The Haunted Homestead: A Novel

by Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

CONTENTS

[THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD.]
[THE PRESENTIMENT.]
[CHAPTER I. THE QUADROON.]
[CHAPTER II. THE MANIAC'S CURSE.]
[CHAPTER III. THE BOTTLE DEMON.]
[CHAPTER IV. AN HUMBLE WEDDING.]
[CHAPTER V. A CLOUDED HONEYMOON.]
[CHAPTER VI. PROPHETIC.]
[CHAPTER VII. CAIN.]
[CHAPTER VIII. THE APPARITION.]
[CHAPTER IX. THE TRIAL.]
[CHAPTER X. THE SCAFFOLD.]
[THE SPECTRE REVELS.]
[THE GILBERTS]
[CHAPTER I. THE GILBERTS.]
[CHAPTER II. NELLIE.]
[CHAPTER III. THE HAUNTED HOUSE.]
[CHAPTER IV. JEALOUSY.]
[CHAPTER V. NEW RELATIONS.]
[CHAPTER VI. POOR, POOR NELLIE.]
[Other Fiction]

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THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD.

A residence for woman, child, or man,
A dwelling-place—and yet no habitation;
A house, but under some prodigious ban
Of excommunication.—Hood.

In childhood I always had a fearless faith in ghosts. I desired before all sights to see them, and threw myself in the way of meeting them whenever and wherever there seemed the slightest possibility of so doing. Whenever there were mysterious sounds heard in the night, I listened with breathless interest, arose from the bed in silent eagerness, and went stealing on tiptoe through the dark house in the hopes of meeting the ghosts. Once I met a severe blow on the nose from the sharp edge of an open door, and once a tom cat, who made one spring from the top of the pantry shelves upon my head, and another thence through a broken window pane. I would have liked to fancy him a ghostly cat, only I knew him too well for our own "Tom," the cunningest thief that ever run on four feet. Another time, perambulating through the house at midnight, I surprised a burglar, who, mistaking me in the darkness for the master of the house, the watch, or an ambush, jumped straight over my head (or past me, I hardly knew which in my astonishment), and made his escape at the back door. But I must say that I never met a ghost, or even a "vestige" of a ghost until—but I think I will begin at the beginning and tell you the whole story.

At the Newton Academy, where I was educated, among two hundred fellow pupils, I had but one bosom friend and confidante—quite enough in all discretion for one individual, though you are aware that most young ladies have at least a dozen. My female Pythias was Mathilde Legare, a beautiful and warm-hearted Creole from New Orleans. Orestes and Pylades, Castor and Pollux, the Siamese twins, are but faint illustrations of the closeness of our friendship. To say that we were inseparable is nothing to the fact—we were united, blended, consolidated; and the one "angel" of Swedenborg formed of two congenial spirits, is the only sufficiently expressive example of our union of hearts. It was of little use for me to study a lesson, for though I had never looked at it, if Mathilde only committed hers to memory I was sure, in some occult manner, to have mine "at my fingers' ends"—or, on the other hand, if I studied, Mathilde might play—she would recite her task just as well. Moreover, if I told a story Mathilde would swear to it, and vice versa. In short, we two were in all cases "too many" for all the rest of the school—principal, assistant, masters and pupils—and we afforded a striking illustration of the truth of Robert Browning's lines—though I suppose the latter alluded to "a true marriage," and not a schoolgirl friendship:

"If any two creatures grow into one
They should do more than the world has done,
By each apart ever so weak,
Yet vainly thro' the world should you seek,
For the knowledge and the might,
Which in such union grew their right."

As Mathilde was rich and I was comparatively poor, this friendship brought me many advantages, among which was the privilege of annual travel and change of scene. About the first of every July, Mathilde's father and mother would leave their sugar plantation in Louisiana, and travel northward. They usually arrived at the Newton Academy about the tenth of the month, in time to be present at the annual examination and exhibition of the pupils. Upon these occasions, Mathilde, who possessed quickness and vivacity, rather than depth or strength of mind, generally achieved a brilliant success; though she often told me that her triumph in being first at these milestones on the road to fame, was nothing more than the success of the swift-footed, careless hare over the slow and painstaking tortoise, who would win the race at the goal.

However this might be, Mr. and Mrs. Legare were equally proud of their daughter's genius and beauty, and to reward her "industry and application," as they called it, they took her each year to spend the long vacation of July and August, with them, in making a tour of the Virginia Springs, which are the most frequented by Southerners, for the convenience of bringing their servants with them.

Upon one occasion, however—that of the vacation preceding the last year of Mathilde's residence at school—Mr. Legare determined to vary their usual route by going to the Northern watering places of Saratoga and Ballstown. And, as usual, I, with the consent of my guardians, accompanied the party as their invited guest.

We arrived at Saratoga at the very height of the season. In all, I suppose that there might have been several thousand visitors at the springs. The United States Hotel, at which we stopped, was uncomfortably crowded. And, though Mr. Legare grumbled in a very old-gentlemanly way, and Mrs. Legare wished herself at home again, Mathilde and I enjoyed the crowd for the crowd's sake, and experienced the truth of the popular adage of "the more the merrier."

At a place like that, even in the ballroom, "distinction" was almost as impossible as it is said to be in London, where, now that the "duke" is dead, no one is any one. Scarcely anybody was anybody at Saratoga that season. Many a village beauty, the toast of her own little circle, and many a city belle, the queen of her own coterie, who went thither, reasonably expecting to make a "sensation," found herself and her claims to notice lost in a brilliant multitude all more or less expectant or disappointed.

I thought Mathilde, with her tall and beautifully rounded form, stately head, pure olive complexion, shaded by jet-black ringlets, and lighted up by laughing black eyes, bridged over with arch and flexible black eyebrows—would attract some attention.

Not a bit of it! Heiress and beauty, as she was, Mathilde Legare was merely one in the crowd. There were hundreds with equal or greater claims to distinction. And so our beautiful Mathilde was not enthroned. Of course she soon attracted around her a circle of old and new acquaintances and had from them a due share of attention.

Among the first of these new acquaintances was a young gentleman of the name of Howard. His introduction to our party, without being romantic, was certainly marked by singularity. It occurred the third day after our arrival, at one of the weekly balls at the United States. It happened to be a fine, cool evening, and the assembly upon the occasion was unusually large. The saloon was quite crowded, leaving but little room for the motions of the dancers.

Mathilde was looking very beautiful that night. She wore a dress with a three-fold skirt of very fine, transparent thale over rose-colored silk, and which with every motion floated around her graceful form with a mistlike softness and lightness; a bertha and falls of the finest lace veiled her rounded arms and neck. She wore no jewels, but a wreath of rich white heliotrope crowned her jetty ringlets, and a bouquet of the same odoriferous flowers employed her slender fingers.

Yes! she was looking very lovely. Nevertheless, Mathilde, as well as myself, seemed destined to adorn the sofa as a "wall flower" all the evening, for set after set formed until every one was complete. The music struck up and the dancing commenced, and still no one came near us, nor did we even so much as see, within the range of our vision, one single person that we knew.

Mathilde voted this "the very stupidest ball" she was ever at, and hoped her papa would never come to Saratoga again.

I, for my part, fell into the study of faces, and through them into the study of character, and through that into dreaming.

Presently a head—start not gentle reader, there was a living body attached to it—attracted my particular attention. It was not because it was above every other head present—though had not this been the case I should not at that distance have seen it—nor was it because it was a very handsome one—for there were others much handsomer; but it was a very remarkable, characteristic, individual sort of head—a monarchical head, with a forehead that in its commanding height and breadth seemed the natural throne of intellectual sovereignty, with a strongly and clearly-marked nose and mouth, with eyes full of calm power—that surveyed the multitude below with the quiet interest of a king inspecting his army on some festive parade day.

"Magnus Apollo!" were the words that sprang alive to my lips as I laid my hand upon the soft, white arm of Mathilde and called her attention to this stranger.

"Hush! he is looking this way," said my companion, blushing and casting down her eyes.

I knew very well, if he was "looking this way," at whom he must be looking, and so, did not feel Mathilde's embarrassment in again raising my eyes to the "Magnus Apollo." When I did so I perceived that he was in conversation with another gentleman, whom I recognized as Mr. ——, the proprietor of the house. I saw Mr. —— bow and precede the stranger, conducting him to the presence of Mr. Legare, to whom he immediately introduced him. I saw Mr. Legare and the stranger approaching our quarter of the room, and I thought I understood it all.

I was not mistaken.

Mr. Legare presented the stranger as "Mr. Howard, of Boston," first to me, whom he favored with a bow, but certainly not with a single glance, and next to Mathilde, whom he almost immediately petitioned to become his partner in the next quadrille.

Miss Legare bowed a gracious acceptance to his suit.

The presentation over, Mr. Legare went to rejoin his wife, who could not endure to be left alone.

Mr. Howard remained standing before us, and soon, by the brilliancy, variety and interest of his conversation, attracted and engaged both his hearers. He was certainly a man of the most distinguished and commanding presence that I had ever seen, and one for whom every hour's acquaintance increased our esteem.

When the new quadrille formed, with a graceful bow he extended his hand to Mathilde and led her to the head of one of the sets. He danced as well as he conversed. Why should I run into detail? Mathilde's fancy was captivated. They finished the quadrille, and for the remainder of the evening Mr. Howard's attentions, though very devoted, were marked by too much delicacy and good taste to attract notice from any one except her to whom they were directed.

The impression made upon Mathilde was as yet not sufficiently deep to render her reserved with me upon this subject. Consequently when the ball was over, and we had reached our double-bedded chamber, my friend broke forth in eager exclamations.

"Did you ever see such a fine-looking person, Agnes? And then his conversation! how brilliant! and how varied! how much he must have traveled! and then how well he dances!"

"Pshaw!" said I. "'Oh, what a fall was there,' 'from the sublime to the ridiculous!'"

"Yes, but he does dance well! and let me tell you that very few men can do so! he strikes the nice balance between le grand and la frivole in his manner! And then his name—Howard—la crême de la crême of aristocratic names. Don't you remember Le Lion blanc of the house of Howard?"

And so she rattled on, talking incessantly of the new acquaintance until we went to bed, and I went to sleep leaving her still talking.

The next morning, I noticed that Mathilde spent more than usual time and attention upon her toilette. She looked very pretty—when did she not?—in her embroidered cambric morning dress, with no ornament but her jetty ringlets flowing down each side her freshly-blooming face.

When we went downstairs, there was Mr. Howard waiting in the hall, to offer Mathilde his arm to the breakfast table.

Afterward at the ladies bowling-alley who but Mr. Howard stood at Mathilde's elbow to hand the balls? Who took her in to dinner? Who made a horseblock of his knee and a stepping-stone of the palm of his hand to lift Mathilde into her saddle? Who attended her in her afternoon ride? In her evening walk? In the duet with the piano accompaniment at night?

Howard—still Howard!

Until after several weeks of this association, at last papa opened his eyes and inquired first of himself and next of his host:

"Who is this Mr. Howard, who is paying such very particular attention to my daughter?"

"Mr. Howard, sir; Mr. Howard is a very talented young mechanic of Boston," answered the proprietor.

"A—what?" questioned the astonished old gentleman.

"A very accomplished young machinist, and mathematical instrument maker, sir, who has realized quite a handsome fortune by his patented improvement in——"

"The foul fiend!" exclaimed the old aristocrat, throwing up his hands in consternation, as he trotted off.

His daughter talking, dancing, riding, flirting with a mechanic! Oh! horror, horror, horror!

The result of this was, that after Mr. Legare's perturbed feelings had become somewhat calmed he called for his bill, settled it, took four places in the morning coach, ordered his servants to pack up, and the next day set out for the South.

He was very much disturbed; Mrs. Legare said nothing, but poor Mathilde was miserable, having been made to feel that she had unwittingly brought discredit upon herself and all her family.

