 Section 20 of The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Claire Wilde The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mulholland A Willow the Wisp Ring, ding, tinkle, tinkle, ting, rang the chimes in the cathedral tower, beginning to play their airy tune in the clouds as a bewitched old lady came into the town of Danda one evening, following a Willow the Wisp. Danda is a dreamy old Flemish town with canals full of yellow-green water and brown boats with little scarlet flags with strange old beetle-browed houses overshadowing the streets with a marketplace and fountain a multitude of pointed gables, a cathedral covered with saints and angels little children in muslin caps and bells that make delicate music aloft in the air A real traveller stopping at Danda is a rare apparition and people came out of their houses that evening to gaze at the little old Englishwoman who trotted behind the truck which jolted her luggage along the pavement When the tired little woman stopped before the wide entrance of the queer old inn, Lagrou, there was no one about and she walked into the sanded hall and glanced through the opening at the other end down the long ancient courtyard with its vines and gallery and rows of little windows and on to where apple trees and scarlet geraniums were blushing through the sunlight from the garden A curious stone staircase wound out of the hall and there were doors on each side of her She hesitated and glanced all round the unpeopled interior until the sound of a voice came out of the nearest door With her hands on her knees and the knitting lying in her lap said the shrewish voice of a woman in clumsy Flemish French that I told her yesterday that the stocking must be done immediately Thou hearest said a man's voice, thou must be more industrious and with a look on her face that would sour the wine continued the woman enough to make people think one was unkind to her thou must be more cheerful grumbled the man and see there are travellers at our door and here she is gossiping so that we do not even perceive them A door which had been ajar was quickly opened and a young girl came out with a pale face and eyes heavily encircled with the redness of suppressed tears The young figure looked so much more refined than anything one could have expected in the place that the traveller forgot her own business in the surprise At the same moment a waiter came running to take the luggage a little man with a keen and perturbed face and something like a hump on his shoulders This was the oldest inn in Dandan, explained the girl There were not many chambers ready, for travellers did not often stop to pass a night in the town There was a suite of small rooms running round the courtyard but they were at present used as fruit lofts or lumber closets Over the archway into the garden was a little apartment, like a glass case which was occupied by a gentleman who had been long established here and must not be moved But madame should have the best chamber occupied by monsieur and his wife when nobody came It should be made ready for the dam on glaze at a moment's notice The stranger had had an intention of trying to escape but something in the girl's manner mysteriously vanquished her She took possession of an ancient-looking room with heavy dark wainscots and one window in which the only things noticeable were two well-painted portraits on the walls They were monsieur and madame van Mechelbeck, explained Jacques the waiter Painted by monsieur Lawrence, the English artist who lived in the little glass chamber and studied all his evenings in the painting room of the Cirque de Beaux-Arts above in the tower A very respectable club which reflected credit on their house Their meeting room for social purposes was behind the Salamanger Madame, the stranger, got rid of her dust and made herself at home in her chair by the window feeling herself to be a disappointed old woman who had been flitting about the world for years seeking an object which it now seemed folly to think of finding In the pleasant courtyard the evening sunlight was gilding the peaks of the little windows and the grapes that hung from the vines but leaving a cool well of shadow about the old archway through which flamed softly the illuminated garden brilliant with scarlet and green and bristling with gold-tipped apple trees As madame looked a man's head was thrust from one of the queer little windows in the glass chamber an English head, brown-haired and thoughtfully intelligent It leaned out of the golden background glanced at a deserted ironing table which stood under the vines below withdrew itself quickly and disappeared This was monsieur Lawrence no doubt Our little old woman had returned to her own perplexities When the maiden who had received her again appeared at her door a ray from the window touching the girl as she announced that Madame was served Her face shone upon the traveller out of the shadows under the doorway A pale, delicate-featured face with a distinct beauty of its own which was partly owing to its subdued intensity of expression The eyes had still that look of suffering from unshed tears both had a look of heroic patience She hovered on the threshold while Madame fixed a sudden stare upon her and made a sharp ejaculation in English Madame's dinner said the girl thinking that she had not been understood in French But the stare was not removed from her face till she fell back abashed across the threshold and closed the door What is it cried the little English woman to herself with piteous energy A likeness? No, not a likeness Yes, no, yes, certainly not With brooding over this matter I'm becoming silly Madame reflected and made up her mind that she was too hungry and tired to think to any purpose She dined and Jacques bought her some coffee in her chamber Madame could not refrain from questioning Jacques For many long years it had been the business of her life to question Steen was the girl's name She was the niece of Monsieur and her fate was sad Why do they treat her badly? It seems to come by nature said Jacques At present she is in great disgrace because she refuses to marry me although I have declared to Monsieur that I will not have her But is she not good and nice? cried Madame C'est pendant! persisted Jacques I will not have her She likes me as it is, she would hate me if I pressed her to marry me Monsieur, heaven must do something better for her than that Our traveller was on her way to England and had broken her journey to rest but a night yet she had already become curiously interested in the inhabitants of Lagrou She decided that she would make an indefinite stay at Dandan That night she wrote some letters and looked over papers in her chamber She was very much excited and did not settle to rest until it was another day She was only in her first sleep when Steen got up to break her daily work No one in the house was awake but herself as she