CHAPTER XIII.AN APPARITION.
Through the lighted window prying,Softly on the bright pane sighing,Then in sudden panic flying,Through the untrodden gloom,To the dark oak-tree she cometh,Round its trunk she wildly roameth,Shuddering as the dark stream foameth,There she waits her coming doom.—E. P. Lee.
Through the lighted window prying,Softly on the bright pane sighing,Then in sudden panic flying,Through the untrodden gloom,To the dark oak-tree she cometh,Round its trunk she wildly roameth,Shuddering as the dark stream foameth,There she waits her coming doom.—E. P. Lee.
Through the lighted window prying,Softly on the bright pane sighing,Then in sudden panic flying,Through the untrodden gloom,To the dark oak-tree she cometh,Round its trunk she wildly roameth,Shuddering as the dark stream foameth,There she waits her coming doom.—E. P. Lee.
Through the lighted window prying,
Softly on the bright pane sighing,
Then in sudden panic flying,
Through the untrodden gloom,
To the dark oak-tree she cometh,
Round its trunk she wildly roameth,
Shuddering as the dark stream foameth,
There she waits her coming doom.—E. P. Lee.
It was a medium-sized, comfortable apartment, well carpeted, and well-curtained, with its back windows looking out upon the shrubberies in the rear of the mansion.
A well-spread supper-table stood in the middle of the floor, and around it were gathered Mrs. Broadsides, Mr. Jessup, Miss Tabs, and Mr. Antonio, who were the housekeeper’s guests for the evening. Their conversation, like that of their superiors, had turned upon the late tragic events at Allworth.
Here, also, opinion was divided upon the subject of the supposed criminal—Mrs. Broadsides, Jessup, and Mr. Antonio loudly declaring their belief in the guilt of Eudora, and Miss Tabs stoutly asserting her faith in her innocence.
But through the whole of this conversation, it was observed that at intervals Mrs. Broadsides, who sat at the head of the table opposite the window, would often start, stare and bless herself, while Jessup, who sat at the foot, would twist his head over his shoulder as though he saw a spectre behind him.
Politeness deterred Miss Tabs and Mr. Antonio from taking any notice of these strange manifestations.
At length Jessup, after giving his own neck a most dangerous wring, and getting no satisfaction for his pains, spoke out, saying:
“Mrs. Broadsides, I would be obliged to you, ma’am, if you would tell me what it is that you see out of that window, for shiver my timbers if I can see anything but black darkness.”
“Jessup, don’t ask me! that’s a good soul! it’s nothing earthly as I see,” answered the woman, in a hushed tone of awe.
“What is it, then? I insist upon knowing.”
“Don’t, Jessup! it’s nothing earthly, I tell you, and I don’t like to speak of it. Lord bless my soul, there it is again!” exclaimed the woman, in a suppressed tone of horror.
“What? where? I see nothing!” said Mr. Jessup, wringing around his neck until his face was nearly between his shoulders.
“It’s vanished” whispered the housekeeper, without withdrawing her gaze from the window, while Mr. Antonio and Miss Tabs stared in amazement, and Mr. Jessup regarded her with incredulous indignation, saying at length:
“Can’t you tell me what you saw, then, if you saw anything but of your own imagination?”
“’Twas no imagination of mine, Jerry Jessup; if you must and will know what I have seen, I’ll tell. Since I have been sitting here at this table, I have seen a pale, ghostly female figure flit past that window three times!”
Every one glanced shudderingly at the window except Jessup, who contemptuously exclaimed:
“It was only your own fancy, Mrs. Broadsides!”
The housekeeper shook her head ominously.
“It’s all along o’ leaving the shutters open. It’s awful ghostly to have the night peeping in at you through the glass. I always imagine that I see something at such time.”
“Why don’t you close the shutters?” suggested Miss Tabs.
“Because of a whim of master’s to keep all the windows open till bed-time, most especially on stormy nights,when they may serve for beacons to guide the belated traveler to the shelter of this roof. Lord bless the admiral and mend his ways, so kind to all the world, so cruel to his own dear darter,” sighed Mrs. Broadsides.
“His daughter?” echoed Mr. Antonio.
“Yes, his darter, my young missus, as run off with a young lieutenant in a marching regiment, and married him all for love. She went ’long of him everywhere, and may have died of fever in the Crimea, or been massacred in India, for aught we’ve heard of her since her marriage; for it’s as much as any one’s life’s worth to mention her name in master’s presence.”