Mr. Legare left Mathilde and myself at our school, and with his wife proceeded to Louisiana.

I soon saw that the warm-hearted young Southern maiden really was, or believed herself to be, the subject of a deep and unhappy attachment; she became reserved to all, even to me, and her health suffered. As weeks grew into months her indisposition increased. One day her emotion broke the bounds of reserve, and throwing herself into my arms, she exclaimed:

"Oh, Agnes! if Frank would only write to me I should not feel so wretched!"

"Frank? who is Frank, my love?" I inquired in surprise, for I had never heard this name among our acquaintances.

She blushed deeply. "Oh! I mean Mr. Howard, you know! Frank Howard."

"No—I did not know! Has it come to this? and do you call him Frank? And do you, perhaps, correspond with him? Oh, Mathilde, Mathilde, my dear! take care!"

"Oh! no, no, I do not correspond with him! never have done so! he never even asked me! but after pa got so high with him, he looked mournful and dignified, and took leave of me! Oh! he might write to me."

"Mathilde, knowing your father's sentiments, he would not, as a man of honor, commence a correspondence with you. But tell me, dear, how far this affair had gone?"

"Oh! very far indeed; he was going to ask me of papa that very day we left!"

"Wait, Mathilde! you are so young! if this is anything more serious than a passing fancy on both sides, he will delay until you leave school, and then he will first seek you at your father's house. This is the only course for a man of honor in such a case, you are aware."

"Um-m! little hope in seeking me at my father's house, with my father's estimate of a mechanic! But I do not the least believe that Frank Howard is a mechanic! He does not look like one!"

"Nonsense, my dear Mathilde! he is an intelligent Boston mechanic, who has made a valuable invention that has brought him a fortune; that is all about it."

Still Mathilde's health waned, and at last the principal of our academy wrote to her parents, who came, and finding her condition more precarious than they had anticipated, removed her from school and carried her home. Mathilde could not bring against her friend the same charge that she had brought against her lover; for I requested a frequent correspondence, and faithfully kept up my part of it.

I remained at Newton for nearly twelve months after Mathilde had left.

And this time, passed in so great monotony by me, was full of event for Mathilde and those connected with her. In the first place, she accompanied her friends on a short visit to Europe, and returning, entered society at New Orleans with some eclat.

Then followed for her father a succession of losses, one growing out of another, until his fortune was so reduced as to make it necessary for him to retrench and change his whole style of living.

Under such circumstances, his pride would not permit him to remain in that part of the country where for so many years he had lived grand seigneur.

His wife was a Virginian by birth and education, and in changing her home preferred to return to her native State. Therefore Mr. Legare purchased a small estate lying within a fertile gap of the Alleghanies, to which, in the spring of the next year, he removed his family.

Up to this time Mathilde had heard nothing directly from her Saratoga lover, but had learned, through the newspapers, that he had been nominated to represent his district in the National House of Representatives.

Hoping much from the two circumstances of her own reduction in worldly fortune and her lover's elevation in social rank, which must bring them nearer together in position, she had called the attention of her father to the announcement of Mr. Howard's nomination; but her fond expectations were soon dissipated by the old aristocrat's comment:

"Oh, yes, my dear, I see! Any upstart can get into Congress now. Really a private station is the seat of honor; but the comfort remains that a patrician by birth, is still a patrician, no matter how low his worldly fortunes; a plebeian is still a plebeian, even though accident or caprice may constitute him a legislator."

"And now what shall I do, Agnes?" wrote Mathilde, after recounting these things.

"Hope! If Mr. Howard is as constant as you appear to be, you have everything to expect from time and change ordered by Providence," was my written reply.

I finally left school at the commencement of the summer vacation following the spring in which Mr. Legare's family removed to their mountain home in Virginia.

It was just before the ensuing Christmas that I received an invitation from Mathilde to come up and spend the holidays with her at her father's new home.

In extending this invitation, she wrote: "I do not know, dear Agnes, how much or how little you may feel disposed to credit these modern, so-called spiritual manifestations, these 'rappings,' 'table-tippings,' etc., but I know your strong penchant for the supernatural and your inveterate habit of ghost-hunting, and I do assure you, if it will be any inducement for you to come to us, that our home contains as inexplicable a mystery as ever frightened human habitants away, and doomed a dwelling-place to desolation and decay, and this haunting presence infests a house in a neighborhood, as yet innocent of spirit-rappings, table-tippings, and 'sich like diviltries,' as it is of railroads, steamboats and telegraph wires. But I shall say no more of this mystery until I see you 'face to face' except this, that even my unbelieving pa talks of selling the place unless the nuisance is explained and removed."

I think that it was the existence of this darkly intimated spectre that fascinated me to the point of accepting Mathilde's invitation. Ghost-hunting was my one weakness—perhaps I should say monomania. I secretly hoped that there might be a haunted chamber in the old house and that they might put me to sleep in it; furthermore, that I might be favored with an interview with the ghost. I resolved to go. No persuasion had power to withhold me, no obstacle to prevent me. My only brother was expected home to spend Christmas, but I could not wait for him. I would, on the contrary, ask Mr. Legare to invite him to follow me. The weather was very severe, the snow covered the ground to the depth of two feet on a level, and what it might be among the ravines of the mountains I was going to cross, I feared to conjecture; nevertheless, to go I was determined.

It was a three days' and three nights' stage ride from Winchester, where I lived with my guardian, to Wolfbrake, the home of the Legares. Accordingly, in order to reach my journey's end on Christmas Eve, I set out from home on the twentieth of December, and after three days and nights of the roughest traveling, up hill and down, through the darkest forests, along the banks of the most frightful precipices, across the rudest and most primitive bridges thrown over the most awful chasms, through mountain streams so deep and rapid that in fording them it was often hard to tell whether we rode or rowed, finally, on the evening of the twenty-fourth, I reached Frost Height, where the mules from Wolfbrake, under the charge of Uncle Judah, already awaited me.

Although it was getting dusky, and the road down the snow-covered mountain path to Wolfbrake was not of the safest description, even by daylight, and might be considered dangerous by a starless night, yet Uncle Judah, with the hard-headedness of a favored old family servant, insisted that I should set forth immediately, as "Marse and mis' would be 'spectin'" me to supper.

So, mounting my mule, and preceded by the old servant upon his jack, I descended into the outer darkness of the downward mountain path.

In a little while it was quite dark, and I could neither see Judah on his jack before me, nor even the narrow path under my feet. At every step I seemed to be plunging down into some dark abysm of shadows below shadows. I could not guide my course, but trusted to the habits and sure-footedness of the mountain mule that carried me. A glimmering light, shining up from the deepest depths of the darkness below, indicated the position of Wolfbrake Lodge. There was always a strange, mystic interest felt in approaching a place like that, for the first time, amid the shadows of night. The undefined, shapeless mass of buildings, the unseen boundaries, the unknown circumstances that awaits us, all like some strange mystery, pique curiosity. And to these general subjects of interest was added the particular one of the haunting presence of which Mathilde had darkly written. I was yielding imagination up to the fascination of these dreamy speculations, when my mule, having reached the bottom, or else an obstacle of some sort—I could not in the deep darkness decide which—stopped short. And immediately I heard a sweet, familiar voice say:

"Is that you, Uncle Judah? Did Agnes come?"

"Yes, honey," replied the old man; and:

"I am here! where are you, dear Mathilde?" exclaimed I, in the same instant.

"I am in the carryall! Uncle Judah, help your Miss Agnes off, and bring her in here with me."

In obedience, the old man lifted me out of my saddle, and, to use his own vernacular, "toted" me "through the slush," and set me in the carryall beside Mathilde. I could not see her form, but I felt her arms wound around me, and her lips against my face, searching for those other lips that quickly met hers, and then:

"I am so overjoyed to see you, dear Agnes! It was so good of you to come!" she said. "I couldn't wait! I had to order the carryall, and come to meet you at the foot of the hill."

We were then about a half a mile from the house. Mathilde made the boy that drove her get down and give place on the driver's seat to Uncle Judah, and then take charge of the mules, to lead them home. And so we proceeded through the snow-covered bottom toward the house.

As I said, it was so dark that I could not clearly distinguish the outline of the buildings; but there appeared to be two houses, an old one and a new one, joined by a covered piazza, and shaded by many trees.

We stopped before the door of the new house, from the parlor windows of which a stream of light from the lamps within was pouring.

We were met by Mrs. Legare, who gave me a cordial welcome, and took me at once to an upper front chamber, comfortably furnished, where a fine wood fire burned, and a kettle of hot water stood upon the hearth, for the convenience of warm ablutions.

"This is your room, my dear Agnes, where I hope you will find yourself at home," said my kind hostess.

I thanked her, but secretly hoped that she would leave me alone with Mathilde, to hear the mystery of the haunted presence explained, for as yet we had no opportunity of a tête-à-tête.

But the old lady lingered with motherly solicitude, until I had washed myself, and changed my traveling habit for a home dress; and then directing Jacinthe or "Jet," as she was nicknamed, to restore the room to order, she invited me down into the parlor.

As I left the chamber, I observed Jet's eyes start out like beads, and she made a motion to follow us; but a peremptory gesture from her mistress repelled her, and she remained, though evidently terrified at the idea of being left alone.

"Can it be possible," thought I, "that the child is afraid to stay by herself in the new house, when, of course, the supernatural inmate, if there is one, must be a denizen of the old one?"

And at the same time I experienced a feeling of disappointed love of adventure in being accommodated with a chamber so shining in freshness and so distant in character as well as location from what I fancied must be the scene of the mystery.

When we reached the parlor, we found a party of young people collected to celebrate Christmas Eve. But scarcely were the introductions over, before a servant opened the door and announced supper, and, conducted by Mrs. Legare, we all went out by way of the hall and the covered piazza to the dining-room in the old house, where the feast was spread.

I cannot stop to analyze the sensation with which I crossed the threshold of this mystery-haunted house, and entered the quaint, old-fashioned parlor, where the supper table was set. The polished oak floor, the oak-paneled walls, the high, narrow, deep-set windows, the tall, black-walnut chimney-piece over the broad fireplace, flanked by a high cupboard in one corner, and a coffinlike clock in the other—all whispered of those who had lived and died there long years before. There was a well-spread and cheerfully-lighted table, and a merry, youthful company assembled around it; but even these animating influences were not sufficiently powerful to exorcise the thoughts of the dead—for, talkative and frolicksome though they were, their talk was still of the supernatural, of ghosts, and ghosts' seers. I did not talk—I was too earnestly interested in hearing. And I listened breathlessly to learn the mystery of the house. In vain! not a single allusion was made to a spectre in connection with Wolfbrake Lodge. They ignored the supposition. Perhaps they were really ignorant of it.

Supper over and cleared away, the young people returned no more that night to the parlor in the new house, but prepared for a game of "Snap-apple" in the old dining-room, which their romping could not hurt.

I was so weary with my three days and nights of riding, and so eager besides for a tête-à-tête with Mathilde, that I pleaded fatigue as an undeniable reason for retiring before the games should commence. I hoped that Mathilde alone would attend me. Not so. Mrs. Legare, apparently watching for my withdrawal, joined her daughter and myself as we left the room, and accompanied us to the chamber set apart for my use in the new house. When we had reached this apartment, Mrs. Legare said:

"There is no one that sleeps in this house usually. We keep these chambers principally for the use of our guests. No one will occupy any room within it to-night except yourself, unless indeed you feel afraid——"

"Afraid?" repeated I, in a tone that quickly called forth an apology.

"Oh! I know, my dear Agnes, that you are no coward; but I did not know but that you might feel indisposed to sleep alone in a strange house."

"What? when it is a perfectly new house, Mrs. Legare? If, indeed, it were an old-time house, I might be afraid of the traditional ghost," said I, watching in her countenance the effect of my words, and seeing her, to my astonishment, turn pale, and send a quick, significant glance to Mathilde, who averted her head.

