 Section 1 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 Betsy Walker, Santa Fe, New Mexico. The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mulholland. The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley. There had been a thunderstorm in the village of Hurley Burley. Every door was shut, every dog in his kennel, every rut and gutter of flowing river after the deluge of rain that had fallen. Up at the great house, a mile from the town, the rooks were calling to one another about the fright they had been in. The fawns in the deer park were venturing their timid heads from behind the trunks of trees, and the old woman at the gate lodge had risen from her knees and was putting back her prayer-book on the shelf. In the garden, July roses, unwieldy with their full-blown richness and saturated with rain, hung their heads heavily to the earth. Others, already fallen, lay flat upon their blooming faces on the path, where best, Mistress Hurley's maid, would find them when going on her morning quest of rose leaves for her lady's potpourri. Ranks of white lilies, just brought to perfection by today's sun, lay dabbled in the mire of flooded mold. Tears ran down the amber cheeks of the plums on the south wall, and not a bee had ventured out of the hives, though the scent of the air was sweet enough to tempt the laziest drum. The sky was still lurid behind the bowls of upland oaks, but the birds had begun to dive in and out of the ivy that wrapped up the home of the hurleys of Hurley Burley. This thunderstorm took place more than a half a century ago, and we must remember that Mistress Hurley was dressed in the fashion of that time, as she crept out from behind the squire's chair, now that the lightning was over, and with many nervous glances toward the window sat down before her husband the tea-earn and the muffins. We can picture her fine lace cap with its peachy ribbons, the frill on the hem of her cambrick gown just touching her ankles, the embroidered clocks on her stockings, the rosettes on her shoes, but not so easily the lilac shade of her mild eyes, the satin skin which still kept its delicate bloom, though wrinkled with advancing age, and the pale, sweet puckered mouth that time and sorrow had made angelic while trying vainly to deface its beauty. The squire was as rugged as his wife was gentle, his skin as brown as hers was white, his gray hair as bristling as hers was glossed. The years had plowed his face into ruts and channels, a bluff, choleric, noisy man he had been, but of late a dimness had come upon his eyes, a hush on his loud voice, and a check on the spring of his hail step. He looked at his wife often and very often she looked at him. She was not a tall woman, and he was only a head higher. They were a quaintly well-matched couple despite their differences. She turned to you with nervous sharpness and revealed her tender voice and eye. He spoke and glanced roughly, but the turn of his head was courteous. Of late they fitted one another better than they had ever done in the heyday of their youthful love. A common sorrow had developed a singular likeness between them. In former years the cry from the wife had been, Don't curb my son too much, and from the husband you ruin the lad with softness. But now the idol that stood between them was removed, and they saw each other better. The room in which they sat was a pleasant old-fashioned drawing room with a general spider-legged character about the fittings. Spin it and guitar in their places with a great deal of copied music beside them. Carpet, tawny wreaths on pale blue, blue flutings on the walls, and faint gilding on the furniture. A huge urn crammed with roses in the open bay window through which came delicious airs from the garden. The twittering of birds settling to sleep in the ivy close by, and occasionally the pattering of a flight of raindrops swept to the ground as a bow bent on the breeze. The urn on the table was ancient silver and the china rare. There was nothing in the room for luxurious ease of the body, but everything of delicate refinement for the eye. There was a great hush over all Hurley Burley, except in the neighborhood of the Rooks. Every living thing had suffered from heat for the past month, and now, in common with all nature, was receiving the boon of refreshed air in silent peace. The mistress and master of Hurley Burley shared the general spirit that was abroad, and were not talkative over their tea. Do you know, said Mistress Hurley at last, when I heard the first of the thunder beginning, I thought it was—it was—the lady broke down, her lips trembling, and the peachy ribbons of her cap stirring with great agitation. Shaw cried the old squire, making his cup suddenly ring upon the saucer. We ought to have forgotten that. Nothing has been heard for three months. At this moment a rolling sound struck upon the ears of both. The lady rose from her seat trembling and folded her hands together while the tea urn flooded the tray. Nonsense, my love, said the squire, that is the noise of wheels. Who can be arriving? Who indeed, murmured the lady, receding herself in agitation. Presently, pretty bess of the rose-leaves appeared at the door in a flutter of blue ribbons. Please, madam, a lady has arrived and says she is expected. She asked for her apartment and I put her into the room that was got ready for Miss Calderwood, and she sends her respects to you, madam, and she'll be down with you presently. The squire looked at his wife, and his wife looked at the squire. It is some mistake, murmured madam. Some visitor for Calderwood or the Grange. It is very singular. Hardly had she spoken when the door again opened and the stranger appeared. A small creature, whether girl or woman, it would be hard to say. Dressed in a scanty black silk dress, her narrow shoulders covered with a white muslin pellerine. Her hair was swept up to the crown of her head, all but a little fringe hanging over her low forehead within an inch of her brows. Her face was brown and thin, eyes black and long, with blacker settings, mouth large, sweet, and melancholy. She was all head, mouth, and eyes. Her nose and chin were nothing. This visitor crossed the floor hastily, dropped a curtsy in the middle of the room, and approached the table, saying abruptly, with a soft Italian accent, Sir and Madam, I am here. I am come to play your organ. The organ gasped Mistress Hurley. The organ stammered the squire. Yes, the organ, said the little stranger lady, playing on the back of a chair with her fingers as if she felt notes under them. It was but last week that the handsome senior, your son, came to my little house, where I have lived teaching music since my English father and my Italian mother and brothers and sisters died, and left me so lonely. Here the fingers left off drumming, and two great tears were brushed off, one from each eye with each hand, child's fashion. But the next moment, the fingers were at work again, as if only whilst they were moving the tongue could speak. The noble senior, your son, said the little woman, looking trustfully from one to the other of the old couple, while a bright blush shone through her brown skin. He often came to see me before that, always in the evening, when the sun was warm and yellow all through my little studio, and the music was swelling my heart, and I could play out grand with all my soul. Then he used to come and say, Hurry, little Lusso, and play better, better still. I have work for you to do by and by. Sometimes he said, brava! And sometimes he said, excellentissima! But one night last week he came to me and said, It is enough! Will you swear to do my bidding, whatever it may be? Here the black eyes fell, and I said, Yes! And he said, now you are my betrothed. And I said, yes! And he said, Back up your music, little Lisa, and go off to England to my English father and mother, who have an organ in their house, which must be played upon. If they refuse to let you play, tell them I sent you, and they will give you leave. You must play all day, and you must get up in the night and play. You must never tire. You are my betrothed, and you have sworn to do my work. I said, shall I see you there, senor? And he said, yes, you shall see me, though. I said, I will keep my vow, senor. And so, sir and madam, I am come. The soft, foreign voice left off talking, the fingers left off thrumming on the chair, and the little stranger gazed in dismay at her auditors, both pale with agitation. You are deceived. You make a mistake, said they in one breath. Our son, began Mistress Hurley, but her mouth twitched, her voice broke, and she looked piteously toward her husband. Our son, said the squire, making an effort to conquer the quavering in his voice, our son is long dead. Nay, nay, said the little foreigner. If you have thought him dead, have good cheer, dear sir and madam, he is alive, he is well and strong and handsome. But one, two, three, four, five on the fingers. Days ago he stood by my side. It is some strange mistake, some wonderful coincidence, said the mistress and master of Hurley Burley. Let us take her to the gallery, murmured the mother of this son, who was thus dead and alive. There is yet light to see the pictures. She will not know his portrait. The bewildered wife and husband led their strange visitor away to a long gloomy room at the west side of the house, where the faint gleams from the darkening sky still lingered on the portraits of the Hurley family. Doubtless, he is like this, said the squire, pointing to a fair-haired young man with a mild face, a brother of his own who had been lost at sea. But Lisa shook her head and went softly on tiptoe from one picture to another, peering into the canvas and still turning away troubled. But at last a shriek of delight startled the shadowy chamber. Ah, here he is! See, here he is, the noble senior, the beautiful senior, not half so handsome as he looked five days ago when talking to poor little Lisa. Dear Sir and Madam, you are now content. Now take me to the organ that I may commence to do his bidding at once. The mistress of Hurley Burley clung fast by her husband's arm. How old are you, girl? She said faintly. Eighteen, said the visitor impatiently, moving towards the door. And my son has been dead for twenty years, said his mother, and swooned on her husband's breast. Order the carriage at once, said Mistress Hurley, recovering from her soon. I will take her to Margaret Calderwood. Margaret will tell her the story. Margaret will bring her to