LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2590, 26 July 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE FACE IN THE GLASS. A Ghost Stokt. TH3 WABNINO. In far-distant Yorkshire, many years ago, stood an old manor house—a gray, grim building rurrounding an open court-yard, in the middle of which played a melancholy fountain. The house was close to the wide moors that at-etch away to the city of York, and beside the village there was not another place within miles. Except for the housekeeper and the usual staff of servants the house had been uninhabited now for some time, for the late owner had been a great traveller, and bad been drowned during his last voyage; close at home too, which made it jail the sadder, and be was brought back to be burle'd In the dreary family vault one day ia the spring before my story opens. Hoes that occurrence the housekeeper declared that, whenever there weie storms at sea, the wind used to howl [and wail down the long passage like a soul In pain, and that a dreadful sound of dripping water always was to be heard in the room where the poo» body was laid, in the Interval before the foneral. There were also some mysterious chambers in the mansion where the doors disappeared periodically, and entrance to them was thereby prevented for months together ; and when they were at last restored, the walls would be found adorn el with diabolical sketches of fiends, and the furniture would be arranged in anything but an artistic manner. However, this did not seem to weigh very heavily on the spirits of the new owners, Mr and Mrs Monroe, a high.spirited, courageous couple, who had not long been married, and were as happy as the day was long. Mrs Monroe, indeed, professed herself most anxious to see one of those wonderful ghosts ; bat then she was strong minded, and actually thought nothing of going to bed alone in the dark, and she would visit the haunted chambers aud walk about the passages at night nntil the servants almost believed she must be a ghost herself, so extremely fearless was she on the subject. Nor was her husband in any way behindhand in assisting her In her ghost hunts, but be was out a great deal hunting and shooting just then, and often came home simply to dine and fall asleep, sometimes even over the dinner-table itself, with sheer fatigne. Mr Monroe had been one of a large f-imily who had lived In a cheerful house in sunny Kent, aud had had very little time there for the reading, writing, and walking, with which she new filled np her days in the most satisfactory manner, and she had not yet found the time hang heavily on her bands; but still she was not very sorry when the first hard frosts [of the rigorous Yorkshire winter bound np the ground into an iron mass, and put a stop to the out-door amusements which took her husband so constantly away from her aide. Occasional falls of snow, too, rather spoiled his shooting, and he oonld only potter about the house, farm, and the little park, getting an occasional seabird that was driven in from the coa3 v , and that gave him an evening’s work looking it out ia one of bis numerous Bewick-illustrated books, for as ha never could find it there, the occupation was as endless as it was enthralling. This was very well for the first fortnight or so, and Mrs Monroe could help him with his Bewick at night; but at last the snow began to fall in earnest; and after four days of It, with scarcely a break In the chilly gray sky, when the post had never come In at all, and the one newspaper of the week had never been delivered, Mrs Monroe was beginnine to wonder if it would be wicked to pray for a thaw; for she foresaw that unless something new could be contrived in the way of amusement for her lord and master, she would discover what having too mnoh of a good thing was like ; for even her company had began to pall, and he fceoame first fidgety, next complaining, then fractions about his dinner, then, very, very cross. At last a bright idea struck her. ‘ Hugh,’ she said, ‘let us get Betty’s keys from her this very moment, and go in for a regular ghost hunt. The evening has come on very rapidly, and the moon on the snow will make the rooms as bright as day ; see,’ she added, drawing apart the heavy crimson curtains that hung over the deep, sma’lpaned windows, ‘ the clouds are all gone, and to-morrow yon may be able to shoot again, and we may never have snoh a glorious opportunity for months to come, so den’t let as miss It; we’re both tired of sitting over the fire, and a rush through all those mysterious rooms above our bedroom floor will give ua an appetite f r dinner j even if we are not rewarded by the sight of the much-to-bc-deslred bogie.’ ‘ It will be horribly cold,’ answered Hugh, shrugging np his shoulder and stretching out his hands to the big fire that biased up tbe chimney; • and besides, If we did see a ghost, it would be the death of you; yon know it’s only because you didn’t believe ia Betty’s stories that you are so courageous.’ • My dear Hugh,’ said Ruth, impressively, *1 don’t for one moment suppose we shall see anything worse than ourselves, as old nurse used to say ; but if we did, what could possibly happen to ns ? I have been up and about all hours of the night, especially when Betty was so 111 the week before last, and really if there were anything to be seen, I should have seen it thou ; however, I won’t go now if you don’t like.’ * Oh, we’ll go,’ answered Hugh ; ‘ I was rather lazy, that’s all.’ And so saying, he rang tbe bell and ordered the keys ; and after a little delay a goodly asso. tment of all sizes and sp’ciea of keys was brought them, and s’arted Mr and Mrs Monroe on their ghost hunt. Hugh’s spirits rose with the search, and they went up stairs and down-stairs, unlooking many a cupboard and rooom that nctb.en looked at for months, aud maybe years, but not a ghost was to be seen. Every now and then a most suggestive rustle was to be hoar I •nong the dusty hangings of the oak four-poi-ters, and Hugh and Ruth held each others hands a li,tie tighter than usual ; but on investigation it turned out to be either the wind that was beginning to rise, or a skimmer from the lamp they carried showed them a little gray