"Ah!" thought I, "the old house is haunted! Would they would only let me sleep there, where there is some chance of being delightfully frightened."

"I was about to say, Agnes, that if you prefer, I will send one of the negro women to sleep on a mattress in your room."

"By no means, Mrs. Legare. I shall fall asleep as soon as I touch my pillow, and not wake until morning—so I should not be able to appreciate the benefit of Peggy or Dinah's society."

"Very well, my dear, as you please. Here is a bellrope at your bed's head—its wires run into the old house. If you should want anything, ring."

I smiled, and assured my hostess that I wanted nothing but sleep. Whereupon she called Mathilde, bade me good-night, and left the room. Turning back, however, she said to me:

"Agnes, my dear, lock your chamber door after us."

"Yes, madam."

"Excuse me, my dear; but young people are forgetful—especially when they are tired and sleepy. I think I should like to hear you lock it, Agnes."

There was something in her caution that struck me as very singular—but I laughed and went to the door, and after repeating my good-night, as desired, shut the door in their faces, and locked it.

"There! have you heard me lock the door?" I inquired.

"Yes, my dear—all right."

"And is your mind at rest on that score?"

"I am sure that you have attended to my advice. Good night, and happy dreams."

"Thanks, and the same good wishes! Good-night!" said I, in conclusion.

I listened, and heard them go downstairs, enter the parlor, and fasten the windows, and secure the safety of the fire there—go to the back hall door, and bolt and bar it—and finally go out by the front door, and lock it after them.

Fastened up as I was in the house, I did not feel myself quite in prison, because, should I, like Sterne's starling, want to "get out," I could do so by the back door.

Now, I never could account for it, but no sooner was I left alone in that room, resplendent as it was with newness, than a strange feeling of superstition came over me, that I could neither understand nor escape. It was in vain that I turned my eyes from the shining white wall and freshly painted windows to the cheerful pattern of the carpet and furniture drapery, and said that in this new and freshly furnished chamber the supernatural was out of place—there grew upon me the impression of an unearthly presence near; and the feeling, in spite of all probability, that this—this was the scene of the household mystery—this was the haunted chamber!

In this new aspect I examined it. It was the least like one that could be imagined. It was a lofty, spacious, cheerful, double-bedded room, with four large windows—two on the east and two on the west side—with a fireplace in the south wall, and the heads of the beds, at some distance apart, against the north wall. Between the two east windows was a pretty dressing-table and glass; between the west windows was a neat washstand with a china service; on each side of the fireplace were two spacious clothes closets; before the fire sat two easy-chairs; in intermediate spaces around the walls were half a dozen other chairs.

I examined the clothes closets, and found them entirely empty, and at the service of my dresses; then I looked under the bed; then beneath the drapery of the dressing-table; and finding nothing that should not be there, undressed myself, said my prayers, blew out my candle, and went to bed.

I could not sleep; my mind, my nerves, had for some reason become unusually excited; and, despite of extreme fatigue, I lay awake. I thought the room was too light; for, though the candle was extinguished, a glowing fire burned upon the hearth, a few yards from the foot of my bed, and the light of the now risen moon streamed into the east windows. After turning from side to side, vainly wooing slumber, I arose and went to close the east front windows. As I reached them with this purpose, I stayed my hand a moment, while I looked out at the snow-clad, moon-lit mountain landscape; below me was the bottom, bounded, not many furlongs off, by the cedar-grown precipice, down which, that very evening, I had come; under the shelter of that mountain, straight in the line of my vision, lay the family graveyard of the former owner, in a copse of evergreens, where the spectral-looking tombstones gleamed whitely among the dark firs and cedars. Meditating upon those departed, I closed the blinds of the front windows, and then went to the back ones.

The latter looked straight down into the uncurtained windows of the lighted dining-room, where the young people were still at play. Above these windows, and directly opposite to mine, were those of Mrs. Legare's bedroom, now dimly lighted from the fire within.

With this proximity of the family, I felt less lonely, closed my blinds, and returned to bed.

Still I could not sleep. The fire on the hearth, beyond my bed's foot, flickered up and down, casting tall, spectral shadows, that danced upon the walls, or stretched their long arms over the ceiling. For hours I lay watching this phantasmagoria, until the fire died down, and the tall, dancing shadows sank into a mass of darkness, before sleep came to my wearied senses. But scarcely had I closed my eyes upon the natural world before a strange vision, or dream, if you prefer to call it so, passed before me. Methought I heard the click of a turning key; I opened my eyes, and saw the door slowly swing back upon its hinges, and a lady of dark, majestic beauty, dressed in deep mourning, and having a pale and care-worn face, enter the chamber! Slowly and silently she walked to and fro, her footfall waking no echo—her progress attended by no sound, save the slight rustle of her silken robe! I was magnetized to watch her, as with clasped hands and wide-open, mournful eyes, she walked in silent, measured steps up and down the room. At length she paused in the middle of the floor, fixed her eyes upon mine with a wild and mournful gaze, slowly raised one hand from the breast upon which both had been tightly clasped, and with her spectral finger extended downward, pointed to the spot beneath her feet, and then as slowly resumed her former attitude, and passed with measured steps from the room!

I tried to speak to her, to question her, but failed to utter a sound. In an agony of distress I tried to call out, and in the effort to do so awoke! awoke to find that I had been dreaming.

But, reader! the door that I had locked so carefully the night before, was standing wide open, as when the dark woman of my dream had passed through it!

Day was dawning. I shivered, both from superstitious excitement, and from the cool draught of air blowing upon me from the open door. I drew the cover closely around me and listened; but no sounds except the undefined, low, pleasant murmur of awakening nature—the soft rustle of the pines in the up-springing morning breeze, the flutter of the night birds waking up in their branches, and the detonating echo of distant, louder noises were heard. I arose softly and opened the east window blinds, and then went back to bed to lie and watch the crimson light of morning kindling up the orient.

An hour I lay thus, watching the dawn growing brighter and brighter unto the perfect day. And then I heard a key turned in the hall door, and some one come in and ascend the stairs. It was the little black maid Jet, come to make my fire. As she entered I saw her eyes grow wild, and she inquired:

"Miss Agnes, is yer been up, miss, to open dis yer door?"

"I have been up this morning, Jet," said I, not wishing to let her into my full confidence. The answer seemed to set her at rest, for her countenance lost its wild terror, and she proceeded with cheerful alacrity to light the fire, fill the ewers and so forth.

Before she had got through with her task, there was a rush of many feet into the hall, and up the stairs, and Mathilde and such of her young friends as were already up and dressed, bounded into the room, exclaiming:

"A merry Christmas! A merry Christmas, Agnes!"

Their arrival was enough to put to flight all the supernatural visitants that Hades ever sent forth. They hurried me with my toilet; they worried me to come down and see the Christmas tree, and get some eggnog.

I was carried away with their gay excitement, and almost forgot my mysterious dream or visitant, but not quite; for all through the morning greetings of the family, the eggnog drinking, the visit to the Christmas tree, the distributions of presents, the merry breakfast, the arrival of invited guests, the Christmas dinner party, the afternoon sports, and the evening dance, I was possessed with the haunting presence of that dark, handsome woman, and her majestic woe.

We danced in the dining-room through all the Christmas night; and it was two o'clock in the morning before we separated.

Again, when I was about to retire, Mrs. Legare came to accompany me.

"I hope you rested well last night, my dear Agnes, though I have scarcely had an opportunity of asking you to-day," she said, as we entered my room.

"I did not wake until dawn, ma'am," I answered, evasively, for I had determined, since they let me into no confidence upon the subject of the household mystery, to keep my own counsel in regard to my dream and the open door.

"You slept until dawn. That is well. I hope you will have as good a rest for the few remaining hours of the night. Good-evening, my dear. Lock your door after me," said Mrs. Legare, going out with a look of relief and satisfaction.

As upon the evening previous, I turned the key upon my retiring hostess, listened until I heard her pass out and secure the hall door, then searched my room, undressed, said my prayers, and went to bed.

As I hinted in the beginning of this narrative, nature had made me at once superstitious and fearless. In the supernatural I "believed without trembling." And now alone, in this supposed-to-be haunted chamber, I lay with an interest devoid of uneasiness, waiting the development of events.

It was near day, when, overcome with watching, I fell asleep, and then, as upon the night previous, I had a vision or dream (as you please to call it). Methought the sound of a deep sigh awoke me, when looking up, I saw, standing in the middle of the room, the fearful woman of my dream, her finger pointed downward to the same spot, and, still pointing thus, she receded backward until she disappeared through the open door.

I started up to call or stop her, and with the violence of my effort, awoke! awoke to see the morning light shining in through the shutters that I had neglected to close, and to hear little Jet letting herself in at the hall door, to come up and light my fire.

Again on entering and seeing the open door, she cast an uneasy, suspicious, frightened look around her, and said: "Yer allus gets up an' opens dis door when yer hears me a comin', don't yer, Miss Agnes, ma'am?"

"Yes, I heard you coming Jet," I replied, evasively, but the answer satisfied my simple little maid, who went cheerfully about her tasks.

As it was not early, I hastened to my toilet and descended to the dining-room, not to keep my kind hostess waiting breakfast.

They were all ready to sit down when I joined them, and we immediately took our seats at the table.

Upon my plate I found a letter from my brother, which I asked and obtained permission to open and read. It was a regretful refusal of my invitation to him to join me at Wolfbrake to spend the holidays, upon the ground that he had brought home with him a friend whom he could not leave.

"Pooh! pooh! let him bring his friend along! Tell him so! Any friend of your brother will be welcome here, Agnes!" said Mr. Legare, to whom I communicated the contents of my letter.

I acted upon this permission, and wrote for my brother to come and bring his friend. After I had finished and dispatched my letter, I joined a party who were going out to dine. The dinner was followed by a dance, and the dance by a moonlight sleighride home. But through all the excitements of the day the image of the dark woman haunted my mind. And again it was very late when I retired to bed.

As usual, Mrs. Legare and Mathilde saw me to my room, and, as before, I locked the door behind them, and listened until I heard them leave the house and secure the hall entrance. Then I hastened my preparations, got into bed, and, thoroughly worn out with fatigue and loss of rest, soon fell into a deep sleep. And a third time the dream or vision passed before me. Methought I was awakened by a voice calling my name. I opened my eyes, and saw—first the door stretched wide open, and then, standing in the middle of the floor, the beautiful and majestic woman of my former visions, but this time more sad and stern in aspect than before. Fixing those wild, mournful eyes upon mine, and holding my gaze as it were by a mesmeric spell, she slowly and severely pointed to the spot beneath her feet, and saying, as it were, "Look!" passed in measured steps from the room.

Once more in an agony I started up to call and stay her, but with the effort awoke. The door that I had carefully locked stood wide open as before. It was the same hour as that of my awakening upon the two previous mornings. The day was flushing redly up the eastern horizon beyond the mountains, and nature was awakening everywhere.

I could not now so readily shake off the influence of my dream. There was something that I wished to ascertain before my little maid should interrupt me; the reiterated gesture by the woman of my dream, determined me to examine the spot upon which she had stood and pointed, to see if, really, her action had any meaning. So I arose from my bed, and, first securing the door, and turning the key straight in the lock, that my little maid, should she come, might not spy my doings, I removed the hearthrug took a pair of strong scissors and drew out the tacks, turned up the carpet.

Reader! I had an attraction to the supernatural, but a mortal antagonism to the horrible, and nearly swooned on seeing the spot to which the dark woman of my vision had pointed deeply marked with a sanguine-crimson stain! The very heart in my bosom seemed frozen with horror, and I felt myself, as it were, turning to stone, when a loud knocking at my chamber door aroused me. It was my little maid, whose coming, I, in my deep and fearful abstractions, had not heard. I hurriedly replaced the carpet and the rug, and went and opened the door.

