Suddenly, with an inexpressible sensation, I became aware that this gloom was animated; it seemed to move and gather itself together. Slowly—I say slowly, for to my tense expectancy the instants appeared ages—it took the shape of a large, definite figure, and this figure advanced and stood at the top of the stairs. I frankly confess that by this time I was conscious of a feeling to which I am in duty bound to apply the vulgar name of fear. I may poetize it and call it Dread, with a capital letter; it was at any rate the feeling that makes a man yield ground. I measured it as it grew, and it seemed perfectly irresistible; for it did not appear to come from within but from without, and to be embodied in the dark image at the head of the staircase. After a fashion I reasoned—I remember reasoning. I said to myself, “I had always thought ghosts were white and transparent; this is a thing of thick shadows, densely opaque.” I reminded myself that the occasion was momentous, and that if fear were to overcome me I should gather all possible impressions while my wits remained. I stepped back, foot behind foot, with my eyes still on the figure and placed my candles on the table. I was perfectly conscious that the proper thing was to ascend the stairs resolutely, face to face with the image, but the soles of my shoes seemed suddenly to have been transformed into leaden weights. I had got what I wanted; I was seeing the ghost. I tried to look at the figure distinctly so that I could remember it, and fairly claim, afterward, not to have lost my self-possession. I even asked myself how long it was expected I should stand looking, and how soon I could honorably retire. All this, of course, passed through my mind with extreme rapidity, and it was checked by a further movement on the part of the figure. Two white hands appeared in the dark perpendicular mass, and were slowly raised to what seemed to be the level of the head. Here they were pressed together, over the region of the face, and then they were removed, and the face was disclosed. It was dim, white, strange, in every way ghostly. It looked down at me for an instant, after which one of the hands was raised again, slowly, and waved to and fro before it. There was something very singular in this gesture; it seemed to denote resentment and dismissal, and yet it had a sort of trivial, familiar motion.
Familiarity on the part of the haunting Presence had not entered into my calculations, and did not strike me pleasantly. I agreed with Captain Diamond that it was “damned disagreeable.” I was pervaded by an intense desire to make an orderly, and, if possible, a graceful retreat. I wished to do it gallantly, and it seemed to me that it would be gallant to blow out my candles. I turned and did so, punctiliously, and then I made my way to the door, groped a moment and opened it. The outer light, almost extinct as it was, entered for a moment, played over the dusty depths of the house and showed me the solid shadow.
Standing on the grass, bent over his stick, under the early glimmering stars, I found Captain Diamond. He looked up at me fixedly for a moment, but asked no questions, and then he went and locked the door. This duty performed, he discharged the other—made his obeisance like the priest before the altar—and then without heeding me further, took his departure.
A few days later, I suspended my studies and went off for the summer’s vacation. I was absent for several weeks, during which I had plenty of leisure to analyze my impressions of the supernatural. I took some satisfaction in the reflection that I had not been ignobly terrified; I had not bolted nor swooned—I had proceeded with dignity. Nevertheless, I was certainly more comfortable when I had put thirty miles between me and the scene of my exploit, and I continued for many days to prefer the daylight to the dark. My nerves had been powerfully excited; of this I was particularly conscious when, under the influence of the drowsy air of the sea-side, my excitement began slowly to ebb. As it disappeared, I attempted to take a sternly rational view of my experience. Certainly I had seen something—that was not fancy; but what had I seen? I regretted extremely now that I had not been bolder, that I had not gone nearer and inspected the apparition more minutely. But it was very well to talk; I had done as much as any man in the circumstances would have dared; it was indeed a physical impossibility that I should have advanced. Was not this paralyzation of my powers in itself a supernatural influence? Not necessarily, perhaps, for a sham ghost that one accepted might do as much execution as a real ghost. But why had I so easily accepted the sable phantom that waved its hand? Why had it so impressed itself? Unquestionably, true or false, it was a very clever phantom. I greatly preferred that it should have been true—in the first place because I did not care to have shivered and shaken for nothing, and in the second place because to have seen a well-authenticated goblin is, as things go, a feather in a quiet man’s cap. I tried, therefore, to let my vision rest and to stop turning it over. But an impulse stronger than my will recurred at intervals and set a mocking question on my lips. Granted that the apparition was Captain Diamond’s daughter; if it was she it certainly was her spirit. But was it not her spirit and something more?
