THE LIVING IMAGE.

Patea Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 1051, 25 June 1883, Page 4

THE LIVING IMAGE.

LITERATURE.

I am quite an old woman now, but the incidents I am about to relate made so strong an impression upon my memory that, although they occurred many years ago, they are as fresh to me as if they bad only happened yesterday. At the time of which I speak, railways were comparatively unknown, and the customary mode of locomotion was either' by stage-coach or on horseback, according to the convenience or circumstances of the traveller. My father, who was in failing health, and myself had been visiting at the house of a family friend, whose residence was situated in one of the.wildest parts of Yorkshire, about fifteen miles distant from our own house. Our visit being ended, we started to ride home on a bright, sharp afternoon in February, and all went well for several miles. We were enjoying our ride amazingly, when the sky became suddenly clouded, and it was evident a snowstorm was pending. We quickened our pace, in the hope of reaching home in time to escape, but in spite of our efforts we were caught in a blinding snowstorm. It grew exceedingly dark, our horses became almost unmanageable, and it was absolutely necessary for us to seek shelter somewhere. Presently we noticed a light at some distance up a lane leading out of the main road, and, making towards it, we found ourselves in front of an old-fashioned, tumbledown looking inn, with a signboard, which creaked on its hinges above the door. We dismounted, and entered. ' There were several rascally-looking fellows drinking at the bar, and the landlord himself was a man of anything but prepossessing appearance. He promised to give us the best accommodation he could until the storm passed over, and, after glancing significantly at the men in the bar, showed us np a pair of stairs into a dismal-looking sitting-room, where he lit a fire and left us to ourselves.. The room was miserably furnished. There were a few old chairs, a sofa in the last stage of decline, a table, an age-stained print or two on the walls, and in one corner a large oak cabinet, on which stood * an ordinary plaster bust, chipped and yellow with age. We remained here several hours, but the storm still raged with unabated fury, and, to make matters worse, my father became very unwell. Under these circumstances I was reluctantly forced to the conclusion that we should be compelled to stay. all night in that inhospitable place. We summoned the landlord, and learned that he could accommodate us, providing I would sleep in a bedroom which was separated by a door from the room we occupied, and if my father would be content with a makeshift bed in the sitting-room itself. It was the very thing, as by this arrangement I could attend to my father in the night in the event of his needing such attention. So we agreed, and the landlord, treating us to a very curious look, went downstairs again. As the evening wore on my father sank into a dose, and I did my best to while away the time by reading the contents of a remarkably stupid book which I had found on the table. Presently I took out my watch—a very valuable one, beautifully inlaid with gems and enamel—and found it was eight o’clock. I threw aside the book as being more calculated to depress than enliven me, and calling in the powerful aid of imagination was soon in a world of thought. I thought of all manner of things—l don ? t remember what—the only thing I do remember is that none of them gave me much satisfaction. I went to the window and looked out. All traces of the recent storm, save the snow which lay thick upon the ground, had passed away, and it was a lovely moonlight night. While I held aside the curtains, the moon, killing the light of our wretched lamp, beamed brightly into the room, and by its rays the old cabinet, the plaster bast, and the decaying pictures looked more desolate than ever. My father was still napping, and as a last resource I returned once more to the book. It was about this time that I became impressed with the idea that we were not alone—it seemed to me that my every action was being closely ’ watched. I looked carefully round and could see nothing to warrant the supposition; nevertheless, the imppression grew stronger and stronger. . - The letters in the book mixed themselves together, and the print swam before my eyes. I was confident we were not alone,' and, though not generally superstitious, the thought struck me that some invisible spirit from the other world was bearing ns company, I dismissed this idea as being ridiculous, and opening the door looked out. I saw nothing but the darkness of the passage, so, chiding myself for my timidity, I returned once more to the book. My father still slept, and I would have given anything to wake him, but I dared not, as his disease, an affection of the heart, was always so aggravated when the most trivial event out of the ordinary course happened to disturb him. Again looking" at my watch I found it was half-past nine, and now something terrible occurred. While in the act of reading the time, my eyes, obeying some influence which I cannot explain, were irresistibly drawn toward the plaster bust on the cabinet. My blood curdled with horror; my heart ceased to beat, and my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. In the image were two gleaming eyes, which were fixed full on me with evil, stealthy stare. It was no optical illusion. I say nothin" but the simple truth when I tell you that I, a weak girl, was alone (or as good as alone, for my father slept on) with that awful living image. Spell-bound,

I stared at the evil thing, fascinated, as I have heard birds are by a serpent. Its burning eyes met my eyes, piercing me through and through. Heaven help me ! I tried to pray in vain, and I verily believed that I was face to face with the Evil One himself. Time passed—how long I cannot tell, but it seemed an eternity—and the eyes went out, leaving the bust lifeless as'it was before. I could not scream, I could not even speak, but I sprang at the door to seek for help—help of any kind. The door was locked. With 'frantic eagerness I turned the knob again and again, without avail. The door was certainly locked on the outside. Then suddenly flashed across me the suspicious appearance of the landlord, the ruffians in the bar, and it struck me that we were in- a den of thieves, assisted, as I believed in my excited state of mind, by no other than the Fiend himself. I dared not wake my father, as I knew such a shock would be fatal to him. What I could do I did. I passed quickly through the doorloading to the bedroom I was to have occupied, and hurriedly tying the sheets together, made a kind of rope, one end of which 1 fastened firmly to the bedpost, throwing the other out ol the window. By this means, possessed with the courage of- desperation, I descended to the earth,- > Leaving that dreadful place, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. The snow clung" about my skirts and clogged ray boots, but this was nothing. On, on I rushed, till, seeing a bouse in the distance, I made towards it ; entered, looking, I believe, more like an escaped lunatic than anything else ; told my tale in a few incoherent words, and sank fainting on the floor. When I awoke I was in my accustomed room at home, and they told me that I had been delirious. It seems that I went to the house of a magistrate well known to my father, who, taking several labourers with him, lost no time in visiting the inn, which had long borne a bad name. Several scoundrels, including the landlord, were arrested, and former crimes: being proved against them they: were transported.

It turned out that the old cabinet was used as a hiding-place, and that, by standing up in it, a man could easily insert his head inside the bust and watch at pleasure. So it was no spirit I saw after all. Luckily ray father’s sleep lasted till all the disturbance was over, and. he was removed to his own house in safety. I believe he never thoroughly knew all the details of my terrible adventure. —Tit Bits .