The Abbot\'s Ghost, Or Maurice Treherne\'s Temptation by A. M. Barnard
A >>
A. M. Barnard >> The Abbot\'s Ghost, Or Maurice Treherne\'s Temptation
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6
"I promised, and I will keep my promise at all costs," sighed Treherne,
and with a gesture full of pathetic patience he waved the fair tempter
from him, saying steadily, "I will never tell you, though you rob me of
that which is dearer than my life. Go and work your will, but remember
that when you might have won the deepest gratitude of the man you
profess to love, you chose instead to earn his hatred and contempt."
Waiting for no word of hers, he took refuge in his room, and Edith
Snowdon sank down upon the couch, struggling with contending emotions of
love and jealousy, remorse and despair. How long she sat there she could
not tell; an approaching step recalled her to herself, and looking up
she saw Octavia. As the girl approached down the long vista of the
drawing rooms, her youth and beauty, innocence and candor touched that
fairer and more gifted woman with an envy she had never known before.
Something in the girl's face struck her instantly: a look of peace and
purity, a sweet serenity more winning than loveliness, more impressive
than dignity or grace. With a smile on her lips, yet a half-sad,
half-tender light in her eyes, and a cluster of pale winter roses in her
hand, she came on till she stood before her rival and, offering the
flowers, said, in words as simple as sincere, "Dear Mrs. Snowdon, I
cannot let the last sun of the old year set on any misdeeds of mine for
which I may atone. I have disliked, distrusted, and misjudged you, and
now I come to you in all humility to say forgive me."
With the girlish abandon of her impulsive nature Octavia knelt down
before the woman who was plotting to destroy her happiness, laid the
roses like a little peace offering on her lap, and with eloquently
pleading eyes waited for pardon. For a moment Mrs. Snowdon watched her,
fancying it a well-acted ruse to disarm a dangerous rival; but in that
sweet face there was no art; one glance showed her that. The words smote
her to the heart and won her in spite of pride or passion, as she
suddenly took the girl into her arms, weeping repentant tears. Neither
spoke, but in the silence each felt the barrier which had stood between
them vanishing, and each learned to know the other better in that moment
than in a year of common life. Octavia rejoiced that the instinct which
had prompted her to make this appeal had not misled her, but assured her
that behind the veil of coldness, pride, and levity which this woman
wore there was a heart aching for sympathy and help and love. Mrs.
Snowdon felt her worser self slip from her, leaving all that was true
and noble to make her worthy of the test applied. Art she could meet
with equal art, but nature conquered her. For spite of her misspent life
and faulty character, the germ of virtue, which lives in the worst, was
there, only waiting for the fostering sun and dew of love to strengthen
it, even though the harvest be a late one.
"Forgive you!" she cried, brokenly. "It is I who should ask forgiveness
of you--I who should atone, confess, and repent. Pardon _me_, pity me,
love me, for I am more wretched than you know."
"Dear, I do with heart and soul. Believe it, and let me be your friend"
was the soft answer.
"God knows I need one!" sighed the poor woman, still holding fast the
only creature who had wholly won her. "Child, I am not good, but not so
bad that I dare not look in your innocent face and call you friend. I
never had one of my own sex. I never knew my mother; and no one ever saw
in me the possibility of goodness, truth, and justice but you. Trust and
love and help me, Octavia, and I will reward you with a better life, if
I can do no more."
"I will, and the new year shall be happier than the old."
"God bless you for that prophecy; may I be worthy of it."
Then as a bell warned them away, the rivals kissed each other tenderly,
and parted friends. As Mrs. Snowdon entered her room, she saw her
husband sitting with his gray head in his hands, and heard him murmur
despairingly to himself, "My life makes her miserable. But for the sin
of it I'd die to free her."
"No, live for me, and teach me to be happy in your love." The clear
voice startled him, but not so much as the beautiful changed face of the
wife who laid the gray head on her bosom, saying tenderly, "My kind and
patient husband, you have been deceived. From me you shall know all the
truth, and when you have forgiven my faulty past, you shall see how
happy I will try to make your future."
Chapter VII
A GHOSTLY REVEL
"Bless me, how dull we are tonight!" exclaimed Rose, as the younger
portion of the party wandered listlessly about the drawing rooms that
evening, while my lady and the major played an absorbing game of piquet,
and the general dozed peacefully at last.
"It is because Maurice is not here; he always keeps us going, for he is
a fellow of infinite resources," replied Sir Jasper, suppressing a yawn.
"Have him out then," said Annon.
"He won't come. The poor lad is blue tonight, in spite of his
improvement. Something is amiss, and there is no getting a word
from him."
