CHAPTER XXVI.

THE SPECTRE.

It was about to speak

And then it started like a guilty thing.

Upon a fearful summons.--SHAKESPEARE.

"Philip Dubarry remained walking up and down the door, foaming with

impotent rage, as well as trembling with a vague and awful terror. He

had a practical and scientific mind, and could understand everything

that might be governed by known laws. But he could not understand this

unwelcome visitant, that had appeared to every one else in the house but

himself. He was an arbitrary and despotic man who enforced his will upon

all connected with him, and ruled all flesh with a rod of iron. But he

could not rule the spirit, and he knew it. He could not lay this ghost

of his guilt.

"There was one grain of truth in the ton of falsehood that he had told

to his unconscious wife, to account for the apparition seen by her.

There really was a Milly Jones, the daughter of a poor family on the

mountains, and she really did come occasionally to the house to ask for

broken victuals and old clothes; but instead of being a beautiful

black-eyed and black-haired little gipsy, in the picturesque red cloak,

she was a pale-faced, light-haired, poor-spirited looking creature, in a

faded calico frock, and an old plaid shawl; and instead of being the

family pet, with the run of the house, she was the family nuisance,

strictly prohibited from passing the bounds of the servants' hall.

"So when that day, being a rainy day, and therefore highly favorable for

attention to domestic matters, Mistress Alicia Dubarry called the

house-steward to her presence, and ordered him to send a small pension

of two dollars a week to the Jones family, with an intimation that Miss

Milly need not come to collect it, the order was promptly executed, to

the satisfaction of all the domestics; and poor Milly, glad to be

relieved from her fatiguing journey and degrading mendicity, was seen no

more at Shut-up Dubarry.

"But Mrs. Dubarry did not therefore get rid of her visitor. Not more

than three days had elapsed since the issuing of her order, when, one

evening between the lights, she entered her own bedroom, and saw the

girl in the red cloak sitting quietly in the easy-chair beside the fire.

"'How dare you come here, after the message I sent you? Get up and

begone, and let me never catch you here again,' angrily demanded the

lady.

"The apparition melted into air; but as it disappeared, the words came,

like a sigh borne upon the breeze:

"'_I wait._'

"The lady was about to dress for an evening party, and so she paid no

attention to any chance sound.

"But the next morning she met the girl in the hall, and the next evening

in the parlor; again she passed the figure on the stairs, or encountered

it in the drawing-room. The lady lost patience, and sent for the

house-steward in her presence.

"'Did I not command that that girl should not come here again?' she

sternly demanded.

"'Yes, my lady,' respectfully answered the man.

"'Then how is it that she comes here as much as ever?'

"'My dear lady, she have never entered the house since your ladyship

gave the order that she was not so to do.'

"'But she has. I have seen her here at least a half a dozen times.'

"'Dear lady, I dare not contradict you; but poor Milly Jones has been

down with the pleurisy for these two weeks past, and could not have got

out of her bed, even if your ladyship had ordered her to come.'

"'Isaac, is this true?'

"'True as truth, your ladyship, which you can find it out for yourself

by riding up to the hut and seeing the poor girl, which it would be a

charity so to do.'

"'And you say she has not been here for a fortnight?'

"'No, madam.'

"'Then, in the name of Heaven, _who_ is it that I meet so often?' slowly

and sternly demanded Mrs. Dubarry.

"Old Isaac solemnly shook his gray head, and answered never a word.

"'What do you mean by that? Speak! I will have an answer. Who is this

silent girl in the red cloak, I ask?' repeated the lady.

"'Madam, I don't know. And that is what I meant when I shook my head,'

replied the old man, trembling.

"'You don't know! do you dare to mock me?'

"'Far from it, my lady; but goodness knows I don't know.'

"'But you have seen her?'

"'Dear, my lady, I don't know who she is, nor dare I speak of her; the

master has forbidden us so to do. Dear madam, ask the master; but oh,

for pity sake, do not ask me further,' pleaded the old man, very humbly.

"The lady turned white with jealousy. There was but one interpretation

she could put upon this mystery.

"'Go and say to your master that I would feel much obliged if he would

come to me here,' she said, grimly seating herself.

