A Whisper In The Dark Part 35

The party separated early. Diana was still sleeping, and leaving her own maid to watch in the dressing-room between their chambers, Mrs. Berkeley went to bed. As he pa.s.sed down the gallery to his apartment, Earl heard Mrs. Vane say to the maid, "If anything happens in the night, call me." The words made him anxious, and instead of going to bed, he sat up writing letters till very late. It was past midnight, when the sound of a closing door broke the long silence that had filled the house. Stepping into the gallery, he listened. All was still, and nothing stirred but the heavy curtain before the long window at the end of the upper hall; this swayed to and fro in the strong current of air that swept in. Fearing that the draught might slam other doors and disturb Diana, he went to close it.

Pausing a moment to view the gloomy scene without, Douglas was startled by an arm flung violently about his neck, lips pressed pa.s.sionately to his own, and a momentary glimpse of a woman's figure dimly defined on the dark curtain that floated backward from his hand. Silently and suddenly as it came, the phantom went, leaving Douglas so amazed, that for an instant he could only stare dumbly before him, half breathless, and wholly bewildered by the ardor of that mysterious embrace. Then he sprang forward to discover who the woman was and whither she had gone. But, as if blown outward by some counter-draught, the heavy curtain wrapped him in its fold, and when he had freed himself, neither ghost nor woman was visible.

Earl was superst.i.tious, and for a moment he fancied the spirit of Diana had appeared to him, foretelling her death. But a second thought a.s.sured him that it was a human creature, and no wraith, for the soft arms had no deathly chill in them, the lips were warm, living breath had pa.s.sed across his face, and on his cheek he felt a tear that must have fallen from human eyes. The light had been too dim to reveal the partially shrouded countenance, or more than a tall and shadowy outline, but with a thrill of fear he thought, "It was Diana, and she is mad!"

Taking his candle, he hurried to the door of the dressing-room, tapped softly, and when the sleepy maid appeared, inquired if Miss Stuart still slept.

"Yes, sir, like a child; it does one's heart good to see her."

"You are quite sure she is asleep?"

"Bless me, yes, sir; I've just looked at her, and she hasn't stirred since I looked an hour ago."

"Does she ever walk in her sleep, Mrs. Mason?"

"Dear, no, sir."

"I thought I saw her just now in the upper gallery. I went to shut the great window, lest the wind should disturb her, and some one very like her certainly stood for a moment at my side."

"Lord, sir! you make my blood run cold. It couldn't have been her, for she never left her bed, much less her room."

"Perhaps so; never mind; just look again, and tell me if you see her, then I shall be at ease."

Mrs. Mason knew that her young lady loved the gentleman before her, and never doubted that he loved her, and so considering his anxiety quite natural and proper, she nodded, crept away, and soon returned, saying, with an air of satisfaction: "She's all right, sir, sleeping beautifully. I didn't speak, for once when I looked at her she said, quite fierce: "Go away, and let me be until I call you.' So I've only peeped through the curtain since. I see her lying with her face to the wall, and the coverlet drawn comfortably round her."

"Thank G.o.d! she is safe. Excuse my disturbing you, Mrs. Mason, but I was very anxious. Be patient and faithful in your care of her; I shall remember it. Good-night."

"Handsome creeter! how fond he is of her, and well he may be, for she dotes on him, and they'll make a splendid couple. Now I'll finish my nap, and then I'll have a cup of tea."

With a knowing look and a chilly s.h.i.+ver, Mrs. Mason resettled herself in a luxurious chair and was soon dozing tranquilly.

Douglas meanwhile returned to his room, after a survey of the house, and went to bed thinking with a smile and a frown, that if all spirits came in such an amicable fas.h.i.+on, the fate of a ghost-seer was not a hard one.

In the dark hour just before the dawn, a long, shrill cry rent the silence, and brought every sleeper under that roof out of his bed, trembling and with fright. The cry came from Diana's room, and in a moment the gallery, dressing-room and chamber were filled with pale faces and half-dressed figures, as ladies and gentlemen, men and maids, came flocking in, all asking, breathlessly: "What is it? O, what is it?"

Mrs. Berkeley lay on the floor in strong hysterics, and Mrs. Mason, instead of attending to her, was beating her hands distractedly together, and running wildly about the room, as if searching for something she had lost. Diana's bed was empty, with the clothes flung one way and the pillows another, and every sign of strange disorder, but its occupant was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is she?" "What has happened?" "Why don't you speak?" cried the terrified beholders.