went into the garden, fetched vegetables and prepared them for use, placed saucepans on the stove and then went into the courtyard to make ready her laundry table for an hour's ironing As she trotted about the dewy garden and the cool grey courtyard she held up her head and moved lightly, delighting in the taste of fresh air, space and peace Her crisp white bodice rustled with freshness and smelt of lavender Her little apron fluttered as if enjoying itself She went to her ironing under the vines but had hardly plaited a frill when she remembered that she had not put the thing straight in the painting room of the club In a minute she was busy folding up the tangled drapery that had been used in costuming a model the night before The next moment someone came into the room and Steen seemed all at once in a great hurry as she said Good day, Monsieur Lawrence You were up early, turning away as she spoke and making haste with her work Steen, will you not put that away for a moment and speak to me? I have spoken, Monsieur, I have said good day The young man looked half sad and half angry as she opened the door, curtsied and disappeared The painter sat down and began to work at his picture This place is not good for me, he reflected I shall leave it as soon as possible Elsewhere I shall have greater advantages and be rid of heartache Ugh, why do I love her when she does not care for me? Yet what a life I see before her in this place Work to death, or wedded to Jacques, or to the owner of the nearest Estaminette I have not much to offer her, but in time I shall succeed We could be frugal, she need not work for two of us as they work her hair Lawrence was alone in the world His art was his delight and he had left England for the purpose of studying in one of the best continental schools Passing through Danda he had been attracted, first by the quaintness of the old inn and afterwards by Steen's sad face and here he had been content to follow his art studies without pushing on further to the higher point of his ambition He had been able on occasions to save the girl from harsh treatment and he recalled now her amazement at being so shielded her gratitude so simply shown and the frank warm friendship that had sprung up between them He had watched her at her daily work in the kitchen, in the courtyard, everywhere and had made sketches of her by stealth under every aspect Later there had come upon him dreams in which he fancied her flitting about in a home which should be her own and also his and one day when she had been in trouble he had spoken to her and then he had found his mistake His love had appeared to vex her and their friendship was at an end She was now as sad and reserved as when he had first set eyes on her It must be that I am quite unlovable, thought Lawrence, since she will rather endure unkindness than share my lot Meanwhile, Steen was working with nimble fingers at her ironing table Linens were folded and muslins crimped while now and again a few tears flashed out of her eyes like sparks of fire and burnt her cheeks She remembered one day when a kind face had come into the inn and somebody had saved her from a beating She being then considered young enough to be so punished She remembered how light had become her tasks after what wonderful day how the consciousness of being protected had grown habitual to her while the wonder swelled within her and finding herself a person to be so deeply respected She began to think that even a life like hers might come to have a beautiful side to it till that first dreadful night when she had told herself it would be better if she should never see Monsieur Lawrence again The next day had brought the trouble of her disobedience about Jacques as well as that strange supreme moment when Lawrence, having heard of it had asked her to be his wife and had been refused Yes, and she would refuse him tomorrow again if put to it Flash came a tear on the frill she was ironing so that she was obliged to crimp one inch of it over again and Madame van Mechelbeck came scolding into the courtyard The little dame anglaise dined at the table dote that day Monsieur sat at the top of his board and his wife and step-daughter a giggling girl, the sharp features, sat beside him After dinner Monsieur, his wife and daughter went out to take coffee in the garden sitting under an apple tree with a tiny table between them Monsieur and his white linen coat and scarlet skullcap the girl and a gay muslin with flaming bows Madame in brilliant gown and enormous gold earrings The ladies chatter, Monsieur smokes and drinks his coffee and Jacques comes into the garden and announces that the dame anglaise wishes to join their circle She comes, she is agreeable, she gossips familiarly over their concerns and tells them a great deal about her travels So agreeable did she make herself that next afternoon the stranger was invited once more to join the circle in the garden Never had been known so pleasant an Englishwoman Monsieur and Madame said the stranger by and by I am going to tell you a story Yesterday I spoke of my travels and you were good enough to be amused Today I will try to relate to you some of the most important events of my life I have lived under the shadow of a great trouble for many years For sixteen years I have been following a will of the wisp A will of the wisp? cried all the listeners It has led me from country to country and from town to town I arrived here the other night utterly disheartened when Lo it sprang up again, here under this roof as soon as I entered Here cried the van metalbecks Madame shifted her chair so that she sat facing Monsieur who had taken his cigar from his mouth and sat gazing at her in amazement with his scarlet skullcap and little on one side and a slight look of apprehension on his stolid countenance Let Madame proceed The strange old lady paused before she began her tale and a tragic look swept across her dim blue eyes My friends, she said with a quiver in her voice Sixteen years ago there lived in a pleasant part of England an English gentleman and his wife who had very great wealth and a beautiful home and up to the time of the beginning of my story they had scarcely known what it is to grieve They had one child, a little girl of three years old the idol of both parents They were fond of travelling abroad It happened once that they were in Paris on their way home with them the child and three servants including the nurse a strange and wild tempered woman The lady was half afraid of this nurse yet shrank from sending her away The nurse was savagely fond of the child and jealous of its mother One day there was a quarrel springing from this jealousy and that evening the woman walked out of the hotel carrying the child and her arms as if to give it an airing She did not return and the father and mother never heard of their child again Monsieur had turned on his seat and looked a scounce at the stranger