Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume I

by M. Y. Halidom

He might be angry at being recalled, and possibly carry me off, soul and all. I turned and tossed about restlessly in my bed, and kicked the bed-clothes on to the floor. The cold grey dawn broke in at my window. I thought I would get up, so, giving one desperate spring, I found myself upon my feet. My tongue was parched, and a cold sweat matted my hair. I felt a prodigious thirst, and emptied a whole water-bottle; then I proceeded to dress, but I soon found that to shave was an utter impossibility. My hand shook as with the palsy, so I abandoned the attempt. Unshaven, unkempt, and negligently dressed, with haggard look and listless steps, I sauntered about the lonely corridors of the mansion like a restless spirit, until I heard the footsteps of Mrs. Wharton about the house. I started at the slightest noise. I was soon accosted by that worthy, who, of course, wanted to know how I had slept.

"I passed an indifferent night," I replied. "I foolishly took some opium to make me sleep, and it has given me the headache. By the by,"—I said, to change the conversation, so as to avoid being questioned, for I saw the old lady was scanning my countenance—"by the by, where did you say the Baron was staying? If not too far off, I should like to call upon him; a walk might do me good."

"About five miles off, sir, in the next village, at the sign of 'The Swan,'" said the housekeeper; "as straight as ever you can go, sir, you can't miss it."

"Thank you," said I.

"Poor, poor, gentleman," I heard the housekeeper mutter to herself, as I started off, "I knew he would suffer."

I set off at a brisk pace; the sun had just risen, a silver mist was rising, and a gentle breeze somewhat alleviated the fever of my burning brow, but my legs felt weak. I tottered on for half-a-mile further; here I found a mile-stone and sat down to rest upon it. My reflections were gloomy. My recollections of the previous night were painfully vivid. My dream, my vision, my spiritual visitation, or whatever you like to call it, did not vanish upon waking, like an ordinary dream, but remained deeply rooted in my brain with fearful accuracy of detail. I recollected word for word all the monster had uttered; recalled his tone of voice, his remarkable shape—that curious and hideous blending of the characteristics of the flea with the human form, the revolting, fiendish ugliness of the tout ensemble, but above all, of that basilisk eye. My blood ran cold as I thought of it.

"Have I then lived to hold converse with a being of the lower world?" I muttered, to myself. "Am I awake, or is this but a continuation of the dream?" I gave my arm a pinch, a hard twisted pinch, with all my might and main, to ascertain if I were sleeping or waking, but the scene before me remained the same, and my recollections of the past night were as vivid as ever. I took off my hat to wipe my brow and let the cool breeze play with my locks and about my heated temples. I gazed at the smiling scene around me. What a contrast to the hell I bore within.

"O glorious orb!" I ejaculated, "author and vivifier of all nature, through every grade of creation, illumine the haunted chambers of my dark soul with thy golden beams; bring balm to my jaded spirit and renew the bright hope of my earlier years. Give me strength to bear my tottering limbs to the end of my pilgrimage; or, if that be not granted me, take all there is left—take my life, great orb of day! Type of my own once aspiring youth, quicken my flagging energies and breathe into me new life, new hope, new strength."

Whilst thus apostrophising the rising sun, I experienced something like the fire of my boyish days returning to my frame. I actually felt an appetite. I rose from my seat considerably refreshed, and continued my journey. I walked on with buoyant step; I had all but forgotten the adventure of the past night. If it rose up before me again at intervals, I speedily chased it from my mind.

At length I espied the village in the distance. Another half-mile led me up to the door of "The Swan Inn." It was then about seven o'clock. A raw country youth, evidently the boots, was beating a mat outside the door.