"The trembling old man went to the kennels, where Mr. Dubarry was busy

doctoring a favorite setter, and delivered his message. Dubarry was

still enough in love with his three months wife to come quickly at her

call.

"'Philip!' exclaimed the lady, as soon as she saw him enter the room,

'once for all, I wish to know who is this girl in the red cloak; and why

I am daily insulted with her presence in this house?'

"Dubarry went pale, as usual at the mention of the apparition; but he

faltered out with what composure he could command:

"'I--I told you who she is--Milly Jones.'

"'No; begging your pardon, she is _not_ Milly Jones. Milly Jones has

been ill with pleurisy, at home on the mountain, for the last two weeks;

and I have sent her a pension of two dollars a week. No; this is no

Milly Jones, and I insist on knowing who she is!'

"'Then, if she is not Milly Jones, she is a creature of your own

imagination, for no other living girl comes to the house,' answered

Dubarry doggedly.

"'You will not tell me who she is? Very well. When next I see her, _she_

shall tell me, silent as she is,' said the lady grimly setting her

teeth.

"Dubarry arose with a sigh, and went back to his ailing setter; but his

thoughts brooded over the subject of the apparition.

"The lady kept her word at a fearful cost. For the remainder of the day,

her conduct towards her husband was so cold and repelling as to wound

and offend him. So it happened that when the hour for retiring came that

night, she went up to her chamber alone. She had but time to reach the

room, when all the household was startled by a piercing shriek and a

heavy fall.

"Mr. Dubarry, soon followed by all the servants, rushed up stairs to

Mrs. Dubarry's bedroom. They found the lady extended on the floor, in a

deep swoon. She was raised and laid upon the bed, and proper means taken

to revive her. When at length she opened her eyes, and recognized her

husband, she signed for every one else to leave the room; and when they

had done so, she turned and took his hand and kissed it, and fixed her

wild and frightened eyes upon him and whispered in an awe-struck tone:

"'Phil, dear, I wronged you. I took that creature in the red cloak to be

a sweetheart of yours, Phil, but it was not; it was--_a spectre_!'

"There was silence between them for a minute, during which she never

took her scared eyes from his pale face. He was the first to speak.

Summoning up as much resolution as he could muster, he affected a light

laugh, and answered:

"'Spectre! My sweet wife, there is no such thing.'

"'Ah, but--but--if you could have seen what I saw, _felt what I felt_!'

"'Nonsense, dear one. You were the subject of an optical illusion.'

"'No, I was not. Hush! Let me tell you what happened. I came up into

this room. It was warm and ruddy with the fire light and the lamp light;

and in the glow I saw the girl standing between the hearth and the bed.

I spoke to her, asking her how she dared intrude into my most sacred

privacy; and then she silently glided from the spot. But I told her she

should not leave the room until she had given some account of herself.

And I put forth my hand to stop her, but the moment I did so I received

a shock as from some powerful galvanic battery! a tremendous shock that

threw me down upon my face. I knew no more until I came to my senses and

found myself here, with you watching over me. Now, Philip, tell me that

was an optical illusion, if you dare,' said the lady, solemnly.

"'Yes, love, I dare. I tell you that what you saw _was_ an optical

illusion.'

"'--But what I felt?'

"'--Was a slight--a very slight attack of catalepsy. Both the vision and

the fit, dear, took their rise in some abnormal state of the nervous

system,' said Philip Dubarry; and feeling almost pleased with his own

explanation of the mystery, he tried to persuade himself that it was the

true one."

"But his wife turned her face to the wall, saying, however.

"'Well, at any rate, I am glad that the girl in the red cloak is not

flesh and blood, Phil. I would rather she should be an 'optical

illusion' or a fit of 'catalepsy,' or even a 'spectre,' than a

sweetheart of yours, as I first took, her to be.

"'Be not afraid. You have no living rival, Alicia,' answered her husband.

"And the reconciliation between the husband and the wife was complete

from that time forth.

"But somehow the condition of the lady was worse than before.

"_She was haunted_.

