes. “Yes,” he said, after an interval, with a long-drawn breath, “she +was a lovely girl, as you say.”</p> + +<p>“Was?—then she is dead. What a pity!” I said; “what a pity! so young and +so sweet!”</p> + +<p>We stood gazing at her thus, in her beautiful stillness and calm,—two +men, the younger of us full-grown and conscious of many experiences, the +other an old man,—before this impersonation of tender youth. At length +he said, with a slight tremulousness in his voice, “Does nothing suggest +to you who she is, Phil?”</p> + +<p>I turned round to look at him with profound astonishment, but he turned +away from my look. A sort of quiver passed over his face. “That is your +mother,” he said, and walked suddenly away, leaving me there.</p> + +<p>My mother!</p> + +<p>I stood for a moment in a kind of consternation before the white-robed +innocent creature, to me no more than a child; then a sudden laugh broke +from me, without any will of mine something ludicrous, as well as +something awful, was in it. When the laugh was over, I found myself with +tears in my eyes, gazing, holding my breath. The soft features seemed to +melt, the lips to move, the anxiety in the eyes to become a personal +inquiry. Ah, no! nothing of the kind; only because of the water in mine. +My mother! oh, fair and gentle creature, scarcely woman, how could any +man’s voice call her by that name! I had little idea enough of what it +meant,—had heard it laughed at, scoffed at, reverenced, but never had +learned to place it even among the ideal powers of life. Yet if it meant +anything at all, what it meant was worth thinking of. What did she ask, +looking at me with those eyes? What would she have said if “those lips +had language”? If I had known her only as Cowper did—with a child’s +recollection—there might have been some thread, some faint but +comprehensible link, between us; but now all that I felt was the curious +incongruity. Poor child! I said to myself; so sweet a creature: poor +little tender soul! as if she had been a little sister, a child of +mine,—but my mother! I cannot tell how long I stood looking at her, +studying the candid, sweet face, which surely had germs in it of +everything that was good and beautiful; and sorry, with a profound +regret, that she had died and never carried these promises to +fulfillment. Poor girl! poor people who had loved her! These were my +thoughts; with a curious vertigo and giddiness of my whole being in the +sense of a mysterious relationship, which it was beyond my power to +understand.</p> + +<p>Presently my father came back, possibly because I had been a long time +unconscious of the passage of the minutes, or perhaps because he was +himself restless in the strange disturbance of his habitual calm. He came +in and put his arm within mine, leaning his weight partially upon me, +with an affectionate suggestion which went deeper than words. I pressed +his arm to my side: it was more between us two grave Englishmen than any +embracing.</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand it,” I said.</p> + +<p>“No. I don’t wonder at that; but if it is strange to you, Phil, think how +much more strange to me! That is the partner of my life. I have never had +another, or thought of another. That—girl! If we are to meet again, as I +have always hoped we should meet again, what am I to say to her,—I, an +old man? Yes; I know what you mean. I am not an old man for my years; but +my years are threescore and ten, and the play is nearly played out. How +am I to meet that young creature? We used to say to each other that it +was forever, that we never could be but one, that it was for life and +death. But what—what am I to say to her, Phil, when I meet her again, +that—that angel? No, it is not her being an angel that troubles me; but +she is so young! She is like my—my granddaughter,” he cried, with a +burst of what was half sobs, half laughter; “and she is my wife,—and I +am an old man—an old man! And so much has happened that she could not +understand.”</p> + +<p>I was too much startled by this strange complaint to know what to say. +It was not my own trouble, and I answered it in the conventional way.</p> + +<p>“They are not as we are, sir,” I said; “they look upon us with larger, +other eyes than ours.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! you don’t know what I mean,” he said quickly; and in the interval he +had subdued his emotion. “At first, after she died, it was my consolation +to think that I should meet her again,—that we never could be really +parted. But, my God, how I have changed since then! I am another man,—I +am a different being. I was not very young even then,—twenty years older +than she was; but her youth renewed mine. I was not an unfit partner; she +asked no better, and knew as much more than I did in some things,—being +so much nearer the source,—as I did in others that were of the world. +But I have gone a long way since then, Phil,—a long way; and there she +stands, just where I left her.”</p> + +<p>I pressed his arm again. “Father,” I said, which was a title I seldom +used, “we are not to suppose that in a higher life the mind stands +still.” I did not feel myself qualified to discuss such topics, but +something one must say.</p> + +<p>“Worse, worse!” he replied; “then she too will be, like me, a different +being, and we shall meet as what? as strangers, as people who have lost +sight of each other, with a long past between us,—we who parted, my God! +with—with—”</p> + +<p>His voice broke and ended for a moment then while, surprised and almost +shocked by what he said, I cast about in my mind what to reply, he +withdrew his arm suddenly from mine, and said in his usual tone, “Where +shall we hang the picture, Phil? It must be here in this room. What do +you think will be the best light?”</p> + +<p>This sudden alteration took me still more by surprise, and gave me almost +an additional shock; but it was evident that I must follow the changes of +his mood, or at least the sudden repression of sentiment which he +originated. We went into that simpler question with great seriousness, +consulting which would be the best light. “You know I can scarcely +advise,” I said; “I have never been familiar with this room. I should +like to put off, if you don’t mind, till daylight.”</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said, “that this would be the best place.” It was on the +other side of the fireplace, on the wall which faced the windows,—not +the best light, I knew enough to be aware, for an oil-painting. When I +said so, however, he answered me with a little impatience, “It does not +matter very much about the best light; there will be nobody to see it but +you and me. I have my reasons—” There was a small table standing against +the wall at this spot, on which he had his hand as he spoke. Upon it +stood a little basket in very fine lace-like wicker-work. His hand must +have trembled, for the table shook, and the basket fell, its contents +turning out upon the carpet,—little bits of needlework, colored silks, a +small piece of knitting half done. He laughed as they rolled out at his +feet, and tried to stoop to collect them, then tottered to a chair, and +covered for a moment his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>No need to ask what they were. No woman’s work had been seen in the house +since I could recollect it. I gathered them up reverently and put them +back. I could see, ignorant as I was, that the bit of knitting was +something for an infant. What could I do less than put it to my lips? It +had been left in the doing—for me.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think this is the best place,” my father said a minute after, in +his usual tone.</p> + +<p>We placed it there that evening with our own hands. The picture was +large, and in a heavy frame, but my father would let no one help me but +himself. And then, with a superstition for which I never could give any +reason even to myself, having removed the packings, we closed and locked +the door, leaving the candles about the room, in their soft, strange +illumination, lighting the first night of her return to her old place.</p> + +<p>That night no more was said. My father went to his room early, which was +not his habit. He had never, however, accustomed me to sit late with him +in the library. I had a little study or smoking-room of my own, in which +all my special treasures were, the collections of my travels and my +favorite books,—and where I always sat after prayers, a ceremonial which +was regularly kept up in the house. I retired as usual this night to my +room, and, as usual, read,—but to-night somewhat vaguely, often pausing +to think. When it was quite late, I went out by the glass door to the +lawn, and walked round the house, with the intention of looking in at the +drawing-room windows, as I had done when a child. But I had forgotten +that these windows were all shuttered at night; and nothing but a faint +penetration of the light within through the crevices bore witness to the +installment of the new dweller there.</p> + +<p>In the morning my father was entirely himself again. He told me without +emotion of the manner in which he had obtained the picture. It had +belonged to my mother’s family, and had fallen eventually into the hands +of a cousin of hers, resident abroad,—“A man whom I did not like, and +who did not like me,” my father said; “there was, or had been, some +rivalry, he thought: a mistake, but he was never aware of that. He +refused all my requests to have a copy made. You may suppose, Phil, that +I wished this very much. Had I succeeded, you would have been acquainted, +at least, with your mother’s appearance, and need not have sustained this +shock. But he would not consent. It gave him, I think, a certain pleasure +to think that he had the only picture. But now he is dead, and out of +remorse, or with some other intention, has left it to me.”</p> + +<p>“That looks like kindness,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes; or something else. He might have thought that by so doing he was +establishing a claim upon me,” my father said; but he did not seem +disposed to add any more. On whose behalf he meant to establish a claim I +did not know, nor who the man was who had laid us under so great an +obligation on his death-bed. He <i>had</i> established a claim on me at least; +though, as he was dead, I could not see on whose behalf it was. And my +father said nothing more; he seemed to dislike the subject. When I +attempted to return to it, he had recourse to his letters or his +newspapers. Evidently he had made up his mind to say no more.</p> + +<p>Afterwards I went into the drawing-room, to look at the picture once +more. It seemed to me that the anxiety in her eyes was not so evident as +I had thought it last night. The light possibly was more favorable. She +stood just above the place where, I make no doubt, she had sat in life, +where her little work-basket was,—not very much above it. The picture +was full-length, and we had hung it low, so that she might have been +stepping into the room, and was little above my own level as I stood and +looked at her again. Once more I smiled at the strange thought that this +young creature—so young, almost childish—could be my mother; and once +more my eyes grew wet looking at her. He was a benefactor, indeed, who +had given her back to us. I said to myself, that if I could ever do +anything for him or his, I would certainly do it, for my—for this lovely +young creature’s sake. And with this in my mind, and all the thoughts +that came with it, I am obliged to confess that the other matter, which I +had been so full of on the previous night, went entirely out of my head.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>It is rarely, however, that such matters are allowed to slip out of one’s +mind. When I went out in the afternoon for my usual stroll,—or rather +when I returned from that stroll,—I saw once more before me the woman +with her baby, whose story had filled me with dismay on the previous +evening. She was waiting at the gate as before, and, “Oh, gentleman, but +haven’t you got some news to give me?” she said.</p> + +<p>“My good woman,—I—have been greatly occupied. I have had—no time to do +anything.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she said, with a little cry of disappointment, “my man said not to +make too sure, and that the ways of the gentlefolks is hard to know.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot explain to you,” I said, as gently as I could, “what it is that +has made me forget you. It was an event that can only do you good in the +end. Go home now, and see the man that took your things from you, and +tell him to come to me. I promise you it shall all be put right.”</p> + +<p>The woman looked at me in astonishment, then burst forth, as it seemed, +involuntarily, “What! without asking no questions?” After this there came +a storm of tears and blessings, from which I made haste to escape, but +not without carrying that curious commentary on my rashness away with +me,—“Without asking no questions?” It might be foolish, perhaps; but +after all, how slight a matter. To make the poor creature comfortable at +the cost of what,—a box or two of cigars, perhaps, or some other trifle. +And if it should be her own fault, or her husband’s—what then? Had I +been punished for all my faults, where should I have been now? And if the +advantage should be only temporary, what then? To be relieved and +comforted even for a day or two, was not that something to count in life? +Thus I quenched the fiery dart of criticism which my <i>protégée</i> herself +had thrown into the transaction, not without a certain sense of the humor +of it. Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, +to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty +performed in his name. This one case I had taken out of the category of +wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence +in my own person,—for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor +creature’s rent as well as redeem her goods,—and, whatever might happen +to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands. The man came +presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father’s agent in the +matter. “I don’t know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it,” he said. “He +don’t want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property. He +always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things +worse in the end. His rule is, ‘Never more than a month, Stevens;’ that’s +what Mr. Canning says to me, sir. He says, ‘More than that they can’t +pay. It’s no use trying.’ And it’s a good rule; it’s a very good rule. He +won’t hear none of their stories, sir. Bless you, you’d never get a penny +of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales. But if so +be as you’ll pay Mrs. Jordan’s rent, it’s none of my business how it’s +paid, so long as it’s paid, and I’ll send her back her things. But +they’ll just have to be took next time,” he added composedly. “Over and +over; it’s always the same story with them sort of poor folks,—they’re +too poor for anything, that’s the truth,” the man said.</p> + +<p>Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone. “Mr. Philip,” he +said, “you’ll excuse me, sir, but if you’re going to pay all the poor +folks’ rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at +once, for it’s without end—”</p> + +<p>“I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; +and we’ll soon put a stop to that,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt.</p> + +<p>“Manage for—master,” he said, with a face of consternation. “You, +Mr. Philip!”</p> + +<p>“You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew.”</p> + +<p>He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, “Master, sir,—master +don’t let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master’s—not one to be +managed. Don’t you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God.” +The old man was quite pale.</p> + +<p>“Quarrel!” I said. “I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don’t +mean to begin now.”</p> + +<p>Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was +dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a +great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in +which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as +he threw on the coals and wood. “He’ll not like it,—we all know as he’ll +not like it. Master won’t stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,”—this last he +discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door.</p> + +<p>I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he +was even half amused. “I don’t think that plan of yours will hold water, +Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,—that’s +an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you +are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no +difference to me. I am quite content if I get my money, even out of your +pockets,—so long as it amuses you. But as my collector, you know, which +you are good enough to propose to be—”</p> + +<p>“Of course I should act under your orders,” I said; “but at least you +might be sure that I would not commit you to any—to any—” I paused +for a word.</p> + +<p>“Act of oppression,” he said, with a smile—“piece of cruelty, +exaction—there are half-a-dozen words—”</p> + +<p>“Sir—” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Stop, Phil, and let us understand each other. I hope I have always been +a just man. I do my duty on my side, and I expect it from others. It is +your benevolence that is cruel. I have calculated anxiously how much +credit it is safe to allow; but I will allow no man, or woman either, to +go beyond what he or she can make up. My law is fixed. Now you +understand. My agents, as you call them, originate nothing; they execute +only what I decide—”</p> + +<p>“But then no circumstances are taken into account,—no bad luck, no evil +chances, no loss unexpected.”</p> + +<p>“There are no evil chances,” he said; “there is no bad luck; they reap as +they sow. No, I don’t go among them to be cheated by their stories, and +spend quite unnecessary emotion in sympathizing with them. You will find +it much better for you that I don’t. I deal with them on a general rule, +made, I assure you, not without a great deal of thought.”</p> + +<p>“And must it always be so?” I said. “Is there no way of ameliorating or +bringing in a better state of things?”</p> + +<p>“It seems not,” he said; “we don’t get ‘no forrarder’ in that +direction so far as I can see.” And then he turned the conversation to +general matters.</p> + +<p>I retired to my room greatly discouraged that night. In former ages—or +so one is led to suppose—and in the lower primitive classes who still +linger near the primeval type, action of any kind was, and is, easier +than amid the complication of our higher civilization. A bad man is a +distinct entity, against whom you know more or less what steps to take. A +tyrant, an oppressor, a bad landlord, a man who lets miserable tenements +at a rack-rent (to come down to particulars), and exposes his wretched +tenants to all those abominations of which we have heard so much—well! +he is more or less a satisfactory opponent. There he is, and there is +nothing to be said for him—down with him! and let there be an end of his +wickedness. But when, on the contrary, you have before you a good man, a +just man, who has considered deeply a question which you allow to be full +of difficulty; who regrets, but cannot, being human, avert the miseries +which to some unhappy individuals follow from the very wisdom of his +rule,—what can you do? What is to be done? Individual benevolence at +haphazard may balk him here and there, but what have you to put in the +place of his well-considered scheme? Charity which makes paupers? or what +else? I had not considered the question deeply, but it seemed to me that +I now came to a blank wall, which my vague human sentiment of pity and +scorn could find no way to breach. There must be wrong somewhere, but +where? There must be some change for the better to be made, but how?</p> + +<p>I was seated with a book before me on the table, with my head supported +on my hands. My eyes were on the printed page, but I was not reading; my +mind was full of these thoughts, my heart of great discouragement and +despondency,—a sense that I could do nothing, yet that there surely must +and ought, if I but knew it, be something to do. The fire which Morphew +had built up before dinner was dying out, the shaded lamp on my table +left all the corners in a mysterious twilight. The house was perfectly +still, no one moving: my father in the library, where, after the habit of +many solitary years, he liked to be left alone, and I here in my retreat, +preparing for the formation of similar habits. I thought all at once of +the third member of the party, the new-comer, alone too in the room that +had been hers; and there suddenly occurred to me a strong desire to take +up my lamp and go to the drawing-room and visit her, to see whether her +soft, angelic face would give any inspiration. I restrained, however, +this futile impulse,—for what could the picture say?—and instead +wondered what might have been had she lived, had she been there, warmly +enthroned beside the warm domestic centre, the hearth which would have +been a common sanctuary, the true home. In that case what might have +been? Alas! the question was no more simple to answer than the other: she +might have been there alone too, her husband’s business, her son’s +thoughts, as far from her as now, when her silent representative held her +old place in the silence and darkness. I had known it so, often enough. +Love itself does not always give comprehension and sympathy. It might be +that she was more to us there, in the sweet image of her undeveloped +beauty, than she might have been had she lived and grown to maturity and +fading, like the rest.</p> + +<p>I cannot be certain whether my mind was still lingering on this not very +cheerful reflection, or if it had been left behind, when the strange +occurrence came of which I have now to tell. Can I call it an occurrence? +My eyes were on my book, when I thought I heard the sound of a door +opening and shutting, but so far away and faint that if real at all it +must have been in a far corner of the house. I did not move except to +lift my eyes from the book as one does instinctively the better to +listen; when—But I cannot tell, nor have I ever been able to describe +exactly what it was. My heart made all at once a sudden leap in my +breast. I am aware that this language is figurative, and that the heart +cannot leap; but it is a figure so entirely justified by sensation, that +no one will have any difficulty in understanding what I mean. My heart +leaped up and began beating wildly in my throat, in my ears, as if my +whole being had received a sudden and intolerable shock. The sound went +through my head like the dizzy sound of some strange mechanism, a +thousand wheels and springs circling, echoing, working in my brain. I +felt the blood bound in my veins, my mouth became dry, my eyes hot; a +sense of something insupportable took possession of me. I sprang to my +feet, and then I sat down again. I cast a quick glance round me beyond +the brief circle of the lamplight, but there was nothing there to +account in any way for this sudden extraordinary rush of sensation, nor +could I feel any meaning in it, any suggestion, any moral impression. I +thought I must be going to be ill, and got out my watch and felt my +pulse: it was beating furiously, about one hundred and twenty-five throbs +in a minute. I knew of no illness that could come on like this without +warning, in a moment, and I tried to subdue myself, to say to myself that +it was nothing, some flutter of the nerves, some physical disturbance. I +laid myself down upon my sofa to try if rest would help me, and kept +still, as long as the thumping and throbbing of this wild, excited +mechanism within, like a wild beast plunging and struggling, would let +me. I am quite aware of the confusion of the metaphor; the reality was +just so. It was like a mechanism deranged, going wildly with +ever-increasing precipitation, like those horrible wheels that from time +to time catch a helpless human being in them and tear him to pieces; but +at the same time it was like a maddened living creature making the +wildest efforts to get free.</p> + +<p>When I could bear this no longer I got up and walked about my room; then +having still a certain command of myself, though I could not master the +commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the +shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and +tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung +the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I +should be moved to do,—to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what; +or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving +lunatic,—I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don’t know +what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement, +as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight, +there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet, +the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my +hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been +faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more +anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I +passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any +volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my +father’s library with my lamp in my hand.</p> + +<p>He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished +to see me hurrying in with my light. “Phil!” he said, surprised. I +remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down +the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. “What is the +matter?” he cried. “Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?”</p> + +<p>I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild +commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my +heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to +express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him, +confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone +through, and its sudden cessation. “The matter?” I cried; “I don’t +know what is the matter.”</p> + +<p>My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me +as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in +them,—his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his +looks were severe. “You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you +ought to know better,” he said.</p> + +<p>Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had +happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I, now +that it was over, understand myself; but he saw enough to make him aware +that the disturbance in me was serious, and not caused by any folly of my +own. He was very kind as soon as he had assured himself of this, and +talked, taking pains to bring me back to unexciting subjects. He had a +letter in his hand with a very deep border of black when I came in. I +observed it, without taking any notice or associating it with anything I +knew. He had many correspondents; and although we were excellent friends, +we had never been on those confidential terms which warrant one man in +asking another from whom a special letter has come. We were not so near +to each other as this, though we were father and son. After a while I +went back to my own room, and finished the evening in my usual way, +without any return of the excitement which, now that it was over, looked +to me like some extraordinary dream. What had it meant? Had it meant +anything? I said to myself that it must be purely physical, something +gone temporarily amiss, which had righted itself. It was physical; the +excitement did not affect my mind. I was independent of it all the time, +a spectator of my own agitation, a clear proof that, whatever it was, it +had affected my bodily organization alone.</p> + +<p>Next day I returned to the problem which I had not been able to solve. I +found out my petitioner in the back street, and that she was happy in the +recovery of her possessions, which to my eyes indeed did not seem very +worthy either of lamentation or delight. Nor was her house the tidy house +which injured virtue should have when restored to its humble rights. She +was not injured virtue, it was clear. She made me a great many curtseys, +and poured forth a number of blessings. Her “man” came in while I was +there, and hoped in a gruff voice that God would reward me, and that the +old gentleman’d let ’em alone. I did not like the look of the man. It +seemed to me that in the dark lane behind the house of a winter’s night +he would not be a pleasant person to find in one’s way. Nor was this all: +when I went out into the little street which it appeared was all, or +almost all, my father’s property, a number of groups formed in my way, +and at least half-a-dozen applicants sidled up. “I’ve more claims nor +Mary Jordan any day,” said one; “I’ve lived on Squire Canning’s property, +one place and another, this twenty year.” “And what do you say to me?” +said another; “I’ve six children to her two, bless you, sir, and ne’er a +father to do for them.” I believed in my father’s rule before I got out +of the street, and approved his wisdom in keeping himself free from +personal contact with his tenants. Yet when I looked back upon the +swarming thoroughfare, the mean little houses, the women at their doors +all so open-mouthed and eager to contend for my favor, my heart sank +within me at the thought that out of their misery some portion of our +wealth came, I don’t care how small a portion; that I, young and strong, +should be kept idle and in luxury, in some part through the money screwed +out of their necessities, obtained sometimes by the sacrifice of +everything they prized! Of course I know all the ordinary commonplaces of +life as well as any one,—that if you build a house with your hand or +your money, and let it, the rent of it is your just due; and must be +paid. But yet—</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think, sir,” I said that evening at dinner, the subject being +reintroduced by my father himself, “that we have some duty towards them +when we draw so much from them?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” he said; “I take as much trouble about their drains as I do +about my own.”</p> + +<p>“That is always something, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Something! it is a great deal; it is more than they get anywhere else. I +keep them clean, as far as that’s possible. I give them at least the +means of keeping clean, and thus check disease, and prolong life, which +is more, I assure you, than they’ve any right to expect.”