THE SPIRIT'S WHISPER.
Yes, I have been haunted!--haunted so fearfully that for some littletime I thought myself insane. I was no raving maniac; I mixed in societyas heretofore, although perhaps a trifle more grave and taciturn thanusual; I pursued my daily avocations; I employed myself even on literarywork. To all appearance I was one of the sanest of the sane; and yet allthe while I considered myself the victim of such strange delusions that,in my own mind, I fancied my senses--and one sense in particular--so farerratic and beyond my own control that I was, in real truth, a madman.How far I was then insane it must be for others, who hear my story, todecide. My hallucinations have long since left me, and, at all events, Iam now as sane as I suppose most men are.
My first attack came on one afternoon when, being in a listless and anidle mood, I had risen from my work and was amusing myself withspeculating at my window on the different personages who were passingbefore me. At that time I occupied apartments in the Brompton Road.Perhaps, there is no thoroughfare in London where the ordinarypassengers are of so varied a description or high life and low lifemingle in so perpetual a medley. South-Kensington carriages there jostlecostermongers' carts; the clerk in the public office, returning to hissuburban dwelling, brushes the laborer coming from his work on thenever-ending modern constructions in the new district; and the ladies ofsome of the surrounding squares flaunt the most gigantic of _chignons_,and the most exuberant of motley dresses, before the envying eyes of theragged girls with their vegetable-baskets.
There was, as usual, plenty of material for observation and conjecturein the passengers, and their characters or destinations, from my windowon that day. Yet I was not in the right cue for the thorough enjoymentof my favorite amusement. I was in a rather melancholy mood. Somehow orother, I don't know why, my memory had reverted to a pretty woman whom Ihad not seen for many years. She had been my first love, and I had lovedher with a boyish passion as genuine as it was intense. I thought myheart would have broken, and I certainly talked seriously of dying, whenshe formed an attachment to an ill-conditioned, handsome youngadventurer, and, on her family objecting to such an alliance, elopedwith him. I had never seen the fellow, against whom, however, Icherished a hatred almost as intense as my passion for the infatuatedgirl who had flown from her home for his sake. We had heard of her beingon the Continent with her husband, and learned that the man's shiftylife had eventually taken him to the East. For some years nothing morehad been heard of the poor girl. It was a melancholy history, and itsmemory ill-disposed me for amusement.
A sigh was probably just escaping my lips with the half-articulatedwords, "Poor Julia!" when my eyes fell on a man passing before mywindow. There was nothing particularly striking about him. He was tall,with fine features, and a long, fair beard, contrasting somewhat withhis bronzed complexion. I had seen many of our officers on their returnfrom the Crimea look much the same. Still, the man's aspect gave me ashuddering feeling, I didn't know why. At the same moment, a whispering,low voice uttered aloud in my ear the words, "It is he!" I turned,startled; there was no one near me, no one in the room. There was nofancy in the sound; I had heard the words with painful distinctness. Iran to the door, opened it--not a sound on the staircase, not a sound inthe whole house--nothing but the hum from the street. I came back andsat down. It was no use reasoning with myself; I had the ineffaceableconviction that I had heard the voice. Then first the idea crossed mymind that I might be the victim of hallucinations. Yes, it must havebeen so, for now I recalled to mind that the voice had been that of mypoor lost Julia; and at the moment I heard it I had been dreaming ofher. I questioned my own state of health. I was well; at least I hadbeen so, I felt fully assured, up to that moment. Now a feeling ofchilliness and numbness and faintness had crept over me, a cold sweatwas on my forehead. I tried to shake off this feeling by bringing backmy thoughts to some other subject. But, involuntarily as it were, Iagain uttered the words, "Poor Julia!" aloud. At the same time a deepand heavy sigh, almost a groan, was distinctly audible close by me. Isprang up; I was alone--quite alone. It was, once more, anhallucination.
