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(P ^ /- / /i/-J^ 6 2,03 160488 Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight, by Wilkie Collins, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture. I'HINTRD AMP BOINlt HY HUNTRR, ROSE & CO., TORONTO, THE HAUNTED HOTEL: A MYSTERY OF MODERN VENICR Sbe $im iavt« CHAPTER L IN tlie year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a Lcndon physician reached its highest point. It was re- ported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice of medicine in modem timea One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the Doctor had just taken his luncheon after a specially hard morn- ing's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their own houses to fill up the rest of his day — ^when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him. ' Who is she Y ' the Doctor asked. ' A stranger f •Yea, sir.' 2 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * I see no strangers out of consulting-hoiirSi Tell her what the hours sxe, and send her away.' * I have told her, sir.' ^^ 'Welir ' And she won't go.' * Won't go ? ' The Doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humourist in his way ; and there was an absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. * Has this obstinate lady given you her name ? ' he inquired. ' No, sir. She refused to give any name — she said she woiddn't keep you five minutes, and the matter was too impor- tant to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting- room ; and how to get her out again is more than I know.' Doctor Wybrpw considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on the ripe experience of more than thirty years : he had met with them in all their varieties — especially the variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds among the patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forth- with on taking the onlv wise course that was open un :ler the circumstancea In other words, he decided on taking to flight. < Is the carriage at the door 9 ' he asked. *Yes, sir.' * Very welL Open the house-door for me without mak'ng any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the evening at the f THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 8 theatre. Now then, softly, Thomas! If jour shoes creak, 1 am a lost man.' He noiselessly led the way into the hall, followed by the servant on tip-toe. Did the lady in the consulting-room suspect him? or did Thomas's shoes creak, and was her sense of hearing unusually keen ? Whatever the explanation may be, the event that actu ally happened was beyond all doubt. Exactly as Doctor Wy- brow passed his consulting-room, the door opened — the lady appeared on the threshold — and laid her hand on his arm. ' I entreat you, sir, not to go away without letting me spea!: to you first.' The accent was foreign ; the tone was low and firm. Her fingers closed gently, and yet resolutely, on the Doctor's arm. Neither her language nor her action had the slightest eticct in inclining him to grant her request. The iniluence that, instantly stopped him, on the way to his carnage, was the silent influence of her face. The startling contrast between the corpse-like pallor of her complexion and the overpowering lift* and light, the glittering metallic brightness in her large black eyes, held him literally spell-bound. She was dressed in dark colours, with perfect taste ; she was of middle height, and (appa- rently) of middle age — say a year or two over thirty. Her lower features — the nose, mouth, and chin — possessed the fine- ness and delicacy of form which is oftener seen among women of foreign races than among women of English birth. She was unquestionably a handsome person — with the one serious drawback of her ghastly complexion, and with the less notice- able defect of a total want of tenderness in the expression of her eyes. Apart from his first emotion of surprise, the feeling she produced in the Doctor may be described a.s an overpowi.'r- '. t 4 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. iug feeling of profeisioiial ouriosily. The case might prove to b* something entirely new in his profeiaional experience. ' It looks like it,' he thought ; ' and it's worth waiting for.' She i)erceived that she had produced a strong impression of some kind upon him, and dropped her hold od his arm. * Yon hare comforted many miserable women in your time,' she said. ' Comfort one more, to-day.' Without waiting to be answered, she led the way back into the room. The Doctor followed her, and closed the door. He placed her iu the patient's chair opposite the windows. Even in London the sun, on that summer afternoon, was dazzlingly bright. The radiant light flowed in on her. Her eyes met it unflinchingly, with the steely steadiness of the eyes of an eagla The smooth pallor of her unwrinkled skin looked more fearfully white than ever. For the first time, for many a long year past, the Doctor felt his pulse quicken its beat in the presence of a patient. Having possessed herself of his attention, she appeared, .strangely enough, to have nothing to say to him. A curious apathy seemed to have taken possession of this resolute woman. Forced to speak first, the Doctor merely inquired, in the con- ventional phrase, what he could do for her. The sound of his voice seemed to rouse her. Still looking straight at the light, she said abruptly : * I have a painful question to ask.' *Whatisitr Her eyes travelled slowly from the window to the Doctor's face. Without the slightest outward appearance of agitation, she put the * painful question ' in these extraordinary words : r*..- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. ' I want to know, if you please, whether I am in danger of going mad t ' Some men might nave oeen amused, and some might have been alarmed. Dr. Wybrow was only conscious of a sense of disappointment. Was this the rare case he had anticipated, judging i-ashly by appearances 1 Was the new patient only a hypochondriacal woman whose malady was a disordered stomach, and whose misfortune was a weak brain 1 * Why do you come to me,' he asked sharply, ' Why don't you consult a doctor whose special employment is the treatment of the insane ) ' She had her answer ready on the instant * I don't go to a doctor of that sort,' she said, * for the very reason that he is a specialist : he has the fatal habit of judg- ing everybody by lines and rules of his own laying down. I come to you, because my case is outside of all lines and rules, andbec-auseyou are famous in your profession for the discovery of mysteries in disease. Are you satisfied 1 ' He was more than satisfied — his first idea had been the right idea after alL Besides, she was correctly informed as to his professional position. The capacity which had raised him to fame and fortune, was his capacity (unrivalled among his breth- ren) for the discovery of remote disease. * I am at your 'disposal,' he answered. • Let me try if I can find out what is the matter with you.' He put his medical questions. They were promptly and plainly answered; and they led to no other conclusion than that the strange lady was, mentally and physically, in excellent health. Not satisfied with questions, he carefully examined the great organs of life. Neither ms hand nor his stethoscope could dis- cover anything that was amiss. With tne admirable patience and devotion to his art which had distinguished him from 6 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. tlie time when he was a student, he still subjected h(!r to one test after another. Tlie result was always the same. Not only was there no tendency to brain disease — there was not even a perceptible derangement of the nervous system. ' I can find nothing the niatte;r with you,' he said. ' I can't even account for the extraordinary pallor of your complexion. You com- pletely puzzle me.' 'The pallor of my complexion is nothing,' she answered a little impatiently. * In my early life, I had a narrow escape from death by poisoning. I have never had a complexion since — and my skin is so delicate, I cannot paint without producing a hideous rash. But that is of no importance, I wanted your opinion given positively. I believed in you, and you have An' so disappointed md.' Her head dropped on her breast, it ends ! ' she said to herself bitterly. Tlie Doctor's sympathies were touched. Perhaps it might be more correct to say that his professional pride was a little hurt. * It may end in the right way yet,' he remarked, ' if you choose to help me.' She looked up again with flashing eyes. * Speak plainly,' she said. ' How can I help you 1 ' * Plainly, madam, you come to me as an enigma, and you leave me to make the right guess by the unaided efforts of my art. My art will do much, but not all. For example something must have occurred — something quite unconnected with the state of your bodily health — to frighten ypu about yourself, or you would never have come here to consult me. Is that not true V i She clasped her hands in her lap. ' That is true ! ' she said eagerly. ' 1 begin to believe in you again.' * Very woU. You can't expect me to find out the moral THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 7 L.auso wliicli has alarmed you. I can positively discover that there is no physical cause for alarm ; and (unless you admit me to your confidence) I can do no more,' She rose, and took a turn in the room. ' Suppose I tell you 1 ' .she said. ' But, mind, I shall mention no names ! ' ' Tlicre is no need to mention names. The facts are all I want. ' * The facts are nothing,' she rejoined. ' I have only my own impressions to confess — and you will very likely think me a fanciful fool when you hear what they are. No matter. I will do my best to content you — I will begin with the facts that you want. Take my word for it, t/iey won't do much to help you.' Slie sat down again. In the plainest possible words, she began the strangest and wildest confession that had ever reached the Doctor's ears. 1 1 8 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. CHAPTER IL ^ TT is one fact, sir, that I am a widow,' she said. ' It is JL another fact that I am going to be married again in a week's tima' There she paused, and smiled at some thought that occurred to her. Doctor Wybrow was not favourably impressed by her smile — ^there was something at once sad and cruel in it. It came slowly, and it went away suddenly. He began to doubt whether he had been wise in acting on his first impression. His mind reverted to the commonplace patients and the dis- coverable maladies that were waiting for him, with a certain tender regret. The lady went on. ' My approaching marriage,' she said, * has one embarrassing circumstance connected with it. The gentleman whose wife I am to be waa engaged to another lady when he happened to meet with me, abroad : that lady, mind, being of his own blood and family, related to him as his cousin. I have innocently robbed her of her lover, and destroyed her prospects in life. Innocently, I say, — because he told me nothing of his engage- ment, untU after I had accepted him. Whf n we next met in England — and when there was danger, no doubt, of the affair coming to my knowledge — ^he told me the truth. I was natu- rally indignant. He had his excuse ready ; he showed me a letter from the lady herself, releasing him from his engagement. A more noble, a more high-minded letter, I never read in my Ufa I cried over it — I who have no tears in me for sorrows of my own i If the letter had left him any hope of being \ THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 9 1 lid. 