THE LONGEST NIGHT IN A LIFE.

Te Aroha News, Volume I, Issue 29, 22 December 1883, Page 5

THE LONGEST NIGHT IN A LIFE.

It was Christmas time, and one of thoso old-fashioned winters in the days of tho Georges, when tho snow lay on the ground for weoks, when railways were unknown, and the electric telegraph had not, been dreamed of. The South road had been blocked up for nearly a month, when a partial thaw almost caused a public rejoicing ; coaches began to run, and weatherbound travellers to have some hope of reaching* their destination. Among the first ladies who undertook the journey from the Wost of Scotland to London ufc this time was a certain Miss Stirling, who had for weeks past desired to reach the metropolis. Her friends assured her that it was a foolhardy attempt, but Miss Stirling's business was urgent, concerning others more than herself, and she was not to be deterred by personal discomfort or by physical difficulties from doing what she thought was right. So she kept to her purpose and took her seat in the mail for London. The thaw had continued for some days ; the roads, though heavy, wero open, and, vrith the aid of extra horses here and there, tho ft'rc-t half of the journey was performed easily. The second day was more trying than the first ; the wind blew keenly, and penetrated every crevice of the coach, and j when on reaching a little roadside inn the ' snow began to foil fast, both the guard and < coachman urged their solitary passenger to remain there for the night, Miss Stirling hesitated for a moment, but the little inn looked by no means a plersant place to be snowed-up in, so she resisted their entreaties, and gathering her furs more closely round her, she nestled herself into a corner of the coach. Thus, for a time, she lost all consciousness of outward things in sleep. A sudden lurch awoke her ; and she soon learned that they had stuck fast in a snowdrift, and that no efforts ,of the tired horses could extricate the coach from its unpleasant predicament. The guard, mounting one of the leaders, act off in search of assistance, while the coachman comforted Miss Stirling by telling her they were only a mile or two from " the Squire's." Within an hour the distant tinkling of the sledge bells was heard, and soon a hearty voice was heard hailing them. A strong arm lifted Miss Stirling from the coach, and supported her trembling steps to a sledge, close ■at hand, and she soon found herself in a large hall brilliantly lighted by a blazing fire, and kindly hands were busied in removing her wraps. ,"1 told you that the sleigh would have plenty of work this winter," exclaimed tho host, addressing his wife. "We all say at Hawtreo that Uncle Atherton never can be wrong," said a merry voice. "Atherton ! Hawtree !" repeated Miss Stirling. "Ellen, is it possible that you are here? Don't you know your old friend, Mias Stirling ?" Mrs Atherton fixed her eyes on the stranger, and recognised the bright-haired girl she had loved in their school days, and cordial was the welcome she gave her as she congratulated herself on having her under her own roof ; and then laughing, she told her she did not know how to dispose of her for the night, for the house was as full as it could hold. Miss Stirling told her to take no trouble on her account ; a chair by the fire was all she cared for. ■ ' " But I have one chamber siill at your service j v it is very comfortable, but as it is detached from the house I have never asked a lady to sleep there 'till now." , V I am quite willing to become its first lady tenant," said Miss Stirling, heartily. So the matter was settled. The evening paased pleasantly; music, dancing, ana ghost Stories made the hours fly fast. It was' long past the hour 1 of retiring at Belfield when Miss Stirling.^ under her hostess's guidance, took possession »f her out-dobr chamber. It really 'was a,' cheerful little apartment. "The critrifeori hangings oftlie bed and window looked warm and comfortable in the flashing firelight; the long-

