THE BLACK-GABLED HOUSE.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2558, 1 December 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE BLACK-GABLED HOUSE.

A LONG, narrow street, whose dingy buildings seemed struggling upward from their somber surroundings, reaching story after story up toward the cleir blue sky, that looked shut in small compass, so towering and dark the high walls on either side, weather-beaten and weather-stained as though having faced the storms of a century. At the end of thi3 irregular, narrow street stood, one on either side, two buildings, one more stunted, dark and miserable than the other, as though reaching down instead of up, and the one opposite taller and fairer in appearance than the surrounding habitations, as though saying, "I have climbed higher than yon. Across the way it was different. The wind moaned dismally round the Black Uables, as the dark house at the end of the street was called, rattled its weathereated window frames, and seemed to call in warning menace to some imaginary occupants. No other voice spoke to them, for no visitore crossed the threshold, and so uncanny was the reputation borne by the Black Gables that it was

sedulosly shunned by all whose fancies savored of superstition. Strange cries were heard, especially at night; a sound as of falling articles, sometimes thrown violently, and at others dropping with a dull thud ; it might be of a falling body. But enough was seen of the interior by outsiders. The wooden shutters were always securely closed, excluding all light of day, and preventing any egress of light from within. Grim, black and silent, the place seemed, in truth, a fitting abode for the dark spirits by which it was said to be tenanted ; and, if the attention of the city authorities was directed to its dark aspect and unsavory reputation, they chose, for reasons best known to themselves, to ignore it. Thus a weird, somber landmark stood the house of the Black Gables. So much for the exterior of the place ; the interior might prove less forbidding if the narrow side-door, so obscured that it almost required seeking for, would open inward. At least so I thought, and at the same time determined that I would find out if the house was empty, and if so, claim the privelege of passing the night there—a night that I would devote to investigation of the mystery there shrouded. Haunted! Bah ? Ghosts are harmless things. And the desire _ to penetrate into the mystery increasing with contemplation of it, I mounted the doorstep and sounded the knocker, which sent through the house an echo that came back to me unanswered. The habitants, if habitants there are, must be asleep, I surmised ; and again had recourse to the knocker, but with the same result. Prying about the doorway I discovered a small card, bearing in print the announcement : " This Furnished Property for Sale or to Let. Apply to Ginx and Toby, Blank Street." For sale or to let, I repeated'. Humph ! not a very inviting spot for a home, and being in a literary walk of life, the idea of buying an estate was altogether too much of a fairy tale for contemplation. Yet I was very loth to abandon my notion of spending a few hours in this abode of disembodied spirits ; and, trusting to luck to suggest some satisfactory way of doing so when I should visit Ginx and Toby, I wended my way to their dingy apartments, and made known to them my desire to learn something about the house of the Black Gables. Those gentlemen, after regarding me curiously, exchanged glances ; and then, as if by tacit arrangement, Mr Ginx addressed himself to my request, while his partner returned to a desk, whose belongiiigs seemed at war ivith each other, so dire the confusion. " Hum ! hem !" said Mr Ginx, lowering his steel-bowed spectacles from his forehead to their ptoper resting place. " Hum ! hem ! So you want to know something about the house of the Black Gibles.? Reporter, eh?' " Yes," I answered, " I should be pleased, to go over the house, and perhaps stop a few hours." The old gentleman gave me a sharp, quick look, as if to ascertain how much I knew of the situation ; and then, without a word, took the labeled key from a hook beside him, and handed it to me. Perhaps with a vein of what the Scotch call "second sight" in my nature, I had inherited a love of the weird and mysterious. At all events, it was with a strange feeling of exultation that I made my arrangements for taking possession of the Black Gables. Having provided myself with a lamp, I had kindled a cheery fire in the most inviting room, placed on a stand, within reach, a very tempting bunch, my note book and au entertaining novel, and drawing an old-fashioned easy chair up in the front of this glowing fireplace, proceeded to make myself comfortable. How long I had sat here, after partaking of my evening repast and reading a few pages in my novel, I do not know, but my agreeable reveries were suddenly put to flight by a low, ringing laugh, and I saw enter the room a young woman in evening dress, with bare, dimpled arms, a snowy throat, where' gleamed a jewelled necklace, and like a golden link on one small white hand the glimmer of a wedding-ring. Her dress, of soft white silk and lace, trailed noiselessly round the carpet, and—yes, there was a perfume of orange-blossoms, which fell in graceful profusion over a bridal vail. As I looked, the fair bride raised her beautiful eyes to the old-fashioned clock on the wall, and, smiling, said, half aloud : " Seven o'clock ! surely, he must be here soon." But as she spoke the door was flung violently open, and a low-browed Mexican, whose dark eyes glistened with a treacherous cunning, entered the room, while the bride, pale and trembling, turned from his attempted caress with a light in her eyes such as might herald an approaching storm. " Back, Don ! How dare you trouble me here?" she cried, putting up both hands with a gesture of apprehensive loathing, at which the ruifian, wits a half amused laugh, such as one might give to the defiance of a pretty child, sprang forward and folded her, in spite of her struggles, closely iu his arms. " He is dead !" he whispered hoarsely, with evil exultation. One cry, fraught with all the agony of love believing itself bereft, from the bride; and then—"Villian, you lio ! " caine iu thunderous tones from the doorway ; and she was elapsed in the arms of her newlymade husband, while the cowardly Mexican silently vowing a vengeanco he dared not utter, rapidly disappeared, to avoid being ejected by the lover-husband, who briefly told his bride how he was, in returning to her, attacked by the villain who has left them, and she terrified at the danger through whioh he had passed, clung to him closely, with murmured word 3 of loving thankfulness for his restoration to her, and together they disappear through an arohway into the room beyond. They had not seen me! Strange ! Tramp ! tramp ! and orer the oaken staircase come the heavy tread of men carrying a burden, and again the door was flung open to admit two men, bearing between them the dead body of the Mexican who has so recently quitted the place; and behind the death cortcgc entered armed officers, who demanded, " in the name of the law," the surrender of the bridegroom, accused of the murder of the man whose body lay before him. Vain all expostulation and entreaty, which met only the official reiteration, " The man was found at the street door of the mansion, dead. He and the bridegroom were known to have been at enmity," and the officers charged him with murder, and led him away, followed by the agonised pleadings of his newlymade wife. The law! what terrible wrongs are perpetrated in thy name ! The prisoner removed, the officers returned for the body of the Mexican ; and I, still unobserved, followed them down tho oaken stairs and out to the, street, where, leaning idly against the opposite door-post, I beheld, an illy fed, illy clothed artisan, who, with his bag of tools, had paused a moment from some apparent enriosity. I could not then say what attracted my attention to the man, but being possessed with a feeling that he would speak to mo of (he affair I had just witnessed, I took a good mental photograph of him, noting that his bag bore, iu rather uncouth black letters, the name of Pierre Cr6zy, 47, Rue Vert. A noise at hand startled me, and I sprang to my feet ere my oyes wore fairly opened. The fire still sent forth its ruddy glow, the lamp burned brightly, and tho remains of my supper were undisturbed upon the table. Bride, bridegroom, Mexican and