Madame, his wife, sat with open mouth gazing at her husband Think of it good people went on the little old trembling lady I was the friend of that young mother and I came to her in Paris in her affliction We spent months traversing Paris and we advertised offering large rewards but no tidings of woman or child were to be had We gave up the search in Paris and went moving from place to place lingering so sadly and making such frantic inquiries that people began to point to my friend as the poor crazed mother who was looking for her child My friends, if you had seen her as I did her eyes dim, her cheeks wasted weeping herself to death over a toy a tiny garment, a little shoe The search was useless and by the time we could prevail on her to give it up the poor thing was so broken in heart and body that we only brought her home to die She died in my arms and I promised to keep up the search so long as I lived She had a firm belief that her child was not dead and the horror of its growing up among bad people haunted her perpetually Her husband lived ten years after her death and though he never kept up such a constant search as I did yet he could not forget that there was a chance of his lost daughters being alive somewhere I think his heart was broken too more by the loss of his wife perhaps than by that of his child Both parents had been rich and when the father died he willed all their possessions to their child who might yet be discovered living in ignorance of her parentage After a certain time if nothing has been heard of the girl or her descendants the property will be broken up and divided in charity Since the father's death I have never for one moment relaxed my efforts to discover some trace of the child of my friends I now begin to grow old and I fear I shall not be able to keep it up much longer I have cheered my heart many a time telling myself that the girl would be a daughter to me in my advancing age and would repay me with her love for all the labour I have had for her She would now be nineteen years of age When a child her hair was dark it would now be darker still Her eyes I think would be grey the colour of her mothers I have often fancied I saw a face like what I had pictured her to myself and spent feverish days in finding out my mistake Now you know what I mean by a will of the wisp The faces of the innkeeper and his wife had changed so that they did not seem to be the same persons who had sat there half an hour ago They now nodded their heads while neither spoke But why say that the will of the wisp had appeared under our roof? asked Rosalie sharply The old lady trembled wildly and looked round on the three faces At this moment Steen appeared coming down the courtyard with a fresh supply of coffee My friends, my friends! cried the little old lady stretching out her hands to them I believe that there, pointing to Steen comes the child I have been seeking for these many years Monsieur van Mechelbeck sprang to his feet while his wife pushed back her chair and stared furiously at the stranger Madame has lost her mind cried Monsieur, eyeing the lady with terror Ah no Monsieur, tell me that I am right or help me to the proof of it My child has in some strange way been thrown upon your charity Some feeling of honour makes you wish to keep a secret Madame is all wrong, said the man a little mollified The girl is my niece I will bring you face to face with her mother She lives at some distance but she shall be brought here to satisfy you Bring her at once, said the old lady Next morning a coarse, loud-voiced woman came into the inn and Madame the stranger was summoned to meet her in the garden under the apple tree All the family were present at the interview Monsieur, Madame, Rosalie, Steen and Jacques She is my daughter, said the coarse woman but I gave her up to my brother for the good of the family Speak out, Steen, and say if I am not your mother I have always known you as my mother said Steen, shrinking from her Dear Madame, to the English woman give up this fancy I am grieved to be such a trouble to you Help me, good Jacques, to get back to my chamber said the poor old lady, faintly That night, very late when Steen was wearily toiling up her tower staircase a door opened The English Madame came out, wrapped in her shawl My dear, she said Take me up to your tower room to see the view from your window It must be fine this starry night Besides, I want to talk to you Steen's little room seemed situated in a star so high was it above the peaks of the Flemish houses away down in the town below The cathedral tower looked over at her in ghostly magnificence Her small lattice lay open and the music of the chimes came floating dreamily in as they played their melody through in honour of the midnight hour The room was cool, dark and quiet Madame sat down on Steen's little bed and the cathedral clock struck twelve My dear, she said to Steen I am not going to afflict you with my trouble I am used to disappointment yet there is something in this case that is different from all my former experiences I cannot shake off the interest I feel in you Granted that I am a crazed old woman Still, I would like to leave my mark a good mark upon your fate Do not be afraid to speak freely to me, my child They are harsh to you in this house They are not very kind You would wish to get out of their power and yet not marry Jacques? I will not marry Jacques, heaven bless him Yet a husband could protect you They are not going to kill me and I am able to bear my life The little old English madame was silent reflected a minute and then began again I went out this evening to calm my heart in the cathedral I found it almost deserted and full of a solemn peace I prayed and became resigned Having finished, I was resting myself when I found the painter, Monsieur Lawrence standing beside me He addressed me as your friend and we had some whispered conversation He talked about you He loves you You have repulsed him Is it possible that you are so hard? Madame, I am not hard, gasped steam, after a pause I can believe it Madame, before I knew Monsieur Lawrence I had never loved anything Now it seems as if I could love the whole world for his sake He is, to me, all that one lives for lives by He is absolutely as my life I speak extravagantly, Madame, but remember, at least that I did not wish to speak at all Go on, urged the little lady There was a time, said Steen, leaning on the sill and gazing over clasped hands into the starry outer dimness A time when I never thought of checking my love seeing nothing in it that was not beautiful and good but I was forced to change my mind Madame, I will tell you about it I was sitting one evening in the courtyard at my knitting and the students were supping in their club room The blind was down, the window open I heard the men's voices talking but I was not minding what they said I was thinking of Monsieur Lawrence of some words that he had