</p> + +<p>I was not prepared with arguments as I ought to have been. That is all in +the Gospel according to Adam Smith, which my father had been brought up +in, but of which the tenets had begun to be less binding in my day. I +wanted something more, or else something less; but my views were not so +clear, nor my system so logical and well-built, as that upon which my +father rested his conscience, and drew his percentage with a light heart.</p> + +<p>Yet I thought there were signs in him of some perturbation. I met him one +morning coming out of the room in which the portrait hung, as if he had +gone to look at it stealthily. He was shaking his head, and saying “No, +no,” to himself, not perceiving me, and I stepped aside when I saw him so +absorbed. For myself, I entered that room but little. I went outside, as +I had so often done when I was a child, and looked through the windows +into the still and now sacred place, which had always impressed me with +a certain awe. Looked at so, the slight figure in its white dress seemed +to be stepping down into the room from some slight visionary altitude, +looking with that which had seemed to me at first anxiety, which I +sometimes represented to myself now as a wistful curiosity, as if she +were looking for the life which might have been hers. Where was the +existence that had belonged to her, the sweet household place, the infant +she had left? She would no more recognize the man who thus came to look +at her as through a veil, with a mystic reverence, than I could recognize +her. I could never be her child to her, any more than she could be a +mother to me.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Thus time passed on for several quiet days. There was nothing to make us +give any special heed to the passage of time, life being very uneventful +and its habits unvaried. My mind was very much preoccupied by my father’s +tenants. He had a great deal of property in the town which was so near +us,—streets of small houses, the best-paying property (I was assured) of +any. I was very anxious to come to some settled conclusion: on the one +hand, not to let myself be carried away by sentiment; on the other, not +to allow my strongly roused feelings to fall into the blank of routine, +as his had done. I was seated one evening in my own sitting-room, busy +with this matter,—busy with calculations as to cost and profit, with an +anxious desire to convince him, either that his profits were greater than +justice allowed, or that they carried with them a more urgent duty than +he had conceived.</p> + +<p>It was night, but not late, not more than ten o’clock, the household +still astir. Everything was quiet,—not the solemnity of midnight +silence, in which there is always something of mystery, but the +soft-breathing quiet of the evening, full of the faint habitual sounds of +a human dwelling, a consciousness of life about. And I was very busy with +my figures, interested, feeling no room in my mind for any other thought. +The singular experience which had startled me so much had passed over +very quickly, and there had been no return. I had ceased to think of it; +indeed, I had never thought of it save for the moment, setting it down +after it was over to a physical cause without much difficulty. At this +time I was far too busy to have thoughts to spare for anything, or room +for imagination; and when suddenly in a moment, without any warning, the +first symptom returned, I started with it into determined resistance, +resolute not to be fooled by any mock influence which could resolve +itself into the action of nerves or ganglions. The first symptom; as +before, was that my heart sprang up with a bound, as if a cannon had been +fired at my ear. My whole being responded with a start. The pen fell out +of my fingers, the figures went out of my head as if all faculty had +departed; and yet I was conscious for a time at least of keeping my +self-control. I was like the rider of a frightened horse, rendered almost +wild by something which in the mystery of its voiceless being it has +seen, something on the road which it will not pass, but wildly plunging, +resisting every persuasion, turns from, with ever-increasing passion. The +rider himself after a time becomes infected with this inexplainable +desperation of terror, and I suppose I must have done so; but for a time +I kept the upper hand. I would not allow myself to spring up as I wished, +as my impulse was, but sat there doggedly, clinging to my books, to my +table, fixing myself on I did not mind what, to resist the flood of +sensation, of emotion, which was sweeping through me, carrying me away. I +tried to continue my calculations. I tried to stir myself up with +recollections of the miserable sights I had seen, the poverty, the +helplessness. I tried to work myself into indignation; but all through +these efforts I felt the contagion growing upon me, my mind falling into +sympathy with all those straining faculties of the body, startled, +excited, driven wild by something, I knew not what. It was not fear. I +was like a ship at sea straining and plunging against wind and tide, but +I was not afraid. I am obliged to use these metaphors, otherwise I could +give no explanation of my condition, seized upon against my will, and +torn from all those moorings of reason to which I clung with desperation, +as long as I had the strength.</p> + +<p>When I got up from my chair at last, the battle was lost, so far as my +powers of self-control were concerned. I got up, or rather was dragged +up, from my seat, clutching at these material things round me as with a +last effort to hold my own. But that was no longer possible; I was +overcome. I stood for a moment looking round me feebly, feeling myself +begin to babble with stammering lips, which was the alternative of +shrieking, and which I seemed to choose as a lesser evil. What I said +was, “What am I to do?” and after a while, “What do you want me to do?” +although throughout I saw no one, heard no voice, and had in reality not +power enough in my dizzy and confused brain to know what I myself meant. +I stood thus for a moment, looking blankly round me for guidance, +repeating the question, which seemed after a time to become almost +mechanical, “What do you want me to do?” though I neither knew to whom I +addressed it nor why I said it. Presently—whether in answer, whether in +mere yielding of nature, I cannot tell—I became aware of a difference: +not a lessening of the agitation, but a softening, as if my powers of +resistance being exhausted, a gentler force, a more benignant influence, +had room. I felt myself consent to whatever it was. My heart melted in +the midst of the tumult; I seemed to give myself up, and move as if drawn +by some one whose arm was in mine, as if softly swept along, not +forcibly, but with an utter consent of all my faculties to do I knew not +what, for love of I knew not whom. For love,—that was how it +seemed,—not by force, as when I went before. But my steps took the same +course: I went through the dim passages in an exaltation indescribable, +and opened the door of my father’s room.</p> + +<p>He was seated there at his table as usual, the light of the lamp falling +on his white hair; he looked up with some surprise at the sound of the +opening door. “Phil,” he said, and with a look of wondering apprehension +on his face, watched my approach. I went straight up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. “Phil, what is the matter? What do you want with +me? What is it?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Father, I can’t tell you. I come not of myself. There must be something +in it, though I don’t know what it is. This is the second time I have +been brought to you here.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going—?” He stopped himself. The exclamation had been begun +with an angry intention. He stopped, looking at me with a scared look, as +if perhaps it might be true.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean mad? I don’t think so. I have no delusions that I know of. +Father, think—do you know any reason why I am brought here? for some +cause there must be.”</p> + +<p>I stood with my hand upon the back of his chair. His table was covered +with papers, among which were several letters with the broad black border +which I had before observed. I noticed this now in my excitement without +any distinct association of thoughts, for that I was not capable of; but +the black border caught my eye. And I was conscious that he too gave a +hurried glance at them, and with one hand swept them away.</p> + +<p>“Philip,” he said, pushing back his chair, “you must be ill, my poor boy. +Evidently we have not been treating you rightly; you have been more ill +all through than I supposed. Let me persuade you to go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“I am perfectly well,” I said. “Father, don’t let us deceive one another. +I am neither a man to go mad nor to see ghosts. What it is that has got +the command over me I can’t tell; but there is some cause for it. You are +doing something or planning something with which I have a right to +interfere.”</p> + +<p>He turned round squarely in his chair, with a spark in his blue eyes. +He was not a man to be meddled with. “I have yet to learn what can +give my son a right to interfere. I am in possession of all my +faculties, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Father,” I cried, “won’t you listen to me? No one can say I have been +undutiful or disrespectful. I am a man, with a right to speak my mind, +and I have done so; but this is different. I am not here by my own will. +Something that is stronger than I has brought me. There is something in +your mind which disturbs—others. I don’t know what I am saying. This is +not what I meant to say; but you know the meaning better than I. Some +one—who can speak to you only by me—speaks to you by me; and I know +that you understand.”</p> + +<p>He gazed up at me, growing pale, and his underlip fell. I, for my part, +felt that my message was delivered. My heart sank into a stillness so +sudden that it made me faint. The light swam in my eyes; everything went +round with me. I kept upright only by my hold upon the chair; and in the +sense of utter weakness that followed, I dropped on my knees I think +first, then on the nearest seat that presented itself, and, covering my +face with my hands, had hard ado not to sob, in the sudden removal of +that strange influence,—the relaxation of the strain.</p> + +<p>There was silence between us for some time; then he said, but with a +voice slightly broken, “I don’t understand you, Phil. You must have +taken some fancy into your mind which my slower intelligence—Speak out +what you want to say. What do you find fault with? Is it all—all that +woman Jordan?”</p> + +<p>He gave a short, forced laugh as he broke off, and shook me +almost roughly by the shoulder, saying, “Speak out! what—what do +you want to say?”</p> + +<p>“It seems, sir, that I have said everything.” My voice trembled more than +his, but not in the same way. “I have told you that I did not come by my +own will,—quite otherwise. I resisted as long as I could: now all is +said. It is for you to judge whether it was worth the trouble or not.”</p> + +<p>He got up from his seat in a hurried way. “You would have me as—mad as +yourself,” he said, then sat down again as quickly. “Come, Phil: if it +will please you, not to make a breach,—the first breach between us,—you +shall have your way. I consent to your looking into that matter about the +poor tenants. Your mind shall not be upset about that, even though I +don’t enter into all your views.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” I said; “but, father, that is not what it is.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is a piece of folly,” he said angrily. “I suppose you mean—but +this is a matter in which I choose to judge for myself.”</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean,” I said, as quietly as I could, “though I don’t +myself know; that proves there is good reason for it. Will you do one +thing for me before I leave you? Come with me into the drawing-room—”</p> + +<p>“What end,” he said, with again the tremble in his voice, “is to be +served by that?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t very well know; but to look at her, you and I together, will +always do something for us, sir. As for breach, there can be no breach +when we stand there.”</p> + +<p>He got up, trembling like an old man, which he was, but which he never +looked like save at moments of emotion like this, and told me to take the +light; then stopped when he had got half-way across the room. “This is a +piece of theatrical sentimentality,” he said. “No, Phil, I will not go. I +will not bring her into any such—Put down the lamp, and, if you will +take my advice, go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“At least,” I said, “I will trouble you no more, father, to-night. So +long as you understand, there need be no more to say.”</p> + +<p>He gave me a very curt “good-night,” and turned back to his papers,—the +letters with the black edge, either by my imagination or in reality, +always keeping uppermost. I went to my own room for my lamp, and then +alone proceeded to the silent shrine in which the portrait hung. I at +least would look at her to-night. I don’t know whether I asked myself, +in so many words, if it were she who—or if it was any one—I knew +nothing; but my heart was drawn with a softness—born, perhaps, of the +great weakness in which I was left after that visitation—to her, to look +at her, to see, perhaps, if there was any sympathy, any approval in her +face. I set down my lamp on the table where her little work-basket still +was; the light threw a gleam upward upon her,—she seemed more than ever +to be stepping into the room, coming down towards me, coming back to her +life. Ah, no! her life was lost and vanished: all mine stood between her +and the days she knew. She looked at me with eyes that did not change. +The anxiety I had seen at first seemed now a wistful, subdued question; +but that difference was not in her look but in mine.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>I need not linger on the intervening time. The doctor who attended us +usually, came in next day “by accident,” and we had a long conversation. +On the following day a very impressive yet genial gentleman from town +lunched with us,—a friend of my father’s, Dr. Something; but the +introduction was hurried, and I did not catch his name. He, too, had a +long talk with me afterwards, my father being called away to speak to +some one on business. Dr.—— drew me out on the subject of the dwellings +of the poor. He said he heard I took great interest in this question, +which had come so much to the front at the present moment. He was +interested in it too, and wanted to know the view I took. I explained at +considerable length that my view did not concern the general subject, on +which I had scarcely thought, so much as the individual mode of +management of my father’s estate. He was a most patient and intelligent +listener, agreeing with me on some points, differing in others; and his +visit was very pleasant. I had no idea until after of its special object; +though a certain puzzled look and slight shake of the head when my father +returned, might have thrown some light upon it. The report of the medical +experts in my case must, however, have been quite satisfactory, for I +heard nothing more of them. It was, I think, a fortnight later when the +next and last of these strange experiences came.</p> + +<p>This time it was morning, about noon,—a wet and rather dismal spring +day. The half-spread leaves seemed to tap at the window, with an appeal +to be taken in; the primroses, that showed golden upon the grass at the +roots of the trees, just beyond the smooth-shorn grass of the lawn, were +all drooped and sodden among their sheltering leaves. The very growth +seemed dreary—the sense of spring in the air making the feeling of +winter a grievance, instead of the natural effect which it had conveyed a +few months before. I had been writing letters, and was cheerful enough, +going back among the associates of my old life, with, perhaps, a little +longing for its freedom and independence, but at the same time a not +ungrateful consciousness that for the moment my present tranquillity +might be best.</p> + +<p>This was my condition—a not unpleasant one—when suddenly the now +well-known symptoms of the visitation to which I had become subject +suddenly seized upon me,—the leap of the heart; the sudden, causeless, +overwhelming physical excitement, which I could neither ignore nor allay. +I was terrified beyond description, beyond reason, when I became +conscious that this was about to begin over again: what purpose did it +answer; what good was in it? My father indeed understood the meaning of +it though I did not understand; but it was little agreeable to be thus +made a helpless instrument, without any will of mine, in an operation of +which I knew nothing; and to enact the part of the oracle unwillingly, +with suffering and such a strain as it took me days to get over. I +resisted, not as before, but yet desperately, trying with better +knowledge to keep down the growing passion. I hurried to my room and +swallowed a dose of a sedative which had been given me to procure sleep +on my first return from India. I saw Morphew in the hall, and called him +to talk to him, and cheat myself, if possible, by that means. Morphew +lingered, however, and, before he came, I was beyond conversation. I +heard him speak, his voice coming vaguely through the turmoil which was +already in my ears, but what he said I have never known. I stood staring, +trying to recover my power of attention, with an aspect which ended by +completely frightening the man. He cried out at last that he was sure I +was ill, that he must bring me something; which words penetrated more or +less into my maddened brain. It became impressed upon me that he was +going to get some one—one of my father’s doctors, perhaps—to prevent +me from acting, to stop my interference, and that if I waited a moment +longer I might be too late. A vague idea seized me at the same time, of +taking refuge with the portrait,—going to its feet, throwing myself +there, perhaps, till the paroxysm should be over. But it was not there +that my footsteps were directed. I can remember making an effort to open +the door of the drawing-room, and feeling myself swept past it, as if by +a gale of wind. It was not there that I had to go. I knew very well where +I had to go,—once more on my confused and voiceless mission to my +father, who understood, although I could not understand.</p> + +<p>Yet as it was daylight, and all was clear, I could not help noting one or +two circumstances on my way. I saw some one sitting in the hall as if +waiting,—a woman, a girl, a black-shrouded figure, with a thick veil +over her face; and asked myself who she was, and what she wanted there. +This question, which had nothing to do with my present condition, somehow +got into my mind, and was tossed up and down upon the tumultuous tide +like a stray log on the breast of a fiercely rolling stream, now +submerged, now coming uppermost, at the mercy of the waters. It did not +stop me for a moment, as I hurried towards my father’s room, but it got +upon the current of my mind. I flung open my father’s door, and closed it +again after me, without seeing who was there or how he was engaged. The +full clearness of the daylight did not identify him as the lamp did at +night. He looked up at the sound of the door, with a glance of +apprehension; and rising suddenly, interrupting some one who was standing +speaking to him with much earnestness and even vehemence, came forward to +meet me. “I cannot be disturbed at present,” he said quickly; “I am +busy.” Then seeing the look in my face, which by this time he knew, he +too changed color. “Phil,” he said, in a low, imperative voice, “wretched +boy, go away—go away; don’t let a stranger see you—”</p> + +<p>“I can’t go away,” I said. “It is impossible. You know why I have come. I +cannot, if I would. It is more powerful than I—”</p> + +<p>“Go, sir,” he said; “go at once; no more of this folly. I will not have +you in this room: Go-go!”</p> + +<p>I made no answer. I don’t know that I could have done so. There had +never been any struggle between us before; but I had no power to do +one thing or another. The tumult within me was in full career. I heard +indeed what he said, and was able to reply; but his words, too, were +like straws tossed upon the tremendous stream. I saw now with my +feverish eyes who the other person present was. It was a woman, dressed +also in mourning similar to the one in the hall; but this a middle-aged +woman, like a respectable servant. She had been crying, and in the +pause caused by this encounter between my father and myself, dried her +eyes with a handkerchief, which she rolled like a ball in her hand, +evidently in strong emotion. She turned and looked at me as my father +spoke to me, for a moment with a gleam of hope, then falling back into +her former attitude.</p> + +<p>My father returned to his seat. He was much agitated too, though doing +all that was possible to conceal it. My inopportune arrival was evidently +a great and unlooked-for vexation to him. He gave me the only look of +passionate displeasure I have ever had from him, as he sat down again; +but he said nothing more.</p> + +<p>“You must understand,” he said, addressing the woman, “that I have said +my last words on this subject. I don’t choose to enter into it again in +the presence of my son, who is not well enough to be made a party to any +discussion. I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble in vain, +but you were warned beforehand, and you have only yourself to blame. I +acknowledge no claim, and nothing you can say will change my resolution. +I must beg you to go away. All this is very painful and quite useless. I +acknowledge no claim.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir,” she cried, her eyes beginning once more to flow, her speech +interrupted by little sobs. “Maybe I did wrong to speak of a claim. I’m +not educated to argue with a gentleman. Maybe we have no claim. But if +it’s not by right, oh, Mr. Canning, won’t you let your heart be touched +by pity? She don’t know what I’m saying, poor dear. She’s not one to beg +and pray for herself, as I’m doing for her. Oh, sir, she’s so young! +She’s so lone in this world,—not a friend to stand by her, nor a house +to take her in! You are the nearest to her of any one that’s left in this +world. She hasn’t a relation,—not one so near as you,—oh!” she cried, +with a sudden thought, turning quickly round upon me, “this gentleman’s +your son! Now I think of it, it’s not your relation she is, but his, +through his mother! That’s nearer, nearer! Oh, sir! you’re young; your +heart should be more tender. Here is my young lady that has no one in the +world to look to her. Your own flesh and blood; your mother’s +cousin,—your mother’s—”</p> + +<p>My father called to her to stop, with a voice of thunder. “Philip, leave +us at once. It is not a matter to be discussed with you.”</p> + +<p>And then in a moment it became clear to me what it was. It had been with +difficulty that I had kept myself still. My breast was laboring with the +fever of an impulse poured into me, more than I could contain. And now +for the first time I knew why. I hurried towards him, and took his hand, +though he resisted, into mine. Mine were burning, but his like ice: their +touch burnt me with its chill, like fire. “This is what it is?” I cried. +“I had no knowledge before. I don’t know now what is being asked of you. +But, father, understand! You know, and I know now, that some one sends +me,—some one—who has a right to interfere.”</p> + +<p>He pushed me away with all his might. “You are mad,” he cried. “What +right have you to think—? Oh, you are mad—mad! I have seen it +coming on—”</p> + +<p>The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict +with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between +men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not +take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to +go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst +from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my +withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and +easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large +and vague through the mist of fever. “I am not going away,” I said. “I am +going for another messenger,—one you can’t gainsay.”</p> + +<p>My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, “I will have nothing +touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned—”</p> + +<p>I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was +conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no +one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the +hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and +touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of +alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the +summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at +her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small, +cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,—not +cold,—it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and +spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications +of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection, +without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a +little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet +terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned +with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was +entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms +above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the +last outcry of nature,—“Agnes!” then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon +himself, into his chair.</p> + +<p>I had no leisure to think how he was, or whether he could hear what I +said. I had my message to deliver. “Father,” I said, laboring with my +panting breath, “it is for this that heaven has opened, and one whom I +never saw, one whom I know not, has taken possession of me. Had we been +less earthly, we should have seen her—herself, and not merely her image. +I have not even known what she meant. I have been as a fool without +understanding. This is the third time I have come to you with her +message, without knowing what to say. But now I have found it out. This +is her message. I have found it out at last.” There was an awful +pause,—a pause in which no one moved or breathed. Then there came a +broken voice out of my father’s chair. He had not understood, though I +think he heard what I said. He put out two feeble hands. “Phil—I think I +am dying—has she—has she come for me?” he said.</p> + +<p>We had to carry him to his bed. What struggles he had gone through before +I cannot tell. He had stood fast, and had refused to be moved, and now he +fell,—like an old tower, like an old tree. The necessity there was for +thinking of him saved me from the physical consequences which had +prostrated me on a former occasion. I had no leisure now for any +consciousness of how matters went with myself.</p> + +<p>His delusion was not wonderful, but most natural. She was clothed in +black from head to foot, instead of the white dress of the portrait. She +had no knowledge of the conflict, of nothing but that she was called for, +that her fate might depend on the next few minutes. In her eyes there was +a pathetic question, a line of anxiety in the lids, an innocent appeal in +the looks. And the face the same: the same lips, sensitive, ready to +quiver; the same innocent, candid brow; the look of a common race, which +is more subtle than mere resemblance. How I knew that it was so I cannot +tell, nor any man. It was the other, the elder,—ah, no! not elder; the +ever young, the Agnes to whom age can never come, she who they say was +the mother of a man who never saw her,—it was she who led her kinswoman, +her representative, into our hearts.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>My father recovered after a few days: he had taken cold, it was said, the +day before; and naturally, at seventy, a small matter is enough to upset +the balance even of a strong man. He got quite well; but he was willing +enough afterwards to leave the management of that ticklish kind of +property which involves human well-being in my hands, who could move +about more freely, and see with my own eyes how things were going on. He +liked home better, and had more pleasure in his personal existence in the +end of his life. Agnes is now my wife, as he had, of course, foreseen. It +was not merely the disinclination to receive her father’s daughter, or to +take upon him a new responsibility, that had moved him, to do him +justice; but both these motives had told strongly. I have never been +told, and now will never be told, what his griefs against my mother’s +family, and specially against that cousin, had been; but that he had been +very determined, deeply prejudiced, there can be no doubt. It turned out +after, that the first occasion on which I had been mysteriously +commissioned to him with a message which I did not understand, and which +for that time he did not understand, was the evening of the day on which +he had received the dead man’s letter, appealing to him—to him, a man +whom he had wronged—on behalf of the child who was about to be left +friendless in the world. The second time, further letters—from the nurse +who was the only guardian of the orphan, and the chaplain of the place +where her father had died, taking it for granted that my father’s house +was her natural refuge—had been received. The third I have already +described, and its results.</p> + +<p>For a long time after, my mind was never without a lurking fear that the +influence which had once taken possession of me might return again. Why +should I have feared to be influenced, to be the messenger of a blessed +creature, whose wishes could be nothing but heavenly? Who can say? Flesh +and blood is not made for such encounters: they were more than I could +bear. But nothing of the kind has ever occurred again.</p> + +<p>Agnes had her peaceful domestic throne established under the picture. +My father wished it to be so, and spent his evenings there in the +warmth and light, instead of in the old library,—in the narrow circle +cleared by our lamp out of the darkness, as long as he lived. It is +supposed by strangers that the picture on the wall is that of my wife; +and I have always been glad that it should be so supposed. She who was +my mother, who came back to me and became as my soul for three strange +moments and no more, but with whom I can feel no credible relationship +as she stands there, has retired for me into the tender regions of the +unseen. She has passed once more into the secret company of those +shadows, who can only become real in an atmosphere fitted to modify and +harmonize all differences, and make all wonders possible,—the light of +the perfect day.