"Sad memories afflict him, perhaps," sighed Blanche.
"Don't be absurd, dear, sad memories are all nonsense; melancholy is
always indigestion, and nothing is so sure a cure as fun," said Rose
briskly. "I'm going to send in a polite invitation begging him to come
and amuse us. He'll accept, I haven't a doubt."
The message was sent, but to Rose's chagrin a polite refusal was
returned.
"He _shall_ come. Sir Jasper, do you and Mr. Annon go as a deputation
from us, and return without him at your peril" was her command.
They went, and while waiting their reappearance the sisters spoke of
what all had observed.
"How lovely Mrs. Snowdon looks tonight. I always thought she owed half
her charms to her skill in dress, but she never looked so beautiful as
in that plain black silk, with those roses in her hair," said Rose.
"What has she done to herself?" replied Blanche. "I see a change,
but can't account for it. She and Tavie have made some beautifying
discovery, for both look altogether uplifted and angelic all of a
sudden."
"Here come the gentlemen, and, as I'm a Talbot, they haven't got him!"
cried Rose as the deputation appeared, looking very crestfallen. "Don't
come near me," she added, irefully, "you are disloyal cowards, and I
doom you to exile till I want you. _I_ am infinite in resources as well
as this recreant man, and come he shall. Mrs. Snowdon, would you mind
asking Mr. Treherne to suggest something to wile away the rest of this
evening? We are in despair, and can think of nothing, and you are
all-powerful with him."
"I must decline, since he refuses you" was the decided answer, as Mrs.
Snowdon moved away.
"Tavie, dear, do go; we _must_ have him; he always obeys you, and you
would be such a public benefactor, you know."
Without a word Octavia wrote a line and sent it by a servant. Several
minutes passed, and the gentlemen began to lay wagers on the success of
her trial. "He will not come for me, you may be sure," said Octavia. As
the words passed her lips he appeared.
A general laugh greeted him, but, taking no notice of the jests at
his expense, he turned to Octavia, saying quietly, "What can I do for
you, Cousin?"
His colorless face and weary eyes reproached her for disturbing him, but
it was too late for regret, and she answered hastily, "We are in want of
some new and amusing occupation to wile away the evening. Can you
suggest something appropriate?"
"Why not sit round the hall fire and tell stories, while we wait to see
the old year out, as we used to do long ago?" he asked, after a
moment's thought.
"I told you so! There it is, just what we want." And Sir Jasper looked
triumphant.
"It's capital--let us begin at once. It is after ten now, so we shall
not have long to wait," cried Rose, and, taking Sir Jasper's arm, she
led the way to the hall.
A great fire always burned there, and in wintertime thick carpets
and curtains covered the stone floor and draped the tall windows.
Plants blossomed in the warm atmosphere, and chairs and lounges
stood about invitingly. The party was soon seated, and Treherne was
desired to begin.
"We must have ghost stories, and in order to be properly thrilling and
effective, the lights must be put out," said Rose, who sat next him, and
spoke first, as usual.
This was soon done, and only a ruddy circle of firelight was left to
oppose the rapt gloom that filled the hall, where shadows now seemed to
lurk in every corner.
"Don't be very dreadful, or I shall faint away," pleaded Blanche,
drawing nearer to Annon, for she had taken her sister's advice, and laid
close siege to that gentleman's heart.
"I think your nerves will bear my little tale," replied Treherne.
"When I was in India, four years ago, I had a very dear friend in my
regiment--a Scotchman; I'm half Scotch myself, you know, and clannish,
of course. Gordon was sent up the country on a scouting expedition,
and never returned. His men reported that he left them one evening to
take a survey, and his horse came home bloody and riderless. We
searched, but could not find a trace of him, and I was desperate to
discover and avenge his murder. About a month after his disappearance,
as I sat in my tent one fearfully hot day, suddenly the canvas door
flap was raised and there stood Gordon. I saw him as plainly as I see
you, Jasper, and should have sprung to meet him, but something held me
back. He was deathly pale, dripping with water, and in his bonny blue
eyes was a wild, woeful look that made my blood run cold. I stared
dumbly, for it was awful to see my friend so changed and so unearthly.
Stretching his arm to me he took my hand, saying solemnly, 'Come!' The
touch was like ice; an ominous thrill ran through me; I started up to
obey, and he was gone."
"A horrid dream, of course. Is that all?" asked Rose.
With his eyes on the fire and his left hand half extended, Treherne went
on as if he had not heard her.
"I thought it was a fancy, and soon recovered myself, for no one had
seen or heard anything of Gordon, and my native servant lay just outside
my tent. A strange sensation remained in the hand the phantom touched.
