Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II

Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II Page 4

by M. Y. Halidom

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE WAXEN IMAGE.--THE HOSTESS'S STORY.

  We have alluded before the commencement of our late story to a clappingof hands proceeding from the club-room, announcing the termination ofsome tale from our hostess.

  It will be remembered that the tale of our landlady had come to an endprevious to the commencement of our artist's narrative. Let us entreatour reader, then, to take a retrospect glance, and imagine himselfseated in the club-room, in the company of its worthy members and ourbuxom hostess, whilst the painter was deeply absorbed in his portrait ofthe fair Helen.

  Dame Hearty, after continued pressing, and some diffidence on her part,seemed finally to be collecting her ideas, which process was performedby casting down her eyes and toying with the corners of her apron; thenas if suddenly inspired, she abruptly smoothed down her apron on herlap, and dovetailing the fingers of each ruddy hand within those of theother, she hemmed once or twice and proceeded in the followingstrain.

  When I was a girl, gentlemen, about the age of my Helen, I was just suchanother as she, though I dare say you would hardly believe it, to lookat me now; but ask my good man and he'll tell you the same. Look at myHelen, and you will see what your humble servant was at her age. I hadthe same rosy cheeks, like two ripe apples, the same laughing blue eyesand sunny hair, and as for spirits, why, Lord bless you, the dear childain't nothing to what her mother was at her age.

  Well, gentlemen, I was always for gaming and romping, and folks wouldsay that there wasn't a lass like Molly Sykes for miles round. In fact,I used to be called the pride of the village, though I say it, thatshouldn't. At the time I speak of, I was at the village school, andthere was hardly a young man in the village that did not come a courtin'after me, but I paid no attention to none of them, as I had beenattached from childhood to my Jack, then a spruce lad of some eighteensummers, but I laughed and joked with all, so I was always popular.

  The only school friend I ever had was a young girl about my own age--anorphan, one Claribel Falkland, of an extremely delicate and sensitivenature, the sweetest temper in the world, and of a beauty which in myheart I felt surpassed my own, for it was more the beauty of a high-bornlady. I see before me now her pale oval face with her large lustroushazel eyes, her smooth dark nut-brown hair, and her slim gracefulfigure which seemed to glide rather than walk about. I recollect, too,her low soft voice that had music in the very tone of it, and her sweetlook radiant with the innocence of her heart. I know not how two beingsof such opposite temperaments should ever have become such fast friends,for Claribel was pensive and melancholy, and of a studious turn, poringover every book she could get hold of, whilst I, on the contrary, was aperfect hoyden, always laughing and playing the fool when I ought tohave been at work.

  However strange it may appear, it is certain that a sympathy strongerthan that generally found between two sisters grew up between us. Butlet me pass on to describe certain peculiarities in the constitution ofmy young school friend. In the first place, she had been from childhooda sleep walker, a phenomenon that I soon discovered, for poor Claribelbeing an orphan and having no home of her own, used to live with us, andwe two always slept together.

  At first this peculiarity gave me no little alarm, as she would oftenrise in the middle of the night, light a candle and wander all over thehouse, and I was afraid that some night she would set the house on fire.

  However, no accident ever occurred, and to my surprise I found that sheseemed just as cautious in her sleep as if she had been in her wakingstate, always shading the flame with her hand and using such extremecaution when passing near the curtains or anything else at all likelyto catch fire, that I used to doubt sometimes if she really could beasleep.

  Being warned by the doctor never to address her or touch her whilst inthis state, lest the shock should be too great for her, I, at first,used to follow her with my eyes about the room, and if she left thechamber, I generally used to rise and follow softly after, at somedistance, lest an accident should befall her. But finding soon that shewas just as certain of her footing in her sleep as in her wakingmoments, I began to abandon my fears, and thought no more of thispeculiarity.

  Indeed, as she was in the habit of rising every other night, I soon feltfar too sleepy to trouble myself about her. But soon this strange powerin her began to develop itself, and to take a stranger and moreinteresting form.

  She would now get up at night, sit herself down at a table, take pen,ink, and paper, and fill sheet after sheet with close writing andelegant composition. This was particularly the case if she had left atask uncompleted during the day. In the morning it was sure to be foundfinished, and generally better done than if it had been accomplishedduring her hours of waking; nor was she herself conscious of it untilshe examined her exercise the next morning.

  If I perchance should have an uncompleted task on hand, she wouldinvariably finish mine before her own. But this phenomenon in my youngfriend, however strange and unaccountable it may seem, sinks into utterinsignificance before a far more terrible one which I am now about todescribe.

  You may think I exaggerate, gentlemen, or that it was the effect of myown over-wrought fancy, produced by sleepless nights of watching over myyoung friend, but there are witnesses living yet who saw what I saw, andwho are ready to give their testimony. The doctor of this village,together with his assistant, the rector, and two women living close by,are among these I speak of, besides others. Let them speak forthemselves if you will not believe my word.

  The phenomenon to which I have above alluded was the power, if I may socall it, of dividing herself in two, or becoming two separate beings;that is to say, of making a duplicate of herself. This extraordinary andfearful gift had evidently been noticed by others before it fell undermy own observation, since for a long time previous to seeing it myselfit was reported throughout the village that Claribel Falkland hadappeared in two places at the same time.

  To this, however, as to all other village gossip, I paid no attention,knowing well how trifles get exaggerated after passing through manymouths, and how sometimes reports are circulated without an atom oftruth for their foundation. I can only tell you, however, gentlemen,what I saw with my own eyes, believe it, or not, as you will. Onemorning, then, after returning home from school, Claribel having beenunable to attend from some slight indisposition, I entered the roomsuddenly where my friend was seated. I remember, too, that I had neverfelt in better health in all my life, when there, to my utterconsternation, was not only my friend, seated as was her wont, in aneasy chair, with her head resting on her hand, but another figure, theexact counterpart of herself, a duplicate Claribel, leaning over theback of her arm-chair, exactly in the same position as my friendhappened to be at the time.

  I remained at the door, my eyes and mouth wide open, in mute horror,unable to advance a step or utter an exclamation, until my friend,looking up and inquiring the reason of my surprise, the figure behindthe chair instantly vanished. I then proceeded to relate to her thevision, which she, however, smiled at and affected to treat as atemporary delusion on my part, the result of indigestion or disorderedstate of my nerves. I persisted that I was in the most perfect health,and that I had seen what I chose to style her "double."

  She declared to me that she herself had not been conscious of it, andthat, therefore, whatever I might say to the contrary, it _was_ adelusion. She answered even with some irritability--very unusual toher--which made me think that she had long been aware of this phenomenonin herself, but wished to keep it secret from others.

  Seeing she was displeased, I said no more, and half persuaded myselfthat I had been deluded by my senses. She had been living with us forsome time previous to the first appearance of the spectre, but afterthis first visit the apparition repeatedly presented itself, often asmany as five or six times in the same day, though sometimes disappearingfor a week or a month, and then returning. I observed that the figurealways appeared clearer and more defined the more my friend appearedabsorbed in some favourite
occupation, or when in a deep reverie. Inwhatsoever way she happened to be occupied, whether in reading, writing,reckoning, or in earnest conversation, the spectre would instantlyappear behind her, imitating her every movement with the precision of alooking-glass.

  Of course, this peculiarity in her constitution caused no slight terrorto myself, as well as to my father, who was then alive, and someintimate friends; yet after a time, finding that the visits of theapparition boded no harm, and getting accustomed to the same, we hailedour spiritual visitant as a welcome guest, cracking jokes in itspresence, and even addressing it with so little appearance of reverence,that had it not been a very good-tempered spectre, it must have resentedour rudeness. But the double never showed any resentment, unlesstreating us all with silent contempt may be considered as resentment.Indeed, it had never been once known to utter a sound; neither did itappear to be conscious of our presence.

  I remember on one occasion, for a frolic, throwing a heavy book at itshead, but this had no further effect than to disturb for a moment theluminous ether of which the spectre appeared composed, and whichspeedily re-settled itself, while the phantom seemed unconscious ofhaving received injury or insult of any kind. The book passed throughits head as if it had been air or smoke, and fell to the ground. I wasbold enough once to walk up to it and take it by the arm, and found tomy surprise, that there was a slight resistance, like that of muslin orcrape, but it melted within my grasp, and I noticed that wherever Iplaced my hand, that that part of the figure was instantly wanting, anddid not right itself until I withdrew my touch.

  Sometimes the whole figure would disappear if I came within two paces ofit, and it was not always of the same consistency, being sometimes lesspalpable than at others. This I observed to be dependent upon thegreater or less absorption of my friend in her occupation or reverie. Itis also remarkable that the more clearly defined and life-like thephantom appeared, the more exhausted and haggard grew my friend, and_vice versa_.

  But I must now return to the second visit of our spiritual companion.

  You may well imagine my terror and consternation at its firstappearance, yet when the first shock had passed over, I should probablynever have related the vision to a single soul, and set down everythingto hallucination, had I not shortly after caught a second glimpse of thespectre. This time my friend and I happened to be playing chesstogether, when, whilst waiting for her to move, I distinctly saw thedouble leaning over her chair, as if in the act of assisting her in thegame.

  "Look, Claribel," I cried; "there it is again, you can't deny it thistime," whereupon the figure instantly disappeared.

  Now, as my friend still persisted that it was nothing more than mydelusion, I began to be alarmed for my own health, and acquainted myfather with what I had seen. He, too, laughed at me, and called it asilly girlish fancy, but said no more until I had seen it again three orfour times, going immediately to my father each time after the visionhad presented itself, and describing to him exactly the attitude and thegestures of the apparition on each successive visit.

  Then my father became alarmed for the state of my health, and a doctorwas sent for, that I might be bled. But on the doctor's arrival, hecould detect nothing wrong with me; but just to satisfy my father,ordered me a little harmless physic, and took his departure. Believingthat whether the doctor perceived it or not, that I must really be in avery bad state, I took all his medicine in regular doses, and at thetimes prescribed, carrying out his injunctions to the letter.

  Nevertheless, the vision continued, appearing several times a day, andremaining sometimes almost half the day at a visit. Upon hearing allthis, my father called for the doctor again, and positively insisted onmy being bled this time. I remember that I was averse to the operation,never having undergone it before, and imagining that the pain would bemuch greater than I found it in reality. I therefore begged--finding myfather so determined--that my friend might be present during theoperation to give me courage.

  This was assented to, and my friend was called into the parlour, lookingpale and trembling, as if she fancied herself guilty of the pain aboutto be inflicted on me. She remained stationary in front of me, with alook of sweet commiseration in her face, but without uttering a word.

  Once or twice I thought she was going to speak, but she checked herself,and then I noticed a struggle going on within her, as if she would havesaid, "Ought I not to prevent this operation, and openly confess thatwhat my friend has seen, is not an hallucination, but a reality; aphenomenon belonging to my constitution? But, no; I dare not."

  This was how I read the expression of her face. However, the operationpassed over with far less pain than I had expected, when, oh, wonderful!on looking up again at the face of my friend, who was standingmotionless as a statue, I perceived once more her double, not this timeas usual, standing behind her and imitating her attitude, but pacing upand down the room with rapid steps and wringing her hands, as if indespair.

  Feeling somewhat weak from loss of blood, I forbore to cry out, but mywild looks attracted the attention of my father and the doctor to thespot my eyes were fixed upon, when, following the direction of my eyes,both suddenly started in extreme terror, such as I have never seenexpressed before or since upon the faces of any two of the stronger sex.

  The doctor halted in tying on the bandage, and trembled like an aspen,while my father staggered and fell against the wall. For some minutesnot a word was spoken, when my friend probably guessing the cause of ouralarm, suddenly turned her head in the direction of their gaze, when theapparition instantly vanished. Each looked at the other, and the doctordeclared that such a case had never before occurred in all hisexperience, nor would he have believed it had he had other testimonythan that of his own eyes.

  My friend then, her eyes filled with tears, begged of us all present tokeep the matter a secret, and not to publish it throughout the village.Upon being questioned concerning the phenomenon, it appeared that whatwe had all seen was a reality, having as she alleged been seen by othersbefore. She said that she was not conscious of its presence, save by thelooks of consternation she saw depicted on the faces of others; that shehad no control over the apparition, as it would appear and disappearwithout her knowledge, and that she had never seen it herself butonce--in the looking-glass--when it caused her such a preternaturalhorror that she never afterwards used a looking-glass without ashudder.

