Stories with a Vengeance — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

88 SOME AUTHENTICATED GHOST STORIZS. whose patronymic, according to my nomen- clature, was Champneys, and he and his charming wife were entertaining there, at Yule-tide, a host of guests, chiefly from the estates up country. Among these guests was a young lady, recently arrived in the island; and as she is the heroine of my story, and, moreover, was the belle of Cocoburg society at the time, I should be dubbed ungallant and neglectful if I did not devote a few words > paint her picture, so far as words can oO it. Her Christian name was Effie, and until she changed at the hymeneal altar her present surname for that of a well-beloved captain of my regiment—a contingency not very remote, so gossip had it—as Somerville that surname stood; Effie Somerville, a smooth, liquid, and: lovable cognomen, as cognomens generally go. She was a maiden of about nineteen years of age, full of life and life’s young hopes, as maidens of nineteen should be. dn face, the painter’s perfect model, if he wanted one, for Queen Berengaria; the shade of whvose blue eyes, the shape of whose Grecian nose, the exact sheen of whose golden hair, the pearly lustre of whose teeth, and the smoothness and purest whiteness of whose skin—perhaps the transparent soap of the Mr. Pears, of Richard Cceur de Lion’s reign made it so, who can tell P—we all know, so why go over them again piecemeal P In figure, the sculptor would have exulted over the marvellous symmetry of her neck, arms, bust, and tournure; and having graven these with cunning hand into the counterfeit presentment of the fair girl herself, would, like another Pygmalion, have fallen in love with the image he himself had created. Well, as aforetold, Miss Somerville was one of those who were enjoying the hos- pitalities of Seelie House, and entering con amore into the gaieties of Cocoburg at Christmas time. That Anglo-Indian city, dull and depress- ing allthe year round, invariably broke out into all sorts and conditions of hilarity during these holidays; not only were there sounds of revelry by night, but by day also. It was the last night of the old year, and a grand regimental ball at our mess was to see it out, and to usher the new one in. Effie, who had been busied for hours with tarletan and lace, with ribbons and flounces, und had fabricated for herself the most captivating of dance costumes, had retired into her own room, to don the “ war-paint ” Google and otherwise arm herself for man- slaughter. Contrary to every usage of civilizcd society, and rude as it no doubt is, Iam bound to let you peep into that sacred penetralia, otherwise you will hardly realize completely the surroundings of my story. It was a large and airy apartment, placed somewhat away, though yet under the same roof as the rest of the bungalow—nay, I beg its pardon—mansion. Several wide slips of cane matting covered its floor, upon which the lightest tread would rustle, and so make footsteps heard. A low bedstead, a few chairs, a wardrobe, or, to give it its proper Indian designation, an almirah, a well-appointed dressing- table—these were the articles of furniture with which the “bower” was garnished, save and except a large cheval glass, of “ Kurope muster,’—that is to say, not manufactured in Pear] Island. In the days of Sir Angus Strongitharm’s tenure of Seclie House, this room had been no sleeping one, but the snug and favourite lounge of the worthy knight himself. Into it, then, I repeat, the young lady had shut herself for her toilette, her hostess, as she entered, hearing her warble merrily the air of a popular melody. An hour or so after, Mr. Champneys, waiting impatiently in all the agonies of a broadcloth dress-suit on a hot tropical night the appearance of his wife and guest to set out for our ball, heard a loud and piercing shriek issue from the direction of Miss Somerville’s room, and evidently from that young lady herself—no ayah or other native woman ever screamed after that fashion. Summoning his spouse, they both rushed to ascertain the cause ; and going in, found the poor girl, nearly dressed, stretched upon the floor, senseless and gasping for breath. After applying such restoratives as oc- turred to their scared senses, and finding them ineffectual, they sent post haste to beg my presence, and I was soon with them. Lying upon her bed inanimate was the maiden who but a few minutes before was in her very zenith of health and loveliness. Her teeth were firmly pressing upon her lips, so firmly that they had caused them to bleed; her face was ashy pale, her features were distorted; her eyes were wide open and gazing fixedly on vacancy; the fingers of both hands were rigidly stiff and clenched upon her palms; and from a small wound upon her forehead a few drops of blood had trickled and stained her cheek, neck, and shoulder. JOO @ © = a S CO)