VIOLET'S SPIRIT: A TALE OF ALL HALLOWE'EN.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2447, 17 March 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

VIOLET'S SPIRIT: A TALE OF ALL HALLOWE'EN.

BY MRS RATTRAY, Author of "Married by Proxy," "Our Pretty Governess," etc. It was, evening, and I sat in my lonely study with the firelight dancing in fitful gleams on the walls, playing hide and seek amongst tho rows of books, and causing weird shadows to haunt the further corners of the large room. The curtains were not drawn, and a pale glow from the set sun still gave light, every moment growing dimmer, to the autumn landscape outside. It was an old house in Oxfordshire, and I had only just taken possession of it, though it was quite seven years since the death of the aunt who had bequeathed it to me. Part of the intervening time I had spent in India and part in Africa, travelling far and fast to drive out the cruel memories of my lost love. Eut this night, the first I had spent for so many years in the house where my darling and I had plighted our troth, it is surprising that once more a crowd of past joys, hopes and fears, surged round me, suddenly filling-me with rapture as in fancy I again folded Violet in my arms, or overwhelming me with despair as I recollected that she was dead and lost to me for ever on earth. And yet, was she dead? Again and yet again I went over the last interview we were allowed by her stern aunt. For some reason which I could never fathom, wo were not allowed to marry. We were cousins, but what of that? Thousands of cousins have married and lived happy ever after. Why should not we ? And the separation had been so sudden and so final. Just one hour to say good-bye in, and I was to have no explanation. Violet said she did not know, and though she was breaking her heart over tho parting she had always rendered her aunt implicit obedience, and she did so now. I [ pleaded, argued, entreated, and even stormed at her, but she was firm. " No, Harold dear," said she, with tears running down her cheeks, " I cannot disobey Aunt Annie. She says some day she will tell me, and then I will tell you, and we will see what can be done. Till then, goodbye." I clasped her in my arms, and vowed I would run ofF with her there and then. But when a woman once says "no," and backs up her refusal by duty and obedience and all that, if she is a good woman, you may as well give in at first for you will surely have to do so at last. One only stipulation did Violet make, and it was a curious one for her. "If I die first, Harold, I will appear to you just at the time when my spirit leaves tho body. If you die first promise faithfully you will, in like manner, appear to me " And I promised. I have neither seen nor heard from her since. At my aunt's death, two years after our parting, I endeavoured to find some clue to my cousin's fate. But either no one could or would tell mo anything. I was with my regiment on foreign service, and could not get leavo to prosecute my inquiries personally, and when I did return for a few weeks, all trace seemed lost. And now I have given up the army and have settled—for the present at least—down hero ; and to night I shiver and feel as if something' were going to happen. It is very cold for this timo of the year, All Hallowe'en, and it is nine years to-night since Violet and I said good-bye iu this very room. Tho clock strikes tho hour of eleven.

It is a week since the eventful night I last wrote about, and I will try and tell what happened then. I was looking at the door of my study that evening. My attention seeming to be directed to it by no will of my own, rather indeed attracted by some magnetic influence to that point. Suddenly the handle was lightly rattled, and the door flew open. Something whether human or spiritual, I could not say, glided slowly in, and as it came nearer, resolved itself into a distinct shape, and to my longing eyes, appeared the form and figure of Violet. She was dressed as when I had last seen her, in something white and llowing; but then her goden hair had been braided and fastened somehow round her small, shapely head. !Now it was flowing iu a glorious mass down her shoulders, 'l could not rise, I seemed glued to my chair, and yet I was perfectly