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door and The Portrait, by +Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN DOOR AND THE PORTRAIT *** + +***** This file should be named 10052-h.htm or 10052-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/0/5/10052/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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(Wilson) Oliphant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Open Door, and the Portrait. + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen. + +Author: Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant + +Release Date: November 11, 2003 [EBook #10052] +[Last updated: May 8, 2017] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT. *** + + + + +Produced by Stan Goodman, Mary Meehan +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT + + Stories of the Seen and the Unseen + + By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant + + 1881 + + + + +I + +THE OPEN DOOR. + + +I took the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18--, for the +temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent +home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly +appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose +education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to +school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home +altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these +expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended +itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway +between. "Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School +every morning; it will do him all the good in the world," Dr. Simson +said; "and when it is bad weather, there is the train." His mother +accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have +hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more +invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the +North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of +the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to +acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his +schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in +these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there +had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either +my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one +left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply +sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to +school,--to combine the advantages of the two systems,--seemed to be +everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood +everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have +masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that +never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays. +Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should +like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more +than twenty-five,--an age at which I see the young fellows now groping +about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives. +However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which +elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it. + +Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country--one of the +richest in Scotland--which lies between the Pentland Hills and the +Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam--like a bent bow, +embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses--of the great estuary +on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like +those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of +the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to +a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. +Edinburgh--with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill, +its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur's Seat lying +crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his +repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to +take care of itself without him--lay at our right hand. From the lawn +and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. +The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated +and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color +and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and +blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose. + +The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of +the deep little ravine, down which a stream--which ought to have been a +lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river--flowed between its rocks and +trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its +earlier life been sacrificed to trade, and was grimy with paper-making. +But this did not affect our pleasure in it so much as I have known it to +affect other streams. Perhaps our water was more rapid; perhaps less +clogged with dirt and refuse. Our side of the dell was charmingly +_accidente_, and clothed with fine trees, through which various paths +wound down to the river-side and to the village bridge which crossed the +stream. The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic +houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in +Scotland. The blue slates and the gray stone are sworn foes to the +picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior +of an old-fashioned hewed and galleried church, with its little family +settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire +like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. +Still a cluster of houses on differing elevations, with scraps of garden +coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening +of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the +slow wagon lumbering along, gives a centre to the landscape. It was +cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. Within ourselves +we had walks in plenty, the glen being always beautiful in all its +phases, whether the woods were green in the spring or ruddy in the +autumn. In the park which surrounded the house were the ruins of the +former mansion of Brentwood,--a much smaller and less important house +than the solid Georgian edifice which we inhabited. The ruins were +picturesque, however, and gave importance to the place. Even we, who were +but temporary tenants, felt a vague pride in them, as if they somehow +reflected a certain consequence upon ourselves. The old building had the +remains of a tower,--an indistinguishable mass of mason-work, +over-grown with ivy; and the shells of walls attached to this were half +filled up with soil. I had never examined it closely, I am ashamed to +say. There was a large room, or what had been a large room, with the +lower part of the windows still existing, on the principal floor, and +underneath other windows, which were perfect, though half filled up with +fallen soil, and waving with a wild growth of brambles and chance growths +of all kinds. This was the oldest part of all. At a little distance were +some very commonplace and disjointed fragments of building, one of them +suggesting a certain pathos by its very commonness and the complete wreck +which it showed. This was the end of a low gable, a bit of gray wall, all +incrusted with lichens, in which was a common door-way. Probably it had +been a servants' entrance, a backdoor, or opening into what are called +"the offices" in Scotland. No offices remained to be entered,--pantry and +kitchen had all been swept out of being; but there stood the door-way +open and vacant, free to all the winds, to the rabbits, and every wild +creature. It struck my eye, the first time I went to Brentwood, like a +melancholy comment upon a life that was over. A door that led to +nothing,--closed once, perhaps, with anxious care, bolted and guarded, +now void of any meaning. It impressed me, I remember, from the first; so +perhaps it may be said that my mind was prepared to attach to it an +importance which nothing justified. + +The summer was a very happy period of repose for us all. The warmth of +Indian suns was still in our veins. It seemed to us that we could never +have enough of the greenness, the dewiness, the freshness of the northern +landscape. Even its mists were pleasant to us, taking all the fever out +of us, and pouring in vigor and refreshment. In autumn we followed the +fashion of the time, and went away for change which we did not in the +least require. It was when the family had settled down for the winter, +when the days were short and dark, and the rigorous reign of frost upon +us, that the incidents occurred which alone could justify me in intruding +upon the world my private affairs. These incidents were, however, of so +curious a character, that I hope my inevitable references to my own +family and pressing personal interests will meet with a general pardon. + +I was absent in London when these events began. In London an old Indian +plunges back into the interests with which all his previous life has been +associated, and meets old friends at every step. I had been circulating +among some half-dozen of these,--enjoying the return to my former life in +shadow, though I had been so thankful in substance to throw it +aside,--and had missed some of my home letters, what with going down from +Friday to Monday to old Benbow's place in the country, and stopping on +the way back to dine and sleep at Sellar's and to take a look into +Cross's stables, which occupied another day. It is never safe to miss +one's letters. In this transitory life, as the Prayer-book says, how can +one ever be certain what is going to happen? All was well at home. I knew +exactly (I thought) what they would have to say to me: "The weather has +been so fine, that Roland has not once gone by train, and he enjoys the +ride beyond anything." "Dear papa, be sure that you don't forget +anything, but bring us so-and-so, and so-and-so,"--a list as long as my +arm. Dear girls and dearer mother! I would not for the world have +forgotten their commissions, or lost their little letters, for all the +Benbows and Crosses in the world. + +But I was confident in my home-comfort and peacefulness. When I got back +to my club, however, three or four letters were lying for one, upon some +of which I noticed the "immediate," "urgent," which old-fashioned people +and anxious people still believe will influence the post-office and +quicken the speed of the mails. I was about to open one of these, when +the club porter brought me two telegrams, one of which, he said, had +arrived the night before. I opened, as was to be expected, the last +first, and this was what I read: "Why don't you come or answer? For God's +sake, come. He is much worse." This was a thunderbolt to fall upon a +man's head who had one only son, and he the light of his eyes! The other +telegram, which I opened with hands trembling so much that I lost time by +my haste, was to much the same purport: "No better; doctor afraid of +brain-fever. Calls for you day and night. Let nothing detain you." The +first thing I did was to look up the time-tables to see if there was any +way of getting off sooner than by the night-train, though I knew well +enough there was not; and then I read the letters, which furnished, alas! +too clearly, all the details. They told me that the boy had been pale for +some time, with a scared look. His mother had noticed it before I left +home, but would not say anything to alarm me. This look had increased day +by day: and soon it was observed that Roland came home at a wild gallop +through the park, his pony panting and in foam, himself "as white as a +sheet," but with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. For a long +time he had resisted all questioning, but at length had developed such +strange changes of mood, showing a reluctance to go to school, a desire +to be fetched in the carriage at night,--which was a ridiculous piece of +luxury,--an unwillingness to go out into the grounds, and nervous start +at every sound, that his mother had insisted upon an explanation. When +the boy--our boy Roland, who had never known what fear was--began to talk +to her of voices he had heard in the park, and shadows that had appeared +to him among the ruins, my wife promptly put him to bed and sent for Dr. +Simson, which, of course, was the only thing to do. + +I hurried off that evening, as may be supposed, with an anxious heart. +How I got through the hours before the starting of the train, I cannot +tell. We must all be thankful for the quickness of the railway when in +anxiety; but to have thrown myself into a post-chaise as soon as horses +could be put to, would have been a relief. I got to Edinburgh very early +in the blackness of the winter morning, and scarcely dared look the man +in the face, at whom I gasped, "What news?" My wife had sent the +brougham for me, which I concluded, before the man spoke, was a bad sign. +His answer was that stereotyped answer which leaves the imagination so +wildly free,--"Just the same." Just the same! What might that mean? The +horses seemed to me to creep along the long dark country road. As we +dashed through the park, I thought I heard some one moaning among the +trees, and clenched my fist at him (whoever he might be) with fury. Why +had the fool of a woman at the gate allowed any one to come in to disturb +the quiet of the place? If I had not been in such hot haste to get home, +I think I should have stopped the carriage and got out to see what tramp +it was that had made an entrance, and chosen my grounds, of all places in +the world,--when my boy was ill!--to grumble and groan in. But I had no +reason to complain of our slow pace here. The horses flew like lightning +along the intervening path, and drew up at the door all panting, as if +they had run a race. My wife stood waiting to receive me, with a pale +face, and a candle in her hand, which made her look paler still as the +wind blew the flame about. "He is sleeping," she said in a whisper, as if +her voice might wake him. And I replied, when I could find my voice, also +in a whisper, as though the jingling of the horses' furniture and the +sound of their hoofs must not have been more dangerous. I stood on the +steps with her a moment, almost afraid to go in, now that I was here; and +it seemed to me that I saw without observing, if I may say so, that the +horses were unwilling to turn round, though their stables lay that way, +or that the men were unwilling. These things occurred to me afterwards, +though at the moment I was not capable of anything but to ask questions +and to hear of the condition of the boy. + +I looked at him from the door of his room, for we were afraid to go near, +lest we should disturb that blessed sleep. It looked like actual sleep, +not the lethargy into which my wife told me he would sometimes fall. She +told me everything in the next room, which communicated with his, rising +now and then and going to the door of communication; and in this there +was much that was very startling and confusing to the mind. It appeared +that ever since the winter began--since it was early dark, and night had +fallen before his return from school--he had been hearing voices among +the ruins: at first only a groaning, he said, at which his pony was as +much alarmed as he was, but by degrees a voice. The tears ran down my +wife's cheeks as she described to me how he would start up in the night +and cry out, "Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!" with a +pathos which rent her heart. And she sitting there all the time, only +longing to do everything his heart could desire! But though she would try +to soothe him, crying, "You are at home, my darling. I am here. Don't you +know me? Your mother is here!" he would only stare at her, and after a +while spring up again with the same cry. At other times he would be quite +reasonable, she said, asking eagerly when I was coming, but declaring +that he must go with me as soon as I did so, "to let them in." "The +doctor thinks his nervous system must have received a shock," my wife +said. "Oh, Henry, can it be that we have pushed him on too much with his +work--a delicate boy like Roland? And what is his work in comparison with +his health? Even you would think little of honors or prizes if it hurt +the boy's health." Even I!--as if I were an inhuman father sacrificing my +child to my ambition. But I would not increase her trouble by taking any +notice. After awhile they persuaded me to lie down, to rest, and to eat, +none of which things had been possible since I received their letters. +The mere fact of being on the spot, of course, in itself was a great +thing; and when I knew that I could be called in a moment, as soon as he +was awake and wanted me, I felt capable, even in the dark, chill morning +twilight, to snatch an hour or two's sleep. As it happened, I was so +worn out with the strain of anxiety, and he so quieted and consoled by +knowing I had come, that I was not disturbed till the afternoon, when the +twilight had again settled down. There was just daylight enough to see +his face when I went to him; and what a change in a fortnight! He was +paler and more worn, I thought, than even in those dreadful days in the +plains before we left India. His hair seemed to me to have grown long and +lank; his eyes were like blazing lights projecting out of his white face. +He got hold of my hand in a cold and tremulous clutch, and waved to +everybody to go away. "Go away--even mother," he said; "go away." This +went to her heart; for she did not like that even I should have more of +the boy's confidence than herself; but my wife has never been a woman to +think of herself, and she left us alone. "Are they all gone?" he said +eagerly. "They would not let me speak. The doctor treated me as if I were +a fool. You know I am not a fool, papa." + +"Yes, yes, my boy, I know. But you are ill, and quiet is so necessary. +You are not only not a fool, Roland, but you are reasonable and +understand. When you are ill you must deny yourself; you must not do +everything that you might do being well." + +He waved his thin hand with a sort of indignation. "Then, father, I am +not ill," he cried. "Oh, I thought when you came you would not stop +me,--you would see the sense of it! What do you think is the matter with +me, all of you? Simson is well enough; but he is only a doctor. What do +you think is the matter with me? I am no more ill than you are. A doctor, +of course, he thinks you are ill the moment he looks at you--that's what +he's there for--and claps you into bed." + +"Which is the best place for you at present, my dear boy." + +"I made up my mind," cried the little fellow, "that I would stand it till +you came home. I said to myself, I won't frighten mother and the girls. +But now, father," he cried, half jumping out of bed, "it's not illness: +it's a secret." + +His eyes shone so wildly, his face was so swept with strong feeling, that +my heart sank within me. It could be nothing but fever that did it, and +fever had been so fatal. I got him into my arms to put him back into +bed. "Roland," I said, humoring the poor child, which I knew was the +only way, "if you are going to tell me this secret to do any good, you +know you must be quite quiet, and not excite yourself. If you excite +yourself, I must not let you speak." + +"Yes, father," said the boy. He was quiet directly, like a man, as if he +quite understood. When I had laid him back on his pillow, he looked up at +me with that grateful, sweet look with which children, when they are ill, +break one's heart, the water coming into his eyes in his weakness. "I was +sure as soon as you were here you would know what to do," he said. + +"To be sure, my boy. Now keep quiet, and tell it all out like a man." To +think I was telling lies to my own child! for I did it only to humor him, +thinking, poor little fellow, his brain was wrong. + +"Yes, father. Father, there is some one in the park--some one that has +been badly used." + +"Hush, my dear; you remember there is to be no excitement. Well, who +is this somebody, and who has been ill-using him? We will soon put +a stop to that." + +"All," cried Roland, "but it is not so easy as you think. I don't know +who it is. It is just a cry. Oh, if you could hear it! It gets into my +head in my sleep. I heard it as clear--as clear; and they think that I +am dreaming, or raving perhaps," the boy said, with a sort of +disdainful smile. + +This look of his perplexed me; it was less like fever than I thought. +"Are you quite sure you have not dreamed it, Roland?" I said. + +"Dreamed?--that!" He was springing up again when he suddenly bethought +himself, and lay down flat, with the same sort of smile on his face. "The +pony heard it, too," he said. "She jumped as if she had been shot. If I +had not grasped at the reins--for I was frightened, father--" + +"No shame to you, my boy," said I, though I scarcely knew why. + +"If I hadn't held to her like a leech, she'd have pitched me over her +head, and never drew breath till we were at the door. Did the pony dream +it?" he said, with a soft disdain, yet indulgence for my foolishness. +Then he added slowly, "It was only a cry the first time, and all the +time before you went away. I wouldn't tell you, for it was so wretched +to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I +went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you +went I heard it really first; and this is what he says." He raised +himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: "'Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!'" As he said the words a mist +came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and +changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a +shower of heavy tears. + +Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the +disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I +thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true. + +"This is very touching, Roland," I said. + +"Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard +it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she's given over to +Simson, and that fellow's a doctor, and never thinks of anything but +clapping you into bed." + +"We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland." + +"No, no," said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; "oh, +no; that's the good of him; that's what he's for; I know that. But +you--you are different; you are just father; and you'll do +something--directly, papa, directly; this very night." + +"Surely," I said. "No doubt it is some little lost child." + +He gave me a sudden, swift look, investigating my face as though to see +whether, after all, this was everything my eminence as "father" came +to,--no more than that. Then he got hold of my shoulder, clutching it +with his thin hand. "Look here," he said, with a quiver in his voice; +"suppose it wasn't--living at all!" + +"My dear boy, how then could you have heard it?" I said. + +He turned away from me with a pettish exclamation,--"As if you didn't +know better than that!" + +"Do you want to tell me it is a ghost?" I said. + +Roland withdrew his hand; his countenance assumed an aspect of great +dignity and gravity; a slight quiver remained about his lips. "Whatever +it was--you always said we were not to call names. It was something--in +trouble. Oh, father, in terrible trouble!" + +"But, my boy," I said (I was at my wits' end), "if it was a child +that was lost, or any poor human creature--but, Roland, what do you +want me to do?" + +"I should know if I was you," said the child eagerly. "That is what I +always said to myself,--Father will know. Oh, papa, papa, to have to +face it night after night, in such terrible, terrible trouble, and never +to be able to do it any good! I don't want to cry; it's like a baby, I +know; but what can I do else? Out there all by itself in the ruin, and +nobody to help it! I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" cried my generous +boy. And in his weakness he burst out, after many attempts to restrain +it, into a great childish fit of sobbing and tears. + +I do not know that I ever was in a greater perplexity, in my life; and +afterwards, when I thought of it, there was something comic in it too. It +is bad enough to find your child's mind possessed with the conviction +that he has seen, or heard, a ghost; but that he should require you to go +instantly and help that ghost was the most bewildering experience that +had ever come my way. I am a sober man myself, and not superstitious--at +least any more than everybody is superstitious. Of course I do not +believe in ghosts; but I don't deny, any more than other people, that +there are stories which I cannot pretend to understand. My blood got a +sort of chill in my veins at the idea that Roland should be a ghost-seer; +for that generally means a hysterical temperament and weak health, and +all that men most hate and fear for their children. But that I should +take up his ghost and right its wrongs, and save it from its trouble, was +such a mission as was enough to confuse any man. I did my best to console +my boy without giving any promise of this astonishing kind; but he was +too sharp for me: he would have none of my caresses. With sobs breaking +in at intervals upon his voice, and the rain-drops hanging on his +eyelids, he yet returned to the charge. + +"It will be there now!--it will be there all the night! Oh, think, +papa,--think if it was me! I can't rest for thinking of it. Don't!" he +cried, putting away my hand,--"don't! You go and help it, and mother can +take care of me." + +"But, Roland, what can I do?" + +My boy opened his eyes, which were large with weakness and fever, and +gave me a smile such, I think, as sick children only know the secret of. +"I was sure you would know as soon as you came. I always said, Father +will know. And mother," he cried, with a softening of repose upon his +face, his limbs relaxing, his form sinking with a luxurious ease in his +bed,--"mother can come and take care of me." + +I called her, and saw him turn to her with the complete dependence of a +child; and then I went away and left them, as perplexed a man as any in +Scotland. I must say, however, I had this consolation, that my mind was +greatly eased about Roland. He might be under a hallucination; but his +head was clear enough, and I did not think him so ill as everybody else +did. The girls were astonished even at the ease with which I took it. +"How do you think he is?" they said in a breath, coming round me, laying +hold of me. "Not half so ill as I expected," I said; "not very bad at +all." "Oh, papa, you are a darling!" cried Agatha, kissing me, and crying +upon my shoulder; while little Jeanie, who was as pale as Roland, clasped +both her arms round mine, and could not speak at all. I knew nothing +about it, not half so much as Simson; but they believed in me: they had a +feeling that all would go right now. God is very good to you when your +children look to you like that. It makes one humble, not proud. I was not +worthy of it; and then I recollected that I had to act the part of a +father to Roland's ghost,--which made me almost laugh, though I might +just as well have cried. It was the strangest mission that ever was +intrusted to mortal man. + +It was then I remembered suddenly the looks of the men when they turned +to take the brougham to the stables in the dark that morning. They had +not liked it, and the horses had not liked it. I remembered that even in +my anxiety about Roland I had heard them tearing along the avenue back to +the stables, and had made a memorandum mentally that I must speak of it. +It seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to go to the stables +now and make a few inquiries. It is impossible to fathom the minds of +rustics; there might be some devilry of practical joking, for anything I +knew; or they might have some interest in getting up a bad reputation for +the Brentwood avenue. It was getting dark by the time I went out, and +nobody who knows the country will need to be told how black is the +darkness of a November night under high laurel-bushes and yew-trees. I +walked into the heart of the shrubberies two or three times, not seeing a +step before me, till I came out upon the broader carriage-road, where the +trees opened a little, and there was a faint gray glimmer of sky visible, +under which the great limes and elms stood darkling like ghosts; but it +grew black again as I approached the corner where the ruins lay. Both +eyes and ears were on the alert, as may be supposed; but I could see +nothing in the absolute gloom, and, so far as I can recollect, I heard +nothing. Nevertheless there came a strong impression upon me that +somebody was there. It is a sensation which most people have felt. I have +seen when it has been strong enough to awake me out of sleep, the sense +of some one looking at me. I suppose my imagination had been affected by +Roland's story; and the mystery of the darkness is always full of +suggestions. I stamped my feet violently on the gravel to rouse myself, +and called out sharply, "Who's there?" Nobody answered, nor did I expect +any one to answer, but the impression had been made. I was so foolish +that I did not like to look back, but went sideways, keeping an eye on +the gloom behind. It was with great relief that I spied the light in the +stables, making a sort of oasis in the darkness. I walked very quickly +into the midst of that lighted and cheerful place, and thought the clank +of the groom's pail one of the pleasantest sounds I had ever heard. The +coachman was the head of this little colony, and it was to his house I +went to pursue my investigations. He was a native of the district, and +had taken care of the place in the absence of the family for years; it +was impossible but that he must know everything that was going on, and +all the traditions of the place. The men, I could see, eyed me anxiously +when I thus appeared at such an hour among them, and followed me with +their eyes to Jarvis's house, where he lived alone with his old wife, +their children being all married and out in the world. Mrs. Jarvis met me +with anxious questions. How was the poor young gentleman? But the others +knew, I could see by their faces, that not even this was the foremost +thing in my mind. + + * * * * * + +"Noises?