By degrees the first painful impression wore away. Some days had passed,and I had begun to forget my singular delusion. When my thoughts aidrevert to it, the recollection was dismissed as that of a ridiculousfancy. One afternoon I was in the Strand, coming from Charing Cross,when I was once more overcome by that peculiar feeling of cold andnumbness which I had before experienced. The day was warm and bright andgenial, and yet I positively shivered. I had scarce time to interrogatemy own strange sensations when a man went by me rapidly. How was it thatI recognized him at once as the individual who had only passed my windowso casually on that morning of the hallucination? I don't know, and yetI was aware that this man was the tall, fair passer-by of the BromptonRoad. At the same moment the voice I had previously heard whispereddistinctly in my ear the words, "Follow him!" I stood stupefied. Theusual throngs of indifferent persons were hurrying past me in thatcrowded thoroughfare, but I felt convinced that not one of these hadspoken to me. I remained transfixed for a moment. I was bent on a matterof business in the contrary direction to the individual I had remarked,and so, although with unsteady step, I endeavored to proceed on my way.Again that voice said, still more emphatically, in my ear, "Follow him!"I stopped involuntarily. And a third time, "Follow him!" I told myselfthat the sound was a delusion, a cheat of my senses, and yet I could notresist the spell. I turned to follow. Quickening my pace, I soon came upwith the tall, fair man, and, unremarked by him, I followed him. Whitherwas this foolish pursuit to lead me? It was useless to ask myself thequestion--I was impelled to follow.
I was not destined to go very far, however. Before long the object of myabsurd chase entered a well-known insurance-office. I stopped at thedoor of the establishment. I had no business within, why should Icontinue to follow? Had I not already been making a sad fool of myselfby my ridiculous conduct? These were my thoughts as I stood heated by myquick walk. Yes, heated; and yet, once more, came the sudden chill. Oncemore that same low but now awful voice spoke in my ear: "Go in!" itsaid. I endeavored to resist the spell, and yet I felt that resistancewas in vain. Fortunately, as it seemed to me, the thought crossed mymind that an old acquaintance was a clerk in that same insurance-office.I had not seen the fellow for a great length of time, and I never hadbeen very intimate with him. But here was a pretext; and so I went inand inquired for Clement Stanley. My acquaintance came forward. He wasvery busy, he said. I invented, on the spur of the moment, some excuseof the most frivolous and absurd nature, as far as I can recollect, formy intrusion.
"By the way," I said, as I turned to take my leave, although my questionwas "by the way" of nothing at all, "who was that tall, fair man whojust now entered the office?"
"Oh, that fellow?" was the indifferent reply; "a Captain Campbell, orCanton, or some such name; I forget what. He is gone in before theboard--insured his wife's life--and she is dead; comes for a settlement,I suppose."
There was nothing more to be gained, and so I left the office. As soonas I came without into the scorching sunlight, again the same feeling ofcold, again the same voice--"Wait!" Was I going mad? More and more theconviction forced itself upon me that I was decidedly a monomaniacalready. I felt my pulse. It was agitated and yet not feverish. I wasdetermined not to give way to this absurd hallucination; and yet, so farwas I out of my senses, that my will was no longer my own. Resolved as Iwas to go, I listened to the dictates of that voice and waited. What wasit to me that this Campbell or Canton had insured his wife's life, thatshe was dead, and that he wanted a settlement of his claim? Obviouslynothing; and I yet waited.
So strong was the spell on me that I had no longer any count of time. Ihad no consciousness whether the period was long or short that I stoodthere near the door, heedless of all the throng that passed, gazing onvacancy. The fiercest of policemen might have told me to "move on," andI should not have stirred, spite of all the terrors of the "station."The individual came forth. He paid no h
eed to me. Why should he? Whatwas I to him? This time I needed no warning voice to bid me follow. Iwas a madman, and I could not resist the impulses of my madness. It wasthus, at least I reasoned with myself. I followed into Regent Street.The object of my insensate observation lingered, and looked around as ifin expectation. Presently a fine-looking woman, somewhat extravagantlydressed, and obviously not a lady, advanced toward him on the pavement.At the sight of her he quickened his step, and joined her rapidly. Ishuddered again, but this time a sort of dread was mingled with thatstrange shivering. I knew what was coming, and it came. Again that voicein my ear. "Look and remember!" it said. I passed the man and woman asthey stopped at their first meeting!
