University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

Linn.

Jeffrey came frequently to the mansion
for directions, and provided such things as
they needed. Miss Martha sometimes went
home with him, leaving the keys of the house
with her niece, but locking the gate and
taking the key of that with her. She generally
returned before sunset.

When Melissa was so far recovered as to
walk out, she found that the house was situated
on an eminence, about one hundred
perches from the Sound. The yard was large
and extensive; within the inclosure was a
spacious garden, now overrun with brambles
and weeds; some medical and odoriferous
herbs were scattered therein, and a few solitary

flowers overtopped the tangling briers
below, but there was plenty of fruit on the
shrubbery and trees. The out-buildings were
generally in a ruinous state. The cemetery
was the most perfect, as it was built of freestone
and marble, and had best withstood the
ravages of time. The rooms in the house
were mostly empty and decaying; the main
building was firm and strong, as was also the
extended wall which inclosed the whole. She
found that although her aunt, when they first
arrived, had led her through several upper
rooms to the chamber she inhabited, yet
there was from thence a direct passage to the
hall. The prospect was not disagreeable:
west, all was wilderness, from a brook which
wound along at a little distance without the
garden wall: north were the uneven grounds
she had crossed when she came there, bounded
by distant groves and hills: east, beautiful
meadows and fields, arrayed in flowery
green, sloped to the salt marshes or sandy
banks of the Sound, or ended in the long
white beaches which extended far into the
sea; south was the Sound and Long-Island.

Melissa passed much of her time in tracing
the ruins of this antiquated place; in viewing

the many different sails as they passed up and
down the Sound, and in listening to the songs
of the numerous and various species of birds
which frequented the garden, the inclosure
and the forest. She would have been contented
here to bury her afflictions, and for
ever to retire from the world, could Alonzo
but have resided within these walls. “What
will he think has become of me,” she would
say, while the disconsolate tear of reflection
glittered in her eye. Aunt Martha had frequently
urged her to yield to her father's injunctions,
regain her liberty and marry Bowman,
and she every day became more solicitous
and importunate. A subject so hateful
to Melissa, sometimes provoked her tears, at
others excited her resentment: she therefore,
when the weather was fair, strolled about the
garden, through the adjoining walks, and around
the inclosure, wishing to be as little in
her aunt's company as possible.

One day Jeffrey came there early in the
morning, and Miss Martha went home with
him. The day passed away but she did not
return. Melissa sat up until a late hour expecting
her; she then went to the gate and
found it was fast locked, returned, bolted and

fastened the doors of the house, went to bed
and slept as soundly as she had done since
her residence in the old mansion. “I have
at least,” she said, “escaped the disgusting
curtain-lecture about marrying Bowman.”

The next day her aunt returned. “I was
quite concerned about you, child,” said she;
“how did you sleep?”

“Never better,” answered Melissa, “since
I have been here.”

“I had forgotten,” said Martha, “that my
rents became due this week; I was detained
until late by some of my tenants; Jeffrey
was out, and I dare not return in the night
alone. I must go back to-day; it will take
me a week to settle my business; if I am
obliged to stay out again, I will send one of
Jeffrey's daughters to sleep with you.”

“You need not give yourself that trouble,”
replied Melissa; “I am under no apprehension
of staying here alone; nothing can get
in or out of these premises.”

“Well thou hast wonderful courage, child,”
said her aunt; “but I will be as often
here as possible, and as soon as my business
is settled I shall be absent no more.” She
then bade Melissa good morning and departed.

She did not return in two days. The second
night of her absence Melissa was sitting
in her chamber, reading, when she heard
a noise, as of several people trampling in the
yard below. She arose, cautiously raised the
window and looked out. It was extremely
dark; she could discern nothing. All was
still, and she thought she must have been
mistaken.

Her aunt came the next day, and told her
she was obliged to go into the country to collect
some debts of those to whom she had
rented lands. She should be gone a few
days, and when she returned would come
there. “The keys of the house,” said she,
“I will leave with you. The gate I shall
lock, and leave that key with Jeffrey, who
will be here as often as is necessary to assist
you, and see if you want any thing.” She

then went off, leaving her niece not dissatisfied
with the prospect of her absence.

