LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
I
When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American Minister, bought Canterville
Chase, every one told him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was
no doubt at all that the place was haunted. Indeed, Lord Canterville
himself, who was a man of the most punctilious honour, had felt it his
duty to mention the fact to Mr. Otis when they came to discuss terms.
"We have not cared to live in the place ourselves," said Lord
Canterville, "since my grandaunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, was
frightened into a fit, from which she never really recovered, by two
skeleton hands being placed on her shoulders as she was dressing for
dinner, and I feel bound to tell you, Mr. Otis, that the ghost has been
seen by several living members of my family, as well as by the rector of
the parish, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, who is a Fellow of King's College,
Cambridge. After the unfortunate accident to the Duchess, none of our
younger servants would stay with us, and Lady Canterville often got very
little sleep at night, in consequence of the mysterious noises that came
from the corridor and the library."
"My Lord," answered the Minister, "I will take the furniture and the
ghost at a valuation. I have come from a modern country, where we have
everything that money can buy; and with all our spry young fellows
painting the Old World red, and carrying off your best actors and
prima-donnas, I reckon that if there were such a thing as a ghost in
Europe, we'd have it at home in a very short time in one of our public
museums, or on the road as a show."
"I fear that the ghost exists," said Lord Canterville, smiling, "though
it may have resisted the overtures of your enterprising impresarios. It
has been well known for three centuries, since 1584 in fact, and always
makes its appearance before the death of any member of our family."
"Well, so does the family doctor for that matter, Lord Canterville. But
there is no such thing, sir, as a ghost, and I guess the laws of Nature
are not going to be suspended for the British aristocracy."
"You are certainly very natural in America," answered Lord Canterville,
who did not quite understand Mr. Otis's last observation, "and if you
don't mind a ghost in the house, it is all right. Only you must remember I
warned you."
MISS VIRGINIA E. OTIS
A few weeks after this, the purchase was concluded, and at the close of
the season the Minister and his family went down to Canterville Chase.
Mrs. Otis, who, as Miss Lucretia R. Tappan, of West 53d Street, had been a
celebrated New York belle, was now a very handsome, middle-aged woman,
with fine eyes, and a superb profile. Many American ladies on leaving
their native land adopt an appearance of chronic ill-health, under the
impression that it is a form of European refinement, but Mrs. Otis had
never fallen into this error. She had a magnificent constitution, and a
really wonderful amount of animal spirits. Indeed, in many respects, she
was quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact that we have
really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course,
language. Her eldest son, christened Washington by his parents in a moment
of patriotism, which he never ceased to regret, was a fair-haired, rather
good-looking young man, who had qualified himself for American diplomacy
by leading the German at the Newport Casino for three successive seasons,
and even in London was well known as an excellent dancer. Gardenias and
the peerage were his only weaknesses. Otherwise he was extremely sensible.
Miss Virginia E. Otis was a little girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a
fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes. She was a wonderful
Amazon, and had once raced old Lord Bilton on her pony twice round the
park, winning by a length and a half, just in front of the Achilles
statue, to the huge delight of the young Duke of Cheshire, who proposed
for her on the spot, and was sent back to Eton that very night by his
guardians, in floods of tears. After Virginia came the twins, who were
usually called "The Star and Stripes," as they were always getting
swished. They were delightful boys, and, with the exception of the worthy
Minister, the only true republicans of the family.
"HAD ONCE RACED OLD LORD BILTON ON HER PONY"
As Canterville Chase is seven miles from Ascot, the nearest railway
station, Mr. Otis had telegraphed for a waggonette to meet them, and they
started on their drive in high spirits. It was a lovely July evening, and
the air was delicate with the scent of the pinewoods. Now and then they
heard a wood-pigeon brooding over its own sweet voice, or saw, deep in the
rustling fern, the burnished breast of the pheasant. Little squirrels
peered at them from the beech-trees as they went by, and the rabbits
scudded away through the brushwood and over the mossy knolls, with their
white tails in the air. As they entered the avenue of Canterville Chase,
however, the sky became suddenly overcast with clouds, a curious stillness
seemed to hold the atmosphere, a great flight of rooks passed silently
over their heads, and, before they reached the house, some big drops of
rain had fallen.
Standing on the steps to receive them was an old woman, neatly dressed
in black silk, with a white cap and apron. This was Mrs. Umney, the
housekeeper, whom Mrs. Otis, at Lady Canterville's earnest request, had
consented to keep in her former position. She made them each a low curtsey
as they alighted, and said in a quaint, old-fashioned manner, "I bid you
welcome to Canterville Chase." Following her, they passed through the fine
Tudor hall into the library, a long, low room, panelled in black oak, at
the end of which was a large stained glass window. Here they found tea
laid out for them, and, after taking off their wraps, they sat down and
began to look round, while Mrs. Umney waited on them.
Suddenly Mrs. Otis caught sight of a dull red stain on the floor just
by the fireplace, and, quite unconscious of what it really signified, said
to Mrs. Umney, "I am afraid something has been spilt there."
"Yes, madam," replied the old housekeeper in a low voice, "blood has
been spilt on that spot."
"BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED ON THAT SPOT"
"How horrid!" cried Mrs. Otis; "I don't at all care for blood-stains in
a sitting-room. It must be removed at once."
The old woman smiled, and answered in the same low, mysterious voice,
"It is the blood of Lady Eleanore de Canterville, who was murdered on that
very spot by her own husband, Sir Simon de Canterville, in 1575. Sir Simon
survived her nine years, and disappeared suddenly under very mysterious
circumstances. His body has never been discovered, but his guilty spirit
still haunts the Chase. The blood-stain has been much admired by tourists
and others, and cannot be removed."
"That is all nonsense," cried Washington Otis; "Pinkerton's Champion
Stain Remover and Paragon Detergent will clean it up in no time," and
before the terrified housekeeper could interfere, he had fallen upon his
knees, and was rapidly scouring the floor with a small stick of what
looked like a black cosmetic. In a few moments no trace of the blood-stain
could be seen.
"I knew Pinkerton would do it," he exclaimed, triumphantly, as he
looked round at his admiring family; but no sooner had he said these words
than a terrible flash of lightning lit up the sombre room, a fearful peal
of thunder made them all start to their feet, and Mrs. Umney fainted.
"What a monstrous climate!" said the American Minister, calmly, as he
lit a long cheroot. "I guess the old country is so overpopulated that they
have not enough decent weather for everybody. I have always been of
opinion that emigration is the only thing for England."