“And is he so hard all these years that he won’t make friends with her?”
“Make friends with her? You don’t know him. He won’t even hear her name,” put in Jerry Jessup.
“Wish I was his wally-de-sham. I’d ding it into his ears morning, noon and night. I’d bring it up with his hot water and lay it down with his slippers, and put it on with his night-cap every day of his life,” said Miss Tabs, valiantly.
“No you wouldn’t, for the very first time you tried it, you’d get pitched out of the window or down the stairs, and have your neck broken. Heaven save me, there it is again!” cried the woman, breaking off in terror.
All looked towards the window. Jessup wrung his neck around nearly to the point of dislocation, exclaiming:
“Where now? I tell you there’s nothing there. It’s all your own nerves. Mrs. Broadsides, ma’am, you want a dose of assafiddity.”
“It’s gone again!” whispered the woman.
“It never was!” snapped Mr. Jessup, impatiently.
“Yes it was. And I knowwhatit was. It was a Banshee come to warn me of my own death, or my master’s, or my old missusses.”
“Stuff and nonsense.”
“It isn’t stuff, and it isn’t nonsense. It is a Banshee, if ever one appeared to mortal eyes!”
“Yes,ifever one appeared,” sneered Mr. Jessup.
“But I have heard of the Banshee, myself,” said Miss Tabs, coming to the assistance of the housekeeper.
“To be sure you have, my dear. Who in this country-side has not heard of the Banshee that appeared to the Honorable Mrs. Elverton, of Edenlawn? How Mr. Elverton was on the Continent, where he had been a many months, and Mrs. Elverton was at Edenlawn, sitting up late at night, reading in her dressing-room. The night was fine, and the curtains were undrawn, when all of a sudden she heard a low, moaning, unearthly voice outside of the window, and looking up, she saw a female figure, in flowing white raiment float past the window as if it were swimming in the air, and heard it wail forth the words—‘Hollis Elverton is no more!’ as it disappeared. Well, the lady got up and made a note of the day and the hour; and sure enough a fortnight after that, she heard of the death of her husband at St. Petersburg, and he died the very day and hour at which she had seen the Banshee! There! what do you make ofthat?” inquired the housekeeper, triumphantly.
“Why, as the Honorable Mrs. Elverton was just as hysterical as you be,” said Mr. Jessup, doggedly.
“But then her husband actually died at St. Petersburg at the very day and hour that the Banshee appeared to her at Edenlawn. How do you account for that?”
“Just happened so, that’s all.”
“You’re as unbelieving as Thomas—Oh, Lord have mercy upon us! Look there; there it is again! and no Banshee neither, but the spirit of my young mistress, with her very face and form, only looking as if she had risen from the grave. Look, look, oh!” cried the woman, covering her face with her hands, and shaking with terror.
Again all looked fearfully towards the window.
Jessup wrung his neck nearly in two in the effort to lookbehind his back; and upon this occasion perseverance was rewarded. Pressed against the outside of the window, they all saw a fair, wan young face, that sank out of sight the instant it was detected.
“That’s neither a Banshee nor a spirit; it’s a mortal girl!” exclaimed Jessup, springing up, overturning his chair, and rushing out of the room.
The remainder of the party held their breaths in suspense until Jessup pushed open the door and reappeared, dragging after him the pale, weary, half-starved, dripping wet figure of a young girl, whom he pulled up before the astonished housekeeper, saying, mockingly:
“There—there’s your Banshee! A girl as has been caught out in the storm, and was frightened at ringing the door-bell at such a great house as this.”
“The very form, the very face! I never, no, I neverdidsee such a likeness; the express image of my young missus, only thinner, and paler, and smaller. Come to the fire, my lass. What is your name, and how came you out in the storm? You are not one of the village girls?” inquired the housekeeper, drawing the chilled stranger to the bright little coal fire that the dampness of the evening made very comfortable even at this season.
Then seeing in the glare of the light that the girl was wet to the skin, she exclaimed:
“Oh, deary me; you haven’t a dry thread on you! You must have been out in the whole storm; come into my chamber and get a suit of dry clothes on your back, and then you shall have some hot supper before you answer any of my questions.”
And taking the young stranger by the hand, the good housekeeper conducted her into an adjoining room.
They were gone about fifteen minutes, at the end of which Mrs. Broadsides returned, leading herprotégée, who was now comfortably clad in a black silk dress, that looked as if it had been made for her.
