LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1245, 4 March 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. A GHOST STORY, By Edmund Yates. [From the TT-oWd] Continued ‘No, no,’ interrupted Bagenall Horton * -ince it happ ued 1 have nev- r asked you to teil this story, Wolfrey, though I have been icngi"g to hear it; and it was n tmy suggestion now, knowing how aver e you are—<>r at least you were before you last left England to make any allusion to the sul ji-ct ; but if you have g t over that, and if the story is ever to be told, we may as well hear it now ’ ‘I think it better that it should be known,’ the gentleman called Mr Wolfrey said, still in the same char cold tone. *As you were the unwilling and unwitting cause of my experience then, it is only right that you should be among the first to hear it; but as the store will be somewhat 1- ng, a.id as I do not know that, eveu after this good dinmr’ we had all noticed that he ha-; scarcely touched anything-‘I should have strength to get through it ad. perhaps you will explain about the house and how 1 came to visit it.’ ‘Then send the claret r and once again, George, said our host, appealing to the parner ; ‘and let me try and recall all the details of my connection with that confounded place. It has its part in the clouded memo ries of my life,’ he continued, a shade passing over his face ; ‘ but that is neither-here nor there, and I think of it as little as possible. Let me see then,’ ho said, alter the glas-ses had all been refilled and some c gars hud been lighted. ‘lt was ten years ago, and I had just retmned from India, thinking myself a great swed with plenty of money at my back, and with as little idea of ever becoming a wine-merchant as of turning clown at a circus. I went into society a good deal in those days, dancing parties, and all that kind of thing, aud I - well, 1 fell in love, and was engaged to he married. ’ Here Horton paused for a moment, and we all of us, even Tommy Tupraan, tried to look sympathetic. ‘ I am not going to tell you the lady’s name,’ he continued; ‘some of you may have heard of it perhaps, for the affair was much talked of at the time. Is will be sufficient to say that she belonged to a superior rank iu life to mine, that her people though*, they were doing me great honour iu giving her to me, aud expected me to do a great deal iu return. I didn’t care what I did ;it was my pride to anticipate her every wisii ; and when it became a question of where we should live after we were married, I told her she should have the best house iu London, and at once proceeded to look after it. I consulted the leading house agents, and was taken by tbom over many ‘'desirable maosious” and “palatial residences,” but only one specially struck my fancy —No. 80 Severn square, in the very heart of the fashionable quarter of London, but, in ap pearance, in interest, in what I may call “feeling,” as far removed from the giddy vanities as if it had been a turreted c -stle with a drawbridge, moat, and dungeon keep in the heart >f Gloucestershire.

* What was it’s history, i asked the agent when he first mention* d it to me. It had belonged he said, fur many years to the fain ly of Lord St a board, the great naval commander; and had been occupied during her lifetime by the Honourable Miss Bracewell, a strange old maiden lady, the last surviving member of the race. She died several years ago, and since then the house has been let furnished at vari ms times on short tenancies. 'ow the lease and furniture were to be sold.

