The Haunted Homestead Part 4

"My dear Mathilde, we are to have more company. Your cousin Rachel Noales is coming; she will be here this afternoon!"

"Oh! I should be so glad if we only had room for her!" exclaimed Mathilde, impulsively, and then she blushed deeply in having spoken thus freely of their crowded state in the presence of a guest.

"My dear Mathilde," said I, "as mine is a double-bedded chamber, I should be very happy to have Miss Rachel for a roommate; that is, if it would be agreeable to herself."

"Thank you, Agnes, dear. Agreeable! why it would be the very thing.

Rachel Noales is the greatest coward that ever ran! and would no more sleep in a strange room, by herself, than she would in a churchyard! If you had not kindly offered, some of us girls would have to take her in, although we are all sleeping double now!"

"But are you sure, my dear Agnes, that you will not be incommoded,"

kindly inquired Mrs. Legare.

"Incommoded? Not in the least! The arrangement suits me to a nicety!" I replied.

And so, in truth, it did; for let me confess that while I could not prevail upon myself to shorten my visit, and leave the house with its great mystery unsolved, the prospect of sleeping alone in that chamber cursed with crime appalled me, but, in company with a companion of my own age, it would be a very different affair.

"That horrid portrait! take it into the attic, Jet," said Mrs. Legare, as her eyes fell upon the _ci devant_ firescreen.

The little maid took up the picture and carried it off as commanded.

Then there was a visit of inspection and preparation paid to my room.

Fresh sheets and more blankets were put upon the second bed, fresh napkins laid, and then mother and daughter and little maid departed.

Through the remainder of that day I had no further opportunity of learning from Mathilde the history of the dark lady.

Late that afternoon Uncle Judah was dispatched with the mules to Frost Height to meet the stage-coach, and bring Rachel Noales to the house.

And about seven o'clock he returned, escorting the new visitor, for whom we were waiting tea.

As Miss Noales was to be my roommate, I examined her with much more interest than I had bestowed upon any other among my fellow-visitors.

Rachel Noales was an orphan, and was still in deep mourning for her father, who had been dead about nine months. She was a very pretty, timid-looking girl, with a fair face, soft brown hair and large hazel eyes.

"Ah! my dear child," I thought to myself, "you are scarcely the most proper denizen for a crime-cursed, haunted chamber."

And I made up my mind to protect her, if possible, from the knowledge that would only make her wretched, and perhaps drive her away from the place. As this was the fourth evening of Christmas revelry, and we had all been up to a very late hour upon each of the three preceding nights, it was moved, seconded, and carried by a large majority that we should retire early on this and the succeeding evenings of the week, so as to recruit a little for the New Year's festivity.

Accordingly, at ten o'clock we separated.

Mrs. Legare and Mathilde accompanied Rachel Noales and myself to our chamber. And when our hostess and her daughter had seen that the room was in perfect order, the fire burning well, the beds turned down, the ewers filled, etc., etc., they took leave, waiting, as before, until they had heard me lock the chamber door behind them. When they had pa.s.sed down the stairs and out at the hall door and locked it after them, I turned around to meet the surprised look of Rachel Noales.

"Why, where have they gone?" she asked.

"Into the old house, to bed."

"Why!--do they sleep there?"

"Certainly--the whole family sleep there."

"And who sleeps here in the new house?"

"No one but you and I!"

"You don't mean to say that they have put us in this house to sleep alone?"

"Why not? It is an adjunct to the other house, which is, besides, quite full of guests. It was so when I came."

"And where did you sleep?"

"Here."

"Alone?"

"Certainly."

She looked at me with astonishment. And had my mind been sufficiently at ease I should have enjoyed her nave admiration. But it was not so; and when I saw her draw her chair up in front of the fire, and sit down immediately over that spot, I shuddered and spoke to her.

"Rachel, dear, don't sit directly in front of the fire; it is injurious to the eyes."

She moved to one side and began to unfasten her dress preparatory to going to bed. We were now ready. But before lying down, Rachel asked me:

"Is the door secure?"

"Yes, my dear."

"And the windows?"

"Yes."

Not quite content with my answer, Rachel went slyly around to all the windows, and then to the door, to ascertain their security; then she searched the closets, and finally got into bed.

I soon followed her example, but found myself more sleepless than upon the preceding evening. I know not exactly how long I had lain awake, thinking of the dead proprietors, of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, and her sad history and tragic fate (whatever they might have been), and of the stern, dark woman of my dream, and of the blood-stained floor, and trying to combine these materials into some coherent whole, when suddenly I heard the lock click back, the door swing slowly open, and a rustle, as of silken drapery, and I opened my eyes to behold the awful woman of my dream standing in the middle of the room, and pointing sternly to the blood-stained floor!

And in the very same instant that I heard and saw this, Rachel had also been awakened, and was even now asking in frightened tones:

"Who is that?"

But there was no answer.

"Who is that?" again asked the girl.

And still there was no answer.

"Who--is--that?" she reiterated, emphatically.

No answer.

"Aunt Legare!--Mathilde!--Jet!--Who is it?"

No reply. But the tall, black-robed woman standing motionless, and pointing with spectral finger to the spot on the floor!

"Oh! dear me! Agnes, Agnes!"