第95章

God wisheth none should wreck on a strange shelf：

To Him man's dearer than to himself.

BEN Jonson.--The Forest： To Sir Robert Wroth.

At breakfast the following morning， the influences of the past day on the family were evident. There was a good deal of excitement， alternated with listlessness. The moral atmosphere seemed unhealthy； and Harry， although he had， fortunately for him， had nothing to do with the manifestations of the previous evening， was affected by the condition of those around him. Hugh was still careful enough of him to try to divert the conversation entirely from what he knew would have a very injurious effect upon him； and Mr. Arnold， seeing the anxious way in which he glanced now and then at his pupil， and divining the reason， by the instinct of his affection， with far more than his usual acuteness， tried likewise to turn it aside， as often as it inclined that way. Still a few words were let fall by the visitors， which made Harry stare. Hugh took him away as soon as breakfast was over.

In the afternoon， Funkelstein called to inquire after the ladies；and hoped he had no injury to their health to lay on his conscience.

Mr. Arnold， who had a full allowance of curiosity， its amount being frequently in an inverse ratio to that of higher intellectual gifts， begged him to spend the rest of the day with them； but not to say a word of what had passed the day before， till after Harry had retired for the night.

Renewed conversation led to renewed experiments in the library.

Hugh， however， refused to have anything more to do with the plate-writing； for he dreaded its influence on his physical nature， attributing， as I have said， the vision of Margaret to a cerebral affection. And the plate did not seem to work satisfactorily with any one else， except Funkelstein， who， for his part， had no great wish to operate. Recourse was had to a more vulgar method--that of expectant solicitation of those noises whereby the prisoners in the a雛ial vaults are supposed capable of communicating with those in this earthly cell. Certainly， raps were heard from some quarter or another； and when the lights were extinguished， and the crescent moon only allowed to shine in the room， some commotion was discernible amongst the furniture. Several light articles flew about. A pen-wiper alighted on Euphra's lap， and a sofa-pillow gently disarranged Mrs. Elton's cap. Most of the artillery， however， was directed against Lady Emily； and she it was who saw， in a faint stream of moonlight， a female arm uplifted towards her， from under a table， with a threatening motion. It was bare to the elbow， and draped above. It showed first a clenched fist， and next an open hand， palm outwards， making a repellent gesture. Then the back of the hand was turned， and it motioned her away， as if she had been an importunate beggar. But at this moment， one of the doors opened， and a dark figure passed through the room towards the opposite door.

Everything that could be called ghostly， ceased instantaneously.

The arm vanished. The company breathed more freely.

Lady Emily， who had been on the point of going into hysterics， recovered herself， and overcame the still lingering impulse： she felt as if she had awaked from a momentary aberration of the intellect. Mr. Arnold proceeded to light the candles， saying， in a righteous tone：

"I think we have had enough of this nonsense."When the candles were lighted， there was no one to be seen in the room besides themselves. Several， Hugh amongst them， had observed the figure； but all had taken it for part of the illusive phantasmagoria. Hugh would have concluded it a variety of his vision of the former night； but others had seen it as well as he.

There was no renewal of the experiments that night. But all were in a very unhealthy state of excitement. Vague fear， vague wonder， and a certain indescribable oppression， had dimmed for the time all the clearer vision， and benumbed all the nobler faculties of the soul.

Lady Emily was affected the most. Her eyes looked scared； there was a bright spot on one cheek amidst deathly paleness； and she seemed very unhappy. Mrs. Elton became alarmed， and this brought her back to a more rational condition. She persuaded Lady Emily to go to bed.

But the contagion spread； and indistinct terrors were no longer confined to the upper portions of the family. The bruit revived， which had broken out a year before--that the house was haunted. It was whispered that， the very night after these occurrences， the Ghost's Walk had been in use as the name signified： a figure in death-garments had been seen gliding along the deserted avenue， by one of the maid-servants； the truth of whose story was corroborated by the fact that， to support it， she did not hesitate to confess that she had escaped from the house， nearly at midnight， to meet one of the grooms in a part of the wood contiguous to the avenue in question. Mr. Arnold instantly dismissed her--not on the ground of the intrigue， he took care to let her know， although that was bad enough， but because she was a fool， and spread absurd and annoying reports about the house. Mr. Arnold's usual hatred of what he called superstition， was rendered yet more spiteful by the fact， that the occurrences of the week had had such an effect on his own mind， that he was mortally afraid lest he should himself sink into the same limbo of vanity. The girl， however， was， or pretended to be， quite satisfied with her discharge， protesting she would not have staid for the world； and as the groom， whose wages happened to have been paid the day before， took himself off the same evening， it may be hoped her satisfaction was not altogether counterfeit.

"If all tales be true，" said Mrs. Elton， "Lady Euphrasia is where she can't get out.""But if she repented before she died？" said Euphra， with a muffled scorn in her tone.