"My dear Hiram," cried Mrs. Otis, "what can we do with a woman who
faints?"
"Charge it to her like breakages," answered the Minister; "she won't
faint after that;" and in a few moments Mrs. Umney certainly came to.
There was no doubt, however, that she was extremely upset, and she sternly
warned Mr. Otis to beware of some trouble coming to the house.
"I have seen things with my own eyes, sir," she said, "that would make
any Christian's hair stand on end, and many and many a night I have not
closed my eyes in sleep for the awful things that are done here." Mr.
Otis, however, and his wife warmly assured the honest soul that they were
not afraid of ghosts, and, after invoking the blessings of Providence on
her new master and mistress, and making arrangements for an increase of
salary, the old housekeeper tottered off to her own room.
II
The storm raged fiercely all that night, but nothing of particular note
occurred. The next morning, however, when they came down to breakfast,
they found the terrible stain of blood once again on the floor. "I don't
think it can be the fault of the Paragon Detergent," said Washington, "for
I have tried it with everything. It must be the ghost." He accordingly
rubbed out the stain a second time, but the second morning it appeared
again. The third morning also it was there, though the library had been
locked up at night by Mr. Otis himself, and the key carried up-stairs. The
whole family were now quite interested; Mr. Otis began to suspect that he
had been too dogmatic in his denial of the existence of ghosts, Mrs. Otis
expressed her intention of joining the Psychical Society, and Washington
prepared a long letter to Messrs. Myers and Podmore on the subject of the
Permanence of Sanguineous Stains when connected with Crime. That night all
doubts about the objective existence of phantasmata were removed for ever.
The day had been warm and sunny; and, in the cool of the evening, the
whole family went out to drive. They did not return home till nine
o'clock, when they had a light supper. The conversation in no way turned
upon ghosts, so there were not even those primary conditions of receptive
expectations which so often precede the presentation of psychical
phenomena. The subjects discussed, as I have since learned from Mr. Otis,
were merely such as form the ordinary conversation of cultured Americans
of the better class, such as the immense superiority of Miss Fanny
Devonport over Sarah Bernhardt as an actress; the difficulty of obtaining
green corn, buckwheat cakes, and hominy, even in the best English houses;
the importance of Boston in the development of the world-soul; the
advantages of the baggage-check system in railway travelling; and the
sweetness of the New York accent as compared to the London drawl. No
mention at all was made of the supernatural, nor was Sir Simon de
Canterville alluded to in any way. At eleven o'clock the family retired,
and by half-past all the lights were out. Some time after, Mr. Otis was
awakened by a curious noise in the corridor, outside his room. It sounded
like the clank of metal, and seemed to be coming nearer every moment. He
got up at once, struck a match, and looked at the time. It was exactly one
o'clock. He was quite calm, and felt his pulse, which was not at all
feverish. The strange noise still continued, and with it he heard
distinctly the sound of footsteps. He put on his slippers, took a small
oblong phial out of his dressing-case, and opened the door. Right in front
of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His
eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in
matted coils; his garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and
ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves.
"My dear sir," said Mr. Otis, "I really must insist on your oiling
those chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of the
Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious
upon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effect on
the wrapper from some of our most eminent native divines. I shall leave it
here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with
more, should you require it." With these words the United States Minister
laid the bottle down on a marble table, and, closing his door, retired to
rest.
"I REALLY MUST INSIST ON YOUR OILING THOSE CHAINS"
For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural
indignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor,
he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a ghastly
green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the great oak
staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures appeared,
and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidently no time to
be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth dimension of Space as a means of
escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, and the house became quite
quiet.
On reaching a small secret chamber in the left wing, he leaned up
against a moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realize his
position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred
years, had he been so grossly insulted. He thought of the Dowager Duchess,
whom he had frightened into a fit as she stood before the glass in her
lace and diamonds; of the four housemaids, who had gone into hysterics
when he merely grinned at them through the curtains on one of the spare
bedrooms; of the rector of the parish, whose candle he had blown out as he
was coming late one night from the library, and who had been under the
care of Sir William Gull ever since, a perfect martyr to nervous
disorders; and of old Madame de Tremouillac, who, having wakened up one
morning early and seen a skeleton seated in an armchair by the fire
reading her diary, had been confined to her bed for six weeks with an
attack of brain fever, and, on her recovery, had become reconciled to the
Church, and broken off her connection with that notorious sceptic,
Monsieur de Voltaire. He remembered the terrible night when the wicked
Lord Canterville was found choking in his dressing-room, with the knave of
diamonds half-way down his throat, and confessed, just before he died,
that he had cheated Charles James Fox out of £50,000 at Crockford's by
means of that very card, and swore that the ghost had made him swallow it.
All his great achievements came back to him again, from the butler who had
shot himself in the pantry because he had seen a green hand tapping at the
window-pane, to the beautiful Lady Stutfield, who was always obliged to
wear a black velvet band round her throat to hide the mark of five fingers
burnt upon her white skin, and who drowned herself at last in the
carp-pond at the end of the King's Walk. With the enthusiastic egotism of
the true artist, he went over his most celebrated performances, and smiled
bitterly to himself as he recalled to mind his last appearance as "Red
Reuben, or the Strangled Babe," his début as "Guant Gibeon, the
Blood-sucker of Bexley Moor," and the furore he had excited one
lovely June evening by merely playing ninepins with his own bones upon the
lawn-tennis ground. And after all this some wretched modern Americans were
to come and offer him the Rising Sun Lubricator, and throw pillows at his
head! It was quite unbearable. Besides, no ghost in history had ever been
treated in this manner. Accordingly, he determined to have vengeance, and
remained till daylight in an attitude of deep thought.
III
The next morning, when the Otis family met at breakfast, they discussed
the ghost at some length. The United States Minister was naturally a
little annoyed to find that his present had not been accepted. "I have no
wish," he said, "to do the ghost any personal injury, and I must say that,
considering the length of time he has been in the house, I don't think it
is at all polite to throw pillows at him,"—a very just remark, at which, I
am sorry to say, the twins burst into shouts of laughter. "Upon the other
hand," he continued, "if he really declines to use the Rising Sun
Lubricator, we shall have to take his chains from him. It would be quite
impossible to sleep, with such a noise going on outside the bedrooms."