officers all had vanished. I alone was in possession. All hashed in an oppressive stillness, so great us to be almost felt; and the bells outside were slowly striking five. I arose, went over to the window end unfastened the shutter, and as I did so a newsboy in the street bolow was crying : " Laurens sentenced. Full account of the trial." He looked up and, soeing me at the open window, asked if I wanted a paper. Moved by somo strange impulse, I nodded, and, going down to the door, received it from tho boy and returned to the room where I had passed the night, seated myself in the same armchair, and opened the paper, on the first page of which I read, in staring black letters: '' Laurens Convicted of the Murder of the Mexican, Gaetano, and Sentenced to Death. Full Particulars op the Crime." What fearful discovery was about to be made to me ? I shuddered, hesitated, and then read in detail a full description of the scene I had so vividly witnessed during the night. What could it all mean ? Was this the ill-fated house ? Great God ! no wonder it is haunted—a murder at the very threshold ! And the horror of it caused me to thrill with an indescribable terror. " Oh, to get away from tho accursed spot,"l cried, and seizing hat and wrap, I started to leave tho room. Then, as though under the control of some unseen agency, I came back and again took up the paper. "No witnesses of the deed," it said; "the prisoner convicted on circumstantial evidence." For a moment I was lost in wondering query. Then, quick as the shock from an electric, battery came to me the name of Pierre Crczy, 47 Rue Vert. And I exclaimed, with all the energy of conviction that knows no mistake : " Pierre ! Pierre Crozy ! Thank God ! He is the man !" And once again I turned to leave the room, conscious of but one thing—the address of the artisan whoso testimony, I now felt confident, would save the life of an innocent mail. A dingy tenement houso in tho poor district of the city. '' Pierre Crezy, does he live there ?" " Yes; has a little room in the garret. Has been away on a piece of work in tho country for severai weeks ; returned last night." " Can I see him ?" " Yes and a moment later the artisan of my vision was before me. Eager, breathless, ignoring all unnecessary talk, I asked him if he knew anything of the Laurens trial, handing liiin the paper I had just read, which he took, regardiug me suspiciously. He was evidently not proficient as a reader, and the time consumed in his perusal of the article seemed to me an etornity. But as I offered to finish the account for him, my patience brooking no further delay, he exclaimed in broken English : " Mon Dieu! He no kill ze Mexican. I pass; I see him in ze door, a knife in hees hand, so. He trip and fall on ze step, ze knife goes in hees side. I run away, or ze officers say I, Pierre, stab him !" "Coward! And you would let an innocent man be put to death by witliI holding your testimony ?" I cried indig- [ nantly. " For shame !" This view of the case had evidently not occurred to the man. He wavered a little, and then finally consented to tell the Court what he had told me, with the result that M. Laurens was at once acquitted of the crime for which he was about to suffer unjust punishment. The scene in the conrt room can better be imagined than described, for n» words can paint tho joy which thrilled every heart as the Judge revoked his former sentence and pronounced the man before him not guilty, while the cheers of the assembled spectators were but a faint echo of the loving joy and gratitude that thrilled tho heart of the prisoner's loyal little wife. A strange story ? Perhaps, and yet as strange are transpiring all about us, for the reality is in truth often far more strange than the dreams of fiction. And I question not that much evil might be avoided did we not so blindly ignore the whisperings that come to us trom a wisdom far beyond us. " Are they not all ministering spirits ?" is the query of Holy Writ, and when we learn to distinguish between a mere whimsical superstition and that higher spiritual knowledge that does undoubtedly come to us in time of need, to clear away wrong or avert impending evil, we shall be on a higher plane, in closer communication with the superior intelligence ; and, so connected, able to lessen the evil influences that surround us. But too many of us close up the avenues to a higher spiritual knowledge by the very mistaken idea that there is no knowledge beyond our own individual wisdom. Avoid all weak flights of the imagination, but let the mind always be open upward.—San Francisco News Letter. Calmb Tj. Boxney.