The Arm Chair Library No. 79: The Haunted Homestead — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 3 was unusually large. The saloon was quite crowded, leaving but little room for the motions of the dancers. Mathilde was looking very beauti- ful that night. She wore a dress with a three-fold skirt of very fine trans- parent thale over rose-colored silk, and which, with every motion, floated around her graceful form with a mist- like softness and lightness; a berthe and falls of the finest lace vailed her rounded arms and neck. She wore no jewels, but a wreath of rich, white he- liotrope crowned her jetty ringlets, and a bouquet of the same oderiferous flowers employed her slender fingers. Yes, she was looking very lovely. Nevertheless, Mathilde, as well as my- self, seemed destined to adorn the sofa as a “wall flower” all the evening, for set after set formed until every one was complete. The music struck up, and the dancing commenced, and still no one came near us, nor did we even so much as see, within the range of our vision, one single person that we knew. Mathilde voted this “the very stu- pidest ball” she was ever at, and hoped her papa would never come to Saratoga again. I, for my part, fell into the study of faces, and through them into the study of character, and through that into dreaming. Presently a head—start not, gentle reader, there was a living body at- tached to it—attracted my particular attention. It was not because it was above every other head present— though had not this been the case I should not at that distance have seen it—nor was it because it was a very handsome one—for there were others much handsomer, but it was a very remarkable, characteristic, individual sort of head—a monarchical head, with a forehead that in its ecommand- ing height and breadth seemed the eed natural thrown of intellectual sove- reignty, with a strongly and clearly marked nose and mouth, with eyes full of calm power—that surveyed the multitude below with the quiet inter- est of a king inspecting his army on some festive parade day. “Magnus Apollo!” were the words that sprang alive to my lips, as I laid my hand upon the soft, white arm of Mathilde and called her attention to this stranger. “Hush! he is looking this way,” said my companion, blushing and casting down her eyes. I knew very well, if he was “look- ing this way,” at whom he must be looking, and so did .not feel Ma- thilde’s embarrassment in again rais- ing my eyes to the ““Magnus Apollo.” When I did so [ perceived that he was * in conversation with another gentle- man, whom I recognized as Mr. ; the proprietor of the house. I saw Mr. bow and precede the stran- ger, conducting him to the presence of Mr. Legare, to whom he immedi- ately introduced him. I saw Mr. Le- gare and the stranger approaching our quarter of the room, and I thought I understood it all. I was not mistaken. Mr. Legare presented the stranger as “Mr. Howard, of Boston,” first to me, whom he favored with a bow, but certainly not «ith a single glance, and next to Mathilde, whom he al- most immediately petitioned to be- come his partner in the next quad: rille. j Miss Legare bowed a gracious ac- ceptance to his suit. The presentation over, Mr. Legare went to rejoin his wife, who could not endure to be left alone. Mr. Howard remained standing be- fore us, and soon, by the brilliancy, variety and interest of his conversa- tion, attracted and engaged both his (a(0) ,00 i ‘S