LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2483, 22 March 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

GHOSTS AT GSEYFBIARS. * It Is an honest ghost—that let me tell you —Hamlet. Greyfriars was to be my home. Grandma wishtd It, and papa consented. Grandma was the magnate of our family—the proprietress of Gray friars, and all its belongings and wealth. Bhe was my father’s step-mother only—the estate was hers in her own right, with pr'wer to dispoee of it as she pleased. She knew little of me, having only seen me a di zea limes, hat she fancied a similarity between my character and her own, and, m 'reover, I had been named after her ; and when the expressed a wish that I should visit her for an indefinite period, my dear, arxious father became impressed with the belief that I should bo her chosen heiress. I found < royf itra a lovely, picturesque old place, but quiet and lonely. It stood on the summit of a densely-wooded bill ; not another dwelling within two minutes’ walk, and the village still farther away. Our household was sma 1, consisting of grandma, myself, three women servants, and two men, while in the lodge outside slept the gardener and oi-achmen.

The house was a fine old mansion, very large —with geat wide staircases and roomy halls, andljv,h'.lo suites of rooms shut up unooonpl d, and an old bell-tower, which popular superstition declared was haunted.

This belfrey on tho roof was approached from inside the house by means of a narrow staircase ascending from the too floor. It had opened windows on every side, and the trap-door that gave enlranee to It was furnished with a rusty lock and bolt ; in the centre a great bell hung silently—its heavy coil of rope rotting beside it. The ghostly legend of the place was to the effect that a former owner of Greyfriars, being orszy, decoyed his promised bride into the lonely lower end there imprisoned her. With the characteristic and dreadful cunning of a madman he contrived to keep her concealed, and no one seems to have even suspected her presence in such a place. Months went by—the bereaved lover mourned for her as one who sorrows without hope —until, one dreary winter day, ho also disappeared, and none knew whither. His habits being eccentric, this excited little remark; tho servants supposed him absent on a sudden journey, and he'd all things in readiness for his return ; until one night the great bell rang out an alarm —but so faintly, feebly, slowly, it seemed as if a dying hand had tolled it; the frightened servants, unaware of any human presence in the belfry, dared not answer—and presently the bell hung silently once more j but in the morning—assistance being summoned from the village, and the belfry searched, on awful spectacle presented itself ; two corpses—one so decomposed that only by her clothing could they recognise the long lost girl; the other —that of her lover and murderer —scarcely cold. and stretched beneath the bell, with the rope still i grasped in hia stiffened fingers. After this the tower got the name cf being hounted, and gradually fell quite Into disuse. Not a servant wruld have ventured even upon the top floor of Greyfriars ; but I had wandered through teifry an dall before ever I heard the sad tale, j' ever afterward though. I have a horror of ghost stories, and no de sire to test their veracity. Grandma was a very proud old lady, obstinate, headstrong, and self-willed. I loved her dearly, but I had a temper too One day wa quarrelled for the first and last time