For the rest of the week, however, they were undisturbed, the only
thing that excited any attention being the continual renewal of the
blood-stain on the library floor. This certainly was very strange, as the
door was always locked at night by Mr. Otis, and the windows kept closely
barred. The chameleon-like colour, also, of the stain excited a good deal
of comment. Some mornings it was a dull (almost Indian) red, then it would
be vermilion, then a rich purple, and once when they came down for family
prayers, according to the simple rites of the Free American Reformed
Episcopalian Church, they found it a bright emerald-green. These
kaleidoscopic changes naturally amused the party very much, and bets on
the subject were freely made every evening. The only person who did not
enter into the joke was little Virginia, who, for some unexplained reason,
was always a good deal distressed at the sight of the blood-stain, and
very nearly cried the morning it was emerald-green.
The second appearance of the ghost was on Sunday night. Shortly after
they had gone to bed they were suddenly alarmed by a fearful crash in the
hall. Rushing down-stairs, they found that a large suit of old armour had
become detached from its stand, and had fallen on the stone floor, while
seated in a high-backed chair was the Canterville ghost, rubbing his knees
with an expression of acute agony on his face. The twins, having brought
their pea-shooters with them, at once discharged two pellets on him, with
that accuracy of aim which can only be attained by long and careful
practice on a writing-master, while the United States Minister covered him
with his revolver, and called upon him, in accordance with Californian
etiquette, to hold up his hands! The ghost started up with a wild shriek
of rage, and swept through them like a mist, extinguishing Washington
Otis's candle as he passed, and so leaving them all in total darkness. On
reaching the top of the staircase he recovered himself, and determined to
give his celebrated peal of demoniac laughter. This he had on more than
one occasion found extremely useful. It was said to have turned Lord
Raker's wig grey in a single night, and had certainly made three of Lady
Canterville's French governesses give warning before their month was up.
He accordingly laughed his most horrible laugh, till the old vaulted roof
rang and rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door
opened, and Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. "I am afraid
you are far from well," she said, "and have brought you a bottle of Doctor
Dobell's tincture. If it is indigestion, you will find it a most excellent
remedy." The ghost glared at her in fury, and began at once to make
preparations for turning himself into a large black dog, an accomplishment
for which he was justly renowned, and to which the family doctor always
attributed the permanent idiocy of Lord Canterville's uncle, the Hon.
Thomas Horton. The sound of approaching footsteps, however, made him
hesitate in his fell purpose, so he contented himself with becoming
faintly phosphorescent, and vanished with a deep churchyard groan, just as
the twins had come up to him.
"THE TWINS ... AT ONCE DISCHARGED TWO PELLETS ON HIM"
On reaching his room he entirely broke down, and became a prey to the
most violent agitation. The vulgarity of the twins, and the gross
materialism of Mrs. Otis, were naturally extremely annoying, but what
really distressed him most was that he had been unable to wear the suit of
mail. He had hoped that even modern Americans would be thrilled by the
sight of a Spectre in armour, if for no more sensible reason, at least out
of respect for their natural poet Longfellow, over whose graceful and
attractive poetry he himself had whiled away many a weary hour when the
Cantervilles were up in town. Besides it was his own suit. He had worn it
with great success at the Kenilworth tournament, and had been highly
complimented on it by no less a person than the Virgin Queen herself. Yet
when he had put it on, he had been completely overpowered by the weight of
the huge breastplate and steel casque, and had fallen heavily on the stone
pavement, barking both his knees severely, and bruising the knuckles of
his right hand.
For some days after this he was extremely ill, and hardly stirred out
of his room at all, except to keep the blood-stain in proper repair.
However, by taking great care of himself, he recovered, and resolved to
make a third attempt to frighten the United States Minister and his
family. He selected Friday, August 17th, for his appearance, and spent
most of that day in looking over his wardrobe, ultimately deciding in
favour of a large slouched hat with a red feather, a winding-sheet frilled
at the wrists and neck, and a rusty dagger. Towards evening a violent
storm of rain came on, and the wind was so high that all the windows and
doors in the old house shook and rattled. In fact, it was just such
weather as he loved. His plan of action was this. He was to make his way
quietly to Washington Otis's room, gibber at him from the foot of the bed,
and stab himself three times in the throat to the sound of low music. He
bore Washington a special grudge, being quite aware that it was he who was
in the habit of removing the famous Canterville blood-stain by means of
Pinkerton's Paragon Detergent. Having reduced the reckless and foolhardy
youth to a condition of abject terror, he was then to proceed to the room
occupied by the United States Minister and his wife, and there to place a
clammy hand on Mrs. Otis's forehead, while he hissed into her trembling
husband's ear the awful secrets of the charnel-house. With regard to
little Virginia, he had not quite made up his mind. She had never insulted
him in any way, and was pretty and gentle. A few hollow groans from the
wardrobe, he thought, would be more than sufficient, or, if that failed to
wake her, he might grabble at the counterpane with palsy-twitching
fingers. As for the twins, he was quite determined to teach them a lesson.
The first thing to be done was, of course, to sit upon their chests, so as
to produce the stifling sensation of nightmare. Then, as their beds were
quite close to each other, to stand between them in the form of a green,
icy-cold corpse, till they became paralyzed with fear, and finally, to
throw off the winding-sheet, and crawl round the room, with white,
bleached bones and one rolling eyeball, in the character of "Dumb Daniel,
or the Suicide's Skeleton," a rôle in which he had on more than one
occasion produced a great effect, and which he considered quite equal to
his famous part of "Martin the Maniac, or the Masked Mystery."
"ITS HEAD WAS BALD AND BURNISHED"
At half-past ten he heard the family going to bed. For some time he was
disturbed by wild shrieks of laughter from the twins, who, with the
light-hearted gaiety of schoolboys, were evidently amusing themselves
before they retired to rest, but at a quarter-past eleven all was still,
and, as midnight sounded, he sallied forth. The owl beat against the
window-panes, the raven croaked from the old yew-tree, and the wind
wandered moaning round the house like a lost soul; but the Otis family
slept unconscious of their doom, and high above the rain and storm he
could hear the steady snoring of the Minister for the United States. He
stepped stealthily out of the wainscoting, with an evil smile on his
cruel, wrinkled mouth, and the moon hid her face in a cloud as he stole
past the great oriel window, where his own arms and those of his murdered
wife were blazoned in azure and gold. On and on he glided, like an evil
shadow, the very darkness seeming to loathe him as he passed. Once he
thought he heard something call, and stopped; but it was only the baying
of a dog from the Red Farm, and he went on, muttering strange
sixteenth-century curses, and ever and anon brandishing the rusty dagger
in the midnight air. Finally he reached the corner of the passage that led
to luckless Washington's room. For a moment he paused there, the wind
blowing his long grey locks about his head, and twisting into grotesque
and fantastic folds the nameless horror of the dead man's shroud. Then the
clock struck the quarter, and he felt the time was come. He chuckled to
himself, and turned the corner; but no sooner had he done so than, with a
piteous wail of terror, he fell back, and hid his blanched face in his
long, bony hands. Right in front of him was standing a horrible spectre,
motionless as a carven image, and monstrous as a madman's dream! Its head
was bald and burnished; its face round, and fat, and white; and hideous
laughter seemed to have writhed its features into an eternal grin. From
the eyes streamed rays of scarlet light, the mouth was a wide well of
fire, and a hideous garment, like to his own, swathed with its silent
snows the Titan form. On its breast was a placard with strange writing in
antique characters, some scroll of shame it seemed, some record of wild
sins, some awful calendar of crime, and, with its right hand, it bore
aloft a falchion of gleaming steel.