reason. No, not tomorrow. I cannot bear tomorrow is so far away. We must go tonight. The little senior thought the old lady mad, but she put on her cloak again obediently and took her seat beside Mistress Hurley in the Hurley family coach. The moon that looked in at them through the pain as they lumbered along was not whiter than the aged face of the squire's wife, whose dim-fated eyes were fixed upon it in doubt and awe, too great for tears or words. Lisa, too, from her corner, gloated upon the moon, her black eyes shining with passionate dreams. The carriage rolled away from the Calderwood door as the Hurley coach drew up at the steps. Margaret Calderwood had just returned from a dinner party, and at the open door a splendid figure was standing, a tall woman dressed in brown velvet, the diamonds on her bosom glistening in the moonlight that revealed her, pouring as it did over the house from eaves to basement. Mistress Hurley fell into her outstretched arms with a groan, and the strong woman carried her aged friend like a baby into the house. Little Lisa was overlooked and sat down contentedly on the threshold to gloat a while longer on the moon and to thrum imaginary sonatas on the doorstep. There were tears and sobs in the dusk moonlit room into which Margaret Calderwood carried her friend. There was a long consultation, and then Margaret, having hushed away the grieving woman into some quiet corner, came forth to look for the little dark-faced stranger who had arrived so unwelcome from beyond the seas with such wild communication from the dead. Up the grand staircase of the handsome Calderwood, the little woman followed the tall one into a large chamber where a lamp burned showing Lisa, if she cared to see it, that this mansion of Calderwood was fitted with much greater luxury and richness than was that of the Hurley Burley. The appointments of this room announced it the sanctum of a woman who depended for the interest of her life upon resources of intellect and taste. Lisa noticed nothing but a morsel of biscuit that was lying on a plate. May I have it? She said eagerly. It is so long since I have eaten. I am hungry. Margaret Calderwood gazed at her with a sorrowful motherly look and, parting the fringing hair on her forehead, kissed her. Lisa, staring at her in wonder, returned to the caress with ardor. Margaret's large, fair shoulders, Madonna face, and yellow braided hair excited a rapture within her. But when food was brought her, she flew to it and ate. It is better than I have ever eaten at home, she said gratefully, and Margaret Calderwood murmured. She is physically healthy, at least. And now, Lisa, said Margaret Calderwood, come and tell me the whole history of the grand senior who sent you to England to play the organ. Then Lisa crept in behind a chair and her eyes began to burn and her fingers to thrum and she repeated word for word her story as she had told it at the Hurley Burley. When she was finished, Margaret Calderwood began to pace up and down the floor with a very troubled face. Lisa watched her, fascinated, and then she bade her listen to a story which she would relate to her, folded her restless hands together meekly and listened. Lisa, Mr. and Mrs. Hurley had a son. He was handsome, like that portrait you saw in the gallery, and he had brilliant talents. He was idolized by his father and mother, and all who knew him felt obliged to love him. I was then a happy girl of twenty, I was an orphan, and Mrs. Hurley, who had been my mother's friend, was like a mother to me. I, too, was petted and caressed by all my friends, healthy, but I only valued admiration, riches, every good gift that fell to my share, just in proportion as they seemed out of worth in the eyes of Louis Hurley. I was his if-fianced wife, and I loved him well. All the fondness and pride that were lavished on him could not keep him from falling into evil ways, nor from becoming rapidly more and more abandoned to wickedness, till even those best disparate of seeing his reformation. I prayed him with tears, for my sake, if not for that of his grieving mother, to save himself before it was too late. But, to my horror, I found that my power was gone, my words did not even move him. He loved me no more. I tried to think that this was some fit of madness that would pass and still clung to hope. At last his own mother forbade me to see him. Here, Margaret Calderwood paused. Seemingly in bitter thought, but resumed, he and a party of his boon companions, named by themselves the Devil's Club, were in the habit of practicing all kinds of unholy pranks in the country. They had midnight carousings on the tombstones in the village graveyard. They carried away old, helpless men and women whom they tortured by making believe to bury them alive. They raised the dead and placed them sitting around the tombstones at a mock feast. On one occasion, there was a very sad funeral from the village. The corpse was carried into the church and prayers were read over the coffin. The chief mourner, the aged father of the dead man, standing weeping by. In the midst of this solemn scene, the organ suddenly peeled forth a profane tune and a number of voices shouted a drinking chorus. The operation burst from the crowd. The clergyman turned pale and closed his book. And the old man, the father of the dead, climbed the altar steps and raising his arms above his head, uttered a terrible curse. He cursed Louis Hurley to all eternity. He cursed the organ he played that it might be dumb henceforth, except under the fingers that had now profaned it, which he prayed, might be forced to labor upon it till they stiffened the death. And the curse seemed to work, for the organ stood dumb in the church from that day, except when touched by Louis Hurley. For a bravado, he had the organ taken down and conveyed to his father's house where he had it put up in the chamber where it now stands. It was also for a bravado that he played on it every day. But by and by, the amount of time which he spent at it we wondered long at this whim, as we called it, and his poor mother thanked God that he had set his heart upon an occupation which would keep him out of harm's way. I was the first to suspect that it was not his own will that kept him hammering at the organ so many laborious hours, while his boon companions tried vainly to draw him away. He used to lock himself up in the room with the organ, but one day I hid myself writhing on his seat and heard him groaning as he strove to wrench his hands from the keys to which they flew back like a needle to a magnet. It was soon plainly to be seen that he was an involuntary slave to the organ. But whether through a madness that had grown within himself or by some supernatural doom having its cause in the old man's curse, we did not dare to say. By and by there came a time when we were awakened out of our sleep at nights by the rolling of the organ. He wrought now night and day. Food and rest were denied him. His face got haggard. His beard grew long. His eyes started from their sockets. His body became wasted and his cramped fingers like the claws of a bird. He groaned piteously as he stooped over his cruel toil. All save his mother and I were afraid to go near him. She, poor tender woman, tried to put wine and food between his lips while the tortured fingers crawled over the keys. But he only gnashed his teeth at her with curses and she retreated from him in terror to pray. At last one dreadful hour we found him a ghastly corpse upon the ground before the organ. From that hour the organ was dumb to the touch of his mother's fingers. Many, unwilling to believe the story, made persevering endeavors to draw sound from it in vain. But when the darkened empty room was locked up and left we heard as loud as ever the well-known sounds humming and rolling through the walls. Night and day the tones of the organ boomed on as before. It seemed that the doom of the wretched man was not yet fulfilled although his tortured body had been worn out and the terrible struggle to accomplish it. Even his own mother was afraid to go near the room then. So the time went on and the curse of this perpetual music was not removed from the house. Servants refused to stay about the place. Visitors shunned it. The squire and his wife left their home for years and returned, left it and returned again to find their ears still tortured and their hearts rung by the unceasing persecution of terrible sounds. At last, but a few months ago, a holy man was found who locked himself up in the cursed chamber for many days, praying and wrestling with the demon. After he came forth and went away the sounds ceased and the organ was heard no more. Since then there has been peace in this house and now Lisa your strange appearance and your story convince us that you are a victim of a ruse of the evil one. Be warned in time and place yourself under the protection of God that you may be saved from the fearful influences that are at work upon you. Come. Margaret Calderwood turned to the corner where the stranger sat as she had supposed listening intently. Little Lisa was fast asleep. Her hands spread before her as if she played an organ in her dreams. Margaret took the soft brown face to her motherly breast and kissed the swelling temples too big with wonder and fancy. We will save you from a horrible fate she murmured and carried the girl to bed. In the morning Lisa was gone. Margaret Calderwood coming early from her own chamber went into the girl's room and found the bed empty. It was just such a wild thing thought Margaret as would rush out at sunrise to hear the larks and she went forth to look for her in the meadows behind the beach hedges and in the home park. Mistress Hurley from the breakfast room window saw Margaret Calderwood large and fair in her white morning gown coming down the garden path between the rose bushes with her fresh draperies dabbled by the dew and the look of trouble on her calm face. Margaret was successful. The little foreigner had vanished. A second search after breakfast proved also fruitless and towards evening the two women drove back to Hurley Burley together. There all was panic and distress. The squire sat in his study with the doors shut in his hands over his ears. The servants with pale faces were huddled together in whispering groups. The haunted organ was peeling through the house as of old. Margaret Calderwood hastened to the fatal chamber and there sure enough was Lisa perched upon the high seat before the organ beating the keys with