"Yer sleeped soun' dis mornin', Miss Agnes, ma'am," said little Jet, smiling as she entered. "I feared I scared you out'n your dream," she added, noticing, I suppose, my horror-stricken face.

"You certainly startled me, Jet," I said, evasively. And while she lighted the fire, I returned to bed to try to compose my nerves.

Between the horror I felt at the idea of sleeping another night alone in an accursed room, where, it seemed, a crime had been committed, and my intense desire to elucidate the mystery, I was at a loss how to act. Only one thing I decided upon—to keep my own counsel for the present.

"De fire is burnin' fus-rate now, Miss Agnes, so you can get up an' dress, if you likes, as break'as' is mos' ready," said my little attendant. And taking her hint, I arose and hastened my toilet, in order to be punctual at the morning meal of my hostess.

As I descended the stairs, I heard Mrs. Legare speaking to her daughter in the parlor, where a fire was kindled every morning while there were visitors in the house. She was saying:

"I tell you, Mathilde, it is all a delusion. Those who have never heard the story, never see, or hear, or fancy anything unusual. You know now Agnes has not been disturbed, and it is because she has heard nothing. Whereas, if you had told her this history, she would have imagined, Heaven knows what! all sorts of horrors! that is the reason I wished her to hear nothing of it. She has slept undisturbed in that room. Let that be known. Others will then not object to do so, and the report will die out."

She spoke in a quick, low tone, and, seeing me coming, instantly changed the subject. But my sense of hearing, always acute, was quickened by intense interest, and I had heard more than she could have wished me to know. She turned to me with a smile, and said:

"I hope that you have rested well, my dear Agnes."

I said, "As well as usual," and receiving Mathilde's morning kiss, took her arm, and accompanied them into the breakfast-room.

It was some hours after breakfast, that day, when I went up into my chamber to write letters. While thus engaged, I heard Mathilde coming up, singing, and enter a chamber corresponding to mine, but separated from it by the front hall.

"Are you there, Agnes?" she asked.

"Yes, dear. Shall I come to you?"

"Si vous plait, mademoiselle," she answered, gayly.

I went into the room, where I found Mathilde directing Jet in her work of preparing the chamber for guests.

"I shall have to put your brother and his friend here together to sleep, my dear Agnes, as we are so full. But, by the way, who is his friend?"

"That is just what I cannot tell you. John, in his wild, careless way, simply said that he had a friend with him, as a reason why he could not at once accept your father's invitation, and Mr. Legare as carelessly and frankly wrote back for him to bring his 'friend' along with him."

"Eh bien! cette l'ami inconnu must be content to lodge with John; we can do no better."

"Since your house is not so large as your heart, chere Mathilde."

Little Jet was engaged in removing the firescreen, preparatory to lighting the fire to air the room. As she set this board down before my eyes, I could scarcely repress the cry that arose to my lips. It was an old, faded family portrait that had been put to this use. That was not much; but—it was the portrait of the dark woman of my dream.

The same midnight eyes and hair, the same proud, stern, sad brow!

"Whose likeness is that, Mathilde?" I asked, when I had in some degree recovered my composure.

"Oh! I don't know; it is a portrait of some member of the family of the former proprietors, I suppose! We found it here with other rubbish, considered, I suppose, of too little value to remove after the Van Der Vaughans left; I washed its face and set it up for a firescreen. 'To such vile uses,' etc. By the way, look at it! It is a very remarkable countenance! Such expression might have been that of Semiramis when ordering the execution of Ninus."

"No! I do not think so, there is no wickedness in this face! There is strength, sternness, perhaps cruelty (if necessary)," I replied, still studying the portrait. "Who could it have been?"

"I know not indeed! some old, old member of the Vaughan family."

"Nay, I do not think the portrait is of such ancient date! To be sure it is dilapidated; but that seems to be more from abuse than from time. And observe! the costume is modern."

"So it is!"

"I had not thought of that before! Well now since you said so, I begin to surmise that this may be the portrait of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan."

"And who was she?" I inquired, with as much indifference as I could assume.

"Oh! the last lineal descendant of the elder branch of the family and the last heiress of this old estate; she married her first cousin, Wolfgang Van Der Vaughan."

"And what was her history and her fate?" I inquired, striving to restrain the betrayal of the intense interest I felt.

"Oh, her history was as painful as her fate was tragic."

"And—well?"

"Hush! there is some one coming! I will tell you another time!"

It was Mrs. Legare who entered, and smiling a sort of salutation to me, and opening a letter she held in her hand, said:

"My dear Mathilde, we are to have more company. Your cousin Rachel Noales is coming; she will be here this afternoon!"

"Oh! I should be so glad if we only had room for her!" exclaimed Mathilde, impulsively, and then she blushed deeply in having spoken thus freely of their crowded state in the presence of a guest.

"My dear Mathilde," said I, "as mine is a double-bedded chamber, I should be very happy to have Miss Rachel for a roommate; that is, if it would be agreeable to herself."

"Thank you, Agnes, dear. Agreeable! why it would be the very thing. Rachel Noales is the greatest coward that ever ran! and would no more sleep in a strange room, by herself, than she would in a churchyard! If you had not kindly offered, some of us girls would have to take her in, although we are all sleeping double now!"

"But are you sure, my dear Agnes, that you will not be incommoded," kindly inquired Mrs. Legare.

"Incommoded? Not in the least! The arrangement suits me to a nicety!" I replied.

And so, in truth, it did; for let me confess that while I could not prevail upon myself to shorten my visit, and leave the house with its great mystery unsolved, the prospect of sleeping alone in that chamber cursed with crime appalled me, but, in company with a companion of my own age, it would be a very different affair.

"That horrid portrait! take it into the attic, Jet," said Mrs. Legare, as her eyes fell upon the ci devant firescreen.

The little maid took up the picture and carried it off as commanded.

Then there was a visit of inspection and preparation paid to my room. Fresh sheets and more blankets were put upon the second bed, fresh napkins laid, and then mother and daughter and little maid departed.

Through the remainder of that day I had no further opportunity of learning from Mathilde the history of the dark lady.

Late that afternoon Uncle Judah was dispatched with the mules to Frost Height to meet the stage-coach, and bring Rachel Noales to the house. And about seven o'clock he returned, escorting the new visitor, for whom we were waiting tea.

As Miss Noales was to be my roommate, I examined her with much more interest than I had bestowed upon any other among my fellow-visitors. Rachel Noales was an orphan, and was still in deep mourning for her father, who had been dead about nine months. She was a very pretty, timid-looking girl, with a fair face, soft brown hair and large hazel eyes.

"Ah! my dear child," I thought to myself, "you are scarcely the most proper denizen for a crime-cursed, haunted chamber."

And I made up my mind to protect her, if possible, from the knowledge that would only make her wretched, and perhaps drive her away from the place. As this was the fourth evening of Christmas revelry, and we had all been up to a very late hour upon each of the three preceding nights, it was moved, seconded, and carried by a large majority that we should retire early on this and the succeeding evenings of the week, so as to recruit a little for the New Year's festivity.

Accordingly, at ten o'clock we separated.

Mrs. Legare and Mathilde accompanied Rachel Noales and myself to our chamber. And when our hostess and her daughter had seen that the room was in perfect order, the fire burning well, the beds turned down, the ewers filled, etc., etc., they took leave, waiting, as before, until they had heard me lock the chamber door behind them. When they had passed down the stairs and out at the hall door and locked it after them, I turned around to meet the surprised look of Rachel Noales.

"Why, where have they gone?" she asked.

"Into the old house, to bed."

"Why!—do they sleep there?"

"Certainly—the whole family sleep there."

"And who sleeps here in the new house?"

"No one but you and I!"

"You don't mean to say that they have put us in this house to sleep alone?"

"Why not? It is an adjunct to the other house, which is, besides, quite full of guests. It was so when I came."

"And where did you sleep?"

"Here."

"Alone?"

"Certainly."

She looked at me with astonishment. And had my mind been sufficiently at ease I should have enjoyed her naïve admiration. But it was not so; and when I saw her draw her chair up in front of the fire, and sit down immediately over that spot, I shuddered and spoke to her.

"Rachel, dear, don't sit directly in front of the fire; it is injurious to the eyes."

She moved to one side and began to unfasten her dress preparatory to going to bed. We were now ready. But before lying down, Rachel asked me:

"Is the door secure?"

"Yes, my dear."

"And the windows?"

"Yes."

Not quite content with my answer, Rachel went slyly around to all the windows, and then to the door, to ascertain their security; then she searched the closets, and finally got into bed.

I soon followed her example, but found myself more sleepless than upon the preceding evening. I know not exactly how long I had lain awake, thinking of the dead proprietors, of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, and her sad history and tragic fate (whatever they might have been), and of the stern, dark woman of my dream, and of the blood-stained floor, and trying to combine these materials into some coherent whole, when suddenly I heard the lock click back, the door swing slowly open, and a rustle, as of silken drapery, and I opened my eyes to behold the awful woman of my dream standing in the middle of the room, and pointing sternly to the blood-stained floor!

And in the very same instant that I heard and saw this, Rachel had also been awakened, and was even now asking in frightened tones:

"Who is that?"

But there was no answer.

"Who is that?" again asked the girl.

And still there was no answer.

"Who—is—that?" she reiterated, emphatically.

No answer.

"Aunt Legare!—Mathilde!—Jet!—Who is it?"

No reply. But the tall, black-robed woman standing motionless, and pointing with spectral finger to the spot on the floor!

"Oh! dear me! Agnes, Agnes!"

I answered:

"What, my dear?"

"Have you opened the door?"

"No, love."

"Have you been up at all since you laid down?"

"No, Rachel."

"Who opened the door?"

"I do not know."

"Didn't you hear it open?"

"Yes."

"And it is open now!"

"I see it is."

"But how came it open?"

"I do not know; perhaps it was not quite locked, and the catch flew back."

"Oh, perhaps that was it," said Rachel; and, though her teeth were chattering with a nervous tremor, she got out of bed, and went to the door, to close and lock it, And, reader, the black-robed woman passed out before her, and she saw her not.

I fell back upon my pillow, nearer swooning than ever I had been in my life; for now I knew that this was no dream, but a vision—an apparition to me, and to me only.

I slept no more that night.

And in the morning when I arose, and looked into the glass, I was startled at the haggardness of my own face.

When we appeared at the breakfast-table, some of the young people remarked my paleness, and said that I had been frolicking more than was good for me. Then one of the company inquired of Rachel Noales how she had rested.

"Not very well," Rachel answered; "I was frightened by the door flying open in the middle of the night."

I noticed a quick, intelligent look pass between Mathilde and her mother, while Rachel continued:

"I thought at first that it was thieves breaking in; but I know now that it flew open because Agnes had not locked the door fast enough to hold it."

"No, I had not," said I.

The arrival of the mailbag put an end to this discussion. The letters were distributed at the table. Among them was one from my brother to Mr. Legare, accepting his invitation for himself and his friend, whom he begged to name as the Hon. Francis Howard, of Massachusetts, and announcing the letter as a mere avant courier of the party which would reach Frost Height that afternoon.

Upon hearing the name of Frank Howard as the "friend" of John and their expected guest, Mathilde flushed and paled, and was quite unable to conceal from the interested scrutiny of her parents the emotion these tidings caused her.

As for Mr. Legare, upon reading his name, he said: "Humph!" and "humph!" very emphatically several times before he could get any further. But he considered his hospitality implicated; nay, his honor pledged to receive and treat with politeness the guest that he had so unconsciously invited. He was a fine old gentleman, notwithstanding his prejudices—was Mr. Legare.