  This phenomenon in her nature, moreover, made her very unhappy, as onthis account people used to shun her, considering the apparition as thework of the Evil One, and deeming her guilty of some fearful crime, forsuch a judgment ever to be permitted to persecute her.

  The doctor and my father, their first surprise once over, attempted toconsole her, assuring her that they neither of them conceived hercapable of anything like a crime, recommending her to keep quiet and notto worry herself on that account.

  The doctor, to console her, further promised to keep her secret; but, inspite of his earnest assurances that he would not breathe a word of itto mortal man, a pamphlet appeared shortly afterwards in the doctor'sown name, announcing a new form of contagious nervous disease, in whichthe visual organs of a healthy individual might become so affected bycontact with a person suffering from hallucinations as to cause him tosee or fancy he sees the object reflected on the retina of the patientby his diseased imagination. An instance of this was given as havingoccurred in the village, and though the names of the parties concernedwere not given in full, the neighbours had no doubt as to whom was meantby C---- F----.

  The pamphlet made some stir at the time, and poor Claribel, my bashfuland retiring friend, found herself made the lion of the season, andpestered past all endurance by anxious inquiries and impertinent visitsfrom strangers, who came from far, hoping to have their curiositygratified by a re-appearance of the spectre. If such was their object incalling, and it undoubtedly was, they one and all of them went awayterribly disappointed, for not in one single case did the apparitionvouchsafe to manifest itself.

 
Nevertheless, these continued visits from strangers to one so shy andretired as my friend, made her excessively nervous, and were beginningto undermine her health, which, the doctor perceiving, he gave instantorders that she should receive no visits but those of her most intimatefriends.

  Visitors still continued to call for some little time afterwards, butwere refused admittance on the plea of my friend's delicate health, andtheir visits grew fewer and farther between, till at length they ceasedaltogether, and Claribel's health began to improve.

  As everything has an end, even the gossip of a little village, so intime people grew tired, both of hearing or retailing what they had heardand retailed so often before, till at length nobody believed a wordabout the apparition; and because they could not explain the cause ofthe phenomenon, hushed their minds to sleep by calling it imposture,delusion, ignorant credulity, and the like.

  The ghost had never appeared to them or to those who had taken so muchtrouble as to come from afar on purpose to see it, and the deduction wasthat as the spirit had refused to manifest itself to such respectablepeople as these, it was not likely that it had ever vouchsafed to makeits appearance to anyone, so the affair was settled.

  Time rolled on, and both my friend and I were promoted from pupils toteachers in our school. The gossip of the village had long ceased; infact, Claribel's spiritual tormentor had discontinued its visits now forso long that she began to hope that they had ceased for ever.

  Claribel was now fast ripening into womanhood, and found herself nolonger shunned and whispered about as a person guilty of some horriblecrime which had called down the just vengeance of Heaven upon her, butpassed by like any other, without allusion to the past; nay, more, shebegan to be courted by people in general, being known as a young womanof most excellent character. Being of an extremely prepossessingappearance, it was natural that she should be made a mark for all theyoung men of the village to discharge their amorous glances at, and shesoon found herself surrounded by a crowd of swains who talked softnonsense to her, and who would fain make her believe that they weredying with love for her.

  Claribel, however, turned a deaf ear to them all. She was not a girl tobe wooed by soft nonsense; indeed, you would have said she was a girlnot likely to marry at all, she was so retired and showed suchindifference to the conversation of young men, and took no painswhatever to set herself off to advantage in their eyes. Neverthelessthis did not deter admirers from flocking around her. In fact, I ratherthink her coldness and apparent negligence of dress and general personalappearance rather incited them the more. I have called her indifferentto personal appearance; not that she was not scrupulously clean andneat; no one could be more so. But there she was content to remain.

  She cared not to deck herself out with bows and ribbons, by the wearingof trumpery jewellery, or by any exaggerated fashion of wearing herhair. It is just this simplicity in woman which attracts most men, andit is natural enough that it should do so, as it argues a certainforgetfulness of self, a modest and unselfish nature, which is the basisof every womanly virtue, and therefore to be sought after in a wife.Foolish women imagine that men are to be caught by being run after. Theytherefore spare no expense in their toilet, study arts and graces, andomit nothing which they think ought to captivate the opposite sex; butas they too often over-step the bounds of modesty, their flimsy designsare seen through, and they find themselves laughed at by those they hadhoped to make their prey.

  Claribel had known such women in her time, and pitied rather thandespised them, for there was nothing harsh in her nature. She was oftenquizzed in her turn by many a jimp-waisted hoyden for being a dowdy, butshe would pass by their remarks with a good-humoured smile, and saylittle, for she was of few words.

  Our school was now well filled with pupils, who, one and all, grew mostattached to my young friend--to both of us in fact--but I rather thinkthat she was the favourite.

  There was not a person in or out of the school that could say a wordagainst Claribel Falkland; there was something so inoffensive, somodest, and, at the same time, winning about her; such consideration forothers, such a looking out of herself, if I may so term it. Then she hadthe knack of teaching--a rare gift--and was as mild and patient as alamb, thus endearing all hearts towards her.

  One day when giving a lesson in geography to her class (this was about ayear after the last apparition of the spectre) I, who was giving alesson in arithmetic to some younger children in the opposite corner ofthe schoolroom, was suddenly startled by a scream of surprise from thegirls of my friend's class.

  "Look! look! oh, just look, Miss Sykes," they cried in terror, "look,_there are two Miss Falklands_!"

  I raised my eyes at the cry, and saw to my dismay, my friend's oldtormentor--the double--behind her, as usual, and imitating her action,my friend being at that moment in the act of pointing to a map. I walkedacross the room to my friend, hoping to drive away the spectre in sodoing, but it remained some minutes longer before it entirelydisappeared.

  I caught the eye of my friend, who looked mournfully at me, and added ina low tone of voice, as I passed her, "Is it not provoking? Couldanything be more annoying?"

  I did not tell the schoolgirls that I myself saw the figure, and triedto laugh them out of a "silly fancy," as I called it, fearing that Imight be called upon as a witness, should this report reach the ears ofthe school-mistress, and it might prejudice folks against my friend as ateacher, so I affected harshness, and said I begged I should hear nomore of such stuff, and the affair dropped for the time; but now thatthe double had recommenced its visits, it came frequently, and always inclass time, to my friend's great discomfiture.

  Of course, there was no getting out of it now. The school-mistress wascalled, and saw the same thing; and I myself was obliged to see it withthe rest. The school-mistress was very much bewildered, as well shemight be. She declared she did not know what to make of it. She couldhardly bring herself to think that it was a messenger of good, and MissFalkland's character was so unimpeachable that she could still lessbelieve that anything bad should be permitted to torment her. In fact,she did not know what to think, so she called for the rector of theparish, that he might speak with the apparition; and if it should provean evil one, to exorcise it.

  The rector came, but being disappointed in seeing the spectre, came asecond, third, and fourth time, with the like success, till at length hewent away in a huff, and begged they would trouble him no more.

  One Sunday, however, as the rector was in the middle of his sermon, hiseyes being fixed on our school, we noticed him suddenly turn pale andtremble. He was unable to go on with his sermon. I followed his eyes,and found, as I half expected, my friend and her double seated closetogether. The girls shrieked and started, and a commotion was being madein the church; so much so, that Claribel was obliged to get up and walkout, her double following close at her heels.

  Fancy poor Claribel, who was like a nun in her love of solitude andretirement, having to walk out of church through a crowd of people allthe way home again with a duplicate of herself following in herfootsteps!

  You must not suppose that the matter stopped here. The remarks of therustics who met her on the way, the village gossip that now broke outafresh--worse than ever before--the suspicious looks she received on allsides, all contributed to mortify her; but what appeared to completelybreak her spirit was the sudden falling off of one half of her pupils.Of course, she could make no doubt as to the cause of this. Even therest of the pupils, she thought, grew colder to her, and they, too,dropped off one by one, until the poor girl had not a single pupil left.

  When matters arrived at this point it was hinted to her by theschool-mistress that on account of the great damage this unfortunatepeculiarity of hers had done the school, that it was better for her onthe whole, to leave. The school-mistress added that she was aware thatit was no fault of my young friend's, and it was with much regret thatshe was obliged to part with her; yet what could she do? She could notafford to lose all her pupils; and thus
it was my poor friend lost asituation upon which she depended to begin her little savings. Much andbitterly did she weep over her cursed existence, and earnestly prayedthat she might be liberated from her tormentor.

  Since she had left her position as a school teacher she had led a lifeof such rigid retirement that it was with the greatest difficulty shecould be persuaded to leave the house, even in my company, to take theair and exercise that her health required. She refused to see anyoneunless it was the rector, who would occasionally call in the evening totake a dish of tea with us.

  It was on one of these visits, when we were seated round the fire,conversing agreeably--the rector was relating some amusing anecdote, towhich we were all listening attentively, the rector himself laughing athis own story--when suddenly we noticed that he stopped short in themiddle of his laughing, turned pale, and rose from his chair.

  The cause of this sudden change immediately became apparent to us all.There, immediately behind the chair of Claribel, who had been listeningattentively to the rector, with her chin resting on her hand, was herdouble in exactly the same position, with its eyes fixed intently on therector's face. The rector having started to his feet, assumed a toneand manner which he in vain strove to render firm, and conjured thefigure in the name of the Holy Trinity, if it were a thing of evil, tocome out of her and trouble her no more; but his exorcism fell as uponthe wind, the spectre apparently not hearing his words, and departing atits leisure some two or three minutes afterwards, appearing again onceor twice in the same evening during the rector's visit.

  The following Sunday prayers were read publicly in the church, with theview of dispelling the evil spirit, as it was called, and mention of thephenomenon was made in the rector's sermon, but all to no purpose. Thespectre would appear and disappear whenever it chose, its coming beingnever heralded by any particular signs, and its vanishing just asuncertain.

  If anyone particularly wished it to appear, it was as if the spectretook a malicious delight in disappointing them; if, on the other hand,its presence was exceedingly undesirable, it would be almost certain toappear.

  Of the numerous admirers of Claribel it will be necessary for me only tomention two. The first was one John Archer, an ardent and virtuousyouth, aged twenty-one, whose honest English face revealed the sincerityof his heart. He held the post of gamekeeper on the estate of LordEdgedown. He was bold and generous, but of a nature so bashful and timidin matters regarding our sex, that he would have allowed himself to becut out in a love affair by a man not possessing one half his merit orhis good looks.

  As my father was on good terms with the father of John Archer, John wasalways a welcome visitor at our house, and thus began his acquaintancewith Claribel. I really think if he had persisted in his suit, as a morecourageous lover would have done, that he must at last have won the loveof Claribel. I know that Claribel had the highest esteem for him, andhad learnt to sympathise with him as one noble nature sympathises withanother.

  They grew to treat each other as brother and sister, but this was all.The other lover was a totally different sort of man. Richard de Chevronwas a scion of a noble house, had received the education of a gentleman,and could mix in the highest society; but he was debauched, profligate,a gamester, and a drunkard, of a mean and spiteful disposition, withnothing noble whatever in his character and not even good looking, buthe had that persistency in wooing which John lacked, added to a verysmooth tongue and plentiful flow of language. Neither was he quitewithout accomplishments; he could both play and sing well, and dance toperfection; qualities which might have won the heart of a less austeremaiden than my friend Claribel. But Claribel retired, as she was, indisposition and a perfect dunce in that education which mixing in theworld gives, had yet by nature, by way of compensation, such amarvellously acute perception of human character, that it bordered onthe prophetic in many instances. In a word, she was a physiognomist.

  On seeing Richard de Chevron for the first time, she had taken aninstant aversion to him, without ever having heard anything against hischaracter, and though De Chevron tried hard to dispel the sinisterimpression with which he could not fail to observe he had inspiredher--and I must own that he did his best--yet that impression never lefther, but, on the contrary, deepened after every visit.

