LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 582, 1 May 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

STEEPSIDE,

A Ghost Story.

( Concluded.')

Flow this old woman’s weakness manifested itself in a wild and continual desire to copy every written document she saw. If, on her market-day visits to the village, any written notice upon the church doors chanced to catch her eye as she passed, she would immediately pause, draw out pencil and paper from her pocket, and stand muttering to herself until she had closely transcribed the whole of the placard, when she would quietly return the copy to her pocket and go her way. * Thinking it my duty, as pastor of the village, to make myself acquainted with this poor creature, who had thus become one of my flock, I went occasionally to visit her, in the hope that I might possibly discover the cause of her strange disorder (which 1 suspected had its origin in some calamity of her earlier days), and so qualify myself to afford her the advice and comfort she might need. During the first two or three visits I paid her 1 could elicit nothing. She sat still as a statue, and watched me sullenly while I spoke to her of the mysteries and consolations of our faith, exhorting her vainly to make confession and obtain that peace of heart and mind which the sacrament of penance could alone bestow. Well, it chanced that on the occasion of one of these visits I took with me, besides my prayerbook, a small sheet of paper, on which I had written a few passages of Scripture, such as I conjectured to be most suited to her soul’s necessity. I found her, as usual, moody and reserved, until I drew from my missal the sheet of transcribed texts and put it into her hand. In an instant her manner changed. The madness gleamed in her eyes, and she began searching nervously for pencil. ‘ I can do it !’ she cried. ‘My writing was always like hers, for we learnt together when we were children. He will never know I wrote it; we shall dupe him easily. Already I have practised her signature many times—soon I shall be able to make it exactly like her own hand. And I shall tell her, my lady, that he would have deceived her, that I overheard him love-making to another girl—that I discovered his falsehood—his bareness —and that he fled in his shame from the county. Yes, yes, we will dupe them both.’

‘ In this fashion she chattered and muttered feverishly for some minutes, till I grew alarmed, and taking her by the shoulders, tried to shake back the senses into her distracted brain. ‘ What ails you, foolish old woman?’cried I. ‘I am not ‘ miladi’—l am your parish pastor. Say your Pater Noster, or your Ave, and drive Satan away.’ ‘ I am not sure whether my words or the removal of the unlucky manuscript recalled her wandering wits. At any rate, she speedily recovered, and, after doing my best to soothe and calm her by leading her to speak on other topics, I quitted the cottage re-assured. * Not long after this episode a neighbour called at my house one morning, and told me that, having missed the old woman from the weekly market, and knowing how regular she had always been in her attendance, he had gone to her dwelling and found her lying sick and desiring to see me. Of course I immediately prepared to comply with her request, providing myself in ease I should find her anxious for absolution an t the viaticum. Directly I entered her hut, she beckoned me to the bedside, and said in a low, hurried voice : “ ‘ Father, I wish to confess to you at once, for I know I am going to die.” ‘ Perceiving that, for the present at least, she was perfectly sane, I willingly complied

with her request, and heard her slowly and pa'nfully unburden her miserable soul. * Monsieur, if the story with which Virginie Giraud intrusted me had been told only in her sacramental confession, I should not have been able to repeat it to you. But when the final words of peace had been spoken, she took a packet of papers from beneath her pillow and placed it in my hands. * Here, father,’ she said, ‘is the substance of my history. When I am dead, you are free to make what use of it you please. It may warn some, perhaps, from yielding to the great temptation which overcame me.’

“ ‘ The temptation of a bribe ? ” said I inquiringly. She turned her failing sight towards my face and shook her head feebly. “No bribe, father,” she answered. “Do you believe I would have done what I did for mere coin ? ”

‘I gave no reply, ‘for her words were enigmatical to me, and I was loth to harrass with my curiosity a soul so near its departure as hers. So I leaned back in my chair and sat silent, in the hope that, being wearied with her religious exercises, she might be able to sleep a little. But, no doubt, my last question, working in her disordered mind, awol ,e again the madness that had only slumbered for a time. Suddenly she raised herself on her pillow, pressed her withered hands to her head, and cried out wildly : * Money !—money to me, who would have sold my own soul I would for one day of his love ! Ah ! I could have flung it back in their faces!—fools that they were to believe I cared for gold ! Philip ! Philip ! you were mad to think of an heiress as a wife; it had been better for you had you cared to look on me—on me who loved you so! Then I should never have ruined you—never betrayed you to Lady Sarah ! But I could not forgive the hard words you gave me; I could not forgive your love for Julia ! Shall I ever go to paradise—to paradise where the saints are ? Will they let me in there ? will they suffer my soul among them ? Or shall I never leave purgatory, but burn, and burn, and burn there always uncleansed ? For, oh ! if all the past should come back to me a thousand years hence, I should do the same thing again, Phil Brian, for love of you!”