"Is all right, George?" said the female.
"All right, my girl," was the reply.
I looked. An evil smile, as if of wicked triumph, was on the man's face,I thought. And on the woman's? I looked at her, and I remembered. Icould not be mistaken. Spite of her change in manner, dress, andappearance, it was Mary Simms. This woman some years before, when shewas still very young, had been a sort of humble companion to my mother.A simple-minded, honest girl, we thought her. Sometimes I had fanciedthat she had paid me, in a sly way, a marked attention. I had beenfoolish enough to be flattered by her stealthy glances and her sighs.But I had treated these little demonstrations of partiality as due onlyto a silly girlish fancy. Mary Simms, however, had come to grief in ourhousehold. She had been detected in the abstraction of sundry jewels andpetty ornaments. The morning after discovery she had left the house, andwe had heard of her no more. As these recollections passed rapidlythrough my mind I looked behind me. The couple had turned back. I turnedto follow again; and spite of carriages and cabs, and shouts and oathsof drivers, I took the middle of the street in order to pass the man andwoman at a little distance unobserved. No; I was not mistaken. The womanwas Mary Simms, though without any trace of all her formersimple-minded airs; Mary Simms, no longer in her humble attire, butflaunting in all the finery of overdone fashion. She wore an air ofreckless joyousness in her face; and yet, spite of that, I pitied her.It was clear she had fallen on the evil ways of betteredfortune--bettered, alas! for the worse.
I had an excuse now, in my own mind, for my continued pursuit, withoutdeeming myself an utter madman--the excuse of curiosity to know thedestiny of one with whom I had been formerly familiar, and in whom I hadtaken an interest. Presently the game I was hunting down stopped at thedoor of the Grand Cafe. After a little discussion they entered. It was apublic place of entertainment; there was no reason why I should notenter also. I found my way to the first floor. They were already seatedat a table, Mary holding the _carte_ in her hand. They were about todine. Why should not I dine there too? There was but one littleobjection,--I had an engagement to dinner. But the strange impulse whichoverpowered me, and seemed leading me on step by step, spite of myself,quickly overruled all the dictates of propriety toward my intendedhosts. Could I not send a prettily devised apology? I glided past thecouple, with my head averted, seeking a table, and I was unobserved bymy old acquaintance. I was too agitated to eat, but I made a semblance,and little heeded the air of surprise and almost disgust on thebewildered face of the waiter as he bore away the barely touched dishes.I was in a very fever of impatience and doubt what next to do. Theystill sat on, in evident enjoyment of their meal and their constantdraughts of sparkling wine. My impatience was becoming almost unbearablewhen the man at last rose. The woman seemed to have uttered someexpostulation, for he turned at the door and said somewhat harshlyaloud, "Nonsense; only one game and I shall be back. The waiter willgive you a paper--a magazine--something to while away the time." And heleft the room for the billiard-table, as I surmised.
Now was my opportunity. After a little hesitation, I rose, and plantedmyself abruptly on the vacant seat before the woman.
"Mary," I said.
She started, with a little exclamation of alarm, and dropped the papershe had held. She knew me at once.
"Master John!" she exclaimed, using the familiar term still given mewhen I was long past boyhood; and then, after a lengthened gaze, sheturned away her head. I was embarrassed at first how to address her.
"Mary," I said at last, "I am grieved to see you thus."
"Why should you be grieved for me?" she retorted, looking at me sharply,and speaking in a tone of impatient anger. "I am happy as I am."
"I don't believe you," I replied.
She again turned away her head.
"Mary," I pursued, "can you doubt, that, spite of all, I have still astrong interest in the companion of my youth?"