So, in the afternoon, once more Uncle Judah was ordered to take the mules and go up to Frost Height to meet the stage-coach, and bring two visitors to the house; an order so little to the old man's satisfaction that he vented his disapprobation in the exclamation:

"Ole masse better had set up 'Entertainment for Man and Beast' at once."

As usual, when expecting a new arrival of visitors, Mrs. Legare put back her tea hour, and prepared a supper of extra luxuriousness. And Mr. Legare brewed the great ancestral punchbowl to the brim with rich, frothy eggnog, and set it away to "mellow," against the coming of the gentlemen.

"My dear mother and father! they have noble hearts in spite of their social conservatism! And you shall see that they will treat my Frank with as much kindness and respect as if they did not consider him a sort of wolf, prowling about after their one ewe lamb," said Mathilde, with tears of affection brimming to her eyes.

"And you see, my darling, it is as I foretold you it would be. He is seeking you now in your own home. And under what favorable circumstances—the invited guest of your father. How very providential the whole train of events! Trust still in Divine Providence; and if your love is a true love, it will end happily," I answered.

And in my deep sympathy with Mathilde's joy, I almost forgot that I was a haunted maiden, with some, as yet unknown, supernatural mission to accomplish.

I was resolved, if possible, before the day should be over, to hear from Mathilde the tragic story of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, whose portrait I had mentally identified as that of the awful visitant of my midnight hours. The opportunity came, or rather, I made it. Mathilde had early completed her toilet for the evening. I had done likewise. And at five o'clock we found ourselves alone together in the drawing-room of the new house. The lamps were not as yet lighted. The hickory fire had ceased to blaze, and now only burned redly, showing out a strong, solid heat, in what Uncle Judah called "solemn columns," and casting over the dark chamber a sombre, ruddy twilight. We sat down by the fire together. There would be no chance for the next half hour of being interrupted.

For Mr. Legare was still engaged at his breakfast in the dining-room. Mrs. Legare was busy in her pantry and the kitchen, and the few servants of the now reduced establishment were in constant attendance upon their master or mistress.

Rachel Noales was upstairs in my chamber, dressing for the evening, and the other young persons of the Christmas party were in the bedrooms of the old house, similarly engaged.

There was not the slightest possibility of an interruption.

Mathilde commenced speaking.

"I believe you are pleased with your chamber, Agnes?"

"Charmed," I answered.

Without perceiving the double entendre hidden in my reply, she said:

"And you have always slept well, then?"

"Never better," I replied; "in that chamber," I mentally added.

In her ignorance of this silent reservation, she was pleased with my answer, and sat smiling quietly and studying, apparently, the glowing coals of fire in the chimneyplace.

I broke her reverie by saying, in a careless, off-hand way:

"Apropos de rien, you have not told me the story of that mysterious portrait yet."

"No, I haven't! But, indeed, I am not sure that the history of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan has anything to do with that portrait, since I am not sure that it is hers."

"No matter; take it for granted that it is; or at least tell the story whether or not."

"Very well; listen, then," said Mathilde, settling herself comfortably in her chair, and commencing the narrative.

"The Van Der Vaughans, as you may perceive by their name, are of Teutonic origin, though by frequent intermarriage with other races, they have no doubt lost, or modified, many of their national traits. Their residence, in this part of the country, dates back to the time of the first settlement of New York by the Dutch.

"Why this particular family should have wandered down to the backwoods and mountains of Virginia remains a mystery, unless they were of a patriotic and poetical turn, and found in her wild hills and boundless woods something to remind them of the Hartz Mountains and the Black Forest. However that may be, they came, took up a great tract of land, built themselves a dwelling place (the old house adjoining this), and settled down permanently.

"For a time they were prosperous, as others were, and then, by bad agriculture, they grew poor, as others in this neighborhood did. If we may believe tradition the poorer this family grew the prouder they became, until at last, pride and poverty united, culminated in the character and the circumstances of the last heiress of the elder branch of the family, Madeleine Van Der Vaughan.

"At the age of twenty-five Madeleine Van Der Vaughan was left, by the death of her father (her mother died long before), sole heiress of a worn-out plantation and dilapidated house.

"Madeleine is reported to have possessed great and singular beauty—a tall and imperial form, a fine head, with strongly marked and perfectly regular features, a deep, rich complexion, and hair, eyes and eyebrows all black as Erebus. Gifted and accomplished was she also, and, as I stated, proud as Lucifer. It is said that this overweening pride prevented her taking a husband from among her numerous visitors, none of whom, though of the best families in the State, she deemed worthy of her own "high alliance.""

"Until at last her relative, Ernest Wolfgang Van Der Vaughan, made his appearance in her train and claimed her hand; a claim that was indorsed by her acceptance.

"It is said that family pride had to do with this marriage much more than love. However that might be, no sooner was the knot securely tied, than Mr. Van Der Vaughan began to importune his wife to sell her land and homestead that they might emigrate to the West. But in vain; for Mrs. Van Der Vaughan would not, for an instant, entertain the idea of alienating her patrimony.

"On the contrary, she had one ambition concerning her inheritance—an ambition that reached the height of a ruling passion—and that was, to resuciate the dead soil of the plantation and to rebuild the mansion house.

"All Ernest Van Der Vaughan's property consisted in bank stock. All Madeleine's estate was in worthless land and negroes. But she offered him, as she would not have offered any other than a Van Der Vaughan, the fee simple of her plantation, if he would only devote his money to the restoring of the worn-out fields and the rebuilding of the homestead.

"Ernest did not like the plan, and he told her so. He explained to her how, at one-tenth the outlay that he should have to make for manures and for labor to resusciate this effete soil, he could go to Iowa and purchase a large farm of the richest land and build a comfortable dwelling-house and all needful offices around it.

"But it was in vain that he argued with her. She was a strong-minded, self-willed woman, with one idea—one monomania—love for 'Old Virginia,' and especially for her own portion of the soil. She absolutely rejected the plan of emigration, and told Ernest, in the most decided manner, that, go where he might, she never would desert her birthplace.

"She was the stronger of the two, and she prevailed. Ernest embarked nearly all his means in the doubtful enterprise of restoring the old, worn-out fields and rebuilding the mansion, or rather, I should say, repairing it, and building a new house beside it.

"Madeleine, on her part, kept her word. She executed a deed conveying the whole property to her husband. And after he, in a fit of generous abandonment, tore that deed and threw it in the fire, she made a second one, caused it to be recorded, and thus rendered it irrevocable, before she told him anything about it.

"She went even further than this, and aided him in every possible way in his work of restoration. To retrench expenses, so that every spare dollar should go to that enterprise, she discharged her housekeeper, reduced her establishment of servants, and took upon her own shoulders the additional burdens lately borne by those whom she had discharged from her service. She worked hard and constantly. No one knew how severely she toiled—not even her husband, until her labors seriously affected her health. Then Ernest Van Der Vaughan remonstrated. But she smiled and pointed to the growing fields and to the rising mansion.

"Yet the restoration of the lands and the elevation of the house was a work of years. Often progress was arrested by the want of funds, and then, though it cost the mistress many severe heart pangs, one after another of the old family servants were sold to raise the necessary amount, and their places in the field had to be supplied by fresh drafts upon the small household establishment, until at last the mistress was reduced to one maid-of-all-work about her person.

"I do not think your citizens, Agnes, dream of how much labor devolves upon the mistress of a large plantation in circumstances such as these. Even when assisted by an efficient housekeeper, and many well-trained servants, the duties are onerous, sometimes oppressive, Madeleine Van Der Vaughan had deprived herself of nearly all help; but most willingly she bore her self-assumed burden, only showing distress when some financial exigency compelled her to wound humanity. She gave her heart, her life, to one object of her ambition. Yes—literally, this was so; for it was observable that as the carefully tended land recovered, she lost vitality, and as the mansion arose, she sank.

"It was in glorious autumn, when the richest wheat harvest that had ever been reaped in the State was gathered into the barns of Wolfbrake, and the finest corn crop that had ever grown in the valley, stood ripe in the fields, that the house was finished.

"So much money had been spent and so many debts remained to be paid, that there was but little to expend upon furniture, and Mrs. Van Der Vaughan could not appoint her house in a style so gorgeous as would have satisfied her ambition. However, it was furnished in the manner that you now see, which, after all, is much handsomer than anything that was known to the grand old Van Der Vaughans in their grandest days of, no doubt, fabulous grandeur.

"It was about the first of November that the last of the Van Der Vaughans removed into this house.

"The plastering of the sleeping-rooms was not so well dried as had been supposed. This was soon ascertained by Mr. Van Der Vaughan, who advised and entreated his wife to delay the removal.

"But when had Madeleine Van Der Vaughan yielded to any will but her own? With the impatience and fever of a long desire, she hastened to take possession of her new residence.

"Although the weather had continued fine, with westerly or southerly winds, up to the day of removal, yet then the wind shifted to the east, blowing up masses of dark clouds and cold mists, followed by rain and even sleet.

"Alas! worn out by self-assumed, unnecessary burdens, Madeleine Van Der Vaughan was in no condition successfully to meet a change of weather and other circumstances. Moreover, she, so earnest in her ambition, so zealous for ostentation, was fatally careless in regard to her own personal comforts. There was no grate or stove in her chamber, or in any other room in the house; all depended upon open fireplaces, which, however handsome, cheerful and poetic they may look, are not always just the very best things for damp houses in severe weather.

"Mrs. Van Der Vaughan's chamber could not be properly dried and heated. The consequence was that she took a severe cold, which fell upon her lungs, and from which she, in her enfeebled state, had not power to recover. She dropped into a rapid consumption, and in six weeks from her triumphant entrée into her new house, she was borne thence to the family burial-ground, that you may see from your windows."

"Poor lady! What room did she occupy?"

"Yours."

"And—she died there?"

"Yes; she died there, a victim, I am sure, of her own impatient, feverish ambition."

"Do not judge her harshly."

"I do not. This is the reputation she has left behind her."

"Yet it may not have been her true character. Reputation is one thing, character is another," said I, falling into thought, and then reflecting that much yet must remain to be told, to give me a sure clew to the household mystery.

"Well, what else?" I inquired.

"What else, my dear? Why, nothing else. I have told you all her story to her death," said Mathilde, uneasily.

"But, after all," said I, "one of the most interesting things in the connection, is your father's purchase of this fine property."

"Ah, true! Well, after the death of his lady, Ernest Van Der Vaughan removed back into the old house, and closed up the new one. In the course of a few weeks he advertised the property for sale, but months passed, and no purchaser appeared willing to give him the price set upon the estate.

"A year went by, and Mr. Van Der Vaughan made the acquaintance of a young lady, Alice Brightwell, who was, it is said, as strong a contrast as possible to his late wife; for Alice was young, and fair and gay, loved music, dancing and company, and had not a regret, a care, or an ambition in the world.

"It must have been the attraction of antagonism that united the hearts of this dark and sombre man of thirty, and this laughing, careless girl of nineteen, for it is said that they were greatly attached to each other.

"At all events, after a brief courtship, and a briefer engagement they were married; and when Mr. Van Der Vaughan proposed to her, as he had to his first wife, that they should emigrate to the West, she, in her gay, adventurous love of novelty, eagerly assented, notwithstanding that to go with him thither, she must leave her parents, brothers and sisters.

"Once more the property came into the market, and my father, seeing the advertisement, and desiring to remove to Virginia, opened a correspondence with the proprietor, then made a visit of inspection, and finally became the purchaser of the estates.

"When the transfer was about to be made, my father, pointing to the family graveyard, inquired of Mr. Van Der Vaughan whether he did not feel an unwillingness to sell that piece of ground, and told him that he might readily make an exception of that plot, and retain it in his own right.

"But Mr. Van Der Vaughan replied that he did not really care to own a foot of ground on the estate.

"My father then told him that if he would like to retain the graveyard it should make no difference in the price of the whole already agreed upon—for my father, you see, Alice, felt a sort of hesitation in buying the place without exempting the bones of the old family from the purchase.