A sudden lull fell upon the excited group, as Mrs. Vane, white, resolute and calm, made her way through the crowd, and laying her hand on Mrs. Mason's shoulder, commanded her to stand still and explain the mystery. The poor soul endeavored to obey, but burst into tears, and dropping on her knees, poured out her story in a pa.s.sion of penitent despair.

"You left her sleeping, ma'am, and I sat as my lady bid me, going now and then to look at miss. The last time I drew the curtains, she looked up and said, sharp and short, "Let me be in peace, and don't disturb me till I call you.' After that, I just peeped through the crack, and she seemed quiet. You know I told you so, sir, when you came to ask, and O, my goodness me, it wasn't her at all, sir, and she's gone! she's gone!"

"Hus.h.!.+ stop sobbing, and tell me how you missed her. Gabrielle and Justine, attend to Mrs. Berkeley; Harry, go at once and search the house. Now, Mrs. Mason."

Mrs. Vane's clear, calm voice seemed to act like a spell on the agitation of all about her, and the maids obeyed, Harry, with the men-servants hurried away, and Mrs. Mason more coherently, went on: "Well, ma'am, when Mr. Douglas came to the door asking if miss was here, thinking he saw her in the hall, I looked again, and thought she lay as I'd left her an hour before. But O ma'am, it wasn't her, it was the piller that she'd fixed like herself, with the coverlet pulled round it, like she'd pulled it round her own head and shoulders when she spoke last. It looked all right, the night-lamp being low, and me so sleepy, and I went back to my place, after setting Mr. Douglas's mind at rest. I fell asleep, and when I woke, I ran in here to make sure she was safe, for I'd had a horrid dream about seeing her laid out, dead and dripping, with weeds in her hair, and her poor feet all covered with red clay, as if she'd fallen into one of them pits over yonder. I ran in here, pulled up the curtain, and was just going to say, "Thank the Lord,' when, as I stooped down to listen if she slept easy, I saw she wasn't there. The start took my wits away, and I don't know what I did, till my lady came running in, as I was tossing the pillows here and there to find her, and when I told what had happened, my lady gave one dreadful scream, and went off in a fit."

There was a dead silence for a moment, as Mrs. Mason relapsed into convulsive sobbing, and every one looked into each other's frightened faces. Douglas leaned on Lennox, as if all the strength had gone out of him, and George stood aghast.

Mrs. Vane alone seemed self-possessed, though an awful anxiety blanched her face, and looked out at her haggard eyes.

"What did you see in the hall?" she asked of Douglas. Briefly he told the incident, and Lady Lennox clasped her hands in despair, exclaiming: "She has destroyed herself, and that was her farewell."

"Your ladys.h.i.+p is mistaken, I hope, for among the wild things she said this afternoon, was a longing to go home at once, as every hour here was torture to her. She may have attempted this in her delirium. Look in her wardrobe, Mrs. Mason, and see what clothes are gone. That will help us in our search. Be calm, I beg of you, my lady; I am sure we shall find the poor girl soon."

"It's no use looking, ma'am; she's gone in the clothes she had on, for she wouldn't let me take 'em off her. It was a black silk with c.r.a.pe tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and her black mantle's gone, and the close c.r.a.pe bonnet. Here's her gloves just where they dropped when we laid her down in her faint."

"Is her purse gone?" asked Mrs. Vane.

"It's always in her pocket, ma'am, when she drives out, she likes to toss a bit of money to the little lads that open gates, or hold the ponies while she gets flowers, and such like. She was so generous, so kind, poor dear!"

Here Harry came in, saying that no trace of the lost girl was visible in the house. But as he spoke, Jitomar's dark face and glittering eyes looked over his shoulder with an intelligent motion, which his mistress understood, and put into words.

"He says that one of the long windows in the little breakfast-room is unfastened and ajar. Go, gentlemen, at once, and take him with you, he is as keen as a hound, and will do good service. It is just possible that she may have remembered the one o'clock mail train, and taken it. Inquire, and if you find any trace of her, let us know without delay."

In an instant they were gone, and the anxious watchers left behind, traced their progress by the glimmer of the lantern, which Jitomar carried low, that he might follow the print her flying feet had left here and there in the damp earth.

A long hour pa.s.sed, then Harry and the Indian returned, bringing the good news that a tall lady in black had been seen at the station alone, had not been recognized, being veiled, and had taken the mail train to London. Douglas and Lennox had at once ordered horses, and gone with all speed to catch an early train that left a neighboring town in an hour or two. They would trace and discover the lost girl, if she was in London.