Melissa amused herself on evenings by
reading in the few books her aunt had
brought there, and in the day-time by walking
around the yard and garden, or in traversing
the rooms of this antique building. In some,
were the remains of ancient furniture, others
were entirely empty. Cobwebs and mouldering
walls were the principal ornaments left.

One evening, when about retiring to rest,
she thought she heard the same trampling
noises in the yard, as on a former occasion.
She stepped softly to the window, suddenly
raised it, and holding out the candle, she fancied
she saw the glance of two or three dark
forms pass swiftly along, but so indistinctly
that it was impossible to determine whether
they were real, or only shadows produced by
objects intervening the light of the candle.
She listened and gazed with anxious solicitude,
but discovered nothing more; then shut
the window, and in a short time went to bed.

But for a length of time she could not
sleep. She had been alarmed by appearances,

either real or imaginary; probably the
latter, but possibly the former, and if so, how
distressing her situation! Secluded in a desolate
building, insolated, far removed from
society, beyond the reach of assistance, whatever
dangers might arise, whatever evils
should threaten. She might even be murdered
there, without the perpetrators fearing
punishment or discovery.

But on calmer reflection, she felt confident
that no human being could enter the premises.
The canal, the wall, the drawbridge, the gate,
the building, were all originally constructed
to resist the ravages of war, the attacks of the
natives. When therefore the drawbridge was
drawn up, and the gate effectually secured, as
they then were, they could not be surpassed
even by the wild beasts of the forest. Nothing
except the winged inhabitants of
air could gain access to the inclosure, and
they were harmless.

Composed by these considerations, she finally
fell asleep; but was aroused to instant
wakefulness, at what time, or by what
cause, she knew not. She listened, and
thought she could distinguish a low hum of

voices, but in what direction she could not
ascertain. The noise soon ceased, but she
slept no more.

Perceiving the next day that nothing had
been displaced about the house or grounds,
she concluded that her senses must have deceived
her; or if the noises were real, they
might have proceeded from the sailors of
some vessel passing the Sound.

A few evenings after, as she was preparing
for bed, she was startled by what seemed
the quick shutting of a door. With
breathless attention she listened for some
time, but heard nothing more. She then took
the candle, went down stairs, and searched
the rooms; but discovering no circumstance
which could explain the cause of the alarm,
she supposed it must have been effected by
rats, which frequented the old building.
With these impressions she returned to her
chamber, and retired to repose.

Some time in the night she was awakened
by a sharp sound, apparently near her. She
started in trembling panic; but endeavoured
to compose herself with the idea that

something had fallen from the shelves. While
reflecting upon the incident, she plainly distinguished
footsteps and voices in the rooms
below. She shuddered; a cold chilly sweat
ran down her face. Directly after, she was
convinced that she heard whispering in her
room. She raised herself up in the bed, and
cast inquisitive eyes towards her chamber
door. All was darkness; no object was visible;
no noise assailed her ear, and she again
lay down.

Her mind was too much agitated and alarmed
to admit sleep. She had evidently heard
sounds, footsteps and voices in the house, and
whisperings which appeared to be in her
room. The yard gate was locked, of which
Jeffrey had the key: she was confident that no
person could ascend or get over the wall of the
inclosure; but if that were practicable, how
was it possible that any human being could enter
the house! she possessed the key of every
door, and they were all fast locked. A thought
darted into her mind—was it not a plan which
her aunt had contrived in order to frighten her
into a compliance with the wishes of her father?
But how could the house be entered
without keys? This might be done with

false ones. But from whence did the whispering
proceed, which appeared close to her
bed-side? Possibly it might be conveyed
through the key-hole of her chamber door.
These thoughts tended in some degree to allay
her fears; they were possibilities at least,
however improbable.

