“Agatha had withdrawn from the hall with her damsels, and I hastened to follow her; she had retired to an apartment adjoining her bridal chamber, and thither, wearied of the noise and mirth of the rioters below, I also hastened. I longed for a delight I had not lately experienced, an unreserved conversation with my wife, and to be allowed to dismiss the coldness which, during the day, I had been obliged to feign towards her. The damsels retired, and we were left to pour out our hearts to each other in the unbounded confidence of our new relation, when we were startled by hearing a slow and heavy foot steadily ascending the stairs; as these were private, leading only to our apartments, Agatha was surprised and offended. ‘Who would intrude at this hour?’ she demanded, while her eyes turned anxiously towards the door. For me, a thrill of horror shot through my inmost heart; I said, relinquishing the hand I had till then so fondly clasped in mine, ‘That is the step of my brother!’
“And it was so, Courtenay: a moment more and the door slowly opened of itself to give entrance to its master; John de la Pole entered the room and stood between Agatha and me; his face was as in his dying hour, ghastly and menacing, and every gash of the murderous knife upon his body as frightfully distinct as on the night they were inflicted. In one hand he held a lock of dark hair; the other was extended threateningly towards me; and thus he stood between us, drawn from another world by the crime I meditated against his bed, and an everlasting barrier before me.
“My first emotion was astonishment—a boundless and stupefied surprise—then a vague and horrid notion that my brother was not really dead, that he had escaped alive from my hands, and was now come to accuse and surrender me up to scorn. The interval which had passed since his death was obliterated from my mind, and I felt as if that night had been the season of the deed. I spoke in extenuation of my crime, accused his selfishness, cursed his calculating cruelty; I implored his mercy, folded my hands in supplication, and knelt before him in humble debasement. No muscle of his countenance moved, and not a sound escaped through his bruised and blackened lips; he did not even look upon me, but continued to fasten his stony eyes upon the face of Agatha, who stood silent and motionless as himself, gazing like a fascinated thing upon this aspect of horror. I arose from my knees—shut my eyes—tossed my arms abroad to the air—endeavoured to think I was in sleep, in drunkenness, in delirium: no, he was still there!—I thought of the agony of tempestuous feeling I had endured on the night following the commission of the crime, and, believing that my jaded mind was suffering under the same infliction, resolved to seek my couch, to restore my exhausted spirits by rest and sleep. I made an effort to move from my place; I knew that motion might recall my scattered senses; and I exerted myself to enter the chamber of Agatha. Wilt thou believe me, Courtenay? the stern shadow anticipated my movement, and, menacing me back, strode silently towards my bridal chamber. At the door its menacing attitude towards me was changed for one of command to Agatha; one bloody finger was raised to beckon her to follow: she did so. Still stupidly insensible, gazing fixedly upon his form, she followed the direction of his hand, and passed after him into the chamber: the door closed upon them without a sound.
“Now I began to think more calmly: the dead, cold thing was gone, and there was life and air in the apartment; the feelings of this world came upon me, and I became sensible of fear. I was safe; but where was Agatha?—he had beckoned her forth—was it reality?—she was gone—had it been the work of imagination, she had still been there—but she might have retired to her chamber alone. This was to be ascertained. I attempted to enter—the door was fast; I called upon Agatha—there was no sound in reply; I reviewed the last scene, considered the incidents of the past, weighed the appearances of the present, and came at length to the terrible conclusion that a spirit of the damned had stood before me, and that Agatha was still in his grasp! You will not wonder that temporary insanity followed this hideous idea: I grew wild at the thoughts of her danger; I shrieked aloud for mercy; I tore my hair in agony, and beat at the closed door with the utmost exertion of strength. I wonder even now that none heard the uproar I made; but my cries remained unanswered—no sound issued from the bridal chamber of the dead, and I continued to rave until nature, exhausted, sunk speechless and senseless to the earth.