partod friouds found it impossible to resist tho temptation of sitting down to have, what in old days they used to call a " twohanded chat," and midnight rang out from the stable dock before Mrs Atherton said good-night, , Site had already crossed tho threshold to go, when she turned back to say, "I forgot to toll you that the inside bar of this door is not very secure, and that the key only turns outside." Miss Stirling laughingly allowed she had no objection to it on this particular occasion. "Very well then, I will send my maid with the key at eight precisely." They parted ; the door was locked outside, and the key taken out, Miss Stirling, standing by tho window, watched her friend depart. So, drawing her chair once more to the fire, she arranged her dark silken tresses for the night, her thoughts straying back to the old-world memories which her meeting with Mrs Atherton had revivod. The sound of the clock striking two was th« first thing that recalled her to her present life By this time the candles were burned down almost to their sockets, and the fire was dying fast. As she turned to fling a fresh log into the grate, her eyes fell upon the dressing-glass, when she fancied she saw the bed-curtains move. She stood for a moment gazirg at the mirror, but all was still, and she blamed hevseif foy allowing nervous fears to overcome her. She approached the bed, and withdrew the curtains, and was rewarded by finding nothing, savo the bedclothes folded neatly down. Allowing herself no time for further doubts or touts, she placed the candle on tho mantelpiece and stepped into bed. Her eyes ached with weariness, but sleep seemed to fly from her. She was restless and feverish, and the vexation of feeling so made her more wakeful ; and the moonbeams stealing between the window curtains cast ghostly shadows on the wall. So sho carefully shut out the light on that side and turned again to sleep, but she was soon thoroughly aroused by feeling the bed heave under her. She started up and waited v itli a beating heart a repetition of the movement, but it did not come. Lay ing her head once moie on the pillow, she determined to control her groundless terrors. Again she started up. This time thero could be no doubt ; the bed heaved moro than once, accompanied by a btrango gurgling bound, as if of a creature in pain. Leaning on her elbow, she listened — it came again, followed by a loud rustling noise, as if some heavy body wore dragged from under the bed in the direction of the fire. What could it be? She longed to call out for help, but her tonguo clove to tho roof of her mouth, and the pulses in hor temples throbbed until sho felt as if their painful beating sounded in the silence of the night like the loud ticking of a clock. Tho unseen thing dragged itself along until it reached tho hearthrug, where, it Hung itself down with violence. As it did so sho heard tho clank of a chain. Her breath came less painfully as she heard it, for it occurred to hor that the croaturo might bo nothing worse than tho housedog. Even this notion was disagreeable enough, but it was as nothing to the vague terror which had hitherto oppressed her. She persuaded herself that if &ho lay quiet no harm would happen to her. And the night would soon pass over. By-and-by tho creature began to snore, and it struck her feverish fancy that the snoring was not like that of tho dog. Sho raised herself gently, and with tremblinghands drew back an inch or two of the curtains and peered out, thinking that any certainty was better than such terrible suspense. She looked toward the fireplace, and there, sure enough, the huge creature lay — a brown, hairy mass, but of what shape it was impossible to divine, so fitful was the light and so strangely was it coiled up on the hearthrug. By-and-by it began to stretch itself out, to open its eyes, which shone in the flickering rays of the fire, and to raise its paws above its hairy head. Good God ! those are not paws. They are human hands, and dangling from the wrists hang fragments of broken chains. A chill of horror froze Annie Stirling's veins as a Hash of the expiring fire showed her this clearly — far too clearly— and the conviction seized upon her mind that she was shut up with an escaped convict. An inward invocation to Heaven for aid rose from her heart, as with the whole force of her intellect she endeavoured to survey the danger of her position. For the present she must be still ; the night must be far spent ; she must wait and hope, She had not to wait long. The cieature moved again — stood upright— staggered towards the bed. For one moment — one dreadful moment—she saw his face — his pale, pinched features, his flashing eyes, his black bristling hair ; but, thank God, he did not see her. She shrank behind tho curtains ; he advanced to the bed, slowly, hesitatingly, and the clanking sound of the broken chains fell menacingly on her ear. He laid his hand upon the curtains, and for a few moments fumbled to find the opening. These moments were all in ail to Annie Stirling. Despair sharpened her senses ; she fuund that the other side of the bed was not set so close against the wall but that she cru'd pass into the narrow space between j this she contrived to do noiselessly. She had hardly accomplished the difficult foat, and sheltered herself behind the curtains, when the creature flung itself on the bed, and drawing tho clothes round him, uttered a sound more like the whinnying of a horse than the laugh of a human being. For some time Miss Stirling stood in her narrow hiding place, trembling with cold and terror. She lifted up her heart in prayer for courago ,• and when her composure had in some degree returned, it occured to her that if she could but reach the window, she might attract the attention of some passer-by. Very cautiously she attempted the perilous experiment ; hor bare feet moved noiselessly across the floor, and a friendly ray of moonlight guided her safely to the windew. As sne put out her hand towards the curtains, her heart gave a fresh bound of terror, for it came in contact with something soft and warm. At length, however, she remembered that she had flung down her fur cloak in that spot, and it was a mercy to come upon it now ; she wrapped it round her, and reached the window without any alarm from, the occupant of the bed, whose heavy breathing gave assurance that he was now sound asleep. This waa some comfort, and she greatly needed it. She heard the stable clock strike four. Only four ! She felt as if it were impossible to survive even another hour. Was there no hope 1 None ? She tried to support herself against the window-fx*ame, but her first touch caused it to shake and creak in a manner. tho# seeme,d to her startling loud. Drops of agony fell from her brow as ever and anon a rustle of the bedclothes, or a alight clank of the manacled hands, sent a renewed chill to her, heart. The clock struck five. Suddenly a man's > whistle was heard in the' court, and the driver of the mail coach, 1 lantern in hand, crossed the yard. Would to God she could call to him, or in any way attract his attention, but sho daved not make the

slightest sound. He looked up at the winclow, against which he almost brushed in passing ; and the light he held flashed on Miss Stirling's crouching figure. He paused, looked again, and seemed about to speak, when she hastily made sign that he should be silent, but seek assistance at the house. He gave her a glance of intelligence, and hastened away. How long his absence seemed ! Could he have understood her ? The occupant of the bed was growing every instant more and more restlees ; he was groping round the room. They would come too late ! too late ! But no ! steps in the courtyard, the key turning in the lock, the door opens. Then, with a yell that rang in Annie Stirling's ear until her dying day, the creature rushed to her hiding place ; lashed the slight win-dow-frame to pieces, and finding himself baulked of his purpose to escape by the strength of the iron bar outside, turned like a wild beast on his pursuers, She was the first on whom his glance fell. He clasped her throat ; his face was close to hers; his glittering eyes were glaring at her in frenzy ; when a blow from behind felled him. She awoke from a long swoon to find herself safe in Mrs Atherton'sdressing-room,and to hoar that no one was hurt but the poor maniac, and that he was again in the charge of his keepers from whom he had escaped a few hours before. "A few hours! A lifetime, Ellen ! But, Heaven "be thanked it has passed like a wild dream !" But one enduring effect remained ever after to imprint on Annie Stirling's memory, and on the memories of all those that knew her, the event of that long night. Such had been her suffering, anxiety, and terror, that in those few hours her hair had turned i white as snow. i