University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
The Spectre.

For several minutes, Light Joe prowled
about the house, waiting for his accomplice
to appear. He waited in vain. The
burglar had either got off before him, else
he was detained by unaccountable circumstances
in the house. Still, all within was
silent and dark; and Joe was on the point
of entering the hall to carry off the booty,
which Gordon, even had he escaped, could
not have taken with him, when, glimmering
through the curtains in various parts of the
house, he saw lights, several in number, moving
to and fro.

Still there was no sound; and hoping Gordon
had got off before him, the young burglar
hastened from the spot.

His accomplice was less fortunate. Instead
of finding his way safely into the hall,
and thence into the open air, confused by
Joe's escape towards the kitchen, Gordon attempted
to follow him, trusting to his young
companion to lead him safely to the hall
door. In the darkness he neither found the
kitchen nor the hall, but rushed blindly on,
until, reaching a back doorway, he took a
terrific leap, and went whirling over and
over—down—down—striking against jagged
walls, projecting timbers, and rough-hewn
planks, and falling with a heavy jar upon a
cold, solid, earthy floor.

For more than a minute, he lay like a
corpse upon the ground, motionless as if every
bone in his body had been crushed by
the fearful fall. At last, with a groan, he
lifted his hand to his bursting forehead, then
slowly raising himself to a sitting posture,
rolled his strained eye-balls in their aching
sockets, and stared at the rayless gloom of
the black chaos into which he had fallen.—
All was dark and noiseless as the tomb.

Where was he? A faint recollection of
stepping blindly upon a floorless space, and
of being hurled headlong down, broke upon
his mind, and then came the startling remembrance
of the manner in which he had
met with the terrible fall. The truth flashed
upon him. He had fallen into a deep,
dark, dismal cellar.

Fortunately no bones were broken, and in
a few minutes he began to recover from the
shock. Feeling for his pocket lantern, he
was rejoiced to find that it had not been
crushed. He hesitated before he opened it;
then he let a ray of bright light stream into
the surrounding blackness, pointing out the
horrors of his situation, and closed the lantern
again in a moment.

He was in the midst of barrels, bins and
boxes, stone jars and iron bound casks, all
of which were surrounded by cold and mouldy
walls, that showed, as the beam of light
quivered around upon them, innumerable
pearls of sparkling frost upon their jagged
sides. Above him, arose a steep flight of
stairs, down which he had been precipitated;
and on either side, cut in the top of the wall,
were narrow grated windows. At the right
was a ponderous plank, locked and defended

by heavy bars of iron.

Gordon was debating in his mind which
of three things he should do; endeavor to
escape into the open air through the plank
door; to dash boldly up the stairs, and striking
down all opposition, rush from the
house; or to lie secreted among the boxes
and casks until a more convenient time;—
when a circumstance caused him to decide
on adopting the latter course.

A light appeared at the head of the stairs,
then there was a sound of footsteps on the
topmost plank. Gordon crouched down behind
a group of barrels, awaiting the approach
of the nocturnal visitor.

Slowly down he came into the dismal cellar;
a glaring light in his left hand, and a
pistol grasped in his right; his features
deathly pale, yet his lips compressed, and
his eyes flashing with determined courage.

It was Mr. Acton!

Scarce had he reached the foot of the
stairs, and taken three steps upon the cold
earthy floor, looking cautiously about him,
when, suddenly starting from the shadows
which the flickering light failed to penetrate,
there arose before him the grim and ghastly
features of the burglar.

For an instant those two men, between
whom there was such a mysterious connection,
stood gazing at each other, motionless,
pale and speechless as two marble statues.
Then with a deadly fire flashing in his eye,
Acton leveled his pistol at Gordon's breast,
his features working with an expression of
determined hatred: yet he did not fire.

Gordon stood proudly up before him, his
arms folded upon his broad chest, and a
scowl of defiance darkening his brow.

`Fire—and be d—d forever!' muttered
the burglar, without moving a muscle. `You
dare not! for, look you, she would surely
have a curiosity to behold the corpse of the
daring robber—and think you she would not
recognize me? Fire—if you dare do such
a murder!'

Acton dropped the weapon by his side, biting
his lips with rage.

`It is well you spoke of her,' he whispered
hoarsely, `else I had blown your heart
out, as I once threatened to do if you ever
crossed my path again. Damnable villain!
was it not enough that you extorted a thousand
dollars from me by treachery? But
you shall suffer for this!'

`How so?' sneered the robber. `Will
you keep me a prisoner now that you have
me in your power? Ha! ha! I'd laugh to
see you attempt a thing like that. A prisoner!
Know that prisoners have influence in their
way, and that mine would be a terrible one,
should I exert it against you. Could I no
contrive to communicate with her? Ha!
ha!'

It was a hoarse laugh and a ghastly smile
that shocked the senses of Mr. Acton, for
the burglar, not yet recovered from his fall,
was feeble and pale as a corpse The light
trembled in Acton's clenched hand, and the
muscles of his face worked with the conflicting
emotions of his breast, as the dauntless
robber thus hurled defiance in his teeth with
the assurance that he durst not resent the
insult.