Never having seen a ghost before, he naturally was terribly frightened,
and, after a second hasty glance at the awful phantom, he fled back to his
room, tripping up in his long winding-sheet as he sped down the corridor,
and finally dropping the rusty dagger into the Minister's jack-boots,
where it was found in the morning by the butler. Once in the privacy of
his own apartment, he flung himself down on a small pallet-bed, and hid
his face under the clothes. After a time, however, the brave old
Canterville spirit asserted itself, and he determined to go and speak to
the other ghost as soon as it was daylight. Accordingly, just as the dawn
was touching the hills with silver, he returned towards the spot where he
had first laid eyes on the grisly phantom, feeling that, after all, two
ghosts were better than one, and that, by the aid of his new friend, he
might safely grapple with the twins. On reaching the spot, however, a
terrible sight met his gaze. Something had evidently happened to the
spectre, for the light had entirely faded from its hollow eyes, the
gleaming falchion had fallen from its hand, and it was leaning up against
the wall in a strained and uncomfortable attitude. He rushed forward and
seized it in his arms, when, to his horror, the head slipped off and
rolled on the floor, the body assumed a recumbent posture, and he found
himself clasping a white dimity bed-curtain, with a sweeping-brush, a
kitchen cleaver, and a hollow turnip lying at his feet! Unable to
understand this curious transformation, he clutched the placard with
feverish haste, and there, in the grey morning light, he read these
fearful words:—
YE OTIS GHOSTE
Ye Onlie True and Originale Spook,
Beware of Ye Imitationes.
All others are counterfeite.
The whole thing flashed across him. He had been
tricked, foiled, and out-witted! The old Canterville look came into his
eyes; he ground his toothless gums together; and, raising his withered
hands high above his head, swore according to the picturesque phraseology
of the antique school, that, when Chanticleer had sounded twice his merry
horn, deeds of blood would be wrought, and murder walk abroad with silent
feet.
Hardly had he finished this awful oath when, from the red-tiled roof of
a distant homestead, a cock crew. He laughed a long, low, bitter laugh,
and waited. Hour after hour he waited, but the cock, for some strange
reason, did not crow again. Finally, at half-past seven, the arrival of
the housemaids made him give up his fearful vigil, and he stalked back to
his room, thinking of his vain oath and baffled purpose. There he
consulted several books of ancient chivalry, of which he was exceedingly
fond, and found that, on every occasion on which this oath had been used,
Chanticleer had always crowed a second time. "Perdition seize the naughty
fowl," he muttered, "I have seen the day when, with my stout spear, I
would have run him through the gorge, and made him crow for me an 'twere
in death!" He then retired to a comfortable lead coffin, and stayed there
till evening.
IV
"HE MET WITH A SEVERE FALL"
The next day the ghost was very weak and tired. The terrible excitement
of the last four weeks was beginning to have its effect. His nerves were
completely shattered, and he started at the slightest noise. For five days
he kept his room, and at last made up his mind to give up the point of the
blood-stain on the library floor. If the Otis family did not want it, they
clearly did not deserve it. They were evidently people on a low, material
plane of existence, and quite incapable of appreciating the symbolic value
of sensuous phenomena. The question of phantasmic apparitions, and the
development of astral bodies, was of course quite a different matter, and
really not under his control. It was his solemn duty to appear in the
corridor once a week, and to gibber from the large oriel window on the
first and third Wednesdays in every month, and he did not see how he could
honourably escape from his obligations. It is quite true that his life had
been very evil, but, upon the other hand, he was most conscientious in all
things connected with the supernatural. For the next three Saturdays,
accordingly, he traversed the corridor as usual between midnight and three
o'clock, taking every possible precaution against being either heard or
seen. He removed his boots, trod as lightly as possible on the old
worm-eaten boards, wore a large black velvet cloak, and was careful to use
the Rising Sun Lubricator for oiling his chains. I am bound to acknowledge
that it was with a good deal of difficulty that he brought himself to
adopt this last mode of protection. However, one night, while the family
were at dinner, he slipped into Mr. Otis's bedroom and carried off the
bottle. He felt a little humiliated at first, but afterwards was sensible
enough to see that there was a great deal to be said for the invention,
and, to a certain degree, it served his purpose. Still in spite of
everything he was not left unmolested. Strings were continually being
stretched across the corridor, over which he tripped in the dark, and on
one occasion, while dressed for the part of "Black Isaac, or the Huntsman
of Hogley Woods," he met with a severe fall, through treading on a
butter-slide, which the twins had constructed from the entrance of the
Tapestry Chamber to the top of the oak staircase. This last insult so
enraged him, that he resolved to make one final effort to assert his
dignity and social position, and determined to visit the insolent young
Etonians the next night in his celebrated character of "Reckless Rupert,
or the Headless Earl."
"A HEAVY JUG OF WATER FELL RIGHT DOWN ON HIM."