her small hands her slight figure swaying and the evening sunshine playing about her weird head. Sweet unearthly music she rung from the groaning heart of the organ wild melodies mounting to rapturous heights and falling to mournful depths. She wandered from Mendelssohn to Mozart and from Mozart to Beethoven. Margaret stood fascinated a while by the ravishing beauty of the sounds she heard but rousing herself quickly put her arms around the musician and forced her away from the chamber. Lisa returned next day however and was not so easily coaxed from her post again. Day after day she labored at the organ growing paler and thinner and more weird looking as time went on. It worked so hard she said to Mrs. Hurley the senior, your son, is he pleased? Ask him to come and tell me himself if he is pleased. Mistress Hurley got ill and took to her bed. The squire swore at the young foreign baggage and roamed abroad. Margaret Calderwood was the only one who stood by to watch the fate of the little organist. The curse of the organ was upon Lisa. It spoke under her hand was its slave. At last she announced rapturously that she had had a visit from the brave senior who had commended her industry and urged her to work yet harder. After that she ceased to hold any communication with the living. Time after time Margaret Calderwood wrapped her arms around the frail thing and carried her away by force locking the door of the fatal chamber. But locking the chamber and burying the key were of no avail. The door stood open again and Lisa was laboring on her perch. One night wakened from her sleep by the well-known humming and moaning of the organ Margaret dressed hurriedly and tassened to the unholy room. Moonlight was pouring down the staircase in passages of Hurley Burley. It shone on the marble bust of the dead Louis Hurley that stood in the niche above his mother's sitting room door. The organ room was full of it when Margaret pushed open the door and entered full of the pale green moonlight from the window mingled with another light a dull, lurid glare which seemed to center around a dark shadow like the figure of a man standing by the organ and throwing out in fantastic relief the slight form of Lisa writhing rather than swaying back and forward as if in agony. The sounds that came from the organ were broken as if the hands of the player lagged and stumbled on the keys. Between the intermittent chords low moaning cries broke from Lisa and the dark figure bent towards her with menacing gestures. Trembling with the sickness of supernatural fear yet strong of Will Margaret Calderwood crept forward within the lurid light and was drawn into its influence. It grew and intensified upon her. It dazzled and blinded her at first but presently by a daring effort of Will she raised her eyes and beheld Lisa's face convulsed with torture in the burning glare and bending over her the figure and the features of Lewis Hurley smitten with her Margaret did not even then lose her presence of mind. She wound her strong arms around the wretched girl and dragged her from her seat and out of the influence of the lurid light which immediately paled away and vanished. She carried her to her own bed where Lisa lay a wasted wreck raving about the cruelty of the pitiless senior who would not see that she was laboring her best. Her poor, cramped hands were beating the coverlet as though she were still at her agonizing task. Margaret Calderwood bathed her burning temples and placed fresh flowers upon her pillow. She opened the blinds and windows and led in the sweet morning air sunshine and then looking up at the newly awakened sky with its fair promise of hope for the day and down at the dewy fields and afar off at the dark green woods with the purple mist still hovering about them, she prayed that a way might be shown her by which to put an end to this curse. She prayed for Lisa and then thinking that the girl rested somewhat stole from her room. She thought that she had locked her pillow behind her. She went downstairs with a pale resolved face and without consulting anyone sent to the village for a bricklayer. Afterwards she sat by Mistress Hurley's bedside and explained to her what was to be done. Presently she went to the door of Lisa's room and hearing no sound thought the girl slept and stole away. By and by she went downstairs and found that the bricklayer had arrived and already begun his task of building up the organ room door. He was a swift workman and the chamber was soon sealed safely with stone and mortar. Having seen this work finished Margaret Calderwood went and listened again at Lisa's door and still hearing no sound she returned and took her seat and Mrs. Hurley's bedside once more. It was towards evening that she at last entered her room to assure herself of the comfort of Lisa's sleep. But the bed and room were empty. Lisa had disappeared. Then the search began upstairs and downstairs in the garden, in the grounds in the fields and meadows. No, Lisa. Margaret Calderwood ordered the carriage and drove to Calderwood to see if the strange little willow the wisp might have made her way there. Then to the village and to many other places in the neighborhood which it was not possible she could have reached. In quarries everywhere she pondered and puzzled over the matter. In the weak suffering state that the girl was in how far could she have crawled? After two days' search Margaret returned to Hurley Burley. She was sad and tired and the evening was chill. She sat over the fire wrapped in her shawl when little Bess came to her weeping behind her muslin apron. If you'd speak to Mr. Hurley about it please, it breaks my heart dearly and it breaks my heart to go away but the organ haven't done yet, ma'am and I'm frightened out of my life so I can't stay. Who has heard the organ and when? asked Margaret Calderwood, rising to her feet. Please, ma'am I heard at the night you went away the night after the door was built up and not since? No, ma'am hesitatingly. Not since. Is not that like the sound of it now? No, said Margaret Calderwood. It is only the wind. But pale as death she flew down the stairs and laid her ear to that yet damp mortar of the newly built wall. All was silent. There was no sound but the monotonous sigh of the wind in the trees outside. Then Margaret began to dash her soft shoulder against the strong wall and to pick the mortar away with her white fingers and to cry out for the bricklayer who had built up the door. It was midnight but the bricklayer left his bed in the village and obeyed the summons to Hurley Burley. The pale woman stood by and watched him undo all of his work of three days ago and the servants gathered about in trembling groups wondering what was to happen next. What happened next was this. Something was made the man entered the room with a light, Margaret Calderwood and others following. A heap of something dark was lying on the ground at the foot of the organ. Many moans arose in the fatal chamber. Here was little Lisa dead. When Mr. Hurley was able to move the squire and his wife went to live in France where they remained till their death. Hurley Burley was shut up and deserted for many years. Lately it has passed into the new hands. The organ has been taken down and banished and the room is a bed chamber more luxuriously furnished than any other in the house but no one sleeps in it twice. Margaret Calderwood was carried to her grave the other day a very aged woman. End of section 1 Recording by Betsy Walker Section 2 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 The Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and Other Stories by Rosa Mulholland The Ghost at the Wrath Many may disbelieve this story yet there are some still living who can remember hearing when children of the events which eat details and of the strange sensation which their publicity excited. The tale in its present form is copied by permission from a memoir written by the chief actor in the romance and preserved as a sort of heirloom in the family home it concerns. In the year I, John Thunder, captain in the regiment having passed many years abroad following my profession received notice that I have become owner of certain properties which I had never thought to inherit. I set off for my native land arrived in Dublin found that my good fortune was real and at once began to look about me for old friends. The first I met with quite by accident was curly-headed Frank O'Brien who had been at school with me though I was ten years his senior he was curly-headed still and handsome as he had promised to be but care-worn and cool. During an evening spent at his chambers I drew all his history from him he was a breathless barrister as a man he was not more talented than he had been as a boy hard work and anxiety had not brought him success only broken his health and soured his mind he was in love and he could not marry I soon knew all about Mary Leonard his fiance whom he had met at house in the country somewhere in which she was governess they had now been engaged for two years she active and hopeful he sick and despondent from the letters of hers which he showed me I thought she was worth all the devotion he felt for her I considered a good deal about what could be done for Frank but I could not easily hit upon a plan to assist him for ten chances you have of helping a sharp man you have not too for a dull one in the meantime my friend must regain his health and a change of air and scene was necessary I urged him to make a voyage of discovery to the wrath of the good house and park which had come into my possession as portion of my recently acquired states I had never been to the place myself but it had once been the residence of Sir Luke Thunder of General's memory and I knew that it was furnished and provided with a caretaker I pressured him to leave Dublin at once to follow him as soon as I found it possible to do so so Frank went down to the wrath the place was two hundred miles away he was a stranger there and far from well when the first week came to an end and I had heard nothing from him I did not like the silence when a fortnight had passed and still not a word to say he was alive I felt decidedly uncomfortable and when the third week of his absence arrived at Saturday without bringing me news I found myself whizzing through a part of the country I had never travelled before in the same train in which I had seen Frank seated at our party I reached a D and shouldering my knapsack I went right into the heart of a lovely