“Dear me, how well that fits,” said Miss Tabs.
“Yes, it was my young missus’s. She left most of her clothes here, poor child, when she went away, and I have taken care of them ever since. And now, if you want to know what my darling looked like, just look at this young gal; for there never was two peas so much alike as Miss Anna Eleanora, and this young gal, only that this one looks like the ghost of the other. And now, my child, sit down at the corner of the table here by the fire, and have some of this curried chicken, while we make you a glass of warm port-wine negus; and no one shall trouble you with any questions until you have done supper,” said the good housekeeper, settling herprotégéein the most comfortable seat.
Another fifteen minutes sufficed to satisfy the appetite of the stranger, who was thereupon required to gratify the curiosity of her entertainers.
“And now, my lass, tell us all about yourself. You are not of this country-side, I suppose?” said Mrs. Broadsides, when they had gathered around the fire.
“No, ma’am, I came from London this morning by rail as far as the station, and then set off to walk.”
“But where were you going my child, when you were caught in the storm?”
“To Allworth Abbey, ma’am.”
“ToAllworth Abbey!” exclaimed Mrs. Broadsides and Miss Tabs in a breath.
“Yes,” said the girl, looking up in surprise at the manner in which they had received her communication.
But this was no time to explain by introducing the tragedy of Allworth Abbey. The curious women were for once more eager to hear than tell news, and so Mrs. Broadsides inquired:
“And whatever could have taken you to Allworth Abbey of all the places in the world, my poor dear?”
“Well, I don’t mind telling you as you are so good tome. I am an orphan; my mother died when I was an infant, and my poor father died a few days ago in his lodgings in London, leaving me quite destitute. So the parish officers talked of sending me to the union, or binding me apprentice to a mistress. I couldn’t bear the thoughts of either, so I ran away, travelling by rail as long as my money lasted, and then setting out to walk.”
“But why to Allworth Abbey?”
“Because my poor mother had a foster-sister living at service there, who, I thought, might be kind to me.”
“What—what was her name?” inquired Miss Tabs.
“Tabitha Tabs. I remember it well.”
“Why, that wasmyname; but my mother never had but one-nurse child, and that was Miss Anna Eleanor Brunton. Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Broadsides, can—can—can it be as this is her darter!” exclaimed Miss Tabs, breathlessly.
“What is your name, young girl?” exclaimed the housekeeper, in an agitated voice, grasping the arm and gazing eagerly into the face of the stranger.
“Annella Wilder—Oh-h! don’t squeeze my arm so tightly; you’ll break the bone!” said the girl, shrinking from such a very pressing proof of regard.
“Annella Wilder! Annella was the pet name we used to call my darling by, being the short for Anna Eleanora; and Wilder was the name of the young fellow as bolted with her. And you as like her as one pea-pod is to another, and as sure as fate you are my poor darling’s child. You are! you are! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! oh!” cried the housekeeper, catching the girl to her bosom, and sobbing and weeping over her.
“And so my darling is dead! Died when you were an infant you say! And her young husband, your father, did he ever forget her who gave up so much for his sake? Did he ever put another woman in her place?” cried the affectionate creature, still holding the girl to her bosom.
“Never; he devoted himself to her memory—he mourned her as long as he lived.”
“Then how was it, my child, that you were left so destitute?”
“Oh, my father, was unfortunate—he was obliged to sell out—and—he became more and more unfortunate until he died—in destitution—and—do not ask me any more,” said Annella, hesitatingly and bursting into tears.
“I understand; I understand; that word ‘unfortunate’ means a great deal, whether it is applied to man or woman. But there! don’t cry any more, my dear. Better fortune is in store for you, I hope; for surely the admiral will never visit the offences of the parents upon the child. There, don’t cry any more, you are all right now, you are here,” said the woman, wiping the tears from Annella’s eyes and re-seating her in her chair.
“But tell me who you are who take so kind an interest in my mother and myself, and what place this is where I feel so much at home?” said Annella.
“Who am I, and what place is this? Why, my dear, is it possible that you do not know where you are?”
“No more than the dead.”
“Did ever any one hear the like! And how did it happen that you came here, then?”
“As I told you before, I was trying to find Allworth Abbey, when I was overtaken by the night and the storm, and while I was wandering about like a lost child, I saw the lights of this house shine from afar and they guided me to it.”
“Well, Lord bless the admiral’s lights, for they have done some good at last in guiding his own grand-daughter home!” said Mrs. Broadsides, fervently.