"She knew herself to be haunted; but whether by a spectral illusion or a

real spectre, she could not know. In the glow of the fire light, in the

shadow of the bed-curtains in the illuminated drawing-room, on the dark

staircase, wherever and whenever she found herself alone, the vision of

the girl in the red cloak crossed her path. She did not speak to it, or

try to stop it again. She did not wish to risk another such an electric

shock as should 'cast her shuddering on her face.' But her health wasted

under the trial. Her nerves failed. She grew fearful of being left alone

for an instant; nothing would induce her to go into any room in the

house without an attendant. She contracted a habit of looking fearfully

over her shoulder, and sometimes suddenly screaming.

"Nor was the mistress of the house the only sufferer from this 'abnormal

state of the nervous system,' as the master of the house preferred to

call the mystery. The servants grew so much afraid to move about the

building alone, that their usefulness was much impaired. And at length

one after another ran away, and took to the woods and mountain caves,

preferring to starve or beg rather than live in luxury in the haunted

house. New servants were procured to supply the places of the old ones,

until the latter could be brought back; but none of them stayed long;

nothing could induce them to remain in the 'haunted house.' The story of

the gipsy girl's ghost got around in the neighborhood. Not all the

despotic power of Mr. Dubarry could prevent this. The house came to be

pointed out and avoided by the ignorant and superstitious, as a haunted

and accursed spot. Even the more intelligent and enlightened portion of

the community gradually forsook it; for it was not very agreeable to

visit a family where the mistress was so full of 'flaws and starts'

that, even at the head of her own table, she would often startle the

whole company by suddenly looking over her right shoulder and uttering a

piercing scream.

"And so the house was abandoned by high and low, rich and poor alike.

And the worthy gossips of the neighborhood wisely nodded over their

tea-cups, and declared that the deserted condition of the house was but

a just retribution for the sins of its master.

"And in the meantime the health of the mistress grew worse and worse.

The most serious fears were entertained for her life and reason, death

or insanity seeming to be the most probable issue of her malady. Medical

advice was called in. The doctor, either in complaisance or sincerity,

agreed with Mr. Dubarry's theory of the patient's condition, ascribing

her illness to an 'abnormal state of the nervous system,' and he advised

change of air and scene, and he held forth good hopes that within a very

few months, when the young wife should become a mother, her health might

be perfectly reestablished.

"Under these circumstances, early in the new year, Mr. Dubarry took his

wife to Williamsburg, to spend the winter among the gayeties of the

colonial Governor's court.

"The haunted house was shut up, and left to itself. Not a man or woman

could be found to live in it, for love or money.

"In the glories of the colonial capital, Mrs. Dubarry completely

recovered from her nervous malady. She was visited by no more 'optical

illusions' or 'cataleptic' fits. She even grew to regard her former

visitations in the same way in which her husband pretended to view

them--as mere nervous phenomena. And as the fashionable season at

Williamsburg closed, and as the spring opened, Mrs. Dubarry expressed an

ardent desire to return to 'Shut-up Dubarry' for her confinement. 'The

heir of the manor should be born on the manor,' she said.

"Mr. Dubarry had great doubts about the safety of this measure, and

attempted to dissuade his wife from it; but she was firm in her purpose,

and so she carried it.

"It was early in the royal month of June that the young wife was taken

back to her country home. Shut-up Dubarry looked as little like a

'haunted house' as any house could look: waving woods, sparkling waters,

blossoming trees, blooming flowers, singing birds--all the richness,

beauty and splendor of summer turned it into a paradise. Besides, Mrs.

Dubarry brought down half a dozen young cousins of both sexes with her,

and they filled the house with youthful life. Under these circumstances,

the old servants were tempted back. And all went on very well until one

day one of the young girls suddenly spoke out at the full

breakfast-table, and asked:

"'Alicia, who is that strange, silent girl, in the red cloak, that is

always following you about?'

"Mrs. Dubarry grew deadly pale, sat down the cup that she had held in

her hand, but she did not attempt to speak.

"'Have I said anything wrong? I did not mean to do so. I am sure I beg

pardon, if I have,' faltered the young cousin, looking from the pale

face of Mrs. Dubarry to the troubled countenance of Mr. Dubarry.