'Itifl igain in a it t occurred jed by her in it It 1 to doubt npression. 1 the difi- a certaJQ )arrassing )se wife I 1 >pened to >wu blood Qnocently 1 s in life. j s engage- •i? xt met in the affair v^as natu- -• red me a agement. id in my t' sorrows forgiven, I would have positively refused to marry him. But the firmness of it — ^without anger, without a word of reproach, with heartfelt wishes even for his happiness — ^the firmness of it, I sdy, left him no hopa Ee appealed to my compassion ; he appealed to his love for me. You know what women are. I too was soft-hearted — I said, Very well ; yes ! So it ended. In a week more (I tremble as I repeat it^, we are to be mar- ried.' She did really tremble — she was obliged to pause and com- pose herself, before she could go on. The Doctor, waiting for more facts, began to fear that he stood committed to a long story. * Forgive me for reminding you that I have suffering persons waiting to see me,' he said. ' The sooner you can come to the point, the better for my patients and for me.' The strange Bmile — at once so sad and so cruel — showed itself again on the lady's lips. * Every word I have said is to the point,' she answered. ' You will see it yourself in a moiaent more.' She resumed her narrative.- * Yesterday — you need fear no long story, sir ; only yesterday — I was among the visitors at one of your English luncheon partiea A lady, a perfect stranger to me, came in late — after we had left the table, and had retired to the drawing-room, she happened to take a chair near me ; and we were presented to each other. I knew her by name, as bhe knew me. It was the woman whom I had robbed of her lover, the woman who had written the noble letter. Now listen! You were impatient ^th me for not interesting you in what I had said just now. I said it to satisfy your mind that I had no enmity of feeling towards the lady, on my side. I admired her, I felt for her— 10 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. I had no cause to reproach myself. This is very important, as you will presently see. On her side, I have reason to be as- sured that the circumstances had been truly explained to her, and that she understood I was in no way to blame. Now, knowing all these necessary things as you do, explain to me, if you can, why when I rose and met that woman's eyes looking at me, I turned cold from head to foot, and shuddered and shivered, and knew what a deadly panic of fear was, for the first time in my life.' The Doctor began to feel interested at last. 'Was there anything remarkable in the lady's personal appearance,' he asked. * Nothing whatever !' was the vehement reply. ' Here is the true description of her : — ^The ordimary English lady ; the clear cold blue eyes, the fine rosy complexion, the inanimately polite manner, the large good-humoured mouth, the too plump cheeks and chin ; these, and nothing more.' * Was there anything in her expression, when you first looked at her, that took you by surprise ? ' ' There was natural curiosity to see the woman who had been preferred to her ; and perhaps some astonishment also, not to see a more engaging and more beautiful person ; both those feelings restrained within the limits of good breeding, and both not lasting for more than a few moments — so far as I could see. I say "so far," because the horrible agitation that she com- municated to me disturbed my judgment. If I could have got to the door, I would have run out of the room, she frightened me so ! I was not even able to stand up — I sank back in my chair ; I stared horror-struck at the calm blue eyes that were only looking at me with a gentle surprise. To say they afiected me like the nyes of a serpent is to say nothing. I felt her soul THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 11 first looked in them, looking into mine — looking, if such a thing can he, unconsciously to her own mortal self. I tell you my impression, in all its horror and in all its folly ! That woman is destined (without knowing it herself), to be the evil genius of my life. Her innocent eyes saw hidden capabilities of wickedness in me that I was not aware of myself, until I felt them stirring under her look. If I commit faults in my life to come — ^if I am even guilty of crimes — she will bring the retribution, without (as I firmly believe) any conscious exercise of her own will In one indescribable moment I felt all this — and I suppose my face showed it The good artless creature was inspired by a sort of; gentle alarm for me. " I am afraid the heat of the room is too much for you ; will you try my smelling-bottle 1" I heard her say those kind words, and I remember nothing else — I fainted. When I recovered my senses the company had all gone ; only the lady of the house was with me. For the moment I could say nothing to her ; the dreadful impression that I have tried to describe to you came back to me with the coming back of my life. As soon as I could speak, I implored her to tell me the whole truth about the womin whom I had supplanted. You see, I had a fain, hope that her good character might not really be deserved, that her «ioble letter was a skilful piece of hypocrisy — in short, that she secretly hated me, and was cunning enough to hide it. No ! the lady had been her friend from her girl- hood, was as familiar with her as if they had been sisters — knew her positively to be as good, as innocent, as incapable of hating anybody as the greatest saint that ever lived. My one last hope that I had only felt an ordinary forewarning of danger in the presence of an ordinary enemy, was a hope destroyed for ever. There was one more efibrt I could make, and I made it 1 wout next to the man whom I am to marry. I implored 12 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. him to release me from my promise. He refused. I declared I would break my engagement. He showed me letters from bis sisters, letters from his brothers and his dear friends — all entreat- ing him to think again before he made me his wife ; all repeating reports of me in Paris, Vienna, and London, which are so many vLle liea " If you refuse to marry me," he said, " you admit that these reports are true — ^you admit that you are afraid to face society in the character of my wife." What could I answer? There was no contradicting him — ^he was plainly right ; if I persisted in my refusal, the utter destruction of my reputation would be the result. I consented to let the wedding take place as we had arranged it — and left him. The night has passed. I am here, with my fixed conviction — ^that innocent woman is ordained to have a fatal influence over my life. I am here with my one questioia to put, to the one man who can answer it. For the last time, sir, wha^ am I — a demon who has seen tib.e avenging angel ? or only a poor mad woman, misled by tlie delusion of a deranged mind 1 * Dr. Wybrow rose from his chair, determined to close the interview. He was strongly and painfully impressed by what he had heard. The longer he had listened to her, the more irresistibly the conviction of the woman's wickedness had forced itself on him. He tried vainly to think of her as a person to be pitied — a person with a morbidly sensitive imagination, conscious of the capacities for evil which lie dormant in us all, and striving earnestly to open her heart to the counter-influence of her own better nature; the efibrt was beyond him. A perverse instinct in hinn said, as if in words, ' Beware how you believe in her!' * I Jiave already given you my opinion,' he said. * There is no THE HAUNTED HOTEL. IS I declared T '9 era from bis —all entreat- all repeating are so many "you admit ifraid to face S I I answer ? ' right ; if I f reputation 9 Lg take place s passed. I it woman is m here with 1 answer it. "'•' las seen tulie J iled by t]ie bo close the hat he had i irresistibly ed itself on i be pitied — '■• sious of the •; nd striving ■i' ace of her ■1 A. perverse 1 believe in rhere is no sign of your intellect being deranged, or being likely to be de- ranged, that medical science can discover — aa I understand it As for the impressions you have confided to me, I can only say that yours is a case (as I venture to think) for spiritual rather than for medical advice. Of one thing be assured : what you have said to me in this room shall not pass out of it. Your confession is safe in my keeping.' She heard him, with a certain dogged resignation, to the end. • Is that alii ' she asked. ♦ That is all,' he answered. She put a little paper packet of money on the tabla ' Thank you, sir. There is your fee.' With those words she rosa Her wild black eyes looked up- ward with an expression of despair so defiant and so horrible in its silent agony, that the Doctor turned away his head, unable to endure the sight of it The bare idea of taking anything from her — ^not money only, but anything even that she had touched — suddenly revolted hun. Still without looking at her, he said, * Take it back ; I don't want my fea' She neither heeded nor heard him. Still looking upward, she said slowly to herself, ' Let the end coma I have done with the. struggle ; I submit' She drew her veil over her face, bowed to the Doctor, and left the room. He rang the bell, and followed her into the halL As the servant closed the door on her, a sudden impulse of curiosity — . utterly unworthy of him, and at the same time utterly irresis- tible — sprang up in the Doctor's mind. Blushing like a boy, he said to the servant, < Follow her home, and find out her nama' For one moment the man looked at his master, doubt- ing if hia own eats had not deceived him. Doctor Wybrow ill 14 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. looked back at him in silence. Tlie submissive servant knew what that silence meant — he took his hat and hurried iuto the; street. Tlie Doctor went back to the consulting-room. A sudden revulsion of feeling swept over his mind. Had the woman left an infection of wickedness in the house, and had he caught it ? What devil had possessed him to degrade himself in tlie eyes of his own servant ? He had behaved infamously — he had asked an honest man, a man who had served him faithfully for years, to turn spy ! Stung by the bare thought of it, he ran out into the hall again, and opened the door. The servant had disap- peared ; it was too late to call him back. But one refuge against his contempt iox himself was now open to him — the refuge of work. Ho got into his carriage and went his rounds among his patients. If the famous physician could have shaken his o^vn reputation he would have done it that afternoon. Never before had he made himself so little welcome at the bedside. iSTever before had he put off until to-morrow the prescription which ought to have been written, the opinion which ought to have been given, to-day. He went home earlier than usual — unutterably dissat- isfied with himself. ' ' The servant had returned. Doctor Wybrow was ashamed to question him. The man reported the result of his errand, with- out