He had not appeared in this disguise for more than seventy years; in
fact, not since he had so frightened pretty Lady Barbara Modish by means
of it, that she suddenly broke off her engagement with the present Lord
Canterville's grandfather, and ran away to Gretna Green with handsome Jack
Castletown, declaring that nothing in the world would induce her to marry
into a family that allowed such a horrible phantom to walk up and down the
terrace at twilight. Poor Jack was afterwards shot in a duel by Lord
Canterville on Wandsworth Common, and Lady Barbara died of a broken heart
at Tunbridge Wells before the year was out, so, in every way, it had been
a great success. It was, however an extremely difficult "make-up," if I
may use such a theatrical expression in connection with one of the
greatest mysteries of the supernatural, or, to employ a more scientific
term, the higher-natural world, and it took him fully three hours to make
his preparations. At last everything was ready, and he was very pleased
with his appearance. The big leather riding-boots that went with the dress
were just a little too large for him, and he could only find one of the
two horse-pistols, but, on the whole, he was quite satisfied, and at a
quarter-past one he glided out of the wainscoting and crept down the
corridor. On reaching the room occupied by the twins, which I should
mention was called the Blue Bed Chamber, on account of the colour of its
hangings, he found the door just ajar. Wishing to make an effective
entrance, he flung it wide open, when a heavy jug of water fell right down
on him, wetting him to the skin, and just missing his left shoulder by a
couple of inches. At the same moment he heard stifled shrieks of laughter
proceeding from the four-post bed. The shock to his nervous system was so
great that he fled back to his room as hard as he could go, and the next
day he was laid up with a severe cold. The only thing that at all consoled
him in the whole affair was the fact that he had not brought his head with
him, for, had he done so, the consequences might have been very serious.
"MAKING SATIRICAL REMARKS ON THE PHOTOGRAPHS"
He now gave up all hope of ever frightening this rude American family,
and contented himself, as a rule, with creeping about the passages in list
slippers, with a thick red muffler round his throat for fear of draughts,
and a small arquebuse, in case he should be attacked by the twins. The
final blow he received occurred on the 19th of September. He had gone
down-stairs to the great entrance-hall, feeling sure that there, at any
rate, he would be quite unmolested, and was amusing himself by making
satirical remarks on the large Saroni photographs of the United States
Minister and his wife which had now taken the place of the Canterville
family pictures. He was simply but neatly clad in a long shroud, spotted
with churchyard mould, had tied up his jaw with a strip of yellow linen,
and carried a small lantern and a sexton's spade. In fact, he was dressed
for the character of "Jonas the Graveless, or the Corpse-Snatcher of
Chertsey Barn," one of his most remarkable impersonations, and one which
the Cantervilles had every reason to remember, as it was the real origin
of their quarrel with their neighbour, Lord Rufford. It was about a
quarter-past two o'clock in the morning, and, as far as he could
ascertain, no one was stirring. As he was strolling towards the library,
however, to see if there were any traces left of the blood-stain, suddenly
there leaped out on him from a dark corner two figures, who waved their
arms wildly above their heads, and shrieked out "BOO!" in his ear.
"SUDDENLY THERE LEAPED OUT TWO FIGURES."
Seized with a panic, which, under the circumstances, was only natural,
he rushed for the staircase, but found Washington Otis waiting for him
there with the big garden-syringe, and being thus hemmed in by his enemies
on every side, and driven almost to bay, he vanished into the great iron
stove, which, fortunately for him, was not lit, and had to make his way
home through the flues and chimneys, arriving at his own room in a
terrible state of dirt, disorder, and despair.
After this he was not seen again on any nocturnal expedition. The twins
lay in wait for him on several occasions, and strewed the passages with
nutshells every night to the great annoyance of their parents and the
servants, but it was of no avail. It was quite evident that his feelings
were so wounded that he would not appear. Mr. Otis consequently resumed
his great work on the history of the Democratic Party, on which he had
been engaged for some years; Mrs. Otis organized a wonderful clam-bake,
which amazed the whole county; the boys took to lacrosse euchre, poker,
and other American national games, and Virginia rode about the lanes on
her pony, accompanied by the young Duke of Cheshire, who had come to spend
the last week of his holidays at Canterville Chase. It was generally
assumed that the ghost had gone away, and, in fact, Mr. Otis wrote a
letter to that effect to Lord Canterville, who, in reply, expressed his
great pleasure at the news, and sent his best congratulations to the
Minister's worthy wife.
The Otises, however, were deceived, for the ghost was still in the
house, and though now almost an invalid, was by no means ready to let
matters rest, particularly as he heard that among the guests was the young
Duke of Cheshire, whose grand-uncle, Lord Francis Stilton, had once bet a
hundred guineas with Colonel Carbury that he would play dice with the
Canterville ghost, and was found the next morning lying on the floor of
the card-room in such a helpless paralytic state that, though he lived on
to a great age, he was never able to say anything again but "Double
Sixes." The story was well known at the time, though, of course, out of
respect to the feelings of the two noble families, every attempt was made
to hush it up, and a full account of all the circumstances connected with
it will be found in the third volume of Lord Tattle's Recollections of
the Prince Regent and his Friends. The ghost, then, was naturally very
anxious to show that he had not lost his influence over the Stiltons, with
whom, indeed, he was distantly connected, his own first cousin having been
married en secondes noces to the Sieur de Bulkeley, from whom, as
every one knows, the Dukes of Cheshire are lineally descended.
Accordingly, he made arrangements for appearing to Virginia's little lover
in his celebrated impersonation of "The Vampire Monk, or the Bloodless
Benedictine," a performance so horrible that when old Lady Startup saw it,
which she did on one fatal New Year's Eve, in the year 1764, she went off
into the most piercing shrieks, which culminated in violent apoplexy, and
died in three days, after disinheriting the Cantervilles, who were her
nearest relations, and leaving all her money to her London apothecary. At
the last moment, however, his terror of the twins prevented his leaving
his room, and the little Duke slept in peace under the great feathered
canopy in the Royal Bedchamber, and dreamed of Virginia.
V
A few days after this, Virginia and her curly-haired cavalier went out
riding on Brockley meadows, where she tore her habit so badly in getting
through a hedge that, on their return home, she made up her mind to go up
by the back staircase so as not to be seen. As she was running past the
Tapestry Chamber, the door of which happened to be open, she fancied she
saw some one inside, and thinking it was her mother's maid, who sometimes
used to bring her work there, looked in to ask her to mend her habit. To
her immense surprise, however, it was the Canterville Ghost himself! He
was sitting by the window, watching the ruined gold of the yellowing trees
fly through the air, and the red leaves dancing madly down the long
avenue. His head was leaning on his hand, and his whole attitude was one
of extreme depression. Indeed, so forlorn, and so much out of repair did
he look, that little Virginia, whose first idea had been to run away and
lock herself in her room, was filled with pity, and determined to try and
comfort him. So light was her footfall, and so deep his melancholy, that
he was not aware of her presence till she spoke to him.
"I am so sorry for you," she said, "but my brothers are going back to
Eton to-morrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy you."