‘ She started from the bed in her delirium; there came a rattling sound in her throat—a sudden choking cry—and in a moment her breast and pillow and quilt were deluged with a crimson stream ! In her paroxysm she had burst a blood-vessel. I sprang forward to catch her as she fell prone upon the brick floor; raised her in my arms, and gazed at her distorted features. There was no breath from her reddened lips. Virginie Giraud was a corpse.

‘ Thus iu her madness was told the secret of her life and her crime ; a secret she would not confess even to me in her sane moments. It was no greed of gold, but despised and vindictive love that lay behind all the horrors she had related. From my soul I pitied the poor dead wretch, for I dimly comprehended what a hell her existence on earth had been.

‘ The written account of the Steepside tragedy with which she had entrusted me furnished, in somewhat briefer language, the story I have just read to you, and many of its more important details have subsequently been verified by me on application to other sources, so that in that paper you have the testimony of an eye-witness to the facts, as well as the support of legal evidence. ‘ Some forty years after Yirginie’s death, monsieur, family reasons obliged me to seek temporary release from duty and come to England; and, finding that circumstances would keep me in the country for some time, I came here and went to see that house. But the tenant at the lodge could only tell me that Steepside was empty then, and had been empty for years past; and I have discovered that, since that horrible 22nd of December, it never had an occupant. Sir Julian, to whom it belonged by purchase, left no immediate heirs, and his relatives squabbled between themselves over the property, till one by one the disputing parties died off, and now there is no one enterprising enough to resuscitate the lawsuit.’ Rising to take my leave of the genial old man, it occurred tome as extremely probable that he might have been led to form some opinion worth hearing with regard to the nature of the strange appearances at Steepside, and 1 ventured accordingly to make the inquiry. ‘lf my views on the subject have any value or interest for you. ’ said he, ‘ you are very welcome to know them. As a priest of the Catholic Church, I cannot accept the popular notions about ghostly visitations. Such experiences as yours in that ill-fated mansion are explicable only to me on the following hypothesis. There is a Power greater than the powers of evil; a Will to which even demons must submit. It is not inconsistent with Christian doctrine to suppose that, in cases of such terrible crimes as that we have been discussing, the evil spirits who prompted these crimes may, for a period more or less lengthy, be forced to haunt the scene of their machinations, and re-enact there, in phantom show, the horrors they once caused in reality. Naturally —or perhaps,’ said he, breaking off with a smile, ‘I ought rather to say super-naturally—• these demons, in order to manifest themselves, would be forced to resume some shape that would them with the crime they had suggested ; and, in such a case, what more likely than that they should adopt the spectral forms of their human victims—murdered and murderer, or otherwise, according to the nature of the wickedness perpetrated ? This is but an amateur opinion, monsieur; I offer it as an individual, not as a priest speaking on the part of the Church. But it may serve to account for a real difficulty, and may be held without impiety. Of one thing at least we may rest assured as Christian men ; that the souls of the dead, whether of saints or sinners, are in God’s safe keeping, and walk the earth no more. ’

Then I shook banns with M. Pierre, and we parted. And after that, reader, I went to ray friend’s house, and spent my Christmas week right merrily.

Brotherly T.ovr. is Masonuy —-The frirish /’inn's says ; “ Hie list Masonic kod' r e of Jerusalem is a beautiful illus. r, ration of the cosr.rm-ditan nature of the u-iuciplcs of brotherly love in practical qjeration. The Master is au American, the Past Master an Englishman, the Senior Warden a German, the Junior Warden a ative, the Treasurer a Turk, the Secretary i Frenchman, the Senior Deacon a Persian, he Junior Deac n a Turk. There are Jhristiaus, Mahommedans, and Jews in the Lodge,”