"But Mr. Van Der Vaughan had no scruples of the sort.

"'No,' he said, 'Mr. Legare, if I were to retain possession of the graveyard, I and my heirs after me, would own an acre of ground in the very midst of your estate, which, as it stands now, might make no difference, as I shall never return to claim it, and could make no use of it if I did; but which might embarrass you very much should you ever wish to sell the property.'

"That was good reasoning enough, I suppose, and, at all events, the sale was completed without the exception.

"We moved into the house, and Mr. Van Der Vaughan and his bride departed for Kansas."

"And he really, when he might just as easily have avoided it, sold the bones of his wife and her ancestors to a stranger!"

"Even so, my dear Agnes, and believe me, that we all felt as much shocked as you look."

"But," said I, fixing my eyes upon her face, where the flickering firelight made the shadows play, "the stranger has not been able to retain the peaceable possession of his purchase!"

"What—what mean you, Agnes!" exclaimed Mathilde, in alarm.

"I mean that the late proud lady of Wolfbrake still carries the keys, and unlocks doors at will!"

"Heavens! do you know that?"

"Ay! I know much more than that. I know the portrait that performed the humiliating office of firescreen in the next room is the likeness of the haughty Madeleine Van Der Vaughan! I know, beside——"

"What more do you know?"

"That our travelers have arrived!" I said, as the sound of footsteps and voices at the hall door fell upon my ear.

It was true. We were interrupted.

As if "borne on the wings of love," the slow old stage-coach was so much earlier that evening that our friends arrived an hour earlier than we had expected them, while Mrs. Legare was still superintending the arrangement of her supper-table, and Mr. Legare was grating nutmeg over his huge bowl of eggnog, so there was no one to welcome the visitors except Mathilde and myself.

As they entered the parlor we arose and advanced to meet them.

"Mathilde! Miss Legare! Can it be possible! This is, indeed, indeed, a joyous surprise," exclaimed Frank Howard, as he recognized his ladylove, and with an eager smile extended his hand; while my brother, without ceremony, embraced me cordially.

"I thought you knew to whom you were coming," said Mathilde, with simple candor.

"No! I scarcely dared to hope for such happiness!"

"Hey-day! Hal-loe!—do you know anybody here, Frank?" exclaimed my wild and thoughtless brother.

But before Mr. Howard had time to answer, I pinched Jack's arm, turned him around, and presented him to Miss Legare.

The refined and elegant presence of Mathilde immediately brought my rude cadet to order, and he gracefully expressed the pleasure and honor he felt in being permitted to make her acquaintance.

Miss Legare welcomed my brother with more cordiality than she had bestowed upon her lover.

And I turned to receive Frank Howard's offered hand, and responded to his expressions of satisfaction at the present opportunity of renewing our acquaintance.

When these rather commonplace ceremonies were over Miss Legare invited her guests to be seated, and we resumed our chairs. A deep blush settled upon the beautiful face of Mathilde.

But, whatever might have been the emotions of Mr. Howard, he suppressed them through that regnant self-control that ever distinguished his manners. And he was the first to perceive the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Legare, and to arise and advance to receive them.

My brother presented Mr. Howard to Mr. Legare, who received him with cordial politeness, and in his turn introduced him to Mrs. Legare, who smilingly welcomed him to Virginia.

Certainly Howard had nothing to complain of in his reception. There was not the slightest lack of respect and kindness, and not the least over-doing of ceremony, which would have been still more offensive. All was natural and genial, as if there had not once existed a strong hostility to Frank Howard, the machinist. I was charmed at the manner with which my dear host and hostess completely overcame their prejudices, or at least suppressed them, and treated Mr. Howard in all respects as an honored and welcome guest, and did this assuredly not in the spirit of hypocrisy, but of hospitality, as they understood its requirements.

Soon Rachel Noales and the other young persons of the Christmas party came in, were introduced, seated, and conversation became general and free. This afforded me the coveted opportunity of having a moment's talk aside with my brother.

"Johnny! tell me now, and tell me quickly, and truly—was there any design on you or your friend's part to get him invited here?"

"Design! bless you, no!" replied my brother, opening wide his great gray eyes.

"I thought not; for, if the truth must be told, honest Johnny was anything but a diplomat."

"Well, there was no conscious manœuvring on your part, but was there not on his?"

"Why, bless you, no! Why should there have been?" "'Why should there have been?' Oh, Johnny! Johnny! where are your perceptive faculties? You will never be wideawake enough for a soldier!"

"I don't know what you would be at."

"I suppose not. But did you observe nothing interesting in the meeting between Mr. Howard and Miss Legare?"

"Oh, oh, oh, oh! Whew ew-ew-ew! Is that it?"

"Yes."

"That's what you meant when you pinched my arm black and blue?"

"Yes."

"A sorry dog. He never hinted one word about this to me."

"He had no right to do so, nor must you speak of it."

"Eh! why?"

"Because—but I had better tell you all about it. They met about three years ago for the first time. It was at Saratoga, where he was making quite a figure. The acquaintance had ripened to friendship, and something more when 'papa' bethought himself to inquire who this very distinguished-looking gentleman might be at home among his own people, and was informed that he was—a machinist by trade! Recall to mind the passion of Desdemonia's proud patrician 'pa' on discovering that he had a black-a-moor for a son-in-law, and you may be able remotely to conceive the consternation of Mr. Legare. He hurried his family away from Saratoga, and forbid the name of Howard to be mentioned in his presence. The lovers never corresponded, and never met until this evening! You may judge how much cause for speculation there is in this meeting."

"Yes—but within these three years great changes have taken place. Mr. Howard is a distinguished man—a man of fortune, and of acknowledged talent—one of the lawgivers of the nation. And Mr. Legare and his family are reduced from wealth to a moderate competency."

"Yes, I know; but that does not change the old aristocrat's manner of regarding the affair. He contends that a gentleman born is always a gentleman, and a peasant always a peasant, notwithstanding the vicissitudes of fortune, that may enrich the one and impoverish the other."

"Or rather, he contended so—it belongs to the past tense. Look at him now—see what deference he pays to Mr. Howard's opinions."

"The mere politeness of the host. Take nothing for granted from that."

"Nay, but Frank Howard is a gentleman of whom any father might be proud as a son-in-law."

"Very likely. But Mr. Legare is not 'any' father. However, what I wish to know is, whether Frank Howard did not use you to procure the 'bid' that brought him hither?"

"No, indeed!"

"How came it, then, you artful boy, that you took just the course, and the only course, by which you could procure him an invitation?"

"I don't understand you."

"You innocent! How came it, then, that you wrote to Mr. Legare, you would be very happy to obey his summons, and spend the holidays at Wolfbrake, but that you had a friend with you whom you could not leave, and whom you took care not to mention by name?"

"Oh, because I never gave the matter a moment's thought. When I got Mr. Legare's letter, I just sat down and answered it right off, and mentioned my friend merely as my friend. If I had, as you seem to think, been fishing for an invitation for him also, I certainly should have mentioned him by name and title as the Hon. Frank Howard, of Massachusetts, etc., etc., etc."

"In which case you certainly would not have been invited to bring him here."

"Probably not, but I did not know that. What knew I of the hostility, or even of the acquaintance, between the parties? I acted only in simple honesty."

"The best way to act, my dear Johnny."

"And so blundered into helping the lovers."

"Not so. You were providentially led."

"Well, as soon as ever I received the invitation, I hastened to write and give the name of my friend to our host, as I should have done at first, if I had dreamed of his being invited to accompany me. And as for Frank Howard, he was as innocent of design as myself. He knew nothing about the matter until I showed him Mr. Legare's last letter, and pressed him to go with me. He then asked me if Mr. Legare was any relation of the Legares, of Louisiana. I said I believed he had brothers in Louisiana, but I was not certain, as I knew very little of the family. Then he told me that he had had the pleasure of meeting a Mr. Legare, of Louisiana, at Saratoga, and should feel happy in making the acquaintance of any of his family; and there the conversation stopped. Frank was evidently as much astonished as delighted at the unexpected meeting with his ladylove."

"I am glad to know it," said I.

And then, not to continue the rudeness of an aside conversation, I took my brother to Rachel Noales, and left him with her, while I joined my kind old host.

Supper was soon after announced, and we were all marshaled into the dining-room, where a sumptuous feast was spread, over which we lingered, eating and drinking, with epicurean leisure, and talking and laughing for more than an hour. I said we—but I should rather say they—for I could not eat, or talk, or laugh. At last the long-drawn meal came to an end.

The company adjourned to the drawing-room, and an hour was passed in pleasant conversation, and then, in consideration of the fatigue of the newly-arrived guests, we separated for the night.

In the hall I noticed a diminutive page, of the African race, who rejoiced in the chivalric name of Emmanuel Philibert, which was adapted to daily and popular use by the abbreviative of Phlit. Phlit was standing, and solemnly holding a light in one hand and a bootjack in the other, waiting to attend the two gentlemen to their bedroom.

But Mr. Legare took upon himself the office of groom of the chambers, and accompanied his latest guests to their apartment.

Rachel Noales and myself reached ours about the same time. We heard the voice of Mr. Legare taking leave of the gentlemen for the night; we heard him and the little waiter Phlit, go downstairs and out at the hall door, fastening it after them.

"I will take care that this is secured to-night," said Rachel, going and carefully locking our door, and then trying it to be sure that it was fast. "That will do," she said, when she had satisfied herself of its security.

Then, as we were very weary, we prepared to retire. We were soon in bed.

Rachel was soon asleep.

Not so myself. I lay perfectly still, almost breathless, waiting the developments of the night. And, reader, it was while lying thus wide awake, and gazing straight out through the window to the spot where the family tombstones gleamed white and spectral in the moonlight among the dark firs, that my ear was struck by the click of the recoiling lock, and, turning, I saw the door swing slowly open and my dark-robed midnight visitant enter. Though wide awake as at this moment, I was deprived, by excess of awe, of the power of speech or motion. Slowly the spectre advanced and stood as before, pointing to the dark-red spot hid beneath the carpet under her feet. I essayed once more to speak to her, but such terror as her presence had never before inspired froze my utterance. I listened, wondering if my companion in the other bed was conscious of this supernatural presence in the room; but the deep and regular breathing of Rachel assured me that she was sleeping soundly, the deep sleep of fatigue.

And all this while the black-robed woman stood holding my eyes with her fixed and burning gaze, and pointing to the spot on the floor. Then, letting her arm fall slowly to her side, she passed, in measured steps, from the room, and through the door that swung to, gradually, and closed behind her. Again I essayed to cry out, but the spell was still upon me, and no sound escaped my paralyzed lips. While lying thus, I heard once more the recoiling click of a lock, and the swing of a door upon its hinges; but this time it was not our own but another door—that of the opposite chamber, where my brother and his friend slept.

"Who's there?" I heard John call out, in no pleasant voice, and seeming evidently annoyed at the disturbance.

There was no answer.

"Who's there?" he repeated.

No answer.

"Who's there?"

Continued silence.

"Phlit!"

No reply.

"Phlit!"

No reply.

"Phlit!"

Dead silence.

"Jet! Is that you?"

The silence of the grave continued; until at last the calling of my brother awoke his companion in the other bed.

"What is the matter, John?" I heard him ask.

"Why, some one has unlocked our door and entered, and I can't make them speak; but shoot me if I don't find them out!" said my brother, jumping out of bed and beginning to strike a light.

"You have been dreaming."

"Have I? Look there, then!"

"Well, I see the door is open; but you probably forgot to lock it."

"I'll make sure of it now, then," said John, banging the door violently, locking it with a resonant force and proceeding to search for the supposed intruder. Of course the search was fruitless, and, with many grumbles and threats, he went back to bed.