`Have done with your foolish boasting!'
muttered Acton, with fierce impatience.—
`Tell me what you would have.'

The robber smiled disdainfully.

`Since, instead of getting off with my
booty, I have tumbled into this hellish pit, all
I can ask is, that you conduct me safely into
the open air, and promise to do your utmost
to get me free, should I unfortunately
be arrested.'

Acton ground his teeth with rage at the
thought that he could do no less than favor
the escape of a villain who, having already
done so much to injure him, would on the
present occasion have robbed his house.—
He felt forced to let him go.

`Come,' growled the burglar, `if you act,
act quickly. Go up and see that the way is
clear, then when all is ready, come down

and let me know, and I'll make my exit.'

Acton returned up the stairs with the
light, and finding nobody in the room above
save Stevens, who had sprung out of bed
the moment there was a pistol fired, he managed
to send him away, and returned to
the cellar.

`Now, begone!' he exclaimed, grasping
the robber by the shoulder; `begone! and
never,' he added in a hoarse whisper, shaking
him fiercely; `never, if you value your
life, cross my path again. I'd rather kill
you, and suffer the worst that could happen,
than be thus maddened by suspense. Remember
my words and begone!'

With a grim smile of triumph, Gordon
turned away, and reeling from the stunning
effects of his fall, staggered to the staircase
which he climbed, watched by Acton, who
held the light to assist his escape.

The burglar had disappeared above, and
Acton was beginning to breathe quite easily,
when a shriek and a fall on the floor
above awakened his worst fears. With headlong
haste he mounted the stairs, and rushed
into the room from whence the shriek had
come.

His wife lay senseless on the floor, with a
broken lamp beside her on the carpet. Acton
raised her in his arms, calling loudly
for help. In a moment Edith Irving was by
her side, and Mrs. Barnes, Kate and the
coachman soon crowded into the room.

Mrs. Acton, restored to consciousness,
cast a wild and haggard look about her,
shuddering at the sight of her terrified
friends, and clasped her husband's hand
conclusively. They placed her in an easy
chair, and she soon recovered her faculties
sufficiently to speak.

`Stay with me,' she whispered to her husband.
`Let the rest go.'

Edith and the servants left the room.

`Did you see it?' asked Mrs. Acton, eagerly,
with a wild stare at her husband's
face.

`No—what was it?' asked Mr. Acton,
pale and agitated.

`A ghost!' whispered his wife, shuddering.

`A ghost!'

`If ever there was a ghost—which I begin
to believe. How it terrified me!'

`Speak! Explain yourself!'

`Oh! would that you had seen that form
—those features!' exclaimed Mrs. Acton.—
`So white! so ghastly! and so like—'

`Like whom?' interrupted Acton.

She whispered a word in his ear.

`Impossible!' he exclaimed in a voice he
intended to be firm, but which trembled in
spite of himself. `You must have been
dreaming.'

`No—no! I am sure—I know a being—
whether earthly or unearthly, I cannot say
—arose before me as I entered the room.—
The features were his! though so deathly
pale that they looked unnatural! You may
deem it weakness in me to faint as I did at
sight of him, but his countenance was so
grim and horrid, and bore such a resemblance
to—'

`I understand—'

`That I believe if you had seen him, you
too would have been terrified. Then he
looked at me with such a savage grin! oh!
'twas terrible!'

`Which way did he go?'

`He arose as if from the cellar, and glided
away—I know not whither, for I fainted.'

`Do not mention this, my dear,' said Mr.
Acton. `That man was probably a robber
who had remained hidden in the house; and
his resemblance to one who is dead was all
in your imagination.'

`It must be so,' assented his wife, `but I
must confess I had the weakness to fancy it
was a ghost at first sight. How foolish! do
not mention it!'

Mr. Acton was no less agitated than his
wife, but from a different cause. He knew

too well that the resemblance she had mentioned
was no production of the fancy!

The alarm caused by the robbers had so
disturbed the household that sleep, for the
remainder of the night, was out of the question.
While Mr. Acton and his wife, together
with Edith, were conversing upon the
subject that had so excited them all, Mrs.
Barnes, Kate, and the coachman, assembled
in the kitchen, were talking in whispers
about the daring robbery.

They were sorely tormented by a curiosity
to know the cause of Mrs. Acton's fainting,
not being altogether satisfied with the
explanation that one of the robbers, having
remained in the house, passed through the
room she was in.

Kate, who had already a knowledge of the
connection existing between Gordon and
Mr. Acton, although she did not understand
the nature of it, came nearer than the others
in her surmises, yet she wisely kept her
opinions to herself.

While Kate felt greatly rejoiced that her
friends had escaped from the house, she could
not but feel disappointed in the failure of
their plot. Yet, as she reflected on the circumstances
of the case, and thought of all
the Actons had done for her, she shuddered
at her own black ingratitude, and felt a secret
joy—something she could not explain
even to herself—at the ill success of her
treachery. The fact of the case was, Mrs.
Acton and her sister Edith, had both talked
to her frequently, endeavoring in a kindly
manner to instil lessons of virtue into her
mind; and often, when free from the influence
of her evil associates, all the better
feelings of her nature had been awakened,
and she had resolved to try to become as
good as they.