The Ghost, Cassandra
By J. Madison Sheppard
The servants—overhearing the eager, excited footman’s message to the young mistress—had gathered hurriedly upon the rear porch to inspect the new arrival; cook, kitchen-maid, butler, flanked on one side by the parlor-maids, and on the other by a small errand boy, who peeped in open-mouthed wonder from beneath the elbow of the waiting footman.
The new arrival was a beautiful white mare. She had quickly thrown her head upward, and now stood at gaze—regarding them. Alert, ardent, with a slight distinguishable tremor of expectancy, but no trace of fear in either posture or regard—merely bright inquiry.
“She was the incarnation of the Arab of romance;” lithe, delicately tapering limbs, satin skin shimmering in the sunlight, pink nostrils flaring wide from her quick breath, eyes glowing with intelligence, and, withal, a thing of beauty, standing, as it were, transfixed in passionate silence.
When the mistress of the house at last came down the great wide stairway, the group fell back forming a semi-circle, leaving her face to face with the bright object of interest.
“So that is the horse,” she said, in faint astonishment, which, however, grew gradually into an expression of pure admiration and wonder; for the beauty she beheld was little short of marvelous.
She turned suddenly to the servants with a perplexed gesture. “Is the brougham at the door?” she asked. The footman signified that it was. “Tell Thomas to come here.” The coachman a moment later had fixed his eyes upon the newcomer that had attracted the group. At length, his decorous gravity gave way to a smile of distinct pleasure, expressive of the praise that seemed to tremble upon his lips; but, he remained silent, a martyr to his training, his very features admirably correct.
“Is that a well-bred horse, Thomas?” demanded the young mistress.
“It certainly is, ma’am, if looks count for anything,” replied Thomas.
“Very well bred?”
“I’m sure ma’am, the creature must be perfectly so; I’ve never seen anything so fine ma’am, ’pon my word,” he continued, the swelled veins of his forehead betraying his stifled enthusiasm.
“Do you mean by that, Thomas, you have never seen that horse before?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Say what you wish to say, Thomas,” prompted the young mistress, with a hasty glance at his face.
“Thanky, ma’am. Well, you know, ma’am, that your lawyer, sometime last fall, had the poor master’s trainer sell off some of the horses from his stable. I’m sure, ma’am, that this is the one the trainer complained so much of selling, but Mr. Grannan had offered a big price, and the lawyer made him sell her.”
She had already stepped forward to caress the eager, gazing animal, timidly, for she could not resist the earnest, entreating look it bestowed, but, when Thomas spoke the word “master,” she drew back sharply and stood motionless.
“Never fear, ma’am,” said the coachman, “she won’t harm, ma’am.”
“So, it’s Mr. Grannan’s horse,” she repeated coldly; and then, hastily turning, she passed through the house to the front door, which the boy, anticipating her intention, with much dignity now held open. A moment later she had descended the steps, and was in her brougham with Thomas upon the box, and the austere footman gazing expectant at the window.
“To my lawyer’s office,” she said, calmly.