--ou ay, there'll be noises,--the wind in the trees, and the +water soughing down the glen. As for tramps, Cornel, no, there's little +o' that kind o' cattle about here; and Merran at the gate's a careful +body." Jarvis moved about with some embarrassment from one leg to +another as he spoke. He kept in the shade, and did not look at me more +than he could help. Evidently his mind was perturbed, and he had +reasons for keeping his own counsel. His wife sat by, giving him a quick +look now and then, but saying nothing. The kitchen was very snug and +warm and bright,--as different as could be from the chill and mystery of +the night outside. + +"I think you are trifling with me, Jarvis," I said. + +"Triflin', Cornel? No me. What would I trifle for? If the deevil himsel +was in the auld hoose, I have no interest in 't one way or another--" + +"Sandy, hold your peace!" cried his wife imperatively. + +"And what am I to hold my peace for, wi' the Cornel standing there asking +a' thae questions? I'm saying, if the deevil himsel--" + +"And I'm telling ye hold your peace!" cried the woman, in great +excitement. "Dark November weather and lang nichts, and us that ken a' we +ken. How daur ye name--a name that shouldna be spoken?" She threw down +her stocking and got up, also in great agitation. "I tellt ye you never +could keep it. It's no a thing that will hide, and the haill toun kens as +weel as you or me. Tell the Cornel straight out--or see, I'll do it. I +dinna hold wi' your secrets, and a secret that the haill toun kens!" She +snapped her fingers with an air of large disdain. As for Jarvis, ruddy +and big as he was, he shrank to nothing before this decided woman. He +repeated to her two or three times her own adjuration, "Hold your peace!" +then, suddenly changing his tone, cried out, "Tell him then, confound +ye! I'll wash my hands o't. If a' the ghosts in Scotland were in the auld +hoose, is that ony concern o' mine?" + +After this I elicited without much difficulty the whole story. In the +opinion of the Jarvises, and of everybody about, the certainty that the +place was haunted was beyond all doubt. As Sandy and his wife warmed to +the tale, one tripping up another in their eagerness to tell everything, +it gradually developed as distinct a superstition as I ever heard, and +not without poetry and pathos. How long it was since the voice had been +heard first, nobody could tell with certainty. Jarvis's opinion was that +his father, who had been coachman at Brentwood before him, had never +heard anything about it, and that the whole thing had arisen within the +last ten years, since the complete dismantling of the old house; which +was a wonderfully modern date for a tale so well authenticated. According +to these witnesses, and to several whom I questioned afterwards, and who +were all in perfect agreement, it was only in the months of November and +December that "the visitation" occurred. During these months, the darkest +of the year, scarcely a night passed without the recurrence of these +inexplicable cries. Nothing, it was said, had ever been seen,--at least, +nothing that could be identified. Some people, bolder or more imaginative +than the others, had seen the darkness moving, Mrs. Jarvis said, with +unconscious poetry. It began when night fell, and continued, at +intervals, till day broke. Very often it was only all inarticulate cry +and moaning, but sometimes the words which had taken possession of my +poor boy's fancy had been distinctly audible,--"Oh, mother, let me in!" +The Jarvises were not aware that there had ever been any investigation +into it. The estate of Brentwood had lapsed into the hands of a distant +branch of the family, who had lived but little there; and of the many +people who had taken it, as I had done, few had remained through two +Decembers. And nobody had taken the trouble to make a very close +examination into the facts. "No, no," Jarvis said, shaking his head, +"No, no, Cornel. Wha wad set themsels up for a laughin'-stock to a' the +country-side, making a wark about a ghost? Naebody believes in ghosts. It +bid to be the wind in the trees, the last gentleman said, or some effec' +o' the water wrastlin' among the rocks. He said it was a' quite easy +explained; but he gave up the hoose. And when you cam, Cornel, we were +awfu' anxious you should never hear. What for should I have spoiled the +bargain and hairmed the property for no-thing?" + +"Do you call my child's life nothing?" I said in the trouble of the +moment, unable to restrain myself. "And instead of telling this all to +me, you have told it to him,--to a delicate boy, a child unable to sift +evidence or judge for himself, a tender-hearted young creature--" + +I was walking about the room with an anger all the hotter that I felt it +to be most likely quite unjust. My heart was full of bitterness against +the stolid retainers of a family who were content to risk other people's +children and comfort rather than let a house be empty. If I had been +warned I might have taken precautions, or left the place, or sent Roland +away, a hundred things which now I could not do; and here I was with my +boy in a brain-fever, and his life, the most precious life on earth, +hanging in the balance, dependent on whether or not I could get to the +reason of a commonplace ghost-story! I paced about in high wrath, not +seeing what I was to do; for to take Roland away, even if he were able to +travel, would not settle his agitated mind; and I feared even that a +scientific explanation of refracted sound or reverberation, or any other +of the easy certainties with which we elder men are silenced, would have +very little effect upon the boy. + +"Cornel," said Jarvis solemnly, "and _she'll_ bear me witness,--the young +gentleman never heard a word from me--no, nor from either groom or +gardener; I'll gie ye my word for that. In the first place, he's no a lad +that invites ye to talk. There are some that are, and some that arena. +Some will draw ye on, till ye've tellt them a' the clatter of the toun, +and a' ye ken, and whiles mair. But Maister Roland, his mind's fu' of his +books. He's aye civil and kind, and a fine lad; but no that sort. And ye +see it's for a' our interest, Cornel, that you should stay at Brentwood. +I took it upon me mysel to pass the word,--'No a syllable to Maister +Roland, nor to the young leddies--no a syllable.' The women-servants, +that have little reason to be out at night, ken little or nothing about +it. And some think it grand to have a ghost so long as they're no in the +way of coming across it. If you had been tellt the story to begin with, +maybe ye would have thought so yourself." + +This was true enough, though it did not throw any light upon my +perplexity. If we had heard of it to start with, it is possible that all +the family would have considered the possession of a ghost a distinct +advantage. It is the fashion of the times. We never think what a risk it +is to play with young imaginations, but cry out, in the fashionable +jargon, "A ghost!--nothing else was wanted to make it perfect." I should +not have been above this myself. I should have smiled, of course, at the +idea of the ghost at all, but then to feel that it was mine would have +pleased my vanity. Oh, yes, I claim no exemption. The girls would have +been delighted. I could fancy their eagerness, their interest, and +excitement. No; if we had been told, it would have done no good,--we +should have made the bargain all the more eagerly, the fools that we are. +"And there has been no attempt to investigate it," I said, "to see what +it really is?" + +"Eh, Cornel," said the coachman's wife, "wha would investigate, as ye +call it, a thing that nobody believes in? Ye would be the laughin'-stock +of a' the country-side, as my man says." + +"But you believe in it," I said, turning upon her hastily. The woman was +taken by surprise. She made a step backward out of my way. + +"Lord, Cornel, how ye frichten a body! Me!--there's awfu' strange things +in this world. An unlearned person doesna ken what to think. But the +minister and the gentry they just laugh in your face. Inquire into the +thing that is not! Na, na, we just let it be." + +"Come with me, Jarvis," I said hastily, "and we'll make an attempt at +least. Say nothing to the men or to anybody. I'll come back after dinner, +and we'll make a serious attempt to see what it is, if it is anything. If +I hear it,--which I doubt,--you may be sure I shall never rest till I +make it out. Be ready for me about ten o'clock." + +"Me, Cornel!" Jarvis said, in a faint voice. I had not been looking at +him in my own preoccupation, but when I did so, I found that the greatest +change had come over the fat and ruddy coachman. "Me, Cornel!" he +repeated, wiping the perspiration from his brow. His ruddy face hung in +flabby folds, his knees knocked together, his voice seemed half +extinguished in his throat. Then he began to rub his hands and smile upon +me in a deprecating, imbecile way. "There's nothing I wouldna do to +pleasure ye, Cornel," taking a step further back. "I'm sure _she_ kens +I've aye said I never had to do with a mair fair, weel-spoken +gentleman--" Here Jarvis came to a pause, again looking at me, rubbing +his hands. + +"Well?" I said. + +"But eh, sir!" he went on, with the same imbecile yet insinuating smile, +"if ye'll reflect that I am no used to my feet. With a horse atween my +legs, or the reins in my hand, I'm maybe nae worse than other men; but on +fit, Cornel--It's no the--bogles--but I've been cavalry, ye see," with a +little hoarse laugh, "a' my life. To face a thing ye dinna understan'--on +your feet, Cornel." + +"Well, sir, if _I_ do it," said I tartly, "why shouldn't you?" + +"Eh, Cornel, there's an awfu' difference. In the first place, ye tramp +about the haill countryside, and think naething of it; but a walk tires +me mair than a hunard miles' drive; and then ye're a gentleman, and do +your ain pleasure; and you're no so auld as me; and it's for your ain +bairn, ye see, Cornel; and then--" + +"He believes in it, Cornel, and you dinna believe in it," the woman said. + +"Will you come with me?" I said, turning to her. + +She jumped back, upsetting her chair in her bewilderment. "Me!" with a +scream, and then fell into a sort of hysterical laugh. "I wouldna say but +what I would go; but what would the folk say to hear of Cornel Mortimer +with an auld silly woman at his heels?" + +The suggestion made me laugh too, though I had little inclination for it. +"I'm sorry you have so little spirit, Jarvis," I said. "I must find some +one else, I suppose." + +Jarvis, touched by this, began to remonstrate, but I cut him short. My +butler was a soldier who had been with me in India, and was not supposed +to fear anything,--man or devil,--certainly not the former; and I felt +that I was losing time. The Jarvises were too thankful to get rid of me. +They attended me to the door with the most anxious courtesies. Outside, +the two grooms stood close by, a little confused by my sudden exit. I +don't know if perhaps they had been listening,--at least standing as near +as possible, to catch any scrap of the conversation. I waved my hand to +them as I went past, in answer to their salutations, and it was very +apparent to me that they also were glad to see me go. + +And it will be thought very strange, but it would be weak not to add, +that I myself, though bent on the investigation I have spoken of, pledged +to Roland to carry it out, and feeling that my boy's health, perhaps his +life, depended on the result of my inquiry,--I felt the most +unaccountable reluctance to pass these ruins on my way home. My curiosity +was intense; and yet it was all my mind could do to pull my body along. I +daresay the scientific people would describe it the other way, and +attribute my cowardice to the state of my stomach. I went on; but if I +had followed my impulse, I should have turned and bolted. Everything in +me seemed to cry out against it: my heart thumped, my pulses all began, +like sledge-hammers, beating against my ears and every sensitive part. It +was very dark, as I have said; the old house, with its shapeless tower, +loomed a heavy mass through the darkness, which was only not entirely so +solid as itself. On the other hand, the great dark cedars of which we +were so proud seemed to fill up the night. My foot strayed out of the +path in my confusion and the gloom together, and I brought myself up with +a cry as I felt myself knock against something solid. What was it? The +contact with hard stone and lime and prickly bramble-bushes restored me a +little to myself. "Oh, it's only the old gable," I said aloud, with a +little laugh to reassure myself. The rough feeling of the stones +reconciled me. As I groped about thus, I shook off my visionary folly. +What so easily explained as that I should have strayed from the path in +the darkness? This brought me back to common existence, as if I had been +shaken by a wise hand out of all the silliness of superstition. How silly +it was, after all! What did it matter which path I took? I laughed again, +this time with better heart, when suddenly, in a moment, the blood was +chilled in my veins, a shiver stole along my spine, my faculties seemed +to forsake me. Close by me, at my side, at my feet, there was a sigh. No, +not a groan, not a moaning, not anything so tangible,--a perfectly soft, +faint, inarticulate sigh. I sprang back, and my heart stopped beating. +Mistaken! no, mistake was impossible. I heard it as clearly as I hear +myself speak; a long, soft, weary sigh, as if drawn to the utmost, and +emptying out a load of sadness that filled the breast. To hear this in +the solitude, in the dark, in the night (though it was still early), had +an effect which I cannot describe. I feel it now,--something cold +creeping over me, up into my hair, and down to my feet, which refused to +move. I cried out, with a trembling voice, "Who is there?" as I had done +before; but there was no reply. + +I got home I don't quite know how; but in my mind there was no longer +any indifference as to the thing, whatever it was, that haunted these +ruins. My scepticism disappeared like a mist. I was as firmly determined +that there was something as Roland was. I did not for a moment pretend +to myself that it was possible I could be deceived; there were movements +and noises which I understood all about,--cracklings of small branches +in the frost, and little rolls of gravel on the path, such as have a +very eerie sound sometimes, and perplex you with wonder as to who has +done it, _when there is no real mystery_; but I assure you all these +little movements of nature don't affect you one bit _when there is +something_. I understood _them_. I did not understand the sigh. That was +not simple nature; there was meaning in it, feeling, the soul of a +creature invisible. This is the thing that human nature trembles at,--a +creature invisible, yet with sensations, feelings, a power somehow of +expressing itself. I had not the same sense of unwillingness to turn my +back upon the scene of the mystery which I had experienced in going to +the stables; but I almost ran home, impelled by eagerness to get +everything done that had to be done, in order to apply myself to finding +it out. Bagley was in the hall as usual when I went in. He was always +there in the afternoon, always with the appearance of perfect +occupation, yet, so far as I know, never doing anything. The door was +open, so that I hurried in without any pause, breathless; but the sight +of his calm regard, as he came to help me off with my overcoat, subdued +me in a moment. Anything out of the way, anything incomprehensible, +faded to nothing in the presence of Bagley. You saw and wondered how +_he_ was made: the parting of his hair, the tie of his white neckcloth, +the fit of his trousers, all perfect as works of art; but you could see +how they were done, which makes all the difference. I flung myself upon +him, so to speak, without waiting to note the extreme unlikeness of the +man to anything of the kind I meant. "Bagley," I said, "I want you to +come out with me to-night to watch for--" + +"Poachers, Colonel?" he said, a gleam of pleasure running all over him. + +"No, Bagley; a great deal worse," I cried. + +"Yes, Colonel; at what hour, sir?" the man said; but then I had not told +him what it was. + +It was ten o'clock when we set out. All was perfectly quiet indoors. My +wife was with Roland, who had been quite calm, she said, and who (though, +no doubt, the fever must run its course) had been better ever since I +came. I told Bagley to put on a thick greatcoat over his evening coat, +and did the same myself, with strong boots; for the soil was like a +sponge, or worse. Talking to him, I almost forgot what we were going to +do. It was darker even than it had been before, and Bagley kept very +close to me as we went along. I had a small lantern in my hand, which +gave us a partial guidance. We had come to the corner where the path +turns. On one side was the bowling-green, which the girls had taken +possession of for their croquet-ground,--a wonderful enclosure surrounded +by high hedges of holly, three hundred years old and more; on the other, +the ruins. Both were black as night; but before we got so far, there was +a little opening in which we could just discern the trees and the lighter +line of the road. I thought it best to pause there and take breath. +"Bagley," I said, "there is something about these ruins I don't +understand. It is there I am going. Keep your eyes open and your wits +about you. Be ready to pounce upon any stranger you see,--anything, man +or woman. Don't hurt, but seize anything you see." "Colonel," said +Bagley, with a little tremor in his breath, "they do say there's things +there--as is neither man nor woman." There was no time for words. "Are +you game to follow me, my man? that's the question," I said. Bagley fell +in without a word, and saluted. I knew then I had nothing to fear. + +We went, so far as I could guess, exactly as I had come; when I heard +that sigh. The darkness, however, was so complete that all marks, as of +trees or paths, disappeared. One moment we felt our feet on the gravel, +another sinking noiselessly into the slippery grass, that was all. I had +shut up my lantern, not wishing to scare any one, whoever it might be. +Bagley followed, it seemed to me, exactly in my footsteps as I made my +way, as I supposed, towards the mass of the ruined house. We seemed to +take a long time groping along seeking this; the squash of the wet soil +under our feet was the only thing that marked our progress. After a while +I stood still to see, or rather feel, where we were. The darkness was +very still, but no stiller than is usual in a winter's night. The sounds +I have mentioned--the crackling of twigs, the roll of a pebble, the sound +of some rustle in the dead leaves, or creeping creature on the +grass--were audible when you listened, all mysterious enough when your +mind is disengaged, but to me cheering now as signs of the livingness of +nature, even in the death of the frost. As we stood still there came up +from the trees in the glen the prolonged hoot of an owl. Bagley started +with alarm, being in a state of general nervousness, and not knowing what +he was afraid of. But to me the sound was encouraging and pleasant, being +so comprehensible. + +"An owl," I said, under my breath. "Y--es, Colonel," said Bagley, his +teeth chattering. We stood still about five minutes, while it broke into +the still brooding of the air, the sound widening out in circles, dying +upon the darkness. This sound, which is not a cheerful one, made me +almost gay. It was natural, and relieved the tension of the mind. I moved +on with new courage, my nervous excitement calming down. + +When all at once, quite suddenly, close to us, at our feet, there broke +out a cry. I made a spring backwards in the first moment of surprise and +horror, and in doing so came sharply against the same rough masonry and +brambles that had struck me before. This new sound came upwards from the +ground,--a low, moaning, wailing voice, full of suffering and pain. The +contrast between it and the hoot of the owl was indescribable,--the one +with a wholesome wildness and naturalness that hurt nobody; the other, a +sound that made one's blood curdle, full of human misery. With a great +deal of fumbling,--for in spite of everything I could do to keep up my +courage my hands shook,--I managed to remove the slide of my lantern. The +light leaped out like something living, and made the place visible in a +moment. We were what would have been inside the ruined building had +anything remained but the gable-wall which I have described. It was close +to us, the vacant door-way in it going out straight into the blackness +outside. The light showed the bit of wall, the ivy glistening upon it in +clouds of dark green, the bramble-branches waving, and below, the open +door,--a door that led to nothing. It was from this the voice came which +died out just as the light flashed upon this strange scene. There was a +moment's silence, and then it broke forth again. The sound was so near, +so penetrating, so pitiful, that, in the nervous start I gave, the light +fell out of my hand. As I groped for it in the dark my hand was clutched +by Bagley, who, I think, must have dropped upon his knees; but I was too +much perturbed myself to think much of this. He clutched at me in the +confusion of his terror, forgetting all his usual decorum. "For God's +sake, what is it, sir?" he gasped. If I yielded, there was evidently an +end of both of us. "I can't tell," I said, "any more than you; that's +what we've got to find out. Up, man, up!" I pulled him to his feet. "Will +you go round and examine the other side, or will you stay here with the +lantern?" Bagley gasped at me with a face of horror. "Can't we stay +together, Colonel?" he said; his knees were trembling under him. I pushed +him against the corner of the wall, and put the light into his hands. +"Stand fast till I come back; shake yourself together, man; let nothing +pass you," I said. The voice was within two or three feet of us; of that +there could be no doubt. + +I went myself to the other side of the wall, keeping close to it. The +light shook in Bagley's hand, but, tremulous though it was, shone out +through the vacant door, one oblong block of light marking all the +crumbling corners and hanging masses of foliage. Was that something dark +huddled in a heap by the side of it? I pushed forward across the light in +the door-way, and fell upon it with my hands; but it was only a +juniper-bush growing close against the wall. Meanwhile, the sight of my +figure crossing the door-way had brought Bagley's nervous excitement to a +height: he flew at me, gripping my shoulder. "I've got him, Colonel! +I've got him!" he cried, with a voice of sudden exultation. He thought it +was a man, and was at once relieved. But at that moment the voice burst +forth again between us, at our feet,--more close to us than any separate +being could be. He dropped off from me, and fell against the wall, his +jaw dropping as if he were dying. I suppose, at the same moment, he saw +that it was me whom he had clutched. I, for my part, had scarcely more +command of myself. I snatched the light out of his hand, and flashed it +all about me wildly. Nothing,--the juniper-bush which I thought I had +never seen before, the heavy growth of the glistening ivy, the brambles +waving. It was close to my ears now, crying, crying, pleading as if for +life. Either I heard the same words Roland had heard, or else, in my +excitement, his imagination got possession of mine. The voice went on, +growing into distinct articulation, but wavering about, now from one +point, now from another, as if the owner of it were moving slowly back +and forward. "Mother! mother!" and then an outburst of wailing. As my +mind steadied, getting accustomed (as one's mind gets accustomed to +anything), it seemed to me as if some uneasy, miserable creature was +pacing up and down before a closed door. Sometimes--but that must have +been excitement--I thought I heard a sound like knocking, and then +another burst, "Oh, mother! mother!" All this close, close to the space +where I was standing with my lantern, now before me, now behind me: a +creature restless, unhappy, moaning, crying, before the vacant door-way, +which no one could either shut or open more. + +"Do you hear it, Bagley? do you hear what it is saying?" I cried, +stepping in through the door-way. He was lying against the wall, his eyes +glazed, half dead with terror. He made a motion of his lips as if to +answer me, but no sounds came; then lifted his hand with a curious +imperative movement as if ordering me to be silent and listen. And how +long I did so I cannot tell. It began to have an interest, an exciting +hold upon me, which I could not describe. It seemed to call up visibly a +scene any one could understand,--a something shut out, restlessly +wandering to and fro; sometimes the voice dropped, as if throwing itself +down, sometimes wandered off a few paces, growing sharp and clear. "Oh, +mother, let me in! oh, mother, mother, let me in! oh, let me in!" Every +word was clear to me. No wonder the boy had gone wild with pity. I tried +to steady my mind upon Roland, upon his conviction that I could do +something, but my head swam with the excitement, even when I partially +overcame the terror. At last the words died away, and there was a sound +of sobs and moaning. I cried out, "In the name of God, who are you?" with +a kind of feeling in my mind that to use the name of God was profane, +seeing that I did not believe in ghosts or anything supernatural; but I +did it all the same, and waited, my heart giving a leap of terror lest +there should be a reply. Why this should have been I cannot tell, but I +had a feeling that if there was an answer it would be more than I could +bear. But there was no answer; the moaning went on, and then, as if it +had been real, the voice rose a little higher again, the words +recommenced, "Oh, mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!" with an +expression that was heart-breaking to hear. + +_As if it had been real_! What do I mean by that? I suppose I got less +alarmed as the thing went on. I began to recover the use of my senses,--I +seemed to explain it all to myself by saying that this had once happened, +that it was a recollection of a real scene. Why there should have seemed +something quite satisfactory and composing in this explanation I cannot +tell, but so it was. I began to listen almost as if it had been a play, +forgetting Bagley, who, I almost think, had fainted, leaning against the +wall. I was startled out of this strange spectatorship that had fallen +upon me by the sudden rush of something which made my heart jump once +more, a large black figure in the door-way waving its arms. "Come in! +come in! come in!" it shouted out hoarsely at the top of a deep bass +voice, and then poor Bagley fell down senseless across the threshold. He +was less sophisticated than I,--he had not been able to bear it any +longer. I took him for something supernatural, as he took me, and it was +some time before I awoke to the necessities of the moment. I remembered +only after, that from the time I began to give my attention to the man, I +heard the other voice no more. It was some time before I brought him to. +It must have been a strange scene: the lantern making a luminous spot in +the darkness, the man's white face lying on the black earth, I over him, +doing what I could for him, probably I should have been thought to be +murdering him had any one seen us. When at last I succeeded in pouring a +little brandy down his throat, he sat up and looked about him wildly. +"What's up?" he said; then recognizing me, tried to struggle to his feet +with a faint "Beg your pardon, Colonel." I got him home as best I could, +making him lean upon my arm. The great fellow was as weak as a child. +Fortunately he did not for some time remember what had happened. From the +time Bagley fell the voice had stopped, and all was still. + + * * * * * + +"You've got an epidemic in your house, Colonel," Simson said to me next +morning. "What's the meaning of it all? Here's your butler raving about a +voice. This will never do, you know; and so far as I can make out, you +are in it too." + +"Yes, I am in it, Doctor. I thought I had better speak to you. Of course +you are treating Roland all right, but the boy is not raving, he is as +sane as you or me. It's all true." + +"As sane as--I--or you. I never thought the boy insane. He's got cerebral +excitement, fever. I don't know what you've got. There's something very +queer about the look of your eyes." + +"Come," said I, "you can't put us all to bed, you know. You had better +listen and hear the symptoms in full." + +The Doctor shrugged his shoulders, but he listened to me patiently. He +did not believe a word of the story, that was clear; but he heard it all +from beginning to end. "My dear fellow," he said, "the boy told me just +the same. It's an epidemic. When one person falls a victim to this sort +of thing, it's as safe as can be,--there's always two or three." + +"Then how do you account for it?" I said. + +"Oh, account for it!