"There can be no doubt that it was she, no lady would be travelling alone at such an hour, and the station people say that she seemed in great haste. Now let us compose ourselves, hope for the best, and comfort her poor aunt."

As Mrs. Vane spoke, Harry frankly looked his admiration of the cheerful, courageous little woman, and his mother took her arm, saying, affectionately: "My dear, what should we do without you, for you have the nerves of a man, the quick wit of a woman, and presence of mind enough for us all."

The dreary day dawned, and slowly wore away. A dull rain fell, and a melancholy wind sighed among the yellowing leaves. All occupations flagged, all failed, except the one absorbing hope. The servants loitered, unreproved, and gossiped freely among themselves about the sad event. The ladies sat in Mrs. Berkeley's room, consoling her distress, while Harry haunted the station, waiting for an arrival or a telegram. At noon, the latter came.

"The lady in black not Diana. On another scent now. If that fails, home at night."

No one knew how much they leaned upon this hope, until it failed and all was uncertainty again. Harry searched house, garden, park and river-side, but found no trace of the lost girl beyond the point where her footsteps ended on the hard gravel of the road. So the long afternoon wore on, and at dusk the gentlemen returned, haggard, wet and weary, bringing no tidings of good cheer. The lady in black proved to be a handsome young governess, called suddenly to town by her father's dangerous illness. The second search was equally fruitless, and nowhere had Diana been seen.

Their despondent story was scarcely ended, when the bell rang. Every servant in the house sprang to answer it, and every occupant of the drawing-room listened breathlessly. A short parley followed the ring; then an astonished footman showed in a little farmer lad, with a bundle under his arm.

"He wants to see my lady, and would come in," said the man, lingering, as all eyes were fixed on the new-comer.

The boy looked important, excited and frightened, but when Lady Lennox bade him to do his errand without fear, he spoke up briskly, though his voice shook a little, and he now and then gave a nervous clutch at the bundle under his arm.

"Please, my lady, mother told me to come up as soon as ever I got home, so I ran off right away, knowing you'd be glad to hear something, even if it warn't good."

"Something about Miss Stuart, you mean?"

"Yes, my lady, I know where she is."

"Where? speak quickly, you shall be well paid for your tidings."

"In the pit, my lady," and the boy began to cry.

"No!"

Douglas spoke, and turned on the lad a face that stopped his crying, and sent the words to his lips faster than he could utter them, so full of mute entreaty was its glance of anguish.

"You see, sir, I was here this noon, and heard about it. Mrs. Mason's dream scared me, 'cause my brother was drowned in the pit. I couldn't help thinking of it all the afternoon, and when work was down, I went home that way. The first thing I saw was tracks in the red clay, coming from the lodge way. The pit has overflowed, and made a big pool, but just where it's deepest, the tracks stopped, and there I found these."

With a sudden gesture of the arm, he shook out the bundle; a torn mantle, heavily trimmed, and a crushed c.r.a.pe bonnet dropped upon the floor. Lady Lennox sank back in her chair, and George covered up his face with a groan; but Earl stood motionless, and Mrs. Vane looked as if the sight of these relics had confirmed some wordless fear.

"Perhaps she is not there, however," she said, below her breath. "She may have wandered on, and lost herself. O, let us look!"

"She is there, ma'am, I see her sperrit," and the boy's eyes dilated as they glanced fearfully about him while he spoke. "I was awful scared when I see them things, but she was good to me, and I loved her, so I took 'em up, and went on round the pool, meaning to strike off by the great ditch. Just as I got to the bit of brush that grows down by the old clay pits, something flew right up before me, something like a woman, all black but a white face and arms. It gave a strange screech, and seemed to go out of sight all in a minute, like as if it vanished in the pits. I know it warn't a real woman, it flew so, and looked so awful when it wailed, as granny says the sperrits do."

The boy paused, till Douglas beckoned solemnly, and left the room, with the one word, "Come!"

The brothers went, the lad followed, Mrs. Vane hid her face in Lady Lennox's lap, and neither stirred nor spoke for one long, dreadful hour.

"They are coming," whispered Mrs. Vane, when at length her quick ear caught the sound of many approaching feet. Slowly, steadily they came on, across the lawn, up the steps, through the hall; then there was a pause.

"Go and see if she is found, I cannot," implored Lady Lennox, spent and trembling, with the long suspense.

There was no need to go, for as she spoke, the wail of women's voices filled the air, and Lennox stood in the doorway with a face that made all questions needless.

He beckoned, and Mrs. Vane went to him as if her feet could hardly bear her, while her face might have been that of a dead woman, so white and stony had it grown. Drawing her outside, he said: "My mother must not see her yet. Mrs. Mason can do all that is necessary, if you will give her orders, and spare my mother the first sad duties. Douglas bade me come for you, for you are always ready."

