Standard Selections Part 65

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed; I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the h.e.l.lish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous; so I am.

And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst.

And now a new anxiety seized me--the sound could be heard by a neighbor!

The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once--once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gayly to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a m.u.f.fled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation.

He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If you still think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye--not even his--could have detected anything wrong.

When I had made an end of these labors it was four o'clock--still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart--for what had I now to fear? Then entered three men who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and the officers had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled--for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search--search well. I led them at length to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. But ere long I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct; it continued and gained definitiveness--until at length I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I grew very pale; but I talked more fluently and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased--and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound--much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath--and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly--more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men--but the noise steadily increased. O G.o.d! what could I do? I foamed--I raved--I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder--louder--louder. And still the men chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard not?

They heard!--they suspected!--they knew!--they were making a mockery of my horror! this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!--and now--again!--hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed--tear up the planks! here! here! it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

THE UNCLE

H. G. BELL

I had an uncle once--a man Of threescore years and three, And when my reason's dawn began, He'd take me on his knee, And often talk, whole winter nights, Things that seemed strange to me.

He was a man of gloomy mood, And few his converse sought; But, it was said, in solitude His conscience with him wrought; And then, before his mental eye, Some hideous vision brought.

There was not one in all the house Who did not fear his frown, Save I, a little, careless child, Who gamboled up and down, And often peeped into his room, And plucked him by his gown.

I was an orphan and alone-- My father was his brother, And all their lives I knew that they Had fondly loved each other; And in my uncle's room there hung The picture of my mother.

There was a curtain over it-- 'Twas in a darkened place, And few or none had ever looked Upon my mother's face; Or seen her pale, expressive smile Of melancholy grace.

One night--I do remember well, The wind was howling high, And through the ancient corridors It sounded drearily; I sat and read in that old hall; My uncle sat close by.

I read--but little understood The words upon the book, For with a sidelong glance I marked My uncle's fearful look, And saw how all his quivering frame In strong convulsions shook.

A silent terror o'er me stole, A strange, unusual dread; His lips were white as bone--his eyes Sunk far down in his head; He gazed on me, but 'twas the gaze Of the unconscious dead.

Then suddenly he turned him round, And drew aside the veil That hung before my mother's face; Perchance my eyes might fail, But ne'er before that face to me Had seemed so ghastly pale.

"Come hither, boy!" my uncle said-- I started at the sound; 'Twas choked and stifled, in his throat, And hardly utterance found; "Come hither, boy!" then fearfully He cast his eyes around.

"That lady was thy mother once-- Thou wert her only child; O G.o.d! I've seen her when she held Thee in her arms and smiled-- She smiled upon thy father, boy, 'Twas that which drove me wild!

"He was my brother, but his form Was fairer far than mine; I grudged not that;--he was the prop Of our ancestral line, And manly beauty was of him A token and a sign.

"Boy! I had loved her too--nay, more, 'Twas I who loved her first; For months--for years--the golden thought Within my soul was nursed; He came--he conquered--they were wed-- My air-blown bubble burst!

"Then on my mind a shadow fell, And evil hopes grew rife; The d.a.m.ning thought stuck in my heart, And cut me like a knife, That she, whom all my days I loved, Should be another's wife!

"I left my home--I left the land-- I crossed the raging sea; In vain--in vain--where'er I turned, My memory went with me; My whole existence, night and day, In memory seemed to be.

"I came again, I found them here-- Thou'rt like thy father, boy-- He doted on that pale face there, I've seen them kiss and toy-- I've seen him locked in her fond arms, Wrapped in delirious joy!

"By Heaven! it was a fearful thing, To see my brother now, And mark the placid calm that sat Forever on his brow, That seemed in bitter scorn to say, I am more loved than thou!

"He disappeared--draw nearer, child!-- He died--no one knew how; The murdered body ne'er was found, The tale is hushed up now; But there was one who rightly guessed The hand that struck the blow.

"It drove her mad--yet not his death-- No--not his death alone; For she had clung to hope, when all Knew well that there was none; No, boy! it was a sight she saw That froze her into stone!

"I am thy uncle, child--why stare So frightfully aghast?-- The arras waves, but know'st thou not 'Tis nothing but the blast?

I, too, have had my fears like these, But such vain fears are past.

"I'll show thee what thy mother saw-- I feel 'twill ease my breast, And this wild tempest-laden night Suits with the purpose best.

Come hither--thou hast often sought To open this old chest.

"It has a secret spring; the touch Is known to me alone; Slowly I raise the lid, and now-- What see you, that you groan So heavily? That thing is but A bare-ribbed skeleton."

A sudden crash--the lid fell down-- Three strides he backward gave, "Oh, G.o.d! it is my brother's self Returning from the grave!

His grasp of lead is on my throat-- Will no one help or save?"

That night they laid him on his bed, In raving madness tossed; He gnashed his teeth, and with wild oaths Blasphemed the Holy Ghost; And, ere the light of morning broke, A sinner's soul was lost.

VI

SCENES FROM THE DRAMA

The selections in this division are cut, condensed, and adapted for practical use as dramas or monologues. In some cases lines of the text as well as explanations are written in to connect the scenes for clearer unity. For scenes from Shakespeare and readings from the Bible, already universally printed and accessible, see the indexes and directions as to the omissions of lines in various cuttings in Fulton and Trueblood's "Choice Readings," published by Messrs. Ginn & Company.

THE BELLS

HENRY L. WILLIAMS