--that's a different matter; there's no accounting +for the freaks our brains are subject to. If it's delusion, if it's some +trick of the echoes or the winds,--some phonetic disturbance or other--" + +"Come with me to-night, and judge for yourself," I said. + +Upon this he laughed aloud, then said, "That's not such a bad idea; but +it would ruin me forever if it were known that John Simson was +ghost-hunting." + +"There it is," said I; "you dart down on us who are unlearned with your +phonetic disturbances, but you daren't examine what the thing really is +for fear of being laughed at. That's science!" + +"It's not science,--it's common-sense," said the Doctor. "The thing has +delusion on the front of it. It is encouraging an unwholesome tendency +even to examine. What good could come of it? Even if I am convinced, I +shouldn't believe." + +"I should have said so yesterday; and I don't want you to be convinced or +to believe," said I. "If you prove it to be a delusion, I shall be very +much obliged to you for one. Come; somebody must go with me." + +"You are cool," said the Doctor. "You've disabled this poor fellow of +yours, and made him--on that point--a lunatic for life; and now you want +to disable me. But, for once, I'll do it. To save appearance, if you'll +give me a bed, I'll come over after my last rounds." + +It was agreed that I should meet him at the gate, and that we should +visit the scene of last night's occurrences before we came to the house, +so that nobody might be the wiser. It was scarcely possible to hope that +the cause of Bagley's sudden illness should not somehow steal into the +knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be +done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had +to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal +for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but +he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with +which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm. +"Father?" he said quietly. "Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to +it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any +conclusion--yet. I am neglecting nothing you said," I cried. What I could +not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the +mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given +him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone +so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. "You must trust +me," I said. "Yes, father. Father understands," he said to himself, as if +to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about +the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought; +but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that +aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious +part of it all. + +That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and +I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming +experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without +thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a +coil of taper which he had ready for use. "There is nothing like light," +he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a +sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we +went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken +occasionally by a bitter cry. "Perhaps that is your voice," said the +Doctor; "I thought it must be something of the kind. That's a poor brute +caught in some of these infernal traps of yours; you'll find it among the +bushes somewhere." I said nothing. I felt no particular fear, but a +triumphant satisfaction in what was to follow. I led him to the spot +where Bagley and I had stood on the previous night. All was silent as a +winter night could be,--so silent that we heard far off the sound of the +horses in the stables, the shutting of a window at the house. Simson +lighted his taper and went peering about, poking into all the corners. We +looked like two conspirators lying in wait for some unfortunate +traveller; but not a sound broke the quiet. The moaning had stopped +before we came up; a star or two shone over us in the sky, looking down +as if surprised at our strange proceedings. Dr. Simson did nothing but +utter subdued laughs under his breath. "I thought as much," he said. "It +is just the same with tables and all other kinds of ghostly apparatus; a +sceptic's presence stops everything. When I am present nothing ever comes +off. How long do you think it will be necessary to stay here? Oh, I don't +complain; only when _you_ are satisfied, _I_ am--quite." + +I will not deny that I was disappointed beyond measure by this result. It +made me look like a credulous fool. It gave the Doctor such a pull over +me as nothing else could. I should point all his morals for years to +come; and his materialism, his scepticism, would be increased beyond +endurance. "It seems, indeed," I said, "that there is to be no--" +"Manifestation," he said, laughing; "that is what all the mediums say. No +manifestations, in consequence of the presence of an unbeliever." His +laugh sounded very uncomfortable to me in the silence; and it was now +near midnight. But that laugh seemed the signal; before it died away the +moaning we had heard before was resumed. It started from some distance +off, and came towards us, nearer and nearer, like some one walking along +and moaning to himself. There could be no idea now that it was a hare +caught in a trap. The approach was slow, like that of a weak person, with +little halts and pauses. We heard it coming along the grass straight +towards the vacant door-way. Simson had been a little startled by the +first sound. He said hastily, "That child has no business to be out so +late." But he felt, as well as I, that this was no child's voice. As it +came nearer, he grew silent, and, going to the door-way with his taper, +stood looking out towards the sound. The taper being unprotected blew +about in the night air, though there was scarcely any wind. I threw the +light of my lantern steady and white across the same space. It was in a +blaze of light in the midst of the blackness. A little icy thrill had +gone over me at the first sound, but as it came close, I confess that my +only feeling was satisfaction. The scoffer could scoff no more. The light +touched his own face, and showed a very perplexed countenance. If he was +afraid, he concealed it with great success, but he was perplexed. And +then all that had happened on the previous night was enacted once more. +It fell strangely upon me with a sense of repetition. Every cry, every +sob seemed the same as before. I listened almost without any emotion at +all in my own person, thinking of its effect upon Simson. He maintained a +very bold front, on the whole. All that coming and going of the voice +was, if our ears could be trusted, exactly in front of the vacant, blank +door-way, blazing full of light, which caught and shone in the glistening +leaves of the great hollies at a little distance. Not a rabbit could have +crossed the turf without being seen; but there was nothing. After a time, +Simson, with a certain caution and bodily reluctance, as it seemed to me, +went out with his roll of taper into this space. His figure showed +against the holly in full outline. Just at this moment the voice sank, as +was its custom, and seemed to fling itself down at the door. Simson +recoiled violently, as if some one had come up against him, then turned, +and held his taper low, as if examining something. "Do you see anybody?" +I cried in a whisper, feeling the chill of nervous panic steal over me at +this action. "It's nothing but a--confounded juniper-bush," he said. This +I knew very well to be nonsense, for the juniper-bush was on the other +side. He went about after this round and round, poking his taper +everywhere, then returned to me on the inner side of the wall. He scoffed +no longer; his face was contracted and pale. "How long does this go on?" +he whispered to me, like a man who does not wish to interrupt some one +who is speaking. I had become too much perturbed myself to remark whether +the successions and changes of the voice were the same as last night. It +suddenly went out in the air almost as he was speaking, with a soft +reiterated sob dying away. If there had been anything to be seen, I +should have said that the person was at that moment crouching on the +ground close to the door. + +We walked home very silent afterwards. It was only when we were in sight +of the house that I said, "What do you think of it?" "I can't tell what +to think of it," he said quickly. He took--though he was a very temperate +man--not the claret I was going to offer him, but some brandy from the +tray, and swallowed it almost undiluted. "Mind you, I don't believe a +word of it," he said, when he had lighted his candle; "but I can't tell +what to think," he turned round to add, when he was half-way upstairs. + +All of this, however, did me no good with the solution of my problem. I +was to help this weeping, sobbing thing, which was already to me as +distinct a personality as anything I knew; or what should I say to +Roland? It was on my heart that my boy would die if I could not find some +way of helping this creature. You may be surprised that I should speak of +it in this way. I did not know if it was man or woman; but I no more +doubted that it was a soul in pain than I doubted my own being; and it +was my business to soothe this pain,--to deliver it, if that was +possible. Was ever such a task given to an anxious father trembling for +his only boy? I felt in my heart, fantastic as it may appear, that I must +fulfill this somehow, or part with my child; and you may conceive that +rather than do that I was ready to die. But even my dying would not have +advanced me, unless by bringing me into the same world with that seeker +at the door. + + * * * * * + +Next morning Simson was out before breakfast, and came in with evident +signs of the damp grass on his boots, and a look of worry and weariness, +which did not say much for the night he had passed. He improved a little +after breakfast, and visited his two patients,--for Bagley was still an +invalid. I went out with him on his way to the train, to hear what he +had to say about the boy. "He is going on very well," he said; "there are +no complications as yet. But mind you, that's not a boy to be trifled +with, Mortimer. Not a word to him about last night." I had to tell him +then of my last interview with Roland, and of the impossible demand he +had made upon me, by which, though he tried to laugh, he was much +discomposed, as I could see. "We must just perjure ourselves all round," +he said, "and swear you exorcised it;" but the man was too kind-hearted +to be satisfied with that. "It's frightfully serious for you, Mortimer. I +can't laugh as I should like to. I wish I saw a way out of it, for your +sake. By the way," he added shortly, "didn't you notice that juniper-bush +on the left-hand side?" "There was one on the right hand of the door. I +noticed you made that mistake last night." "Mistake!" he cried, with a +curious low laugh, pulling up the collar of his coat as though he felt +the cold,--"there's no juniper there this morning, left or right. Just go +and see." As he stepped into the train a few minutes after, he looked +back upon me and beckoned me for a parting word. "I'm coming back +to-night," he said. + +I don't think I had any feeling about this as I turned away from that +common bustle of the railway which made my private preoccupations feel so +strangely out of date. There had been a distinct satisfaction in my mind +before, that his scepticism had been so entirely defeated. But the more +serious part of the matter pressed upon me now. I went straight from the +railway to the manse, which stood on a little plateau on the side of the +river opposite to the woods of Brentwood. The minister was one of a class +which is not so common in Scotland as it used to be. He was a man of good +family, well educated in the Scotch way, strong in philosophy, not so +strong in Greek, strongest of all in experience,--a man who had "come +across," in the course of his life, most people of note that had ever +been in Scotland, and who was said to be very sound in doctrine, without +infringing the toleration with which old men, who are good men, are +generally endowed. He was old-fashioned; perhaps he did not think so much +about the troublous problems of theology as many of the young men, nor +ask himself any hard questions about the Confession of Faith; but he +understood human nature, which is perhaps better. He received me with a +cordial welcome. + +"Come away, Colonel Mortimer," he said; "I'm all the more glad to see +you, that I feel it's a good sign for the boy. He's doing well?--God be +praised,--and the Lord bless him and keep him. He has many a poor body's +prayers, and that can do nobody harm." + +"He will need them all, Dr. Moncrieff," I said, "and your counsel too." +And I told him the story,--more than I had told Simson. The old clergyman +listened to me with many suppressed exclamations, and at the end the +water stood in his eyes. + +"That's just beautiful," he said. "I do not mind to have heard anything +like it; it's as fine as Burns when he wished deliverance to one--that is +prayed for in no kirk. Ay, ay! so he would have you console the poor lost +spirit? God bless the boy! There's something more than common in that, +Colonel Mortimer. And also the faith of him in his father!--I would like +to put that into a sermon." Then the old gentleman gave me an alarmed +look, and said, "No, no; I was not meaning a sermon; but I must write it +down for the 'Children's Record.'" I saw the thought that passed through +his mind. Either he thought, or he feared I would think, of a funeral +sermon. You may believe this did not make me more cheerful. + +I can scarcely say that Dr. Moncrieff gave me any advice. How could any +one advise on such a subject? But he said, "I think I'll come too. I'm an +old man; I'm less liable to be frightened than those that are further off +the world unseen. It behooves me to think of my own journey there. I've +no cut-and-dry beliefs on the subject. I'll come too; and maybe at the +moment the Lord will put into our heads what to do." + +This gave me a little comfort,--more than Simson had given me. To be +clear about the cause of it was not my grand desire. It was another thing +that was in my mind,--my boy. As for the poor soul at the open door, I +had no more doubt, as I have said, of its existence than I had of my own. +It was no ghost to me. I knew the creature, and it was in trouble. That +was my feeling about it, as it was Roland's. To hear it first was a great +shock to my nerves, but not now; a man will get accustomed to anything. +But to do something for it was the great problem; how was I to be +serviceable to a being that was invisible, that was mortal no longer? +"Maybe at the moment the Lord will put it into our heads." This is very +old-fashioned phraseology, and a week before, most likely, I should have +smiled (though always with kindness) at Dr. Moncrieff's credulity; but +there was a great comfort, whether rational or otherwise I cannot say, in +the mere sound of the words. + +The road to the station and the village lay through the glen, not by the +ruins; but though the sunshine and the fresh air, and the beauty of the +trees, and the sound of the water were all very soothing to the spirits, +my mind was so full of my own subject that I could not refrain from +turning to the right hand as I got to the top of the glen, and going +straight to the place which I may call the scene of all my thoughts. It +was lying full in the sunshine, like all the rest of the world. The +ruined gable looked due east, and in the present aspect of the sun the +light streamed down through the door-way as our lantern had done, +throwing a flood of light upon the damp grass beyond. There was a strange +suggestion in the open door,--so futile, a kind of emblem of vanity: all +free around, so that you could go where you pleased, and yet that +semblance of an enclosure,--that way of entrance, unnecessary, leading to +nothing. And why any creature should pray and weep to get in--to nothing, +or be kept out--by nothing, you could not dwell upon it, or it made your +brain go round. I remembered, however, what Simson said about the +juniper, with a little smile on my own mind as to the inaccuracy of +recollection which even a scientific man will be guilty of. I could see +now the light of my lantern gleaming upon the wet glistening surface of +the spiky leaves at the right hand,--and he ready to go to the stake for +it that it was the left! I went round to make sure. And then I saw what +he had said. Right or left there was no juniper at all! I was confounded +by this, though it was entirely a matter of detail nothing at all,--a +bush of brambles waving, the grass growing up to the very walls. But +after all, though it gave me a shock for a moment, what did that matter? +There were marks as if a number of footsteps had been up and down in +front of the door, but these might have been our steps; and all was +bright and peaceful and still. I poked about the other ruin--the larger +ruins of the old house--for some time, as I had done before. There were +marks upon the grass here and there--I could not call them +footsteps--all about; but that told for nothing one way or another. I had +examined the ruined rooms closely the first day. They were half filled up +with soil and _debris_, withered brackens and bramble,--no refuge for any +one there. It vexed me that Jarvis should see me coming from that spot +when he came up to me for his orders. I don't know whether my nocturnal +expeditions had got wind among the servants, but there was a significant +look in his face. Something in it I felt was like my own sensation when +Simson in the midst of his scepticism was struck dumb. Jarvis felt +satisfied that his veracity had been put beyond question. I never spoke +to a servant of mine in such a peremptory tone before. I sent him away +"with a flea in his lug," as the man described it afterwards. +Interference of any kind was intolerable to me at such a moment. + +But what was strangest of all was, that I could not face Roland. I did +not go up to his room, as I would have naturally done, at once. This the +girls could not understand. They saw there was some mystery in it. +"Mother has gone to lie down," Agatha said; "he has had such a good +night." "But he wants you so, papa!" cried little Jeanie, always with her +two arms embracing mine in a pretty way she had. I was obliged to go at +last, but what could I say? I could only kiss him, and tell him to keep +still,--that I was doing all I could. There is something mystical about +the patience of a child. "It will come all right, won't it, father?" he +said. "God grant it may! I hope so, Roland." "Oh, yes, it will come all +right." Perhaps he understood that in the midst of my anxiety I could not +stay with him as I should have done otherwise. But the girls were more +surprised than it is possible to describe. They looked at me with +wondering eyes. "If I were ill, papa, and you only stayed with me a +moment, I should break my heart," said Agatha. But the boy had a +sympathetic feeling. He knew that of my own will I would not have done +it. I shut myself up in the library, where I could not rest, but kept +pacing up and down like a caged beast. What could I do? and if I could do +nothing, what would become of my boy? These were the questions that, +without ceasing, pursued each other through my mind. + +Simson came out to dinner, and when the house was all still, and most of +the servants in bed, we went out and met Dr. Moncrieff, as we had +appointed, at the head of the glen. Simson, for his part, was disposed to +scoff at the Doctor. "If there are to be any spells, you know, I'll cut +the whole concern," he said. I did not make him any reply. I had not +invited him; he could go or come as he pleased. He was very talkative, +far more so than suited my humor, as we went on. "One thing is certain, +you know; there must be some human agency," he said. "It is all bosh +about apparitions. I never have investigated the laws of sound to any +great extent, and there's a great deal in ventriloquism that we don't +know much about." "If it's the same to you," I said, "I wish you'd keep +all that to yourself, Simson. It doesn't suit my state of mind." "Oh, I +hope I know how to respect idiosyncrasy," he said. The very tone of his +voice irritated me beyond measure. These scientific fellows, I wonder +people put up with them as they do, when you have no mind for their +cold-blooded confidence. Dr. Moncrieff met us about eleven o'clock, the +same time as on the previous night. He was a large man, with a venerable +countenance and white hair,--old, but in full vigor, and thinking less +of a cold night walk than many a younger man. He had his lantern, as I +had. We were fully provided with means of lighting the place, and we were +all of us resolute men. We had a rapid consultation as we went up, and +the result was that we divided to different posts. Dr. Moncrieff remained +inside the wall--if you can call that inside where there was no wall but +one. Simson placed himself on the side next the ruins, so as to intercept +any communication with the old house, which was what his mind was fixed +upon. I was posted on the other side. To say that nothing could come near +without being seen was self-evident. It had been so also on the previous +night. Now, with our three lights in the midst of the darkness, the whole +place seemed illuminated. Dr. Moncrieff's lantern, which was a large one, +without any means of shutting up,--an old-fashioned lantern with a +pierced and ornamental top,--shone steadily, the rays shooting out of it +upward into the gloom. He placed it on the grass, where the middle of the +room, if this had been a room, would have been. The usual effect of the +light streaming out of the door-way was prevented by the illumination +which Simson and I on either side supplied. With these differences, +everything seemed as on the previous night. + +And what occurred was exactly the same, with the same air of repetition, +point for point, as I had formerly remarked. I declare that it seemed to +me as if I were pushed against, put aside, by the owner of the voice as +he paced up and down in his trouble,--though these are perfectly futile +words, seeing that the stream of light from my lantern, and that from +Simson's taper, lay broad and clear, without a shadow, without the +smallest break, across the entire breadth of the grass. I had ceased even +to be alarmed, for my part. My heart was rent with pity and +trouble,--pity for the poor suffering human creature that moaned and +pleaded so, and trouble for myself and my boy. God! if I could not find +any help,--and what help could I find?--Roland would die. + +We were all perfectly still till the first outburst was exhausted, as I +knew, by experience, it would be. Dr. Moncrieff, to whom it was new, was +quite motionless on the other side of the wall, as we were in our places. +My heart had remained almost at its usual beating during the voice. I was +used to it; it did not rouse all my pulses as it did at first. But just +as it threw itself sobbing at the door (I cannot use other words), there +suddenly came something which sent the blood coursing through my veins, +and my heart into my mouth. It was a voice inside the wall,--the +minister's well-known voice. I would have been prepared for it in any +kind of adjuration, but I was not prepared for what I heard. It came out +with a sort of stammering, as if too much moved for utterance. "Willie, +Willie! Oh, God preserve us! is it you?" + +These simple words had an effect upon me that the voice of the +invisible creature had ceased to have. I thought the old man, whom I +had brought into this danger, had gone mad with terror. I made a dash +round to the other side of the wall, half crazed myself with the +thought. He was standing where I had left him, his shadow thrown vague +and large upon the grass by the lantern which stood at his feet. I +lifted my own light to see his face as I rushed forward. He was very +pale, his eyes wet and glistening, his mouth quivering with parted +lips. He neither saw nor heard me. We that had gone through this +experience before, had crouched towards each other to get a little +strength to bear it. But he was not even aware that I was there. His +whole being seemed absorbed in anxiety and tenderness. He held out his +hands, which trembled, but it seemed to me with eagerness, not fear. He +went on speaking all the time. "Willie, if it is you,--and it's you, if +it is not a delusion of Satan,--Willie, lad! why come ye here frighting +them that know you not? Why came ye not to me?" + +He seemed to wait for an answer. When his voice ceased, his countenance, +every line moving, continued to speak. Simson gave me another terrible +shock, stealing into the open door-way with his light, as much +awe-stricken, as wildly curious, as I. But the minister resumed, without +seeing Simson, speaking to some one else. His voice took a tone of +expostulation:-- + +"Is this right to come here? Your mother's gone with your name on her +lips. Do you think she would ever close her door on her own lad? Do ye +think the Lord will close the door, ye faint-hearted creature? No!--I +forbid ye! I forbid ye!" cried the old man. The sobbing voice had begun +to resume its cries. He made a step forward, calling out the last words +in a voice of command. "I forbid ye! Cry out no more to man. Go home, ye +wandering spirit! go home! Do you hear me?--me that christened ye, that +have struggled with ye, that have wrestled for ye with the Lord!" Here +the loud tones of his voice sank into tenderness. "And her too, poor +woman! poor woman! her you are calling upon. She's not here. You'll find +her with the Lord. Go there and seek her, not here. Do you hear me, lad? +go after her there. He'll let you in, though it's late. Man, take heart! +if you will lie and sob and greet, let it be at heaven's gate, and not +your poor mother's ruined door." + +He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had +done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, +but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled. Then the +minister spoke again, "Are you hearing me, Will? Oh, laddie, you've liked +the beggarly elements all your days. Be done with them now. Go home to +the Father--the Father! Are you hearing me?" Here the old man sank down +upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble +in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness. I resisted +as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon +my knees. Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression +in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes +wild, staring. It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and +wonder, that we were praying. All the time the voice, with a low arrested +sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought. + +"Lord," the minister said,--"Lord, take him into Thy everlasting +habitations. The mother he cries to is with Thee. Who can open to him but +Thee? Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee? +Lord, let that woman there draw him inower! Let her draw him inower!" + +I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly +within the door. The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I +felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the +ground,--for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my +foolishness I thought. Simson held out his hand to me to help me up. He +was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost +inarticulate. "It's gone," he said, stammering,--"it's gone!" We leaned +upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the +whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and +yet as long as I live I will never forget it,--the shining of the +strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all +the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and +uplifted hands. A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us. +By intervals a single syllable, "Lord! Lord!" came from the old +minister's lips. He saw none of us, nor thought of us. I never knew how +long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our +lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did. But at last he +rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his +arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and +solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,--to what? to the silent +earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but +spectators gasping an Amen! + +It seemed to me that it must be the middle of the night, as we all walked +back. It was in reality very late. Dr. Moncrieff put his arm into mine. +He walked slowly, with an air of exhaustion. It was as if we were coming +from a death-bed. Something hushed and solemnized the very air. There was +that sense of relief in it which there always is at the end of a +death-struggle. And nature, persistent, never daunted, came back in all +of us, as we returned into the ways of life. We said nothing to each +other, indeed, for a time; but when we got clear of the trees and +reached the opening near the house, where we could see the sky, Dr. +Moncrieff himself was the first to speak. "I must be going," he said; +"it's very late, I'm afraid. I will go down the glen, as I came." + +"But not alone. I am going with you, Doctor." + +"Well, I will not oppose it. I am an old man, and agitation wearies more +than work. Yes; I'll be thankful of your arm. To-night, Colonel, you've +done me more good turns than one." + +I pressed his hand on my arm, not feeling able to speak. But Simson, +who turned with us, and who had gone along all this time with his taper +flaring, in entire unconsciousness, came to himself, apparently at the +sound of our voices, and put out that wild little torch with a quick +movement, as if of shame. "Let me carry your lantern," he said; "it is +heavy." He recovered with a spring; and in a moment, from the +awe-stricken spectator he had been, became himself, sceptical and +cynical. "I should like to ask you a question," he said. "Do you +believe in Purgatory, Doctor? It's not in the tenets of the Church, so +far as I know." + +"Sir," said Dr. Moncrieff, "an old man like me is sometimes not very +sure what he believes. There is just one thing I am certain of--and that +is the loving-kindness of God." + +"But I thought that was in this life. I am no theologian--" + +"Sir," said the old man again, with a tremor in him which I could feel +going over all his frame, "if I saw a friend of mine within the gates of +hell, I would not despair but his Father would take him by the hand +still, if he cried like _you_." + +"I allow it is very strange, very strange. I cannot see through it. That +there must be human agency, I feel sure. Doctor, what made you decide +upon the person and the name?" + +The minister put out his hand with the impatience which a man might show +if he were asked how he recognized his brother. "Tuts!" he said, in +familiar speech; then more solemnly, "How should I not recognize a person +that I know better--far better--than I know you?" + +"Then you saw the man?" + +Dr. Moncrieff made no reply. He moved his hand again with a little +impatient movement, and walked on, leaning heavily on my arm. And we went +on for a long time without another word, threading the dark paths, which +were steep and slippery with the damp of the winter. The air was very +still,--not more than enough to make a faint sighing in the branches, +which mingled with the sound of the water to which we were descending. +When we spoke again, it was about indifferent matters,--about the height +of the river, and the recent rains. We parted with the minister at his +own door, where his old housekeeper appeared in great perturbation, +waiting for him. "Eh, me, minister! the young gentleman will be worse?" +she cried. + +"Far from that--better. God bless him!" Dr. Moncrieff said. + +I think if Simson had begun again to me with his questions, I should have +pitched him over the rocks as we returned up the glen; but he was silent, +by a good inspiration. And the sky was clearer than it had been for many +nights, shining high over the trees, with here and there a star faintly +gleaming through the wilderness of dark and bare branches. The air, as I +have said, was very soft in them, with a subdued and peaceful cadence. It +was real, like every natural sound, and came to us like a hush of peace +and relief. I thought there was a sound in it as of the breath of a +sleeper, and it seemed clear to me that Roland must be sleeping, +satisfied and calm. We went up to his room when we went in. There we +found the complete hush of rest. My wife looked up out of a doze, and +gave me a smile: "I think he is a great deal better; but you are very +late," she said in a whisper, shading the light with her hand that the +Doctor might see his patient. The boy had got back something like his own +color. He woke as we stood all round his bed. His eyes had the happy, +half-awakened look of childhood, glad to shut again, yet pleased with the +interruption and glimmer of the light. I stooped over him and kissed his +forehead, which was moist and cool. "All is well, Roland," I said. He +looked up at me with a glance of pleasure, and took my hand and laid his +cheek upon it, and so went to sleep. + + * * * * * + +For some nights after, I watched among the ruins, spending all the dark +hours up to midnight patrolling about the bit of wall which was +associated with so many emotions; but I heard nothing, and saw nothing +beyond the quiet course of nature; nor, so far as I am aware, has +anything been heard again. Dr. Moncrieff gave me the history of the +youth, whom he never hesitated to name. I did not ask, as Simson did, how +he recognized him. He had been a prodigal,--weak, foolish, easily imposed +upon, and "led away," as people say. All that we had heard had passed +actually in life, the Doctor said. The young man had come home thus a day +or two after his mother died,--who was no more than the housekeeper in +the old house,--and distracted with the news, had thrown himself down at +the door and called upon her to let him in. The old man could scarcely +speak of it for tears. To me it seemed as if--Heaven help us, how little +do we know about anything!