A REAL GHOST.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXVII, Issue 3034, 24 December 1891, Page 1 (Supplement)

A REAL GHOST.

« liv Mils L. Kuosr Kati'kay, l Author of " Such ;i Suitablo Match," kc.) It whs Christmas Eve, and a very merry party was gathered in Mr Trender's verandah, watchiug the moon rise. " Decoration is very hard work," said Charlie Langley, tilting his chair as far back as it would go. " In fact it's too hard work in this hot climate." " You used to complain that it was too cold in England," laughed his wife. Charlie took no notice of the remark. but went on, " I'll tell you what we will do. The church looks remarkably pretty this year. Very well, then, we'll have it photographed with all the wreaths and flowers and texts and everything stuck about it. Next Christmas we won't decorate at all, but just inside the church we'll hang a large photograph of it as it is this year ; and we'll tell all the people that's just how it looks for the festival of 189'2, only tho decorations are invisible, except in the photograph. How does that strike you all 1"

" Charlie," said Mrs Langley, " I would never have married you if I had known you were so lazy. You worked hard enough last Christmas at Home."

" Ah, but that was only to win you, my dear. Now, I've got you, so why should I shorten my pleasant life with you by expending my strength in useless decorations 1" "Aren't husbands deceivers?" said a pretty girl in the background, softly. " I wish someone would tell ghost stories," said one of the little Trendera, for whom the marital subject had no interest. It wan a capital place and a capital hour for that form of amusement.

The settler's house was long and low, the verandah running round two aides of it. Deep shadows lay all around them ; the tall eucalyptus trees were whispering secrets in a breezy tone ; the thick New Zealand bush rose close to the house on one hand, whilst on the other were various paddocks vanishing in mist at the creek. The dismal tones of the more-pork alone broke the intense silence that followed Dicky Trender's remark. An erie feeling took possession of the little party. At length Mrs Langley said in a low tone, " 1 know a real ghost story.'' " All quito true 'i " asked Dicky. " Quite true. Shall I tell it ?' There was a little murmur of '• Pleast; do." Mrs Langley sat closer to her husband and began. " First I ought to tell you that there i» no end to ujy story. 1

mean," as they all laughed, " that I cannot explain it away as some people explain their stories." " My grandfather lived in a lovely old English house, built in the year 1017. Tt was an ideal place for us as children. Three largo gables, wreathed in ivy, faced a quaint court, round one side of which was a low, very broad wall, a little gate admitting visitors who had driven up under the old propped-tip sycamores, along a stono-paved path to this, the side entrance. This paved path ran close under the gables and led to a large green door, smothered in double blossom cherry and | japouica. When you woro once | through this door, you found yourself in a comparatively modern ! garden, with an exquisitely-kept | lawn, a profusion of flowers, and a wide asphalt drive, leading from the front door, through a shrubbery to the large gato -which marked the approach from the other side of the village. Neither of theso two entrances, owing to a curve in the high road could bo seen from oach other, which fact has an important bearing on my ghost story. One moonlight night, my grandfather, who was a light sleeper, was aroused by the sound of wheels coming under the sycamores. He slipped on a garment or two, and ran to the window. To his great astonishment he saw a figure, apparently that of a young lady, alight from a post-chaise with a postilion. She opened the wicket gate, which uttered its usual clicking protest, and glided up the pavement to the house. My grandfather's hospitable instincts were strong. He hastily left the window, hearing, as he did so, the sounds of departing hoofs and wheels. Putting on his coat he ran down stairs, and proceeded as rapidly as possible to undo the ponderous bolts and bars which were intended to protect the hall froji burglars. At length he got the door-Open. and with a courteous " goocT' evening," gazed blankly ont into the night. For, strange to say, there was no one at all to be seen! The old yew-trees cast strong shadows in the court, but the moon shone full upon the untenanted flag-stones in front of the door.

"Is anyone fiero?" asked the astonished squire. But there was no answer. All was intensely still. Closing the door, my grandfather quickly roused the house, and a thorough search was made all over the grounds. But not a traco of the stranger could be found, save the fresh wheel marks and prints of the horses' feet on the drive, which was proof enough that the chaise had at least been no dream. And as my grandfather was a strong, healthy, sensible man, it was not likely he had merely imagined he saw the white-robed lady. Eer dross, lie declared, glimmered in the moonlight like satin, and her dainty little feet where shod in high-heeled whito slippers. She was wrapped about the head in a large whito shawl—a very dainty ghost, truly. '■How strange," remarked one of the listeners, and have you never found out anything more?" " No. From that night to the present moment, the mystery has nevor been explained. As you may imagine, it was quite a nine days' wonder. But no one ever got beyond conjecture, and the story has been handed down to us, and we now look upon that lady as our family ghost."