I had lived with her nearly six months. fl ne afternoon aha sent for me to her room, and received me with a grave, stern faca. She turned aside as I bent down to embrace her, and pointed silently to a chair. I sat down, wondering. She laid her wax-like, tremulous old hand upon a folded parchment that lay beside her. “ Margaret,” said she, this is my will, in which you are named my heiress. You have grown very dear to me, child ; dear as my own fle-h and blood, but I fear you are going to grieve me. What kept you out in the grounds so late last night? And from whom did yon receive the note you are C'rrylng in your bosom?” “ Oh, the sharp old eyes I round and black, and keen as a hawk's, they seemed to look into one’s very soul. My color roee beneath them. But I had nothing to conceal or be ashamed of. Charles Wilton had been my promised husband long before I came to Grandma. I took the note from my dress and placed it in her hand. “You can read It yonroelf, grandma,” I said qniedy. And she did read it, aloud. It ran thus : “ Dbarest Mckoaret —I want to see yon. Your father thinks it best I should not call at the house without Mrs Staunton’s permission. Will you walk in the garden between eight and nine this evening ? I cannot come earlier, '• Fondly and faithfully yonrs, “ Charley.” Grandma sat silent, holding the note in her hand, and seemingly lost in thonght. I took it from her gently. “ There is no treason, there, grandma,” I said. She looked up with a start, ‘ M«rg»ret,’ said she. ‘yon a good, honest girl. I will make you a rich womsn 1 Give up this foolish love affrir. Yon cannot marry young Wilton. I must choose your husband myself.’ Give up Charley ! I stared at her in utter incredulity. Give up my heart’s true love for the sake of money! X laughed alond at the tnought. * You are jesting surely, grandma,’ I said. • Why, I love Charley—how can I give him up ?’ * And do von love poverty ?’ she[demanded sharply, ‘ You had a taste of it before you oame here—you will find it worse to go back to. A poor young country doctor is no match for the heiress of Greyfriars—well enough perhaps when you could do no better, but not now —not now 1’ I arose indignantly. ‘ You ut f erly misunderstand my character, grandma, if you think I could sell my heart and faith for money. I would not accept fortune as the price of truth and love ! I thank you for your kind intentions, grandma ; but, on such terms, I shall never be your heiress—and this decision ; time can never change !’ ‘ Then we part to morrow morning. My roof shall not harbor disobedience and ingratitude ! Good night. ’ And thus dismissed, I sought my own chamber with a heavy, aching heart.

I lay awake in my bed that night, too much distressed to sleep. It was so sidty strange to go to rest without tho accustomed good night kiss and blessing—so hard to bear the accusation of disobedience and Ingratitude to one I loved so well. Yet I felt that I had acted rightly—my conscience acquitted me although my heart still grieved. It was the loss of grandma’s confidence and friendship that pained me. If she would only be reconciled, I felt that I should not care much for the loss of a fortune which, after all, I had never possessed, and therefore could not greatly miss. I wondered whether, perhaps by this time (her anger having somewhat cooled), she also might not be feeling sorry for our quarrel. Might she not even, if I ventured into her room, bid me a kind ‘good night ?* I resolved to make the trial, late as it was, and, as I slid noiselessly from the bed to the floor, the great clock In the hall outside my door stauck twelve. A pitch dark night There seemed to be neither moon nor stars, all was black, as Erebus, and silent, and still as death. I groped very cautiously to find a match. Suddenly my heart gave a great bound ) I stood still, listening. Into the darkness and the silence crapt a sound of whispering voices and of stealthy steps. My first thought was of tho ghost. Did it indeed, as the servants said, come down from the cld bell tower on certain nights and roam through tho lonely house 7 Would It come here 7 My coward heart boat so that it almost choked me, my eyes dilated with their vain endeavor to pierce the darkness I could actually feel my face grow white with horror, when I suddenly heard another a )und.

I leaned forward, listening intently. A sharp metalic, rasping noise, like strel grating against steel. It broke off—was resumed again this time X recognised It. It was the sound of filing a lock—there were burglars in the house ! In the relief of finding that it was not a ghojt, I actually beoeme almost calm. Burglars were tangible flesh and biood, I felt able to cope with what I could comprehend ; I stole softly to the head of the stairs and looked over. There was light in the diningroom, and from thence the no'se of filing came ; they were trying to open the great chest where grandma kept the plate! In an instant I was at her door: Our quarrel was forgotten, anx'ety for her safety was my only thonght I knew she had money and jewels In her room, I opened the door and went in.

A dim light was burning in her room, and I saw that she was not asleep, but rose from her pillow at sight of me. Motioning her to silence, I whispered the fearful discovery I had made. She was a brave old woman, and understood the situation in a moment. She did not speak, but she took my face between her bands and drew it down to hers, and kissed me earnestly—once—twice—thrice—and I understood that wo were reconciled.

* We can’t alarm the servants,’ I whispered. ‘ for the robbsra are down stairs, and perhaps have secured them already ; but I have a plan ’ —for indeed my heart was thrilling wildly with a bold resolve. * Lock your door when Igo out—l am going, God willing, to the old bell tower, to ring the alarm bell for our neighbors !’