--a scene like that might impress itself +somehow upon the hidden heart of nature. I do not pretend to know how, +but the repetition had struck me at the time as, in its terrible +strangeness and incomprehensibility, almost mechanical,--as if the unseen +actor could not exceed or vary, but was bound to re-enact the whole. One +thing that struck me, however, greatly, was the likeness between the old +minister and my boy in the manner of regarding these strange phenomena. +Dr. Moncrieff was not terrified, as I had been myself, and all the rest +of us. It was no "ghost," as I fear we all vulgarly considered it, to +him,--but a poor creature whom he knew under these conditions, just as +he had known him in the flesh, having no doubt of his identity. And to +Roland it was the same. This spirit in pain,--if it was a spirit,--this +voice out of the unseen,--was a poor fellow-creature in misery, to be +succored and helped out of his trouble, to my boy. He spoke to me quite +frankly about it when he got better. "I knew father would find out some +way," he said. And this was when he was strong and well, and all idea +that he would turn hysterical or become a seer of visions had happily +passed away. + + * * * * * + +I must add one curious fact, which does not seem to me to have any +relation to the above, but which Simson made great use of, as the human +agency which he was determined to find somehow. We had examined the ruins +very closely at the time of these occurrences; but afterwards, when all +was over, as we went casually about them one Sunday afternoon in the +idleness of that unemployed day, Simson with his stick penetrated an old +window which had been entirely blocked up with fallen soil. He jumped +down into it in great excitement, and called me to follow. There we found +a little hole,--for it was more a hole than a room,--entirely hidden +under the ivy and ruins, in which there was a quantity of straw laid in a +corner, as if some one had made a bed there, and some remains of crusts +about the floor. Some one had lodged there, and not very long before, he +made out; and that this unknown being was the author of all the +mysterious sounds we heard he is convinced. "I told you it was human +agency," he said triumphantly. He forgets, I suppose, how he and I stood +with our lights, seeing nothing, while the space between us was audibly +traversed by something that could speak, and sob, and suffer. There is no +argument with men of this kind. He is ready to get up a laugh against me +on this slender ground. "I was puzzled myself,--I could not make it +out,--but I always felt convinced human agency was at the bottom of it. +And here it is,--and a clever fellow he must have been," the Doctor says. + +Bagley left my service as soon as he got well. He assured me it was no +want of respect, but he could not stand "them kind of things;" and the +man was so shaken and ghastly that I was glad to give him a present and +let him go. For my own part, I made a point of staying out the +time--two years--for which I had taken Brentwood; but I did not renew +my tenancy. By that time we had settled, and found for ourselves a +pleasant home of our own. + +I must add, that when the Doctor defies me, I can always bring back +gravity to his countenance, and a pause in his railing, when I remind him +of the juniper-bush. To me that was a matter of little importance. I +could believe I was mistaken. I did not care about it one way or other; +but on his mind the effect was different. The miserable voice, the spirit +in pain, he could think of as the result of ventriloquism, or +reverberation, or--anything you please: an elaborate prolonged hoax, +executed somehow by the tramp that had found a lodging in the old tower; +but the juniper-bush staggered him. Things have effects so different on +the minds of different men. + + + + +II + +THE PORTRAIT + + +At the period when the following incidents occurred, I was living with my +father at The Grove, a large old house in the immediate neighborhood of a +little town. This had been his home for a number of years; and I believe +I was born in it. It was a kind of house which, notwithstanding all the +red and white architecture known at present by the name of Queen Anne, +builders nowadays have forgotten how to build. It was straggling and +irregular, with wide passages, wide staircases, broad landings; the rooms +large but not very lofty; the arrangements leaving much to be desired, +with no economy of space; a house belonging to a period when land was +cheap, and, so far as that was concerned, there was no occasion to +economize. Though it was so near the town, the clump of trees in which it +was environed was a veritable grove. In the grounds in spring the +primroses grew as thickly as in the forest. We had a few fields for the +cows, and an excellent walled garden. The place is being pulled down at +this moment to make room for more streets of mean little houses,--the +kind of thing, and not a dull house of faded gentry, which perhaps the +neighborhood requires. The house was dull, and so were we, its last +inhabitants; and the furniture was faded, even a little dingy,--nothing +to brag of. I do not, however, intend to convey a suggestion that we were +faded gentry, for that was not the case. My father, indeed, was rich, and +had no need to spare any expense in making his life and his house bright +if he pleased; but he did not please, and I had not been long enough at +home to exercise any special influence of my own. It was the only home I +had ever known; but except in my earliest childhood, and in my holidays +as a schoolboy, I had in reality known but little of it. My mother had +died at my birth, or shortly after, and I had grown up in the gravity and +silence of a house without women. In my infancy, I believe, a sister of +my father's had lived with us, and taken charge of the household and of +me; but she, too, had died long, long ago, my mourning for her being one +of the first things I could recollect. And she had no successor. There +were, indeed, a housekeeper and some maids,--the latter of whom I only +saw disappearing at the end of a passage, or whisking out of a room when +one of "the gentlemen" appeared. Mrs. Weir, indeed, I saw nearly every +day; but a curtsey, a smile, a pair of nice round arms which she caressed +while folding them across her ample waist, and a large white apron, were +all I knew of her. This was the only female influence in the house. The +drawing-room I was aware of only as a place of deadly good order, into +which nobody ever entered. It had three long windows opening on the lawn, +and communicated at the upper end, which was rounded like a great bay, +with the conservatory. Sometimes I gazed into it as a child from without, +wondering at the needlework on the chairs, the screens, the +looking-glasses which never reflected any living face. My father did not +like the room, which probably was not wonderful, though it never occurred +to me in those early days to inquire why. + +I may say here, though it will probably be disappointing to those who +form a sentimental idea of the capabilities of children, that it did +not occur to me either, in these early days, to make any inquiry about +my mother. There was no room in life, as I knew it, for any such +person; nothing suggested to my mind either the fact that she must have +existed, or that there was need of her in the house. I accepted, as I +believe most children do, the facts of existence, on the basis with +which I had first made acquaintance with them, without question or +remark. As a matter of fact, I was aware that it was rather dull at +home; but neither by comparison with the books I read, nor by the +communications received from my school-fellows, did this seem to me +anything remarkable. And I was possibly somewhat dull too by nature, +for I did not mind. I was fond of reading, and for that there was +unbounded opportunity. I had a little ambition in respect to work, and +that too could be prosecuted undisturbed. When I went to the +university, my society lay almost entirely among men; but by that time +and afterwards, matters had of course greatly changed with me, and +though I recognized women as part of the economy of nature, and did not +indeed by any means dislike or avoid them, yet the idea of connecting +them at all with my own home never entered into my head. That continued +to be as it had always been, when at intervals I descended upon the +cool, grave, colorless place, in the midst of my traffic with the +world: always very still, well-ordered, serious,--the cooking very +good, the comfort perfect; old Morphew, the butler, a little older (but +very little older, perhaps on the whole less old, since in my childhood +I had thought him a kind of Methuselah); and Mrs. Weir, less active, +covering up her arms in sleeves, but folding and caressing them just as +always. I remember looking in from the lawn through the windows upon +that deadly-orderly drawing-room, with a humorous recollection of my +childish admiration and wonder, and feeling that it must be kept so +forever and ever, and that to go into it would break some sort of +amusing mock mystery, some pleasantly ridiculous spell. + +But it was only at rare intervals that I went home. In the long vacation, +as in my school holidays, my father often went abroad with me, so that we +had gone over a great deal of the Continent together very pleasantly. He +was old in proportion to the age of his son, being a man of sixty when I +was twenty, but that did not disturb the pleasure of the relations +between us. I don't know that they were ever very confidential. On my +side there was but little to communicate, for I did not get into scrapes +nor fall in love, the two predicaments which demand sympathy and +confidences. And as for my father himself, I was never aware what there +could be to communicate on his side. I knew his life exactly,--what he +did almost at every hour of the day; under what circumstances of the +temperature he would ride and when walk; how often and with what guests +he would indulge in the occasional break of a dinner-party, a serious +pleasure,--perhaps, indeed, less a pleasure than a duty. All this I knew +as well as he did, and also his views on public matters, his political +opinions, which naturally were different from mine. What ground, then, +remained for confidence? I did not know any. We were both of us of a +reserved nature, not apt to enter into our religious feelings, for +instance. There are many people who think reticence on such subjects a +sign of the most reverential way of contemplating them. Of this I am far +from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial +to my own mind. + +And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I +did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an +Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a +semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years, +invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and +disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, "no +occasion" to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never +given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be +his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not +oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to +exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and +expressed his satisfaction in my return. "Of course," he said, "I am not +glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken; +but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I +am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man--" + +"I don't see any difference, sir," said I; "everything here seems exactly +the same as when I went away--" + +He smiled, and shook his head. "It is true enough," he said; "after we +have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a +plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an +inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the +fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to +have you here." + +"If I had known that," I said, "and that you wanted me, I should have +come in any circumstances. As there are only two of us in the world--" + +"Yes," he said, "there are only two of us in the world; but still I +should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career." + +"It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself," I said rather +bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear. + +He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, "It is an ill wind that blows +nobody good," with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain +gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in +all the world to whom I owed any duty. I had not been without dreams of +warmer affections, but they had come to nothing--not tragically, but in +the ordinary way. I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but +not that which I did want,--which was not a thing to make any unmanly +moan about, but in the ordinary course of events. Such disappointments +happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and +sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so. + +However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,--in a +position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my +contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much +money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the +future. On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no +occupation. The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an +advantage. I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into +the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one +through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was +not a walk but a lounge. The country was silent and full of +thoughts,--thoughts not always very agreeable,--whereas there were always +the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be +heard,--all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very +impoverished version for the idle man. I did not like it, but I felt +myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand. The +rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner. I might +have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for +that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, +and fully contented with my lot. + +It was possibly my own want of occupation which made me observe with +surprise, after a while, how much occupied my father was. He had +expressed himself glad of my return; but now that I had returned, I saw +very little of him. Most of his time was spent in his library, as had +always been the case. But on the few visits I paid him there, I could not +but perceive that the aspect of the library was much changed. It had +acquired the look of a business-room, almost an office. There were large +business-like books on the table, which I could not associate with +anything he could naturally have to do; and his correspondence was very +large. I thought he closed one of those books hurriedly as I came in, and +pushed it away, as if he did not wish me to see it. This surprised me at +the moment without arousing any other feeling; but afterwards I +remembered it with a clearer sense of what it meant. He was more absorbed +altogether than I had been used to see him. He was visited by men +sometimes not of very prepossessing appearance. Surprise grew in my mind +without any very distinct idea of the reason of it; and it was not till +after a chance conversation with Morphew that my vague uneasiness began +to take definite shape. It was begun without any special intention on my +part. Morphew had informed me that master was very busy, on some occasion +when I wanted to see him. And I was a little annoyed to be thus put off. +"It appears to me that my father is always busy," I said hastily. Morphew +then began very oracularly to nod his head in assent. + +"A deal too busy, sir, if you take my opinion," he said. + +This startled me much, and I asked hurriedly, "What do you mean?" without +reflecting that to ask for private information from a servant about my +father's habits was as bad as investigating into a stranger's affairs. It +did not strike me in the same light. + +"Mr. Philip," said Morphew, "a thing 'as 'appened as 'appens more often +than it ought to. Master has got awful keen about money in his old age." + +"That's a new thing for him," I said. + +"No, sir, begging your pardon, it ain't a new thing. He was once +broke of it, and that wasn't easy done; but it's come back, if you'll +excuse me saying so. And I don't know as he'll ever be broke of it +again at his age." + +I felt more disposed to be angry than disturbed by this. "You must be +making some ridiculous mistake," I said. "And if you were not so old a +friend as you are, Morphew, I should not have allowed my father to be so +spoken of to me." + +The old man gave me a half-astonished, half-contemptuous look. "He's been +my master a deal longer than he's been your father," he said, turning on +his heel. The assumption was so comical that my anger could not stand in +face of it. I went out, having been on my way to the door when this +conversation occurred, and took my usual lounge about, which was not a +satisfactory sort of amusement. Its vanity and emptiness appeared to be +more evident than usual to-day. I met half-a-dozen people I knew, and had +as many pieces of news confided to me. I went up and down the length of +the High Street. I made a small purchase or two. And then I turned +homeward, despising myself, yet finding no alternative within my reach. +Would a long country walk have been more virtuous? It would at least have +been more wholesome; but that was all that could be said. My mind did +not dwell on Morphew's communication. It seemed without sense or meaning +to me; and after the excellent joke about his superior interest in his +master to mine in my father, was dismissed lightly enough from my mind. I +tried to invent some way of telling this to my father without letting him +perceive that Morphew had been finding faults in him, or I listening; for +it seemed a pity to lose so good a joke. However, as I returned home, +something happened which put the joke entirely out of my head. It is +curious when a new subject of trouble or anxiety has been suggested to +the mind in an unexpected way, how often a second advertisement follows +immediately after the first, and gives to that a potency which in itself +it had not possessed. + +I was approaching our own door, wondering whether my father had gone, and +whether, on my return, I should find him at leisure,--for I had several +little things to say to him,--when I noticed a poor woman lingering about +the closed gates. She had a baby sleeping in her arms. It was a spring +night, the stars shining in the twilight, and everything soft and dim; +and the woman's figure was like a shadow, flitting about, now here, now +there, on one side or another of the gate. She stopped when she saw me +approaching, and hesitated for a moment, then seemed to take a sudden +resolution. I watched her without knowing, with a prevision that she was +going to address me, though with no sort of idea as to the subject of her +address. She came up to me doubtfully, it seemed, yet certainly, as I +felt, and when she was close to me, dropped a sort of hesitating curtsey, +and said, "It's Mr. Philip?" in a low voice. + +"What do you want with me?" I said. + +Then she poured forth suddenly, without warning or preparation, her long +speech,--a flood of words which must have been all ready and waiting at +the doors of her lips for utterance. "Oh, sir, I want to speak to you! I +can't believe you'll be so hard, for you're young; and I can't believe +he'll be so hard if so be as his own son, as I've always heard he had but +one, 'll speak up for us. Oh, gentleman, it is easy for the likes of you, +that, if you ain't comfortable in one room, can just walk into another; +but if one room is all you have, and every bit of furniture you have +taken out of it, and nothing but the four walls left,--not so much as the +cradle for the child, or a chair for your man to sit down upon when he +comes from his work, or a saucepan to cook him his supper--" + +"My good woman," I said, "who can have taken all that from you? Surely +nobody can be so cruel?" + +"You say it's cruel!" she cried with a sort of triumph. "Oh, I knowed you +would, or any true gentleman that don't hold with screwing poor folks. +Just go and say that to him inside there for the love of God. Tell him +to think what he's doing, driving poor creatures to despair. Summer's +coming, the Lord be praised, but yet it's bitter cold at night with your +counterpane gone; and when you've been working hard all day, and nothing +but four bare walls to come home to, and all your poor little sticks of +furniture that you've saved up for, and got together one by one, all +gone, and you no better than when you started, or rather worse, for then +you was young. Oh, sir!" the woman's voice rose into a sort of passionate +wail. And then she added, beseechingly, recovering herself, "Oh, speak +for us; he'll not refuse his own son--" + +"To whom am I to speak? Who is it that has done this to you?" I said. + +The woman hesitated again, looking keenly in my face, then repeated with +a slight faltering, "It's Mr. Philip?" as if that made everything right. + +"Yes; I am Philip Canning," I said; "but what have I to do with this? +and to whom am I to speak?" + +She began to whimper, crying and stopping herself. "Oh, please, sir! it's +Mr. Canning as owns all the house property about; it's him that our court +and the lane and everything belongs to. And he's taken the bed from under +us, and the baby's cradle, although it's said in the Bible as you're not +to take poor folks' bed." + +"My father!" I cried in spite of myself; "then it must be some agent, +some one else in his name. You may be sure he knows nothing of it. Of +course I shall speak to him at once." + +"Oh, God bless you, sir," said the woman. But then she added, in a lower +tone, "It's no agent. It's one as never knows trouble. It's him that +lives in that grand house." But this was said under her breath, evidently +not for me to hear. + +Morphew's words flashed through my mind as she spoke. What was this? Did +it afford an explanation of the much-occupied hours, the big books, the +strange visitors? I took the poor woman's name, and gave her something +to procure a few comforts for the night, and went indoors disturbed and +troubled. It was impossible to believe that my father himself would +have acted thus; but he was not a man to brook interference, and I did +not see how to introduce the subject, what to say. I could but hope +that, at the moment of broaching it, words would be put into my mouth, +which often happens in moments of necessity, one knows not how, even +when one's theme is not so all-important as that for which such help has +been promised. As usual, I did not see my father till dinner. I have +said that our dinners were very good, luxurious in a simple way, +everything excellent in its kind, well cooked, well served,--the +perfection of comfort without show,--which is a combination very dear to +the English heart. I said nothing till Morphew, with his solemn +attention to everything that was going, had retired; and then it was +with some strain of courage that I began. + +"I was stopped outside the gate to-day by a curious sort of +petitioner,--a poor woman, who seems to be one of your tenants, sir, but +whom your agent must have been rather too hard upon." + +"My agent? Who is that?" said my father quietly. + +"I don't know his name, and I doubt his competence. The poor creature +seems to have had everything taken from her,--her bed, her child's +cradle." + +"No doubt she was behind with her rent." + +"Very likely, sir. She seemed very poor," said I. + +"You take it coolly," said my father, with an upward glance, half-amused, +not in the least shocked by my statement. "But when a man, or a woman +either, takes a house, I suppose you will allow that they ought to pay +rent for it." + +"Certainly, sir," I replied, "when they have got anything to pay." + +"I don't allow the reservation," he said. But he was not angry, which I +had feared he would be. + +"I think," I continued, "that your agent must be too severe. And this +emboldens me to say something which has been in my mind for some +time"--(these were the words, no doubt, which I had hoped would be put +into my month; they were the suggestion of the moment, and yet as I said +them it was with the most complete conviction of their truth)--"and that +is this: I am doing nothing; my time hangs heavy on my hands. Make me +your agent. I will see for myself, and save you from such mistakes; and +it will be an occupation--" + +"Mistakes? What warrant have you for saying these are mistakes?" he said +testily; then after a moment: "This is a strange proposal from you, Phil. +Do you know what it is you are offering?--to be a collector of rents, +going about from door to door, from week to week; to look after wretched +little bits of repairs, drains, etc.; to get paid, which, after all, is +the chief thing, and not to be taken in by tales of poverty." + +"Not to let you be taken in by men without pity," I said. + +He gave me a strange glance, which I did not very well understand, and +said abruptly, a thing which, so far as I remember, he had never in my +life said before, "You've become a little like your mother, Phil--" + +"My mother!" the reference was so unusual--nay, so unprecedented--that I +was greatly startled. It seemed to me like the sudden introduction of a +quite new element in the stagnant atmosphere, as well as a new party to +our conversation. My father looked across the table, as if with some +astonishment at my tone of surprise. + +"Is that so very extraordinary?" he said. + +"No; of course it is not extraordinary that I should resemble my mother. +Only--I have heard very little of her--almost nothing." + +"That is true." He got up and placed himself before the fire, which was +very low, as the night was not cold--had not been cold heretofore at +least; but it seemed to me now that a little chill came into the dim and +faded room. Perhaps it looked more dull from the suggestion of a +something brighter, warmer, that might have been. "Talking of mistakes," +he said, "perhaps that was one: to sever you entirely from her side of +the house. But I did not care for the connection. You will understand how +it is that I speak of it now when I tell you--" He stopped here, however, +said nothing more for a minute or so, and then rang the bell. Morphew +came, as he always did, very deliberately, so that some time elapsed in +silence, during which my surprise grew. When the old man appeared at the +door--"Have you put the lights in the drawing-room, as I told you?" my +father said. + +"Yes, sir; and opened the box, sir; and it's a--it's a speaking +likeness--" + +This the old man got out in a great hurry, as if afraid that his master +would stop him. My father did so with a wave of his hand. + +"That's enough. I asked no information. You can go now." + +The door closed upon us, and there was again a pause. My subject had +floated away altogether like a mist, though I had been so concerned about +it. I tried to resume, but could not. Something seemed to arrest my very +breathing; and yet in this dull, respectable house of ours, where +everything breathed good character and integrity, it was certain that +there could be no shameful mystery to reveal. It was some time before my +father spoke, not from any purpose that I could see, but apparently +because his mind was busy with probably unaccustomed thoughts. + +"You scarcely know the drawing-room, Phil," he said at last. + +"Very little. I have never seen it used. I have a little awe of it, to +tell the truth." + +"That should not be. There is no reason for that. But a man by himself, +as I have been for the greater part of my life, has no occasion for a +drawing-room. I always, as a matter of preference, sat among my books; +however, I ought to have thought of the impression on you." + +"Oh, it is not important," I said; "the awe was childish. I have not +thought of it since I came home." + +"It never was anything very splendid at the best," said he. He lifted the +lamp from the table with a sort of abstraction, not remarking even my +offer to take it from him, and led the way. He was on the verge of +seventy, and looked his age; but it was a vigorous age, with no symptom +of giving way. The circle of light from the lamp lit up his white hair +and keen blue eyes and clear complexion; his forehead was like old ivory, +his cheek warmly colored; an old man, yet a man in full strength. He was +taller than I was, and still almost as strong. As he stood for a moment +with the lamp in his hand, he looked like a tower in his great height and +bulk. I reflected as I looked at him that I knew him intimately, more +intimately than any other creature in the world,--I was familiar with +every detail of his outward life; could it be that in reality I did not +know him at all? + + * * * * * + +The drawing-room was already lighted with a flickering array of candles +upon the mantelpiece and along the walls, producing the pretty, starry +effect which candles give without very much light. As I had not the +smallest idea what I was about to see, for Morphew's "speaking likeness" +was very hurriedly said, and only half comprehensible in the bewilderment +of my faculties, my first glance was at this very unusual illumination, +for which I could assign no reason. The next showed me a large +full-length portrait, still in the box in which apparently it had +travelled, placed upright, supported against a table in the centre of the +room. My father walked straight up to it, motioned to me to place a +smaller table close to the picture on the left side, and put his lamp +upon that. Then he waved his hand towards it, and stood aside that I +might see. + +It was a full-length portrait of a very young woman--I might say a girl +scarcely twenty--in a white dress, made in a very simple old fashion, +though I was too little accustomed to female costume to be able to fix +the date. It might have been a hundred years old, or twenty, for aught I +knew. The face had an expression of youth, candor, and simplicity more +than any face I had ever seen,--or so, at least in my surprise, I +thought. The eyes were a little wistful, with something which was almost +anxiety which at least was not content--in them; a faint, almost +imperceptible, curve in the lids. The complexion was of a dazzling +fairness, the hair light, but the eyes dark, which gave individuality to +the face. It would have been as lovely had the eyes been blue,--probably +more so,--but their darkness gave a touch of character, a slight discord, +which made the harmony finer. It was not, perhaps, beautiful in the +highest sense of the word. The girl must have been too young, too slight, +too little developed for actual beauty; but a face which so invited love +and confidence I never saw. One smiled at it with instinctive affection. +"What a sweet face!" I said. "What a lovely girl! Who is she? Is this one +of the relations you were speaking of on the other side?" + +My father made me no reply. He stood aside, looking at it as if he knew +it too well to require to look,--as if the picture was already in his +eyes. "Yes," he said, after an interval, with a long-drawn breath, "she +was a lovely girl, as you say." + +"Was?