woody country following the directions I had received I made my way to a lonely road on which I met not a soul and which seemed cut out of the heart of a forest so closely where the trees rank it on either side and so dense was the twilight made by the meeting and intertwining of the thick branches overhead in these shades I came upon a gate like a gate run to seat with tall, thin brick pillars brandishing long grasses from their heads and spotted with a melancholy crust of creeping moss I jung out a crack at pearl and an old man appeared from the thickets within stared at me then admitted me with a rusty key I breathed freely on hearing that my friend was well and to be seen I presented a letter to the old man having a fancy not to avow myself I found my friend walking up and down the alleys of a neglected orchard with the liquid branches tangled above his head and ripe apples rotting about his feet his hands were locked behind his back and his head was set on one side listening to the singing of a bird I never had seen him look so well yet there was a vacancy about his whole air which I did not like he did not seem at all surprised to see me Ascot had he really not written to me thought he had was so comfortable that he had forgotten everything else he fancied he had only been there about three days could not imagine how the time had passed he seemed to talk widely and this coupled with the unusual happy placidity of his manner confounded me the place knew him he told me confidentially to him or should the birds sung him this the very trees bent before him as he passed the air whispered him that he had been long expected and should be poor no more wrestling with my judgment here it might pronounce him mad I followed him indoors the wrath was no ordinary old country house the pictures around it were so wildly overgrown that it was hard to decide which had been pleasure ground and where the tickets had begun the plan of the house was fine with mullionette windows and here and there a flak of stained glass flinging back the challenge of an angry sunset the vast rooms were full of a dusky glare from the sky as I strolled through them in the twilight the antique furniture had many a blood red stain on the abrupt notches of its dark carvings the dusty mirrors flared back at the windows while the faded curtains produced the streaks of uncertain color from the depths of their sullen foldings dinner was led for us a long windscotted room with an enormous fire roaring up the chimney sending a dancing light over the dingy titles of long unopened books the old man who had locked the gate for me served us a table and after drawing the dusty curtains and furnishing us with a plentiful supply of fuel and wine left us his clanking hop-nailed shoes went echoing away in the distance over the unmeted tiles of the vacant hall to a door closed with a resounding clang very far away letting us know that we were shut up together for the night in this vast moldy oppressive old house I felt as if I could scarcely breathe in it I could not eat with my usual appetite the air of the place seemed heavy and tainted I grew sick and restless the very wine tasted badly as if it had been drugged I had a strange feeling that I had been in the house before and that something evil had happened to me in it such could not be the case what puzzled me most was that I should feel dissatisfied at seeing Frank looking so well and eating so hardly a little time before I should have been glad to suffer something to see him as he looked at now and yet not quite as he looked at now there was a drowsy contentment about him that I could not understand he did not talk of his work or of any wish to return to it he seemed to have no thought of anything but the delight of hanging about that old house which had certainly cast a spell over him about midnight he seized a light and proposed retiring to our rooms I have such delightful dreams in this place he said he volunteered as we issued into the hall to take me upstairs and show me the upper regions of his paradise I said not tonight I felt a strange creeping sensation as I looked up the vast black staircase wide enough for a coach to drive down and at the heavy darkness bending over it like a curse while our lamps made drips of light down the first two or three gloomy steps our bedrooms were on the ground floor and stood opposite one another of a passage which led to a garden into mine Frank conducted me and left me for his own the uneasy feeling which I have described did not go from me with him and I felt a restlessness a mountain to pain when left alone in my chamber efforts had evidently been made to render the room habitable but there was a something antagonistic to sleep in every angle of its many crooked corners I kicked chairs out of their prim order along the wall and banged things about here and there finally thinking that a good night's rest was the best cure for an inexplicably disturbed frame of mind I undressed as quickly as possible and let my head on my pillow under a canopy like the wings of a gigantic bird of prey willing above me ready to pounce but I could not sleep the wind grumbled and the chimney and the boughs switched in the garden outside and between these noises I thought I heard sounds coming from the interior of the old house where all should have been still as the dead down in their vaults I could not make out what these sounds were running about sometimes I could have sworn there were double knocks tremendous tantarararas at the great hall door sometimes I heard the clashing of tissues the echo of voices calling and the dragon about of furniture whilst I sat up in bed trying to account for these noises suddenly flew open a bright light streamed in from the passage without and a powder red servant in an elaborate livery of antique pattern stood holding the handle of the door in his hand and bowing low to me in the bed her late ship my mistress desires your presence in the drawing room sir was announced in the measured tone of a well trained domestic then with another bow he retired the door closed and I was left in the dark to determine whether I had not suddenly awakened from a tantalizing dream in spite of my very wakeful sensations I believe I should have endeavoured to convince myself that I had been sleeping I received light shining under my door and through the keyhole from the passage I got up with my lamp and dressed myself as hastily as I was able I opened my door and the passage down which a short time before I had almost cropped my way with my lamp blinking in the dense foggy darkness was now illuminated with a light I walked along it quickly looking right and left to see when the glare proceeded arriving at the hall I found it also blazing with light and filled it with perfume groups of choice blends heavy with blossoms made it look like a garden the mosaic floor was strewn with costly mats soft collars wooden shone from the walls and canvases that had been black gave force faces of men and women looking brightly from their burnished frames servants were running about the dining room and drawing room doors were opening and shutting and as I looked through each I saw vistas of light and color the moving of brilliant crowns the waving of feathers and glancing of brilliant dresses and uniforms a festive hum reached me with a drowsy subdued sound as if I were listening with stuffed ears standing aside by an orange tree I gave up speculating on what this might be I concentrated all my powers on observations wheels were heard suddenly and a resounding knock banged at the door till it seemed that the very rooks in the chimneys must be startled out of their nests the door flew open a flaming of lanterns was seen outside and a dazzling lady came up the steps when she held up her cloth of silver train I could see the diamonds that twinkled on her feet her bosom was covered with roses and there was a red light in her eyes like the reflection from a hundred glowing fires her black hair went coiling about her head and couched among the raids lay a jewel not unlike the head of a snake she was flashing and glowing with gems and flowers her beauty and brilliance made me dizzy then came a faintness in the air as if her breath had poisoned it a weir of storm came in with her and rushed up the staircase like a moan and shed their blossoms and all the lights grew dim a moment then flared up again now the drawing broom door opened and a gentleman came out with a young girl leaning on his arm he was a fine looking middle aged gentleman with a mild countenance the girl was a slender creature with a thin hair and a pale face she was dressed in pure white with a large ruby like a drop of blood at her throat they advanced together to receive the lady who had arrived the gentleman offered his arm to the stranger and the girl who was displaced for her fell back and walked behind them with a downcast air he felt irresistibly impaled to follow them and passed with them into the drawing room never had I mixed in a finer gayer crowd the costumes were rich and of an old fashioned pattern dancing was going forward with spirit minuets and country dances the stately gentleman was evidently the host and moved among the company introducing the magnificent lady right and left he led her to the head of the room presently and they mixed in the dance the arrogance of her manner and the fascination of her beauty were wonderful I cannot attempt to describe the strange manner in which I was in this company and yet not of it I seemed to view all I beheld through some fine and subtle medium I saw clearly yet I felt that it was not with my ordinary naked eyesight I can compare it to nothing but looking at a scene through a piece of smoky or colored glass and just in the same way as I have said before my friends seemed to reach me as if I were listening with ears imperfectly stuffed no one present took any notice of me I spoke to several and they made no reply did not even turn their eyes upon me nor show in any way that they had heard me I planted myself straight in the way of a fine fellow in a general's uniform but he swerving neither to right nor left by an inch kept on his way as though I were a streak of mist and left me behind him everyone I touched eluded me somehow substantial as they all looked I could not contrive to lay my hand on anything that felt like solid flesh two or three times I felt a momentary relief from the oppressive sensations which distracted me when I firmly believed I saw Frank's