2. CHAPTER II.
Blunderbore Hall, the seat of James Rawjester,
Esq., was encompassed by dark pines and funereal
hemlocks on all sides. The wind sang weirdly in
the turrets and moaned through the long-drawn
avenues of the park. As I approached the house I
saw several mysterious flgures flit before the windows,
and a yell of demoniac laughter answered my summons
at the bell. While I strove to repress my
gloomy forebodings, the housekeeper, a timid, scared
looking old woman, showed me into the library.
I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I
was dressed in a narrow gown of dark serge, trimmed
with black bugles. A thick green shawl was pinned
across my breast. My hands were encased with black
half-mittens worked with steel beads; on my feet
were large pattens, originally the property of my deceased
grandmother. I carried a blue cotton umbrella.
As I passed before a mirror, I could not help
glancing at it, nor could I disguise from myself the
fact that I was not handsome.
Drawing a chair into a recess, I sat down with
folded hands, calmly awaiting the arrival of my master.
Once or twice a fearful yell rang through the
house, or the rattling of chains, and curses uttered in
a deep, manly voice, broke upon the oppressive stillness.
I began to feel my soul rising with the emergency
of the moment.
“You look alarmed, miss. You don't hear anything,
my dear, do you?” asked the housekeeper
nervously.
“Nothing whatever,” I remarked calmly, as a terrific
scream, followed by the dragging of chairs and
tables in the room above, drowned for a moment my
reply. “It is the silence, on the contrary, which
has made me foolishly nervous.”
The housekeeper looked at me approvingly, and
instantly made some tea for me.
I drank seven cups; as I was beginning the eighth,
I heard a crash, and the next moment a man leaped
into the room through the broken window.