She looked at me almost mournfully, but did not speak. At that moment Iprobably grew pale; for suddenly that chilly fit seized me again, andmy forehead became clammy. That voice sounded again in my ear: "Speakof him!" were the words it uttered. Mary gazed on me with surprise, andyet I was assured that _she_ had not heard that voice, so plain to me.She evidently mistook the nature of my visible emotion.
"O Master John!" she stammered, with tears gathering in her eyes,reverting again to that name of bygone times, "if you had loved methen--if you had consoled my true affection with one word of hope, onelook of loving-kindness--if you had not spurned and crushed me, I shouldnot have been what I am now."
I was about to make some answer to this burst of unforgotten passion,when the voice came again: "Speak of him!"
"You have loved others since," I remarked, with a coldness which seemedcruel to myself. "You love _him_ now." And I nodded my head toward thedoor by which the man had disappeared.
"Do I?" she said, with a bitter smile. "Perhaps; who knows?"
"And yet no good can come to you from a connection with that man," Ipursued.
"Why not? He adores me, and he is free," was her answer, given with alittle triumphant air.
"Yes," I said, "I know he is free: he has lately lost his wife. He hasmade good his claim to the sum for which he insured her life."
Mary grew deadly pale. "How did you learn this? what do you know ofhim?" she stammered.
I had no reply to give. She scanned my face anxiously for some time;then in a low voice she added, "What do you suspect?"
I was still silent, and only looked at her fixedly.
"You do not speak," she pursued nervously. "Why do you not speak? Ah,you know more than you would say! Master John, Master John, you mightset my tortured mind at rest, and clear or confirm those doubts which_will_ come into my poor head, spite of myself. Speak out--O, do speakout!"
"Not here; it is impossible," I replied, looking around. The room as thehour advanced, was becoming more thronged with guests, and the fulltables gave a pretext for my reticence, when in truth I had nothing tosay.
"Will you come and see me--will you?" she asked with earnest entreaty.
I nodded my head.
"Have you a pocketbook? I will write you my address; and you willcome--yes, I am sure you will come!" she said in an agitated way.
I handed her my pocketbook and pencil; she wrote rapidly.
"Between the hours of three and five," she whispered, looking uneasilyat the door; "_he_ is sure not to be at home."
I rose; Mary held out her hand to me, then withdrew it hastily with anair of shame, and the tears sprang into her eyes again. I left the roomhurriedly, and met her companion on the stairs.
That same evening, in the solitude of my own room, I pondered over thelittle event of the day. I had calmed down from my state of excitement.The living apparition of Mary Simms occupied my mind almost to theexclusion of the terrors of the ghostly voice which had haunted me, andmy own fears of coming insanity. In truth, what was that man to me?Nothing. What did his doings matter to such a perfect stranger asmyself? Nothing. His connection with Mary Simms was our only link; andin what should that affect me? Nothing again. I debated with myselfwhether it were not foolish of me to comply with my youthful companion'srequest to visit her; whether it were not imprudent in me to take anyfurther interest in the lost woman; whether there were not even
dangerin seeking to penetrate mysteries which were no concern of mine. Theresolution to which I came pleased me, and I said aloud, "No, I will notgo!"
At the same moment came again the voice like an awful echo to mywords--"Go!" It came so suddenly and so imperatively, almost without anyprevious warning of the usual shudder, that the shock was more than Icould bear. I believe I fainted; I know I found myself, when I came toconsciousness, in my arm-chair, cold and numb, and my candles had almostburned down into their sockets.
The next morning I was really ill. A sort of low fever seemed to haveprostrated me, and I would have willingly seized so valid a reason fordisobeying, at least for that day--for some days, perhaps--theinjunction of that ghostly voice. But all that morning it never left me.My fearful chilly fit was of constant recurrence, and the words "Go! go!go!" were murmured so perpetually in my ears--the sound was one of suchurgent entreaty--that all force of will gave way completely. Had Iremained in that lone room, I should have gone wholly mad. As yet, to myown feelings, I was but partially out of my senses.
