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Mf Foaphrex, Pallas had been stopped by a friend, delayed at a
NUMBER 33...
NEW YORK, JANUARY 19, 1884.
PRICE ‘SIX.CENTS.. ;
THE: SPECTRES OF MABERLY HALL,
“ THE MOST AWESOME GHOST: STORY OF THE
CENTURY!”
Z
BY NUGENT: ROBINSON.
. {Complete in this Number.]
M FRIEND—aye, my friend—George Cavendish, died upon
the fourteenth day of December, 1872.) We had been flung
together upon the world, had fought a heavy fight against desperate
odds ; fought it boldly and well. He succumbed to brain fever. Al-
though we had been estranged for some time, I attended him with an
aching heart, heard his wild, incoherent ravings, his low valedictory
sigh, and received the last look he was ever destined to cast upon
this side of his untimely grave, ere he started on that mysterious
journey we must all—high and low, simple and’ gentle—travel,
01 ° .
Unnerved, unfit for work, and witha sense of utter desolation
hanging darkly round me like the mourning cloak I had worn at
_the funeral of my departed friend, I rejected all offers of sympathy,
ait overtures of companionship. I was indeed alone!
Christmas was at hand. Right merrily the standard of holly and
ivy was unfurled to the crisp, wintry breeze, and the Christian
world, aglow with preparation, was revelling’ in visions of home
mirth and home happiness. .
How to avoid Christmas was my one abidiog thought.
Remain in London? No!
Accept the invitation of the De Taffords, of Tafford Chase, toa
party as joyous as that which assembed at Dingly Dell? No.
I would remain in my chambers, and let’ my own sorrow eat into
my h
ee the twentieth of December Humphrey Pallas a man with
whom 1 was intimate, called to my chambers on a matter con-
nected with a case in which I held a brief.
Iwas in the act of stepping inio the street when I encountered
him, and a pjiltry balf-minute would have saved me the interview,
crossing, attracted to a shop-window, the current of my life might
have run smootly ov. Bt it was not to be. *' It was written other-
He was in deep meurning for his young wife.
—" T have sahue up the old rookery in Staffordshire,” he ‘said,
word Christmas is absolutely hateful to me.”
‘The tears rushed unbidden to his eyes, and a choking sob bespoke
“the great erief, welling up from his heart,
“ observed, wishing to, divert his thoughts into an-
“The
other channel.
“Yes, rookery. | It was built in thé reign of Queen Anne ; and,
the exception of a new wing to replace’ portion of the build-
‘ing burned down by the Jacobites in the ‘15," it remains, furniture
and all, a musty, fusty, tumble down old place ; but’! haven't the
heart to touch stick or stone of it.”
“ Have you closed the place ?"
“‘ Hermeticalty sealed it, and dismissed the servants, with the ex-
ception of one old crone that Janet—my wife—seemed t to have'a
regard for.”
“What are your plans ?”” * .
“‘Thave none, Of one thing—only one—I am certain, and that
is, that I shall go out of England for Christmas.”
‘he idea came to me that I should like to spend my Christmas at
Maberly Hall.’ My dead friend had passed many a happy day there }
had spoken of the quaint old place over and over again ; had flung
his incoherent thoughts upon it during the hideous ravings of his
death illness,
“I should like to stop at the Hall during the forthcoming so-called
festive season, Pallas, if you wouldn’t mind it.” *
“You?”
“Js it possible that—”
“Itis my mood at present, old fellow, and you wit not balk it,
will you 2”
“Not I, indeed.’ You are a thousand times welcome, But you'll
have a dull time of it.”
“ Coleur de rose would sicken’me just now.” »
‘A few words, and the details were arranged. A few words, and
the seal was affixed to a resolution binding me, while memory lasts,
to one ghastly—; Let the narrative speak for itself.
I started upon the afternoon of the asd, by the four o'clock uain,
from the Eustor station.
A dull, dead, heavy, drenching rain was vllenly falling as 1
alighted at Stavely station.
“I require a fly to take me over to Maberly Hall.”
“There is no fly here, and there is nobody there,” was the laconic
observation of the official whom I had addressed.
