LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 553, 27 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

CHANTRY MANOR HOUSE.

A Ghost Story. BY MRS HARTLEY, AUTHOR OF { HILDA AND I,’ ETC.

( Continued. ) For once she withdrew her usual vigilance, and even requested her daughter to favour their guest with some airs upon her lute ; and then, feeling well satisfied that she would not be disturbed, she went up to his bedroom, which was situated at the end of a long corridor, and was kept exclusively for visitors,

There she abstracted the letters, and read them ; but scarcely had she time to replace them in his saddle-bag when she heard the clank of a sword coming along the passage, and knew that the cavalier had retired for the night. She just managed to steal from the room into the adjoining dressing-room, and there secreted herself until her guest was safely shut in his own apartment, when she went down stairs, and, unknown to her husband, called up a trusty waiting man, and made known confidentially to him that the letters which the young officer was bearing to the King contained express instructions against his master and his family. She put a gold piece into his hand, and desired him to undertake for her that the horse which the cavalier had ridden should he too lame to proceed on its journey on the morrow, so that there may be a fair excuse for sending him on in a hired post chaise. She further charged the by no means unwilling Christopher to manage that the lamps of the carriage should not be lit at the starting, and to direct the coachmen (by means of a lantern, which he himself should carry) towards the moat.

The lady then assured her accomplice that it would be easy enough to rescue the cavalier from a watery grave, but that in so doing he must take care to unloose the saddle bag, and immerse it hopelessly. The next day it was not difficult to persuade the young man that he must keep strictly to the letter of his commands, and reach the King after dusk. His hostess felt, it is true, some compunctious ; but, as she valued her husband’s life before that of her visitor, she resolved that the letters at all hazards should be destroyed ; but so long as he remained in the house she did not dare meddle with them.

When the time for departure arrived, the young people took an affectionate though secret leave of each other, and the cavalier, grateful for the opportunity afforded him of continuing his journey, went forth to his doom. The old man, Christopher, supposing from the terror of his mistress that the young man, no less than his letters, was an enemy to his master’s family, not only guided the carriage into the moat, but made no effort to save the unfortunate cavalier who was inside it, and therefore had no chance of escape. He and his letters perished together ; and the story goes on to say that, ever since, the figure of a cavalier may be seen and heard in the fatal corridor, and also in the room where his secret mission was discovered and his fate sealed; that often the carriage is heard to drive up the avenue to the spot where the catastrophe occurred which resulted in his tragic death, but never farther. * * * * *

Such was the legend of Chantry; and my friend ended by telling me that a few years before my tenancy of the old mansion it was occupied by a family who were absent from home a great deal, and were in the habit of returning unexpectedly. One night the lodge keeper was aroused by the sounds of carriage wheels which came rapidly along the road, and then pulled up. The man went out; the horses were snorting impatiently ; he opened the gates and they passed through. A few stars were shining in the heavens, but, to his astonishment and terror, he could not discern any object, and when he called out there was no response. Upon inquiry in the morning it was found that the family had not arrived, and that no carriage had gone to the house or stables that night. Theold man published his adventure far and near through the village, but only got laughed at for his pains, and was advised not to leave his warm bed again, for it was ‘ only the phantom carriage going to the moat.’ It need scarcely be recorded, he never did. I went home comforted, though I can scarcely say why. The story had not been such a very dreadful one ; and it was a satisfaction to feel that the house was haunted by the innocent victim rather than the murderers, though why he should revenge himself by frightening people out of their senses who were not even descended from those who had injured him, I could not imagine. Any way, the place seemed to have a fascination for me. I felt interested in the dining-room, formerly the banqueting hall, where the young cavalier had partaken of such fatal hospitality; in the drawingroom, in which probably the fair girl had played for the last time, in her unconscious happiness, the alluring strains which lulled to sleep every thought of honour and loyalty and duty. I visited the moat, and looked long and earnestly into the deep sullen water, wherein any dark history of crime might well be buried. I fancied I could see the flickering light of the lantern held by the remorseless Christopher, as he turned aside from the road and guided the carriage with its living freight to their doom. I came to think, as I pondered upon the legend, that nothing 1 either saw or heard would frighten me again; I even imagined that the ghosts would understand how entirely my sympathies were aroused, and hold me exempt from further visitation. In a few days I went up to London quite cheerfully, and brought my wife home. A week rolled smoothly on, and nothing of any kind occurred to molest us from the living or the dead. Fatal lull before the storm ! It was the middle of January; balls and dinner parties were enlivening our neighbourhood, from one of which we returned shortly before midnight. On coming to our rooms my wife rang her bell, and in a little time Trevor’s steps could be heard coming quietly along the corridor. Apparently she had just reached the steps leading to our landing when we were startled by a loud scream, my wife’s door \v as opened unceremoniously, and Trevor rushed in, an unlighted candle in one hand, her face white as ashes, ■ exclaiming in a tone of extreme terror, ‘ 0 ma’am, the ghost!’ I emerged from my dressing room, and went at once to the rescue ; but on seeiug the woman so painfully agitated, I took my wife aside and recommended her to ask no questions until she should have calmed down a little. {To he continued)