--then she is dead. What a pity!" I said; "what a pity! so young and +so sweet!" + +We stood gazing at her thus, in her beautiful stillness and calm,--two +men, the younger of us full-grown and conscious of many experiences, the +other an old man,--before this impersonation of tender youth. At length +he said, with a slight tremulousness in his voice, "Does nothing suggest +to you who she is, Phil?" + +I turned round to look at him with profound astonishment, but he turned +away from my look. A sort of quiver passed over his face. "That is your +mother," he said, and walked suddenly away, leaving me there. + +My mother! + +I stood for a moment in a kind of consternation before the white-robed +innocent creature, to me no more than a child; then a sudden laugh broke +from me, without any will of mine something ludicrous, as well as +something awful, was in it. When the laugh was over, I found myself with +tears in my eyes, gazing, holding my breath. The soft features seemed to +melt, the lips to move, the anxiety in the eyes to become a personal +inquiry. Ah, no! nothing of the kind; only because of the water in mine. +My mother! oh, fair and gentle creature, scarcely woman, how could any +man's voice call her by that name! I had little idea enough of what it +meant,--had heard it laughed at, scoffed at, reverenced, but never had +learned to place it even among the ideal powers of life. Yet if it meant +anything at all, what it meant was worth thinking of. What did she ask, +looking at me with those eyes? What would she have said if "those lips +had language"? If I had known her only as Cowper did--with a child's +recollection--there might have been some thread, some faint but +comprehensible link, between us; but now all that I felt was the curious +incongruity. Poor child! I said to myself; so sweet a creature: poor +little tender soul! as if she had been a little sister, a child of +mine,--but my mother! I cannot tell how long I stood looking at her, +studying the candid, sweet face, which surely had germs in it of +everything that was good and beautiful; and sorry, with a profound +regret, that she had died and never carried these promises to +fulfillment. Poor girl! poor people who had loved her! These were my +thoughts; with a curious vertigo and giddiness of my whole being in the +sense of a mysterious relationship, which it was beyond my power to +understand. + +Presently my father came back, possibly because I had been a long time +unconscious of the passage of the minutes, or perhaps because he was +himself restless in the strange disturbance of his habitual calm. He came +in and put his arm within mine, leaning his weight partially upon me, +with an affectionate suggestion which went deeper than words. I pressed +his arm to my side: it was more between us two grave Englishmen than any +embracing. + +"I cannot understand it," I said. + +"No. I don't wonder at that; but if it is strange to you, Phil, think how +much more strange to me! That is the partner of my life. I have never had +another, or thought of another. That--girl! If we are to meet again, as I +have always hoped we should meet again, what am I to say to her,--I, an +old man? Yes; I know what you mean. I am not an old man for my years; but +my years are threescore and ten, and the play is nearly played out. How +am I to meet that young creature? We used to say to each other that it +was forever, that we never could be but one, that it was for life and +death. But what--what am I to say to her, Phil, when I meet her again, +that--that angel? No, it is not her being an angel that troubles me; but +she is so young! She is like my--my granddaughter," he cried, with a +burst of what was half sobs, half laughter; "and she is my wife,--and I +am an old man--an old man! And so much has happened that she could not +understand." + +I was too much startled by this strange complaint to know what to say. +It was not my own trouble, and I answered it in the conventional way. + +"They are not as we are, sir," I said; "they look upon us with larger, +other eyes than ours." + +"Ah! you don't know what I mean," he said quickly; and in the interval he +had subdued his emotion. "At first, after she died, it was my consolation +to think that I should meet her again,--that we never could be really +parted. But, my God, how I have changed since then! I am another man,--I +am a different being. I was not very young even then,--twenty years older +than she was; but her youth renewed mine. I was not an unfit partner; she +asked no better, and knew as much more than I did in some things,--being +so much nearer the source,--as I did in others that were of the world. +But I have gone a long way since then, Phil,--a long way; and there she +stands, just where I left her." + +I pressed his arm again. "Father," I said, which was a title I seldom +used, "we are not to suppose that in a higher life the mind stands +still." I did not feel myself qualified to discuss such topics, but +something one must say. + +"Worse, worse!" he replied; "then she too will be, like me, a different +being, and we shall meet as what? as strangers, as people who have lost +sight of each other, with a long past between us,--we who parted, my God! +with--with--" + +His voice broke and ended for a moment then while, surprised and almost +shocked by what he said, I cast about in my mind what to reply, he +withdrew his arm suddenly from mine, and said in his usual tone, "Where +shall we hang the picture, Phil? It must be here in this room. What do +you think will be the best light?" + +This sudden alteration took me still more by surprise, and gave me almost +an additional shock; but it was evident that I must follow the changes of +his mood, or at least the sudden repression of sentiment which he +originated. We went into that simpler question with great seriousness, +consulting which would be the best light. "You know I can scarcely +advise," I said; "I have never been familiar with this room. I should +like to put off, if you don't mind, till daylight." + +"I think," he said, "that this would be the best place." It was on the +other side of the fireplace, on the wall which faced the windows,--not +the best light, I knew enough to be aware, for an oil-painting. When I +said so, however, he answered me with a little impatience, "It does not +matter very much about the best light; there will be nobody to see it but +you and me. I have my reasons--" There was a small table standing against +the wall at this spot, on which he had his hand as he spoke. Upon it +stood a little basket in very fine lace-like wicker-work. His hand must +have trembled, for the table shook, and the basket fell, its contents +turning out upon the carpet,--little bits of needlework, colored silks, a +small piece of knitting half done. He laughed as they rolled out at his +feet, and tried to stoop to collect them, then tottered to a chair, and +covered for a moment his face with his hands. + +No need to ask what they were. No woman's work had been seen in the house +since I could recollect it. I gathered them up reverently and put them +back. I could see, ignorant as I was, that the bit of knitting was +something for an infant. What could I do less than put it to my lips? It +had been left in the doing--for me. + +"Yes, I think this is the best place," my father said a minute after, in +his usual tone. + +We placed it there that evening with our own hands. The picture was +large, and in a heavy frame, but my father would let no one help me but +himself. And then, with a superstition for which I never could give any +reason even to myself, having removed the packings, we closed and locked +the door, leaving the candles about the room, in their soft, strange +illumination, lighting the first night of her return to her old place. + +That night no more was said. My father went to his room early, which was +not his habit. He had never, however, accustomed me to sit late with him +in the library. I had a little study or smoking-room of my own, in which +all my special treasures were, the collections of my travels and my +favorite books,--and where I always sat after prayers, a ceremonial which +was regularly kept up in the house. I retired as usual this night to my +room, and, as usual, read,--but to-night somewhat vaguely, often pausing +to think. When it was quite late, I went out by the glass door to the +lawn, and walked round the house, with the intention of looking in at the +drawing-room windows, as I had done when a child. But I had forgotten +that these windows were all shuttered at night; and nothing but a faint +penetration of the light within through the crevices bore witness to the +installment of the new dweller there. + +In the morning my father was entirely himself again. He told me without +emotion of the manner in which he had obtained the picture. It had +belonged to my mother's family, and had fallen eventually into the hands +of a cousin of hers, resident abroad,--"A man whom I did not like, and +who did not like me," my father said; "there was, or had been, some +rivalry, he thought: a mistake, but he was never aware of that. He +refused all my requests to have a copy made. You may suppose, Phil, that +I wished this very much. Had I succeeded, you would have been acquainted, +at least, with your mother's appearance, and need not have sustained this +shock. But he would not consent. It gave him, I think, a certain pleasure +to think that he had the only picture. But now he is dead, and out of +remorse, or with some other intention, has left it to me." + +"That looks like kindness," said I. + +"Yes; or something else. He might have thought that by so doing he was +establishing a claim upon me," my father said; but he did not seem +disposed to add any more. On whose behalf he meant to establish a claim I +did not know, nor who the man was who had laid us under so great an +obligation on his death-bed. He _had_ established a claim on me at least; +though, as he was dead, I could not see on whose behalf it was. And my +father said nothing more; he seemed to dislike the subject. When I +attempted to return to it, he had recourse to his letters or his +newspapers. Evidently he had made up his mind to say no more. + +Afterwards I went into the drawing-room, to look at the picture once +more. It seemed to me that the anxiety in her eyes was not so evident as +I had thought it last night. The light possibly was more favorable. She +stood just above the place where, I make no doubt, she had sat in life, +where her little work-basket was,--not very much above it. The picture +was full-length, and we had hung it low, so that she might have been +stepping into the room, and was little above my own level as I stood and +looked at her again. Once more I smiled at the strange thought that this +young creature--so young, almost childish--could be my mother; and once +more my eyes grew wet looking at her. He was a benefactor, indeed, who +had given her back to us. I said to myself, that if I could ever do +anything for him or his, I would certainly do it, for my--for this lovely +young creature's sake. And with this in my mind, and all the thoughts +that came with it, I am obliged to confess that the other matter, which I +had been so full of on the previous night, went entirely out of my head. + + * * * * * + +It is rarely, however, that such matters are allowed to slip out of one's +mind. When I went out in the afternoon for my usual stroll,--or rather +when I returned from that stroll,--I saw once more before me the woman +with her baby, whose story had filled me with dismay on the previous +evening. She was waiting at the gate as before, and, "Oh, gentleman, but +haven't you got some news to give me?" she said. + +"My good woman,--I--have been greatly occupied. I have had--no time to do +anything." + +"Ah!" she said, with a little cry of disappointment, "my man said not to +make too sure, and that the ways of the gentlefolks is hard to know." + +"I cannot explain to you," I said, as gently as I could, "what it is that +has made me forget you. It was an event that can only do you good in the +end. Go home now, and see the man that took your things from you, and +tell him to come to me. I promise you it shall all be put right." + +The woman looked at me in astonishment, then burst forth, as it seemed, +involuntarily, "What! without asking no questions?" After this there came +a storm of tears and blessings, from which I made haste to escape, but +not without carrying that curious commentary on my rashness away with +me,--"Without asking no questions?" It might be foolish, perhaps; but +after all, how slight a matter. To make the poor creature comfortable at +the cost of what,--a box or two of cigars, perhaps, or some other trifle. +And if it should be her own fault, or her husband's--what then? Had I +been punished for all my faults, where should I have been now? And if the +advantage should be only temporary, what then? To be relieved and +comforted even for a day or two, was not that something to count in life? +Thus I quenched the fiery dart of criticism which my _protegee_ herself +had thrown into the transaction, not without a certain sense of the humor +of it. Its effect, however, was to make me less anxious to see my father, +to repeat my proposal to him, and to call his attention to the cruelty +performed in his name. This one case I had taken out of the category of +wrongs to be righted, by assuming arbitrarily the position of Providence +in my own person,--for, of course, I had bound myself to pay the poor +creature's rent as well as redeem her goods,--and, whatever might happen +to her in the future, had taken the past into my own hands. The man came +presently to see me, who, it seems, had acted as my father's agent in the +matter. "I don't know, sir, how Mr. Canning will take it," he said. "He +don't want none of those irregular, bad-paying ones in his property. He +always says as to look over it and let the rent run on is making things +worse in the end. His rule is, 'Never more than a month, Stevens;' that's +what Mr. Canning says to me, sir. He says, 'More than that they can't +pay. It's no use trying.' And it's a good rule; it's a very good rule. He +won't hear none of their stories, sir. Bless you, you'd never get a penny +of rent from them small houses if you listened to their tales. But if so +be as you'll pay Mrs. Jordan's rent, it's none of my business how it's +paid, so long as it's paid, and I'll send her back her things. But +they'll just have to be took next time," he added composedly. "Over and +over; it's always the same story with them sort of poor folks,--they're +too poor for anything, that's the truth," the man said. + +Morphew came back to my room after my visitor was gone. "Mr. Philip," he +said, "you'll excuse me, sir, but if you're going to pay all the poor +folks' rent as have distresses put in, you may just go into the court at +once, for it's without end--" + +"I am going to be the agent myself, Morphew, and manage for my father; +and we'll soon put a stop to that," I said, more cheerfully than I felt. + +"Manage for--master," he said, with a face of consternation. "You, +Mr. Philip!" + +"You seem to have a great contempt for me, Morphew." + +He did not deny the fact. He said with excitement, "Master, sir,--master +don't let himself be put a stop to by any man. Master's--not one to be +managed. Don't you quarrel with master, Mr. Philip, for the love of God." +The old man was quite pale. + +"Quarrel!" I said. "I have never quarrelled with my father, and I don't +mean to begin now." + +Morphew dispelled his own excitement by making up the fire, which was +dying in the grate. It was a very mild spring evening, and he made up a +great blaze which would have suited December. This is one of many ways in +which an old servant will relieve his mind. He muttered all the time as +he threw on the coals and wood. "He'll not like it,--we all know as he'll +not like it. Master won't stand no meddling, Mr. Philip,"--this last he +discharged at me like a flying arrow as he closed the door. + +I soon found there was truth in what he said. My father was not angry, he +was even half amused. "I don't think that plan of yours will hold water, +Phil. I hear you have been paying rents and redeeming furniture,--that's +an expensive game, and a very profitless one. Of course, so long as you +are a benevolent gentleman acting for your own pleasure, it makes no +difference to me. I am quite content if I get my money, even out of your +pockets,--so long as it amuses you. But as my collector, you know, which +you are good enough to propose to be--" + +"Of course I should act under your orders," I said; "but at least you +might be sure that I would not commit you to any--to any--" I paused +for a word. + +"Act of oppression," he said, with a smile--"piece of cruelty, +exaction--there are half-a-dozen words--" + +"Sir--" I cried. + +"Stop, Phil, and let us understand each other. I hope I have always been +a just man. I do my duty on my side, and I expect it from others. It is +your benevolence that is cruel. I have calculated anxiously how much +credit it is safe to allow; but I will allow no man, or woman either, to +go beyond what he or she can make up. My law is fixed. Now you +understand. My agents, as you call them, originate nothing; they execute +only what I decide--" + +"But then no circumstances are taken into account,--no bad luck, no evil +chances, no loss unexpected." + +"There are no evil chances," he said; "there is no bad luck; they reap as +they sow. No, I don't go among them to be cheated by their stories, and +spend quite unnecessary emotion in sympathizing with them. You will find +it much better for you that I don't. I deal with them on a general rule, +made, I assure you, not without a great deal of thought." + +"And must it always be so?" I said. "Is there no way of ameliorating or +bringing in a better state of things?" + +"It seems not," he said; "we don't get 'no forrarder' in that +direction so far as I can see." And then he turned the conversation to +general matters. + +I retired to my room greatly discouraged that night. In former ages--or +so one is led to suppose--and in the lower primitive classes who still +linger near the primeval type, action of any kind was, and is, easier +than amid the complication of our higher civilization. A bad man is a +distinct entity, against whom you know more or less what steps to take. A +tyrant, an oppressor, a bad landlord, a man who lets miserable tenements +at a rack-rent (to come down to particulars), and exposes his wretched +tenants to all those abominations of which we have heard so much--well! +he is more or less a satisfactory opponent. There he is, and there is +nothing to be said for him--down with him! and let there be an end of his +wickedness. But when, on the contrary, you have before you a good man, a +just man, who has considered deeply a question which you allow to be full +of difficulty; who regrets, but cannot, being human, avert the miseries +which to some unhappy individuals follow from the very wisdom of his +rule,--what can you do? What is to be done? Individual benevolence at +haphazard may balk him here and there, but what have you to put in the +place of his well-considered scheme? Charity which makes paupers? or what +else? I had not considered the question deeply, but it seemed to me that +I now came to a blank wall, which my vague human sentiment of pity and +scorn could find no way to breach. There must be wrong somewhere, but +where? There must be some change for the better to be made, but how? + +I was seated with a book before me on the table, with my head supported +on my hands. My eyes were on the printed page, but I was not reading; my +mind was full of these thoughts, my heart of great discouragement and +despondency,--a sense that I could do nothing, yet that there surely must +and ought, if I but knew it, be something to do. The fire which Morphew +had built up before dinner was dying out, the shaded lamp on my table +left all the corners in a mysterious twilight. The house was perfectly +still, no one moving: my father in the library, where, after the habit of +many solitary years, he liked to be left alone, and I here in my retreat, +preparing for the formation of similar habits. I thought all at once of +the third member of the party, the new-comer, alone too in the room that +had been hers; and there suddenly occurred to me a strong desire to take +up my lamp and go to the drawing-room and visit her, to see whether her +soft, angelic face would give any inspiration. I restrained, however, +this futile impulse,--for what could the picture say?--and instead +wondered what might have been had she lived, had she been there, warmly +enthroned beside the warm domestic centre, the hearth which would have +been a common sanctuary, the true home. In that case what might have +been? Alas! the question was no more simple to answer than the other: she +might have been there alone too, her husband's business, her son's +thoughts, as far from her as now, when her silent representative held her +old place in the silence and darkness. I had known it so, often enough. +Love itself does not always give comprehension and sympathy. It might be +that she was more to us there, in the sweet image of her undeveloped +beauty, than she might have been had she lived and grown to maturity and +fading, like the rest. + +I cannot be certain whether my mind was still lingering on this not very +cheerful reflection, or if it had been left behind, when the strange +occurrence came of which I have now to tell. Can I call it an occurrence? +My eyes were on my book, when I thought I heard the sound of a door +opening and shutting, but so far away and faint that if real at all it +must have been in a far corner of the house. I did not move except to +lift my eyes from the book as one does instinctively the better to +listen; when--But I cannot tell, nor have I ever been able to describe +exactly what it was. My heart made all at once a sudden leap in my +breast. I am aware that this language is figurative, and that the heart +cannot leap; but it is a figure so entirely justified by sensation, that +no one will have any difficulty in understanding what I mean. My heart +leaped up and began beating wildly in my throat, in my ears, as if my +whole being had received a sudden and intolerable shock. The sound went +through my head like the dizzy sound of some strange mechanism, a +thousand wheels and springs circling, echoing, working in my brain. I +felt the blood bound in my veins, my mouth became dry, my eyes hot; a +sense of something insupportable took possession of me. I sprang to my +feet, and then I sat down again. I cast a quick glance round me beyond +the brief circle of the lamplight, but there was nothing there to +account in any way for this sudden extraordinary rush of sensation, nor +could I feel any meaning in it, any suggestion, any moral impression. I +thought I must be going to be ill, and got out my watch and felt my +pulse: it was beating furiously, about one hundred and twenty-five throbs +in a minute. I knew of no illness that could come on like this without +warning, in a moment, and I tried to subdue myself, to say to myself that +it was nothing, some flutter of the nerves, some physical disturbance. I +laid myself down upon my sofa to try if rest would help me, and kept +still, as long as the thumping and throbbing of this wild, excited +mechanism within, like a wild beast plunging and struggling, would let +me. I am quite aware of the confusion of the metaphor; the reality was +just so. It was like a mechanism deranged, going wildly with +ever-increasing precipitation, like those horrible wheels that from time +to time catch a helpless human being in them and tear him to pieces; but +at the same time it was like a maddened living creature making the +wildest efforts to get free. + +When I could bear this no longer I got up and walked about my room; then +having still a certain command of myself, though I could not master the +commotion within me, I deliberately took down an exciting book from the +shelf, a book of breathless adventure which had always interested me, and +tried with that to break the spell. After a few minutes, however, I flung +the book aside; I was gradually losing all power over myself. What I +should be moved to do,--to shout aloud, to struggle with I know not what; +or if I was going mad altogether, and next moment must be a raving +lunatic,--I could not tell. I kept looking round, expecting I don't know +what; several times with the corner of my eye I seemed to see a movement, +as if some one was stealing out of sight; but when I looked straight, +there was never anything but the plain outlines of the wall and carpet, +the chairs standing in good order. At last I snatched up the lamp in my +hand, and went out of the room. To look at the picture, which had been +faintly showing in my imagination from time to time, the eyes, more +anxious than ever, looking at me from out the silent air? But no; I +passed the door of that room swiftly, moving, it seemed, without any +volition of my own, and before I knew where I was going, went into my +father's library with my lamp in my hand. + +He was still sitting there at his writing-table; he looked up astonished +to see me hurrying in with my light. "Phil!" he said, surprised. I +remember that I shut the door behind me, and came up to him, and set down +the lamp on his table. My sudden appearance alarmed him. "What is the +matter?" he cried. "Philip, what have you been doing with yourself?" + +I sat down on the nearest chair and gasped, gazing at him. The wild +commotion ceased; the blood subsided into its natural channels; my +heart resumed its place. I use such words as mortal weakness can to +express the sensations I felt. I came to myself thus, gazing at him, +confounded, at once by the extraordinary passion which I had gone +through, and its sudden cessation. "The matter?" I cried; "I don't +know what is the matter." + +My father had pushed his spectacles up from his eyes. He appeared to me +as faces appear in a fever, all glorified with light which is not in +them,--his eyes glowing, his white hair shining like silver; but his +looks were severe. "You are not a boy, that I should reprove you; but you +ought to know better," he said. + +Then I explained to him, so far as I was able, what had happened. Had +happened? Nothing had happened. He did not understand me; nor did I, now +that it was over, understand myself; but he saw enough to make him aware +that the disturbance in me was serious, and not caused by any folly of my +own. He was very kind as soon as he had assured himself of this, and +talked, taking pains to bring me back to unexciting subjects. He had a +letter in his hand with a very deep border of black when I came in. I +observed it, without taking any notice or associating it with anything I +knew. He had many correspondents; and although we were excellent friends, +we had never been on those confidential terms which warrant one man in +asking another from whom a special letter has come. We were not so near +to each other as this, though we were father and son. After a while I +went back to my own room, and finished the evening in my usual way, +without any return of the excitement which, now that it was over, looked +to me like some extraordinary dream. What had it meant? Had it meant +anything? I said to myself that it must be purely physical, something +gone temporarily amiss, which had righted itself. It was physical; the +excitement did not affect my mind. I was independent of it all the time, +a spectator of my own agitation, a clear proof that, whatever it was, it +had affected my bodily organization alone. + +Next day I returned to the problem which I had not been able to solve. I +found out my petitioner in the back street, and that she was happy in the +recovery of her possessions, which to my eyes indeed did not seem very +worthy either of lamentation or delight. Nor was her house the tidy house +which injured virtue should have when restored to its humble rights. She +was not injured virtue, it was clear. She made me a great many curtseys, +and poured forth a number of blessings. Her "man" came in while I was +there, and hoped in a gruff voice that God would reward me, and that the +old gentleman'd let 'em alone. I did not like the look of the man. It +seemed to me that in the dark lane behind the house of a winter's night +he would not be a pleasant person to find in one's way. Nor was this all: +when I went out into the little street which it appeared was all, or +almost all, my father's property, a number of groups formed in my way, +and at least half-a-dozen applicants sidled up. "I've more claims nor +Mary Jordan any day," said one; "I've lived on Squire Canning's property, +one place and another, this twenty year." "And what do you say to me?" +said another; "I've six children to her two, bless you, sir, and ne'er a +father to do for them." I believed in my father's rule before I got out +of the street, and approved his wisdom in keeping himself free from +personal contact with his tenants. Yet when I looked back upon the +swarming thoroughfare, the mean little houses, the women at their doors +all so open-mouthed and eager to contend for my favor, my heart sank +within me at the thought that out of their misery some portion of our +wealth came, I don't care how small a portion; that I, young and strong, +should be kept idle and in luxury, in some part through the money screwed +out of their necessities, obtained sometimes by the sacrifice of +everything they prized! Of course I know all the ordinary commonplaces of +life as well as any one,--that if you build a house with your hand or +your money, and let it, the rent of it is your just due; and must be +paid. But yet-- + +"Don't you think, sir," I said that evening at dinner, the subject being +reintroduced by my father himself, "that we have some duty towards them +when we draw so much from them?" + +"Certainly," he said; "I take as much trouble about their drains as I do +about my own." + +"That is always something, I suppose." + +"Something! it is a great deal; it