“Ma’am?” exclaimed Annella, opening her grey eyes in astonishment.
“Now, is it creditable that you don’t yet know as you’reat the Anchorage, the seat of your grandfather, Admiral Sir Ira Brunton?”
“And is it possible that I am in the house of my grandfather—my stern and terrible grandfather, who hated and discarded my father and my mother?” exclaimed Annella, in dismay.
“Yes, my dear, but he will not hate them any longer; he must not hate the dead, you know; and hemustlove the living; and he shall acknowledge you as his grand-daughter and sole heiress, and take you to his heart, or else turn me out of his house,” said the woman, stoutly.
“And me, too; which I don’t think he be likely to do for a trifling difference of opinion,” said Mr. Jessup.
“And me!” said Miss Tabs, valiantly.
And so likewise said Mr. Antonio.
Annella remained in one maze of astonishment.
A question now arose as to whether it would be better to let the admiral know at once of the arrival of his grand-daughter, or to defer the announcement until the morning.
Mrs. Broadsides, who, with all her assumed heroism, was really very timid, felt inclined to postpone the threatening hour as long as possible.
Miss Tabs agreed with her, especially as the admiral was now engaged with company.
But Mr. Jessup said the matter ought to be referred to Miss Annella herself, and he was supported in his opinion by Mr. Antonio. And the matter was referred accordingly.
“Since I am in my grandfather’s house, of all others in the world, I am not going to stay one hour without his knowledge and consent,” said Annella.
“And the girl is right,” said Mr. Jessup, emphatically.
“Then I hope you’ll go and denounce her yourself, Jerry Jessup, as you’re so bold about it,” exclaimed Mrs. Broadsides.
“And that I’ll do this minute, too,” said Jerry, rising.
“And mind, however master may receive the news, itmay be as well to let him know that out of this house she doesn’t go this night without my going too!”
“Hush, hush, woman; don’t cry out till you’re hit. Wait till I come back,” said Jerry, leaving the room.
The admiral was still in the drawing-room with his grandmother, his mother, the Princess Pezzilini, and the young midshipman. The whole party had finished tea, and were gathered near the fire, still engaged in discussing the tragedy at Allworth Abbey, when the door opened, and Mr. Jessup made his appearance.
“Well, Jerry?” inquired the admiral, looking up.
Mr. Jessup gave the naval salute to his superior officer, and answered:
“If you please, your honor, I spied a small craft to windward, making signals of distress.”
“Well?”
“I put out after her, your honor, and found her beating about in the storm, though well nigh water-logged and ready to go down.”
“And what then?”
“I overhauled her, your honor, took possession, and towed her into port.”
“And what now?”
“Please, your honor, I have come to report and take orders about her.”
“What sort of a craft is she?”
“Please, your honor, a small craft, tight-built, trim-rigged, fast sailing in favorable weather, I should think, though now rather the worse for the wear and tear of winds and waves.”
“Well, haul her up along side, and let’s have a look at her,” commanded the admiral.
“Ay, ay, sir!” said Jerry, hastening to obey.
“Whatever does he mean? I never can understand that man, any more than if he spoke in Hebrew,” said Mrs. Brunton.
“Hang the fellow! he always mistakes the drawing-room for the quarter-deck,” said the admiral, laughing. “He means that a young person has been caught out by the storm, and driven in here for shelter.”
“But you will never bring a stranger into this room, Iry?”
“Certainly, if Madame Pezzilini has no objection.”
“Oh, certainly not,” replied the princess, with a suave courtesy.
“Then we will see what she is like, and perhaps turn her over to the care of Mrs. Broadsides,” concluded the veteran.
At this moment the door opened, and Jerry hove into sight, towing in his prize, which he announced as—
“The Annella Wilder, London, your honor.”
The admiral did not hear the name distinctly, but fixed his eyes upon the young girl, who was steadily advancing towards him. And as she drew nearer, his eyes dilated in astonishment, until, when she stood before him, he gazed upon her in a panic of consternation, for it seemed to him that his long-lost daughter was in his presence.
For a minute that seemed an age, the old man and little maiden regarded each other in silence, while all the other members of the party looked on in surprise, and then the admiral broke forth:
“Anna; my Lord, is it possible? I heard that you were dead long ago, child—you and your infant daughter together. Where do you come from? You look, indeed, as if it were from the grave! Why do you come here now? Is it to reproach me?”
