The Three Brides, Love in a Cottage, and Other Tales Part 25

"Disguise yourself!" echoed his tormentor--"for Heaven's sake, don't do that--they'd never guess it."

The next night the charade was a.s.s-a.s.s-in, and Blinks went on for the first two syllables. He was perfectly at home--"Richard himself again!" and the wicked young lady, in complimenting his performance, declared it was "_perfectly natural_."

THE GREEN CHAMBER.

In my younger days, "ghost stories" were the most popular narratives extant, and the lady or gentleman who could recite the most thrilling adventure, involving a genuine spiritual visitant, was sure to be the lion or lioness of the evening party he enlivened (?) with the dismal details. The elder auditors never seemed particularly horrified or terror-stricken, however much gratified they were, but the younger members would drink in every word, "supping full of horrors." After listening to one of these authentic narratives, we used to be very reluctant to retire to our dormitories, and never ventured to get into bed till we had examined suspicious-looking closets, old wardrobes, and, indeed, every nook and corner that might be supposed to harbor a ghost or a ghoul.

Fortunately for the rising generation, these tales have gone out of fas.h.i.+on, and though some attempts to revive the taste have been made--as in the "Night Side of Nature"--such efforts have proved deplorable failures. The young people of to-day make light of ghosts.

The spectres in the incantation scene of "Der Freyschutz" are received with roars of laughter, and even the statue in Don Giovanni seems "jolly," notwithstanding the illusive music of Mozart. We were about to remark that the age had outgrown superst.i.tion, but we remembered the Rochester knockings, and concluded to be modestly silent.

One evening, many years since--it was a bl.u.s.tering December evening--the wind howling as it dashed the old b.u.t.tonwood limbs in its fury against the parlor windows of the country house where a few of us were a.s.sembled to pa.s.s the winter holidays, we gathered before a roaring fire of walnut and oak, which made every thing within doors as cheery and comfortable as all without was desolate and dreary. The window shutters were left unfastened, that the bright lamplight and ruddy firelight might stream afar upon the wintry waste, and perhaps guide some benighted wayfarer to a hospitable shelter.

We shall not attempt to describe the group, as any such portrait painting would not be germane to the matter more immediately in hand.

Suffice it to say, that one of the youngsters begged aunt Deborah, the matron of the mansion, to tell us a ghost story,--"a real ghost story, aunt Deborah,"--for in those days we were terribly afraid of counterfeits, and hated to hear a narrative where the ghost turned out in the end to be no ghost after all, but a mere compound of flesh and blood like ourselves.

Aunt Deborah smiled at our earnestness, and tantalized our impatience by some of those little arts with which the practised story-teller enhances the value and interest of her narrative. She tapped her silver snuffbox, opened it deliberately, took a very delicate pinch of the Lundy Foot, shut the box, replaced it in her pocket, folded her hands before her, looked round a minute on the expectant group, and then began.

I shall despair of imparting to this cold pen-and-ink record of her story the inimitable conversational grace with which she embellished it. It made an indelible impression on my memory, and if I have never before repeated it, it was from a lurking fear that--though the old lady a.s.sured us it was "not to be found in any book or newspaper"--it might have found its way into print. However, as twenty years have elapsed, and I have never yet met with it in type, I will venture to give the outlines of the narrative.

Major Rupert Stanley, a "bold dragoon" in the service of his majesty George III., found himself, one dark and bl.u.s.tering night in autumn, riding towards London on the old York road. He had supped with a friend who lived at a village some distance off the road, and he was unfamiliar with the country. Though not raining, the air was damp, and the heavy, surcharged clouds threatened every moment to pour down their contents. But the major, though a young man, was an old campaigner; and with a warm cloak wrapped about him, and a good horse under him, would have cared very little for storm and darkness, had he felt sure of a good bed for himself, and comfortable quarters for his horse, when he had ridden far enough for the strength of his faithful animal. A good horseman cares as much for the comfort of his steed as for his own ease. To add to the discomfort of the evening, there was some chance of meeting highwaymen; but Major Stanley felt no uneasiness on that score, as, just before leaving his friend's house, he had examined his holster pistols, and freshly primed them. A brush with a highwayman would enhance the romance of a night journey.

So he jogged along; but mile after mile was pa.s.sed, and no twinkling light in the distance gave notice of the appearance of the wished-for inn. The major's horse began to give unmistakable evidence of distress--stumbling once or twice, and recovering himself with difficulty. At last, a dim light suddenly appeared at a turn of the road. The horse p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, and trotted forward with spirit, soon halting beside a one-story cottage. The major was disappointed, but he rode up to the door and rapped loudly with the but of his riding whip. The summons brought a sleepy cotter to the door.

"My good friend," said the major, "can you tell me how far it is to the next inn?"

"Eh! it be about zeven mile, zur," was the answer, in the broad Yorks.h.i.+re dialect of the district.

"Seven miles!" exclaimed the major, in a tone of deep disappointment, "and my horse is already blown! My good fellow, can't you put my horse somewhere, and give me a bed? I will pay you liberally for your trouble."

"Eh! goodness zakes!" said the rustic. "I be nought but a ditcher!

There be noa plaze to put the nag in, and there be only one room and one bed in the cot."

"What _shall_ I do?" cried the major, at his wits' end.

"I'll tell 'ee, zur," said the rustic, scratching his head violently, as if to extract his ideas by the roots. "There be a voine large house on the road, about a moile vurther on. It's noa an inn, but the colonel zees company vor the vun o' the thing--'cause he loikes to zee company about 'un. You must 'a heard ov him--Colonel Rogers--a' used to be a soger once."

"Say no more," cried the major. "I _have_ heard of this hospitable gentleman; and his having been in the army gives me a sure claim to his attention. Here's a crown for your information, my good friend.

