I could not but smile afterward, when he recounted to me his astonishment and terror at seeing the old summer-house, which never had been opened within the memory of man, with all its windows wide to the free air and evening sunshine—when he told me how often he turned back to seek aid from his fellows—how he almost believed that fiends or evil spirits were holding their foul sabbath there, and how he started aghast with horror, not now for himself, but for me, as he beheld the young Etonian stretched tranquilly upon the blood-stained couch—for those dark stains were of human gore—conning his task for the morrow.
I rushed out of the place at his hurried outcry; a few words told my story, and plead my excuse—with the good, simple-minded rustic little excuse was needed—but it was not till after many sittings, and many a long afternoon's discourse, that I learned all the details of the sad event which had converted that fair pavilion into a place as terrible, to the ideas of the country folks, as a dark charnel-vault.
"Ay!" said the old man, as he gazed fearfully about him, after I had persuaded him at length to cross the dreaded threshhold, "Ay! it is all as they tell, though not a man of them has ever seen it. There is the glass which the bullet broke, after passing right through his brain; and there is his blood, all spattered on the mirror. And look, young master, those spots on the table came from her heart; and that couch you was lying on, is where they laid her when they took her up. See, it's all dabbled yet; and where your head was resting now, the dead girl's head lay, more than a hundred years since! Come away, master—come away! I never thought to have looked on these things, though I know all about them."
"Oh, tell me—tell me about them!" I exclaimed. "I am not a bit afraid. Do tell me all about them."
"Not now—not now—nor not here," said the old man, gazing about as if he expected to see a spirit stalk out of some shady nook of the surrounding trees. "I would not tell you here to be master of all Ditton-in-the-Dale! But come up, if you will, to the great house to-morrow, and ask for old Matthew Dawson, and I'll show you all the place—the family never lives here now, nor hasn't since that deed was done—and then I'll tell you all about it, if you must hear. But if you're wise, you'll shun it; for it will chill your young blood to listen, and cling to your young heart with a gloom forever."
"Oh, I will come, be sure, Matthew! I would not miss it for the world. But it is getting late, so I'll fasten up the old place, and be going;" and suiting the action to the word, I soon secured the fastenings, while the old gardener stood by, marvelling and muttering at the boldness of young blood, until I had finished setting things in order, when I shook hands with the old man, slipping my one half crown into his horny palm, and saying,
"Well, good night, Matthew Dawson, and don't forget to-morrow evening."
"That I wont, master," he replied, greatly propitiated by my offering. "But which way are you going?"
"Oh, I'll soon show you," I replied; and swinging myself up my tree, I was beyond the precincts of the haunted ground almost in a moment.
"The very way he came the time he did it," cried the old gardener, with upturned hands, and eyes aghast. But I tarried then to ask no further questions, being quite sufficiently terrified for one night; although my pride forbade my displaying my terrors to the old rustic.