"I will come; where is she?"

"In the library. Send the servants away, in pity to poor Earl. Harry cannot bear it, and it kills me to see her looking so."

"You found her there?"

"Yes, quite underneath the deepest water of the pool. That dream was surely sent by Heaven. Are you faint? Can you bear it?"

"I can bear anything. Go on."

Poor Diana! there she lay, a piteous sight, with stained and dripping garments, slimy weeds entangled in her long hair, a look of mortal woe stamped on her dead face, for the blue lips were parted, as if by the pa.s.sage of the last painful breath, and the gla.s.sy eyes seemed fixed imploringly upon some stern spectre, darker and more dreadful even than the desperate death she had sought and found.

A group of awe-stricken men and sobbing women stood about her. Harry leaned upon the high arm of the couch where they had laid her, with his head down upon his arm, struggling to control himself, for he had loved her with a boy's first love, and the horror of her end unmanned him. Douglas sat at the head of the couch, holding the dead hand, and looking at her with a white, tearless anguish, which made his face old and haggard, as with the pa.s.sage of long and heavy years.

With an air of quiet command, and eyes that never once fell on the dead girl, Mrs. Vane gave a few necessary orders, which cleared the room of all but the gentlemen and herself. Laying her hand softly on Earl's shoulder, she said, in a tone of tenderest compa.s.sion: "Come with me, and let me try to comfort you, while George and Harry take the poor girl to her room, that these sad tokens of her end may be removed, and she made beautiful for the eyes of those who love her."

He heard, but did not answer in words, for waving off the brothers, Earl took his dead love in his arms, and carrying her to her own room, laid her down tenderly, kissed her pale fore head with one lingering kiss, and then without a word shut himself into his own apartment.

Mrs. Vane watched him go with a dark glance, followed him up-stairs, and when his door closed, muttered low to herself: "He loved her better than I knew, but she has made my task easier than I dared to hope it would be, and now I can soon teach him to forget."

A strange smile pa.s.sed across her face as she spoke, and still, without a glance at the dead face, left the chamber for her own, whither Jitomar was soon summoned, and where he long remained.

Chapter VII.

The Footprint by the Pool

Three sad and solemn days had pa.s.sed, and now the house was still again. Mr. Berkeley had removed his wife, and the remains of his niece, and Lennox had gone with him. Mrs. Vane devoted herself to her hostess, who had been much affected by the shock, and to Harry, who was almost ill with the excitement and the sorrow. Douglas had hardly been seen, except by his own servant, who reported that he was very quiet, but in a stern and bitter mood, which made solitude his best comforter. Only twice had he emerged during those troubled days. Once, when Mrs. Vane's sweet voice came up from below singing a sacred melody in the twilight, he came out and paced to and fro in the long gallery, with a softer expression than his face had worn since the night of Diana's pa.s.sionate farewell. The second time was in answer to a tap at his door, on opening which he saw Jitomar, who with the graceful reverence of his race, bent on one knee, as with dark eyes full of sympathy, he delivered a lovely bouquet of the flowers Diana most loved, and oftenest wore. The first tears that had been seen there softened Earl's melancholy eyes, as he took the odorous gift, and with a grateful impulse stretched his hand to the giver. But Jitomar drew back with a gesture which signified that his mistress sent the offering, and glided away. Douglas went straight to the drawing-room, found Mrs. Vane alone, and inexpressibly touched by her tender thought of him, he thanked her warmly, let her detain him for an hour with her soothing conversation, and left her, feeling that comfort was possible when such an angel administered it.

On the third day, impelled by an unconquerable wish to revisit the lonely spot hereafter and forever to be haunted by the memory of that tragic death, he stole out, unperceived, and took his way to the pool. It lay there, dark and still under a gloomy sky; its banks trampled by many hasty feet, and in one spot the red clay still bore the impress of the pale shape drawn from the water on that memorable night. As he stood there, he remembered the lad's story of the spirit which he believed he had seen. With a dreary smile at the superst.i.tion of the boy, he followed his tracks along the bank as they branched off toward the old pits, now half filled with water by recent rains. Pausing where the boy had paused when the woman's figure sprang up before him with its eldritch cry, Douglas looked keenly all about, wondering if it were possible for any human being to vanish as the lad related. Several yards from the clump of bushes and coa.r.s.e gra.s.s at his feet, lay the wide pit; between it and the spot where he stood, stretched a smooth bed of clay, unmarked by the impress of any step, as he at first thought. A second and more scrutinizing glance showed him the print of a human foot on the very edge of the pit. Stepping lightly forward, he examined it. Not the boy's track, for he had not pa.s.sed the bushes, but turned and fled in terror, when the phantom seemed to vanish. It was a child's footprint, apparently, or that of a very small woman; probably the latter, for it was a slender, shapely print, cut deep into the yielding clay, as if by the impetus of a desperate spring. But whither had she sprung? Not across the pit, for that was impossible to any but a very active man, or a professional gymnast of either s.e.x. Douglas took the leap, and barely reached the other side, though a tall, agile man. Nor did he find any trace of the other leaper, though the gra.s.s that grew to the very edge on that side, might have concealed a lighter, surer tread than his own.