said to me and of the beautiful look that always came into his eyes when he saw me He was away that day and I always allowed myself to think of him most when he was at a distance It seemed less bold somehow than when he was near Suddenly I heard his name mentioned in the club room and he became the subject of conversation among the students They spoke of his noble character and of his genius and someone said if he only keeps out of harm's way he has a fine career before him Then there was confusion of voices and by and by I learned that the chief thing he had to fear was marriage with a woman as poor as himself Then my own name was brought into the conversation and there was more confusion till a voice said severely that indeed would be his total ruin Madame, the words came out through the window to me buzzed about my head like firing gnats and then made their way inward and settled and burned their way down to my heart When I came up here that night I sat down here and thought about it At first I said to myself it is untrue I should help and not hinder him I should work so hard and privation would be nothing to me But soon my mind came round to see the truth The poorest bread costs money and a woman is often in the way A man of genius must not be fettered If he drudges to boil the pot how shall he soar to his just ambition? After that I used to go about saying to myself to keep up my courage I will not be his ruin I will not spoil his life And then when one day he found me in trouble and asked me to marry him I had the strength to refuse him This is the whole of my secret Madame I love him and will protect him from the harm that I could do him My dear, said the Englishwoman I believe you are indeed the stuff to make a good wife and I warn you not to let your honourable scruples carry you out of reach of a well earned happiness that may be yours You and Monsieur Lawrence are young and can wait for the time you need not give the lie to your hearts Take the word of an old woman There is nothing so precious in this world as love when it is wise and especially if it has been made holy by passing through pain Next evening, Steen went to the convent a mile out of the town to fetch eggs and melons for the inn housekeeping Coming back again along the canal under the poplars she sat down to rest a minute with her basket by her side The sun had set the brown sails in the canal had still a red tinge on their folds and the spires and peaks of the town loomed faint and far through an atmosphere as of gold dust Steen's heart bounded with a painful delight as she saw Monsieur Lawrence coming towards her under the shadow of the poplars She would have liked to run away but that was not to be thought of She rose, however, to her feet and he came beside her and they stood, looking at each other I did not mean to frighten you, he said and I am not going to annoy you I have come to bid you goodbye as I leave the town tomorrow After all that has come and gone, Steen you will not deny me a kind word at parting It is better for you to go, Monsieur Lawrence I hope you will succeed wherever you are I shall do pretty well, I suppose I should have done better, I think if your love had blessed my life but I will not vex you about that any more One thing I ask that you will let that good old English lady have a care over you Do not be uneasy about me Goodbye, Monsieur Lawrence I suppose you are now going further up the road I am already late, I must get home Hard to the last, said Lawrence bitterly The reproach was too much for Steen It broke the ice about her heart and the waters of desolation poured in upon her She turned her face white and quivering on Monsieur Lawrence I am not hard, she began pitifully Steen, he cried, reading her face right at last and stretching out his arms to her Oh, Monsieur Lawrence, she cried and fell upon his breast weeping I have been hard, she said, defending herself only because I dare not be otherwise I have hurt myself more than you Even now I am wrong Do not let me ruin you You have been very near ruining me, he answered but that is past When Steen came into the inn with the eggs and melons she was scolded for being late but Madame Van Mechelbeck's abusive words fell about her ears like so many rose leaves That night, when Steen and the damonglays were conversing up in the tower a tap came at the door and Monsieur Lawrence joined the conference The three sat whispering together barely able to see one another by the light of the stars Here it was arranged that Lawrence should go to Paris and seek his fortune while Steen, as his betrothed should remain at her work in the inn They were to love and trust each other but Lawrence should find himself ready to come and take his wife The chimes rang the stars blinked the old lady sat between the lovers like the good godmother in the fairy tale Madame was to watch over Steen till Lawrence could come for her while no one else in the inn was to know the secret but Jacques Early one morning while the inn was asleep Steen came into the cathedral when the doors were just open and his worshippers were not arrived She laid a bunch of white flowers upon the step of the altar and then Lawrence came beside her and they vowed their vow of betrothal and said goodbye After this, the days went on as usual at Lagroup The painters painted in their studio and sucked in their club room and regretted the absent Lawrence but yet commended him for running away from danger The English lady had taken up her residence regularly at the inn The landlord was hardly pleased to have her He always eyed her suspiciously having a fear that that craze about Steen had not been altogether banished from her mind In this, however, he was wrong The poor little wearied out lonely lady had given in to fate at last telling herself that her faithful search had been in vain that the child she had sought must be long since dead that she needed repose and might venture to indulge her fancy for employing herself in a kindly care of Steen She came and went about the inn sitting in her little lofty chamber looking over at the chimes exchanging civilities in the garden with Monsieur and Madame wondering about the quaint old town poking among ancient churches or trying to talk a little Flemish to the poor She did not dare show much sympathy for Steen lest the powers that ruled the inn should take it in their heads to turn her out of doors She had to listen to many a bit of scolding and witness many an unkind action and dared not interfere lest worse might come of it Only at night when Steen came to the room of her little friend did they venture on any intercourse Then Lawrence's latest news was discussed and his prospects talked over and Steen went to bed as happy as though they were not a scolding tongue in the world Harshness did not hurt her now as it used to do She had lost her fragile and woe-begone air She grew plump and rosy and her eyes began