The middle of September saw me again established among the theologic shades, but I made no haste to revisit the haunted house.
The last of the month approached—the term of another quarter with poor Captain Diamond—and found me indisposed to disturb his pilgrimage on this occasion; though I confess that I thought with a good deal of compassion of the feeble old man trudging away, lonely, in the autumn dusk, on his extraordinary errand. On the thirtieth of September, at noonday, I was drowsing over a heavy octavo, when I heard a feeble rap at my door. I replied with an invitation to enter, but as this produced no effect I repaired to the door and opened it. Before me stood an elderly negress with her head bound in a scarlet turban, and a white handkerchief folded across her bosom. She looked at me intently and in silence; she had that air of supreme gravity and decency which aged persons of her race so often wear. I stood interrogative, and at last, drawing her hand from her ample pocket, she held up a little book. It was the copy of Pascal’s “Thoughts” that I had given to Captain Diamond.
“Please, sir,” she said, very mildly, “do you know this book?”
“Perfectly,” said I, “my name is on the fly-leaf.”
“It is your name—no other?”
“I will write my name if you like, and you can compare them,” I answered.
She was silent a moment and then, with dignity—“It would be useless, sir,” she said, “I can’t read. If you will give me your word that is enough. I come,” she went on, “from the gentleman to whom you gave the book. He told me to carry it as a token—a token—that is what he called it. He is right down sick, and he wants to see you.”
“Captain Diamond—sick?” I cried. “Is his illness serious?”
“He is very bad—he is all gone.”
I expressed my regret and sympathy, and offered to go to him immediately, if his sable messenger would show me the way. She assented deferentially, and in a few moments I was following her along the sunny streets, feeling very much like a personage in the Arabian Nights, led to a postern gate by an Ethiopian slave. My own conductress directed her steps toward the river and stopped at a decent little yellow house in one of the streets that descend to it. She quickly opened the door and led me in, and I very soon found myself in the presence of my old friend. He was in bed, in a darkened room, and evidently in a very feeble state. He lay back on his pillow staring before him, with his bristling hair more erect than ever, and his intensely dark and bright old eyes touched with the glitter of fever. His apartment was humble and scrupulously neat, and I could see that my dusky guide was a faithful servant. Captain Diamond, lying there rigid and pale on his white sheets, resembled some ruggedly carven figure on the lid of a Gothic tomb. He looked at me silently, and my companion withdrew and left us alone.
“Yes, it’s you,” he said, at last, “it’s you, that good young man. There is no mistake, is there?”
“I hope not; I believe I’m a good young man. But I am very sorry you are ill. What can I do for you?”
“I am very bad, very bad; my poor old bones ache so!” and, groaning por
tentously, he tried to turn toward me.
I questioned him about the nature of his malady and the length of time he had been in bed, but he barely heeded me; he seemed impatient to speak of something else. He grasped my sleeve, pulled me toward him, and whispered quickly:
“You know my time’s up!”
“Oh, I trust not,” I said, mistaking his meaning. “I shall certainly see you on your legs again.”
“God knows!” he cried. “But I don’t mean I’m dying; not yet a bit. What I mean is, I’m due at the house. This is rent-day.”
“Oh, exactly! But you can’t go.”
“I can’t go. It’s awful. I shall lose my money. If I am dying, I want it all the same. I want to pay the doctor. I want to be buried like a respectable man.”
“It is this evening?” I asked.
“This evening at sunset, sharp.”