As she was thus musing, a hand, cold as the
icy fingers of death, grasped her arm, which
lay on the outside of the bed-clothes. She
screamed convulsively, and sprang up in the
bed. Nothing was to be seen, no noise distinguished.
She had not time to reflect.
She flew out of bed, ran to the fire and
lighted a candle. Her heart beat rapidly.
She cast timid glances around the room; cautiously
searching every corner, and examining
the door. All things were in the same
state she had left them when she went to
rest. Her door was locked in the same manner.
No visible being was in the room except
herself.

She sat down contemplating on these
strange events. Was it not probable that she
was right in her first conjectures respecting
their being the works of her aunt, and effected

by her agents and their instrumentality?
All was possible except the cold hand which
had grasped her arm. Might not this be the
delusion of a terrified and heated imagination?
Or if by false keys the rooms had been entered
below, might they not also be used to enter
her chamber? But could the door of her
room be unlocked, a person come in, approach
her bed, depart, and relock the door, while she
was awake, in so noiseless and silent a manner?

All inclination for sleep had deserted her;
she therefore determined not again to attempt
it that night. She took up a book, but her
spirits had been too much agitated by the past
scenes to permit her to read. She looked out
of the window: the moon was up, and cast a
pale, imperfect lustre over the landscape.
She reflected upon the sounds she had heard
in the lower rooms; perhaps the doors were
open; the thought was alarming. She unclosed
her chamber door, and with the candle
in her hand cautiously descended the stairs,
casting an inquisitive eye in every direction,
and stopping frequently to listen. She advanced
to the door; it was locked; examined
the others, they were in the same situation.
She turned to go up stairs, when a

loud whisper echoed through the hall, expressing
“away! away!” She flew swiftly to her
chamber, relocked the door, and flung herself
almost breathless into a chair.

When her scattered senses were collected,
she concluded that whoever had been in the
house were there still. She resolved to go out
no more until day, which, from an eastern window,
she soon perceived beginning to discolour
the east with a fainter blue; then purple
streaks, intermingled with a dusky whiteness,
ascended in pyramidal columns to the zenith;
these fading slowly away, the eastern horizon
became fringed with the golden spangles of
early morning; a small spot of ineffable
brightness succeeded, and immediately the
sun burst over the verge of creation, deluging
the world in a flood of unbounded light and
glory.

Soon as the morning had a little advanced
Melissa ventured out. She proceeded with
hesitating steps, carefully scrutinizing each
object which met her sight. She examined
all the doors; they were still fast; critically
searched every room, closet, and corner, above
and below. She next took a light and

descended into the cellar; here her inquisition
was the same. Thus did she thoroughly
and strictly explore and search every part of
the house, but could find nothing altered,
changed or removed; no outlet, no signs of
any being having been there the evening
before, except herself. She then unclosed
the outer door and proceeded to the
gate, which she found locked as usual. She
next examined the yard, the garden and all
the outhouses; nothing could be discovered
of any person having been recently there. She
walked around by the wall, the whole circle
of the inclosure; she was convinced that the
unusual height thereof rendered it impossible
for any one to get over it. It was constructed
of several tier of hewn timbers, and both
sides of it were smooth as glass. On the
top long spikes were thickly driven in, sharpened
at both ends. It was surrounded on
the outside by a deep, wide moat, which was
nearly filled with water. Over this moat,
outside of the gate, was a drawbridge, which
was raised, and Jeffrey had the keys of both the
bridge and the gate. The events of the past
night, therefore, remained inscrutable, unless,
as she conjectured, her aunt was the agent
who had managed this extraordinary machinery.

She found Jeffrey at the house when she
re-entered. “Does madam want any thing
to day?” asked he.

“Has my aunt returned?” inquired Melissa.

“Not yet,” he replied.

“How long has she been gone?” she asked.

“Four days,” replied Jeffrey, after counting
his fingers, “and she will not be back under
four or five more.”

“Has the key of the gate been constantly
in your possession?” inquired she.

“The keys of the gate and drawbridge,” he
replied, “have not been out of my possession
for a moment since Madam has been gone.”

“Has any person been to inquire for me or
my aunt,” she asked, “since I have been
here?”

“No, Madam,” he answered, “not a single
person.”

