Puck — January 1, 1879 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. It THREE CHRISTMAS-EVES. [From Tinsley's Magazine] (Concluded. ) “| AUD clasped her hands convulsively, ANeL but uttered no further protest. Ste- ~ phen drew near, as though to accom- pany them. J “No, stay with Maud,” said Maggie, and she and Sidney left the room. ‘They went up- stairs, and along a little carpeted passage that led to the door of a room, “ie room where they had left that formless ghastly thing stretched on the bed that afternoon. At the door they paused, and the candle fluttered and flickered as though on the point of going out, and leav- ing them in darkness. Sidney and Maggic looked at each other, but that did not comfort them much, for with those eyes dilated with a nameless horror they did not look much like their ordinary selves. Sidney placed his hand resolutely on the handle of the door, and be- gan slowly to open it. “Take care that the candle does not blow out, Maggie,” whispered he. She obediently put out her hand to shield the flame, so that the candle, while shedding its light on their faces, did not help them at all to see what was before them. But the cham- ber was not quite dark; the white blind in the window only modified, but did not shut out, the chilly whiteness of the moonlit snow, and in between the blind and the window came strag- gling moonbeams, that fell in uneven streaks upon the furniture and floor. They fell on something else, too. Heavers! what was t' at white form sitting before the dressing-table, and looking into the glass with hideous intent- ness? It was Carrie—or—her ghost. Mig- gie’s courage failed her, and the candle fell, with terrifying clamor, to the ground, Sidney was the first to regain his self-com- mand. Grasping Maggie’s arm with painful energy, he said, in a deep tone: “ Carrie!” No answer, no movement; only that ghostly figure still sitting before the glass. They looked fearfully at the reflection, and saw that that dim gray spectre did, indeed, look strangely lke the rigid face that they had left under the white covering. Besides, they looked upon the bed, and there was nothing there. “'God help us!” said Maggie, as, clasping Sidney's hand, she moved slowly and fearfully towards the window. As they drew nearer their doubts were at an end; it was Carrie, staring at her own drawn, ashen, ghastly face with vacant stony gaze. She seemed too ab- sorbed to notice their presence, or to turn her head ever so little at her husband’s call. At last they stood close behind her chair, and then for the first time they saw some strange dark thing upon the table in front of her. Horror of horrors! it was the cat, and to Sidney's heated imagination its luminous eyes seemed those of a terrible demon, lighted by the fires of hell, Nevertheless, to ordinary beholders it would have seemed nothing more or less than a cat, and, moreover, it was purring. “O Carrie, I am so glad you are better, dear,” said Maggie, with trembling voice; “but is it not rather cold for you to be out of bed? Will you go back now?” No answer, but stony silence, only broken by the purring of the cat. “Let us call the others,” said Sidney. Ah, what terrible anguish and horror was written on his expressive face! “No,” whispered Maggie, “1 have never done or wished her harm; I do not fear her;”” and so saying she touched the stiff wax-like hand, and tried to move it. “She is dead,” said Maggie, encircling the T corpse with her pliant arm. ‘ Help me, Sid- ney.” ._ ‘How do you know?” said Sidney, doubt- ing, yet not for very shame and manliness dar- ing to refuse to assist her. But Maggie had seen the unmistakable symptoms of death more often than he had, and she was right; Carrie was dead, But how, when, where did she die, and who gave utterance to that wailing cry that had im- pelled them to seek her? How came the cat in that strange deserted chamber, which every human or living thing would naturally shun in dumb horror? These thoughts op- pressed tnem as they laid the stiffened. corpse upon the bed, and tried to close the glassy va- cant eyes, Hastily their task was done, but what hours it seemed to them, before they again left the hated chamber, and descended to ex- | pectant listeners in the dining-room!- Then, | when once safely back to the regions of light | and human society, the strain on Maggie's heart gave way, and she flung herself sobbing into the arms of the astonished Maud. Sidney gave, as well as he could, a brief account of what they had found in the chamber of death, Stephen and Mand were chilled with horror, and Maud’s one idea was of instant escape from this house of terrors. But Stephen said firmly, ‘* Let us go back once, all together, just to be assured that all is now right as you say it is, and then we will go.” Perhaps curiosity might have had something to do with his making this proposal, but at all events the others felt it to be right, and they reluctantly assented. “And we will lock the door,” said Maggie. Accordingly they went once more to the room, taking with them this time two candles, There lay the body on the bed, but when they looked at the table no cat was to be seen, and and though they searched everywhere they could not find it. Maud and