He lay staring at me, and, as I looked at him in return, I suddenly understood his motive in sending for me. Morally, as it came into my thought, I winced. But, I suppose I looked unperturbed, for he continued in the same tone. “I can’t lose my money. Some one else must go. I asked Belinda; but she won’t hear of it.”
“You believe the money will be paid to another person?”
“We can try, at least. I have never failed before and I don’t know. But, if you say I’m as sick as a dog, that my old bones ache, that I’m dying, perhaps she’ll trust you. She don’t want me to starve!”
“You would like me to go in your place, then?”
“You have been there once; you know what it is. Are you afraid?”
I hesitated.
“Give me three minutes to reflect,” I said, “and I will tell you.” My glance wandered over the room and rested on the various objects that spoke of the threadbare, decent poverty of its occupant. There seemed to be a mute appeal to my pity and my resolution in their cracked and faded sparseness. Meanwhile Captain Diamond continued, feebly:
“I think she’d trust you, as I have trusted you; she’ll like your face; she’ll see there is no harm in you. It’s a hundred and thirty-three dollars, exactly. Be sure you put them into a safe place.”
“Yes,” I said at last, “I will go, and, so far as it depends upon me, you shall have the money by nine o’clock to-night.”
He seemed greatly relieved; he took my hand and faintly pressed it, and soon afterward I withdrew. I tried for the rest of the day not to think of my evening’s work, but, of course, I thought of nothing else. I will not deny that I was nervous; I was, in fact, greatly excited, and I spent my time in alternately hoping that the mystery should prove less deep than it appeared, and yet fearing that it might prove too shallow. The hours passed very slowly, but, as the afternoon began to wane, I started on my mission. On the way, I stopped at Captain Diamond’s modest dwelling, to ask how he was doing, and to receive such last instructions as he might desire to lay upon me. The old negress, gravely and inscrutably placid, admitted me, and, in answer to my inquiries, said that the Captain was very low; he had sunk since the morning.
“You must be right smart,” she said, “if you want to get back before he drops off.” A glance assured me that she knew of my projected expedition, though, in her own opaque black pupil, there was not a gleam of self-betrayal.
“But why should Captain Diamond drop off?” I asked. “He certainly seems very weak; but I cannot make out that he has any definite disease.”
“His disease is old age,” she said, sententiously.
“But he is not so old as that; sixty-seven or sixty-eight, at most.”
She was silent a moment.
“He’s worn out; he’s used up; he can’t stand it any longer.”
“Can I see him a moment?” I asked; upon which she led me again to his room.
He was lying in the same way as when I had left him, except that his eyes were closed. But he seemed very “low,” as she had said, and he had very little pulse. Nevertheless, I further learned the doctor had been there in the afternoon and professed himself satisfied. “He don’t know what’s been going on,” said Belinda, curtly.
The old man stirred a little, opened his eyes, and after some time recognized me.
“I’m going, you know, ”I said. “I’m going for your money. Have you anything more to say?” He raised himself slowly, and with a painful effort, against his pillows; but he seemed hardly to understand me. “The house, you know,” I said. “Your daughter.” He rubbed his forehead, slowly, awhile, and at last, his comprehension awoke. “Ah, yes,” he murmured, “I trust you. A hundred and thirty-three dollars. In old pieces—all in old pieces.” Then he added more vigorously, and with a brightening eye: “Be very respectful—be very polite. If not—if not—” and his voice failed again.
“Oh, I certainly shall be,” I said, with a rather forced smile. “But, if not?”
“If not, I shall know it!” he said, very gravely. And with this, his eyes closed and he sunk down again.
