The Abbot's Ghost, or Maurice Treherne's Temptation: A Christmas StoryAlcott, Louisa May
General
The Abbot's Ghost, or Maurice Treherne's Temptation: A Christmas Story
Alcott, Louisa May
Christmas stories; Forgers -- Fiction; Ghost stories; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Love stories; Young men -- Fiction
Nothing could look less ghostly now than the haunted gallery. Fires
roared up a wide chimney at either end, long rows of figures clad in
armor stood on each side, one mailed hand grasping a lance, the other
bearing a lighted candle, a device of Sir Jasper's. Narrow windows
pierced in the thick walls let in gleams of wintry moonlight; ivy,
holly, and evergreen glistened in the ruddy glow of mingled firelight
and candle shine. From the arched stone roof hung tattered banners, and
in the midst depended a great bunch of mistletoe. Red-cushioned seats
stood in recessed window nooks, and from behind a high-covered screen of
oak sounded the blithe air of Sir Roger de Coverley.
With the utmost gravity and stateliness my lady and the general led off
the dance, for, according to the good old fashion, the men and maids in
their best array joined the gentlefolk and danced with their betters in
a high state of pride and bashfulness. Sir Jasper twirled the old
housekeeper till her head spun around and around and her decorous skirts
rustled stormily; Mrs. Snowdon captivated the gray-haired butler by her
condescension; and John was made a proud man by the hand of his young
mistress. The major came out strong among the pretty maids, and Rose
danced the footmen out of breath long before the music paused.
The merriment increased from that moment, and when the general
surprised my lady by gallantly saluting her as she unconsciously stood
under the mistletoe, the applause was immense. Everyone followed the
old gentleman's example as fast as opportunities occurred, and the
young ladies soon had as fine a color as the housemaids. More dancing,
games, songs, and all manner of festival devices filled the evening,
yet under cover of the gaiety more than one little scene was enacted
that night, and in an hour of seeming frivolity the current of several
lives was changed.
By a skillful maneuver Annon led Octavia to an isolated recess, as if to
rest after a brisk game, and, taking advantage of the auspicious hour,
pleaded his suit. She heard him patiently and, when he paused, said
slowly, yet decidedly, and with no sign of maiden hesitation, “Thanks
for the honor you do me, but I cannot accept it, for I do not love you.
I think I never can.”
“Have you tried?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, indeed I have. I like you as a friend, but no more. I know Mamma
desires it, that Jasper hopes for it, and I try to please them, but love
will not be forced, so what can I do?” And she smiled in spite of
herself at her own blunt simplicity.
“No, but it can be cherished, strengthened, and in time won, with
patience and devotion. Let me try, Octavia; it is but fair, unless you
have already learned from another the lesson I hope to teach. Is it so?”
“No, I think not. I do not understand myself as yet, I am so young, and
this so sudden. Give me time, Frank.”
She blushed and fluttered now, looked half angry, half beseeching, and
altogether lovely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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