Melissa knew not what to think: she could
not give up the idea of false keys: probably,
by the contrivance of her father and aunt,
the drawbridge had been let down, the
gate opened and the house entered by means
of such keys. Her father would as soon do
this as to confine her in so solitary a place,
nor would he abandon his purpose, if by any
measures he could induce her to relinquish
Alonzo and marry Bowman.

An idea impressed her mind which gave
her some consolation; it was possible to secure
the premises so that no one could enter
even by the aid of false keys. She asked
Jeffrey if he would assist her that day. “In
any thing you wish, Madam,” he replied.
She then directed him to go to work: old
staples and iron bars were found in different
parts of the building, with which he secured
the doors and windows, so that they could be

opened only on the inside; the gate, which
swang inward, was secured in the same manner.
She then asked him if he was willing
to leave the keys of the gate and the draw-bridge
with her. “Perhaps I may as well,”
said he, “for if you bar the gate and drawup
the bridge, I cannot get in myself until
you please to let me,” and handed her the
keys. “When I come,” said he, “I will
holla, and you must let me in.” This she
promised to do, and Jeffrey departed.[1]

That night Melissa raised the bridge, locked
and barred the gate, as also the doors and
windows of the house; she likewise went again
over all parts of the building, strictly searching
every place, though well convinced from
previous scrutiny that nothing extraordinary
would be discovered; she then retired to her

chamber, seated herself at a western window
and watched the slow declining sun as it leisurely
sank behind lofty groves. Pensive twilight
spread her dusky mantle over the landscape;
the western horizon glowed with the
spangles of evening; deepening glooms advanced;
the last beam of day faded, and the
world was enveloped in night. The owl hooted
solemnly in the forest, and the whipperwill
sung cheerfully in the garden. Innumerous
stars glittered in the firmament, intermingling
their quivering lustre with the pale
splendours of the milky-way.

She did not retire from the window until
late; then shut it and withdrew to her room,
intending not to close her eyes during the
night; if beings material or immaterial were
to visit her, she chose not again to encounter
them in darkness, or to be surprised by them
when asleep. But what cause existed for
fear? She had injured no one; none had she
displeased, except her father, her aunt and
Bowman; if by any of these the late terrifying
scenes had been wrought, they were effectually
precluded from repeating them, for
she was well convinced that no human being
could now enter the inclosure without her

permission; but if supernatural agents were
the actors, what had she to apprehend from
them? The night passed away without any
alarming circumstance, and when daylight
appeared she flung herself upon the bed and
slept until the morning was considerably advanced.
She now felt convinced that her former
conjectures were right; that it was her
aunt, her father, or both, who had caused
the frightful noises she had heard, a repetition
of which were only prevented by the
precautions she had taken.

When she awoke the horizon was overclouded;
it soon began to rain and continued
until towards evening, when it cleared
away. She went to the gate, and found all
things as she had left them, then returned,
fastened the doors as usual, examined all
parts of the house, and again went to her
chamber.

She sat up until a late hour, when growing
very drowsy, and convinced that she was safe
and secure, concluded to retire to repose,
leaving candles, however, burning in the
room. Having for two nights been deprived
of her usual rest, she soon fell into a slumber.

Sleep had scarcely arrested her senses,
when she was instantly aroused by the apparent
report of a pistol, seemingly discharged
close to her head. Awakened so suddenly,
recollection for a time was confused
and imperfect; she was only sensible of a
strong, sulphureous scent; but she soon remembered
leaving two candles burning, and
every object was now shrouded in darkness:
this alarmed her exceedingly. What could
have become of the candles? They must
have been extinguished or taken away. What
was the noise she had just heard? What
the sulphureous stench which pervaded the
room? While thus reflecting in perplexity, a
broad flash like that of lightning transiently
illuminated her chamber, followed by a long,
loud and deep roar which seemed to shake
the building to its centre; it did not appear
like thunder; the sound was apparently in
the rooms directly over her head: perhaps
however it was thunder; possibly a preceding
clap had struck near the building,
broken the windows, put out the lights, and
filled the house with the electric effluvium.
She listened for a repetition of the report;
but a very different sound soon grated on her
ear: a hollow, horrible groan echoed through

