Domestic fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Family -- England -- Fiction
She said she had no patience with Selina, and had left her to Emily and
her maid; but, before many words had been spoken, they all came creeping
down after her, feeling safety in numbers, or perhaps in her entire
fearlessness. The report of a gun gave us all a shock, and elicited
another scream or two. My mother, hoping that no one was hurt, hastened
into the hall, but only to meet Griff, hurrying in laughing to reassure
us with the tidings that it was only Martyn, who had shot the old
sun-dial by way of a robber; and he was presently followed by the others,
Martyn rather crestfallen, but arguing with all his might that the
sun-dial was exactly like a man; and my mother hurried every one off
upstairs without further discussion.
Clarence was rather white, and when Martyn demanded, ‘Do you really think
it was the ghost? Fancy her selection of the bird!’ he gravely answered,
‘Martyn, boy, if it were, it is not a thing to speak of in that tone.
You had better go to bed.’
Martyn went off, somewhat awed. Clarence was cold and shivering, and
stood warming himself. He was going to wind up his watch, but his hand
shook, and I did it for him, noting the hour—twenty minutes past one.
It appeared that Selina, on going upstairs, recollected that she had left
her purse in Griff’s sitting-room before going to dress, and had gone in
quest of it. She heard strange shouts and screams outside, and, going to
one of the old windows, where the shutters were less unmanageable than
elsewhere, she beheld a woman rushing towards the house pursued by at
least a couple of men. Filled with terror she had called out, and nearly
fainted in Griff’s arms.
‘It agrees with all we have heard before,’ said Clarence, ‘the very day
and hour!’
‘As Martyn said, the person is strange.’
‘Villagers, less concerned, have seen the like,’ he said; ‘and, indeed,
all unconsciously poor Selina has cut away the hope of redress,’ he
sighed. ‘Poor, restless spirit! would that I could do anything for her.’
‘Let me ask, do you ever see her now?’
‘N-no, I suppose not; but whenever I am anxious or worried, the trouble
takes her form in my dreams.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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