It was cold, damp, and white. I found it vain to try to forget this
apparition; it took strong hold of me; I told Yermid, my man, and he
bade me consider it a sign that I was to seek my friend. That night I
dreamed I was riding up the country in hot haste; what led me I know
not, but I pressed on and on, longing to reach the end. A half-dried
river crossed my path, and, riding down the steep bank to ford it, I saw
Gordon's body lying in the shallow water looking exactly as the vision
looked. I woke in a strange mood, told the story to my commanding
officer, and, as nothing was doing just then, easily got leave of
absence for a week. Taking Yermid, I set out on my sad quest. I thought
it folly, but I could not resist the impulse that drew me on. For seven
days I searched, and the strangest part of the story is that all that
time I went on exactly as in the dream, seeing what I saw then, and led
by the touch of a cold hand on mine. On the seventh day I reached the
river, and found my friend's body."
"How horrible! Is it really true?" cried Mrs. Snowdon.
"As true as I am a living man. Nor is that all: this left hand of mine
never has been warm since that time. See and feel for yourselves."
He opened both hands, and all satisfied themselves that the left was
smaller, paler, and colder than the right.
"Pray someone tell another story to put this out of my mind; it makes me
nervous," said Blanche.
"I'll tell one, and you may laugh to quiet your nerves. I want to have
mine done with, so that I can enjoy the rest with a free mind." With
these words Rose began her tale in the good old fashion.
"Once upon a time, when we were paying a visit to my blessed grandmamma,
I saw a ghost in this wise: The dear old lady was ill with a cold and
kept her room, leaving us to mope, for it was very dull in the great
lonely house. Blanche and I were both homesick, but didn't like to leave
till she was better, so we ransacked the library and solaced ourselves
with all manner of queer books. One day I found Grandmamma very low and
nervous, and evidently with something on her mind. She would say
nothing, but the next day was worse, and I insisted on knowing the
cause, for the trouble was evidently mental. Charging me to keep it from
Blanche, who was, and is, a sad coward, she told me that a spirit had
appeared to her two successive nights. 'If it comes a third time, I
shall prepare to die,' said the foolish old lady.
"'No, you won't, for I'll come and stay with you and lay your ghost,' I
said. With some difficulty I made her yield, and after Blanche was
asleep I slipped away to Grandmamma, with a book and candle for a long
watch, as the spirit didn't appear till after midnight. She usually
slept with her door unlocked, in case of fire or fright, and her maid
was close by. That night I locked the door, telling her that spirits
could come through the oak if they chose, and I preferred to have a fair
trial. Well, I read and chatted and dozed till dawn and nothing
appeared, so I laughed at the whole affair, and the old lady pretended
to be convinced that it was all a fancy.
"Next night I slept in my own room, and in the morning was told that not
only Grandmamma but Janet had seen the spirit. All in white, with
streaming hair, a pale face, and a red streak at the throat. It came and
parted the bed-curtains, looking in a moment, and then vanished. Janet
had slept with Grandmamma and kept a lamp burning on the chimney, so
both saw it.
"I was puzzled, but not frightened; I never am, and I insisted on trying
again. The door was left unlocked, as on the previous night, and I lay
with Grandmamma, a light burning as before. About two she clutched me as
I was dropping off. I looked, and there, peeping in between the dark
curtains, was a pale face with long hair all about it, and a red streak
at the throat. It was very dim, the light being low, but I saw it, and
after one breathless minute sprang up, caught my foot, fell down with a
crash, and by the time I was around the bed, not a vestige of the thing
appeared. I was angry, and vowed I'd succeed at all hazards, though I'll
confess I was just a bit daunted.
"Next time Janet and I sat up in easy chairs, with bright lights
burning, and both wide awake with the strongest coffee we could make. As
the hour drew near we got nervous, and when the white shape came gliding
in Janet hid her face. I didn't, and after one look was on the point of
laughing, for the spirit was Blanche walking in her sleep. She wore a
coral necklace in those days, and never took it off, and her long hair
half hid her face, which had the unnatural, uncanny look somnambulists
always wear. I had the sense to keep still and tell Janet what to do, so
the poor child went back unwaked, and Grandmamma's spirit never walked
again for I took care of that."
"Why did you haunt the old lady?" asked Annon, as the laughter ceased.
"I don't know, unless it was that I wanted to ask leave to go home, and
was afraid to do it awake, so tried when asleep. I shall not tell any
story, as I was the heroine of this, but will give my turn to you, Mr.