her apartment, passing off in a faint, dying
murmur: it was evident that the groan proceeded
from some person in the chamber.
Melissa raised her head; a tall, white form
moved from the upper end of the room,
glided slowly by her bed and seemed to pass
off near the foot; she then heard the doors
below alternately open and shut, slapping furiously
and in quick succession, followed by
violent noises in the rooms beneath, like the
falling of heavy bodies, and the crash of furniture;
clamorous voices succeeded, among
which she could distinguish boisterous menaces
and threatenings, and the plaintive tone
of expostulation; a momentary silence ensued,
when the cry of “Murder! murder!
murder!” echoed through the building, followed
by the report of a pistol, and shortly after
by the groans of a person apparently in the
agonies of death, which grew fainter and
fainter until they died away in a seemingly
expiring gasp: a dead silence prevailed for a
few minutes, to which a loud, hoarse peal
of ghastly laughter succeeded; then again
all was still: but she soon heard heavy footsteps
ascending the stairs to her chamber
door. It was then she became terrified and
alarmed beyond any former example. “Gracious
Heaven defend me,” she exclaimed;
“what am I coming to!” Knowing that every
avenue to the inclosure was effectually
secured; that all the doors and windows of
the house, as also the door which opened into
her chamber, were fast locked, strictly bolted
and barred, and certain that all the keys were
in her possession, she could not entertain the
least doubt but the noises she had heard were
produced by supernatural beings, and she had
reason to believe, of the most mischievous
nature. She was now convinced that neither
her father nor her aunt could have any agency
in the business, and even wished her aunt
had returned. It must be exceedingly difficult
to cross the moat, as the drawbridge was up;
it must be still more difficult to scale the wall
of the inclosure; it was impossible for any
human being to get into the house, or to enter
her chamber, without bursting the doors.

While she lay thus ruminating in extreme
agitation, momentarily expecting her ears
would be assailed with some terrific sound,
a pale light dimly illuminated her room; it
grew brighter; she raised herself up to look
towards the door; the first sight which met
her eye was a most horrible object standing
at a little distance from her bed-side; its

form was tall and stately, wrapped in a white,
folding robe, spotted with blood; the hair
of its head was matted with clotted gore;
a deep wound appeared to have pierced
the breast, from which fresh blood flowed
down the garment; its haggard face was
gashed and gory; eyes fixed, glazed and glaring;
lips open, teeth set, and in its hand was
a bloody dagger. Melissa, uttering a shriek
of terror, shrunk into bed, and in an instant
the room was involved in total darkness; a
freezing ague seized her limbs, and drops of
chilling sweat stood upon her face. Immediately
a horrid, hoarse voice burst from amidst
the gloom of her apartment—“Begone!
Begone from this house!” The bed on which
she lay then seemed to be agitated, and directly
she perceived some person crawling on
to its foot. Every consideration except present
safety was relinquished; instantaneously
she sprang from the bed to the floor, with
convulsive grasp seized the candle, flew to
the fire and lighted it; she gazed wildly about
the room; no new object was visible;
with timid step she approached the bed, strictly
searched all around and under it, but nothing
strange could be found. An idea flashed
across her mind to leave the house immediately
and fly to Jeffrey's; this was easy,
as the keys of the gate and drawbridge were
in her possession; she stopped not to reconsider
the thought, but seizing the keys,
with a candle in her hand, unlocked her
chamber door, and proceeded cautiously
down stairs, fearfully casting her eyes on each
side as she tremblingly advanced to the outer
door. She hesitated a moment: to what
perils was she about to expose herself by thus
venturing out at the dead of night and proceeding
such a distance alone! But confident
her situation could become no more hazardous,
she was about to unbar the door, when
she was alarmed by a deep, hollow sigh; she
looked around, and saw stretched on one side
of the hall the same ghastly form which had
so recently appeared standing by her bedside;
the same haggard countenance, the
same awful appearance of murderous death!
A faintness came upon her; she turned to flee
to her chamber; the candle dropped from
her palsied hand and all was shrouded in
impenetrable darkness. Groping to find the
stairs, as she came near their foot, a black object,
apparently in human shape, stood before
her, with eyes which resembled glowing
coals, and red flames issuing from its mouth.
As she stood fixed in inexpressible trepidation,
a large ball of fire rolled slowly along the
extended hall, and burst with an explosion
which seemed to rock the building to its
deepest foundations. Melissa closed her eyes
and fell senseless to the floor: she revived,
and reached her chamber she hardly knew
how; locked her door, lighted another candle,
and after again searching the room sank
into a chair in a state of mind which almost
deprived her of reason.