"It is absurd asking me to behave myself," he answered, looking round
in astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him,
"quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and
walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for
existing."
"It is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very
wicked. Mrs. Umney told us, the first day we arrived here, that you had
killed your wife."
"Well, I quite admit it," said the Ghost, petulantly, "but it was a
purely family matter, and concerned no one else."
"It is very wrong to kill any one," said Virginia, who at times had a
sweet puritan gravity, caught from some old New England ancestor.
"Oh, I hate the cheap severity of abstract ethics! My wife was very
plain, never had my ruffs properly starched, and knew nothing about
cookery. Why, there was a buck I had shot in Hogley Woods, a magnificent
pricket, and do you know how she had it sent to table? However, it is no
matter now, for it is all over, and I don't think it was very nice of her
brothers to starve me to death, though I did kill her."
"Starve you to death? Oh, Mr. Ghost—I mean Sir Simon, are you hungry? I
have a sandwich in my case. Would you like it?"
"No, thank you, I never eat anything now; but it is very kind of you,
all the same, and you are much nicer than the rest of your horrid, rude,
vulgar, dishonest family."
"Stop!" cried Virginia, stamping her foot, "it is you who are rude, and
horrid, and vulgar, and as for dishonesty, you know you stole the paints
out of my box to try and furbish up that ridiculous blood-stain in the
library. First you took all my reds, including the vermilion, and I
couldn't do any more sunsets, then you took the emerald-green and the
chrome-yellow, and finally I had nothing left but indigo and Chinese
white, and could only do moonlight scenes, which are always depressing to
look at, and not at all easy to paint. I never told on you, though I was
very much annoyed, and it was most ridiculous, the whole thing; for who
ever heard of emerald-green blood?"
"Well, really," said the Ghost, rather meekly, "what was I to do? It is
a very difficult thing to get real blood nowadays, and, as your brother
began it all with his Paragon Detergent, I certainly saw no reason why I
should not have your paints. As for colour, that is always a matter of
taste: the Cantervilles have blue blood, for instance, the very bluest in
England; but I know you Americans don't care for things of this kind."
"You know nothing about it, and the best thing you can do is to
emigrate and improve your mind. My father will be only too happy to give
you a free passage, and though there is a heavy duty on spirits of every
kind, there will be no difficulty about the Custom House, as the officers
are all Democrats. Once in New York, you are sure to be a great success. I
know lots of people there who would give a hundred thousand dollars to
have a grandfather, and much more than that to have a family ghost."
"I don't think I should like America."
"I suppose because we have no ruins and no curiosities," said Virginia,
satirically.
"No ruins! no curiosities!" answered the Ghost; "you have your navy and
your manners."
"Good evening; I will go and ask papa to get the twins an extra week's
holiday."
"Please don't go, Miss Virginia," he cried; "I am so lonely and so
unhappy, and I really don't know what to do. I want to go to sleep and I
cannot."
"That's quite absurd! You have merely to go to bed and blow out the
candle. It is very difficult sometimes to keep awake, especially at
church, but there is no difficulty at all about sleeping. Why, even babies
know how to do that, and they are not very clever."
"I have not slept for three hundred years," he said sadly, and
Virginia's beautiful blue eyes opened in wonder; "for three hundred years
I have not slept, and I am so tired."
Virginia grew quite grave, and her little lips trembled like
rose-leaves. She came towards him, and kneeling down at his side, looked
up into his old withered face.
"Poor, poor Ghost," she murmured; "have you no place where you can
sleep?"
"'POOR, POOR GHOST,' SHE MURMURED; 'HAVE YOU NO PLACE
WHERE YOU CAN SLEEP?'"
"Far away beyond the pine-woods," he answered, in a low, dreamy voice,
"there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are
the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings
all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal moon looks
down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers."
Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.
"You mean the Garden of Death," she whispered.
"Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown
earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To
have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be
at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's
house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is."
Virginia trembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few
moments there was silence. She felt as if she was in a terrible dream.
Then the ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighing of
the wind.
"Have you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?"
"Oh, often," cried the little girl, looking up; "I know it quite well.
It is painted in curious black letters, and is difficult to read. There
are only six lines:
"'When a golden girl can win Prayer from out the lips of sin,
When the barren almond bears,
And a little child gives away its tears,
Then shall all the house be still
And peace come to Canterville.'
But I don't know what they mean."
"They mean," he said, sadly, "that you must weep with me for my sins,
because I have no tears, and pray with me for my soul, because I have no
faith, and then, if you have always been sweet, and good, and gentle, the
angel of death will have mercy on me. You will see fearful shapes in
darkness, and wicked voices will whisper in your ear, but they will not
harm you, for against the purity of a little child the powers of Hell
cannot prevail."
Virginia made no answer, and the ghost wrung his hands in wild despair
as he looked down at her bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very
pale, and with a strange light in her eyes. "I am not afraid," she said
firmly, "and I will ask the angel to have mercy on you."
He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent
over it with old-fashioned grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold
as ice, and his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not falter, as he
led her across the dusky room. On the faded green tapestry were broidered
little huntsmen. They blew their tasselled horns and with their tiny hands
waved to her to go back. "Go back! little Virginia," they cried, "go
back!" but the ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her eyes
against them. Horrible animals with lizard tails and goggle eyes blinked
at her from the carven chimneypiece, and murmured, "Beware! little
Virginia, beware! we may never see you again," but the Ghost glided on
more swiftly, and Virginia did not listen. When they reached the end of
the room he stopped, and muttered some words she could not understand. She
opened her eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a mist, and a
great black cavern in front of her. A bitter cold wind swept round them,
and she felt something pulling at her dress. "Quick, quick," cried the
Ghost, "or it will be too late," and in a moment the wainscoting had
closed behind them, and the Tapestry Chamber was empty.