mouse scuttling away under the teds; now and then, too, a dreary groan seemed to pierce the darkness as they opened some heavy door ; but this, too, generally turned ont to bo caused by the matinees of the binges. They wore getting gradually in extremely high rpirits, and as the hunt proceeds!, and nothing was found, they were laughing and talking loudly, when suddenly the came upon a door at the very end of the passage that led down to the Inhabited portion of the house, which they had not noticed before. Of course it was locked, as they discovered at once, and after trying to unlock it with every key they had, they oame to the conclusion that they would have to go down-stairs after one that would fit the lock; when suddenly the wind seemed (te rise yet higher,, and a rather strong puff through the keyhole (through which Mrs Monroe was peeping to see if the key had been left there), extinguished the lamp she held, and they were at once plunged into darkness. However, Mr Monroe soon lighted it again. ‘The windows must all be open,’ said he, ‘in which case it is quite time we investigated onr domain. I dare say old Batty has lost the key, and la afraid 1 shall fcold her for her carelessness. However, if you ar.a't frightened, Ruth,’ he added, turning to his wife, ‘ I’ll run down and ask her about It. If she’s lost it, I’ll have the door broken open and those windows shat, for there’s wind enough here for a ship in fall call.’

“ Yes, do, ’ answered Mrs Monroe, brightly; ‘doubtless here’s the sailor’s ghost that makes our nigh's to extremely squally when the wind is high ; and if we can get rid of him, perhaps 1 shall not be driven to have a new maid every time the wind blows from the north-west; which is beginning to bo rather a trouble, especially now when the snow is so deep. I shall never get one ont from York,’

* Well, wait here, then,’ said Mr Monroe, and he hurried off into the down-stairs regions and asked the old hoase-keeper for the missing key. She rose from her seat by the fire, trembling, and in a berried manner, said, * Now, doan’tee, Master Hugh,’

* Ooant’ee,’ repeated Hugh scornfully, ‘ doant’ee what ? If you’ve lost the key, what does it matter ? we’ll soon get a new one; but If you haven’t, and It’s any of your snperstltiov a nonsense, yon ought to know us better than to try on any of that with us. Be quick, too, for it’s mighty cold up there. The windows are open, I think, and though the t ight ia still, the wind seems to chill one through.’ ‘Master Hugh,’ said Betty Impressively, ‘ in that room has lain dead many members of the Monroe family; somehow or other every member has either died there or been carried thither in his coffin to wait for his funeral day. And to-night. Master Hugh,’ she added, waxing more eloquent as her dread of his taking the key increased—- ‘ to-night la the anniversary of the day Master Charles was brought there drowned and dead from Flamborough Bay; and you will see reflected in the glass the face of any member of the family who has to die before the year ia out; and on the bed, Master Hugh, you’ll a:e the coffin, with Its dreadful drip, drip, drip, from the shroud of the poor daad boy, just as it dripped ceaselessly with seawater until they buried him out of our sight.’ ‘ What on earth are you about, Hugh ?’ broke in a voice from the doorway : ‘ I am nearly frozen to deatb, and 1 want to get Into the room.’

