9. IX.
THE WOMAN IN WHITE.
The apartment in which I found myself was small, with a rag
carpet on the floor, split-bottomed chairs, a walnut table, and a
broad fireplace, above which ticked an eight-day clock.
This I took in at a glance, but my eyes were speedily riveted
upon the person who had uttered those singular words, “Come!
come! you are expected.”
It was a lady of about thirty-five apparently, who still exhibited
traces of extraordinary beauty, though she was thin to
emaciation. Her hair had once been auburn—it was now
sprinkled with gray; and the magnificent eyes were deeply
sunken in their sockets. They still possessed, however, a wonderful
brilliancy, and it was impossible not to be struck with
their mingled gloom and tenderness. The dress of this singular
personage still further excited my astonishment. It was of white
muslin, low-necked, and with short sleeves. The shoulders
and arms thus revealed were thin to a painful degree, and their
pallor was frightful. To complete the singularity of her costume,
there fell from her carefully braided hair a long bridal
veil of snowy lace, and around her neck she wore a superb
necklace.
As I entered, the lady rose with sudden animation and a beaming
expression upon her countenance, but immediately sank back,
murmuring:
“It is not my darling! He will not come—he will never
come!”
This strange scene had so completely taken me aback that I
remained standing in the middle of the apartment without uttering
a word. There I might have continned to stand, deprived
of all power of utterance; but all at once a door opened, and a
woman of about fifty, hard-featured and morose in manner, and
plainly dressed, hastily entered.
“What will you have, sir?” she said in tones as cold as an
icicle. I explained that my horses were worn out, and that I
wished to secure a night's lodging—a statement which was
greeted with the freezing reply:
“This is not a house of entertainment, sir, and we cannot
lodge you.”
I would have retired upon receiving this ungracious answer,
but the pale lady came to my succor.
“No, no,” she said in her sweet and mournful voice, “he must
not go away. I thought it was my darling—and he is tired. I
also am tired, oh very, very tired.”
And she sighed drearily, relapsing into silence. Her hands
were clasped upon her lap, but from time to time she played with
a little golden cross suspended from her necklace. Suddenly the
clock struck, and the sound produced a singular effect upon her.
She rose to her feet, turned toward the door, and, throwing back
her long lace veil with a movement of inexpressible grace, exclaimed
with sparkling eyes:
“That is the hour; and he will soon be here. He is coming
now!”
In fact, the hoofs of a horse were heard upon the ground without,
and with flushed cheeks the lady hastened to the door, to
which my servant had just ridden up. The mysterious lady evidently
mistook the noise for that made by the person whom she
expected, and, throwing open the door, stood with clasped hands
in an attitude of passionate expectation.
The scene, however, came to a sudden end. The harsh-looking
woman hastened to the lady's side, and, with a singular mixture
of deference and roughness, exclaimed:
“What are you doing, madam? Do you suppose he will be
glad to see you, if you make yourself sick by going into the night
air? Besides, your hair is all coming down, and it makes you
ugly. Come, and let me fix it up again.”
“Oh, yes!” was the mournful reply, “he always loved to have
my hair neatly arranged. He will not like to see me thus! But
will he come? I fear he will never come! No, no!—he will
never, never come!”
And, hiding her face with her hands, she wept bitterly, and
permitted herself to be led away. She passed through an inner
door, and I was left alone.
To describe my astonishment at this extraordinary scene
would be impossible. I stood motionless in the midst of the
apartment, gazing at the door through which the lady had disappeared,
and it was not until I heard a voice at my very elbow
that I realized my whereabouts.
It was the voice of the harsh-looking woman, who now returned
to inform me, with greater emphasis than before, that I
must go further on to secure a night's lodging. Her mistress, I
must see, was insane, she said; and any company made her
worse.
She had scarcely finished, when a musical voice behind me
said:
“It is not necessary for this gentleman to go, Mrs. Parkins.
We will soon have you some supper, sir. Pray sit down. You
are very welcome.”