"THE GHOST GLIDED ON MORE SWIFTLY"
VI
About ten minutes later, the bell rang for tea, and, as Virginia did
not come down, Mrs. Otis sent up one of the footmen to tell her. After a
little time he returned and said that he could not find Miss Virginia
anywhere. As she was in the habit of going out to the garden every evening
to get flowers for the dinner-table, Mrs. Otis was not at all alarmed at
first, but when six o'clock struck, and Virginia did not appear, she
became really agitated, and sent the boys out to look for her, while she
herself and Mr. Otis searched every room in the house. At half-past six
the boys came back and said that they could find no trace of their sister
anywhere. They were all now in the greatest state of excitement, and did
not know what to do, when Mr. Otis suddenly remembered that, some few days
before, he had given a band of gipsies permission to camp in the park. He
accordingly at once set off for Blackfell Hollow, where he knew they were,
accompanied by his eldest son and two of the farm-servants. The little
Duke of Cheshire, who was perfectly frantic with anxiety, begged hard to
be allowed to go too, but Mr. Otis would not allow him, as he was afraid
there might be a scuffle. On arriving at the spot, however, he found that
the gipsies had gone, and it was evident that their departure had been
rather sudden, as the fire was still burning, and some plates were lying
on the grass. Having sent off Washington and the two men to scour the
district, he ran home, and despatched telegrams to all the police
inspectors in the county, telling them to look out for a little girl who
had been kidnapped by tramps or gipsies. He then ordered his horse to be
brought round, and, after insisting on his wife and the three boys sitting
down to dinner, rode off down the Ascot road with a groom. He had hardly,
however, gone a couple of miles, when he heard somebody galloping after
him, and, looking round, saw the little Duke coming up on his pony, with
his face very flushed, and no hat. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Otis," gasped
out the boy, "but I can't eat any dinner as long as Virginia is lost.
Please don't be angry with me; if you had let us be engaged last year,
there would never have been all this trouble. You won't send me back, will
you? I can't go! I won't go!"
"HE HEARD SOMEBODY GALLOPING AFTER HIM"
The Minister could not help smiling at the handsome young scapegrace,
and was a good deal touched at his devotion to Virginia, so leaning down
from his horse, he patted him kindly on the shoulders, and said, "Well,
Cecil, if you won't go back, I suppose you must come with me, but I must
get you a hat at Ascot."
"OUT ON THE LANDING STEPPED VIRGINIA"
"Oh, bother my hat! I want Virginia!" cried the little Duke, laughing,
and they galloped on to the railway station. There Mr. Otis inquired of
the station-master if any one answering to the description of Virginia had
been seen on the platform, but could get no news of her. The
station-master, however, wired up and down the line, and assured him that
a strict watch would be kept for her, and, after having bought a hat for
the little Duke from a linen-draper, who was just putting up his shutters,
Mr. Otis rode off to Bexley, a village about four miles away, which he was
told was a well-known haunt of the gipsies, as there was a large common
next to it. Here they roused up the rural policeman, but could get no
information from him, and, after riding all over the common, they turned
their horses' heads homewards, and reached the Chase about eleven o'clock,
dead-tired and almost heart-broken. They found Washington and the twins
waiting for them at the gate-house with lanterns, as the avenue was very
dark. Not the slightest trace of Virginia had been discovered. The gipsies
had been caught on Brockley meadows, but she was not with them, and they
had explained their sudden departure by saying that they had mistaken the
date of Chorton Fair, and had gone off in a hurry for fear they should be
late. Indeed, they had been quite distressed at hearing of Virginia's
disappearance, as they were very grateful to Mr. Otis for having allowed
them to camp in his park, and four of their number had stayed behind to
help in the search. The carp-pond had been dragged, and the whole Chase
thoroughly gone over, but without any result. It was evident that, for
that night at any rate, Virginia was lost to them; and it was in a state
of the deepest depression that Mr. Otis and the boys walked up to the
house, the groom following behind with the two horses and the pony. In the
hall they found a group of frightened servants, and lying on a sofa in the
library was poor Mrs. Otis, almost out of her mind with terror and
anxiety, and having her forehead bathed with eau de cologne by the old
housekeeper. Mr. Otis at once insisted on her having something to eat, and
ordered up supper for the whole party. It was a melancholy meal, as hardly
any one spoke, and even the twins were awestruck and subdued, as they were
very fond of their sister. When they had finished, Mr. Otis, in spite of
the entreaties of the little Duke, ordered them all to bed, saying that
nothing more could be done that night, and that he would telegraph in the
morning to Scotland Yard for some detectives to be sent down immediately.
Just as they were passing out of the dining-room, midnight began to boom
from the clock tower, and when the last stroke sounded they heard a crash
and a sudden shrill cry; a dreadful peal of thunder shook the house, a
strain of unearthly music floated through the air, a panel at the top of
the staircase flew back with a loud noise, and out on the landing, looking
very pale and white, with a little casket in her hand, stepped Virginia.
In a moment they had all rushed up to her. Mrs. Otis clasped her
passionately in her arms, the Duke smothered her with violent kisses, and
the twins executed a wild war-dance round the group.
"Good heavens! child, where have you been?" said Mr. Otis, rather
angrily, thinking that she had been playing some foolish trick on them.
"Cecil and I have been riding all over the country looking for you, and
your mother has been frightened to death. You must never play these
practical jokes any more."
"Except on the Ghost! except on the Ghost!" shrieked the twins, as they
capered about.
"My own darling, thank God you are found; you must never leave my side
again," murmured Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and
smoothed the tangled gold of her hair.
"Papa," said Virginia, quietly, "I have been with the Ghost. He is
dead, and you must come and see him. He had been very wicked, but he was
really sorry for all that he had done, and he gave me this box of
beautiful jewels before he died."
The whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, but she was quite
grave and serious; and, turning round, she led them through the opening in
the wainscoting down a narrow secret corridor, Washington following with a
lighted candle, which he had caught up from the table. Finally, they came
to a great oak door, studded with rusty nails. When Virginia touched it,
it swung back on its heavy hinges, and they found themselves in a little
low room, with a vaulted ceiling, and one tiny grated window. Imbedded in
the wall was a huge iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton,
that was stretched out at full length on the stone floor, and seemed to be
trying to grasp with its long fleshless fingers an old-fashioned trencher
and ewer, that were placed just out of its reach. The jug had evidently
been once filled with water, as it was covered inside with green mould.
There was nothing on the trencher but a pile of dust. Virginia knelt down
beside the skeleton, and, folding her little hands together, began to pray
silently, while the rest of the party looked on in wonder at the terrible
tragedy whose secret was now disclosed to them.
"CHAINED TO IT WAS A GAUNT SKELETON"
"Hallo!" suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, who had been looking out
of the window to try and discover in what wing of the house the room was
situated. "Hallo! the old withered almond-tree has blossomed. I can see
the flowers quite plainly in the moonlight."
"God has forgiven him," said Virginia, gravely, as she rose to her
feet, and a beautiful light seemed to illumine her face.
"What an angel you are!" cried the young Duke, and he put his arm round
her neck, and kissed her.
