Haunted houses -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
The occupant of the room had moved the light, and we saw her shadow on
the blind. We looked up in silence, expecting that something strange
would occur. I cannot explain the cause of this impression, but in
subsequent conversation with my companions they confessed that they
had experienced the same feeling of expectation as myself. What did
occur was this: The blind was pulled up, and the window opened, and by
the window stood a female figure in a white nightdress, stretching out
her arms toward us. It was not possible that she could see us, but her
imploring attitude seemed like an appeal to us to save her from some
terrible danger, and it powerfully affected me.
I put my finger to my lips, to warn Bob and Rivers against uttering
any exclamation of surprise, and I placed myself in such a position
that Mme. Bernstein could not see what we saw. Presently the female's
arms dropped to her side, and she sank upon a chair by the window, and
sat there while Rivers continued his examination.
"Why do you say 'poor lady'?" asked Rivers. "Is she suffering in any
way?"
"She is much to be pitied," replied Mme. Bernstein. "So young and
beautiful as she is!"
"But explain, madame. You speak in enigmas. Does your master oppress
her? Is he cruel to her?"
"I do not know. She does not complain, but I would not trust him with
a child of mine."
"Is she his child, then?"
"Oh, no; but he has authority over her. He has never struck her, he
has never spoken a harsh word to her; still I would not trust him."
"We shall get at it presently, I suppose," said Rivers impatiently.
"What is the lady's name?"
"Mlle. Mersac."
"Her Christian name?"
"I have not heard it, all the years I have been in the house. There
was no reason why I should hear it. Mlle. Mersac--is not that a
sufficient name?"
"It must content us for the present. If she is not his daughter she is
doubtless some relation?"
"It cannot be--he has himself declared that she is not. I ventured one
day--it is now a long time ago--to ask him, and he answered me
angrily, and bade me attend to my duties, and nothing more. He
repented a little while afterward; and came to me and inquired why I
had put the question to him. 'It was a thought, sir,' I said. 'Can you
see any likeness between us?' he asked. I answered no, and there is no
likeness. She is fair, he is dark; there is not the least resemblance
between them."
"May we say that she is afflicted?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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