head at some distance among the crowd now in one room and now in another and again in the conservatory which was hung with lamps and filled with people walking about among the flowers but whenever I approached he had vanished at last I came upon him sitting by himself on a couch behind a curtain watching the dancers I let my head upon his shoulder here was something substantial at last he did not look up he seemed aware neither of my touch nor my speech I looked in his staring eyes and found that he was sound asleep I could not wake him curiosity would not let me remain by his side I again mixed with the crowd and found the stately host still leading about the magnificent lady no one seemed to notice that the golden-haired girl was sitting weeping in a corner no one but the beauty in the silver drain who sometimes glanced at her contemptuously whilst I watched at her distress a group came between me and her and I wandered into another room where as though I had turned it from one picture of her to look at another I beheld her dancing gaily in the fugly of Sir Roger the coverly with a fine looking youth who was more plainly dressed than any other person in the room never was a better matched pair to look at down the middle they danced hand in hand his face full of tenderness hers beaming with joy right and left bowing and curtsying parted and meeting again smiling and whispering but over the heads of smaller women there were the fierce size of the magnificent beauty scowling at them then again the crowd shifted around me and this scene was lost for some time I could see no trace of the golden-haired girl in any of the rooms I looked for her in vain till at last I caught a glimpse of her standing and smiling in a doorway with her finger lifted at home could it be at me her eyes were fixed on mine I hastened into the hall and caught sight of her white dress passing up the white black staircase from which I had shrunk some hours earlier I followed her she keeping some steps in advance it was intensely dark but by the gleaming of her gown I was able to trace her flying figure where we went I knew not up how many stairs down how many passages till we arrived at a low-roofed large room with a sloping roof and queer windows where there was a dim light like the sanctuary light in a deserted church here when I entered the golden head was glimmering over something which I presently discerned to be a cradle wrapped round with white curtains and with a few fresh flowers fastened up on the hood of it as if to catch a baby's eye the fair sweet face looked up at me with a glow of pride in it smiling with happy dimples the white hands unfolded the curtains and stripped back the coverlet there went a rushing moan all around the weird room that seemed like a gust of wind forcing in through the crannies and shaking the jingling old windows in their sockets the cradle was an empty one the girl fell back with a look of horror on her pale face that I shall never forget then flinging her arms above her head she dashed from the room I followed her as fast as I was able but the wild white figure was too swift for me I had lost her before I reached the bottom of the staircase I searched for her first in one room then in another neither could I see her foe as I already believed to be the lady of the silver drain at length I found myself in a small empty room where a lamp was expiring on the table a window was open close by it the golden-haired girl was lying sobbing in a chair the magnificent lady was bending over her as if soothingly and offering her something to drink in a goblet the moon was rising behind the two figures the shattering light of the lamp was flickering over the girl's bright head the rich embossing of the golden cup the lady's silver robes and I thought the jeweled eyes of the serpent looked out from her bending head as I watched the girl raised her face and drunk then suddenly dashed the goblet away while a cry such as I never heard but once and shivered to remember rose to the very roof of the old house and the clear sharp word rung and reverberated from hall and chamber in a thousand echoes like the clash of appeal of bells the girl dashed herself from the open window leaving the cry clamoring behind her I heard a violent opening of doors and running of feet but I waited for nothing more maddened than what I had witnessed I would have fell at the murderers but she glided unheard from under my vain blow I sprang from the window after the wretched white figure I saw it flying on before me with a speed I could not overtake I run till I was dizzy I called like a madman and heard the rose croaking back to me the moon grew huge and bright the trees grew out before it like the bushy heads of giants the river lay keen and shining like a long unsheathed sword counting for deadly work among the rushes the white figure shimmered and vanished glittered brightly on before me shimmered and vanished it again shimmered staggered fell and disappeared in the river of what she was phantom or reality I thought not at the moment she had a semblance of a human being going to destruction and I had a frenzied impulse to save her I rushed forward with one last effort struck my foot against the roof of a tree and was dashed to the ground I remember a crash momentary pain and confusion then nothing more when my sense returned the red clouds of the dawn were shining in the river beside me I arose to my feet and found that though much bruised I was otherwise unheard I visit my mind in recalling the strange circumstances which had brought me to that place in the dead of the night the recollection of all I had witnessed was vividly present to my mind I took my way slowly to the house almost expecting to see the marks of wheels and other indications of last night's battle but the rain grass that covered the grave was uncrushed not a blade disturbed not a stone displaced I shook one of the drawing room windows till I shook off the old rusty hasb inside flung up the creaking sash and entered where were the brilliant draperies and carpets floating the vases steaming with flowers the thousand sweet odors of the night before not a trace of them no nor even a ragged cobweb swept away nor a stiff chair moved an inch from its melancholy place nor the face of a mirror relieved from one speck of its obscuring dust coming back into the open air I met the old man from the gate woken up one of the weedy path he eyed me meaningly from head to foot but I gave him good moral cheerfully you see I am poking about early I said a father said he and he looked like a man that had been poking about all night how so? said I you see sir said he and I can read it in your face like print some sees one thing and some another and some only feels and hears the poor gentleman inside he says nothing beautiful dreams and for the Lord's sake sir take him out of this for I've seen him wondering about like a ghost himself in the heart of the night and him that sound sleeping that I couldn't wake him at breakfast I said nothing to Frank of my strange adventures he had rested what he said and boasted of his enchanting dreams I asked him to describe them when he grew perplexed and annoyed he remembered nothing but that his spirit had been delightfully entertained whilst his body reposed I now felt a curiosity to go through the old house and was not surprised on pushing open the door at the end of a remote to enter the identical chamber into which I had followed the pale-faced girl when she beconned me out of the drawing room there were the low brooding roof and slanting walls the short white latched windows to which the noon day sun was trying to pierce through a forest of leaves the hangings rotting with age dreary banners at the opening of the door and there in the middle of the room was the cradle only the curtains that had been white were black net with dirt and laced and overlaced with cobwebs I parted the curtains bringing down a shower of dust upon the floor and saw a line upon the pillow within a child's tiny shoe and a toy I did not describe the rest of the house it was vast and rambling and as far as furniture and decorations were concerned the wreck of grandeur having a strange subject for meditation I walked along in the orchard that evening this orchard sloped towards the river I have mentioned before the trees were old and stunted and the branches tangled overhead the ripe apples were rolling in the long bleached grass a row of taller trees sycamores and chestnuts struggled along by the river's edge ferns and tall weeds grew round and amongst them and between their trunks and behind the rifts and the foliage the water was seen to flow walking up and down one of the paths I alternately faced these trees and turned my back upon them once when coming towards them I chanced to lift my glance started drew my hands across my eyes looked again and finally stood still gazing in much astonishment I saw distinctly the figure of a lady standing by one of the trees bending low towards the grass her face was a little turned away her dress a bluish white her mantle a dune brown color she held a spade in her hand and her foot was upon it as if she were in the act of digging I gazed at her for some time vainly trying to guess at home she might be then I advanced towards her as I approached the outlines of her figure broke up and disappeared and I found that she was only an illusion presented to me by the curious accidental grouping of the lines of two trees which had shaped this space between them into the semblance of the form I have described a patch of winged water had been her robe a piece of russet moorland her cloak the spade was an awkward young chute slanting up from the root of one of the trees I stepped back and tried to piece her out again bit by bit but could not succeed that night I did not feel at all I turned to my small chamber and lie awaiting such another summons as I had once received when frank bade me goodnight I heaped fresh coals on the fire took down from the shelves a book from which I lifted the dust in layers with my pen knife and dragging an armchair close to the hearth tried to make myself as comfortable as might be I am a strong robust man very unimaginative and little troubled with the factions of the nerfs but I confess that my feelings were not unviable sitting thus alone in that queer old house with last nights strange pantomime still vividly present to my memory in spite of my efforts at coonish excited by the prospect of what yet might be in store