VII
"BY THE SIDE OF THE HEARSE AND THE COACHES WALKED THE
SERVANTS WITH LIGHTED TORCHES"
Four days after these curious incidents, a funeral started from
Canterville Chase at about eleven o'clock at night. The hearse was drawn
by eight black horses, each of which carried on its head a great tuft of
nodding ostrich-plumes, and the leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple
pall, on which was embroidered in gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By
the side of the hearse and the coaches walked the servants with lighted
torches, and the whole procession was wonderfully impressive. Lord
Canterville was the chief mourner, having come up specially from Wales to
attend the funeral, and sat in the first carriage along with little
Virginia. Then came the United States Minister and his wife, then
Washington and the three boys, and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It
was generally felt that, as she had been frightened by the ghost for more
than fifty years of her life, she had a right to see the last of him. A
deep grave had been dug in the corner of the churchyard, just under the
old yew-tree, and the service was read in the most impressive manner by
the Rev. Augustus Dampier. When the ceremony was over, the servants,
according to an old custom observed in the Canterville family,
extinguished their torches, and, as the coffin was being lowered into the
grave, Virginia stepped forward, and laid on it a large cross made of
white and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so, the moon came out from
behind a cloud, and flooded with its silent silver the little churchyard,
and from a distant copse a nightingale began to sing. She thought of the
ghost's description of the Garden of Death, her eyes became dim with
tears, and she hardly spoke a word during the drive home.
"THE MOON CAME OUT FROM BEHIND A CLOUD"
The next morning, before Lord Canterville went up to town, Mr. Otis had
an interview with him on the subject of the jewels the ghost had given to
Virginia. They were perfectly magnificent, especially a certain ruby
necklace with old Venetian setting, which was really a superb specimen of
sixteenth-century work, and their value was so great that Mr. Otis felt
considerable scruples about allowing his daughter to accept them.
"My lord," he said, "I know that in this country mortmain is held to
apply to trinkets as well as to land, and it is quite clear to me that
these jewels are, or should be, heirlooms in your family. I must beg you,
accordingly, to take them to London with you, and to regard them simply as
a portion of your property which has been restored to you under certain
strange conditions. As for my daughter, she is merely a child, and has as
yet, I am glad to say, but little interest in such appurtenances of idle
luxury. I am also informed by Mrs. Otis, who, I may say, is no mean
authority upon Art,—having had the privilege of spending several winters
in Boston when she was a girl,—that these gems are of great monetary
worth, and if offered for sale would fetch a tall price. Under these
circumstances, Lord Canterville, I feel sure that you will recognize how
impossible it would be for me to allow them to remain in the possession of
any member of my family; and, indeed, all such vain gauds and toys,
however suitable or necessary to the dignity of the British aristocracy,
would be completely out of place among those who have been brought up on
the severe, and I believe immortal, principles of Republican simplicity.
Perhaps I should mention that Virginia is very anxious that you should
allow her to retain the box, as a memento of your unfortunate but
misguided ancestor. As it is extremely old, and consequently a good deal
out of repair, you may perhaps think fit to comply with her request. For
my own part, I confess I am a good deal surprised to find a child of mine
expressing sympathy with mediævalism in any form, and can only account for
it by the fact that Virginia was born in one of your London suburbs
shortly after Mrs. Otis had returned from a trip to Athens."
Lord Canterville listened very gravely to the worthy Minister's speech,
pulling his grey moustache now and then to hide an involuntary smile, and
when Mr. Otis had ended, he shook him cordially by the hand, and said: "My
dear sir, your charming little daughter rendered my unlucky ancestor, Sir
Simon, a very important service, and I and my family are much indebted to
her for her marvellous courage and pluck. The jewels are clearly hers,
and, egad, I believe that if I were heartless enough to take them from
her, the wicked old fellow would be out of his grave in a fortnight,
leading me the devil of a life. As for their being heirlooms, nothing is
an heirloom that is not so mentioned in a will or legal document, and the
existence of these jewels has been quite unknown. I assure you I have no
more claim on them than your butler, and when Miss Virginia grows up, I
dare say she will be pleased to have pretty things to wear. Besides, you
forget, Mr. Otis, that you took the furniture and the ghost at a
valuation, and anything that belonged to the ghost passed at once into
your possession, as, whatever activity Sir Simon may have shown in the
corridor at night, in point of law he was really dead, and you acquired
his property by purchase."
Mr. Otis was a good deal distressed at Lord Canterville's refusal, and
begged him to reconsider his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite
firm, and finally induced the Minister to allow his daughter to retain the
present the ghost had given her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the
young Duchess of Cheshire was presented at the Queen's first drawing-room
on the occasion of her marriage, her jewels were the universal theme of
admiration. For Virginia received the coronet, which is the reward of all
good little American girls, and was married to her boy-lover as soon as he
came of age. They were both so charming, and they loved each other so
much, that every one was delighted at the match, except the old
Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had tried to catch the Duke for one of her
seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less than three expensive
dinner-parties for that purpose, and, strange to say, Mr. Otis himself.
Mr. Otis was extremely fond of the young Duke personally, but,
theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use his own words, "was not
without apprehension lest, amid the enervating influences of a
pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true principles of Republican simplicity
should be forgotten." His objections, however, were completely overruled,
and I believe that when he walked up the aisle of St. George's, Hanover
Square, with his daughter leaning on his arm, there was not a prouder man
in the whole length and breadth of England.
The Duke and Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to
Canterville Chase, and on the day after their arrival they walked over in
the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pine-woods. There had been a
great deal of difficulty at first about the inscription on Sir Simon's
tombstone, but finally it had been decided to engrave on it simply the
initials of the old gentleman's name, and the verse from the library
window. The Duchess had brought with her some lovely roses, which she
strewed upon the grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they
strolled into the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the Duchess sat
down on a fallen pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking a
cigarette and looking up at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw his
cigarette away, took hold of her hand, and said to her, "Virginia, a wife
should have no secrets from her husband."
"Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you."
"Yes, you have," he answered, smiling, "you have never told me what
happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost."
"I have never told any one, Cecil," said Virginia, gravely.
"I know that, but you might tell me."
"Please don't ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I owe
him a great deal. Yes, don't laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see
what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than
both."
The Duke rose and kissed his wife lovingly.
"You can have your secret as long as I have your heart," he murmured.
"You have always had that, Cecil."
"And you will tell our children some day, won't you?"
Virginia blushed.
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