to shine She sang over her work and often smiled to herself with happiness when no one was by The elders perceived this change and pointed it out to Jacques Thou seest, said Monsieur She is getting quite pretty Thou canst not be so stupid as still to refuse to marry her Pretty, cried Jacques I do not see it To my thinking, the dam on glaze is prettier At least she would make a thrifty wife C'est pas d'un, said Jacques She is better as a fellow servant Thou art too hard to please said Monsieur angrily surveying the crooked figure of the little man Every man has a right to choose his wife, said Jacques and I mean to do better than to marry that steam The innkeeper was baffled Our affair stands still He grumbled to his wife The law will not allow you to marry a man against his will I do not see what we can do Wait a bit, said Madame Is it not possible that Jacques dislikes her? And Thou, does Thou also like her? Yes, said Monsieur But that is a different thing, declared Madame I cannot like a creature who keeps me in fear and stands in my way It is true, grown Monsieur She is a bright-eyed marmot but she keeps us in deadly fear Whatever the fear was it preyed upon the master of la grue From being merely a brutish, sulky man he became irritable Even Madame, his wife began to moderate her temper lest, being both in a flame together they should burn their establishment to death He began to vow often to his wife that he would not have that unglaze in the house a week longer that he would have Jacques popped into the canal and Steen shipped off to the antipodes He would wait on his guests himself for the future His wife should do the cooking and let Rosalie work at the ironing His wife soothed him as well as she was able but Monsieur was hard to soothe and when quiet he was timorous and moody He left off eating much and his flesh began to fall away I feel that I shall have a fever he complained and when I am raving I shall be sure to tell the story Nobody shall come near you but me said his wife and when his fears came to be verified and she put him to bed in a state of delirium she suffered no one to help her in the task of nursing him The little unglaze came once on tiptoe to the chamber door to ask how Monsieur fared but madame greeted her with a face so dark that she never cared to venture on this mission again The crisis of the fever passed and Monsieur was restored to his senses without having betrayed in his ravings any secret that might be rankling in his mind became more lively and madame the landlady was persuaded by her daughter to take a drive out of the town for change of hair Monsieur was not able to speak much and Jacques was allowed to sit by him till his wife returned Jacques said the sick man faintly they think I am getting better but I know I am going to die No Monsieur no said Jacques I have not long to live my friend and you must go for the cura and the mare bring them back to me quickly before my wife comes back but Monsieur go or I shall die on the instant and my death will be on your head Steen had quiet times just now and she was in the garden leaning against a tree with her knitting needles clinking in her fingers The unglaze sat opposite to her and they were talking of Monsieur Lawrence While thus engaged they saw Jacques, the cura and the mare coming down the courtyard Monsieur desired to make his will and prepare for death they said to one another and both were shocked Sometime afterwards Jacques came running through the archway into the garden his face and manner so excited that the women stood amazed Come madame he said to the unglaze you are wanted immediately in Monsieur's chamber The Englishwoman followed him wondering and Steen went back to her kitchen to prepare for supper Half an hour passed Steen was standing at the window straining the soup When she saw the little unglaze coming hurrying down the courtyard her head hanging as if with weakness missing a step now and then striking her foot against the stones of the pavement and feeling as if blindly for the door as she entered the kitchen She snatched the ladle out of Steen's hand and flung it on the floor seized the girl by the shoulders laughed in her face gave a sob and fell back swooning into the arms of Jacques all of which meant that the will of the wisp had turned out a veritable half light at last Monsieur la maire Monsieur la cura let them come here and tell the story for my head is still astray and I want to hear it again this girl thou art not Steen thou art Bertha daughter of Sir Sydney Errington and Millicent his wife both of broken hearted memory in Devonshire in England it is all written down Jacques we saw it written down will the gentlemen come and read it to us or will they not the cura and maire came in with solemn faces madame sat on a bench and drank from a glass of water while Jacques stood on guard by her side Steen retreated and leaned with her back against the wall looking doubtfully at these people who had come to change her life there was no mistake at all about the innkeeper's dying statement the nurse who had stolen the child had been his first wife from whom he had separated for a time that they might earn some money when she came home to him with the child he being afraid of her had helped her to conceal it he was then a waiter in Paris and they took up house together and prospered she assured him that her motive for stealing the child had been revenge and that one day after the parents had suffered enough a large reward should be obtained for restoring her to them with this he had been obliged to be satisfied his wife set up business as a clear stature and made money enough for the child's support and her own she used to smudge the child's face with brown and dress it in boys' clothing but she died suddenly when it was five years of age then had Monsieur thought of ridding himself of the burden but had been frightened out of his senses by someone whom he had consulted on the subject he became afraid for his very life of anyone discovering the identity of the girl heaviest punishment he feared must be the reward of his daring to restore her to her sorrowing friends when he came to Dandan as owner of the inn he brought with him steam as his niece and a strange woman came to live in a cottage outside the town who pretended to be his sister-in-law and the mother of the girl he had trained steam to be useful and by marrying her to Jacques had thought to turn her to still further account in his service no one but his second wife and the pretended mother had ever shared the secret which had sat for years on this cowardly soul now that he was going to die he would shuffle it off he had always, he declared, meant to tell the truth before he died if the dam on Glace had not arrived then he would have left the story and its proofs with the curae of the town gentlemen said steam coming out of her corner let us not disturb the house of death Madame van