Daylight soon appeared; and the cheerful
sun, darting his enlivening rays through the
crevices and windows of the antique mansion,
revived her exhausted spirits, and dissipated
in some degree the terrors which hovered
about her mind. She endeavoured
to reason coolly on the events of the
past night, but reason could not elucidate
them; not the least sound had been heard
since she returned to her room; she
therefore expected to discover no traits which
might tend to a disclosure of those mysteries.
She consoled herself only with a fixed determination
to leave the desolate building.
Should Jeffrey come there that day, he might
be prevailed on to permit her to remain at
the apartment in his house until her aunt

returned. If he came not before sunset, she
resolved to leave the mansion and proceed
thither.

After taking some refreshment she went
down stairs; the doors and windows were all
fast as she had left them; she again
searched every room in the house, both above
and below, but discovered no trace
or mark of the past disturbance; not
the smallest article was displaced; every
thing appeared as usual. She then went to
the gate; it was locked and the drawbridge
was up. Again she traversed the circuit of
the wall, but found no alteration, or any
place where it was possible the inclosure
might be entered; she visited the outbuildings,
and even entered the cemetery, but perceived
not the least trait or vestige which
tended to explain the surprising transactions
of the preceding night. She however returned
to her room in a more composed frame
of spirit, confident that she should not remain
alone another night in that gloomy, desolate
and dangerous solitude.

Towards evening Melissa took her usual
walk around the inclosure. It was that sea

son of the year when weary summer is lapsing
into the arms of sallow autumn. The day
had been warm, and the light gales bore revigorating
coolness on their wings, as they
tremulously agitated the foliage of the western
forest, or fluttered among the branches
of trees surrounding the mansion. The green
splendours of spring had begun to fade into a
yellow lustre; the flowery verdure of the
fields was changing to a russet hue. A robin
chirped on a neighbouring oak, a wren chattered
beneath; swallows twittered around
the decayed buildings; the ludicrous mocking-bird
sang sportively from the top of the
highest elm, and the surrounding groves rang
with the numerous changes of artless melody,
while deep in the adjacent wilderness
the woodcock,[2] hammering on the hollow
trunk of some dry and blasted tree, filled
the woods with reverberant echoes. The
Sound was only ruffled by the lingering
breezes as they idly wandered over its surface.
Long-Island, then in possession of the
British troops, was thinly enveloped in smoky
vapour: scattered along its shores lay the
numerous small craft and larger ships of the
hostile fleet. A few skiffs were passing and
repassing the Sound, and several American
gun-boats lay off a point which stretched out
from the mainland far to the eastward. Numberless
summer insects mingled their discordant
strains amidst the weedy herbage. A
heavy, black cloud was rising in the northwest
which seemed to portend a shower, as
the sonorous, distant thunder was at long intervals
distinctly heard.

Melissa strolled around the inclosure,
contemplating the varying beauties of the

scene. The images of departed joys, the
days when Alonzo had participated with her
in admiring the splendours of rural prospects,
raised in her bosom the sigh of deep regret.
Where was he now? What were his sensations?
Perhaps he had been induced to believe
her false or capricious; or wearied by
incessant disappointment, he might have relinquished
a pursuit attended with so much
difficulty: or was it not more probable that
his late family misfortunes, added to the mystery
of her sudden disappearance, had driven
him to despair, and that he was now wandering
in distant lands? Could she but hear
from him, it might alleviate her sorrows; but
alas! she doubted of ever hearing aught that
would restore her to comfort and to peace.