  Now, Richard de Chevron was nephew to Lord Edgedown, and heir-apparentto that earl's fortune and estates; at least, he often used to hint asmuch, but this was evidently more brag, as he was a younger son, and wasknown to be no particular favourite with his uncle on account of hisdissipated habits. He had also the hopes of coming in for anotherfortune, so he said; that of Squire Broadacre, a relative on hismother's side, whose estate joined that of Lord Edgedown's; but whetherall this were true or not, it made not the slightest difference toClaribel in her estimation of the man. She still saw in him a low,debauched, false, and perjured villain, seeking to hide under a mask ofstudied courtesy the evil promptings of his reptile heart.

  Even had De Chevron succeeded in making Claribel marry him, such a matchcould have brought nothing but misery to her, even from a pecuniarypoint of view, for at the time we knew him he had not a penny of hisown, and was, besides, head over ears in debt.

  Men of the De Chevron class do not often mean marriage when they goa-courting, unless it happens to be particularly to their interest. Whatthey want is a fortune, and not a wife. If the former can be had withoutthe latter, why so much the better; if not, they are content to put upwith the latter incumbrance for the sake of being able to pay off theirdebts.

  Now, poor Claribel was an orphan, without a penny in the world. Whatgood could his attentions bode the poor child? Claribel, however, wasnot mercenary, and had she been capable of loving any man, she wouldhave been contented to live on a crust, and to have worked hard for it;but she appeared not to be destined for earthly affection. The nearestapproach she ever made towards that passion commonly called love was thedeep friendship she had entertained for the youthful gamekeeper.

  Now, to meet with a rival in the person of his uncle's gamekeeper wasgall and wormwood to Richard de Chevron. He knew that John Archer was ayoung man of trust who received a good salary, and was of a rank nearerto that of Claribel's than his own was, and his attentions would be morereadily looked upon as earnest.

  Besides, John was good looking and noble, and had it not been for hisexcessive modesty in coming forward, would have been the very man of allmen most likely to ensure the love of such a girl as Claribel. Theintentions of De Chevron were not honourable, whatever his protestationsmight have made them out. He could not afford to marry Claribel, nordid he ever for a moment meditate such a thing.

  Had an intimate friend asked him in confidence if he really entertainedthoughts of marriage towards the girl he so ardently professed to love,he would have burst out laughing in his face, and asked him if he tookhim for a fool. No; he simply desired to win the heart of Claribel, andsucceeding in that, he looked upon his prey as certain. But as yet hehad not succeeded; nay, more, he had a favoured rival--a young man ofgood natural advantages, and in every way qualified to make Claribelhappy, even though he were only his uncle's gamekeeper and had notreceived a gentleman's education. He thought of the difference ofClaribel's treatment of this young boor and that of himself--he, thescion of a noble house!

  Then jealously began to gnaw his heart, and he found it to his interestthat John Archer should be removed for ever from his path. Beingperfectly unscrupulous and selfish, he cared not what means he employedto execute his design, as long as no suspicion should be attached tohimself.

  He could have waylaid and murdered his rival, if he chose; haveintroduced poison in his cup, or bribed an assassin to murder him, butnone of these modes suited De Chevron. The law was vigilant, inquirieswould be made, and the murder probably traced to his own door. Hisreputation would suffer, to say nothing of his own life beingendangered. He would have no accomplices, as he knew that no man was tobe depended upon; he would trust to no one but himself and his ownresources.

>   Like a wily Jesuit, he would work in the dark, would be the cause of allthe mischief that his own atrocious brain could dictate, but himselfremain hid. Now, when Richard de Chevron first met John Archer at myfather's house, he treated him with coldness, not to say haughtiness. Henow completely changed his tactics. He saw that the least show ofcontempt or dislike towards the young gamekeeper, who was a generalfavourite--and especially with Claribel--would be construed intojealously on his part; and though this was really the case, it did notsuit him that everyone should know it; therefore he entirely altered hisconduct towards his rival, and nothing now could be more kind andcourteous, more apparently generous than his treatment of his uncle'sgamekeeper.

  He apologised if by any former brusqueness of manner he had offendedhim, pleading that he had not had the opportunity hitherto of studyinghis estimable character, but that after long observation he had learntto appreciate his noble qualities, and should henceforth entertain forhim the highest esteem and friendship. He would pat him playfully on theshoulder, call him his friend, would make him every now and then sometrifling present, and even put in a good word for him to my friendClaribel.

  All this had the appearance of generosity, as De Chevron designed itshould have, and thus avert suspicion from himself. We were all of us athome much surprised and pleased at this extraordinary change, especiallyas he had ceased for a time to persecute Claribel with his attentions.

  Richard de Chevron appeared to be turning over a new leaf. When I say wewere all deceived in De Chevron's behaviour, I must not omit to statethat there was one exception, and that was Claribel herself, who fromthe first had behaved with a freezing coldness towards De Chevron, and,little as she knew of the world and its wickedness, had such aninstinctive distrust of this man, that when he began to speak favourablyto her of John Archer, she trembled violently, and looked into his facewith such a searching glance that it seemed to peer into the inmostrecesses of his soul.

  De Chevron cowered beneath her gaze; he felt himself distrusted, and wasprobably little flattered at the opinion of himself he saw written inher eyes. Nevertheless, he would not have shown for the world that hewas disconcerted; he was a practised dissembler, and instead of beingabashed, grew more witty and talkative than ever, more and more friendlyto his rival, only I noticed that he avoided the eyes of Claribel asmuch as possible.

  The fact was, he feared her; he, the artful, experienced man of theworld, crouched like an abject slave before a simple village maiden. Hisguilty soul could not brook the chaste glance of innocence. He knewhimself to be a false degraded wretch, and quailed before her moralsuperiority.

  However, Richard de Chevron had worked himself into favour with all ofus; in fact, we grew delighted with him, still excepting Claribel, whoseemed very unreasonably prejudiced against him, as we all thought. Shewould declare to me in private that from the very first the aspect of DeChevron had been repulsive to her; but of late, so far from havingovercome her impression, he had grown perfectly intolerable in her eyes;nay, that she was seized with such horror and loathing when he was inthe room as she could not find words to express.

  She had a presentiment of evil, and it seemed to her, moreover, as if hewere using some occult power over her that she, however, was determinedto resist.

  I tried to laugh her out of these fancies as being quite unfounded, andattributed them to her nerves being over-wrought from want of sufficientair and exercise; but all without avail; she remained as confirmed asever in her prejudices. It is now some time since I made allusion toClaribel's spiritual visitant. She had long been undisturbed by itsvisits; indeed, ever since De Chevron and John had commenced calling atthe house, and even before. It is uncertain whether either of them hadever heard of the phenomenon. I rather think not, as De Chevron, whomixed almost entirely in the upper circles, would not easily have comein the way of our village cackle, especially as he was often absentfrom the village for months at a time; and as for John, being constantlyengaged on Lord Edgedown's estate, he knew comparatively little of theworld without. But whether they did or not, it is certain that thesubject was never broached during all that time.

  We have mentioned before that Claribel's spiritual visitor was fitfuland capricious in its visits. It might appear at any moment; but then wehad been free from its company for so long, that we had dared to hopethat it had forgotten all about us and would never return, until onemorning new fears arose in my mind from a little circumstance which Ishall now relate to you.

  Observing that my young friend rose from her couch looking poorly, Iinquired into the cause of her jaded looks.

  "Oh, Molly," she replied, "I've had such a dreadful dream about poorJohn. I am sure that some danger threatens him."

  "What danger do you imagine threatens him, Claribel?" said I. "Tell meyour dream."

  "I really do not know if I can," she replied; "it was so very confused.I thought that John Archer stood in danger of his life at the hands ofRichard de Chevron, and yet it was not Richard de Chevron, but another;then, again, it was. I remember something about a murdered man, andfearing it was John Archer, but on examining the corpse it was another.Then I remember seeing John Archer handcuffed, and in great agony ofmind, and I thought him guilty of the murder, and then he was notguilty. Then the dream began to change in such a manner as it would beimpossible to relate it; but throughout I remember the fiendish face ofRichard de Chevron. I was seized with an inexpressible horror, and couldbear it no longer; then I awoke."

  "My dear Claribel," said I, "pray do not disturb yourself for such aridiculous dream. You ought to know that all dreams are mad, theoffspring of impaired digestion or----"

  But she impatiently cut me short by a wave of the hand, as if she weredetermined to believe in the warning character of her dream, despite allmy sophistry.

  However, I attempted a second time to account for the dream by theaversion she had taken to Richard de Chevron at first sight and herconstantly brooding over her unfounded impressions. I tried argument, Itried ridicule; but finding her proof against either, I held my tongueand took up a piece of work.

  Claribel had thrown herself into an arm-chair, and there sat listlessly,without occupying herself or hardly exchanging a word with me. Once,indeed, she gasped out to herself "Oh, that I could save him!" and thenrelapsed into her usual silence.

  About five minutes after, chancing to look up, I observed that my friendappeared to be more languid than ever. She was dreadfully pale, her lipscolourless and slightly parted, the eyes half-closed. I thought she wasin a swoon, and now somewhat alarmed, I rose and advanced towards her.

  "Claribel," I cried, "what ails you--are you unwell?"

  She waved me away with her hand, so imagining it was nothing more than alittle weakness, I withdrew myself and resumed my work. Soon afterwardsshe appeared to rally, and sat up in her chair. Her colour had returnedsomewhat, and her eye seemed brighter, but her voice was still weak asshe muttered, "I have seen him. Oh! why did you disturb me?"

  "Seen him!" I exclaimed. "Seen whom?"

  "John Archer," she replied.

  "Nonsense," said I; "you have been dreaming."

  "I tell you, Molly," she replied, rather pettishly, "I have seen him,and would have warned him had you not disturbed me."

  "Silly child," said I; "you have been dreaming; but you looked so veryill that I grew alarmed, for I thought you were in a swoon."

  Just then my father entered the room and commenced talking on householdmatters, so our conversation dropped; nor did I give it a furtherthought until the evening, when John Archer made his appearance, as hefrequently did, to take his tea with us.

  "Good evening, Mistress Claribel," said he. "You were in a mighty hurryto quit my company this morning after paying me such an unexpectedvisit. Methinks you are chary of your presence. It is a mystery to mehow you appeared and disappeared from me without my perceiving eitherthe coming or the going of you."

  "How say you, Master John?" said my father, pricking up his ears. "Doyou say that
our Claribel paid you a visit this morning?"

  "Ay, sir," replied John; "at about nine o'clock this morning, as I waswalking along with my gun, on his lordship's estate, I suddenly sawMistress Claribel coming straight in front of me. She looked as if shewere about to speak to me, when all of a sudden--I'm sure I can't tellhow--she disappeared. I looked round about me, and called her, but therewas no one.

  "Then I began to be alarmed, thinking something must have happened toMistress Claribel, and that I had seen her ghost. I could not let theday pass by without dropping in to call to see if she were all right."

  "You must be mistaken, John," said I. "I assure you that Claribel hasnot left the house all day. She has felt rather unwell."

  "Not left the house!" exclaimed Archer. "Why I saw her quite plain thismorning."

  "You must have been dreaming," said my father.

  But I noticed that he gave a glance of peculiar meaning at my friend andself. I knew what was passing in his mind. I, too, shared the sameapprehensions. John Archer must have re-encountered Claribel's secondself, her much dreaded double. I then recalled the words of Claribelthat morning.

  "_I have seen him. Oh, why did you disturb me?_"

  My poor friend, I observed, was dreadfully confused as my father's eyerested on her. The colour mounted to her cheeks, then vanished again,leaving her deadly pale, and she seemed desirous to escape notice. Herrestlessness became extreme when John began persisting that he had notbeen dreaming, that he could vouch for what he had seen, etc., etc.

  "You should get yourself bled, Master Archer," said my father; "youcan't be well."

  "I assure you I am in the very best of health," persisted John.

  "And I assure you, Master Archer, that Claribel has not quitted thishouse to-day, to my certain knowledge," said my father.

  "What, not for a moment?" went on Archer, most annoyingly. "How say you,Mistress Claribel, was it not you I saw this morning on Lord Edgedown'sestate as I was walking along with my gun over my shoulder?"

  Claribel grew red and pale by turns, and her lips began to move, as ifshe felt herself forced to give some answer; but at that moment myfather seemed troubled with a violent fit of coughing which drowned herreply. John waited quietly until the coughing was over, and then beganagain.