“Grandfather,” said the young girl, sadly but fearlessly; “the Anna whom you invoke is not here to offend you with her presence. She could not come if she would, she would not, perhaps, if she could; fifteen years ago she went with her broken heart to heaven. And I, her daughter, standing here before you, came here not willinglyor wittingly. The storm without drove me, the lights within drew me here, not knowing where I came. And now I am ready to depart, not caring where I go.”
During this short interview, the two old ladies had risen from their seats, and drawn near with looks of deep interest. The elder spoke:
“Oh, Iry, she is poor Anna’s child! You will never let her go! She is my great-great-grandchild; only think of that, Iry! Sheshallnot go, or, if she does, I’ll go forth, with my century of years, and beg with her!”
“Peace, peace, grandmother, be easy,” replied the admiral.
Then turning again to Annella, he said, sternly:
“Your father?”
“Is in his grave,” answered the girl.
“Thank heaven for that!” were the words that rose to the lips of the veteran; but a glance at the face of his grand-daughter repressed their utterance.
“When did he die?” he asked.
“On Thursday last,” she answered.
“Why did he not write to me in all these years?”
“Grandfather, if he had been happy and prosperous, he would have written; but he was the reverse of all this, and he would not write.”
“Butmyblood ran inhischild’s veins! and if he was unhappy and unsuccessful, he should have written to me! I am not flint!”
“Grandfather, he was unhappy only in the loss of her whom your unkindness hurried to the grave. And any help from your relenting hand, that came too late for her relief, came much too late for his acceptance! Grandfather, he loved your daughter too truly to enjoy a benefit that she could not share.”
The admiral groaned in the spirit, but did not reply. After a few minutes of silence, during which all the othermembers of the circle looked on in painful suspense, he inquired:
“How came you out wandering alone in this remote country, so far from the scene of your father’s death? Had he no friends to look after his orphan child?”
“Grandfather, it is a very long story; but I will tell you if you would like to hear it.”
“Yes, but sit down; sit down there in the little chair beside Madame Pezzilini. And now go on,” said the admiral, throwing himself into his own elbow-chair.
Annella commenced, and gave a short history of her life in the camp with her father; dwelling on his services in the Crimean war and the Indian insurrection, glancing slightly at the circumstances that drove him to sell his commission, and suppressing altogether the fact of that fatal habit that caused his ruin.
But notwithstanding the delicacy with which she treated her father’s memory, the experienced veteran understood it all.
Annella suppressed also the incident of the pauper funeral; but dwelt fondly upon the benevolence of her landlady, and especially on that of the beautiful, foreign-looking lodger, who had arrived in London only the day before, and who seemed to have so deep a sorrow of her own.
Something in the manner of the girl in describing her lovely benefactress attracted the particular attention of the Princess Pezzilini, who began with much interest to question the young girl.
“When did you say this young lady reached London?”
“On the morning of Wednesday.”
“How was she dressed?”
“In deep mourning.”
“Will you describe her personal appearance?”
“Oh, yes; she was so beautiful it would be a real pleasure to do so. She was rather small and slender, but not thin. She had a clear, olive complexion, with full, pouting,crimson lips, and large soft, dark eyes, shaded with long black eyelashes, and arched with slender, jet black eyebrows, and her hair was black as jet, and curled in long spiral ringlets all around her head.”
“Had she a little black mole over her right eye?”
“Yes; and another at the left corner of her mouth; they were both very pretty.”
“It is Eudora Leaton!” said the princess, addressing the admiral.
“There is no doubt of it, and I shall give information to the police to-morrow,” replied the latter.
“Sir?” inquired Annella, looking uneasily, she scarcely knew why, towards her grandfather.
“Nothing, my dear, only we think the young lady you mention is an acquaintance of ours. And now, my dear, your looks betray so much weariness, that I must order you off to bed. Grandmother, will you touch the bell?”
Mrs. Stilton complied; and Mr. Jessup made his appearance.
“Send Broadsides here, Jerry,” said Mrs. Brunton.
The housekeeper obeyed the summons.
“Broadsides, show Miss Wilder into the suite of rooms formerly occupied by her mother; and look out to-morrow for a discreet person to attend her as lady’s-maid,” said Mrs. Brunton.
The housekeeper courtesied in assent, and led off Annella, saying, as she preceded her up-stairs:
“I told you, my dear, that when you found yourself here you were all right, and you see now that I spoke the truth, for youare all right!”