CHAPTER XIV.

THE FIRST FATAL HALLOW EVE.

AMBROSE--Where be these maskers, fool?

COLLIN--Everywhere, sage! But chiefly there

Where least they seem to mask!

JONSON--THE CARNIVAL.

It was All-Hallow Eve, a night long anticipated with delight by the

whole neighborhood, and much longer still remembered with horror by the

whole country.

It was the occasion of Sybil Berners' mask ball; and Black Hall, the

Black Valley, and the town of Blackville were all in a state of

unprecedented excitement; for this was the first entertainment of the

kind that had ever been given in the locality, and the gentry of three

contiguous counties had been invited to assist at it.

Far distant from large cities and professional costumers as the rural

belles and beaux of the neighborhood were, you will wonder what they did

for fancy dresses.

They did very well. They ransacked the old cedar chests of their

great-grandparents, and exhumed the rich brocades, cloths of gold and

silvers, lutestrings, lamas, fardingdales, hair-cushions, and all the

gorgeous paraphernalia and regalia of the ante-revolutionary queens of

fashion. And they referred to old family portraits, and to pictures in

old plays and novels, and upon the whole they got up their dresses with

more fidelity to fact than most costumers do.

Some also went to the trouble and expense of a journey to New York to

procure outfits, and these were commissioned to buy masks for all their

friends and acquaintances who were invited to the ball.

These preparations had occupied nearly the whole month of October. And

now the eventful day had come, and the whole community was on tiptoe

with expectation.

First, at Black Hall all was in readiness, not only for the ball and the

supper, but for the accommodation of those lady friends of the hostess

who, coming from a great distance, would expect to take a bed there.

And all was in readiness at the village hotel at Blackville, where

gentlemen, coming from a distance to attend the ball, had engaged rooms

in advance.

Nevertheless the landlord of the hotel was in a "stew," for there were

more people already arrived, on horseback and in carriages of every

description, from the heavy family coach crammed with young ladies and

gentlemen, to the one-horse gig with a pair of college chums. And the

distracted landlord had neither beds for the human beings nor stalls for

the horses. But he sent out among his neighbors, and tried to get

"accommodations for man and beast" in private houses and stables.

"And the coach be come in, sir, and what be we to do with the

passengers?" inquired the head waiter.

"Blast the coach! I wish it had tumbled down the 'Devil's Descent' into

the bottomless pit!" exclaimed the frantic host, seizing his gray locks

with both hands, and running away from before the face of his

tormentor--and jumping from the frying-pan into the fire, when he came

full upon his daughter Bessie, who stopped him with:

"Pop, you must come right into the parlor. There's a gentleman there as

come by the coach, and says he _must_ have a bed here to-night, no

matter how full you may be, or how much it may cost."

"Impossible, Bessie! Clean impossible! Don't drive me stark mad!" cried

the landlord, jerking at his gray hair.

"Well, but, Pop, you must come and tell the gentleman so, or he'll sit

there all night," remonstrated the girl.

"Blow the fellow to blazes! Where is he?"

"In the parlor, Pop."

The landlord trotted into the parlor and gave a little start, for, at

first sight, he thought the gentleman's head was on fire! But a second

glance showed him that the gentleman only had the reddest hair he had

ever seen in his life, and that the level rays of the setting sun,

shining through the western window, and falling fall upon this head, set

this red hair in a harmless blaze of light.

Recovering from his little shock, he advanced to the gentleman, bowed,

and said:

"Well, sir, I am the landlord, and I understand you wish to see me."

"Yes; I wish to engage a room here to-night."

"Very sorry, sir; but it is out of the question. Every room in the house

is engaged; even my room and my daughter's room, and the servants'

rooms. And not only that, sir, but every sofa is engaged, and every rug;

so you see it is clean impossible."

"Impossible is it?" inquired the stranger.

"Clean impossible, sir! utterly impossible!" returned the host.

"All right; then it shall be done."

"Sir!"

"I say, because it is impossible, it shall be done."

"Eh!"

"Here is a hundred dollars," said the stranger, laying down two

bank-notes of fifty dollars each. "I will give you this money if you can

induce any of your guests to give up a room for me to-night."

"Why, really, sir, I should be delighted to accommodate such a very

liberal gentleman, but--"

"You must decide at once. Now, or never," said the stranger, firmly, for

he saw the game was now in his own hands.

"Well, yes, sir; I will find you a room. The two young college gents

who took a room between them may be induced to give it up."

"_Must_ give it up, you mean," amended the stranger.

"Well, yes, sir; just as you say, sir."