for me before morning but these feelings passed away as the night wore on and I nodded asleep over my book I was startled by the sound of a brisk light step walking overhead while awake at once I set up and listened the ceiling was low to mind what room it was that lay above the library in which I sat presently I heard the same step upon the stairs and the loud sharp rustling of a silk dress sweeping against the banisters the step paused at the library door and then there was silence I got up and with all the courage I could summon seized the light of the door but there was nothing in the hall but the usual heavy darkness and damp moldy air I confess I felt more uncomfortable at that moment than I had done at any time during the preceding night all the visions that had then appeared to me had produced nothing like the horror of thus feeling a supernatural presence which my eyes were not permitted to behold I returned to the library and passed the night there next day I thought for the room above it in which I had heard the footsteps but could discover no entrance to any such room it's windows indeed I counted from the outside though they were so overgrown with ivy I could hardly discern them but in the interior of the house I could find no door to the chamber I asked Frank about it but he knew and cared nothing on the subject I asked the old man at the lodge and he shook his head Lodge he said don't ask about that room the doors built up and flesh and blood have no concern with it it was her own room whose own I asked old lady thunders and with sir that's her grave what do you mean I said are you out of your mind he laughed clearly drew near and lowered his voice nobody has asked about the room these years but yourself he said nobody misses it going over the house my grandfather was an old retainer thunders family my father was in the service too and I was born myself before the old lady died Yone was her room and she left her eternal curse on her family if so Bidey didn't leave her coffin there she wasn't going under the ground to the worms so there it was left and they built up the door God love you sir and don't go near it I wouldn't have told you only I know you've seen plenty about already and you have to look or one that be ferreting things out saving your presence he looked at me knowingly but I gave him no information thank at him for putting me on my guard I could scarcely credit what he told me about the room but my curiosity was excited regarding it I made up a mind that day to try and induce Frank to quit the place on the moral I felt more and more convinced that the atmosphere was not healthful for his mind whatever it might be for his body the sooner we left the better for us both but the remaining night which I had to pass there I resolved on devoting to the exploring of the wallowed up chamber what impelled me to this resolve I do not know the undertaking was not a pleasant one and I should hardly have ventured on it had I been forced to remain much longer at rest but I knew there was little chance of sleep for me in that house and I thought I might as well go and seek for my adventures as did waiting for them to come for me as I had done the night before I felt a relish for my enterprise and expected the night with a satisfaction I did not say anything of my intention either to Frank or the old man at the lodge I did not want to make a fuss and have my doings talk it off all over the country I may as well mention here that again on this evening when walking in the orchard I saw the figure of the lady digging between the trees and again I saw that this figure was an illusive appearance that the water was her gown and the moorland her cloak and a willow in the distance as soon as the night was pretty far advanced I placed a ladder against the window which was least covered over with ivy and mounted it having provided myself with a dark lantern the moon rose full behind some trees that stood like a black bank against the horizon and glimmered on the panes as I ripped away branches and leaves with a knife and shook the old crazy casement open the sashes were rotten and the fastenings easily gave way I placed my lantern on a bench within and was soon standing beside it in the chamber the air was unsufferably closed and moldy and I flung the window open to the widest and beat the bowering ivy still further back from about it so as to let the fresh air of heaven blow into the place I then took my lantern in hand and began to look about me the room was vast and double a velvet curtain hung between me and an inner chamber the darkness was thick and irksome and this genty light of my lantern only tantalized me my eyes fell on some tall spectral looking candelabra furnished with wax candles which though black with age still bore the marks of having been guttered by a draft that had blown on them fifty years ago I lighted these they burned it up with a gasly flickering and the apartment with its fittings was revealed to me they were being splendid in the days of their freshness the appointments of the rest of the house were mean in comparison the ceiling was painted with fine allegorical figures also spaces of the walls between the dim mirrors and the sumptuous hangings of crimson velvet with their tarnished golden tassels and fringes the carpet still felt luxurious to the thread and the dust could not out together obliterate the elaborate fancy of its flowery design there were gorgeous cabinets laden with curiosities wonderfully carved chairs rare vases and antique glasses of every description under some of which lay little hips of dust no doubt being blooming flowers there was a table laden with books of poetry and science drawings and drawing materials which show that the occupant of the room had been a person of mind there was also a writing table scattered over with the yellow papers and a work table at a window on which lay reused a thimble and a piece of what had once been white muslin but was now saffron color soon with gold thread a rusty needle sticking in it this and a pen lying on the ink stand the paper knife between the leaves of a book the loose sketches shaken out by the sight of a portfolio and the ashes of a fire on the wild, mirrored hearth place all suggested that the owner of this retreat had been snatched from it without warning and that whoever had thought proper to build up the doors had also thought proper to touch nothing that had been longed to her having surveyed all the things I entered the inner room the furniture of this was in keeping with that of the other chamber I saw dimly a bed enveloped in lace and the dressing table fancifully garnished and draped here I spied more candelabra and going forward to set the lights burning I stumbled against something I turned the blaze of my lantern on this something and started with a sudden thrill of horror it was a large stone coughing I owned that I felt very strangely for the next few minutes when I had recovered the shock I set the wok's candles burning and took a better survey on this old burial place a wardrobe stood open and I saw dresses hanging within a gown lay upon the chair and if just thrown off and a pair of dainty slippers were beside it the toilet table looked as if only used yesterday judging by the litter that covered it hairbrushes lying this way and that way essence bottles with the stoppers out paint pots uncovered a ring here a wreath of artificial flowers there and in front of all that coffin the tarnished cupids that bore the mirror between their hands smirking down at it with a grim complacency on the corner of this table was a small golden salver holding a plate of some black moderate food an antique decanter covered with wine a glass and a fire with some thick black liquid uncorked I felt weak and sick with the atmosphere of the place and I seized the decanter wiped the dust from it with my handkerchief tasted found that the wine was good and drank a moderate draft immediately it was swallowed I felt a horrid kidneys and sunk upon the coffin a raging pain was in my head and a sense of suffocation in my chest after a few intolerable moments I felt better but the heavy air pressed on me stiflingly and I rushed it from this inner room into the larger and outer chamber here a blast of cool air revived me and I saw that the place was changed a dozen other candelabra besides those I had liked it were flaming around the walls the hearth was already with a blazing fire everything that had been dim was bright the luster had returned to the gilding the flowers bloomed in the vases a lady was sitting before the hearth in a low arm chair her light loose gown swept about her on the carpet her black hair fell around her to her knees and into it her hands were thrust as she leaned her forehead upon them and stared between them into the fire I had scarcely time to observe her attitude when she turned her head quickly towards me and I recognized some face of the magnificent lady who had played such a sinister part in the strange scenes that had been enacted before me two nights ago I saw something dark looming behind her chair but I thought it was only her shadow thrown backward by the firelight she arose and came to meet me and I recoiled from her there was something horribly fixed and hollow in her gaze and filming in the steering of her garments the shadow as she moved grew more firm and distinct in outline and followed her like a servant where she went she crossed half of the room then beconned me and sat down at the writing table the shadow waited beside her adjusted her paper placed ink bottle near her and the pen between her fingers I felt impelled to approach her and to take my place at her left shoulder so as to be able to see what she might write the shadow stood motionless at her other hand as I became accustomed to the shadow's presence he grew more visibly loathome and hideous he was quite distinct from the lady and moved independently of her with long ugly limbs she hesitated about beginning to write and he made a wild chester with his arm which brought her hand quickly to the paper and her pen began to move at once I needed not to bend and scrutinize in order to read every word as it was formate flashed before me like a meteor I am the spirit of Madeline Lady Thunder who lived and died in this house and whose coffin stands in yonder room among the vanities in which I delighted I am constrained to make my confession to you John Thunder who are the present owner of the states of your family here the hand