I resolved upon walking.” There was nothing else for it. My lug-
gage consisted of an old-fashioned carpet bag, into ‘which I had
stowed a change of'dress, and a Packet of private Papers belonging
to George Cavendish.
peruse them at leisure, and to place myself face to face with the
past sad, solemn link of the handwriting of the dead man,
Stinging the bag across my shoulders, and lighting my pipe, I set
out into the darkness for Maberly Halt,
The silence of that night I shall never forget. _ It was unnaturally
appalling ; not a dog barked, and the plash of a. rat into’ an inky
pool alone broke the horribly monotonous muffled echo of my own
tramp, tramp, The darkness was intense, and when the road be-
came overshadowed with the gaunt branches of the leafless tree:
was compelled to probe my way with my umbrella, like one smitten
with a’sudden blindness. . Twice I struck a match—once, but not an
instant too soon! Another step and I had fallen headlong into a
disused quarry hole, the hideous depth of which my miserably feeble,
flickering light utterly failed to fathom,
I reached the lodge at Maberly Hall. My instructions were so
complete that 1 was enabled to open the wicket gate and pass
through as though such had been my daily practice from childhood.
‘The avenue leading to the Hall lay before -me cavernous as a tail-
way tunnel, .
I plunged into it.
¥
caution? No red light to warn me of my danger?
Thad walked, possibly about four hundred yards in a darkness so
intense, that had I been blindfolded and placed in an apartment
from which every ray of light had been excluded, my vision ‘could
not have been more securely sealed.
I held my bag in my left hand while 1 groped my way, by means
of my umbrella, with my right. My matches had become damp and
were rendered utterly useless,
I suddenly stopped, without exactly knowing why or ‘wherefore—
stopped, and could feel my heart beating up in my very .throat—
beating to suffocation.
A strange, sickening sensation crept over me, as though some foul
and filthy ani nal were crawling upon me and covering me with its
noisome saliva,
One awful second : One fashof thought, and I knew that I was
not alone
T have not been brought face to face with ‘death at the cannons
mouth, . I have not been upon the verge of eternity on the deck of
the sinking ship, I have not been placed in any of. those perilous
positions where men are tested to the uttermost limits of their en-
durance, and therefore I cannot determine whether I am what is
termed a brave man or a cowardly one; but that shock, such as
startled my very soul, was so fraught with so much mysterious
horror that no nature, however bold—no. human. mind, however,
evenly balanced by philosophy or fortified by the submission of. re-
ligion, could have experienced it without recoiling, as in a swoon
of an indefinable terror.
This I felt in my soul.- Lt
‘There was somiething beside me in the cavernousfgloom, and that
thing was not of this earth
I called up my reasoning powers to strike one blow in my behalt
and crush down the maddening thought by the sheer weight of com-
mon sense,
1 endeavored to speak, but my mouth was dry and parched, and
my tongue refused its office. A cold perspiration bathed me. from
head to foot, and I 3 erally shook in a very palsy of terror—terrory
unaccountable ter
‘Twould have given thousands of golden sovereigns, had I. pos-
sessed them, for the company of the filthiest plague-stricken wretch
ever vomited from prison. or hospital—thousands of golden sover-
eigns fora single glint of God’s dayshine., Every instant I expected
to be touched by the thing !~every instant that it would reveal its
presence in some awful and some freezing manner. ~
3 crouched as if for a spring, every nerve, every fibre, at its highest
aes the impulse came upon me to fly, and I shestatingly
beyed
i roabed through the darkness with a swiftness that must have.
destroyed me had I come into contact with any resisting ol A
second before, and I had been treading with the ¢ caution a feeble-
ness and age.. Now was dashing onwards, with cle, dear life
awaiting me at the goal.
‘The spurt passed away,
nameless terror clung to me, for presence evolved it,
Where was I?» Was this avenue interminable, or had I crossed the
Plutonian shore, and entered the region of perpetual darkness ?
WasI doomed? Was I -—. gth, when nearly spent, for,
my heart was in my throat, a dim, shadowing told me that the ave-
nue was passed, and that the deeper darkness ahead was the loom-
ing up of the hall. - .
I sta;gered to the steps, reeled up to > the great door, aad, alter .
little groping, reached. a knocker, which I clutched as a drowning
man clutches the plank er rope that is to bear him to safety, and
shundered wildly—thundered with a din that would have awakened
he dead. 4 .
I awauencd the dead!
My appeal was responded to, The last bolt had drawn back, and
the door was about: to yawn for me, when, great God! a clammy,
ji
I had brought these papers with me in order to be enabled to
| eyes, embedded in a green oore— ae
‘Was there no hand to force me back ? . No signal-pole to denote .
iad I slackened ‘my pace, but the same |
‘thousand lives.
y flesh quivers as I recall the supreme exstacy of the horror, of :
that unearthly ga ze, ¥
The old crone, who had flung open the portal as though I had ,,
an expected and honored guest, led me, shaking with the ague
of vess0n, along a series of gloomy passages. This by the aid of a ;
solitary candle, which rather seemed to make the darkness more |
visible thai to afford the necessary adjunct of light, ; The shadow: ,
upon the wall, as we silently traversed the corridors, seemed weird
and witch-like,, and singularly en ranport with the fever of my
thoughts.