Mechelbeck returns and these things will not please her the landlady's voice was here heard and the mayor and the curae disappeared very willingly while steam brought the unglaze away to her chamber the poor little lady was beside herself and kept caressing steam and telling what fine things were waiting for her my child my little queen she said my lady of the manor oh wait my love till you see your English home steam was quite confounded by the news sat silently leaning her face on her hand and gazing at her friend I do not understand it she said she was not willing to follow the idea of any change so complete it seemed to break up her expectation of that striving and hopeful life with Lawrence in Paris she did not as yet perceive how good it would be for him suddenly the unglaze gave a shriek Mondeur, child applied to a humble artist how fate has been cheating us why was I such a fool as to counsel such a step but it is not yet too late Monsieur Lawrence must give you up you shall marry in your own rank Madame, cried steam springing to her feet I know not anything of your England and I will have nothing to do with it if my husband is not fit to be a nobleman there why we will be noble after our own fashion in Paris then suddenly perceiving the prosperity which her transformation would bestow upon Lawrence she burst into a passion of delight and knelt laughing and sobbing by the side of the bed forgive me my dear said the old lady half terrified my senses are coming back to me and I love you for that speech Lawrence is now in London let us set out at once and taken by surprise Lawrence had finished his business in London and was on the eve of starting for Paris when returning one night to his lodgings he found a note in a lady's handwriting waiting for him on the table the writing was not Steens and it was not a foreign letter it announced that Miss Erington begged him to visit her at her manor house in Devonshire now who was Miss Erington for Lawrence had no acquaintance with Erington's nor yet with manor houses he considered the matter gravely and finally wrote to Steen at Dandan telling her of the occurrence also that he had accepted the invitation hoping to find that some wealthy connoisseur had taken a fancy to his pictures between his paragraphs was inserted a comical sketch of this possible patron a lady of venerable aspect with nutcracker features and leaning on a long staff it was evening when he arrived at the manor house just so light that he could see the rich country through which he was travelling could discern with his artist eyes the beautiful wooded lands which he was told had belonged to the Erington's for numberless generations he dressed for dinner in a handsome old fashioned chamber and was conducted to the drawing room the door closed behind him and he was in a room softly lighted in which everything was rich antique tasteful beautiful a lady sat by the fire alone a young and graceful figure clothed in soft white draperies she rose as he approached but kept her face averted he saw the lovely and familiar outline of a cheek a head with a crown of braided hair yet for one moment more he did not know that upon this home hearth burned for him now and evermore that lifelight which had once been called a will of the wisp the lady turned her face and Lawrence bowing advanced a step then suddenly there arose a sort of cry from two voices rent by passionate surprise and joy took eternal possession of the lives of these happy lovers end of section 20 section 21 of the haunted organist of Hurley Burley and other stories this is a LibriVox recording our LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information auto volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Alexandra Selenius the haunted organist of Hurley Burley and other stories by Rosa Mulholland the ghost at Wildwood Shade it happened only five summers ago I had had a hard winter and spring of unfitness for work which following close to my first success in art I'd been rather impatiently born seeming as they did to destroy my hope while it was budding furthermore I was assured by a doctor that I was threatened with consumption and I acknowledged that he was probably right as the disease was in my family in the beginning of a hot June I sat in my studio in London wary in body and mind when a letter came to my hand like a freshening breeze it was from Lord Wilder who had bought a picture of mine a few months before and who now asked me to come down to Wildwood Shade to paint his portrait though not particularly fond of portrait painting I liked the invitation I knew the country round Wildwood Shade was beautiful famous for its roses in nightingales in a few weeks the letter would have left off singing I would be in time to hear the richest notes there was also a good gallery of pictures at Wildwood in the short time my arrangements were made and I was in the train spinning through fields and woods in the freshest verdure and among various white and fragrant with the heart on in full bloom I found the great house full of people Lord Wilder was a genial old man who had a large family of children and grandchildren whom he loved to gather around him and the portrait I was to paint was intended for one of his daughters who had lately been married his kind flattery of my works gave me a sort of distinction in the eyes of the company and nothing could be pleasanter than the position in which I found myself I had a charming studio overhanging a green retreat true leafy rifts in which a teeming rose garden was discernible against a distance blotted with mingled greens and purples here I worked solitary as long as I pleased and always returning to my seclusion happier for the courtesy with which the struggling artist was treated by enthusiastic admirers of his art the state of my health at a moment disinclining me for the society of strangers I lived chiefly a dreamlike life of my own among the delicious summer haunts surrounded me at Wildwood Chase at such a time of the year and in such delightful relations with nature if one has not actually a close sympathetic companionship with some other living creature one is apt to create something of the kind out of one's own imagination and with this reflection I accounted to myself for my extraordinary attraction towards a certain picture in the gallery to head and shoulders of a girl set against a background of the woven boards of trees the face had a mysterious charm impossible to describe and was slightly leaned forward looking straight at a gaser with an expression which seemed to me as though the creature were longing to whisper a secret wide overshadowed eyes had a spiritual intensity such as I had never seen in any woman's face while the sweet parted lips promised that strong as imagination in mind might be in the character the heart would always have a casting vote if ever intellect and feeling should come in conflict the