My brother had not seen the supernatural visitant to his room, who, go where she might, appeared only to me.

While turning these things over in my mind, again I heard John's lock turn and his door swing open, and almost simultaneously his voice called out:

"What the demon does this mean? Who are you then?" as he jumped out of bed, relocked the door, struck a light and proceeded once more vainly to examine the room.

"Well, this is certainly the most inexplicable thing I ever knew in my life!" exclaimed John, with an intonation between astonishment and indignation.

"Oh! I really suppose you did not lock the door properly," replied Howard, getting up and going to ascertain the state of the case. And I heard him unlock and lock the door several times, and finally locking it fast, he said:

"There! now I will guarantee that it will stay shut!" and went back to his couch.

I do not think that more than fifteen minutes had passed before I heard, for the third time, their lock fly back and their door swing open.

"By Jupiter! This is past belief!" exclaimed Mr. Howard, while my brother, without speaking, jumped out of bed and struck a light.

They searched the room. They came out thence and searched the hall. They went up into the garret and searched the rooms over our heads. And, finding no one, they returned, wondering and conjecturing to their chamber, and for the third time that night fast locked their door.

"Take the key out, John," said Mr. Howard. And John withdrew the key and took it to bed with him.

About fifteen minutes more passed and then—"click!" flew the lock, open swung the door, and out of bed jumped John, in a state of mind between affright and rage.

"John, never mind! It is clear that the door will not remain closed; leave it open; to-morrow I will look at the lock and see what is amiss," said Mr. Howard.

And for the fourth time that night I heard my brother muttering like distant thunder, go back to his bed.

But I do not think that he slept that night, and I am sure that I did not.

In the morning I felt weary, and certain that if this mysterious visitation continued, I should go mad. As I was dressing before the toilet mirror, the reflection of my own face in the glass startled and terrified me, it looked so pale, wild and haggard, and not unlike the awful face of the midnight spectre. When Rachel and myself were dressed and ready to go down, I opened the door. And just at that moment my brother and Mr. Howard came out of their chamber and bade us "Good-morning."

"Were you at our door last night, Agnes?" John asked me.

"At your door, John? Certainly not."

"Wasn't you, though?"

"Assuredly not. What should have brought me there?"

"Well, somebody was, that's all!" said my brother, while Mr. Howard silently looked what he did not say.

We all went down together to the parlor, where a fine fire was burning, and Mathilde, in her fresh morning beauty, waited to welcome us.

And soon our host and hostess entered, and in a few moments the breakfast was announced, and we all adjourned to the table.

Breakfast was served long before the usual hour, that the gentlemen of our party might make an early start upon the fox hunt that Mr. Legare had arranged for that day.

While we were still at the table, Mrs. Legare bethought herself to hope that the gentlemen had rested well; when my brusque and thoughtless brother John said:

"No, indeed, my dear madam! We were 'fashed wi' a bogle' all night long."

"Sir?"

"He means, madam, that we could not by any means keep our door locked, and had finally to give up the attempt," explained Mr. Howard.

A deathly paleness overspread Mrs. Legare's face. I knew she regretted the question that she had been tempted to ask, and now she receded from the subject.

Mr. Legare, who had kept his eyes averted and turned a deaf ear to the disclosure, now adroitly changed the topic by speaking of the hunt.

The horses were neighing with impatience in the yard, and as soon as the gentlemen arose from the breakfast-table, they prepared themselves, mounted and rode off to their day's sport.

It proved a very successful chase, for they took the brush before twelve o'clock and returned with fine appetites to the excellent dinner set upon the table at two in the afternoon.

The evening was passed in quiet hilarity, and we separated at a comparatively early hour.

But that night, reader! It passes all my powers of description. I had always been in the habit of "saying" my prayers before retiring; but of late, since I had been habitually haunted, I had taken to praying devoutly before going to bed. I prayed with unusual earnestness this night, and then I retired to my couch. So wearied out in body was I that, despite of mental excitement, I soon fell asleep.

I do not know how long I had slept, probably several hours, for it was near day, when I was awakened by a strong light and a great noise.

I opened my eyes and collected my senses to find that both proceeded from the opposite bedroom, where Mr. Howard and John were up with a lighted candle, looking about for the mysterious and persevering intruder upon their slumbers. The light from their room streamed across the hall and through the open door into ours and fell upon the tall, dark-robed, stern-visaged haunter of my chamber, where she stood pointing her spectral finger to the spot upon the floor. A moment she stood thus, and then, as before, passed slowly from the room and through the open door, that, without hands, closed behind her.

The silvery beams of the full moon poured through the two east windows, and in its light I now saw Rachel Noales sitting up straight, stark and still in her bed.

"Rachel! Rachel!" said I, "what is the matter?"

"Heaven and earth, Agnes, we are haunted!" she gasped, rather than spoke.

"Have you seen anything, Rachel?" I asked, now hoping that she had, for I felt it terrible to be alone in my spectral experiences.

"No, no, I have not seen anything! But that door! that door! that I am sure I fastened so carefully, was unlocked without a key, and opened without hands! I heard and saw it, for I was laying awake!"

"Let us hope that you were mistaken, Rachel."

"No, no, impossible! Oh, I would not sleep another night in this house for the wealth of the Indies!"

While we were talking, the fruitless search proceeded in, the opposite room, until at length it was given up and the friends retired.

Rachel left her bed and came into mine, where she lay and trembled.

Scarcely fifteen minutes of peace and silence passed ere the lock of both doors flew back, and the doors swung open.

Rachel began screaming; the occupants of the opposite chamber started up, exclaiming in every variety of interjection. I arose and donned my double wrapper, and put my feet in slippers, to go and procure restoratives, for Rachel had fallen into spasms.

"For Heaven's sake, what is the matter, Agnes?" inquired my brother, who had put on his dressing-gown and come to the door.

"Oh, the Lord only knows!"

I had seized a bottle of cologne from the dressing-table and began to deluge the face and hands of Rachel, while my brother went and brought his candle and put it inside of our door.

"Do go and wake up Mrs. Legare, John; I can do nothing for Rachel; I never saw anybody in hysterics before, if this is hysterics!" said I, feeling both frightened at the condition and angry at the weakness of my patient.

But, even while I spoke, Mr. Howard, who during this time had been hastily dressing himself, went downstairs to the old house in search of assistance.

The family were speedily aroused. Mr. and Mrs. Legare hurried into the new house. The lady herself entered the chamber where Rachel, as often as her eyes opened in the haunted chamber, fell into new spasms.

"She will not recover until she is removed from this, Mrs. Legare," I said.

"Perhaps not; assist me to put her wrapper on, and we will take her down, and lay her on the parlor sofa," my hostess replied.

And after we had dressed our patient, we carried her down stairs, where the fire was still smoldering, and only needed replenishment.

When the wood was brought and thrown on, and the fire blazed up brightly, lighting and warming the whole room, and the shutters were unclosed, and the rising sun smiled in upon us all, I felt that the gladsome scene was enough to put to flight all the ghosts in Hades, and all the superstitious terrors that ignorance is heir to. I almost began to doubt that I was haunted; and would have done so, but for the sombre and disturbed countenance of my host, who, as soon as Rachel Noales was soothed and put to sleep on the sofa, turned to us and inquired:

"Now, my friends, will you be so good as to explain the cause of your disturbance?"

"A mere trifle, sir," said my brother, brusquely; "the house is haunted."

"You, of course, do not speak seriously; you cannot credit such absurdities."

"My dear, sir, I never believed in ghosts until within the last two nights; but now, with such evidence before me, I should be the most unbelieving of infidels to refuse credence," said my brother, with a mixture of gravity and banter in his tone, that made it impossible to think him in earnest.

"Will you be so kind, Mr. Howard, as to enlighten us?" inquired Mr. Legare, turning toward that gentleman.

"Since you desire me to do so, my dear sir. Well, then, for the two nights we have passed beneath your very hospitable and delightful roof, our rest has been somewhat disturbed——"

"Somewhat disturbed! It has been altogether broken up!" interrupted my brother.

"Be silent, John," I whispered, pinching him.

Mr. Howard went on:

"By an inexplicable circumstance, namely, the flying open of the doors, after we had carefully and securely locked them."

"We haven't slept a wink since we have been in the house. We have spent the nights in jumping up out of bed to lock the doors, and only to have them unlocked and fly open in our faces," said John.

"I thank you, gentlemen, for the information you have given me. Agnes, my dear, have you been disturbed?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

"In the same manner, sir, by the unaccountable flying open of the door after I had locked it," said I, suppressing the fact, or fancy, of the mysterious midnight visitant.

"My dear, you have never complained of this before."

"No, sir."

"Why?"

"Because it was more an affair of interest than of complaint. I wished first to investigate alone."

"And have you done so?"

"As far as was possible."

"With what result, my dear Agnes?"

"With no satisfactory one, sir."

"Friends," said the old gentleman, turning toward the assembled guests, "it is vain to deny that a mystery does exist, and for the whole term of my residence here, if not before, has existed in this house, that has, heretofore, defied all investigation. Many of you have heard of the circumstances under which the transfer of property was made. You have heard that Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, the last inheritrix of this estate, was a high-spirited, haughty, self-willed woman, with one idea—the regeneration of her patrimonial estate; that everything—money, health, peace, conscience, life itself, was sacrificed to her monomania; that at last she died a victim to her own ruling passion; that her husband married again, sold the estate, even unto the very graveyard where her body lay, and left the neighborhood; that I became the purchaser; and, finally, that since I have lived in the house not one chamber door has been secure from a seemingly supernatural opening.

"The superstitious among my servants, and poor, ignorant neighbors, ascribe all these mysteries to the presence of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan's restless ghost, still haunting the scene of her toils, ambitions and disappointments. Modern spiritualists would, without doubt, ascribe it to the agency of spirits. I believe in none of these absurdities. But the annoying mystery remains unexplained, and I would give 'the half of my kingdom' to him who should elucidate it."

The old gentleman, at the conclusion of his speech, looked around for an answer among his audience.

"Do you not think that there may be a defect in the locks, sir?" inquired Mr. Howard.

"Oh, 'I cry you, mercy,' sir! Such a possibility did not in the very first instance escape us. The locks have been taken off and examined, and no perceptible defect could be discovered. The half—'the half of my kingdom' to the knight who shall rid me of this mysterious key-bearer."

I saw, by the twinkle of Mr. Howard's eyes, that he possessed a clew to the mystery. I saw him exchange glances with Mathilde, who had just joined us, looking blooming as Hebe in her fresh morning toilet.

Now, I was always a bashful girl—I mean moderately so; therefore, I never could account for the spirit that entered and moved me to say and do what I soon said and did. I happened to be standing beside Mr. Legare, and his hand rested caressingly upon my head, when he repeated:

"'The half of my kingdom' to the knight that shall deliver my castle from this dragon."

I answered:

"Oh, your majesty! Never offer the half of your kingdom! None but a mercenary wretch would undertake the enterprise for such a bribe! Offer the hand of your princess, and a thousand lances shall be laid in rest for such a prize!"

I do not know whether he discovered the serious meaning under my lightly-spoken words, for he fell into the humor of the jest, patted me on the head, and said:

"Agreed! the hand of my princess to the brave knight who shall deliver me from this plague!"

"I accept the challenge!" said Mr. Howard, "and promise that in twenty-four hours the mysterious carrier of the keys shall be vanquished!"

"It is a treaty! It is a treaty!" exclaimed one after another of the young men and maidens who were present.

Mr. Legare looked around in some confusion at being taken up so seriously, and then laughing, said:

"Very well—agreed! I ratify the compact, Mr. Howard; though I don't believe your part of it can be fulfilled. And now to breakfast!"

We adjourned to the old house—all who were in the secret wondering in what manner Mr. Howard would undertake to exorcise the key-demon; but all discussion was waived for the present, while we dispatched the necessary business of the table.