She entered the garden and traversed the
alleys, now overgrown with weeds and tufted
knot-grass. The flower-beds were choaked
with the low-running bramble and the tangling
five-finger; tall, rank rushes, mullens
and daisies had usurped the empire of the
kitchen garden. The viny arbour was broken
and principally gone to decay; yet the “lonely
wild-rose” blushed mournfully amidst its
ruins, and around the environs the wild grape

hung in clusters. Passing from the garden,
she involuntarily stopped at the cemetery;
she paused in serious reflection: “Here,”
said she, “in this house of gloom, rest in undisturbed
silence my honourable ancestors,
once the active tenants of yonder mansion;
then, throughout these now solitary demesnes,
the busy occurrences of life glided in cheerful
circles; then, these moss-clad alleys and
this wild, weedy garden, were the resort of
the fashionable and the gay; evening music
then floated over the fields, while yonder halls
and apartments shone with brilliant illumination:
now all is sad, solitary and dreary, the
haunt of sprites and spectres of nameless
terror. All that remains of the head that
formed, the hand that executed and the bosom
that relished this once happy scenery, is,
alas! only a heap of dust.”

She seated herself on a little hillock under
a weeping-willow that stood near the cemetery,
and watched the rising shower which
slowly ascended in gloomy pomp, half hidden
behind western groves, shrouding the low
sun in black vapour, while coming thunders
nearer and more awfully rolled. The shriek

ing night-hawk[3] soared high into the air, mingling
with the lurid van of the approaching
storm, which widening, more rapidly advanced,
until “the heavens were arrayed in
blackness.” The lightning broader and
brighter flashed, hurling down its forky,
streaming bolts, far in the wilderness, its
flaming path followed by the volleying artillery
of the skies; now bending its long,
crinkling spires over the valleys, then glimmering
along the summit of the hills. Convolving
clouds poured smoky volumes through
the expansion; a deep, hollow, distant roar
announced the approach of “summoned
winds;” the whole forest bowed in awful
grandeur, as from its dark bosom rushed the
impetuous hurricane, twisting off or tearing
up by the roots the stoutest trees, and whirling
the heaviest branches through the air with
irresistible fury. It dashed upon the sea,
tossed it into irregular mountains, or mingled
its white, foamy spray with the gloom of the
turbid skies. Slantways the large, heavy
drops of rain began to descend. Melissa
hastened to the mansion; as she reached the
door a very brilliant flash of lightning, accompanied
by a tremendous explosion, startled
her. A thunderbolt had entered a large
elm tree within the inclosure, and with horrible
crash had shivered it from top to bottom.
She unlocked the door and hurried to her
chamber.

Deep night now filled the atmosphere; the
rain poured in torrents; the wind rocked the
building and bellowed in the adjacent groves;
the sea raged and roared; fierce lightnings
rent the heavens, alternately involving the
world in the sheeted flame of their many-coloured
fires; thunders rolled awfully around
the firmament, or burst with horrid din,
bounding and reverberating among the surrounding
woods, hills and valleys. It seemed
nothing less than the crush of worlds
sounding through the universe.

Melissa walked her room, listening to the
wild commotion of the elements. She feared
that if the storm continued she should be
compelled to pass another night in the lonely
mansion; if so, she resolved not to sleep.
She now suddenly recollected that in her
haste to regain her chamber she had forgotten

to lock the outer door; the shock she
received when the lightning demolished the
elm tree was the cause of this neglect; she
took the candle, ran hastily down and fastened
the door. When returning, she heard
footsteps, and imperfectly saw the glance of
something coming out of an adjoining room
into the hall; supposing some ghastly object
was approaching, she averted her eyes and
flew to the stairs: as she was ascending them
a voice behind her expressed, “Gracious
Heaven!—Melissa!” The voice agitated her
frame with a confused, sympathetic sensation.
She turned, fixed her eyes upon the
person who had spoken; unconnected ideas
floated a moment in her imagination—“Eternal
Powers!” she exclaimed—“Alonzo!”