"And I must have it in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"And supper served there in half an hour."

"Yes, sir."

"And your company at supper, as I want to have a little talk with you."

"All right, sir."

"And now, you can go and see about the room."

"Just so, sir," said the landlord, gathering up the two fifty-dollar

bills that had bought him, body and soul, and then bowing himself out of

the room.

"'Money makes the mare go,' and the horse too. I wonder what he'll think

when he finds out his bank bills are not worth the paper they are

printed on," mused the stranger, as he paced thoughtfully up and down

the room.

Fortunately for the landlord's speculation, bad as it ultimately proved,

the two collegians who had engaged his best front bedroom had not yet

arrived to take possession of it. Therefore the business of turning it

over to a more profitable party was the more immediately practicable.

All the landlord had to do was to see that a fire was kindled in the

fireplace, and the table was set for supper.

Then he returned to the parlor, to conduct, in person, such a wealthy

and munificent patron to his apartment.

"Ah! this is cosy!" said the stranger, sinking into an arm-chair, and

spreading his hands over the blazing fire, whose beams were caught and

reflected by his red hair, until it shone like a rival conflagration.

"Glad you like your quarters, sir," said the landlord, putting his hand

upon the pocket that contained the purse with the two fifty-dollar bills

to see that they were safe.

"Ah! here comes the supper. Now, landlord, I want you to join me, that

we may have that little chat I spoke of," said the stranger, wheeling

his arm-chair around to the table, while the waiter arranged the dishes,

and stared at the flaming red head of the guest.

"What name might I have the honor of entering on my books, sir, if you

please?" inquired the host, as he obligingly took his seat opposite his

guest.

"What name might you have the honor of entering on your books?" repeated

the stranger, helping himself to a huge slice of ham. "Well, you _might_

have the honor of entering quite a variety of names on your books, as I

dare say you do; but for the sake of brevity, which is the soul of wit,

you may put down Smith--John Smith of New York city. Common name, eh,

landlord, and from a big city? Can't help that--fault of my forefathers

and godfathers. Whenever I have to sign a check the bankers make me

write myself down as 'John Smith of John.' Can't do any better than that

if it were to avert a financial crisis. All my ancestors have been John

Smiths, from the days of William Rufus, when his chief armorer John,

surnamed the 'Smiter,' for his lusty blows, founded the family. So you

may set me down as 'John Smith of John, New York city.' And now send the

waiter away, and fall to and tell me some of your neighborhood news."

Nothing but the consciousness of the possession of those two big bills

would have given the landlord courage to have left his business below

stairs to take care of itself even for the half hour to which he

mentally resolved to limit his interview with the stranger. However, he

dismissed the waiter with some extra charges, and then placed himself at

the service of his guest, and even took the initiative of the

_tete-a-tete_ by asking:

"You are quite a stranger in this neighborhood, sir?"

"Quite."

"Travelling on business, or for pleasure?"

"Pleasure."

"A delightful season this, to travel in, sir; neither too warm, nor too

cold. And the country never looks so rich and beautiful as in its autumn

foliage."

"True," answered the stranger, briefly, and then he added, "I didn't ask

you to come here to catechize me, my good friend; but to submit to be

catechized yourself, and to amuse me with the gossip of the

neighborhood."

Again nothing but the consciousness of a heavy fee would have induced

the host of the "Antlers" to put up with this traveller's "nonsense," as

he termed his general assumption of superiority.

"What would you like to hear about, then, sir?" growled the landlord.

"First, what important families have you in this part of the country?"

"Well, sir, the most principlest is the Bernerses of Black Hall, which

have returned from their bridal tour about a month ago and taken up

their abode there in the old ancestral home."

"The Berners! Who are they?" inquired the traveller, carelessly trifling

with the wing of a pheasant.

"You must be a stranger indeed, sir, not to know the Bernerses of Black

Hall," said the landlord, with an expression of strong disapprobation.

"Well, as I don't know them, and as they seem to be persons of the

highest distinction, perhaps you will tell me all about them," said the

traveller.

And the landlord not unwillingly gave the guest the full history of the

Berners of Black Hall, down to the marriage of the last heiress, at

which the bridegroom took the name of the bride's family. And then he

described the situation of the Hall and the way in which it might be

reached, and ended by saying:

"And if you think of making any stay in this neighborhood, sir, and

will send your card to Mr. and Mrs. Berners, they will be sure to call

on you and show you every attention in their power, sir; invite you to

their house, introduce you to the neighbors, make parties for you, and

make you generally welcome among us."

"They are very hospitable, then?"