t conscious of a dim fear that sh > might think mo rude in reiuainin seated whilst she stood, i We neither of us spoke for som [ seconds. I, who had only a ininut i before thought what hundreds o . questions I should like to ask Viole if I could only see her for a moment had now not a word to say. A ! length my lovely visitor broke th uncomfortable silence. The voic was so like her own sweet tone tha it seemed to recall me from my firs trance of astonishment, and ! sprang to my feet. But Viole waved me back. " Do not conn near me," she said, " but listen Harold. We were parted under t cruel mistake. I may not tell yoi what it was. You must find out Ask the" lawyer who managed mj aunt's affairs what he knows. H< will tell you. Good-bye, Harold I said I would come to you, good bye," Slowly she vanished as she had come, and the door closec behind her. For a second I stooc rooted, as it were, to the hearth-rug, Then I sprang forward, and Hun" open the door. I could see; could hear nothing ! "Violet," I called. " Violet," and a servant appeared from the other side of the hall and asked " Did you want anything, sir?" I turned back to the, room I had left, and walked up and down in great perturbation. What did it all mean ? I came to the conclusion I would go to that old lawyer Brushy again, and would make him tell me this time what lie knew. I found my Bradshaw. No train, of course, this morning, so I fiung myself down on the sofa to try and sleep for a few hours, which, I need hardly say, I failed to do. The first train found me on my way to town. As soon as possible I sought the lawyer's office. " Out of town, sir. Was called away this morning by a telegram ; can't say when he will be back." I left word for them to let me know the moment he returned, and waited as I best could until anyone should come for me. About seven that evening Mr Busby himself came to my hotel. He looked grave and sad. We shook hands, and I ordered some dinner to be served to us in a private room. After we had discussed the meal we drew our chairs to the fire, and I told him my experience of the previous evening, concluding by a most earnest appeal-to him to tell me all he knew. " Before I explain these sad circumstances to you," he said; "I must beg your pardon for the wrong I have most unintentionally done you all these years." I stared at the good man. " What wrong T I gasped. " Oalm yourself, my good sir, and listen to me. You remember your cousin, Arthur Sealey ?" " Yes." " Well, he was very like you in person, as perhaps you will remember. He was a wild young fellow, ar.d got into all sorts of scrapes, and one night he came to see your aunt, to get money out of her to pay some debts of honour, as he called them. She took him for you, and the scoundrel did not undeceive her, knowing you were far more likely to get money from her than he was. Violet was spending the evening out, and your aunt told her she must have nothing more to do with you. Your aunt was so annoyed and disgusted with all she heard from Arthur that night that, believing him to be you, she would not give you a chance of explaining anything, nor 'would she tell Violet then. Of course, as you knew nothing of Arthur's visit you had no clue to the reason why your aunt refused to let you marry Violet. You remember you left England immediately, but in your name, Arthur continued to extort money from your poor deceived aunt. For Violet's sake she hushed it all up. When she died, she told Violet everything,- and made her promise never to marry you, until she was sure you had reformed. Arthur found this out, and sometimes at night and as he saici, disguised for fear of the police, he came to the little village in Wales where she had retired and got money from her. Had she or her aunt ever mentioned anything of this to me or anyone, all would have been put right directly, but fancying they were shielding you, they suffered in silence. It makes me wild," cried the little man, rising and pacing the lloor, " to think how those two poor creatures endured all that false hound's treachery, and and when the aunt died, that poor young thing bravely keeps it to herself, living there with lr.r old nurse and one other servant ! How your aunt, Mrs Borne, came to leave you that house I don't know, believing what she did of you. Of course, Arthur couldn't claim that for fear of your finding him out!" " And you never know ?" I murmured. " Did you think I was bad, or what ?" " I fancied," answored Mr Busby, " that tliero was something 1 wrong, but I was sure you had been guilty of some sort of crime Avhon I heard you were not to marry your cousiu, and that was the reason I never told you whoro sho was living 1 !" I rested my lioad on my crossed arms, and said, " Aud now, sho— whore is she'?" Mr Busby shook his head sadly. " IMy dear, sir, I am very sorry to tell you sho is dead. She died last night." " At what hour," I interrupted

hastily, all that I had seen and heard the previous evening flashing swiftly through my brain. "At 11 o'clock," answered the lawyer. I sank back in my chair, and murmured to myself, "If I die first, Harold, I will appear to you just at the time my spirit leaves the body."

It was just at 11 o'clock she had appoared to me.