“Who is there?” cried Dewis, with a voice choking with fear.
No answer. A cold perspiration covered his body, his teeth chattered, his eyes were distended, as he tried to pierce the darkness. Suddenly it seemed to him that his door opened. He had no strength to cry out, but waited more dead than alive. An icy wind penetrated the room, agitated the curtains and swept across the face of Dewis. Sighs and sobs commenced. What was it? Had it a form, a body? Was it a human being? Dewis knew not, although he heard only too well the groans and sobs and believed he distinguished steps, but he saw nothing, heard not a word, not a syllable. Nevertheless the strange intruder, the spirit or ghost, continued to moan. It advanced towards the bed, approached so near that the sobs sounded almost in the ear of the terrified basket maker. Then slowly it departed. Dewis heard it go out by another door beside his bed and enter an adjoining room, where it continued to lament.
“Now what was this? An apparition, a specter, or simply the effect of an hallucination?” he asked himself. Again he heard the same noises as before. This time they resounded above him in the attic, then ceased, and at last the house became silent. It will be superfluous to say that after the departure of his frightful guest, he was in a pitiable state. He did not dare to rise, and he could not sleep. The rising sun found him terrified and overcome. As to his wife, she had immediately after the first noise gone to sleep again. When her husband related to her what he had heard she appeared incredulous, and did all in her power to soothe and quiet him. She succeeded in partly convincing him that what he believed to have heard was the result of tired and excited nerves.
But when the following night at the same hour the groans recommenced, he had the presence of mind to awaken her. They both listened attentively. Like the preceding night, the same sighs and sobs were heard, first softly, then they seemed to enter the chamber, going out at the second door and finishing in the attic. This time there was no doubting that the apparition was real. What was to be done? The basket maker was a member of the society instituted at the cathedral to perform rites for the repose of souls, which gave him the privilege of joining in the processions, covered with a mantle of black silk. He had ever been animated with the laudable desire of delivering souls from purgatory, and did not for a single instant doubt that this was some poor soul in trouble, who had come to recommend himself to his powerful intervention.
But whose soul was this, and what body had it animated in this world? The soul of Lyntje? That could not be. They prayed every day for her, and had resolved to use no more milk, for the repose of the soul of this very regretted friend.
We have said before that they attended regularly every morning the first mass in the cathedral. In consequence of these reflections, they resolved hereafter to hear two masses a day, the second for the soul in trouble which had chosen their dwelling to manifest its desire to be delivered from purgatory. They had a firm belief in the efficacy of prayer, but unfortunately the masses failed to have any good result. The apparition returned every night, the sighs and groans increased in violence. At first, they were not discouraged, but soon lost confidence in their prayers, and with that, courage. They slept no more and during the days conversed only of the incredible events of the nights, and to complete their sorrow, they dared not speak of it to any one for fear of being called superstitious or visionary. It was not astonishing, then, that the neighbours noticed a great change in the habits of Dewis. Both he and Gertrude became more melancholy and grew thin and pale. Their shop remained shut for days in succession. At last they concluded they could no longer endure this state of things, and accordingly Dewis told his wife that he was going to the archbishop to tell him of the affair, notwithstanding the gossip such a step would give rise to. Far from opposing, she applauded his design. And this is the reason why the basket maker had dared dress himself up in his best suit to make this visit, so well calculated to astonish his neighbours.
Admitted to the presence of this worthy ecclesiastic, he informed him fully of the grave motives which had forced him to take this step. He spoke to him of the remedies employed—the sprinkling of holy water, prayers repeated with fervour, and long masses. He did not hide from him that all this had been of no avail, which had occasioned in himself and wife a certain lack of confidence in their pious practices. In conclusion, he explained the nature of their relations with the deceased milk girl.
The high dignitary listened with patience to the explanations and griefs of the basket maker, and when he had finished made him a little sermon upon his lack of faith in prayers and masses. He promised to come to his house that evening, to see or at least to hear the specter, to exorcise it, and to deliver the house from the obnoxious visitor. His words filled the basket maker with great joy, and if he had not been forbidden, he would have cried aloud in the street that the archbishop was to honour him with a visit that evening. Thus on returning before his neighbours his looks evinced so much joy and pride that Schuermans and his wife, also Dorekens, were perhaps more puzzled than they were an hour before at his profound sorrow.
The archbishop came in the evening to the dwelling of Dewis, and remained very late at night. What did he? What saw he? What was his opinion of the specter, and in what category of phantoms did he place it? Did his prayers dissipate it? These are questions which it is impossible for us to answer, as no one ever knew what transpired. But tradition says that from that night the house of the basket maker was no more troubled, and everything resumed its customary appearance. They contented themselves with their morning mass, as formerly, and held their usual conversations with their neighbours at the door.