Come, Marlborough!"

Touching his steed with the spur, the major rode off, feeling an exhilaration of spirits which soon communicated itself to the horse. A sharp trot of a few minutes brought him to a large mansion, which stood unfenced, like a huge caravansery, by the roadside. He made for the front door and, without dismounting, plied the large bra.s.s knocker till a servant in livery made his appearance.

"Is your master up?" asked the major.

"I am the occupant of this house," said a venerable gentleman, making his appearance at the hall door.

"I am a benighted traveller, sir," said the major, touching his hat, "and come to claim your well-known hospitality. Can you give me a bed for the night? I am afraid my four-footed companion is hardly able to carry me to the next inn."

"I cannot promise you a bed, sir," said the host, "for I have but one spare bed in the house."

"And that----" said the major.

"Happens to be in a room that does not enjoy a very pleasing reputation. In short, sir, one room of my house is haunted; and that is the only one, unfortunately, that I can place at your disposal to-night."

"My dear sir," said the major, springing from his horse, and tossing the bridle to the servant, "you enchant me beyond expression! A haunted chamber! The very thing--and I, who have never seen a ghost!

What luck!"

The host shook his head gravely.

"I never knew a man," he said, "to pa.s.s a night in that chamber without regretting it."

Major Stanley laughed as he took his pistols from the holster pipes.

"With these friends of mine," he said, "I fear neither ghost nor demon."

Colonel Rogers showed his guest into a comfortable parlor, where a seacoal fire was burning cheerfully in a grate, and refreshments most welcome to a weary traveller stood upon a table.

"Mine host" was an old campaigner, and had seen much service during the war of the American revolution, and he was full of interesting anecdotes and descriptions of adventures. But while Major Stanley was apparently listening attentively to the narrative of his hospitable entertainer, throwing in the appropriate e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of surprise and pleasure at the proper intervals, his whole attention was in reality absorbed by a charming girl of twenty, the daughter of the colonel, who graced the table with her presence. Never, he thought, had he seen so beautiful, so modest, and so ladylike a creature; and she, in turn, seemed very favorably impressed with the manly beauty and frank manners of their military guest.

At length she retired. The colonel, who was a three-bottle man, and had found a listener to his heart, was somewhat inclined to prolong the session into the small hours of the morning, but finding that his guest was much fatigued, and even beginning to nod in the midst of his choicest story, he felt compelled to ask him if he would not like to retire. Major Stanley replied promptly in the affirmative, and the old gentleman, taking up a silver candlestick, ceremoniously marshalled his guest to a large, old-fas.h.i.+oned room, the walls of which being papered with green, gave it its appellation of the "Green Chamber." A comfortable bed invited to repose; a cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and every thing was cosy and quiet. The major looked round him with a smile of satisfaction.

"I am deeply indebted to you, colonel," said he, "for affording me such comfortable quarters. I shall sleep like a top."

"I am afraid not," answered the colonel, shaking his head gravely. "I never knew a guest of mine to pa.s.s a quiet night in the Green Chamber."

"I shall prove an exception," said the major, smiling. "But I must make one remark," he added, seriously. "It is ill sporting with the feelings of a soldier; and should any of your servants attempt to play tricks upon me, they will have occasion to repent it." And he laid his heavy pistol on the lightstand by his bedside.

"My servants, Major Stanley," said the old gentleman, with an air of offended dignity, "are too well drilled to dare attempt any tricks upon my guests. Good night, major."

"Good night, colonel."

The door closed. Major Stanley locked it. Having done so, he took a survey of the apartment. Besides the door opening into the entry, there was another leading to some other room. There was no lock upon this second door, but a heavy table, placed across, completely barricaded it.

"I am safe," thought the major, "unless there is a storming party of ghosts to attack me in my fastness. I think I shall sleep well."

He threw himself into an arm chair before the fire, and watching the glowing embers, amused himself with building castles in the air, and musing on the attractions of the fair Julia, his host's daughter. He was far enough from thinking of spectral visitants, when a very slight noise struck on his ear. Glancing in the direction of the inner door, he thought he saw the heavy table glide backwards from its place.

Quick as thought, he caught up a pistol, and challenged the intruder.

There was no reply--but the door continued to open, and the table to slide back. At last there glided into the room a tall, graceful figure, robed in white. At the first glance, the blood curdled in the major's veins; at the second, he recognized the daughter of his host.

Her eyes were wide open, and she advanced with an a.s.sured step, but it was very evident she was asleep. Here was the mystery of the Green Chamber solved at once. The young girl walked to the fireplace and seated herself in the arm chair from which the soldier had just risen. His first impulse was to vacate the room, and go directly and alarm the colonel. But, in the first place, he knew not what apartment his host occupied, and in the second, curiosity prompted him to watch the _denouement_ of this singular scene. Julia raised her left hand, and gazing on a beautiful ring that adorned one of her white and taper fingers, pressed it repeatedly to her lips. She then sank into an att.i.tude of repose, her arms drooping listlessly by her sides.

The major approached her, and stole the ring from her finger. His action disturbed, but did not awaken her. She seemed to miss the ring, however, and, after groping hopelessly for it, rose and glided through the doorway as silently as she had entered. She had no sooner retired than the major replaced the table, and drawing a heavy clothes press against it, effectually guarded himself against a second intrusion.

This done, he threw himself upon the bed, and slept soundly till a late hour of the morning. When he awoke, he sprang out of bed, and ran to the window. Every trace of the storm had pa.s.sed away, and an unclouded sun was s.h.i.+ning on the radiant landscape. After performing the duties of his toilet, he was summoned to breakfast, where he met the colonel and his daughter.

"Well, major, and how did you pa.s.s the night?" asked the colonel, anxiously.