I dressed hastily; and, I scarce know how--by no effort of my own will,it seemed to me--I was in the open air. The address of Mary Simms was ina street not far from my own suburb. Without any power of reasoning, Ifound myself before the door of the house. I knocked, and asked aslipshod girl who opened the door to me for "Miss Simms." She knew nosuch person, held a brief shrill colloquy with some female in theback-parlor, and, on coming back, was about to shut the door in my face,when a voice from above--the voice of her I sought--called down thestairs, "Let the gentleman come up!"
I was allowed to pass. In the front drawing-room I found Mary Simms.
"They do not know me under that name," she said with a mournful smile,and again extended, then withdrew, her hand.
"Sit down," she went on to say, after a nervous pause. "I am alone now;told I adjure you, if you have still one latent feeling of old kindnessfor me, explain your words of yesterday to me."
I muttered something to the effect that I had no explanation to give. Nowords could be truer; I had not the slightest conception what to say.
"Yes, I am sure you have; you must, you will," pursued Mary excitedly;"you have some knowledge of that matter."
"What matter?" I asked.
"Why, the insurance," she replied impatiently. "You know well what Imean. My mind has been distracted about it. Spite of myself, terriblesuspicions have forced themselves on me. No; I don't mean that," shecried, suddenly checking herself and changing her tone; "don't heedwhat I said; it was madness in me to say what I did. But do, do, do tellme all you know."
The request was a difficult one to comply with, for I knew nothing. Itis impossible to say what might have been the end of this strangeinterview, in which I began to feel myself an unwilling impostor; butsuddenly Mary started.
"The noise of the latchkey in the lock!" she cried, alarmed; "He hasreturned; he must not see you; you must come another time. Here, here,be quick! I'll manage him."
And before I could utter another word she had pushed me into the backdrawing-room and closed the door. A man's step on the stairs; thenvoices. The man was begging Mary to come out with him, as the day was sofine. She excused herself; he would hear no refusal. At last sheappeared to consent, on condition that the man would assist at hertoilet. There was a little laughter, almost hysterical on the part ofMary, whose voice evidently quivered with trepidation.
Presently both mounted the upper stairs. Then the thought stuck me thatI had left my hat in the front room--a sufficient cause for the woman'salarm. I opened the door cautiously, seized my hat, and was about tosteal down the stairs, when I was again spellbound by that numb cold.
"Stay!" said the voice. I staggered back to the other room with my hat,and closed the door.
Presently the couple came down. Mary was probably relieved bydiscovering that my hat was no longer there, and surmised that I haddeparted; for I heard her laughing as they went down the lower flight.Then I heard them leave the house.
I was alone in that back drawing-room. Why? what did I want there? I wassoon to learn. I felt the chill invisible presence near me; and thevoice said, "Search!"
The room belonged to the common representative class of backdrawing-rooms in "apartments" of the better kind. The only oneunfamiliar piece of furniture was an old Indian cabinet; and my eyenaturally fell on that. As I stood and looked at it with a strangeunaccountable feeling of fascination, again came the voice--"Search!"
I shuddered and obeyed. The cabinet was firmly locked; there was nopower of opening it except by burglarious infraction; but still thevoice said, "Search!"
A thought suddenly struck me, and I turned the cabinet from its positionagainst the wall. Behind, the woodwork had rotted, and in many portionsfallen away, so that the inner drawers were visible. What could myghostly monitor mean--that I should open those drawers? I would not dosuch a deed of petty treachery. I turned defiantly, and addressingmyself to the invisible as if it were a living creature by my side, Icried, "I must not, will not, do such an act of baseness."
The voice replied, "Search!"
I might have known that, in my state of what I deemed insanity,resistance was in vain. I grasped the most accessible drawer frombehind, and pulled it toward me. Uppermost within it lay letters: theywere addressed to "Captain Cameron,"--"Captain George Cameron." Thatname!--the name of Julia's husband, the man with whom she had eloped;for it was he who was the object of my pursuit.