In my excitement and the desperation of our case, I had clean forgotten the ghost 1 * She bade ‘ God bless me her old lips quivering, her eyes like sparks of fire. I went out softly—heard her turn the key inside—that instant the light downstairs gleamed upon the staircase—the burglars were coming up!

I glanced wildly around, Where could I hide myself? A large, old-fashioned circa stood up against a recess In the wall Into which it was too large to fit—quick as lightning I glided behind it. A man came up the stairs slowly, stealthily ; I could see him from my hiding place, with a mask upon his face and a dark lantern in his hand. His eye fell on my door, standing open. He went toward it In doing so ho had to pass the clock. He stopped and raised the lantern to its face. Ob, how my heart beat! I thought he would surely hear it I I held my breath in an agony of fear, and felt as if I was dying ! But ha only muttered, ‘ Past one o'clock I* and passed on into my room. Now was my opportunity, I Hipped from my hiding-place, gathered my nightdress around me, and, noiselessly ns a shadow, flitted past the door and gained the stairs unseen.

Up up I went with light bare fort, over tho polished oaken stairs that neve'" gave bsck a sound. I gained the deserted top floor, and groped my way along to the narrow staircase that led to the belfry. Oh how my heart was beating ! My breath came in short gasps. In my soul 1 was crying—‘lt ii for grandma’s sake. Lord, help me to save her—help me to be brave 1’

Or, on, np the steep old steps and in at the trap door. I heard a sound behind me. Doubth as it was the rats, but I thought it was the burglar pursuing me. Iu an Instant I had closed the trap, shot home the rusty bolt and look, and stood there, lacked in the belfry.

A dim, grey light, like earliest dawn, made every object vi-ible. I seized the rope with both hands. At that instant I remembered the story of tho tower—remembered, with a thrill of natural horror, that I war standing where the mad murderer fell, holdng tho rope hla dead hand grasped so firmly, while in that corner yonder, where the dead girl had lain A dreadful, piercing soream broke from my lips— not all the burglars In tho world cunld have kept it down. Madness of h >rror ! what did I behold ? A woman’s white-robed form, with dark, dilated eyes fixed on me, a white, wild face, and streaming hair, and bare arms raised as if to clutch the rope and rend it from my hands ! Despair took hold upon me. ‘Grandma I Grandma!’ I screamed! ‘ They will murder her !’

I clung to the rope, pulling with all my strength. The phantom stood gesticnlating wildly. The heavy bell began at last to tremble. It moved—lt swung—the iron tongue struck at its sides. Clang! clang 1 clang! the wild alarm pealed forth again, and again, and again. I shrieked to the ghcst: 'Keep off. in the name of Hcavtnl’ Clang! clang! with deafening clash the bell went on. My courage rose. I mocked the figure, end laughed and shouted wildly. Then I beard voiots—the discharge of firearms. Help had come to grandma. My own strong nerves gave way, and I fainted on the belfry floor. I recovered in my own room. The servants had found me lying under the bell. To this day I shudder at the thought of being locked In that horrible place alone. Grandma was unhurt, her property was saved, and the robbers arrested before they could escape. And grandma said it was ell thanks to my courage ; and though she did not make me her heiress (having passed her woid to the contrary) she did what I liked much bettor—she made a new will, naming Charley and myself joint heirs, provided we got married immediately, which we did, ‘ and lived happy ever after.’ And the appaiition in the belfry ? I was near (o-getting that. It was a real, genuine vision or shade, I can assure you. It seems the tower had at one period r.f its history been used as a sort of storeroom for old rubbUh, among other things an Immense cracked mirror had boon put there, and it was my own reflection in the glass that I had seen; but so white, so wild, and changed by excitement and fear that I never suspected the identity t f the form, and came very near being frightened to death by a gl'mpse of my own face.

We have lived several in the old house now—Charley and I—and had two rosy babies born to us ; but all our days are happy, peaceful ones, undisturbed hy visionary terrors. Whether the tower is haunted or not I cannot tell, for that was my fir;t and last experience of the ghost of Grey friars.