hair was light like new moan hay and laying soft drifts across the delicate forehead the peculiarity of the picture was that whenever you moved in the gallery within sight of it the eyes followed you with wonderful changes of expression sometimes they were sad and wistful sometimes smiling as if in mischievous amusement and again they had a high strange outlook that tantalised you with the desire to follow it I ascertained that this was the portrait of a young girl of Lord Wilder's family who had lived and died about a hundred years ago somehow I felt pleased that she had died early there were portraits of beautiful women all around who had been the grandmothers and great-grandmothers of the wildest caught here in their lovely girlhood and perpetuated in you for the eyes of posterity but they did not interest me and I smiled at my own satisfaction in the knowledge that my leaf-embowed goddess had never been promoted while on earth to wifehood, motherhood and great-grandmotherhood she had come up like a flower appeared like the leaves on the boards from among which her face looked forth and even as a flower and leaf she had vanished after a short sweet summer of life with the dew still fresh on the roses of her tender lips and cheeks was a fitting companion and friend I thought for one like me living a saddened ideal life threatened with disease overshadowed by death uncertain of more than a very short duration of mortal existence smiling at this conceit I visited her every evening at twilight vowing vows to her and making believe to be her lover she had been dust already for nearly a century and I would be dust perhaps before another year therefore I said we should be lovers though always in love with love I had never loved any woman in my life before so that a un-romance sprung among roses and nightingales and woven round the dream maiden in the gallery nook whose eyes were dust and whose voice what a low sweet voice it must have been would never more be heard on earth was perfectly satisfactory inexpressibly consoling and delightful to me a man can hardly confess all the weak things he dust when being in low health and tired of pretending to be strong the child in his nature never quite lost in any of us rises irresistibly and asserts itself in such a mood he will cry like a girl over a lock of his dead mother's hair a babble to himself words of tenderness heard long ago and only grow precious to memory in the hour of desolation in such mood I raved softly in the dusk and solitude to my little love with a hair like new moon hay and the eyes that seem to listen to me and answer me one evening when I was in a particularly fantastic humour I began to wonder if the spirit that had lived in the creature knew anything of this wayward devotion in mind and whether in case she did she would be pleased or displeased at it upon this the idea that my dream love was after all no dream but a living being in another world which might be only separated from us by the veils upon our eyes struck me with a force which was a very new and strange experience it was as if she had indeed been spiritually present and had made her presence felt by me I thought how strange that were she to make herself visibly known to me it might be only anticipating matters seeing that in a short time I would be thoroughly qualified to join her where she abode and I formed a distinct wish of Mayflower so she was named with the eyes of spiritual meaning and a brow like that of a child angel would come and confer with me here in the shadows and tell me that secret perhaps the secret of immortality which it had seemed to me when I first saw her that she was longing to unfold I had turned away and walked a length of the gallery charmed with and half smiling at my fancy and I was within a few yards of the door when it opened noiselessly and quickly there was a grey flutter of drapery shown true by the early recent moon which looked towards me from beyond in the passage on which the end of the gallery gave I saw a young light-tinted head set against a glistening moon which formed a golden disc behind it I saw the spiritual gleam of eyes clear like water I saw shoulders of a peculiar outline and a light gossamer swathing them the door shut leaving me nothing but the living glance that had been flung towards me from the very face which I had adored and apostracised on the canvas now hidden by twilight at a more distant extremity of the gallery I remained standing where I was for several minutes fantastic as my humour had been insane but now I asked myself whether I had suddenly passed a boundary of sanity that I had seen a vision of the girl Mayflower who had bloomed a hundred years ago there could be no doubt but whether the vision was conjured up by my own disoriented mind was a question which troubled me impertinently I had not been led to expect my mind was bound to decay sooner than my body yet I had seen the spirit of Mayflower whom I had adored to come to me I believed that I had positively adored her and she had come insomnia was part of the ailment from which I suffered but at Wildwood I had found it scarcely irksome to lie awake and hear all the rich, full sounds of the life of the summer night the occasional rapture of the nightingale the urgent cry of the land rail in the grass the distant lowing of cattle the rustling of the woods and this night to marvel of Mayflower's spiritual apparition absorb me she seemed to flow through the air of the mid-summer night and dawn drawing me thoughts her during the next week I was feverish impatient altogether the worse instead of the better for my absence from London in my calmer moments I thought of breaking my engagements pretending inability to work on the portrait packing up and returning to London the reason was that I made up my mind that the vision I had seen was a real vision and that I was hungering to see it again therefore I would escape while I had a remnant of sanity I did not go however for the insanity kept me rooted to the spot a weak past and the weird impression I had received was becoming a little weakened occasionally I admitted to myself that my imagination had played me a trick one night in a more than ordinarily rational frame of mind and tired of lying awake I rose and letting myself out by a garden door went for a long ramble through the park and out on the open downs where the first faint breaking of dawn overtook me it was just during that spell darkness which is the full runner of the return of light and while I stood on the verge of a small ragged edged lake skirted by trees and bushes stood smoking calmly and expectant of nothing but a sunrise that I had my second vision of the spirit of Mayflower I dropped my cigar and stood breathless as the first flutter of the slim robe came out from the tall rushes and I beheld her floating towards me clad in long light garments her small head set backwards her sweet eyes wide open