A litde gasping cry from a sweet old lady, mother of the hostess, Mrs Trender, attracted Mrs Langley's attention. "I hope I have not alarmed you," she said, '• I ought to have asked if anyone minded ghost stories."

" I ain not at all alarmed," said Mrs Lee, " but did you say your grandfather lived at G.— Hall in Derbyshire T' Mrs Langley looked surprised. " He certainly did, but I do not

think I mentioned tho fact. Do you know the place, Mrs Lee?" The old lady smiled, and a faint blush crept into her faded cheek. " I think I can explain your ghost story, " she said. " But I offer most hearty apologies to your grandfather." "He has been dead fifteen years," answered Mrs Langley, quickly. " But please do tell us what you mean."' " Well, when I was a young girl, we lived near the town of C. Derbyshire, the opposite side to that in which, was the village containing your grandfather's pretty house, Mrs Langley.

I had two or three sisters, and my mother was resolved that I should marry a rich knight, some eighteen years my senior, stout, cross, and given to attacks of gout, which, I had heard, did not impro\ e his temper. His nephew told me that the "old bear," as he called him, would simply make me miserable if I married him. As an alternative, he proposed himself. He was young, handsome, good-tempered, and had a trifle a year of his own; not much, but sufficient, he declared for us to live upon, until his Uncle's death, who was sure to leave him something, though the title would fall to an elde° brother. Ferdinand was promptly forbidden to t hold any intercourse with me, and I was kept well-watched for a time. But as we both seemed to bo coming to our senses, so our elders said, their precautions were a little relaxed, and Ferdinand and 1 met at a few

card-parties. I was again allowed to walk the garden alone, but found, to iny dismay, that T was wa'chod from the windows. Still my lover and I contrived to exchange notes, hiding them und'-r one of the stones in the fernery. It was remarked what a comfort that fernery seemed to be to me, but I fancied no one suspected the use to which we put it. I went to it one morning before breakfast to look for my usual billet-doux, but to my dismay did not find one.

I was in doubt all day whether to risk another, seeing that the one I had placed under the stone the previous evening had disappeared. I was still more uneasy by the rather anxious look on my mother's face, and a certain twinkle of amusement in my father's eyes as he noted my drooping manner. But nothing was said, I curbed my impatience the next morning, and actually did not visit the fernery until after eleven o'clock. How distinctly I remember those miserable days. I think in old age, one lives again the years of one's youth.

I was torn with doubts and fears. Had my lover grown tired of me ? Was he ill ? No, someone had evidently taken my note from the fernery. Had Ferdinand climbed the garden wall that night only to find nothing under the stone 1 Had my father slipped out after my visit to our little letter-box and abstracted my note ? Worse than all, Had he read it 1 How my cheeks burned at the thought. There was by no means the colonial freedom of intercourse between parents and children in those days. I knew very little of my father, and feared him greatiy. The thought that he had read and laughed over my silly loving words to Ferdinand was agony to me. I could hardly endure the brief time I usually spent in his presence. Sunday came at length. Now, I should catch sight of my lover. In feverish haste I dressed, taking unusual pains to look nice. I managed to appear quite calm and unconcerned, and my mother seemed puzzled by my manner, especially when I said I was pleased to hear that the stout knight was to dine with us.

There happened to be a number of people just entering the church as we reached the porch.

Jn the slight confusion I heard Ferdinand's voice, " Have they found us out ? "

I answered " Yes," and he slipped a note into my hand.

There was no time for more, but as we were coming out again I exchanged a long loving look with my Ferdinand, and I knew that he still loved me. I returned home perfectly happy, and had much ado to refrain from singing various unSundaylike tunes. I could only hum a few of the most pleasant Psalms. My mother must have suspected something, for she gave me no time to read my precious note, but hurried rue down to greet the knight, my lover's uncle. I am afraid the old dandy's hopes rose that day. I was so happy that I was actually sweet to him, and my parents were greatly pleased. When at length I read the note I grew grave again. My lover said he would stand no more nonsense. Tampering with private letters, which he believed from my silence was the case, could not be endured. We must run away and be married at Gretna Green. He would make all arrangements, only I must Dromise not to fail him.