"'I am very sorry if I have said anything wrong,' repeated the little

cousin, in dismay.

"'No, no, you have said nothing amiss; but it is a very painful subject;

let us drop it,' replied Mr. Dubarry rather inconsistently. And every

one around the table silently wondered what the matter could be.

"When breakfast was over, and the husband and wife found themselves

alone together, Mrs. Dubarry seized his arm, and whispered:

"'Oh, Philip! the spectre has not gone!'

"'My dearest Alicia! you have not fancied that you have seen it

lately?'

"'No, no; but _she_ has seen it! Kitty has seen it _always following

me_! She took it for a real girl, as I did at first!'

"What could Philip Dubarry say to all this? Only one thing:

"'My darling, I cannot have your nerves shaken in this manner. You had

no such visitations as these while we stayed at Williamsburg. And so to

Williamsburg we will return immediately. Tell your maid to pack up this

afternoon, and we will set out to-morrow. No objections, Alicia! for I

tell you we must go.'

"She saw that his resolution was fixed, and she made no opposition to

it. She rang for her maid, and gave the necessary directions. And then,

feeling very unwell, she sent down an excuse to her company, and retired

to bed.

"At twelve o'clock that night, while the young people were enjoying

themselves in some round game in the drawing-room, and Mr. Dubarry was

doing all that he could to promote their entertainment, the whole party

was startled by a terrific cry coming from Mrs. Dubarry's chamber. All

paused for a breathless instant, and then rushed tumultuously up the

stairs. At the door of the bed-chamber, Mr. Dubarry turned around and

waved them all back. Then he entered the chamber alone. All seemed quiet

there then. The moonlight came flickering through the vine leaves on the

outside of the open window, and fell fitfully upon the face and form of

Alicia Dubarry, who was sitting up in bed, staring straight before her.

"Mr. Dubarry locked the door before he approached the bed.

"'Alicia,' he said, 'my dear Alicia, what is the matter?'

"'It is doom! It is doom!' she answered in an awful voice, without

removing her eyes from some object between the foot of the bed and the

moonlit window.

"'Compose yourself, dear wife, and tell me what has happened.'

"'Look! Look! for yourself!' she cried, her finger extended, and

following the direction of her eyes.

"'My sweet Alicia, there is nothing there but the tremulous shadow of

the vine leaves cast by the moonlight,' said Mr. Dubarry, persuasively,

as he went and drew the curtain before the window, and then struck a

match and lighted a lamp.

"But her eyes were never removed from the spot where she had gazed.

"'It is there yet!' she cried.

"'What is there, good Alicia? there is nothing there, indeed!'

"'Yes, the dead woman and dead child! Do you not see them?'

"'See! no! you are in one of your nervous attacks; but to-morrow we will

leave this place, and you will have no more of them.'

"'Hush! No! I shall never leave this place again.'

"'You shall start by sunrise to-morrow.'

"'Hush! listen! I will tell you what happened. I was sleeping well, very

well, when suddenly I was awakened with a tremendous shock. I started up

in bed and saw _her_--the terrible girl! She was standing at the foot of

the bed looking at me, and pointing to something that lay upon the

floor. I looked and saw--there it is yet!--the dead woman, with the dead

babe on her bosom! I shrieked aloud, for I knew the woman was myself,

and the babe was my own! And as I shrieked, she vanished, as she always

does; but the dead woman and child remained! And there they are yet! Oh!

cover them over, Philip! cover them over! Cover them from my sight, for

I have no power to withdraw my eyes from them,' she exclaimed in wild

excitement.

"Almost beside himself with distress, Philip Dubarry seized a large

table cover and threw it down over the spot upon which her eyes were

fixed.

"'Ah! it is of no use! it is of no use! I see them still! they rise

above the covering! they lie upon it!' she cried, in terrific emotion,

shaking as if with an ague fit.

"'Lie down,' said Philip Dubarry, compelling himself to be calm, for the

sake of trying to calm her. And he took her and laid her back upon the

pillow. But still she raved, like one in high fever and delirium.

"'I have received my sentence! I am doomed! I am doomed! I have seen my

own corpse, and the corpse of my child!' she cried. And then a violent

convulsion seized her.