My shuddering fit became so strong that I could scarce hold the papers;and "Search!" was repeated in my ear.
Below the letters lay a small book in a limp black cover. I opened thisbook with trembling hand; it was filled with manuscript--Julia'swell-known handwriting.
"Read!" muttered the voice. I read. There were long entries by poorJulia of her daily life; complaints of her husband's unkindness,neglect, then cruelty. I turned to the last pages: her hand had grownvery feeble now, and she was very ill. "George seems kinder now," shewrote; "he brings me all my medicines with his own hand." Later on: "Iam dying; I know I am dying: he has poisoned me. I saw him last nightthrough the curtains pour something in my cup; I saw it in his evil eye.I would not drink; I will drink no more; but I feel that I must die."
These were the last words. Below were written, in a man's bold hand, thewords "Poor fool!"
This sudden revelation of poor Julia's death and dying thoughts unnervedme quite. I grew colder in my whole frame than ever.
"Take it!" said her voice. I took the book, pushed back the cabinet intoits place against the wall, and, leaving that fearful room, stole downthe stairs with trembling limbs, and left the house with all thefeelings of a guilty thief.
For some days I perused my poor lost Julia's diary again and again. Thewhole revelation of her sad life and sudden death led but to oneconclusion,--she had died of poison by the hands of her unworthyhusband. He had insured her life, and then----
It seemed evident to me that Mary Simms had vaguely shared suspicions ofthe same foul deed. On my own mind came conviction. But what could I donext? how bring this evil man to justice? what proof would be deemed toexist in those writings? I was bewildered, weak, irresolute. LikeHamlet, I shrank back and temporized. But I was not feigning madness; mymadness seemed but all too real for me. During all this period thewailing of that wretched voice in my ear was almost incessant. O, I musthave been mad!
I wandered about restlessly, like the haunted thing I had become. Oneday I had come unconsciously and without purpose into Oxford Street. Mytroubled thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by the solicitations of abeggar. With a heart hardened against begging impostors, and under theinfluence of the shock rudely given to my absorbing dreams, I answeredmore hardly than was my wont. The man heaved a heavy sigh, and sobbedforth, "Then Heaven help me!" I caught sight of him before he turnedaway. He was a ghastly object, with fever in his hollow eyes and sunkencheeks, and fever on his dry, chapped lips. But I knew, or fancied Iknew, the tricks of the trade, and I wa
s obdurate. Why, I asked myself,should the cold shudder come over me at such a moment? But it was sostrong on me as to make me shake all over. It came--that maddeningvoice. "Succor!" it said now. I had become so accustomed already toaddress the ghostly voice that I cried aloud, "Why, Julia, why?" I sawpeople laughing in my face at this strange cry, and I turned in thedirection in which the beggar had gone. I just caught sight of him as hewas tottering down a street toward Soho. I determined to have pity forthis once, and followed the poor man. He led me on through I know notwhat streets. His steps was hurried now. In one street I lost sight ofhim; but I felt convinced he must have turned into a dingy court. I madeinquiries, but for a time received only rude jeering answers from therough men and women whom I questioned. At last a little girl informed methat I must mean the strange man who lodged in the garret of a house shepointed out to me. It was an old dilapidated building, and I had muchrepugnance on entering it. But again I was no master of my will. Imounted some creaking stairs to the top of the house, until I could gono further. A shattered door was open; I entered a wretched garret; theobject of my search lay now on a bundle of rags on the bare floor. Heopened his wild eyes as I approached.
"I have come to succor," I said, using unconsciously the word of thevoice; "what ails you?"
"Ails me?" gasped the man; "hunger, starvation, fever."
I was horrified. Hurrying to the top of the stairs, I shouted till I hadroused the attention of an old woman. I gave her money to bring me foodand brandy, promising her a recompense for her trouble.
"Have you no friends?" I asked the wretched man as I returned.