  "Do you mean to say it was not you I saw this morning?"

  The coughing was resumed, and strange enough, always returned just asJohn Archer began to open his mouth. John looked in wonderment, firstat Claribel, then at my father, then at Claribel again, and finally atme. He had unwittingly touched upon a sore place. This he seemed to beaware of; but how he had been to blame was a mystery to him.

  He suddenly changed the conversation, and began discoursing onindifferent topics. The coughing ceased for that evening. As he rose togo we followed him to the door, and I observed that Claribel, who wasthe foremost, whispered something secretly into his ear at parting. Imyself was immediately behind her, and overheard the hurried words,"John, you have an enemy. Beware!"

  Then she put her finger quickly to her lips, to prevent him giving anyoutward expression to his wonderment, and the door closed upon ourguest.

  "You silly girl," said I to my friend as we were undressing thatevening, previous to retiring to rest. "What nonsense of you to try andinfect that young man with your own ungrounded fears. Do you think I didnot overhear what you said?"

  She looked a little downcast at this, but then instantly recovering, byway of consoling herself, she ejaculated, "Nevertheless, I have warnedhim," and she clasped her hands above her head enthusiastically.

  No further word was said about John Archer that night. On the followingmorning I had occasion to call upon a neighbour who lived some four orfive miles off. I rose early, and started off on foot. As I wasreturning home it came on to rain in such torrents that I was forced totake shelter under a little shed that was annexed to a small hutstanding alone upon a hill, far from any other human dwelling.

  It was the only place at hand, and had it not been for the excessiveinclemency of the weather, I might have thought twice before choosingsuch a place of refuge, for this was the abode of Madge Mandrake as shewas called--a personage feared by all, far and wide, both young and old.She was renowned in the villages round about for her skill in tellingfortunes, in concocting drugs of every description, from love philtresto the deadliest poisons, not less than for malice in bringing to passall sorts of trouble upon those who had had the misfortune to offendher. If a cow died, it was Madge's doing; if the milk turned sour, orthe crops were blighted, Madge was accused of it; if a person diedsuddenly, or an accident happened to anyone, Madge likewise had thecredit of it. Her dwelling, therefore, was shunned by all, and when sheventured to walk abroad and to mix in crowded thoroughfares, she had butto lift her crutch to send the whole populace flying helter-skelter, forfear of being enchanted into unclean beasts, reptiles, and otherloathsome things.

  You may imagine then, gentlemen, my feelings; though naturallycourageous at finding myself obliged to seek shelter near the house ofso formidable a personage, I did my utmost to make no stir, so as not tobetray my whereabouts.

  There was a small window that looked from the cottage into the shed, butso begrimed with dirt that I should not have been able to take a peepinto the house, had it not been for a pane of glass that was wanting.Through this I was enabled to see the interior of this unhalloweddwelling without being perceived. Before I ventured to peep through it Iheard two voices conversing together.

  I held my breath, and listened. The former was the harsh, cracked voiceof the crone herself; the latter was evidently that of a man, andappeared to belong to a person of culture, for the tones were soft andmodulated. I began to fancy I recognised them; nor was I mistaken, asyou shall hear soon.

  "Well, Master de Chevron, and how have you been progressing in your worksince I saw you last?" said the crone.

  "Satisfactorily enough for my purpose, my good Madge," replied the othervoice. "I have brought it with me for your approval."

  Here the speaker, whom I could now recognise as no other than Richard deChevron, drew from under his cloak something carefully wrapt up intissue paper. Having unwound the paper, he discovered a small statue ofa man, about a foot in height, apparently in wax.

  "Why, you have got it as like as could be!" exclaimed the crone. "Yes,that is John Archer, sure enough; there is no mistaking him."

  My curiosity began to be roused, and Claribel's apprehensions for John'ssafety rushed across my mind. Though I was not near to the figure, Icould see plainly that it was intended for a likeness of John Archer,and that it carried a gun over one arm. The hag seized the image in onehand with a sort of fiendish glee, and commenced mumbling someinarticulate sounds.

  I trembled from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, for I hadheard of this way of working mischief on one's enemies from afar, and Ifeared lest some dreadful harm should happen to poor John, so I offeredup a hasty prayer for his safety.

  "The charm is said," croaked the witch. "Now let the work begin."

  Here she set the image upright, and taking a long sharp pin she seemedabout to transfix the waxen image with it; but I noticed that her handtrembled violently. I still continued to pray fervently, whereupon thewitch was seized with such a fit of sneezing and wheezing that she wasunable to proceed in her work.

  "Why, Madge," said De Chevron, "what is the matter? How have you managedto catch such a cold all of a sudden?"

  "Odds blood! I know not," answered the beldam; "it is as if I was inchurch."

  At the word "church" the wheezing came on again.

  "Ah! I see," said De Chevron; "It is the wind that is howling throughthat broken pane of glass," and he pointed to the very pane throughwhich I was peeping.

  I thought my last hour was come, for I was sure to be discovered.However, I ducked down in a corner, whilst De Chevron stopped up themissing pane with a filthy rag without even catching a sight of me.

  Rising again to my feet, I managed
to open the little window the leastbit ajar, but just enough to see and hear all. My fright was so greatall this time that I had unwittingly slacked a little in my prayer, andjust at that moment Madge made a desperate plunge with the pin, whichappeared aimed at the heart of the image; but as I had now recommencedmy prayers, alas, somewhat too late, the pin missed its mark, butpierced the barrel of the gun, which, together with the thumb of thefigure, fell upon the table.

  "Better next time, Madge," said De Chevron. "Try again."

  She made another essay, and then another, but missed the figurealtogether.

  "I am not as young as I was," she said, by way of apology, "and neithermy eyesight nor my hand are to be relied upon as of old."

  However, she aimed again and again at the figure, but with the sameresult.

  "Why, you _are_ getting old, Madge!" said De Chevron, surprised at herrepeated failures. "Come, let me put the pins in."

  Seizing the image with one hand and a long pin with the other--(hereagain my breath failed me through fear, and I omitted to pray)--he firstpierced the arm of the figure that supported the gun in one place, andthen in another higher up. He then took a third pin and seemed about topierce the image in the region of the heart, when I, now really alarmedfor the victim, again offered up a short and fervent prayer.

  De Chevron instantly dropped the pin, as if it had been red hot; butimmediately taking up another, he made a furious thrust at the body ofthe image, but his hand went off widely from the mark, leaving the imageunscathed.

  "Why, how is this?" exclaimed De Chevron, in astonishment.

  "Ha! ha! Master de Chevron," laughed the witch, "you are no better thanold Madge after all."

  "Well, this _is_ strange!" muttered De Chevron to himself, after havingtried once or twice more and failed.

  "Are you quite sure you have repeated the charm aright, Madge?"

  "Quite sure," replied the crone; "but, beshrew me, if I don't thinkthere is some hostile element at hand that counteracts the charm. Justlook at the way Grimalkin arches his back and ruffles his fur."

  I now noticed a huge black tom cat, of a size that I never remember tohave seen before or since, whose luminous eyes flashed red and green byturns from an obscure corner of the hovel.

  "There! there! _there_!" cried De Chevron, furiously, accompanying eachword with a thrust, but missing each time.

  Then, in his rage at being foiled thus, he raised the image in order todash it to the ground; but the wax having melted somewhat in his hand,it stuck to his fingers like pitch, and he was obliged to disengage itgently and place it on the small table just underneath the windowthrough which I was peeping.

  "I'll tell you what it is, Madge," said he, "there is more witchcraft inthis countercharm, whatever it is, than in all your skill. There mustbe, as you say, some contrary influence at work. How else should it bepossible for me to fail every time, as if I were smitten with the palsy?Let us go out and see if anyone is lurking near the hut."

  So leaving the image on the table, he strode towards the opposite door,which he opened wide, followed by the beldam.

  Not a moment was to be lost. The instant their backs were turned Icautiously opened the window, and introducing my arm until it touchedthe table beneath, I secured the image, re-closed the windownoiselessly, and flew as fast as my feet could carry me through thepelting rain with the image under my shawl.

  I had hardly reached home, quite out of breath, when Claribel camerunning to me, pale and trembling, and wringing her hands.

  "Oh! Molly, dear," she cried, sobbing, "what do you think has happenedto that poor young man John Archer?"

  "What is it?" I asked, anxiously. "Anything in connection with Richardde Chevron?"

  "I cannot exactly say that," she replied. "It seems to have been purelyan accident. This is how it was. His gun suddenly burst in a mostunaccountable manner whilst he was carrying it over his arm, and carriedoff one of his thumbs. No surgeon could be procured at the time, and thewound appears to have gangrened and to have infected the whole arm. Thesurgeon, who has only just arrived, says that it will be necessary toremove the arm to save his life."

  "Not for worlds!" cried I, with animation. "I'll be responsible for hislife. There," said I, producing the waxen image and hastily withdrawingthe two pins still sticking in the arm of the figure, and which in myhurry I had omitted to extract till now. "There, now the mortificationin the arm will have stopped. Send directly to the surgeon that theoperation will be no longer necessary. Nay, I will go myself."

  "What does all this mean?" asked Claribel, astonished beyond measure.

  "No matter now," I answered. "I am off at once. If you like you may comewith me; but first let me lock up this image in a place where it willnot be touched."

  So saying, I put on my bonnet and shawl again, and dragging Claribelafter me, we ran with all our might and main to the cottage where poorJohn lay stretched on a pallet, the surgeon with his knife readysharpened for the operation, standing over him, about to commence.Another second would have been too late.

  "Hold your hand, doctor!" I cried, suddenly. "The mortification hasceased, and the operation will be no longer necessary. I will beanswerable for this young man's life without his losing his arm."

  I spoke with an authority that completely astonished the doctor, for helooked bewilderingly first at me and then at my friend; but at lengthsaid, "I understand nothing of all this. I have been called here by thisyoung man's family to give my professional opinion, and I say thatunless he submits to lose his arm, his life will be endangered."

  "But the mortification has ceased. Would you amputate a limb withoutnecessity for so doing?"

  "Certainly not."

  "Well, then, look for yourself. Where is the mortification?"

  Here the surgeon glanced at the arm, and looked wondrous wise.

  "The mortification has ceased beyond a doubt," he said at length. "Well,I never saw such a thing in all my life. What! am I dreaming," hemuttered. "I do not understand all this. How came you, Miss Molly,to--to----"

  "Hush!" said I.

  Then lowering my mouth to his ear, I whispered a few words, and put myfinger to my lip, to enjoin silence. The doctor arched his eyebrows tillthey nearly touched the roots of his hair, screwed up his mouth to thesize of a buttonhole, and gave vent to a prolonged "wh-e-w!"

  He soon after left the house, and we were left alone for a while tocomfort the sufferer. During the few moments that we were left alonetogether I recounted briefly the whole of my adventure.

  Both John and Claribel were completely thunder-struck at my recital, andClaribel muttered half to herself and half to me, "And to think that itshould be Richard de Chevron, after all. I knew he was a villain."

  John speedily recovered. He had received no further injury than the lossof his thumb. He often called at our house afterwards, and upon seeingthe waxen image immediately recognised it as a likeness of himself. Itbeing now beyond a doubt that Richard de Chevron, out of jealousy, hadconspired against the life of John Archer and being equally certain inmy own mind, from a knowledge of De Chevron's character, that he wouldnot let his victim slip so easily through his fingers, but, foiled inhis first attempt, would lose no time in employing some other means ofremoving his rival from his path, I began to rack my brains in search ofsome scheme to thwart the machinations of this villain.

  "What if he should make another waxed image, and shutting himself up inhis own house, carry out his infernal spells without interruption?" Isaid to myself. If so, what could I do?

  John Archer should have our constant prayers; beyond this there was noimpediment to De Chevron's evil designs. The law would give us noredress. I was very sure of that. Witchcraft had ceased to be believedin, and the case would be dismissed. One thought, indeed, crossed mymind for a moment, which I mentioned to Claribel, and this was to payback De Chevron in his own coin by converting the image of John Archerinto a likeness of De Chevron and experimenting upon the villain fromafar in the same manner as he had d
esigned to practise against JohnArcher.

  It was but a momentary thought and a sinful, and the proposal wasrejected by Claribel instantly and with horror.