trembled and stopped at writing but the shadow made a threatening jester and the hand fluttered on I was beautiful poor and ambitious and when I entered this house first on the night of a ball given by Sir Luke Sander I determined to become its mistress his daughter Mary Thunder was the only obstacle in my way she divined my intention and stood between me and her father she was a gentle delicate girl and no match for me I pushed her aside and became Lady Thunder after that I hated her and made her dread me I had gained the object of my ambition but I was jealous of the influence possessed by her over her father and I revenged myself by crushing the joy out of her young life in this I defeated my own purpose she eloped with a young man who was devoted to her though poor and beneath her in station her father was indignant at first and my malice was satisfied but as time passed on I had no children and she had a son soon after whose birth her husband died then her father took her back to his heart and the boy was his idol and heir again the hands stopped at writing the ghostly head trooped and the whole figure was convulsed but the shadow gesticulated fiercely and covering under its menace the wretched spirit went on I caused the child to be stolen away I thought I had done it cunningly but she tracked the crime home to me she came and accused me of it and in the desperation of my terror at discovery I gave her poison to drink she rushed from me and from the house in frenzy and in her mortal anguish fell in the river people thought she had gone mad from grief for her child and committed suicide I only knew the horrible truth sorrow brought an illness upon her father of which he died up to the day of his death he had search made for the child believing that it was alive and must be found he willed all his property to it his rightful heir and to its heirs forever I buried the deeds under a tree in the orchard and forged a will in which all was bequithed to me during my lifetime I enjoyed my state and grandeur to the day of my death which came upon me miserably and after that my husband's possessions went to a distant relation of his family nothing more was heard of the fate of the child who was stolen but he lived and married and his daughter now toys for her bread his daughter who is the rightful owner of all that is said to belong to you John Thunder it is that you may devote yourself to the task of discovering this wronged girl and given up to her that which you are unlawfully possessed of under the 13th tree standing on the brink of the river at the foot of the orchard you will find buried the genuine will of Sir Luke, Thunder when you have found and read it of justice as you value your soul in order that you may know the grandchild of Mary, Thunder when you find her you shall behold her in a vision the last words grew deign before me the lights faded away and all the place was in darkness except one spot on the opposite wall on this spot the light glimmered softly and against the brightness the outlines of a figure appeared faintly at first but growing firm and distinct became filled in and rounded at last to the perfect semblance of life the figure was that of a young girl in a plain black dress with a bright happy face and pale gold hair softly banded her beard she might have been the twin sister of the pale-faced girl whom I had seen bending over the cradle two nights ago but her healthier glather and prettier sister when I had gazed on her some moments the vision faded away as it had come the last vestige of the brightness died out upon the wall and I found myself once more in total darkness it started from time by the sudden changes I stood watching for the return of the lights and figures but in vain by and by my eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity and I saw the sky glimmering behind the little window which I had left open I could soon discern the writing table beside me and possessed myself of the slips of loose paper which lay upon it I then made my way to the window the first streaks of dawn were in the sky as I descended my ladder and I thank God that I breathed the fresh morning air once more and heard the cheering sound of the cocks crowing all thought acting immediately upon last night's strange revelations almost all memory of them was for the time banished from my mind by the unexpected trouble of the next few days that morning I found an alarming change in Frank feeling sure that he was going to be ill I engaged a lodging in a cottage in the neighborhood that we removed before nightfall leaving the accursed wrath behind us before midnight he was in the delirium of a raging fever I thought it right to let his poor little fiancé know his state and wrote to her trying to alarm her no more than was necessary on the evening of the third day after my letter went I was sitting by Frank's bedside when an unusual bustle outside aroused at my curiosity and going into the cottage kitchen I saw a figure standing in the firelight which seemed a third appearance of that vision of the pale-faced golden haired girl which was now thoroughly imprinted on my memory a third with all the wool of the first and all the beauty of the second but this was a living breathing apparition she was throwing off her bonnet and shawl and stood there at home in a moment in her plain black dress I drew my hand across my eyes to make sure that it did not deceive me I had beheld so many supernatural visions lately that it seemed as though I could scarcely believe in the reality of anything till I had touched it oh sir said the visitor I am Mary Leonard an R.U. poor Frank's friend oh sir we are all the world to one another and I could not let him die without coming to see him and here the poor little traveler burst into tears I cheered her as well as I could telling her that Frank would soon, I trusted be out of all danger she told me that she had thrown up her situation in order to come and nurse him I said we had got a more experienced nurse than she could be and then I gave her to the care of our landlady a motherly country woman after that I went back to Frank's bedside nor left it for long till he was convalescent the fever had swept away all that strangeness in his manner which had afflicted me and he was quite himself again there was a joyful meeting of the lovers the more I saw of Mary Leonard's bright face the more thoroughly was I convinced that she was the living counterpart of the vision I had seen in the burial chamber I made inquires as to her birth and her father's history and found that she was indeed the grandchild of that married thunder whose history had been so strangely related to me and the rightful heiress of all those properties which for a few months only had been mine under the tree in the orchard the thirteenth and that by which I had seen the lady digging I found the buried deeds which had been described to me I made an immediate transfer of property were upon some others who thought they had a chance of being my heiress disputed the matter with me and went to law thus the affair has gained publicity and become a nine days wonder many things have been in my favor however Mary's birth and officer looks will the identification of Lady Thunder's handwriting on the slips of paper which I had brought from the burial chamber also other matters which a search in that chamber brought to light I triumphed and I now go abroad leaving Frank and his marry made happy by the possession of what could only have been given to me so the MSN's major thunder fell in battle a few years after the adventure it relates Frank O'Brien's grandchildren hear of him with gratitude and awe the wrath has been long since totally dismantled and left to go to ruin end of section two section three 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 Brett Montgomery the Haunted Organist of Hurley Burley and other stories by Rosa Mulholland The Country Cousin chapter one Old Tony Spence kept a second hand bookshop in the busy town of Smokeford a brown dingy little place with dusty windows through which the light came feebly from the door one could peer down the narrow interior with its book lined walls and strip of counter to the twinkling fire at the far end where the old fellow sat in his armchair pouring over ancient editions and making acquaintance with the latest acquisitions to his stock he was a dreamy looking old man with a parchment like face and a snuff coloured coat as the books among which he lived with their dusty brown covers and pages yellowed by time he had been a schoolmaster in his youth and had wandered a good deal about the world and picked up odds and ends of a queer kind of knowledge of late years he had developed a literary turn and now and again gave forth to his generation a book full of quaint conceits a sort of mosaic fragment of some of the scraps of knowledge and observations stored up in his brain which was as full of incongruous images as a curiosity shop in the morning he used to turn out of his shutter dwelling about six when there was light and go roving from the town to the downs beyond it where he would stroll along with his hands behind his back and his head thrown upward musing over many things he found puzzling and some that he found delightful in a bewildering world his house consisted of four chambers and a kitchen above a ladder like stair which led up out of the bookshelves and his family of an ancient housekeeper a large cat and his daughter Hetty soon to be increased by the addition of a young girl the child of his dead sister to whom he had promised to give a shelter for a time Hetty was often both hands and eyes to him and wrote down oddities at his dictation where the evening candles burned too faintly or his spectacles had got dim oddities whose flavour was not seldom sharpened or sweetened by the sentiment or wit of the immanuensis that's not mine Hetty that's your own the old man would cry only to try how it would go father it is good my little girl go on and thus in scribbling on rusty foolscap and pouring into musty volumes tending a small roof garden and sketching fancies in the chimney corner Hetty had grown to be a woman almost without knowing it she possessed her father's good sense with more imagination than was ever owned by the bookseller she saw pictures with closed eyes and wove her thoughts in a sort of poetry which never got written down giving audience to strange assemblages in her dingy chamber where a faded curtain of tawny damask did duty for Arras