With a thrill of suspicion and dread, he looked down into the turbid water of the pit, asking himself if it were possible that two women had found their death so near together on that night? The footprint was not Diana's; hers was larger, and utterly unlike; whose was it, then? With a sudden impulse, he cut a long, forked pole, and searched the depths of the pit. Nothing was found; again and again he plunged in the pole and drew it carefully up, after sweeping the bottom in all directions. A dead branch, a fallen rod, a heavy stone were all he found.

As he stood pondering over the mysterious mark, having re-crossed the pit, some slight peculiarity in it suddenly seemed to give it a familiar aspect. Kneeling down, he examined it minutely, and as he looked, an expression of perplexity came into his face, while he groped for some recollection in the dimness of the past, the gloom of the present.

"Where have I seen a foot like this, so dainty, so slender, yet so strong, for the tread was firm here, the muscles wonderfully elastic to carry this unknown woman over that wide gap? Stay! it was not a foot, but a shoe that makes this mark so familiar. Who wears a shoe with a coquettish heel like this stamped here in the clay? A narrow sole, a fairy-like shape, a slight pressure downward at the toe, as if the wearer walked well and lightly, yet danced better than she walked? Good heavens? can it be? That word "danced' makes it clear to me-but it is impossible-unless-can she have discovered me, followed me, wrought me fresh harm, and again escaped me? I will be satisfied at all hazards, and if I find her, Virginie shall meet a double vengeance for a double wrong."

Up he sprang, as these thoughts swept through his mind, and like some one bent on some all-absorbing purpose, he dashed homeward through bush and brake, park and garden, till, coming to the lawn, he restrained his impetuosity, but held on his way, turning neither to the right nor the left till he stood in his own room. Without pausing for breath, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the satin slipper from the case, put it in his breast, and hurried back to the pool. Making sure that no one followed him, he cautiously advanced, and bending, laid the slipper in the mould of that mysterious foot. It fitted exactly! Outline, length, width, even the downward pressure at the toe corresponded, and the sole difference was in the depth of heel, as if the walking boot or shoe had been thicker than the slipper.

Bent on a.s.suring himself, Douglas pressed the slipper carefully into the smooth clay beside that other print, and every slight peculiarity was repeated with wonderful accuracy.

"I am satisfied," he muttered, adding, as he carefully effaced both the little tracks, "no one must follow this out but myself. I have sworn to find her and her accomplice, and henceforth, it shall be the business of my life to keep my vow."

A few moments he stood, buried in dark thoughts and memories, then putting up the slipper, he bent his steps toward the home of little Wat, the farmer's lad. He was water ing horses at the spring, his mother said, and Douglas strolled that way, saying he desired to give the boy something for the intelligence he brought three days before. Wat lounged against the wall, while the tired horses slowly drank their fill, but when he saw the gentleman approaching, he looked troubled, for his young brain had been sadly perplexed by the late events.

"I want to ask you a few questions, Wat; answer me truly, and I will thank you in a way you will like better than words," began Douglas, as the boy pulled off his hat, and stood staring.

"I'm ready; what will I say, sir?" he asked.

"Tell me just what sort of a thing or person the spirit looked like when you saw it by the pit?"

"A woman, sir, all black but her face and arms."

"Did she resemble the person we were searching for?"

"No, sir; leastways, I never saw miss looking so; in course she wouldn't when she was alive you know."

"Did the spirit look like the lady afterwards? when we found her, I mean?"

The boy pondered a minute, seemed perplexed, but answered slowly, as he grew a little pale: "No, sir, then she looked awful, but the spirit seemed scared-like, and screamed as any woman would if frightened."

"And she vanished in the pit, you say?"

"She couldn't go nowhere else, sir, 'cause she didn't turn."

"Did you see her go down into the water, Wat?"