Annon," said Blanche, with a soft glance, which was quite thrown away,
for the gentleman's eyes were fixed on Octavia, who sat on a low ottoman
at Mrs. Snowdon's feet in the full glow of the firelight.
"I've had very small experience in ghosts, and can only recall a little
fright I once had when a boy at college. I'd been out to a party, got
home tired, couldn't find my matches, and retired in the dark. Toward
morning I woke, and glancing up to see if the dim light was dawn or
moonshine I was horrified to see a coffin standing at the bed's foot. I
rubbed my eyes to be sure I was awake, and looked with all my might.
There it was, a long black coffin, and I saw the white plate in the
dusk, for the moon was setting and my curtain was not drawn. 'It's some
trick of the fellows,' I thought; 'I'll not betray myself, but keep
cool.' Easy to say but hard to do, for it suddenly flashed into my mind
that I might be in the wrong room. I glanced about, but there were the
familiar objects as usual, as far as the indistinct light allowed me to
see, and I made sure by feeling on the wall at the bed's head for my
watchcase. It was there, and mine beyond a doubt, being peculiar in
shape and fabric. Had I been to a college wine party I could have
accounted for the vision, but a quiet evening in a grave professor's
well-conducted family could produce no ill effects. 'It's an optical
illusion, or a prank of my mates; I'll sleep and forget it,' I said, and
for a time endeavored to do so, but curiosity overcame my resolve, and
soon I peeped again. Judge of my horror when I saw the sharp white
outline of a dead face, which seemed to be peeping up from the coffin.
It gave me a terrible shock for I was but a lad and had been ill. I hid
my face and quaked like a nervous girl, still thinking it some joke and
too proud to betray fear lest I should be laughed at. How long I lay
there I don't know, but when I looked again the face was farther out and
the whole figure seemed rising slowly. The moon was nearly down, I had
no lamp, and to be left in the dark with that awesome thing was more
than I could bear. Joke or earnest, I must end the panic, and bolting
out of my room I roused my neighbor. He told me I was mad or drunk, but
lit a lamp and returned with me, to find my horror only a heap of
clothes thrown on the table in such a way that, as the moon's pale light
shot it, it struck upon my black student's gown, with a white card lying
on it, and produced the effect of a coffin and plate. The face was a
crumpled handkerchief, and what seemed hair a brown muffler. As the moon
sank, these outlines changed and, incredible as it may seem, grew like a
face. My friend not having had the fright enjoyed the joke, and
'Coffins' was my sobriquet for a long while."
"You get worse and worse. Sir Jasper, do vary the horrors by a touch of
fun, or I shall run away," said Blanche, glancing over her shoulder
nervously.
"I'll do my best, and tell a story my uncle used to relate of his young
days. I forget the name of the place, but it was some little country
town famous among anglers. My uncle often went to fish, and always
regretted that a deserted house near the trout stream was not occupied,
for the inn was inconveniently distant. Speaking of this one evening as
he lounged in the landlady's parlor, he asked why no one took it and let
the rooms to strangers in the fishing season. 'For fear of the
ghostissess, your honor,' replied the woman, and proceeded to tell, him
that three distinct spirits haunted the house. In the garret was heard
the hum of a wheel and the tap of high-heeled shoes, as the ghostly
spinner went to and fro. In a chamber sounded the sharpening of a knife,
followed by groans and the drip of blood. The cellar was made awful by a
skeleton sitting on a half-buried box and chuckling fiendishly. It seems
a miser lived there once, and was believed to have starved his daughter
in the garret, keeping her at work till she died. The second spirit was
that of the girl's rejected lover, who cut his throat in the chamber,
and the third of the miser who was found dead on the money chest he was
too feeble to conceal. My uncle laughed at all this, and offered to lay
the ghosts if anyone would take the house.
"This offer got abroad, and a crusty old fellow accepted it, hoping to
turn a penny. He had a pretty girl, whose love had been thwarted by the
old man, and whose lover was going to sea in despair. My uncle knew this
and pitied the young people. He had made acquaintance with a wandering
artist, and the two agreed to conquer the prejudices against the house
by taking rooms there. They did so, and after satisfying themselves
regarding the noises, consulted a wise old woman as to the best means of
laying the ghosts. She told them if any young girl would pass a night in
each haunted room, praying piously the while, that all would be well.
Peggy was asked if she would do it, and being a stouthearted lass she
consented, for a round sum, to try it. The first night was in the
garret, and Peggy, in spite of the prophecies of the village gossips,
came out alive, though listeners at the door heard the weird humming and
tapping all night long. The next night all went well, and from that time
no more sharpening, groaning, or dripping was heard. The third time she
bade her friends good-bye and, wrapped in her red cloak, with a lamp and
prayer book, went down into the cellar. Alas for pretty Peggy! When day
came she was gone, and with her the miser's empty box, though his bones
remained to prove how well she had done her work.
