Eben Holden: A Tale of the North Country

by Irving Bacheller

  Chapter 32

  I took a walk in the long twilight of that evening. As it began to growdark I passed the Fuller house and looked up at its windows. Standingunder a tree on the opposite side of the avenue I saw a man come outof the door and walk away hurriedly with long strides. I met him at thenext corner.

  'Good-evening!' he said.

  I recognised then the voice and figure of John Trumbull. 'Been toFuller's,' said he.

  'How is Hope?' I asked.

  'Better,' said he. 'Walk with me?

  'With pleasure,' said I, and then he quickened his pace.

  We walked awhile in silence, going so fast! had hardly time to speak,and the darkness deepened into night. We hurried along through streetsand alleys that were but dimly lighted, coming out at length on a wideavenue passing through open fields in the upper part of the city. Lightsin cabin windows glowed on the hills around us. I made some remark aboutthem but he did not hear me. He slackened pace in a moment and beganwhispering to himself' I could not hear what he said. I thought ofbidding him good-night and returning but where were we and how could Ifind my way? We heard a horse coming presently at a gallop. At the firstloud whack of the hoofs he turned suddenly and laying hold of my armbegan to run. I followed him into the darkness of the open field.It gave me a spell of rare excitement for I thought at once ofhighwaymen--having read so much of them in the Tribune. He stoppedsuddenly and stooped low his hands touching the grass and neither spokeuntil the horse had gone well beyond us. Then he rose, stealthily, andlooked about him in silence, even turning his face to the dark sky whereonly a few stars were visible.

  'Well!' said he with a sort of grunt. 'Beats the devil! I thought itwas. A wonderful thing was happening in the sky. A great double moonseemed to be flying over the city hooded in purple haze. A little sprayof silver light broke out of it, as we looked, and shot backward andthen floated after the two shining disks that were falling eastward ina long curve. They seemed to be so near I thought they were coming downupon the city. It occurred to me they must have some connection with theodd experience I had gone through. In a moment they had passed out ofsight. We were not aware that we had witnessed a spectacle the likeof which had not been seen in centuries, if ever, since God made theheavens. The great meteor of 1860.

  'Let's go back,' said Trumbull. 'We came too far. I forgot myself.'

  'Dangerous here?' I enquired.

  'Not at all,' said he, 'but a long way out of town--tired?

  'Rather,' I said, grateful for his evident desire to quiet my alarm.

  'Come!' said he as we came back to the pavement, his hand upon myshoulder. 'Talk to me. Tell me--what are you going to do?

  We walked slowly down the deserted avenue, I, meanwhile, talking of myplans.

  'You love. Hope,' he said presently. 'You will marry her?

  'If she will have me,' said I.

  'You must wait,' he said, 'time enough!

  He quickened his pace again as we came in sight of the scatteringshops and houses of the upper city and no other word was spoken. On thecorners we saw men looking into the sky and talking of the fallen moon.It was late bedtime when we turned into Gramercy Park.

  'Come in,' said he as he opened an iron gate.

  I followed him up a marble stairway and a doddering old English butleropened the door for us. We entered a fine hall, its floor of beautifulparquetry muffled with silken rugs. High and spacious rooms were allaglow with light.

  He conducted me to a large smoking-room, its floor and walls coveredwith trophies of the hunt--antlers and the skins of carnivora. Here hethrew off his coat and bade me be at home as he lay down upon a wickerdivan covered with the tawny skin of some wild animal. He stroked thefur fondly with his hand.

  'Hello Jock!' he said, a greeting that mystified me.

  'Tried to eat me,' he added, turning to me.

  Then he bared his great hairy arm and showed me a lot of ugly scars, Ibesought him to tell the story.

  'Killed him,' he answered. 'With a gun?

  'No--with my hands,' and that was all he would say of it.

  He lay facing a black curtain that covered a corner. Now and then Iheard a singular sound in the room--like some faint, far, night cry suchas I have heard often in the deep woods. It was so weird I felt somewonder of it. Presently I could tell it came from behind the curtainwhere, also, I heard an odd rustle like that of wings.

  I sat in a reverie, looking at the silent man before me, and in themidst of it he pulled a cord that hung near him and a bell rang.

  'Luncheon!' he said to the old butler who entered immediately.

  Then he rose and showed me odd things, carved out of wood, by his ownhand as he told me, and with a delicate art. He looked at one tiny thingand laid it aside quickly.

  'Can't bear to look at it now,' he said.

  'Gibbet?' I enquired.

  'Gibbet,' he answered.

  It was a little figure bound hand and foot and hanging from the gallowstree.

  'Burn it!' he said, turning to the old servant and putting it in hishands. Luncheon had been set between us, the while, and as we wereeating it the butler opened a big couch and threw snowy sheets of linenover it and silken covers that rustled as they fell.

  'You will sleep there,' said my host as his servant laid the pillows,'and well I hope.

  I thought I had better go to my own lodgings.

  'Too late--too late,' said he, and I, leg-weary and half-asleep,accepted his proffer of hospitality. Then, having eaten, he left me andI got into bed after turning the lights out Something woke me in thedark of the night. There was a rustling sound in the room. I raisedmy head a bit and listened. It was the black curtain that hung in thecorner. I imagined somebody striking it violently. I saw a white figurestanding near me in the darkness. It moved away as I looked at it. Acold wind was blowing upon my face. I lay a long time listening and byand by I could hear the deep voice of Trumbull as if he were groaningand muttering in his sleep. When it began to come light I saw the breezefrom an open window was stirring the curtain of silk in the corner. Igot out of bed and, peering behind the curtain, saw only a great whiteowl, caged and staring out of wide eyes that gleamed fiery in the dimlight. I went to bed again, sleeping until my host woke me in the latemorning.

  After breakfasting I went to the chalet. The postman had been there buthe had brought no letter from Hope. I waited about home, expectingto hear from her, all that day, only to see it end in bitterdisappointment.