"Hospitable! Why, sir, even when they were on their bridal tour, they

fell in with a lovely lady in distress, and what do they do but pay her

bills at the hotel, and fetch her and her child and her servant, all,

bag and baggage, home with themselves, to stay at Black Hall as long as

ever she likes?"

"Indeed! That was a very unusual stretch of hospitality. And this lady

is still with them?" inquired the stranger.

"She is that, sir; although the word do go around that it would be well

if she was to go away."

"Ah! why so?"

"Well, sir--but, lord, it is all servants' gossip, and there may be

nothing in it; but they do say that the master of the house is too fond

of the visitor, and likewise she of him; and that this do make the

mistress of the house very unhappy."

"Ah!" exclaimed the stranger, in a half-suppressed voice.

"They do say, sir, that whenever the mistress turns her back, they

two--the master and the guest--do go on like any pair of sweethearts,

which is a great scandal, if it's true."

"Ah ha!" muttered the stranger, clenching and grinding his teeth.

"Howsever, sir, if the master is in love with the visitor, and the

mistress is made unhappy thereby, that is no reason why they should put

off their mask ball and disappoint the whole community, I suppose they

think; so they have not done so; but they have their ball this evening,

just as if they were the happiest household in the country."

"Oh, a mask ball have they, this evening! And what sort of an affair is

it to be?"

"Well, sir, the ball is to be like other balls, I believe, only that the

guests are to appear in fancy dresses, or in loose gowns called

dominoes, and to wear false faces until supper-time, when they unmask

and reveal themselves to each other."

"Yes, that is just like other mask balls," said the stranger, and then

he seemed to fall into thought for a few minutes; and then, rousing

himself, he said:

"Landlord, you told me that your house is very full to-night, and so you

must have a great deal of business on your hands."

"I just have, sir," replied the impatient host.

"Then I will not detain you any longer from your other guests. Pray send

the waiter to remove this service immediately. And then, I think, as I

am very much fatigued by my stage-coach journey over your beastly roads,

I will retire to bed," said the stranger.

And the landlord, glad to be relieved, got up and bowed himself out.

His exit was soon followed by the entrance of the waiter who quickly

cleared the table and also retired.

The next proceedings of the stranger were rather singular.

As soon as he found himself quite alone, he locked his door, to secure

himself from any possibility of interruption, and hung a towel over the

key-hole, to guard his movements from observation, and then he unlocked

his portmanteau, and took from it a strange and horrible disguise, that

I will try to describe, so as to make it plain to the reader.

It was a tight-fitting suit, the pantaloons and jacket being made all

in one piece, and of such elastic material as to fit close to the form.

The ground of this dress was black; but upon it was painted, in strong

relief of white, the blanched bones of a skeleton--thus: down the legs

of the pantaloons were traced the long bare leg bones, with the large

joints of the hips, knees, and ankles; across the body was traced the

white ribs, breast-bone, and collar-bone; and down the sleeves were

traced the long bones of the arms, with the large shoulder-blades,

elbow-joints, and wrists; the bones of the hands were traced in white

upon tight-fitting black gloves, and those of the feet upon

tight-fitting black socks: a round scull-cap was to be drawn over the

head; this was all white, to represent the skull, and had its skeleton

features marked out with black.

The stranger having divested himself of his upper garments then put on

this horrible dress. When he had finished his revolting toilet, even to

the drawing on of the skull-cap, he surveyed himself in the mirror that

reflected as ghastly a figure of "Death," as Milton, Dante, or even

Gustav Dore, ever conceived.

He laughed sardonically, as he exclaimed:

"Ah ha! they will not expect 'Death' to be a guest at their ball!"

Then over this grim costume he threw a large travelling cloak, and upon

his head he placed a broad-brimmed black felt hat. And now, being all

ready, he prepared to leave the room.

First he put out the light, and then he cautiously unlocked the door,

and, secure from observation himself, he looked out to see if the coast

was clear.

The passage was dark, but soon he saw a door on the opposite side open,

and two young men come out in masquerade dresses, and hasten, laughing

and talking, down the stairs. They were evidently on their way to the

mask ball.

The next instant, the door on the same side with his own opened, and a

lady and gentleman, both in black dominoes and masks, came out and

passed down stairs.

"Good!" said the stranger to himself. "If I am met at all, I shall be

mistaken for one of the invited guests of the ball, and pass out without

being recognized." And so saying, he softly drew the key from the inside

of the lock, and closed and locked the door, and taking the key with

him, glided down the stairs and out of the house, and took the road to

Black Hall.