The Arm Chair Library No. 79: The Haunted Homestead — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

§ “Judas!” i 16 had undergone so many alterations with the freaks of succeeding generations that its aie nal style of architecture was now completely lost. It had been the birth-place of many a Rossitor, I afterward learned, and it wore about its wainscoted rooms and long,dim galler- ies, much of tae inherent pride and aristocracy of the race. : I was ushered into a rogm in the west wing, which looked out am the sea, The walls were long and Jow, panelled in black oak, The floor littered like swamp-mosses in a sprinkle of May rain, with its carpetof velvet tapestry. There were curtains of the same soft emerald tints, sweeping down the long, narrow win- dows, and carved high-backed chairs, and over everything a sweet, subtlescent of mignonette, lingering, like a mysterious presence. To this day the odor of that flower is fraught with all things deadly to me, : Was Iservantor guest? The delusion which prompted me to think the latter was very strong, as I sat in a low, sumptuous chair, drawn up to the fire, served from the old Rossi- tor plate and Bohemian glass, by a littie hand- faatden of the house. Outside, the poplars tapped, in the sweep of the sea-wind, like skeleton fingers, against the shutters. The room lay half in shadows, dim, wavering, as if they had just stepped from the black wainscot, and the grim oil pictures, in rows on the wall, seemed staring and frowning fitfully. Pres- ently [ looked up, and at the other end of the mantel stood Judge Rossitor. He had in hisarms what at first sight ap- peared to be asmall bundle, wrapped in a gor- geous Indian shawl, and swaying against his arm were two or three long ringlets of light hair, Asthe bundle wascarefully deposited upon the hearth, however, two large, weird eyes looked out at me curiously, and asié as- sumed erect proporitions, Isaw a child of some six or seven years, uy SO en, ang le ae 4 appear younger, clinging to the Judge, half- frightened, half-wistfal. © pe ‘* Miss Darrow,” and he smiled quietly, “allow me to present your future pupil, Miss Ada Rossitor, The hour is unseasonable: but she was not inclined to sleep without making your acquaintance.” ‘‘T am very glad to see Miss Rossitor,” I an- swered, The child dropped his hand, and, advancing slowly, put up her small, pale face, | ** Kiss me,” said the little shrill voice, > The warm tips met mine eagerly, said Rossitor, still smiling as he watched us. ‘You will probably find her tearing her spelling lesson to-morrow, or running away on the shore,” The solemn little face contracted. This sole daughter of the house and heart of Rossitor looked at me with large, weird eyes. ‘* I wanted to see you,” fretfuly. “ My throat was sore, and no one came to hear my prayer, and—I wanted to see you.” ' ** Well?” added the Judge, cae eetle hand past softly down my face. ; ‘tb as pretty as mamma,” thoug * but— at—ahe kisses ~ me better.” Laan ile Dinshed, but his face grew unspeakably a GP - ROSSITOR HOUSE. “And you are sure you spelling lessons now!” archimg his eyébroy her, ‘Oh, yes!” solermnly, He laughed. | ‘Then bid Miss Darrow good-night. She is too tired to begin her duties before to-morrow, Come! ” ‘* Mamma said I was a little owl,” griévedthe child, clasping her armsaround. his neck, as he lifted her up, “* because my throat was sore and I heard themusic and I couldn’t sleep.” **Hush!” said Rossitor, pressing her close in the Indian shawl. | She kissed_her tiny hand to me from the door-way, Her pale face leaned toward me in the light, his was dark in shadow behind it; then the door closed, and both were gone, I fell asleep that night listening to the ocean wind ee dage Pre the poplars, just outside the stately chamber which had been assigned to me, ke all the rooms of Rossitor House, it was long and low, with a dark, sli ety shining floor, uncarpeted, save for its Be rugs, and over the mantel of Egyptian marble was paints a scene from Holbein’s ‘ Dauce of Death,” There were fringed hangingsof purple satin ethane around the great bed, and old black chairs, upholstered with the same ma- terial, — stiff against the wall. It was in this lonely chamber, somewhere in the “Wee sma’ hours,” that I had a vision. The echoes of the hall clock had not died away in the dusky corners of the house; ff was its loud, shrill strokes, I think, which awoke me. At fhe head of the bed the wind had torn the shutters asunder, and a long arrowy streak of moonlight, like a ghostly finger, Idy white upon the polis floor. Just above it, on the purple be hangings, wavered and gleamed an- other light, like that of a lamp, held and shaded by anuncertain hand, The satin had beefi drawn aside, and, half concealed in its folds, half revealed in that tremulous Btn saw, with bewilderment and half opened éyes, the face of a woman, Never, while I live, shall I forgetit. ’Twas a face more perfect than those of the Greek antiques, set in a glitter of golden hair, that flowed loosely down her shoulders, and was lost in the purplesatin. The head wasinélined to one side, classically small and past bg senting to meits exquisite outlines of wide waxen forehead and large lids adroop, and scarlet lips. You have heard the old story ot snake and bird? As still, as fascina as helpless, I lay, half-dreaming still, beneath the eves of this midnight vision—large, almond: shaped eyes they were, fiercely eager, thar: sad, and, in m ‘shey of the golden , the sou might have clai ous darkness, I heard the rustle of as, With a quick movement, she bent above me, above the hand that wore Grant Wyvil’s ring, lying idly on the counterpane, and d then - a sigh, so deep, so uns might have patted body and soul, and the orgeous face slowly faded into the yellow ght, and the yellow light faltered is & ‘smothered ¢ty. 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