Stephen looked at each other; it was evident they began to | doubt the statement of the others; but Sidney and Maggie persisted in it; and, besides, how could they account for that mysterious cry ? They left the room at last and locked the door. “Come home with us, Sidney,” said Stephen, as they descended the stairs. “T would; but the maid —I cannot leave her alone in the house—"” “Oh, don't you know that she is going to sleep with our Anne to-night ?” said Maud. On hearing this Sidney gladly consented, and as soon as the two girls were hatted and cloaked they emerged into the Close. What a relief it was to get out of the terrifying atmos- phere of that hated house! How reassuring and protecting seemed the grand old mother church of the city as she lay—a massive gray pile of stonework, streaked with deep shadows that seemed hardly less substantial—in the midst of the sparkling snow! They were not long in reaching Mrs. Dainton’s house, and be- fore they entered it they promised one another not to tell any one but Emily of the events of that night, for they well knew that if once it reached Mrs. Dainton’s ears, the story would be soon bandied about among all the gossips of Woodchester. Sidney ventured to confess to Stephen, as they walked tegether, his convic- tion that there had been something “‘ uncanny” about the whole affair, and hinted at strange theories of the transmigration of souls, and at the possession of animals by evil spirits. He had always had a superstitious dread of Carrie's cat, and now he could not divest himself of the idea that it had some strange communica- tion with his wife’s spirit. But Stephen, who, from not having witnessed what his brother had, was inclined to a more sational view, maintained that ‘poor Carrie" had fallen intoa trance, and that after they had thought her dead she had revived sufficiently to grope her way to a chair, where death had seized her even while calling for help. When Sidney urged that she had been dead for some time, Stephen admitted that it must have been the cat they heard; but maintained still that that was nothing wonderful. Sidney said no more, but neithe: he nor Maggie ever again alluded to it in Stephen’s presence. That night, as they parted in the sitting-room, Sid- ney embraced his adopted sister with marked and respectful tenderness, and dismissed her with the comforting words, ‘ You are a brick, Maggie.” The next day Maud inquired of the servants for Sidney's cat, and great search was made for it; but never again did they behold that cat, nor ever hear what had become of it. CHAPTER IV. THE THIRD CHRISTMAS-EVE. Curistmas came round again, as Christmas inevitably will, notwithstanding that the skep- ticism of childhood may sometimes doubt it, and still, to all appearance, Woodchester was much the same as it had been wont to be. But the little ivy-covered house in the Close was shut up, and for the present Stephen, and not Sidney Dainton, was the organist of the cathedral. For the young musician was travel- ing abroad, drinking in the beauty of the snow- capped mountains of Switzerland and the me- lodious sound of their rushing torrents, the gorgeous coloring of the storied cathedrals and the glorious soul-stirring of the pealing organs of Germany, or watching with equal delight the rhythmic dances of the graceful Italian peasants. He wandered to and fro, frequent- ing hotels and /ad/es d’hote, and winning golden opinions from the travelers who crossed his path. Young ladies particularly admired this fair-haired dreamy-locking stranger, and were not a little piqued by his impassive disregard of all their airs and graces. But at last he returned, bringing with him various new effusions wherewith to enrich the musical world, and—so he thought—an empty, loveless, gloomy heart to darken his own dwell- ing. But it did not seem so miserable when once he was back in his old haunts, and busy with his old occupations; and the merry laugh, the quaint humor, and tender courtesy which made him so welcome in the little social world of Woodchester, did not seem much like the utterance of a hollow and a broken heart. There let us leave him for the present, and look in upon him again after a few months more have passed. It was Christmas-eve, three years and a half after he was first introduced to our readers, when Sidney Dainton hurried up the steps of his mo- ther’s house and burst into the sitting-room. ‘The party was reduced now, for Emily had gone to live with a friend of hers as governess to her children, and from thence had married a fascinating Russian count, with whom she was now traveling abroad. Stephen also had gotten himself a wife and a house of his own, so now there were only Mrs. Dainton, Maud and Maggie. The two latter were busily en- gaged in decorating the snug little room with ranches of holly. “Sidney, my treasure,” said Mrs. Dainton, with all her old empressement, “ this is charm- ing!” Now, pipsy-popsies, clear away your rubbish, and give your brother a cup of tea as soon as possible.”” “No, mother dear, I really cannot stay; I must go home directly,” said Sidney, ‘I only came in just to wish you and the girls a merry Christmas.”” Mrs. Dainton’s face fell, and she said sorrow- fully: comicbooks.com