Run away ! That seemed such a dreadful thing to do. No, not even for my lover could I take a step like that.

I rested my head on my hand, and leaned out of the window. How pretty it all was! The moon was near the full, and tho parterres, gay with flowers, the dark cyprusses on the lawn, the fountain with its sparling water became suddenly dear to me, as the thought of run* ning away from all, came back to mo again and again. But first then, my mother's voice at the door, recalled me with a start to the present, I hid my lover's note, and answered tho surprised question, " Why are you not in bed? " as calmly and uncon~ cernedly as possible. My mother closed the window, drew down the blind, and lighting my wax candles from her own tap&r. disclosed the object of her late visit.

"Your father and I," she said, " have determined that your marriage with Sir Henry shall take place at once. He wishes to speak to you himself on the subject, and is coming to-morrow afternoon for that puipose." She kissed me, wished mo joy and left me!

But she had supplied me with the stimulant I needed to make me comply with Ferdinand's wishes, I resolved to run away. At seven o'clock the next night, I managed to throw a stone with a note attached to it, over the garden wall, and a tolerably good imitation of a tlirush, convinced me that Ferninand was watching for it.

I had endured a terrible afternoon with Sir Henry, I iinplorod him to give me a few days' respite from a definite engagement, but he told me I had trifled long enough, and sealod what he callod a bothvothal with a lovely diamond ring and a ki«s!

I procured Lot water as soou as possible, and carefully washed my poluted forehead. (Ferdii.aud al-

ways avoided kissing mo there aftorwards.) I have ouly a vague memory of tho long three days which clapsod before tho grand county hall at C— came off whero I was to bo presented to the world as the lucky fiancee of a wealthy knight. It was a Wednesday, and a beautiful moonlight evening. My dress was of shimmering whito satin, trimmed with whito roses and old lace. I danced two or three dancas, then slipped into the hall. Ferdinand was there, disguised. "All right?" he asked, as I stood near him. "Yes," I answered, steadily- " Then get your wraps and be at the little side door exactly at ten," he said. At the stroke of the hour, I stood there. My parents wero in the cardroom. I had just refused two partners on the plea of a broken shoestring, which I was going to the ladies' room to repair. A chaise postilion was wait* ing. It was tho middle of a dance, and no one *vas about. I drove some miles to your grandfather's house, all alono. Then, dismissing the chaise, I walked boldly up to the door, but instead of knocking, I slipped under the window, through the green door, ran round the front of the house, and down the long drivo to the farther gate, where my lover with a fresh chaise awaited 111©.

I had no haud in planning this. Ferdinand knew the house and grounds well, and selected a driver who, being a stranger, would not know your grandfather's name (Ferdinand gave a wrong one), and supposed that what he was told was true, the young lady was tired, and was returning home early, and alone, not wishing to spoil anyone's pleasure. All enquiries were made for carriages going along the high road, tho littlo detour wo made through tlio part of the village in which the hall was situated, entirely throwing our pursuers off the scent, as well as the fresh chaise from another town.

"So you were the ghost!" exclaimed Mrs Langtry. " Did you go to Gretna Green ?"

" Yes, it was a journey of ninety miles, and a most anxious time we had, I can assure you. Every vehicle wo heard was, we imagined, in pursuit of us. We only stopped to change horses. Ferdinand had some provisions in the chaise with us, also a dress and bonnet for me, which I had thrown over the garden wall the night before," "Please tell us a little more," said Mrs Laugley. " Did your parents ever forgive you?"

" Yes, but not for three years, during which time Ferdinand and I lived in a tiny little cottage. Then my father became very ill, sent for me, forgave me, and died.

After my mother's death we came out to New Zealand, where we have lived happily ever since." "And the knight ?" asked Mrs Langley.

" Oil, lie never forgave us for making him tli6 laughing stock of the neighbourhood, and did not even leave Ferdinand the traditional shilling. But we have done very well without his money."

Presently the little party on the verandah separated for the night, and a silver-haired but still hearty old gentleman said to his wife : "I told you we should never regret it," and she answered: " Ferdinand, you wero quite right."