This last he said laughingly, for the carriage proved to be a long lumber wagon, such as is seldom found in Massachusetts, or at least, I had never seen one like it before, and it became a serious question in my mind as to how I was expected to enter it, there being no possible way of doing so, save by climbing over the wheels, which were reeking with mud. Herbert seemed to enjoy my embarrassment, for he asked me if “I didn’t think I could step from the ground into the box,” a distance of several feet? I was soon relieved from my difficulty by the porter, who placed before me some wooden steps, on which I mounted safely, and seated myself in the large arm-chair, which, with its warm buffalo-robes, was really more comfortable than the old-fashioned one-horse wagons of New England, though I did not think so then; and when the spirited horses, at a crack from Herbert’s whip, sprang forward, while I, losing my balance, pitched over backward, I began to cry, wishing in my heart that I was back in Meadow Brook.
It was a cold, raw, autumnal day. The roads, as Herbert had said, were horrible; and as we ploughed through the thick mud, which, in some places was up to the wheel hubs, I took, I believe, my first lesson in genuine home-sickness, which, in my opinion, is about as hard to bear as love-sickness! Indeed, I think they feel much alike—the latter being, perhaps, a very little the worse of the two! It was in vain that Herbert pointed out to me the many handsome farmhouses which we passed, expatiating upon the richness and fertility of the soil, and telling me how greatly superior in everything New York was to New England. I scarcely heard him, for even though in all Massachusetts there was naught save the rocky hills, and sterile plains, it was my home, and from that spot the heart cannot easily be weaned.
Rockland is a large, wealthy town, embracing within its limits more than the prescribed rule of six miles square, while scattered through it are two or three little villages, each bearing a distinct name, by which they are known abroad. First, there was Laurel Hill, famed as the residence of certain families who were styled proud and aristocratic—to say nothing of their being Episcopalians, which last fact was by some regarded as the main cause of their haughtiness. Next came the “Centre,” with its group of red houses, and its single spire, so tall, so straight, and so square, that it scarce needed the lettering over the entrance to tell to the stranger that Presbyterians worshiped there. Lastly came Flattville, by far the largest village in Rockland, and the home of all the isms in the known world. To the south of Flattville is a small lake, renowned for its quiet beauty, and the picturesque wildness of its shores. Bounded on three sides by high hills, its waters sleep calmly in the sunlight of summer, or dash angrily upon the sandy beach, when moved by the chill breath of winter.
On the brow of one of the high hills which overlook the Honeoye, and so near to it that the sweep of the waves can be distinctly heard in a clear, still night, stood the home of my sister. It was a huge, wooden building, containing rooms innumerable, while even the basement was large enough to accommodate one or more families. Being the first frame house erected in the town, it was of course looked upon with considerable interest, and as if to make it still more notorious, it bore the reputation of being haunted, and by some of the neighbors was called the “Haunted Castle.”
Years before, when the country was new, it was a sort of public-house, and a young girl was said to have been murdered there, and buried in the cellar, from whence she was afterwards removed and thrown into the lake. For the truth of this story there was no proof, save the fact, that in the dark cellar there was a slight excavation, supposed to have been the grave of the ill-fated lady. All this Herbert very kindly told me, as we rode leisurely along, saying, when I asked if he believed it, “Believe it! No! Of course not. To be sure, it’s the squeakiest old rattle-trap of a house that I ever saw; and were I at all superstitious, I could readily believe it haunted, particularly when the wind blows hard. But you are not frightened; are you?” he asked, looking in my face, which was very pale.
I hold that there is in every human breast a dread of the supernatural, and though I do not by any means believe in ghosts, I would certainly prefer not to live in a house where they are supposed to dwell. Still, I dared not tell Herbert so, and, consequently, I only laughed at the idea of a haunted house, saying, it was very romantic. It was after sunset when we at last turned into the long avenue, shaded on either side by forest maples, which the first proprietor of the place had suffered to remain; and as my eye fell upon the large, dark building, which Herbert said was his house, I involuntarily shuddered, for to me it seemed the very spot of all others which goblins would choose for their nightly revels. The wind was blowing from the west, and as I followed Herbert up to the door, my ear caught a dull, moaning sound, which caused me to quicken my footsteps, while I asked, in some trepidation, what it was.
“That? Oh, that’s the roar of the lake. Don’t you see how near it is to us, directly at the foot of the hill?” and he pointed out to me the broad sheet of water, just discernible in the gathering darkness.
A sudden gust of wind swept past me, and again I caught the low murmur. There was something human in the tone, and though for three years I almost daily heard that sound, I could never fully rid myself of the impression that it was the spirit of the murdered maiden which thus, to the swelling waves, complained of the crime long unpunished.
“Come this way, Rose,” said Herbert, as I entered the narrow “entry” so common in old-fashioned houses; and following him, I was soon ushered into a large square room, where a bright wood fire was blazing, casting a somewhat cheerful aspect over the sombre, wainscoted walls of ancient make.
In one corner of the room was a bed, and on it lay Anna, who, the moment she saw me, uttered a cry of joy.