  "Should we," said she, "put ourselves on a level with a murderousvillain, using against him the same unhallowed means that he himself hadnot hesitated to use against his victim?"

  But besides the light in which my friend had put my proposition, therewas another argument against the scheme that perhaps had more weightwith me. In order to change the image from the likeness of John Archerinto a likeness of De Chevron it would be necessary to destroy the imagealtogether first, and this, for what I knew, might put John Archer'slife in peril. This last argument decided me, and I resolved to guardthe image as jealously as possible, and to proceed against De Chevron bynatural means solely. An idea flashed across me that there might be somecountercharm against evil spells if we could only find it out. Indeed, Iremembered to have heard that there was, and musing thus within myself,I suddenly recollected to have heard a couplet in my childhood that ranthus:

  "Vervain and Dill Keep witches from their will."

  These two herbs, then, were countercharms. I was resolved to try theexperiment, so procuring some of each without more delay, I gave theminto the possession of John Archer, who promised me to wear them alwaysabout him; and whether or no De Chevron ever made any further attemptagainst the life of his rival by means of magic I know not, but if hedid he must signally have failed, as for ever so long afterwards Archerenjoyed the most perfect health and remained free from any furtheraccident.

  Whether De Chevron suspected that John Archer possessed somecountercharm against which his evil spells were vain, or if he againessayed his magic after his first defeat, we know not, but certain itwas that he still cherished hatred against his rival, upon whom he wasdetermined to bring trouble, if not by necromancy, at least by naturalmeans.

  For some time past he had not been near us. This was evidently to wardoff suspicion from himself and check the village gossip. However, soonafter the disappearance of the image--whether or no he suspected it wasI who purloined it and wished to brave the matter out--he called andinformed us that he was going to London on important business, and hadcome to take leave of us for a time. There was nothing in his mannerthat appeared the least constrained or abashed. On the contrary, heseemed more lively and witty than usual, asked kindly after all ourfamily, and even John Archer, whom he said he had not seen for a longtime, although he had heard of his misfortune, for which he professedgreat sympathy, and hoped the poor fellow would not take his loss toomuch to heart; adding that it was lucky that they had managed to savehis life without amputating his arm.

  Throughout all his discourse his manner had so much of frankness andsincerity that I could hardly bring myself to believe that he was thesame villain whose infernal plot against the innocent John Archer, I hadaccidentally unravelled. I began to think that somehow or other I musthave been under a delusion, until chancing to glance towards a glazedcupboard in which the wax figure stood upright and was easilydiscernable from where I stood, the whole of my recent adventure cameback to me forcibly. Yet there sat the author of this unhallowed deed,this would-be murderer, smiling and chatting and paying compliments withthe easy grace of a courtier, with a countenance frank and open as aspring morning. How could a girl of my age, ignorant of the world andits wickedness, possibly imagine that a heart so black could beconcealed underneath so smooth an exterior? Had I not had positive proofof his villainy within reach, I should certainly never have believed himcapable of such a deed. Even as it was I was obliged to gaze frequentlyat the cupboard in order to reassure myself that I was not dreaming andto prevent myself from being won over by his tongue.

  De Chevron was a quick observer, and noticed our furtive glances towardsthe cupboard. Then fixing his spy-glass in his eye, he looked in thesame direction; but either saw or affected to see nothing. Afterwards hegot up and walked about the room, conversing the while, and in so doingpassed several times in front of the cupboard, looking in casually as hepassed.

  I felt sure that he must have seen the image, though there was nothingin his manner that I could discover at all confused or unusual. Ibelieve he would have braved the matter out if I had told him to hisface that it was I myself who had stolen the image after I had overheardwith my own ears this villainous plot against poor John. He was just thesort of man who would have looked me full in the face and denied ever inhis life having been in Madge Mandrake's cottage.

  He would have tried to make me believe that I had been the victim ofsome fearful delusion from my over-excited fears or what not, that theimage was not of his making; would have denied ever having set eyes onit before. Nor would, in all probability, have seen any likenesswhatever to John Archer, and would have treated as nothing more than acoincidence the fact of John's gun and the loss of his thumb occurringat the same time that the gun and thumb of the waxen figure were damagedby old Madge's pin thrust.

  He would have asked me if I thought him capable of believing in suchtrumpery, and would have tried to laugh me out of my superstition. Allthis I should have expected from him, such was his amount of assurance.Once I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he thought of theimage, and if he knew anyone it resembled; and would have done it, too,as I was anxious to observe what effect a sudden allusion to the imagewould have had upon him, but at that moment my father, who knew nothingof the affair of the waxen image, entered the room, and the conversationtook another direction.

  Shortly afterwards he left the house, promising to call again after hisreturn from London. As he had been so particular in telling us of hisintended visit to London, of course, I believed him. What reason could Ihave had for not doing so? Nevertheless, it proved to be all afalsehood. He never had any intention of going to London at all; andnever left the village.

  But why this deceit? you will naturally ask. Listen, and tell me if youcould have imagined a scheme so diabolical as the following everentering into human brain. To carry out his base designs he hired acertain pedlar, one Michael Rag, well known to be a shady character,and envious of John Archer's comparatively easy circumstances, so havingtalked him over, if not by bribery, at least by instigating him in amanner suggested by his own natural cunning as calculated to excite thecovetous disposition of the tool he intended to use for his ownpurposes, to purloin John Archer's silver watch, a present he hadreceived from his master for his faithful services.

  This watch De Chevron represented to the pedlar as being one of superiorworkmanship, and far too good for a man of John Archer's position towear. He blamed his uncle for lavishing handsome presents uponundeserving hangers-on. Who, after all, was John Archer? He (De Chevron)could remember him in worse circumstances even than the pedlar himself.Whence his good fortune? From his merit? Pooh! It was easy enough forany man to keep a good place when he had once got it, if he wasn't quitea fool. Then as to his getting it in the first place, mere luck. Why, asif there were not many a better man than John Archer for such a post.Was he more honest than any other? Bah! every man is honest until he isfound out to be the contrary.

  Thus, first by raising the pedlar's cupidity by a vivid description ofthe watch, then by giving an additional stimulant to his envious natureby representing the owner of the watch as unworthy of such a present, hefinally wound up by insinuating, rather than broadly stating, that thepedlar himself was a man of merit and deserved being in a betterposition than John Archer, if all men had their rights.

  In fact, such was De Chevron's power of persuasion, that he at last, bydint of subtle arguments, made irresistible by the courteous grace bywhich they were set off, and, moreover, making it appear that he himselfcould have no object in giving such advice, that he at length succeededin making the pedlar believe that he was a very ill-used man, and thatas fortune had been so niggardly to him, considering his merits, whilstshe squandered her favours on the undeserving, that it was quiteexcusable in him; nay, it was his duty, and nothing more than what heow
ed to himself to seek his own fortune by appropriating a portion ofthat superfluous wealth unjustly held back from him by the capriciousgoddess and given into unworthy hands.

  It was not difficult for De Chevron to ignite the already tooinflammable cupidity of the pedlar. A hint was enough. From that hourthe watch was doomed. Seeing that his words had had their effect, heapplauded the determination of the pedlar, and added that though he hadno interest in mixing himself up in such affairs, yet he liked toencourage enterprising men, and he himself would furnish him with themeans of making his booty doubly sure, and without which he representedit would be madness to make the attempt.

  He showed him that John Archer always carried a gun with him, that hewas a hot-tempered young fellow, and would shoot him as soon as look athim if he attempted and failed.

  "One must use all one's resources, in case of need," he added, andsuggested that the securest way to obtain the watch would be toadminister to Archer a glass of drugged wine, which he might easilyinduce the unsuspecting youth to accept. This drug (which De Chevron hadin his possession and which was probably concocted by his friend andally, Madge Mandrake) produced instantaneous sleep for full five hourson the person partaking of it. It was agreed then that the pedlar shouldcarry in his coat pocket a bottle of the said drugged wine, togetherwith a wine glass, that towards evening he should wander about a certainunfrequented road which bordered on Lord Edgedown's estate, and nearwhich Archer was sure to be at a certain hour.

  Should he catch sight of John Archer, he was to accost him civilly,invite him to converse, then after a time produce the bottle and glassand say that he had some dozens of very choice wine which if he (JohnArcher) could only induce his lordship to buy that it would be themaking of his fortune. He would then pour out a glassful, which he wouldoffer the young gamekeeper to try himself; should he refuse, he was topress him so urgently that he would at length be forced to comply.

  When Archer should have once tossed off the glass, Mike would wait somemoments until he was in a perfectly sound sleep, when he would beenabled to steal not only his watch and what else he might have in hispockets, but also his gun.

  The pedlar jumped at the proposition, and armed with his bottle ofdrugged wine, he set off the selfsame evening for the spot agreed upon,followed at a distance by De Chevron himself, just to give the alarm, ashe suggested, by a sharp shrill whistle, should anyone approach tointerrupt their design.

  Backed up by the help of De Chevron, the pedlar knew no fear, nor did itever enter his head, so blinded was he by greed, that De Chevron couldpossibly have any object in thus lending him his help.

  The evening arrived. It was now about a week after De Chevron's supposeddeparture, and so close had been his confinement to the house all thistime, that I do not believe there was a soul in all the village butbelieved that he was absent on business in London at the time.

  As the evening agreed upon drew in, De Chevron, disguising himself asbest he might in a large loose cloak that he never had been seen to wearand a hat unlike that he was known by in the village, set out in thedusk towards the lonely road, following the pedlar at a considerabledistance. The pedlar advanced towards the spot singing.

  "Good morrow, Master Archer," he said, as the young gamekeeper made hisappearance from behind a hedge, "and how does the world go for you?Easily enough, eh?"

  "Well enough, for the matter of that," replied Archer, carelessly.

  "Ah! you lucky dog, your bread and butter's cut for life. Wouldn't Ilike to be in your shoes without doing you any harm!" said the pedlar.

  "Would you?" laughed Archer. "Why, I'm sure you have no reason tocomplain of your lot. A pedlar's is a good business."

  "Well, I don't exactly complain," replied the pedlar, with proudhumility; "but--but----"

  "But," interrupted Archer, "we all like to be a little better off thanwe are. Isn't that it?" asked the gamekeeper, with a laugh.

  "Well, I dare say you are not far wrong, Archer my boy," said thepedlar, wheedlingly. "It's natural you know, ain't it? By the way,Johnny old fellow, do you think you could do an old friend a greatfavour? It won't cost you anything. I'm not going to ask you to lend meany money."

  "Well," said John, "what is it?"

  "Why, the fact is," said Mike, "that I have got some fine stuffs thatwill do for curtains or to cover chairs with. I've got carpets,mattresses, and I don't know what all. Besides which I have got someexcellent wine, superfine quality, which if you could induce your masterto buy, my fortune would be made."

  "It would be useless," answered John Archer. "His lordship never buyseither stuffs or wine from country hawkers, but has up everything fromLondon."

  "Well, I suppose he would, you know, a great man like him. Still, when agood thing comes in your way, something unique, like this wine of mine,why, it would be madness to let it slip through your fingers withouteven giving it a trial. Look here now." Here he produced the bottle."This wine I am in the habit of always carrying about with me as asample. Here, just taste it. It'll do your heart good." Here he pouredout a glass.

  "Thank you, no," said Archer.

  "Nonsense, man," said the pedlar, "what are you afraid of?"

  "Nothing," replied Archer, "only I don't care about it, thank you."

  "Drink, drink, man. What's the matter with you?"

  "Drink it yourself, I won't rob you of it," said John.

  "Oh, as to that, Jack my boy, I'm not niggardly in offering my wine,especially when I meet old friends, you know, besides, I am interestedin your tasting this, because, you see, when you have once drunk thislittle glassful you will be better able to speak well of it to yourmaster, and he _might_ honour me so far as to purchase a dozen. But,interest apart, take a glass for old friendship's sake, or I shall takeoffence. Come, no excuse; here you are!"

  John Archer, wearied out by the pedlar's importunities, could resist nolonger, and suspecting nothing, tossed off the glass at a gulp.