‘ Something in the manner of Mr Glenluoe the agent, a- he gave me this informa tion, impressed me oddly, and I wanted more particulars Was the Louse in demand ? Were there many people after it! Why, when taken furnished, had it been let for short terms only ? Mr Glenluce shrugged his shoulders. He would be frank with me. he said. There was a ridicul us rumour that the house was haunted ; the tenants could nut stop there; they said tiiey saw seinehody or heard something, but did not know what probably all nonsense. Truth of the matter was, the iionou able Miss Braceweil did not die a natural death ; >• as found murdered-strangled, in her bed, in point, of fact; and doubtless hence the preposterous rumours. The notion of access to a haunted house, which would have excited the curiosity of many, the fear of more, had no sort of interest* for me. 1 knew already, from what Mr Glenluce had told me, that the place was so thoroughly out of repair that it would require to be gutted and re uewed throughout before it was tit for my habitation ; and with absolutely new walls, floors, cediugs, decorations, and furniture, there would be b"t little chance of any ghostly visitors. It was an unequalled situation at a tolerably cheap rate, a*d I made an appointment with Mr Glenluce to take mo over the premises, determining if they suited to close t he bargain. ‘ Certainly it was a strange weird-looking p’ace as we surveyed it from the outside. The windows grimy and bespattered with the black deposit of a hundred Loudon rainstorms, the door paintlcss, the area-railings rusty and broken. High up over the worn uneven steps were two scrolls of ironwork joined together in the centre, where the battered glass lamp, apparently made for oil and not for gas, still hung; and on either side were t ; 'e painted extinguishers in which tne links of bygone generations had b'en quenched. An old woman, bowed with age and stiff wi’h rheumatism, which showed itself in her gnarled joints, opened the door, responsive to Mr Gleuluce’s ring—a y»ry old woman, with i right beady eyes in a dull white ace, on which bristly gray hairs grew in abnormal pi ces. She looked somewhat snrjracd at being pninamno l , but, recognisiug the agent, b >bbad a curtsy and gave ns admittance. She was very deaf and almost usd as, Mr Glenluce toid me, but was the only person he could procure, no m ‘tter what wages were offered, to sleep in the bouse, 'he had been there in Miss Bracewell’s time as lady’s-maid, he added, with a. confide tial wins, and was “sup* ; OS ‘‘t to 'anow a 1 it ” Proceeded by this strange attendant wo entered tho hall, which was lofty and spacious, and went through th dining room, drawingroom and principal bedrooms. I but li- tie of them q&er this iaj*e

of time, save that the apartments and furniture pretty weli f dfi'led my p ec -nceived notions of th.-m : they were all wholly out of date, aud the one would have to be rebuilt and the other replaced h fore I could think of entering the house I do remember, though, that I noticed a narrow tortuous private staircase from th-;top of the house at the back to the basement, with private or concealed doors to it from the different floors, ‘ I have tol l you that T am not easily impressed by gbos’ ly notions; but the damp mouldy smell, and the sepulchral silence reigning throughout the house, had had their effect upon me ; and I was about to whisper to Mr ’.lenluce to come away as quickly as possible, when the old woman, who had not spoken hitherto, but ev deutly di 'ined my errand, nudged the agent’s elbow. “ ake him down stairs, ’ she said Mr Gienluce, who was not aware of my intention :;f extensive rehabilitation, seemed, I th- ught, somewhat annoyed at the suggestion ; but 8 eing that I had heard the remark, he made no objection, and, accompanied by our weird guide, we descended the stone stairs to the basement. The houses of the peri id when Severn square was almost a suburb of London had gardens generally in the rear, and beneath these gardens a tun; el or subway often led to detached kitchens and stables ; to laundries wiih rooms over them ; to within or beyond the kitchens; while under the mews at the back w--r - large • ellars or lofts. Ho. 80 was of this description. After we had gone through the ordinary kitchens, pantries, larders, and domestic offices, the old woma-- led us through the underground tunnel to a detatched room, which might have been used as a servants’ hall. At the end of this room -was a door, which, on opening I found led into a largo vaulted cellar, apparently half filled with rubbish and lumber. I motioned the old woman to approach with her light ; but by signs she peremptorily refused to advance a step; so, taking the lamp from her hand, I entered the cedar and looked round it. There were some old trunks and hampers, a broken washstaud, a rickety set of drawers —the more domestic refuse that one would have expected to find stowed away in such a place ; but in looking round care ully, and in passing the lamp over the walls, I di c jvered |auother door, heavily damned with iron and securely fastened, which did not seem to have been opened for generations, A futile attempt to screen it from casual bservation had evidently been made by fitring over the door a rough set of boarded shelves, on which were some empty earthenware pots and bott’e* 1 andlea there were none ; and when I placed my fingers in the keyhole and attempted to shake the door, I merely created a strange hollow rumbling echo,’ which, I will a imit, gave me a certain feeling of fright. I withdrew my fingirs quickly, and returned to the servants haff, where I found the old woman watching my movements with a stra gely troubled expression of countenance. I was only too glad toe-cape fiom the place, aud we left at once. .Th hf continued.)