and some rich dark woodcuts pasted on the brown walls stood for gems of the old masters in her eyes lying on her bed with hands folded and eyes wide open she first decorated then peepled her room while the moonshine glimmered across the shadows that hung from roof and beam sleep always surprised her in fantastic company and with gorgeous surroundings but waking found her contented with her realities she was out of her window early tending the flowers which flourished wonderfully between sloping roofs in a nook where the chimneys luckily stood aside as if to let the sun in across many obstacles upon the garden one summer morning she was admiring the crimson and yellow of a fine tulip which had just opened when a young man appeared threading his way out of a distance of house stops looking carefully along the leds as he approached Hetty's flowerbeds and smiling to see her kneeling on the tiles of a sloping roof and clinging to a chimney for support he carried in his hand a piece of half sculptured wood and an instrument for carving Hetty, looking up, greeted him with a happy smile and he sat on the roof beside her and praised the tulips and chipped his wood while the sun rose right above the chimneys and gilded the red-tiled roofs and flamed through the wreaths of smoke that went silently curling up to heaven as if she loved her heads like the incense of morning prayer out of the dwellings I've got a pretty idea for your carving, said Hetty still gazing into the flower as if she saw her fancy there I dreamed last night of a beautiful face half wrapped up in lilies like a vision of undine I shall sketch it for you this evening and you will see what you can make of it What a useful wife you will be said the young man if I do not become a skillful artist those are the dreams you turn to account for me they are not dreams, said Hetty merrily they are adventures a broomstick arrives at me at the window here at night and I am travelling round the world on it when you are asleep I visit very queer places and see things that I could not describe to you but I take care to pick up anything that seems likely to be of use Hetty stood up and leaned back laughing against the red-brick chimney with the morning sunshine around her she was not very handsome with her smiling grey eyes and spiritual forehead and the dimples all aquiver in her soft pale cheeks she had not yet bound up her dark hair for the day and it lay like a rich mantel over her head and shoulders I want to talk to you about something Hetty I have made up my mind to go abroad and see the carvings in the churches and we might live a while in the Tyrol and learn something there Oh Anthony the girl clasped her hands softly together and gazed at her lover is it possible we could have been born for such good fortune Anthony was a young man who would come to the town without friends to learn furniture making and developing a taste for carving in wood had turned his attention to that instead of to the coarser part of the business his love of reading had let him to make acquaintance with the old book man and his daughter evening after evening had passed pouring over Tony Spencer's doors and growing to look on the book lined chimney corner he and Hetty had been plighted since Christmas and it was now June that evening when the evening meal was spread in the sitting room above the steps Anthony came up the ladder out of the bookshelves just as Hetty appeared at another door carrying a dish of pancakes the old man was in his chair by the fire his spectacles off duty thrust up into his hair gazing between the bars ruminating over something that Hetty had told him so he said looking up from under his shaggy brows as Anthony sat down before him at the fire so you want to be off to travel it's coming true what I told you the day you asked me for Hetty I said you were a rover didn't I yes said Anthony smiling and tossing back his hair but you meant a different kind of rover I have not moved from Hetty I shall not move a mile without Hetty and you too sir, you must come with us old Spence laid back in his chair and peered through half closed eyes at the speaker Anthony had a bright keen face he rapidly changing expressions spoke quickly and decidedly with a charm in his pleasant voice and had a general look of skillfulness and cleverness about him there was not to be seen in his eyes that patient dreamy light which is shed from the soul of the artist but that was in Hetty's eyes and would be supplied to him now and ever more to make him really a poet in his craft Hetty's fancies were to be woven into his carvings that he might be famous I don't know about breaking up and going abroad said the old bookworm I'm too old for it I'm afraid leaving the chimney corner and floating away with you off into the Near Belongan land you too must go without me if go you must I will not leave you alone father said Hetty and I will not go without Hetty said Anthony in the meantime just for play let us look over the maps and guidebooks these were brought down and after some pouring the old man fell asleep and the young people pursued their way from town to town and from village to village across mountains and rivers till they finally settled themselves in the Bavarian Tirol from a pretty home they could see pine covered peaks and distant glaciers and within doors they possessed many curious things to which they were unaccustomed and I wonder if the mountains are so blue in the lakes of that wonderful jasper colour which we see in pictures said Hetty how beautiful life must be in the midst of it all yes said Anthony and Hetty you shall wear a round peaked hat in your room and your hair in two long plates coming down your back to his world you have such splendid hair he said touching her heavy braids with loving pride in his eyes and finger ends Hetty blushed with delight and looked all round the familiar room seeing blue mountains and dizzy villagers perched on heights people in strange costumes brass capped steeples and strange wooden shrines all lying before her under a glittering sun twilight was falling and the lights in the room were getting dim the dream world was round her and with her hand in Anthony she could imagine that they too were already roaming through its labyrinths together it was not that in reality she could have quitted the old home without regret but the home was still there and the visions of the future had only floated in to beautify it they had not pushed away the old walls but only covered them with bloom the love of Anthony and Hetty was singularly fitting to draw her to him for the happiness and comfort of his life his character was all restlessness and hers was full of repose she refreshed him and the sight of her face and sound of her voice were as necessary to him as his daily bread Hetty's was that spiritual love which spins a halo of light around the creature that leans upon it and garners everything sweet to feed a holy fire that is to burn through all eternity in the hush of her nature a bird of joy was perpetually singing and its music was heard by all who came in contact with her no small clouds of selfishness came between her and the sun she knew her meekness for Anthony and her usefulness to his welfare and this knowledge lay at the root of her content it was quite dusk and the scrubby lines on the maps which marked the mountains of Hetty's dreamland were no longer discernible to peering eyes when a faint ding ding was heard from the shop bell below the lovers did not mind it it might be a note from the little brazen belfry or from the charming necklace of a mule plotting along the edge of the precipice or from the tossing head of the leader of a herd on a neighbouring alp or it might be the little pot boy bringing the beer for Sib's supper Sib, the old serving woman had come to the latter conclusion for she was heard descending by a back way to open the door after an interval of some minutes there was a sound of feet ascending the ladder and the door of the sitting room was thrown open the light figure of a girl appeared in the doorway and behind followed Sib holding a lamp above her head Who is it? cried Hetty springing forward. Ah, it must be Primula my cousin from the country come in, dear, you're welcome and she threw an arm round the glimmering figure and drew it into the room Sib, put down the lamp and get some supper for her Father, wake up, here is your niece at last tell us about your journey, cousin and let me take you upon it Hetty took the girl's hat off and stood wondering at the beauty of her visitor Primula's father had brought her up in a country village where he had died and left her she had come to her uncle who had offered to place her with a dressmaker in Smokeford the fashions of Smokeford would be eagerly sought at more edge and it was expected that Primula would make a good livelihood on her return with her thimble in her pocket and her trade at her finger ends she had been named by a hedgerow loving mother who died 18 years ago in the springtime and left her newly born infant behind her in the budding world the motherless girl had as if by an instinct of nature grown up to womanhood modelled on her mother's fancy for the delicate flower whose name she bore she had glistening yellow hair lying in smooth, uneven edged folds across her low fair forehead a liquid light lay under the rims of her heavy white eyelids and over all her features there was a mellow and exquisite paleness warmed only by the faintest rose blush on her cheeks and lips she wore a very straight and faded calico gown her shawl was darned and her straw hat was burned by the sun she is very lovely prettier far than I thought Hetty with that slight pang which even a generous young girl may feel for a moment when she sees another by her side who must make her look homely in the eyes of her lover but I will not envy her I will love her instead was the next thought and she threw her arms round the stranger and kissed her Primula seemed surprised at the embrace I did not think you would be so glad to see me she said people said you would find me a deal of trouble old Spence was now awake and taking his share in the scene bless me, bless me, he cried you were like your mother a sweet woman but with no brains at all nor strength of mind nay, don't cry child, I did not mean to hurt you I have a way of my own of speaking out my thoughts Hetty does not mind it, nor must you Primula was trembling and had begun to cry and its knee drew nearer and comforted her End of section 3