I took my departure and pursued my journey with a sufficiently resolute step. When I reached the house, I made a propitiatory bow in front of it, in emulation of Captain Diamond. I had timed my walk so as to be able to enter without delay; night had already fallen. I turned the key, opened the door and shut it behind me. Then I struck a light, and found the two candlesticks I had used before, standing on the tables in the entry. I applied a match to both of them, took them up and went into the parlor. It was empty, and though I waited awhile, it remained empty. I passed then into the other rooms on the same floor, and no dark image rose before me to check my steps. At last, I came out into the hall again, and stood weighing the question of going upstairs.
The staircase had been the scene of my discomfiture before, and I approached it with profound mistrust. At the foot, I paused, looking up, with my hand on the balustrade. I was acutely expectant, and my expectation was justified. Slowly, in the darkness above, the black figure that I had seen before took shape. It was not an illusion; it was a figure, and the same. I gave it time to define itself, and watched it stand and look down at me with its hidden face. Then, deliberately, I lifted up my voice and spoke.
“I have come in place of Captain Diamond, at his request,” I said. “He is very ill; he is unable to leave his bed. He earnestly begs that you will pay the money to me; I will immediately carry it to him.” The figure stood motionless, giving no sign. “Captain Diamond would have come if he were able to move,” I added, in a moment, appealingly; “but, he is utterly unable.”
At this the figure slowly unveiled its face and showed me a dim, white mask; then it began slowly to descend the stairs. Instinctively I fell back before it, retreating to the door of the front sitting-room. With my eyes still fixed on it, I moved backward across the threshold; then I stopped in the middle of the room and set down my lights. The figure advanced; it seemed to be that of a tall woman, dressed in vaporous black crape. As it drew near, I saw that it had a perfectly human face, though it looked extremely pale and sad. We stood gazing at each other; my agitation had completely vanished; I was only deeply interested.
“Is my father dangerously ill?” said the apparition.
At the sound of its voice—gentle, tremulous, and perfectly human—I started forward; I felt a rebound of excitement. I drew a long breath, I gave a sort of cry, for what I saw before me was not a disembodied spirit, but a beautiful woman, an audacious actress. Instinctively, irresistibly, by the force of reaction against my credulity, I stretched out my hand and seized the long veil that muffled her head. I gave it a violent jerk, dragged it nearly off, and stood staring at a large fair person, of about five-and-thirty. I comprehended her at a glance; her long black dress, her pale, sorrow-worn face, painted to look paler, her very fine eyes,—the color of her father’s,—and her sense of outrage at my movement.
“My father, I suppose,” she cried, “did not send you here to insult me!” and she turned away rapidly, took up one of the candles and moved toward the door. Here she paused, looked at me
again, hesitated, and then drew a purse from her pocket and flung it down on the floor. “There is your money!” she said, majestically.
I stood there, wavering between amazement and shame, and saw her pass out into the hall. Then I picked up the purse. The next moment, I heard a loud shriek and a crash of something dropping, and she came staggering back into the room without her light.
“My father—my father!” she cried; and with parted lips and dilated eyes, she rushed toward me.
“Your father—where?” I demanded.
“In the hall, at the foot of the stairs.”
I stepped forward to go out, but she seized my arm.
“He is in white,” she cried, “in his shirt. It’s not he!”
“Why, your father is in his house, in his bed, extremely ill,” I answered.
She looked at me fixedly, with searching eyes.
“Dying?”
“I hope not,” I stuttered.
She gave a long moan and covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, heavens, I have seen his ghost!” she cried.
She still held my arm; she seemed too terrified to release it. “His ghost!” I echoed, wondering.
“It’s the punishment of my long folly!” she went on.
“Ah,” said I, “it’s the punishment of my indiscretion—of my violence!”
“Take me away, take me away!” she cried, still clinging to my arm. “Not there”—as I was turning toward the hall and the front door—“not there, for pity’s sake! By this door—the back entrance.” And snatching the other candles from the table, she led me through the neighboring room into the back part of the house. Here was a door opening from a sort of scullery into the orchard. I turned the rusty lock and we passed out and stood in the cool air, beneath the stars.
The Treasury Of The Fantastic Page 32