* Give mo tha key, Betty,’ said Hugh ; ‘l’ll run the risk of the ghosts, coffin and ail, and besides we are ghost bunting. So, my dear,’ he went on, turning to his wife, who, fired of waiting, had come down to see what ho was doing, 1 according to Betty we may cry Eureka, for the ghost is found and, langhing very much, the two young people took the key from Betty’s unwilling hand, and rushing np the wide oak stairease, they were soon at tha koor of tbe ghost-chamber. The wind seemed to have risen in their short absence, and as they rested for a moment, after their hurried race up the stairs, there seemed to come to them the regular drip, drip, drip, that old Betty had prophesied; Even their stout hearts quailed somewhat, but with an impatient ‘lmagination, of course,’ Hugh turned the key In tha lock, and the door came open. Only a bare boarded chamber, and in the middle the bed that had held so many, many corpses ; three tiny windows all close shuttered, but through the chinks came stray moonbeams, and a most tremendous rush of wind that agitated the light chintz bangings to the bed, nntil all sorts and shapes of figures seemed in the folds, peeping and glaring at the new-comers. Bjtween each window was hang a lookingglass, and above the mantelpiece was another —other furniture was there none. • A window must be broken, ’ said Mrs Monroe, and so saying sbe advanced to throw open the shutters’, which she had no sooner done than she was alarmed by hearing her husband fall with a loud bang behind her, with the muttered explanation— ‘My God!’

Bath tore to the bell sad rang a tremendous peal, and before the servants came rushing up she had dragged Hugh into her arms, and, regardless of any ghosts that might be about, turned all her attention to her husband, wishing heartily that she might get at some of the water abe heard so continually dripping near her. Just as the servants reached her she caught sight of a thin stream of water meandering towards them, making a line of light through the dust, and she stooped forward to dip her handkerchief into it, when Betty, who, notwithstanding her age, was the firat to answer the summons she bad been awaiting breathly ever since the key had left her bands—rushed forward, and with a • M —m —missus, that’s corpse water,’ deluged Hugh and Bath with the contents of a jug she had brought up with her, convinced that it would be required. Hugh was carried out of the room into his own, and just ss ifuth turned to lock the door, she saw, or fancied she saw, in the moonlight that now flooded the room, the pale shadow of a coffin on the bed, from which proceeded the thin stream of water wh'cb she had so neatly nsed for her husband ; and with a shudder of horror, but with a promise to re investigate the subject, she closed and locked the door, slipping the key Into her pocket, and followed Hugh into his room.

By this time he had come to himself, and was beginning to wonder what on earth had been the matter; but the moment he saw hia wife the remembrance of the horror came back to him, and he nearly fainted again. When he was all right once more, which was not nntil the next day, and they were seated at a late breakfast, Ruth implored him to tell her quietly and calmly all he had seen, but all she could draw from him was tbe assurance that no power on earth should induce him to tell her, and that be wished to forget all about it as soon as he could.

‘Ghoits? Oh, ghosts were nonsense, of oonrse, but slill there was no need to talk of them,’

‘ But, Hugh,’said Ruth mysteriously, ‘I saw it too, and I didn’t mind a bit. ‘ After all,’ aha added, alirmed at ths expression on her husband’s face, ‘it might have been only a leak in the roof that allowed the water to come in ; and moonbeams do tike such curious shapes, especially when reflected from the snow, that I believe the coffin only existed in onr imagination, and I shall go up again to-night, and set the matter straight once and for all. If there really should be a ghost—well, we mnst use all our endeavors to lay the perturbed spirit; but if there isn’t, we had surely better die cover that it is so, far yon look white and ready to faint at the mere idea of it.’ 1 You must do nothing of the kind,’ answered Hugh declded'y; ‘I saw neither coffin nor water, and what I did see was probably nothing of any consequence, but I cannot mention it to you of all people under the sun—at all events not until the first shook has worn off. And I must ask yon to give up any idea you may have of going there again, ’ Before Ruth hal any time to either give him the desired promise or argue him out of his absurd superstition, as she characterised h'a ideas in her own mind, Hugh had oaught eight if the weekly postman laboring at last through the melting mad In the avemxo; and doubtless wishing lo forget all about tha affair of tho night before, ho went cut to meet him.

‘ Very bo ry, sir, ’ said the postman, *to be late, but still more sorry to be the bearer of bad news; your poor brother’s heartbroke. He’ve lost his missus, and wants to see yen at once, Tho funeral's to-morrow, and he does hope the roads will be open to allow of you to come to him, for he’s terribly cut up about it.’ {To be continued,)