How closely I followed that old hag, the touch of her limp gar-;
ments being priceless companionship.
| A bright fire crackled in the huge grate of the oaken wainscotted,,
room, into which she ushered me, and, although I leant over it un- |;
til I could have fairly shrieked with pain, I could not touch the ice...
in my heart, the ice in my marrow, the ice in my 80
a a small table, drawn cosily to the hearth, stood a decanter,
labelled “* Brandy,” from which I poured half a pint, draining it at ;
agulp. Then, and only then, did I muster up courage to gaze at
the back of the hand that had been touched by he thing. Did that ,
awful touch leave any mark? No; my hand, remarkably white,
seemed whiter than usual, Was J, then, suffering from a spasm of
overheated imagination ? Had reasoning power been hurled from
its throne, and had thought danced a wild measure in my hitherto:
anexcitable brain ? All these questions I asked myself, but no an=
$wer did I receive, sav
“The presence is hereto with yous No effort of yours, mentally
or physically, cam free
| With something like to a 2 shiver I perceived that the table was laid
for two persons.-
| Surely the wretched old hag, who was busying herself with the
fire, did not intend to plague me’ with her company. Humphrey
Pallas had distinctly informed me that the Hall was untenanted,
save by this woman to whom his dead wife had taken a fancy.
| Humphrey Pallas knew, too, that I was in no mood for company. |
| You have laid the table for two persons,” I shouted into the old ,
woman's ears, for she was very deaf.
| es, I heave—that's right,” with a hideous chuckle.
| § Was the table laid for me ?”
|
|
|
{
|
| 4 Fes.”
4s Did you expect me ?
“The measter sent word that you was coming.”
"Is there anybody else coming 2”
“Es.”
| “Who 2”
| ‘One as won't be denied—one who ,is always here—Mr. George
Cavendish,”
| T reeled as if struck by a bullet,
| The mention of my dead friend at such a moment!
tion of my dead friend in such a manner!
| “Mr. George Cavendish is dead!” I cried, hoarsely.
The old woman shook her head slowly from side to side, and, ,
with a hideous leer, meant to convey that she was too wary to be
deceived by so weak an invention, chuckled
No, no, sie; he beant dead, ‘Iseen him this very night,”
lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, ‘and I seen her.
Her! Whom do you mean ?” I cried,
! This was the woman's reply ;
ptt She was stannin om the steps behind him when I let you tn,”
| I sank into a chair, Those soulless eyes, floating in_green ooze.
That clammy clas .
! I was feebly struggling in an ocean of horrors, every wave dashing
me on the fire-laden shore of insanity.
I dare not question ie hag any further—at least not yet,
The woman was sol
. The men-
and,
1 | Remove those !" I yelled, pointing to the extra knife and fork
and plate. :
“He's sure to be here,” she mumbled, as she reluctantly carried,
out.my order, ‘Dead, indeed! _ There's many alive that’s thought
to be dead, and many dead that’s thought to be alive. And there
be many out of their shrouds that ought to be in them, and there .,
be many in them that ought to be hale and hearty and bonnie this
awful night.” :
' As she spoke, a gust of wind rattled oreny a oor and shutter in the
‘old hall, while a piercing moan, as of a lost soul receiving con-
demnation, made itself heard over the howlog and whistling and
chattering of the storm.
“+ Ay, ay, a bad night to be out 0’ doors. A bad night to be lying
in the bottom of the pool among the rotten weeds, with horse-leeches .
twisting in your bonnie brown hair.”
The woman was thinking aloud, “Then, as if suddenty recaling
time and place:
Will you take your supper now, sir 2” sa
‘1 nodded assent. , Anything to get rid of her. Even my own
eddying thoughts were preferable to such weird companionship, .
Supper! I could not have eaten a mouthful to have saved ten
| “ That’s your bedroom—the sheets are well aired and ‘laundried,
They were at the fire all day yesterday, and all day to-day.” ...-5.,
hand was laid upon mine, while two > sells lights, ghastly
: Q 1 woaee : 1"
‘ She pointed to a door at the extremity of the apartment—a mas-
sive oaken door, black as ebony, and overladen with grotesque carve
d VINdIAGVINd
me
Ss
aes