  "Good, indeed," he had barely time to say, as he gave back the glass."Gramercy! how is this? My head swims. I--I----"

  He was unable to finish his sentence, but fell like a log to the ground.The pedlar's eyes glistened as he witnessed the speedy effects of thedrug. In another moment his fingers were fumbling in the waistcoatpocket of the prostrate John Archer, and he had succeeded intransferring the watch from the gamekeeper's pocket to his own.

  He then began rifling his other pockets, but there was little else worthtaking on poor John's person--a few loose coins, perhaps, nothing more.

  At this moment De Chevron came up, and lifting the gun from the ground,said, "This gun is yours, Mike."

  Then, retreating a few paces behind the pedlar, he levelled the gun athis head, but not being quite correct in his aim, the bullet lodged inthe man's shoulder. Mike gave a yell of agony on finding himselfwounded, but he still might have imagined that the gun had gone offaccidentally and had thus hit him in the shoulder, had not De Chevronimmediately come up and with one tremendous blow on the head from thebutt end of the gun, felled him to the ground.

  "Treachery!" feebly gasped out the wretched man.

  Then followed a second blow, a third and even a fourth, until theunhappy dupe spoke no more. To drag the body to a ditch thicklyovergrown with nettles and brambles which completely concealed it fromview was the work of the moment, having previously despoiled the corpseof its recently acquired treasure and restored the same to the pocket ofits owner, who still lay in the arms of Morpheus. Then replacing the gunby the side of its sleeping master, and bedaubing the gamekeeper'sclothes with blood, he first poured out the contents of the pedlar'sbottle on the grass, then started homewards.

  No one appears to have met him, either before or after the murder.Circumstances seem to have been peculiarly favourable to him thatevening, for chancing to be excessively windy at that hour, and the roadbeing of loose white sand, not a single footprint was to be discoveredthe next morning. It was somewhere about midnight when John Archer wokeup from his trance. His first wonderme
nt was how he got there. Heimagined that he must in some way or other have become intoxicated. Thenhe thought of the pedlar. It was strange, he did not remember havingdrunk more than one glass, but it was not until he reached his cot thathe was aware of the plight he was in.

  Where did all that blood come from? he asked himself. He must be woundedhe thought. However, he examined himself all over and could discovernothing. The barrel of his gun was discharged, too, and the butt end ofit stained with blood. He was more bewildered than ever. He then relatedthe whole of the circumstances to his parents, who, however, could notbring themselves to believe otherwise than that their son must have beenintoxicated, although his character for sobriety was well known.

  The blood stains, however, and the discharged barrel still remained amystery and became the subject of much conjecture amongst his friends.The blood, as he owned himself, did not proceed from any wound he hadreceived. Whose blood was it then? The butt end of his gun being stainedwith blood would argue violence used against some person or animal.

  John was known to be an honest and humane man--the very last man in theworld to commit murder; still, under the influence of intoxication hemight have committed a rash act. When questioned as to whether heremembered anything, he shook his head, and merely related his interviewwith the pedlar, from whom he felt confident of not having accepted morethan one glass of wine. His manner throughout all this questioning wasopen and frank, and everyone agreed that, mysterious as the affairappeared, they were quite sure that young Archer was innocent of murder.

  The day after, however, a waggoner's dog passing by the scene of themurder was observed by its master to be sniffing and burrowing in acertain ditch. The waggoner took no notice of the circumstance at first,until the dog set up a howl and refused to leave the spot. It thenseemed to be tearing or dragging some heavy substance with its teeth,and finally succeeded in leaving bare the body of the pedlar. Thepedlar had already been missed in the village, and the waggoner at oncerecognised the body. He lost no time in rousing the neighbourhood, forhe dreaded being discovered near the corpse, lest he should beimplicated in the murder.

  The body of the pedlar was removed to the nearest cottage, and a surgeonsent for immediately to examine it. Contrary to everybody's expectation,the surgeon pronounced that life was not yet extinct, though he held outno hopes at all of ultimate recovery.

  He did all he could do under the circumstances, gave his instructions tothe inmates of the cottage, and said that he would call again. Thenarose the question, who could be the perpetrator of the deed? Suspicionimmediately attached itself to John Archer.

  Witnesses came forward and deposed that they had met John Archer withblood on his clothes and the butt end of his rifle also stained withblood. The wounds on the head of the all-but murdered man appeared tohave been inflicted by the butt end of a rifle, therefore this wasstrong evidence; but there was yet stronger. The bullet having beenextracted from the dying man's shoulder, was at once recognised by allas belonging to John Archer, his bullets being marked always in apeculiar manner, added to which it fitted exactly into the bore ofArcher's rifle.

  This last evidence was considered conclusive, and John Archer wasconducted off to prison to await his trial at the next assizes. Imaginethe grief and dismay of poor John's aged parents, who had looked forwardto his being the prop of their old age, at hearing that their only sonhad been arrested on a charge of murder. Imagine the shame and confusionof John himself, the surprise and indignation of his intimate friends,including ourselves, who still believed in his innocence.

  As for poor Claribel, she was struck completely dumb at the news; shecould not believe her ears. It was not for a considerable time that shecould realise the fact; but when she did, she neither fainted, burstinto tears, nor behaved in any way extravagantly. Her grief was toodeeply seated. She moped about the house with her eyes fixed, as if shewere walking in her sleep. It was just this calm, in a nature like hers,that I dreaded far more than any violent transport of grief, for Ifeared that the shock had been too great for her, and had turned herbrain. What made the affair doubly painful to her was that the villagepeople had already begun to couple her name with John Archer's.

  Folks speaking of the arrest would say that it was Claribel Falkland'syoung man that had been arrested for murder, although there had neverbeen anything like an engagement between them.

  When she recovered herself somewhat, she said, "Molly, depend upon it,that De Chevron is at the bottom of this."

  Now, although I knew De Chevron to be a hardened villain and capable ofany atrocity, I did not see myself how he could possibly be connectedwith the murder, he being absent from the village at the time. Neitherdid I for a moment believe John Archer capable of the crime. Theevidence against him was singularly unfortunate, it is true; but no onewho knew the man as intimately as we did could really have believed himguilty. It was clear that someone must have committed the murder. Who,then, was likely to have done so?

  De Chevron was a villain, we knew, but that was no proof that he was themurderer. However, I excused this seeming unreasonableness in my friend,considering the state of her mind at the time, and merely suggested:

  "But he is in London, my dear."

  "I tell you he is mixed up in the affair," persisted Claribel. "I waswarned of this in my dream."

  "I fear that would have little weight in a court of justice," I replied.

  "De Chevron is the murderer, and no one else," she persisted, doggedly.

  "But, my dear Claribel," said I, soothingly, "allowing that he is awicked, heartless villain, just think for a moment how you would supportyour accusation in a court of law. A pedlar is found murdered in aditch, and a gentleman of De Chevron's condition now in London, where hehas been for the last week, is accused of the murder. Consider theabsurdity of the idea."

  "How do you know he has been in London all the time?" asked my friend.

  "Well, I grant you, I did not see him go," said I; "but when a mangives out that he is going away from a place, and has not been seen byanyone since, especially when it is in a little village like this, whereeverybody knows everybody else's business, the probability is that hehas left."

  "Do not be too sure," said Claribel. "We must examine into the affair."

  "Oh, that is easily done," said I; "but even should he not havedeparted, if he should have changed his mind and remained here, whatdoes that prove? Besides, what motive could a gentleman have in takingthe life of a poor, unknown, itinerant pedlar?"

  "To lay the blame on John Archer, his rival, and get him into trouble,"was my friend's reply. "Do you not think him capable?"

  "I think him capable of anything that's bad," said I; "but that's notthe point. You must, first of all, have reason enough on your side toprove that he did, which you have not. Look, now, at the evidenceagainst young Archer. A young man returns home to his family aftermidnight, his clothes disordered and bloodstained, his gun discharged,and the butt end of it clotted with blood. When questioned, he is unableto give any satisfactory account of himself. Says he remembers nothingbut having accepted one glass of wine from a pedlar. He relates that hewoke up towards midnight and discovered that he had been sleeping forhours in the open air, near to the spot where the body of the pedlar isfound on the day following.

  "His friends do not believe him guilty because, forsooth, he has earneda reputation for truthfulness, steadiness, and sobriety; yet might notthe opposite party contend that it was not impossible that he might,once in his life, have broken through his custom of rigid abstinence,and in a moment of intoxication, picking a quarrel with the pedlar,first discharged his gun at him--for, remember that the bullet extractedfrom the pedlar's shoulder has been recognised as Archer's bullet--andafterwards, finding his adversary not mortally wounded, had hastened hisdeath by knocking out his brains with the butt end of his rifle. That hehad afterwards himself fallen into a drunken sleep and entirelyforgotten the events of the preceding evening is not at all impossible.This would be the more c
haritable way of looking at the affair; but,alas, there is another circumstance that puts it in a more seriouslight, and that is the hiding of the body. The body has been discoveredin a ditch, carefully concealed from view by weeds and brambles. Thisargues reason. Is it probable that a man who commits homicide in adrunken brawl, being so drunk at the time as to fall down on the dampground and sleep there the whole night through, that he should have beensufficiently master of himself to drag off the body of his victim andsuccessfully conceal it from view in an overgrown ditch?"

  "I cannot and will not believe him so base as to be guilty of wilfulmurder, neither will I believe that he committed homicide in a fit ofintoxication. If he took the pedlar's life at all--I say _if_ hedid--why, then I lean towards the belief that he did it whilst undersome evil spell of Richard de Chevron's. What do you believe, Molly?"

  "No matter, dear, what I believe," said I; "I am a woman, like yourself,and too likely to be influenced by my feelings. I do not wish to believehim guilty, and should be very much surprised and horror-struck if hereally were so, after the good opinion we all have had of him. But allthat goes for nothing. I merely tell you how the world will judge him."

  Poor Claribel could not help seeing that it was likely to go hard withJohn.

  "Oh! if they should condemn him unjustly and execute him!" she cried, inagony.

  Poor child! It was all I could do to comfort her. I told her the law wasnot rash in condemning anyone to death; that inquiries would be made,that the real perpetrator of the deed could not fail to be discovered,sooner or later, when he would suffer the penalty of the law, and theinnocent man be acquitted. I had attempted to excite hopes in her that Imyself dared hardly entertain, and that she, poor child, I could see,looked upon as poor consolation.

  We both retired to rest that night with heavy hearts, but the nextmorning Claribel woke up with a smile on her face, although she lookedvery pale and worn.

  "Molly, dear, I saw him last night," she said.

  "Did you, really? What, John Archer?" I asked, for I no longer nowdoubted her word when she spoke in this manner.

  "Yes," she replied, "and I promised to call again to give himconsolation."

  "How did you manage to speak to him?" I asked.

  "By signs only; but he understood me."

  "Was he asleep?" I asked.

  "No; he was tossing restlessly on his pallet."

  "Then he could not possibly imagine he had been dreaming."

  "I think not, as this is the second time I have appeared to him in thespirit."

  "I remember you told me once before that you had seen him, and hehimself confirmed it, although I know that you never left the house thatday. But, tell me, did no one see you enter?"

  "What matter if they did? Bolts and bars are no obstacles to a spirit."

  "And you passed through prison walls and bolted doors withoutopposition?"

  "I did, and I promised that I should be with him again in his cell asthe clock struck two, so that he might be quite sure that he had notbeen dreaming."

  "You will keep your appointment, of course?" I said.

  "If I do not, I do not know who it will be that will prevent me."

  Here our conversation ceased, and we passed our time as usual until itdrew towards two o'clock in the afternoon, when my friend suddenlystopped in the middle of talking and said,

  "Do not disturb me, Molly dear, or allow anyone else to. I am going toJohn."

  Then throwing herself back in an arm-chair, she appeared almostimmediately in a sound sleep, resembling a swoon. I then observed, as itwere, two outlines to her form, for a cloudy substance like a halo beganto envelop her, which, widening as it rose upwards, from the body beganto solidify or partially so, and to assume the exact form and featuresof Claribel. Having separated itself from her person, it passed rapidlybefore my face like a gust of wind, causing my hair to stir and crackleas if singed with a candle,[20] and passing head foremost through thewindow with inconceivable velocity was instantly lost to my view.