“Morning had broken over the apartment when I awoke, and I was some moments in recovering recollection of my state and circumstances; slowly the truth came before me. I was lying extended on the bare ground, the lights had burned out, and there was no trace of visitors having been near me in my sleep. I arose and listened for some sound that might direct my first movements, for now I knew not what to think nor to do. A low sobbing from the chamber of Agatha rivetted my attention; I sprung towards the door, and, to my astonishment, it yielded to the slightest touch: I entered; Agatha was there, seated upon the bed, and gazing around her with a look of agonising affright; she saw me on the instant, and rushed into my arms. ‘Thou art here! thou art safe!’ she cried in delirious transport; ‘and for this I am at least grateful; I deemed he had destroyed thee. But thou didst leave me, Eustace. O quit me not, I beseech thee! save me from him, Eustace, for thou alone canst!’ I endeavoured to soothe her anguish, and, after some time, succeeded in restoring her to tranquillity and composure enough to be made acquainted with the real state of our circumstances; and I implored her to inform me whither the ghastly phantom had led her, on their retiring from the chamber. She shuddered at the question, and a wild and strange expression passed over her countenance ere she spoke. ‘I will tell thee,’ she said; ‘yet it is but little that I have to say. To this room we came, and our footsteps wandered no further. Without a word he gave his commands to me, and without a word I obeyed him. I ascended my bridal bed, he had willed it so, and he continued to gaze upon me till my head sunk upon the pillow; then the ghastly thing sat down by my side, and though I closed mine eyes hard that I might not behold him, yet I felt that the shadow of his unearthly face was upon me. Once I looked up in the hope that he was gone; beholding him I shrunk, and would have called upon thee, but the stony eye of the spectre grew larger, and a fiendish pang passed over the immoveable face; then I hid mine in my mantle that I might look upon him no more: insensibility succeeded, and I slept; in the morning I awoke, and he was gone!’
“This was the tale of Agatha! thou wilt doubt its truth, nor can I wonder at thy most natural incredulity: yet I would now give my few short hours of life, precious as they may be, that thou hadst been present and seen her tell this story; I can give thee her words, her form of expression, but what language of mine can portray her looks as she spoke, or describe the harrowing tones of her voice as she cried to me for protection? I doubted not; for these powerful witnesses would have carried conviction to my mind, had I not already beheld the shadowy thing she spoke of.
“What could I offer in consolation? We wept bitter tears together, and mingled our tender grief. If we indulged a momentary hope that it was but an illusion of the brain, and would return no more, we were quickly undeceived at the approach of night. Again came the ghastly shadow, and again was the spirit of Agatha chained by the sleep of death in his presence. Nor were his visitations confined to the dark and silent hour of night; when we met in the morning, to lament our fate and weep from our stuffed bosoms the weight that pressed upon our hearts, then, with a hideous familiarity, he would stand between us, mocking, with his menacing grin and uplifted finger, the agony his presence created.
“Another night came; we sat alone, solitary, speechless, motionless; hour after hour passed, and we moved not, except to cast stern regards towards the door, or listen with repressed impatience to every sound in the castle. Slowly, at last, came the step of the dead, heavily ascending the stairs;—he entered—I rushed to meet him, and the long pent up agony of my soul burst forth in madness uncontrolled. ‘Monster!—murderer!—destroyer of thy father and thy brother! why comest thou thus to torture and not kill? why is thy bloody hand for ever raised, and yet forbearing to fall? If thine aim be vengeance, strike—strike—strike—thou blood-bespotted horror! and rend from hope and from life those who dared to make thee what thou art!—Strike, thou silent, sullen thing! that we may be as thou art, and learn to fear thee not!’
“I darted towards him, but was arrested by some invisible barrier ere I had traversed half the distance between us; I could not reach him, but sunk, as if felled by an unseen blow, helpless and almost senseless, to the ground: he did not even look upon me, but again sternly summoned Agatha from the chamber, as nightly he had done before. I—but wherefore dwell upon these agonies? Suffice it to say, that these accumulated horrors at length drove me from the side of Agatha to solitude and reflection: sorrow came upon my soul—a sorrow less for my crime than for its fatal consequences. ‘Alas!’ I said, ‘perhaps the tormentor is himself more keenly punished by these hauntings than either of his shrinking victims: said he not, in the hour of death, that he too was a murderer? and did he not pray for time in which to expiate the sin? Surely, surely, these visitations must be the hell of the parricide.’