"Nearly maddened by terror and despair, Philip Dubarry rushed from the

room and loudly called for assistance. The chamber was soon filled with

the members of the household, not one of whom knew what to do, until the

entrance of the old housekeeper, who sent everybody out, and requested

Mr. Dubarry to dispatch a carriage for the family physician.

"Before morning the doctor arrived. But the convulsions and the delirium

of the lady increased in violence until just at the dawn of day, when

she gave birth to an infant boy, who breathed and died.

"Then, just before her own death, she recovered her senses and grew very

calm. She asked to see her child. When the nurse brought it, she kissed

its cold face, and bade her lay it by her side. Then the lady called her

husband, and whispered so faintly that he had to lean his ear to her

lips to hear her words. She said:

"'The vision is realized in the dead mother and the dead babe! But,

Philip! _for whose sin do we die?_'

"Before he could make a reply, if any reply had been possible, she was

gone.

"The mother and babe were buried together. The company at Shut-up

Dubarry broke up in the greatest consternation. The story of the vision,

real or imaginary, that had caused the lady's death, got out. All the

neighborhood talked of it, and connected it with the fate of the hardly

used gipsy girl, whose spirit was said to haunt the house.

"Mr. Dubarry became a prey to the most poignant grief and remorse. He

shut himself up in his desolate house, where he was abandoned by all his

neighbors, and by all his servants, with the exception of the old

housekeeper and house-steward, whose devotion to the family they had

served so long, retained them still in the service of its last and most

unhappy representative.

"But awful stories crept out from that house of gloom. 'Twas said that

the master was always followed by the spectre of the gipsy girl--that he

could be heard in the dead of night walking up and down the hall outside

of his chamber door, raving in frenzy, or expostulating with some

unknown and unseen being, who was said to be the spectre that haunted

the house.

"At length, unable to endure the misery of solitude and superstitious

terrors, Mr. Dubarry took an aged Catholic priest to share his home.

Under the influence of Father Ingleman, Philip Dubarry became a penitent

and a devotee. At that time this church was but a rude chapel, erected

over the old family vault. But now, by the advice of the old priest, Mr.

Dubarry rebuilt and enlarged the chapel, for the accommodation of all

the Catholics in the neighborhood. He also added a priest's house. And

Father Ingleman said mass every Sunday, while waiting for another priest

to be appointed to the charge.

"This rebuilding and remodelling amused the miserable master of the

manor, during the latter part of the summer and the autumn following his

wife's death. But with the coming of the winter, returned all his gloom

and horror. And the good old priest, so far from being able to help his

patron, was himself so much affected in health and spirits by this

condition of the house, that he begged and obtained leave to retire to

the little dwelling beside the church.

"The awful winter passed away.

"But on one stormy night in March, the mansion house took fire. It was

said that the haunted master of the house, in a fit of desperation,

actually set it on fire, with the purpose of burning out the ghost. At

all events, it seems certain that he would permit nothing to be done to

stop the flames.

"The house was burned to the ground. The houseless master took refuge

with Father Ingleman, in the priest's dwelling by the church. But there

also the spectre followed him, nor could all the exorcisms of Father

Ingleman with 'candle, bell, and book,' avail to lay the disturbed

spirit.

"Philip Dubarry, half a maniac by this time, sent away the priest,

pulled down the priest's house, and took up his abode in the body of the

church itself, which was thenceforward deserted by all others. But here

also the spectre was supposed to have followed him. At length he

disappeared. No one knew whither he went. Some said that he had gathered

together his money and departed for a foreign country; others, that he

had drowned himself in the Black River, though his body never was found.

Some said that he had cast himself down headlong from some mountain

crest, and his bones were bleaching in some inaccessible ravine; while

others, again, did not hesitate to say that the devil had flown away

with him bodily.

"The fate of the last of the Dubarrys is unknown. The estate, unclaimed,

is held in abeyance. The house, burned to the ground, has never been

restored. The church, thereafter known as the Haunted Chapel, has

crumbled into the ruin that you see. And such, dear Sybil, is the story

of the 'Fall of the Dubarrys.'"