  An indescribable feeling of horror passed over me at being left thusalone with what appeared to be the corpse of my friend. The next momentmy father entered the room, and fearing lest he should wake my friend inthe middle of her trance by his talking, I ran to the door and begged hewould not enter, as Claribel felt rather poorly and he might awake her,so he prudently retired to another room, when I gently turned the key ofthe door and kept watch close to the clay of my friend until the spiritshould return to re-animate it.

  Let us now take a peep at John in prison. Poor fellow! He had not slepta wink all night. He rose worn and languid. Disdaining his frugalbreakfast of bread and water, with arms folded, eyes fixed and head sunkupon his breast, he paced dejectedly up and down the narrow limits ofhis cell.

  "Is this John Archer?" he soliloquised. "Is this the man once surroundedby friends, the hope and pride of his parents, the favoured servant ofLord Edgedown, honoured and respected by all, now handcuffed and led offto prison on a charge of murder to await an ignominious trial, andprobably be condemned to hang by the neck till he is dead in thepresence of a jeering rabble? It cannot be. I must be transformed. Imust be dreaming. This is not John Archer. Is John Archer a murderer?Can I really have committed a murder in a state of delirium which hasobliterated all recollection of the crime committed? It must be so. Howelse could I have slept all night on the bare ground and on awaking findmy gun discharged, my clothes bloodstained, and even the butt end of myrifle besmeared with blood?

  "How is all this to be accounted for? I must have committed murder. Whowill believe me if I assert my innocence, or how will the law be broughtto look upon the crime as committed during temporary insanity? No; Ishall be found guilty, condemned, and executed. I do believe that thevision of last night that appeared to me bearing the form and featuresof Claribel was my guardian angel come to apprise me of my doom.

  "Oh, Claribel, Claribel! must we then for ever be parted? But what wasthat vision? Claribel in the flesh? For so it appeared; for sure it wasno dream, yet how could that be? Could she herself have broken throughbolts and bars or obtained a pass to speak to me alone? Impossible! Wasit, perchance, some fiend having taken upon himself the likeness ofthose divine features in order so to mock me? Or was it merely anhallucination of my distempered brain? Whatever it was, I would that itwere here again so that I might feast my eyes once more upon its lovelyfeatures ere I die."

  He paused suddenly, for now, whether it were some trick of the senses,some hallucination conjured up by his over-excited brain, in theopposite corner of his cell something like a bluish vapour appeared,which seemed to grow denser, to solidify until it grew into thesemblance of a human form, bearing the features of--whom?

  "Claribel!" gasped out the prisoner, hardly above his breath, for hisvoice died within him and he remained awe-stricken. "What! Do I rave?Oh, beauteous image! Claribel! Claribel! Tell me, oh, my guardian angel,hast thou come to announce my doom, to solace my last moments? Oh, ifit be thou indeed, Claribel, in the flesh and no delusion of my senses,come to me, let me feel the pressure of thy hand."

  At this moment he sprang forward and attempted to seize the hand of thefigure, which he had no sooner touched than it melted in his grasp,causing him to feel such a supernatural terror that he staggeredbackwards and gave an involuntary shriek.

  The figure put its finger to its lip, the forefinger of the very handthat had vanished into thin air at the material touch of John Archer,but which had immediately resumed its previously defined form upon thewithdrawing of Archer's hand.

  "Angel or fiend!" he exclaimed. "Whatever thou art, that comest to me inthis lovely guise, declare thy mission, unveil to me the future, andspare not mine ears if my doom be sealed. If there be hope----"

  Here the figure again put its finger to its lip in token of silence, forArcher, now somewhat over his first surprise, spoke no longer in a huskywhisper, but in a loud voice.

  "Tell me, tell me," continued the prisoner, lowering his voice, "thouwho s
eemest no being of this world, and who doubtless art cognisant ofsecrets beyond our ken, tell me in pity how I have deserved this fate.Say, have these hands really been dyed in the blood of one of myfellow-men during the lapse of some passing insanity? Say, why am Ihere? Dost thou, O spirit, think me guilty?"

  The phantom answered not, save by a look of commiseration and a slowshake of the head.

  "I see that thou thinkest me not guilty. I thank thee for that. Mineinnocence may yet be proved."

  The spectre's features lighted up with a look of hope, as if it wouldanswer "I wish it may."

  "Angelic being!" he pursued, "vouchsafe me but one word. Say, will thetrue murderer be found?"

  Another look of hope lighted up the spirit's features.

  "He will, he will; I feel he will!" exclaimed the prisoner,enthusiastically. "Thank Heaven! But one word more. Dost know thecriminal?"

  The same look again, accompanied this time by a slight inclination ofthe head.

  "Ah! thou knowest him? His name, his name; tell me!" Here the figureappeared somewhat confused, as if struggling to speak; then glidingrather than walking up to the wall of the cell, it traced with itsfinger the letters of a name in characters that appeared burnt into thestone, during which operation a crackling sound was heard similar tothat before alluded to, and Archer, who had watched the movements of thefigure with straining eyeballs and in breathless silence, gave a yell ofsurprise and agony as he read the name _Richard de Chevron_, and sank onthe floor of his dungeon in a swoon.

  A jingling of keys in the passage was now audible, and the next momentthe jailor had entered the cell. Hearing the voice of the prisonerdiscoursing loudly, curiosity had led him to the door of his cell, butwhat was his dismay and consternation at finding the prisoner in a swoonon the floor, whilst over him, as if to protect him, lent the fairyouthful form of a maiden, who after fixing her eyes intently for amoment, pointed to the writing on the wall.

  The jailor, perfectly dumbfounded, would have asked her in surly tones,how she came there, and who let her in, but the presence of the figurefilled him, in spite of himself, with such awe that he could not utter aword. Then glancing at the writing on the wall and then again at thefigure of the maiden, who looked at him in a manner that made him feelhe knew not how, as he afterwards declared, he observed her rise to herfeet, retreat one pace, and pointing once more to the writing on thewall, gradually dissolved herself into a mist and disappeared from hissight.

  The jailor's courage now fairly left him, his knees knocked together ina panic, and he dropped his bunch of keys on the ground. At lengthrecovering from his first surprise, he gazed around him, and foundhimself alone with the prisoner, who was still in his swoon. The firstthing that he did was to secure the door of the cell, then walking up tothe prisoner, shook him roughly, and assailed him with questions.

  "Beautiful vision!" cried Archer, now awaking from his swoon, "thou hassaved my life by denouncing the true murderer. Were it not for thee Imight---- But where art thou? Gone--Fled? Has it, then, been all adream? Oh!" he groaned, as his eyes caught the jailor bending over him.

  "Come, be of good cheer, young man," said the jailor, kindly. "It was nodream, or if it was, we have both been dreaming, and had the same dream.I, too, saw the lady. I'll swear to that in any court of justice. Well,I never believed in ghosts before, young man. I never did, upon my word,but after what I have just seen with these eyes----"

  "What! you saw her, too?" interrupted Archer. "You? Then it was nodream, but a divine vision sent by Providence to preserve the innocent.Look, there is her writing on the wall."

  "What means that name, young man?" asked the jailor, gravely.

  "She traced it with her own finger. I asked her to reveal to me the nameof the true murderer, and that was the name she traced upon the wall."

  "You are not imposing upon me, young man?" inquired the jailor,suspiciously.

  "Not I," answered Archer, frankly. "Did you not see her yourself?"

  "True, true," quoth the jailor; "I remember that she pointed to thewriting and then vanished. Well, upon my soul, I do not know what tothink of the matter. I have been here thirty years come Michaelmas, butwhat I have seen to-day passes all the experience of Miles Gratelock.I'll inform the authorities of what has taken place at once, and I'llyet hope to see you out of this place; for to tell you the honesttruth, lad, I don't think you capable of the murder, and never did; yetappearances," he added, "appearances, you know, must be taken intoconsideration, and they are often against us. However, we'll hope forthe best."

  Here the kindly jailor left the cell, and locking the door after himwent straight to the authorities and laid the whole matter of the visionbefore them. As may be anticipated, the story was ridiculed. Some saidthat the jailor had been bribed by the prisoner to concoct such anarrative; others declared that the jailor must have been drunk, andhaving forgotten to lock the door of the cell some young female may havefound admittance, and to cover his negligence he had trumped up thisimprobable story.

  They, however, took the trouble to visit the cell of the prisoner and toexamine the writing on the wall, which they all declared themselves tobe at a loss to guess with what material the prisoner himself could havewritten the name. The prisoner was questioned and cross-questioned, butwas not found to contradict himself in anything. A piece of chalk wasthen put into the prisoner's hand and he was ordered to write the samename underneath that supposed to have been written by the spirit, butthe handwriting was perfectly dissimilar. The jailor was then called,and had to do the same, but neither in this case did the writing at allresemble the burnt characters on the wall.

  Now, however mysterious this affair might have appeared to theauthorities, yet to convict a gentleman of De Chevron's standing, orindeed any man upon such evidence as this, would be as absurd as itwould be unfair; nevertheless, the story of the apparition in theprisoner's cell and of the writing on the wall spread like wildfirethrough the village, and had the effect of shaking the belief of manywho had hitherto believed Archer guilty, and confirming more than everin their previous belief those who still maintained him innocent.

  The general currency of this story, too, gave rise to inquiries as tothe intimacy that had existed between John Archer and De Chevron. Acertain amount of intimacy it was proved had existed between them, butso far the evidence was rather on De Chevron's side, as witnesses cameforward to prove that De Chevron had always shown himself most friendlytowards young Archer, and had occasionally made him some triflingpresent.

  There was no evidence that they had ever fallen out together, andtherefore there was no reason at all to suspect De Chevron of themalicious conduct attributed to him of committing a murder himself inorder that an innocent man should be convicted of it. To strengthen theabsurdity of the supposition, it was alleged that De Chevron had beenabsent in London at the time of the murder, thereby proving an _alibi_.Others not being satisfied with this statement, desired that it shouldbe proved beyond doubt that De Chevron was in London at the time. Uponexamination, however, the evidence was not quite so favourable to DeChevron this time. More than one witness deposed to having seen him atthe window, although he had not been seen out of doors. It was provedthat he had never quitted the village, although he had given out to hisfriends his intention of going to London; but he sought to exculpatehimself by saying that he had announced to his friends his intendeddeparture for London in order that he might avoid visits and enjoy thestrictest seclusion for a time, as he was studying for the law.

  This excuse was deemed sufficient, and might have satisfied all parties,had not still more startling evidence turned up. In the meantime the allbut defunct pedlar had sufficiently recovered in order to give adetailed account of the occurrences on the night of the murder, and ofDe Chevron's duplicity and treachery, although he owned himself at aloss to conceive the motive of the attempted murder.

  He acquitted John Archer of being implicated in any way in the crime,and denounced De Chevron as a double-dealing murderous vill
ain. Hisevidence was taken down in writing by the surgeon who attended him, inthe presence of several witnesses, and it was proposed that both JohnArcher and De Chevron should be confronted with the dying man.

  This was accordingly done. The half-murdered pedlar managed to sustainlife by an almost preternatural effort until the arrival of the twoindividuals. Upon the appearance of De Chevron his eye kindled with anincredible animation, considering his dying state, and although hisutterance was now difficult, he succeeded in denouncing him as hismurderer in sufficiently plain terms to be understood by all present.When his eye caught John Archer, the dying man stretched forth his handto him, craved his pardon for the evil he had done him, but adding thatit was all at the instigation of De Chevron, for the carrying out ofsome private scheme of his own. De Chevron endeavoured to justifyhimself, alleging that the man raved and that such testimony could notbe depended upon. The pedlar, however, had given his evidence so clearlyand concisely that it was accounted valid, after which he sank back andexpired.

  Now, whilst the evidence of the pedlar that had been taken down wasbeing read out mention was made of the bottle of drugged wine said tohave been given to the pedlar by De Chevron in order to carry out hisbase designs. A search was accordingly made for the bottle, which, beingfound, though empty--or, rather, nearly so--it was taken to a chemist,who found sufficient of the liquor left to analyse, which, when done, itwas pronounced to contain narcotics of the most potent sort.

  The house of De Chevron was next searched, and in a secret drawer of hisdesk was discovered a powder which upon being examined proved to containsimilar ingredients to those discovered in the dregs of the wine at thebottom of the bottle. Besides this powder were found at De Chevron'slodgings sundry bottles of wine, all bearing exactly the same label asthat found in the ditch close to the murdered man.