and full of that expression which in the picture most fascinated me the high image far looking gaze which had so followed me at times that I felt utterly unable to escape from it her hands gathered a fold of her dress on her breast as in the picture and she went by with a gliding movement like a missed breath I looked her in the face at dawn's thought her involuntarily stepped aside as she took no notice of me and finally let her pass daunted by her unconsciousness or indifference no sooner had she passed than I sprang to follow her I would speak to her at any cost I made a spring to reach a mound in front of her where I might again wait and watch her approach but missed my footing and fell when I had gotten up on my feet again she was gone the next day I laid down my brushes and told my sitter and host that I felt I was going to be ill and had better be at home I went back to London and had my illness typhoid fever the doctor said and I was extremely shaken when convalescent to my great surprise the doctor informed me that this illness had been of much service to me and that though weak in needing care I was no longer in danger of consumption if cautious I might live to be a vigorous man extremely sheared by the news I began to look back on my experiences of wildwood shades as part of the hallucinations of the fever that had long been creeping over me and with a smile and a sigh for Mayflower and her mysterious dream sympathy I dismissed a little romance from my reinvigorated mind by Christmas time I was completely recovered and was gratified by receiving a note from Lord Wilder regretting my illness and hoping that I would run down to Wildwood during the holidays for change of air he wrote from Florence saying that a chase was started this winter but the housekeeper had received orders to make me comfortable my first impulse was to decline the invitation but on second thoughts I decided to seize the opportunity of laying in a store of strength for coming back and of looking on the picture of Mayflower once more this time with the eyes of bodily and mental sanity after the day of my arrival had been arranged something occurred to detain me in London and I wrote to the housekeeper naming a later date but in two days of the later period I found myself well free and telegraphed that I was coming 24 hours sooner than had been my latest intention owing to the snow which had fallen in the country before it appeared in London it happened that my telegram was not received but of that I knew nothing as I made my way along roads just cleared for travellers and arrived at my destination as expected the avenue had not been cleared and leaving the trap which had brought me from the station at the lower gaze I walked by the shortest way to the house went in by the open back way ascended to the great hall without meeting anyone deposited my wrappings and rugs and proceeded to make myself at home awaiting the appearance of the housekeeper seeing firelight under the not quite close door of the library I turned in there and glancing round a brown panelled room a book lined an irradiated wood firelight I saw a figure rise from the heart-rug and stand in a wavering attitude like a wild bird posing for flight the form of the head and shoulders was weirdly familiar the shine of the eyes fell on me like a blinding revelation of things inconceivable this was Mayflower seen actually as if in the flesh not by the ghost-seeing eyes of disease but by the eyes of healthy manhood so real was she that after a long pause of surprise of her incredulity ending in complete assurance I uttered some words of apology for disturbing a lady and then remained gazing at her to see what she would do a few murmured words in Mayflower's true voice the voice I had endowed her with but had never heard before came towards me what they were I did not catch but the sound acted on me like a spell and I stood silently gazing at her as she went past me and disappeared out of the library when she was gone I wakened up and rang the bell and in a few minutes the housekeeper appeared bearing lights and full of apologies she had not expected she must have misunderstood I made my explanations and then asked her as unconcernedly as I could who the lady was whom I feared my unlooked-for arrival had disturbed oh that is Miss Mayflower she said she loves this library and lives in it mostly when she gets the house to herself if you had come tomorrow as we expected you would not have caught sight of Miss Mayflower you mean the lady whose portrait is in the gallery well, it is her portrait everybody says so it proves her to be a true wilder often though she may be these likenesses do turn up after a hundred years or more this lady Gwendolyn is the very image of a grandmother in the powdered hair in the left hand corner as you go out at a drawing room end I thought I had seen all Lord Wilder's granddaughters I said with an unaccountable sinking of the heart oh, she's none of them poor child only the daughter of a far off branch of the family and was left into care of Lord Wilder as a charity and has been educated to be a governess when her health is a little stronger the ladies will get her a good appointment meantime she's here in my charge and enjoys herself well when the family are all away from home she's too shy to appear when there's company about a place I reflected conclusions she was here during my visit last summer, I said she was here and not very well and I was greatly concerned about her her delicacy took on an awkward turn she walked in her sleep and only that I watched her something would have happened to her once I found she had been out of the house at night and might have walked into the lake or killed herself by falling down a bank it was a serious anxiety to me and I did not like to tell the family she's cured of it now I'm glad to say and will very soon be able to go out into the wild for herself not that I shall be pleased to lose her for I am really fond of Miss Mayflower the rest is too sacred to be told Miss Mayflower is the name of my wife as I look at her this moment she's less mysterious less dreamlike than my first love and a gallery her cheeks have a warmer tint her eyes are happier light than the eyes like ray water which still looks stylously out from the newly-leaved borts of a hundred springs ago among the shadows of the old walls of Wildwood Shades but the likeness of feature is wonderful and there now as the little head tatched with new moan hay is lifted under my scrutiny the very eager whispering look of the picture comes out under face and while the smile on her lips fades in wistful wonder I remember with a sort of R mixed with delight how I twice looked on this living and blooming creature of the flesh and was fantastic enough to mistake her for a disembodied spirit the end end of section 21 end of the Haunted Organist of Harley Barley and other stories by Rosa Mulholland