After breakfast, Frank Howard asked for a horse and rode up to Frost Height.

He was absent two hours, at the end of which time he returned, bringing with him a set of locksmith's tools, and flat piece of board, such as show-locks are sometimes screwed upon for a sign.

When he had brought these things into the new house he challenged Mr. Legare and all who wished to see the mystery evolved, to accompany him to the chambers above.

Of course, everybody accepted the invitation.

We all went first into the gentlemen's room, and stood around in a semi-circle, with our faces toward the door, and our eyes fixed upon the lock and Frank Howard. First he turned the key, and begged that we would observe that all was fast, and watch the result. Then he came away, and we waited with our eyes fixed upon the lock.

In a little less than fifteen minutes we both heard and saw the catch fly back, and the door swing open!

I cannot tell you with what a superstitious thrill we all shuddered, though this was in broad daylight, and in the mutually supporting presence of a dozen persons, and, though there was a machinist on the spot, professing himself ready to demonstrate that this was a purely mechanical phenomenon!

"There! ladies and gentlemen, you all see the action!"

"We all see!"

"No hand near the lock!"

"None!"

"There could have been no deception."

"Assuredly not," we all declared.

"Oh, certainly not—I have seen the thing twenty times," said Mr. Legare.

"And I indorse your declarations, sir; you were right. There was no deception—there is none! It is a purely mechanical phenomenon! But, listen! Spiritual powers reside in mechanical forces. Every year we live elucidates this mystery, though none but the deepest thinkers see this truth in all its importance. Look you! a savage thinks that there is a diabolism in the self-action of a watch—in the reflection of a looking-glass. We think both mysteries to be simple mechanical combinations! Pray look at the lock before us. I observe that it is Harmon's patent. Poor Harmon, a demented machinist, scarcely knew what he would be at, and so undertook to make an invaluable improvement in the common door-lock. This is one of his; its intricate machinery has got out of order, and hence 'the fantastic tricks before high heaven' that these rooms have witnessed! I am about to take off the lock, to prove what I have stated, as well as to remedy the evil."

"Oh, sir, that has been tried—I have seen it done—hope nothing from that!" exclaimed Mr. Legare.

"Patience, my dear sir!" said Frank Howard, taking up the tools with so much of the air of a man accustomed to the handling of them that old Mr. Legare winced and fidgeted.

But Frank speedily took off the lock, and brought it to us for inspection.

"Here! you notice that nothing seems amiss," he said.

"Nothing in the world—I told you that before," replied Mr. Legare.

"Furthermore, if now I were to turn the key, it would remain turned."

"Certainly, while the lock is off the door, it looks exactly right, and behaves exactly right; but just put it on the door and lock it, and in from ten to thirty minutes, more or less, it will fly open."

"Exactly; that is what I am about to explain," said Frank Howard, taking up a flat, smooth piece of board, and laying it upon the table; and then he took the lock, laid it on the board, screwed it tightly, turned the key and said:

"It is not the circumstance of this lock being attached to the door that has caused it to act in this manner; for I will prove to you that if the same lock be screwed tightly to any other resisting object—as, for instance, this board—it will act in the same irregular manner. Watch it now, and you will see."

We did so, and in a few minutes we saw the catch fly back, as before.

"I will tell you the reason," said Mr. Howard, unscrewing the lock from the board and inviting us to look on.

"Now, though there seems to be no defect whatever in this lock, yet in truth the whole inside machinery has started slightly outward. This does not affect its right action while detached; but when attached, the continued pressure of the board to which it is fastened, gradually acts upon the spring, and causes the catch in a given time to fly back, and unlock, and the force with which this occurs opens the door. I can well imagine that such unexplained movements, occurring in the middle of the night, should have rather a supernatural effect. But the evil can be remedied in a few minutes."

And then, while we were all dumb with astonishment, Frank Howard took up his tools, went to work, and in about twenty minutes fixed the inside of the lock, and replaced it on the door.

"Now," said he, "if ever this door comes open again without hands, I will consent to forfeit the fair reward of my triumph. And now, friends, I will go to work and mend the other."

And, inviting us to precede him, he passed out, locked the door, gave the key to Mr. Legare, and begged him to take notice that the door would remain fast until he (Mr. Legare) might choose to open it, or to give up the key.

We reached the other chamber door, where twenty minutes' work served to rectify the error. Then, locking that, as he had done the other, he called me to witness that it should remain fast until I should use, or give up the key that he placed in my charge.

We then went downstairs, Mr. Legare having one key safe in his pocket—I having the other secure in mine.

It was the last day of the old year, and company were expected in the evening—not to dance, but to watch it out.

Mrs. Legare went to attend to her extra housekeeping duties, and the young ladies retired to their chambers to arrange their dresses for the next day.

Mr. Legare, Frank Howard, my brother John, and the other gentlemen, took their guns and game-bags, called their dogs, and started off "birding."

I went into the parlor where Rachel Noales still lay upon the sofa, in the state of exhaustion that had succeeded her fright in the morning, and told her that the mystery of the locks was discovered, and explained, as far as I could, the process of demonstration. And Rachel rallied from that hour.

I had reassured her, but who should reassure me? I was still very deeply disturbed. True, the mystery of the opening doors was satisfactorily explained. True, that my midnight visitor might have been an optical illusion, produced by the mysterious surroundings acting upon my highly-susceptible temperament. And true, also, that the resemblance between my visionary woman and the portrait of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, might have been a mere fancy. But the spot of blood on the floor. Who should explain that?

From time to time, during that day, I slipped upstairs to examine the state of the doors; they remained fast.

The gentlemen dined out, but joined us at an early tea. Nothing was said of the event of the morning, until, as we arose from the table, little Phlit sidled up to his master, and asked for the keys so that he might make fires in the bedrooms, "for de ladies an' gemlen to dress for ebenin.'"

"The deuce! You tell me that the doors remain fast?" demanded Mr. Legare, turning around upon us all.

I assured him that they did. He was too polite to doubt my statement; but he wished to see for himself.

We followed him, and found him in a state of admiration before Mr. Howard's door. When he had gazed some time at that, and tried it in various ways, he turned about and went to mine, which he proved in the same manner. And having found that both remained fast locked, without mistake, he extended his hand to Frank, and said:

"Candidly, Mr. Howard, I did not believe in your success until this moment. You have fairly vanquished the ghosts!"

Frank Howard took the offered hand, and bowed gravely and silently, as he again resigned it. The doors were then opened, and Phlit admitted to do his duties. And we separated to prepare for the evening watch-party.

It was eight o'clock when our friends from the neighborhood came in; and after partaking of a bowl of eggnog in the dining-room, we adjourned to the parlor, where we passed four hours in very pleasant social intercourse, conversing, singing and reading. And as the clock neared the stroke of twelve, Mr. Howard took a volume of Tennyson, and in an affecting manner read his tender and beautiful "Requiem of the Dying Year." All were moved, and as the reader finished, the tears were running down the cheeks of Mathilde, who said:

"Oh! I do not know how any one, even the most thoughtless, can bear to 'dance out the old year!' I could no more do it than I could dance beside the deathbed of a dear old friend! But I must not greet the infant New Year with tears," she exclaimed, and dashing aside the sparkling drops that spangled the roses of her cheeks, and turning to her parents, she said:

"Dearest father! Dearest mother! Let me be the first to wish you a Happy New Year, and many, ever happier returns of it!"

"You make our anniversaries happy, best child; now tell us truly what shall be our New Year's gift to you?" said Mr. Legare, while Mrs. Legare silently embraced her daughter.

Blushing deeply, Mathilde whispered one word to her father, who repressed a rising sigh, and asked:

"Is this so? Must this be so, my dearest child?"

"Yes, my father."

"Then am I doubly bound to do what I am about to do, Mr. Howard!"

Frank Howard stepped eagerly forward.

"Mr. Howard! I always settle outstanding debts at the first of the year," said Mr. Legare, taking the hand of Mathilde and placing it in that of Frank Howard, who gently pressed it, as he answered:

"Sir, I believe that for years, I have possessed the priceless heart of this dear maiden, but her fair hand, I would prefer to owe to her father's approval and good-will, rather than to a mere accident."

"Sir, there are no such things as accidents! I am sixty years old who say it! And as for the rest, sir, 'her father's approval and good-will' always follows his esteem and respect, and now goes with his consent! God bless you! Be true to Mathilde!"

"May Heaven deal with me as I with her!" said Frank Howard, earnestly.

While this important little family aside was going on the other guests were wishing each other a "Happy New Year," and chatting and laughing too merrily and noisily to hear what was there passing.

And now they asked for their cloaks and hoods, which Rachel Noales and I flew to bring; and in less than half an hour all the evening visitors had departed, and the returning sound of their sleighbells died away in the distance.

We that were left separated and retired. When we reached our chamber Rachel and I locked the door and went to bed.

We were sufficiently wearied out to go fast asleep, and sleep until late in the morning, when the loud knocking of little Jet at our chamber door aroused us. I jumped up and went and opened it.

"De doors do stay shet fas' 'nuff now!" exclaimed my little maid, with a broad grin, as she entered.

"Yes, Jet; thanks to Mr. Howard."

"Ain't him a smart gemlan, dough? Wunner if him's a wizard?"

"I really do not know, Jet. You must ask your Miss Mathilde."

"Law! Do she know?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Den I ax her, sure."

And so my little maid proceeded to light the fire.

This was a New Year's day, and a large company was expected to dinner. And it was upon this occasion that the engagement of the Hon. Frank Howard, of Massachusetts, and Miss Mathilde Legare, was announced.

But little is left to be told. For the remainder of my stay I rested in undisturbed peace, suffering no recurrence of opening doors and midnight visitors. I was almost sorry that my ghostly mysteries had found so commonplace a solution—a mechanical defect taking the place of the phantom key, and an optical illusion explaining my midnight vision!—all was accounted for except the spot of blood upon the floor! Upon the morning of my departure, I called Mathilde into the room, and striking an attitude like that of the woman of my vision, I silently pointed to the hidden spot, and gazed at Mathilde, to discover consciousness in her countenance.

But Mathilde first looked back in innocent surprise, and then recollecting herself, said:

"Oh! you allude to a stain there; yes, it is a pity! The men who were painting red lines on the doors over-turned the paint-pot and made a deep, ugly, crimson stain; and, like the spot of blood on Bluebeard's key, 'the more we scrub it the brighter it grows!' The next time a carpenter happens to be at work here, mamma intends to have it planed out."

So much for my last hold upon the supernatural! Let me repeat—the phantom key, a mere mechanical defect; the spot of blood, a mere stain of paint; and the midnight spectre, an optical illusion!

But the reader may ask, how I account for the resemblance between the woman of my vision and the portrait of the ill-fated Madeleine Van Der Vaughan? I answer, that at this distance of time, I regard it as the effect of imagination only, as was the whole vision!

It was about two months after the conclusion of my Christmas visit that I was summoned to Wolfbrake to act as bridesmaid for Mathilde, for it was immediately after the rising of Congress upon the fourth of March, that Mr. Howard went up to claim the hand of his betrothed. They were married upon the seventh. It was a wedding in the fine, old-fashioned country style, with a ball and supper the same evening, and dinner parties and dancing parties, given successively by the neighbors, in honor of the bride, almost every day and night for the next two weeks.

They have now been married several years, and have several children—boys and girls. Frank Howard now holds a "high official" position in the present administration. And old Mr. Legare is justly proud of his gifted son-in-law. As Mathilde is too much of a Creole to bear the rigor of a New England climate they divide the year, spending the summer in Massachusetts and the winter in Virginia "with the old folks at home."

And year after year I have visited them there, and slept in the haunted chamber, but never, since the locks were mended, have I been troubled by an opening door, or a midnight ghost!

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THE PRESENTIMENT.

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CHAPTER I.