"None," he said feebly. Then as the fever rose in his eyes and evenflushed his pallid face, he said excitedly, "I had a master once--one Iperilled my soul for. He knows I am dying; but, spite of all my letters,he will not come. He wants me dead, he wants me dead--and his wish iscoming to pass now."
"Cannot I find him--bring him here?" I asked.
The man stared at me, shook his head, and at last, as if collecting hisfaculties with much exertion, muttered, "Yes; it is a last hope; perhapsyou may, and I can be revenged on him at least. Yes revenged. I havethreatened him already." And the fellow laughed a wild laugh.
"Control yourself," I urged, kneeling by his side; "give me hisname--his address."
"Captain George Cameron," he gasped, and then fell back.
"Captain George Cameron!" I cried. "Speak! what of him?"
But the man's senses seemed gone; he only muttered incoherently. The oldwoman returned with the food and spirits. I had found one honestcreature in that foul region. I gave her money--provide her more if shewould bring a doctor. She departed on her new errand. I raised the man'shead, moistened his lips with the brandy, and then poured some of thespirit down his throat. He gulped at it eagerly, and opened his eyes;but he still raved incoherently, "I did not do it, it was he. He made mebuy the poison; he dared not risk the danger himself, the coward! I knewwhat he meant to do with it, and yet I did not speak; I was her murderertoo. Poor Mrs. Cameron! poor Mrs. Cameron! do you forgive?--can youforgive?" And the man screamed aloud and stretched out his arms as if tofright away a phantom.
I had drunk in every word, and knew the meaning of those broken accentswell. Could I have found at last the means of bringing justice on themurderer's head? But the man was raving in a delirium, and I was obligedto hold him with all my strength. A step on the stairs. Could it be themedical man I had sent for? That would be indeed a blessing. A manentered--it was Cameron!
He came in jauntily, with the words, "How now, Saunders, you rascal!What more do you want to get out of me?"
He started at the sight of a stranger.
I rose from my kneeling posture like an accusing spirit. I struggled forcalm; but passion beyond my control mastered me, and was I not a madman?I seized him by the throat, with the words, "Murderer! poisoner! whereis Julia?" He shook me off violently.
"And who the devil are you, sir?" he cried.
"That murdered woman's cousin!" I rushed at him again.
"Lying hound!" he shouted, and grappled me. His strength was far beyondmine. He had his hand on my throat; a crimson darkness was in my eyes; Icould not see, I could not hear; there was a torrent of sound pouring inmy ears. Suddenly his grasp relaxed. When I recovered my sight, I sawthe murderer struggling with the fever-stricken man, who had risen fromthe floor, and seized him from behind. This unexpected diversion savedmy life; but the ex-groom was soon thrown back on the ground.
"Captain George Cameron," I cried, "kill me, but you will only heapanother murder on your head!"
He advanced on me with something glittering in his hand. Without a wordhe came and stabbed at me; but at the same moment I darted at him aheavy blow. What followed was too confused for clear remembrance. Isaw--no, I will say I fancied that I saw--the dim form of Julia Stauntonstanding between me and her vile husband. Did he see the vision too? Icannot say. He reeled back, and fell heavily to the floor. Maybe it wasonly my blow that felled him. Then came confusion--a dream of a crowd ofpeople--policemen--muttered accusations. I had fainted from the wound inmy arm.
Captain George Cameron was arrested. Saunders recovered, and lived longenough to be the principal witness on his trial. The murderer was foundguilty. Poor Julia's diary, too, which I had abstracted, told fearfullyagainst him. But he contrived to escape the gallows; he had managed toconceal poison on his person, and he was found dead in his cell. MarySimms I never saw again. I once received a little scrawl, "I am at peacenow, Master John. God bless you!"
I have had no more hallucinations since that time; the voice has nevercome again. I found out poor Julia's grave, and, as I stood and wept byits side, the cold shudder came over me for the last time. Who shalltell me whether I was once really mad, or whether I was not?
A Stable for Nightmares; or, Weird Tales Page 8