  This evidence was considered conclusive, and De Chevron was seized forthe purpose of being conducted to prison; but, despairing now of evergetting acquitted, and dreading to fall into the hands of justice, themiserable man suddenly drew out a pistol from his pocket, and holdingthe barrel to his forehead blew out his brains on the spot.

  This last rash deed of De Chevron's caused even more sensation in thevillage and the parts adjacent than the mysterious murder of the pedlar.The wretched suicide was interred without obsequies in the centre of twocross roads, with a stake driven through his body, according to theusual custom.

  I need not say that John Archer was freely acquitted, and welcomed oncemore among us with hearty cheers. Even those who had been the mostbitter against him at first now came forward to extend to him the handof friendship.

  How the poor lad seemed to enjoy his liberty after his incarceration!But yesterday imprisoned for murder, shunned by all his friends andhated by everybody, with the prospect of an ignominious death beforehim. To-day openly acquitted, restored to the bosom of his family,surrounded by his friends, and receiving their congratulations. In aninstant he had forgotten all his past woes, and thought himself amplycompensated for all his suffering by being again allowed to visit hislady-love.

  I will leave you to imagine, gentlemen, the joy of us all, andespecially of Claribel, at John's acquittal, as well as the importunatequestioning of the neighbours concerning the apparition of Claribel toJohn within the prison cell.

  There are many people who profess to know their neighbours' businessbetter than they do themselves. According to this sort of people--andthere are many in the village to this day--John Archer's marriage withClaribel Falkland was a thing already settled. The day had been fixedupon, and all was in order--in fact the kindly neighbours had madeeverything as easy as possible for the young couple, whereas John hadnever yet opened his lips in the way of love to the idol of his heart,being, as I have before mentioned, of a shy and reserved temperament.Yet so sure were the neighbours of John's private affairs, that one ofhis friends said jocularly that when their banns should be published inchurch that he would stand up and forbid them, as in marrying Claribelhe would be committing bigamy, seeing that she could make herself twopersons at once. Would that the neighbours had been in the right as tothe future of this pair, for a couple better suited for each other couldnot have been found; but, alas, who is master of his fate? Who can pryinto the secret ways of Providence? It little boots to speculate on whatthe future of these two amiable and ingenuous natures would have beenif everything had gone well, for a dire fate was in store for them. Butlet me not anticipate.

  It was a winter morning, but remarkably fine for that time of the year,when Claribel and I went out together for a ramble in an adjacent wood.We had been laughing and chatting by the way, when suddenly I observedthe features of my friend to become overcast. When I inquired the reasonof her sadness, she replied,

  "I know not how it is, Molly, but somehow or other I feel as if somedanger were threatening John."

  Now, I had long ceased to laugh at her for what I used to look upon asmere nervous fancies, so many of them having proved well founded, but Imerely suggested to her that perhaps she did not feel well, and that wehad better return home.

  "Yes, yes, Molly," she said; "for Heaven's sake let us return at once,as I feel more and more sure that poor John is in some danger. Youremember my presentiment about Richard de Chevron, which you laughed at.Was that well founded or not? Well, as I felt certain then that someharm was in store for John, so do I now. Come, let us hasten our steps."

  "God forbid," said I, "that poor John should fall a victim a second timeto treachery or witchcraft," and we hurried home, never halting until wereached my father's house.

  On entering the parlour Claribel gave a hasty glance at the glazedcupboard where she had placed the waxen image intended as a likeness ofJohn Archer, and which she had not looked at for ever so long. It waswanting.

  "Molly!" she cried, in great anxiety, "where is the waxen image? Whatcan have become of it? Just ask your father if he has removed it."

  Now, being winter time, there was a blazing fire in the room, and myfather, who was at this time laid up with the gout, would draw himselfup to it and smoke his yard of clay. He was absent from the parlour whenwe entered, but we found his chair ready placed for him.

  "Good heavens! Molly, what's this?" cried Claribel, in alarm, as shetouched the mantelpiece over the fireplace. "Can it be? No; yes, it_is_--_the waxen image molten away_! Who can have done it? Oh, wretchedbeing that I am! Go, and at once, to the house of John, and inquireafter his health."

  I was preparing to execute her commission, and was just upon setting outalone to John's house, which was not far from our own, when one of theneighbours, a woman--one of the most notorious gossips of the place,whose sole delight was to be the first to deliver bad news--met me atthe door as I was just going out.

  "Oh, Molly my dear, have you heard the sad news? Lack-a-day! who'd havethought it? Oh, lauk-a-daisy-me! poor Claribel! how she will take onabout it to be sure!"

  "Speak out, woman!" cried Claribel, from the parlour, for she had heardevery word through the open door. "Speak out. What has happened?"

  "Oh Lord! my dear, that poor young man John Archer, as you appears tohave been so fond of well, my dear, he's gone--yes, _dead_, struck downby a sudden fever, they say--in the very spring-time of his youth; it'shardly a quarter of an hour since, so I thought I'd come at once to tellyou."

  This communication, partly interrupted by sobs and partly by want ofbreath, for the bearer of the sad news had set off as fast as her legscould carry her, in order to be the first to communicate it, had aterrible effect on the nervous system of my poor friend Claribel.Forgetting her usual self-composure in her extreme anguish, she gaveutterance to a shriek so piercing and doleful, that it seemed to shakethe very house to its foundations, and sank back into the nearest chairin a swoon. The scream brought my father to the door to inquire what wasthe matter, while the good neighbour--for in spite of her mania fordelivering bad news, she was still a woman at heart--bustled about toprocure restoratives and to sprinkle water on my
poor friend's faceuntil she recovered.

  The news we had heard was only too true, for, sad to relate, poor JohnArcher, who up to that very morning had been the picture of robusthealth, suddenly fell the victim of a violent fever that carried him offwithin a few hours. The doctors were at a loss to account for thedisease, as there was no fever at that time in the neighbourhood. It wasan isolated case. During his delirium he was heard to give vent tocertain incoherent ravings, frequently calling out, "The waxen image!the waxen image!" He was heard to couple the names of De Chevron andMadge Mandrake together, but the bystanders, his parents, understoodnothing of his meaning.

  There remains little more to relate. It appears that my father when leftalone in the house had been prying into every nook and corner of it forhis snuff-box, which he had lost, until he stumbled upon the littlewaxen image in the glazed cupboard, of the history of which he knewnothing, but which he instantly recognised as intended for a likeness ofJohn Archer, imagining that either myself or Claribel had been amusingourselves with endeavouring to represent the lineaments of our commonfriend in wax, and thinking it very good and clever, he thought it wouldmake a pretty chimney ornament, and accordingly placed it on themantelpiece when the fire was yet low. Afterwards, he had heaped onfuel, being very cold that day, and shortly afterwards had been calledaway by a neighbour on business. In the meantime the fire had blazed upand so heated the room that before he returned to the parlour there wasnothing left of the effigy of John Archer but a shapeless heap of wax.

  On recovering from the swoon my poor friend reproached herself in theseverest terms with not having foreseen such a contingency, adding thatshe alone had been the cause of John's death, as she ought to havelocked the cupboard and taken away the key. I strove to reason with herand comfort her, but she was deaf to all consolation. The sad event ofJohn's death had cast a gloom over us all. As for Claribel, poor soul,it was a shock from which she never recovered. She drooped and pinedaway from that hour, and outlived young Archer but one month. Peace beto their ashes!

  * * * * *

  On concluding her affecting narrative, our worthy hostess thrust acorner of her apron into her eye in order to staunch a rising tearcalled into existence by tender recollections of her poor deceasedfriend and her unfortunate lover, but she was soon cut short in theindulgence of her grief by the boisterous applause that simultaneouslyensued from all the members of the club. This was the cheering andclapping of hands before alluded to that had attracted the attention ofour artist while painting from the fair Helen in the opposite room, andwhich, as our reader will recollect, was the signal for the youngportrait painter to commence his Italian story of "The Three Pauls."

  "And so that rascal De Chevron cheated the gallows after all," broke inMr. Oldstone, during the pause that succeeded the tumultuous cheeringthat greeted the relation of Dame Hearty.

  "But what became of Madge Mandrake? You have not told us that. Shedidn't escape scot-free, surely?"

  "Well, you see, sir, the law had no actual hold on her," replied thehostess; "but I have every reason to believe that she died hard. She wasdiscovered dead one day on the floor of her hovel, in her day clothes,her eyes fixed and starting from her head, her features distorted, andher fingers extended like claws, as if grasping the floor. Some thoughtshe had died in a fit, but, whatever the cause of her death, it iscertain she must have suffered great agony, and I cannot look upon themode of her death otherwise than as a judgment for her many sins. Shehad never been known to enter a church within the memory of man, andthough she had led a notoriously bad life, it seems that the parishcould not deny her a Christian burial, and she was interred in the oldchurchyard yonder with all due ceremony, but report said at the timethat she had frequently been seen since by those who happened to bepassing through the churchyard late at night or thereabouts, and thatshould a thunderstorm burst over the head of the benighted traveller, ashe wended his weary steps past this abode of the dead, a shadowy formwith a steeple-crowned hat and astride on a broomstick might be seenriding through the murky air, and behind her a black tom cat with a pairof flame-coloured eyes. Yells and groans, mingled with demoniacallaughter, were said to have been heard, as if proceeding from beneaththe ground by those who happened to pass through the churchyard close toher grave after nightfall. Owls, bats, carrion crows, and other obscenebirds would be found perched on the head of her grave, and, scared atthe footsteps of a stranger, would fly screeching away.

  "At least, this is what the country folk would say; but never havingseen nor heard any of these things myself, gentlemen, I cannot vouch fortheir authenticity, yet there are few folks in the village to this daybut would not put themselves much out of the way in order to avoidpassing through that same churchyard on a stormy night."

  "In fact," remarked Mr. Crucible, "there is every reason to believe thatthe old lady was d----"

  A storm had for some time past been gathering overhead, and just then aterrific clap of thunder prevented the conclusion of Mr. Crucible'ssentence from being audible.

  "Lauk-a-daisy-me! what a peal!" exclaimed Dame Hearty. "It was enough toshake the house down. I'm terrible frightened of thunder. It makes mefeel alloverish like."

  "I shouldn't wonder," suggested Mr. Blackdeed, "if old Madge on herbroomstick should be riding overhead. Just go out and see, Dame Hearty,will you?"

  "Not I, sir, not for the world," quoth our hostess. "And pray don't talkof that horrible person in such weather, or I shall go off in a fit.Already I begin to fancy I see her before me, with her nose and chinmeeting like a lobster's claws, with hardly room enough between them fora decent-sized hazel nut.

  "How I can call to mind, too, her grizzly beard, like a well-usedscrubbing brush, that left you in doubt as to whether she really couldbelong to our sex! Then her beetle brows overhanging her sockets like adragoon's moustache, and all but concealing her small deeply-sunk andviperish eyes, which gleamed with envy, hatred, malice, and alluncharitableness."

  "There, did you see that flash!" exclaimed Dr. Bleedem. "Just wait amoment; here it comes."

  A second tremendous crash resounded, causing the window panes torevibrate and the whole house to rock to its foundations.

  "Lord have mercy upon us!" cried the hostess in extreme terror.

  "That is a judgment sent on you by old Madge for speaking ill of her,"said Professor Cyanite.

  "Oh! hold your tongue, naughty man, do," said our hostess, halfplayfully, half in terror. "Here comes the rain in torrents. How itpours! Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I've got to attend to thehouse."

  "Certainly," cried several members at once, "and many thanks for yourvery interesting story."

  Our hostess curtseyed, said they were very welcome, and left the room.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [20] A better simile would be "as if charged with electricity," or "likesparks emitted from an electric machine," as this case, which is foundedon fact, and which, together with other similar phenomena, is probablyof electric origin. (_Vide_ Mrs. CROW'S "Nightside of Nature.") Yet wemust bear in mind that we are speaking at a time before electricitycreated that furor in the world that succeeded the discoveries ofBenjamin Franklin, and that it is only an unsophisticated countrylandlady who is speaking, whose science goes no further than the makingof an apple pudding, roasting a leg of mutton, or frying a beefsteak.

 

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