is more than they get anywhere else. I +keep them clean, as far as that's possible. I give them at least the +means of keeping clean, and thus check disease, and prolong life, which +is more, I assure you, than they've any right to expect." + +I was not prepared with arguments as I ought to have been. That is all in +the Gospel according to Adam Smith, which my father had been brought up +in, but of which the tenets had begun to be less binding in my day. I +wanted something more, or else something less; but my views were not so +clear, nor my system so logical and well-built, as that upon which my +father rested his conscience, and drew his percentage with a light heart. + +Yet I thought there were signs in him of some perturbation. I met him one +morning coming out of the room in which the portrait hung, as if he had +gone to look at it stealthily. He was shaking his head, and saying "No, +no," to himself, not perceiving me, and I stepped aside when I saw him so +absorbed. For myself, I entered that room but little. I went outside, as +I had so often done when I was a child, and looked through the windows +into the still and now sacred place, which had always impressed me with +a certain awe. Looked at so, the slight figure in its white dress seemed +to be stepping down into the room from some slight visionary altitude, +looking with that which had seemed to me at first anxiety, which I +sometimes represented to myself now as a wistful curiosity, as if she +were looking for the life which might have been hers. Where was the +existence that had belonged to her, the sweet household place, the infant +she had left? She would no more recognize the man who thus came to look +at her as through a veil, with a mystic reverence, than I could recognize +her. I could never be her child to her, any more than she could be a +mother to me. + + * * * * * + +Thus time passed on for several quiet days. There was nothing to make us +give any special heed to the passage of time, life being very uneventful +and its habits unvaried. My mind was very much preoccupied by my father's +tenants. He had a great deal of property in the town which was so near +us,--streets of small houses, the best-paying property (I was assured) of +any. I was very anxious to come to some settled conclusion: on the one +hand, not to let myself be carried away by sentiment; on the other, not +to allow my strongly roused feelings to fall into the blank of routine, +as his had done. I was seated one evening in my own sitting-room, busy +with this matter,--busy with calculations as to cost and profit, with an +anxious desire to convince him, either that his profits were greater than +justice allowed, or that they carried with them a more urgent duty than +he had conceived. + +It was night, but not late, not more than ten o'clock, the household +still astir. Everything was quiet,--not the solemnity of midnight +silence, in which there is always something of mystery, but the +soft-breathing quiet of the evening, full of the faint habitual sounds of +a human dwelling, a consciousness of life about. And I was very busy with +my figures, interested, feeling no room in my mind for any other thought. +The singular experience which had startled me so much had passed over +very quickly, and there had been no return. I had ceased to think of it; +indeed, I had never thought of it save for the moment, setting it down +after it was over to a physical cause without much difficulty. At this +time I was far too busy to have thoughts to spare for anything, or room +for imagination; and when suddenly in a moment, without any warning, the +first symptom returned, I started with it into determined resistance, +resolute not to be fooled by any mock influence which could resolve +itself into the action of nerves or ganglions. The first symptom; as +before, was that my heart sprang up with a bound, as if a cannon had been +fired at my ear. My whole being responded with a start. The pen fell out +of my fingers, the figures went out of my head as if all faculty had +departed; and yet I was conscious for a time at least of keeping my +self-control. I was like the rider of a frightened horse, rendered almost +wild by something which in the mystery of its voiceless being it has +seen, something on the road which it will not pass, but wildly plunging, +resisting every persuasion, turns from, with ever-increasing passion. The +rider himself after a time becomes infected with this inexplainable +desperation of terror, and I suppose I must have done so; but for a time +I kept the upper hand. I would not allow myself to spring up as I wished, +as my impulse was, but sat there doggedly, clinging to my books, to my +table, fixing myself on I did not mind what, to resist the flood of +sensation, of emotion, which was sweeping through me, carrying me away. I +tried to continue my calculations. I tried to stir myself up with +recollections of the miserable sights I had seen, the poverty, the +helplessness. I tried to work myself into indignation; but all through +these efforts I felt the contagion growing upon me, my mind falling into +sympathy with all those straining faculties of the body, startled, +excited, driven wild by something, I knew not what. It was not fear. I +was like a ship at sea straining and plunging against wind and tide, but +I was not afraid. I am obliged to use these metaphors, otherwise I could +give no explanation of my condition, seized upon against my will, and +torn from all those moorings of reason to which I clung with desperation, +as long as I had the strength. + +When I got up from my chair at last, the battle was lost, so far as my +powers of self-control were concerned. I got up, or rather was dragged +up, from my seat, clutching at these material things round me as with a +last effort to hold my own. But that was no longer possible; I was +overcome. I stood for a moment looking round me feebly, feeling myself +begin to babble with stammering lips, which was the alternative of +shrieking, and which I seemed to choose as a lesser evil. What I said +was, "What am I to do?" and after a while, "What do you want me to do?" +although throughout I saw no one, heard no voice, and had in reality not +power enough in my dizzy and confused brain to know what I myself meant. +I stood thus for a moment, looking blankly round me for guidance, +repeating the question, which seemed after a time to become almost +mechanical, "What do you want me to do?" though I neither knew to whom I +addressed it nor why I said it. Presently--whether in answer, whether in +mere yielding of nature, I cannot tell--I became aware of a difference: +not a lessening of the agitation, but a softening, as if my powers of +resistance being exhausted, a gentler force, a more benignant influence, +had room. I felt myself consent to whatever it was. My heart melted in +the midst of the tumult; I seemed to give myself up, and move as if drawn +by some one whose arm was in mine, as if softly swept along, not +forcibly, but with an utter consent of all my faculties to do I knew not +what, for love of I knew not whom. For love,--that was how it +seemed,--not by force, as when I went before. But my steps took the same +course: I went through the dim passages in an exaltation indescribable, +and opened the door of my father's room. + +He was seated there at his table as usual, the light of the lamp falling +on his white hair; he looked up with some surprise at the sound of the +opening door. "Phil," he said, and with a look of wondering apprehension +on his face, watched my approach. I went straight up to him and put my +hand on his shoulder. "Phil, what is the matter? What do you want with +me? What is it?" he said. + +"Father, I can't tell you. I come not of myself. There must be something +in it, though I don't know what it is. This is the second time I have +been brought to you here." + +"Are you going--?" He stopped himself. The exclamation had been begun +with an angry intention. He stopped, looking at me with a scared look, as +if perhaps it might be true. + +"Do you mean mad? I don't think so. I have no delusions that I know of. +Father, think--do you know any reason why I am brought here? for some +cause there must be." + +I stood with my hand upon the back of his chair. His table was covered +with papers, among which were several letters with the broad black border +which I had before observed. I noticed this now in my excitement without +any distinct association of thoughts, for that I was not capable of; but +the black border caught my eye. And I was conscious that he too gave a +hurried glance at them, and with one hand swept them away. + +"Philip," he said, pushing back his chair, "you must be ill, my poor boy. +Evidently we have not been treating you rightly; you have been more ill +all through than I supposed. Let me persuade you to go to bed." + +"I am perfectly well," I said. "Father, don't let us deceive one another. +I am neither a man to go mad nor to see ghosts. What it is that has got +the command over me I can't tell; but there is some cause for it. You are +doing something or planning something with which I have a right to +interfere." + +He turned round squarely in his chair, with a spark in his blue eyes. +He was not a man to be meddled with. "I have yet to learn what can +give my son a right to interfere. I am in possession of all my +faculties, I hope." + +"Father," I cried, "won't you listen to me? No one can say I have been +undutiful or disrespectful. I am a man, with a right to speak my mind, +and I have done so; but this is different. I am not here by my own will. +Something that is stronger than I has brought me. There is something in +your mind which disturbs--others. I don't know what I am saying. This is +not what I meant to say; but you know the meaning better than I. Some +one--who can speak to you only by me--speaks to you by me; and I know +that you understand." + +He gazed up at me, growing pale, and his underlip fell. I, for my part, +felt that my message was delivered. My heart sank into a stillness so +sudden that it made me faint. The light swam in my eyes; everything went +round with me. I kept upright only by my hold upon the chair; and in the +sense of utter weakness that followed, I dropped on my knees I think +first, then on the nearest seat that presented itself, and, covering my +face with my hands, had hard ado not to sob, in the sudden removal of +that strange influence,--the relaxation of the strain. + +There was silence between us for some time; then he said, but with a +voice slightly broken, "I don't understand you, Phil. You must have +taken some fancy into your mind which my slower intelligence--Speak out +what you want to say. What do you find fault with? Is it all--all that +woman Jordan?" + +He gave a short, forced laugh as he broke off, and shook me +almost roughly by the shoulder, saying, "Speak out! what--what do +you want to say?" + +"It seems, sir, that I have said everything." My voice trembled more than +his, but not in the same way. "I have told you that I did not come by my +own will,--quite otherwise. I resisted as long as I could: now all is +said. It is for you to judge whether it was worth the trouble or not." + +He got up from his seat in a hurried way. "You would have me as--mad as +yourself," he said, then sat down again as quickly. "Come, Phil: if it +will please you, not to make a breach,--the first breach between us,--you +shall have your way. I consent to your looking into that matter about the +poor tenants. Your mind shall not be upset about that, even though I +don't enter into all your views." + +"Thank you," I said; "but, father, that is not what it is." + +"Then it is a piece of folly," he said angrily. "I suppose you mean--but +this is a matter in which I choose to judge for myself." + +"You know what I mean," I said, as quietly as I could, "though I don't +myself know; that proves there is good reason for it. Will you do one +thing for me before I leave you? Come with me into the drawing-room--" + +"What end," he said, with again the tremble in his voice, "is to be +served by that?" + +"I don't very well know; but to look at her, you and I together, will +always do something for us, sir. As for breach, there can be no breach +when we stand there." + +He got up, trembling like an old man, which he was, but which he never +looked like save at moments of emotion like this, and told me to take the +light; then stopped when he had got half-way across the room. "This is a +piece of theatrical sentimentality," he said. "No, Phil, I will not go. I +will not bring her into any such--Put down the lamp, and, if you will +take my advice, go to bed." + +"At least," I said, "I will trouble you no more, father, to-night. So +long as you understand, there need be no more to say." + +He gave me a very curt "good-night," and turned back to his papers,--the +letters with the black edge, either by my imagination or in reality, +always keeping uppermost. I went to my own room for my lamp, and then +alone proceeded to the silent shrine in which the portrait hung. I at +least would look at her to-night. I don't know whether I asked myself, +in so many words, if it were she who--or if it was any one--I knew +nothing; but my heart was drawn with a softness--born, perhaps, of the +great weakness in which I was left after that visitation--to her, to look +at her, to see, perhaps, if there was any sympathy, any approval in her +face. I set down my lamp on the table where her little work-basket still +was; the light threw a gleam upward upon her,--she seemed more than ever +to be stepping into the room, coming down towards me, coming back to her +life. Ah, no! her life was lost and vanished: all mine stood between her +and the days she knew. She looked at me with eyes that did not change. +The anxiety I had seen at first seemed now a wistful, subdued question; +but that difference was not in her look but in mine. + + * * * * * + +I need not linger on the intervening time. The doctor who attended us +usually, came in next day "by accident," and we had a long conversation. +On the following day a very impressive yet genial gentleman from town +lunched with us,--a friend of my father's, Dr. Something; but the +introduction was hurried, and I did not catch his name. He, too, had a +long talk with me afterwards, my father being called away to speak to +some one on business. Dr.---- drew me out on the subject of the dwellings +of the poor. He said he heard I took great interest in this question, +which had come so much to the front at the present moment. He was +interested in it too, and wanted to know the view I took. I explained at +considerable length that my view did not concern the general subject, on +which I had scarcely thought, so much as the individual mode of +management of my father's estate. He was a most patient and intelligent +listener, agreeing with me on some points, differing in others; and his +visit was very pleasant. I had no idea until after of its special object; +though a certain puzzled look and slight shake of the head when my father +returned, might have thrown some light upon it. The report of the medical +experts in my case must, however, have been quite satisfactory, for I +heard nothing more of them. It was, I think, a fortnight later when the +next and last of these strange experiences came. + +This time it was morning, about noon,--a wet and rather dismal spring +day. The half-spread leaves seemed to tap at the window, with an appeal +to be taken in; the primroses, that showed golden upon the grass at the +roots of the trees, just beyond the smooth-shorn grass of the lawn, were +all drooped and sodden among their sheltering leaves. The very growth +seemed dreary--the sense of spring in the air making the feeling of +winter a grievance, instead of the natural effect which it had conveyed a +few months before. I had been writing letters, and was cheerful enough, +going back among the associates of my old life, with, perhaps, a little +longing for its freedom and independence, but at the same time a not +ungrateful consciousness that for the moment my present tranquillity +might be best. + +This was my condition--a not unpleasant one--when suddenly the now +well-known symptoms of the visitation to which I had become subject +suddenly seized upon me,--the leap of the heart; the sudden, causeless, +overwhelming physical excitement, which I could neither ignore nor allay. +I was terrified beyond description, beyond reason, when I became +conscious that this was about to begin over again: what purpose did it +answer; what good was in it? My father indeed understood the meaning of +it though I did not understand; but it was little agreeable to be thus +made a helpless instrument, without any will of mine, in an operation of +which I knew nothing; and to enact the part of the oracle unwillingly, +with suffering and such a strain as it took me days to get over. I +resisted, not as before, but yet desperately, trying with better +knowledge to keep down the growing passion. I hurried to my room and +swallowed a dose of a sedative which had been given me to procure sleep +on my first return from India. I saw Morphew in the hall, and called him +to talk to him, and cheat myself, if possible, by that means. Morphew +lingered, however, and, before he came, I was beyond conversation. I +heard him speak, his voice coming vaguely through the turmoil which was +already in my ears, but what he said I have never known. I stood staring, +trying to recover my power of attention, with an aspect which ended by +completely frightening the man. He cried out at last that he was sure I +was ill, that he must bring me something; which words penetrated more or +less into my maddened brain. It became impressed upon me that he was +going to get some one--one of my father's doctors, perhaps--to prevent +me from acting, to stop my interference, and that if I waited a moment +longer I might be too late. A vague idea seized me at the same time, of +taking refuge with the portrait,--going to its feet, throwing myself +there, perhaps, till the paroxysm should be over. But it was not there +that my footsteps were directed. I can remember making an effort to open +the door of the drawing-room, and feeling myself swept past it, as if by +a gale of wind. It was not there that I had to go. I knew very well where +I had to go,--once more on my confused and voiceless mission to my +father, who understood, although I could not understand. + +Yet as it was daylight, and all was clear, I could not help noting one or +two circumstances on my way. I saw some one sitting in the hall as if +waiting,--a woman, a girl, a black-shrouded figure, with a thick veil +over her face; and asked myself who she was, and what she wanted there. +This question, which had nothing to do with my present condition, somehow +got into my mind, and was tossed up and down upon the tumultuous tide +like a stray log on the breast of a fiercely rolling stream, now +submerged, now coming uppermost, at the mercy of the waters. It did not +stop me for a moment, as I hurried towards my father's room, but it got +upon the current of my mind. I flung open my father's door, and closed it +again after me, without seeing who was there or how he was engaged. The +full clearness of the daylight did not identify him as the lamp did at +night. He looked up at the sound of the door, with a glance of +apprehension; and rising suddenly, interrupting some one who was standing +speaking to him with much earnestness and even vehemence, came forward to +meet me. "I cannot be disturbed at present," he said quickly; "I am +busy." Then seeing the look in my face, which by this time he knew, he +too changed color. "Phil," he said, in a low, imperative voice, "wretched +boy, go away--go away; don't let a stranger see you--" + +"I can't go away," I said. "It is impossible. You know why I have come. I +cannot, if I would. It is more powerful than I--" + +"Go, sir," he said; "go at once; no more of this folly. I will not have +you in this room: Go-go!" + +I made no answer. I don't know that I could have done so. There had +never been any struggle between us before; but I had no power to do +one thing or another. The tumult within me was in full career. I heard +indeed what he said, and was able to reply; but his words, too, were +like straws tossed upon the tremendous stream. I saw now with my +feverish eyes who the other person present was. It was a woman, dressed +also in mourning similar to the one in the hall; but this a middle-aged +woman, like a respectable servant. She had been crying, and in the +pause caused by this encounter between my father and myself, dried her +eyes with a handkerchief, which she rolled like a ball in her hand, +evidently in strong emotion. She turned and looked at me as my father +spoke to me, for a moment with a gleam of hope, then falling back into +her former attitude. + +My father returned to his seat. He was much agitated too, though doing +all that was possible to conceal it. My inopportune arrival was evidently +a great and unlooked-for vexation to him. He gave me the only look of +passionate displeasure I have ever had from him, as he sat down again; +but he said nothing more. + +"You must understand," he said, addressing the woman, "that I have said +my last words on this subject. I don't choose to enter into it again in +the presence of my son, who is not well enough to be made a party to any +discussion. I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble in vain, +but you were warned beforehand, and you have only yourself to blame. I +acknowledge no claim, and nothing you can say will change my resolution. +I must beg you to go away. All this is very painful and quite useless. I +acknowledge no claim." + +"Oh, sir," she cried, her eyes beginning once more to flow, her speech +interrupted by little sobs. "Maybe I did wrong to speak of a claim. I'm +not educated to argue with a gentleman. Maybe we have no claim. But if +it's not by right, oh, Mr. Canning, won't you let your heart be touched +by pity? She don't know what I'm saying, poor dear. She's not one to beg +and pray for herself, as I'm doing for her. Oh, sir, she's so young! +She's so lone in this world,--not a friend to stand by her, nor a house +to take her in! You are the nearest to her of any one that's left in this +world. She hasn't a relation,--not one so near as you,--oh!" she cried, +with a sudden thought, turning quickly round upon me, "this gentleman's +your son! Now I think of it, it's not your relation she is, but his, +through his mother! That's nearer, nearer! Oh, sir! you're young; your +heart should be more tender. Here is my young lady that has no one in the +world to look to her. Your own flesh and blood; your mother's +cousin,--your mother's--" + +My father called to her to stop, with a voice of thunder. "Philip, leave +us at once. It is not a matter to be discussed with you." + +And then in a moment it became clear to me what it was. It had been with +difficulty that I had kept myself still. My breast was laboring with the +fever of an impulse poured into me, more than I could contain. And now +for the first time I knew why. I hurried towards him, and took his hand, +though he resisted, into mine. Mine were burning, but his like ice: their +touch burnt me with its chill, like fire. "This is what it is?" I cried. +"I had no knowledge before. I don't know now what is being asked of you. +But, father, understand! You know, and I know now, that some one sends +me,--some one--who has a right to interfere." + +He pushed me away with all his might. "You are mad," he cried. "What +right have you to think--? Oh, you are mad--mad! I have seen it +coming on--" + +The woman, the petitioner, had grown silent, watching this brief conflict +with the terror and interest with which women watch a struggle between +men. She started and fell back when she heard what he said, but did not +take her eyes off me, following every movement I made. When I turned to +go away, a cry of indescribable disappointment and remonstrance burst +from her, and even my father raised himself up and stared at my +withdrawal, astonished to find that he had overcome me so soon and +easily. I paused for a moment, and looked back on them, seeing them large +and vague through the mist of fever. "I am not going away," I said. "I am +going for another messenger,--one you can't gainsay." + +My father rose. He called out to me threateningly, "I will have nothing +touched that is hers. Nothing that is hers shall be profaned--" + +I waited to hear no more; I knew what I had to do. By what means it was +conveyed to me I cannot tell; but the certainty of an influence which no +one thought of calmed me in the midst of my fever. I went out into the +hall, where I had seen the young stranger waiting. I went up to her and +touched her on the shoulder. She rose at once, with a little movement of +alarm, yet with docile and instant obedience, as if she had expected the +summons. I made her take off her veil and her bonnet, scarcely looking at +her, scarcely seeing her, knowing how it was: I took her soft, small, +cool, yet trembling hand into mine; it was so soft and cool,--not +cold,--it refreshed me with its tremulous touch. All through I moved and +spoke like a man in a dream; swiftly, noiselessly, all the complications +of waking life removed; without embarrassment, without reflection, +without the loss of a moment. My father was still standing up, leaning a +little forward as he had done when I withdrew; threatening, yet +terror-stricken, not knowing what I might be about to do, when I returned +with my companion. That was the one thing he had not thought of. He was +entirely undecided, unprepared. He gave her one look, flung up his arms +above his head, and uttered a distracted cry, so wild that it seemed the +last outcry of nature,--"Agnes!" then fell back like a sudden ruin, upon +himself, into his chair. + +I had no leisure to think how he was, or whether he could hear what I +said. I had my message to deliver. "Father," I said, laboring with my +panting breath, "it is for this that heaven has opened, and one whom I +never saw, one whom I know not, has taken possession of me. Had we been +less earthly, we should have seen her--herself, and not merely her image. +I have not even known what she meant. I have been as a fool without +understanding. This is the third time I have come to you with her +message, without knowing what to say. But now I have found it out. This +is her message. I have found it out at last." There was an awful +pause,--a pause in which no one moved or breathed. Then there came a +broken voice out of my father's chair. He had not understood, though I +think he heard what I said. He put out two feeble hands. "Phil--I think I +am dying--has she--has she come for me?" he said. + +We had to carry him to his bed. What struggles he had gone through before +I cannot tell. He had stood fast, and had refused to be moved, and now he +fell,--like an old tower, like an old tree. The necessity there was for +thinking of him saved me from the physical consequences which had +prostrated me on a former occasion. I had no leisure now for any +consciousness of how matters went with myself. + +His delusion was not wonderful, but most natural. She was clothed in +black from head to foot, instead of the white dress of the portrait. She +had no knowledge of the conflict, of nothing but that she was called for, +that her fate might depend on the next few minutes. In her eyes there was +a pathetic question, a line of anxiety in the lids, an innocent appeal in +the looks. And the face the same: the same lips, sensitive, ready to +quiver; the same innocent, candid brow; the look of a common race, which +is more subtle than mere resemblance. How I knew that it was so I cannot +tell, nor any man. It was the other, the elder,--ah, no! not elder; the +ever young, the Agnes to whom age can never come, she who they say was +the mother of a man who never saw her,--it was she who led her kinswoman, +her representative, into our hearts. + + * * * * * + +My father recovered after a few days: he had taken cold, it was said, the +day before; and naturally, at seventy, a small matter is enough to upset +the balance even of a strong man. He got quite well; but he was willing +enough afterwards to leave the management of that ticklish kind of +property which involves human well-being in my hands, who could move +about more freely, and see with my own eyes how things were going on. He +liked home better, and had more pleasure in his personal existence in the +end of his life. Agnes is now my wife, as he had, of course, foreseen. It +was not merely the disinclination to receive her father's daughter, or to +take upon him a new responsibility, that had moved him, to do him +justice; but both these motives had told strongly. I have never been +told, and now will never be told, what his griefs against my mother's +family, and specially against that cousin, had been; but that he had been +very determined, deeply prejudiced, there can be no doubt. It turned out +after, that the first occasion on which I had been mysteriously +commissioned to him with a message which I did not understand, and which +for that time he did not understand, was the evening of the day on which +he had received the dead man's letter, appealing to him--to him, a man +whom he had wronged--on behalf of the child who was about to be left +friendless in the world. The second time, further letters--from the nurse +who was the only guardian of the orphan, and the chaplain of the place +where her father had died, taking it for granted that my father's house +was her natural refuge--had been received. The third I have already +described, and its results. + +For a long time after, my mind was never without a lurking fear that the +influence which had once taken possession of me might return again. Why +should I have feared to be influenced, to be the messenger of a blessed +creature, whose wishes could be nothing but heavenly? Who can say? Flesh +and blood is not made for such encounters: they were more than I could +bear. But nothing of the kind has ever occurred again. + +Agnes had her peaceful domestic throne established under the picture. +My father wished it to be so, and spent his evenings there in the +warmth and light, instead of in the old library,--in the narrow circle +cleared by our lamp out of the darkness, as long as he lived. It is +supposed by strangers that the picture on the wall is that of my wife; +and I have always been glad that it should be so supposed. She who was +my mother, who came back to me and became as my soul for three strange +moments and no more, but with whom I can feel no credible relationship +as she stands there, has retired for me into the tender regions of the +unseen. She has passed once more into the secret company of those +shadows, who can only become real in an atmosphere fitted to modify and +harmonize all differences, and make all wonders possible,--the light of +the perfect day. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Door, and the Portrait. +by Margaret O. 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