"The town was in an uproar, and the old man furious. Some said the devil
had flown away with her, others that the bones were hers, and all agreed
that henceforth another ghost would haunt the house. My uncle and the
artist did their best to comfort the father, who sorely reproached
himself for thwarting the girl's love, and declared that if Jack would
find her he should have her. But Jack had sailed, and the old man 'was
left lamenting.' The house was freed from its unearthly visitors,
however, for no ghost appeared; and when my uncle left, old Martin found
money and letter informing him that Peggy had spent her first two nights
preparing for flight, and on the third had gone away to marry and sail
with Jack. The noises had been produced by the artist, who was a
ventriloquist, the skeleton had been smuggled from the surgeons, and the
whole thing was a conspiracy to help Peggy and accommodate the
fishermen."
"It is evident that roguery is hereditary," laughed Rose as the
narrator paused.
"I strongly suspect that Sir Jasper the second was the true hero of that
story," added Mrs. Snowdon.
"Think what you like, I've done my part, and leave the stage for
you, madam."
"I will come last. It is your turn, dear." As Mrs. Snowdon softly
uttered the last word, and Octavia leaned upon her knee with an
affectionate glance, Treherne leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the
two changed faces, and looked as if bewildered when both smiled at him,
as they sat hand in hand while the girl told her story.
"Long ago a famous actress suddenly dropped dead at the close of a
splendidly played tragedy. She was carried home, and preparations were
made to bury her. The play had been gotten up with great care and
expense, and a fine actor was the hero. The public demanded a
repetition, and an inferior person was engaged to take the dead lady's
part. A day's delay had been necessary, but when the night came the
house was crowded. They waited both before and behind the curtain for
the debut of the new actress, with much curiosity. She stood waiting for
her cue, but as it was given, to the amazement of all, the great
tragedienne glided upon the stage. Pale as marble, and with a strange
fire in her eyes, strange pathos in her voice, strange power in her
acting, she went through her part, and at the close vanished as
mysteriously as she came. Great was the excitement that night, and
intense the astonishment and horror next day when it was whispered
abroad that the dead woman never had revived, but had lain in her coffin
before the eyes of watchers all the evening, when hundreds fancied they
were applauding her at the theater. The mystery never was cleared up,
and Paris was divided by two opinions: one that some person marvelously
like Madame Z. had personated her for the sake of a sensation; the other
that the ghost of the dead actress, unable to free itself from the old
duties so full of fascination to an ambitious and successful woman, had
played for the last time the part which had made her famous."
"Where did you find that, Tavie? It's very French, and not bad if you
invented it," said Sir Jasper.
"I read it in an old book, where it was much better told. Now, Edith,
there is just time for your tale."
As the word "Edith" passed her lips, again Treherne started and eyed
them both, and again they smiled, as Mrs. Snowdon caressed the
smooth cheek leaning on her knee, and looking full at him began the
last recital.
"You have been recounting the pranks of imaginary ghosts; let me show
you the workings of some real spirits, evil and good, that haunt every
heart and home, making its misery or joy. At Christmastime, in a country
house, a party of friends met to keep the holidays, and very happily
they might have done so had not one person marred the peace of several.
Love, jealousy, deceit, and nobleness were the spirits that played their
freaks with these people. The person of whom I speak was more haunted
than the rest, and much tormented, being willful, proud, and jealous.
Heaven help her, she had had no one to exorcise these ghosts for her,
and they goaded her to do much harm. Among these friends there were more
than one pair of lovers, and much tangling of plots and plans, for
hearts are wayward and mysterious things, and cannot love as duty bids
or prudence counsels. This woman held the key to all the secrets of the
house, and, having a purpose to gain, she used her power selfishly, for
a time. To satisfy a doubt, she feigned a fancy for a gentleman who once
did her the honor of admiring her, and, to the great scandal of certain
sage persons, permitted him to show his regard for her, knowing that it
was but a transient amusement on his part as well as upon hers. In the
hands of this woman lay a secret which could make or mar the happiness
of the best and dearest of the party. The evil spirits which haunted her
urged her to mar their peace and gratify a sinful hope. On the other
side, honor, justice, and generosity prompted her to make them happy,
and while she wavered there came to her a sweet enchantress who, with a
word, banished the tormenting ghosts forever, and gave the haunted woman
a talisman to keep her free henceforth."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6