The Arm Chair Library No. 79: The Haunted Homestead — page 19: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

re te ee SS a thinking of the dead proprietors, il hike locked Madeliene Van Der Vaughan, and her sad history and tragic fate (whatever that might have been), and of the stern, dark womin of my dream, and of the blood-stained floor, and trying to combine these materials into some coherent whole, when suddenly | 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 ask- ing 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!” I answered: , “What, my dear?” “Have you opened the door?” “No, love.” “Have you been up at all since you laid down?” “No, Rachel.” “Who opened the door?” “I do not know.” “Didn’t you hear it open?” Ven” “And it is open now!” “T see it is.” “But how came it open?” “I do not know; perhaps it was not THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 7 _— — er ee ee _and the catch flew back.” “Oh, perhaps that was it,” said Rachel; and, though her teeth were chattering with a nervous tremor, she got out of bed and went to the door to clos@and lock it. And, reader! the black-robed woman passed out before her, and she saw her not.” I fell back upon my pillow, nearer swooning than ever I had been in my life; for now I knew that this was no dream, but a vision—an apparition to me, and to me only. I slept no more that night. And in the morning when I arose and looked into the pa I was star- tled at the haggardness of my own face. When we appeared at the breakfast table, some of the young people re- marked my paleness, and said that I had been frolicking more than was good for me. Then one of the com- pany inquired of Rachel Noales how she had rested. “Not very well,’ Rachel answered; “I was frightened by the door flying open in the middle of the night.” I noticed a quick, intelligent look pass between Mathilde and _ her mother, while Rachel continued: “T thought at first that it was thieves breaking in; but I know now that it flew open because Agnes had not locked the door fast enough to hold it.” “No, I had not,” said [. The arrival of the mail-bag put an end to this discussion. The letters were distributed at the table. Among them was one from my brother to Mr. Legare, accepting his invitation for himself and his friend, whom he begged to name as the Honorable Francis Howard of Massachusetts, and announcing the letter as a mere avant courier of the party, which would reach Frost Height that afternoon. Upon hearing the name of Frank i EOmIiIchboo con