waiting to be asked. * The lady's name is the Countess Narona. iShe lives at " Without waiting to hear where she lived, the Doctor ac- , knowledged the all-important discovery of her name, by a silent bend of the head, and entered his consulting-room. The fee that lie had vainly refused still lay in its little white paper coverino- on the table. He sealed it up in an envelope ; addressed THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 18 it to the ' Poor-box ' of the nearest police-court ; and, calling the sei-vant in, directed him to take it to the magistrate the next morning. Faithful to his duties, the servant ^ited to ask the customary question, * Do you dine at home to-day, sir ? ' After a moment's hesitation he said, * No : I shall dine at the club.' The most easily deteriorated of all the moral qualities, is the quality called 'conscience.' In one state of a man's mind, his conscience is the severest judge that can pass sentence on him. In anotlior state, he and his conscience are on the best possible terms with each other in the comfortable capacity of accom- plices. When Doctor Wybrow left his house for the second time, he did not even attempt to conceal from himself 'that his sole object, in dining at the club, was to hear what the world baid of the Ooimtess Narona. t 5 i 1 U! 16 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. CH.A.PTER III THEEE was a time when a man in search of the pleasures of gossip sought the society of ladies. The man knows better now. He goes to the smoking-room of his club. Doctor Wybrow lit his cigar and looked round him, at his brethren in social conclave assembled. The room was well filled ; but the flow of talk was still languid. The Doctor inno- cently applied the stimulant that was wanted. When he in- quired if anybody knew the Countess Narona, he was answered by some'thing like a shout of astonishment. Never (the conclave agreed) had su^ an absurd question been asked before ! Every human creature, with the slightest claim to a place in society, knew the Countess Narona. An adventuress with a European reputation of the blackest possible colour — such was the general description of the woman with the death-like complexion and the glittering eyea Descending to particulars, each member of the club contri- buted his own little stock of scandal to the memoirs of the Coimtesa It was doubtful whether she was really what she called herself a Dalmatian lady. It was doubtful whether she had ever been married to the Count whose widow she assumed to be. It was doubtful whether the man who accompanied her in her travels (under the name of Baron Rivar, and in the charac- ter of her brother) was her brother at alL Report pointed to the Baron as a gambler at every * table ' on the Continent Report whispered that his so-called sister had narrowly escaped being implicated in a famous trial for poisoning at Vienna — ^that she had been known at Milan as a spy in the interests of Austria;— THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 17 the pleasures 1 ;,-; i man knows i club. '' id him, at hie om was well '^ Doctor inno- When he in- "ii was answered i • (the conclave fore 1 Every C5e in society, ti a European IS the general plexiou and i ) club contri- "■% moirs of the lly what she whether she e assumed to )anied her in '~^ n the charac- ointed to the 3- int Report scaped being la — ^that she >| rf Austriar— Mi;it lier * Jipartnient * in Paris had been denounced to the police as nothing less than a private gambling-house — and that her present appearance in England was the natural result of that dis- covery. Only one member of the assembly in the smoking- room took the part of this much-abused woman and declared that her character had been most cruelly and most unjustly assailed. But as the man was a lawyer, his interference went for nothing : it was natura"y attributed to the spirit of contradic- tion inherent in his profession. He was asked derisively what he thought of the circumstances under which the Countess had become engaged to be married, and he made the characteristic answer, that he thought the circumstances highly creditable to both parties, and that he looked on the lady's future husband as a most enviable man. • Hearing this, the Doctor raised another shout of astonishment by inquiring the name of the gentleman whom the Countess was about to marry. His friends in the smoking-room decided unanimously that the celebrated physician must be a second ' Rip-van-Winkle,' and that he had just awakened from a supernatural sleep of twenty years. It was all very well to say that he was devoted to his profession, and that he had neither time nor inclination to pick up fragments of gossip at dinner-parties aild balls. A man who did not know that the Countess Narona had borrowed money at Homberg of no less a person than Lord Montbarry, and had then deluded him into making her a proposal of mar- riage, was a man who had probably never heard of Lord Mont- barry himself. The younger members of the club, humouring the joke, sent a waiter for the * Peerage ; ' and read aloud the memoir of the nobleman in question, for the Doctor's benefit 18 THE HAUNTED HOTEU with illustrative morsels of information interpolated by tliem- selvea ^ * Herbert John "Westwick. First Baron Montbarry, of Mont- barry, King's County, Ireland Created a Peer for distinguished military services in India, Born, 1812. Forty-eight years old, Doctor, at the present time. Not married. Will be married next week, Doctor, to the delightful creature we have been talking about. Heir presumptive, his lordship's next brother, Stephen Robert, married to Ella, youngest daughter of the Rev- erend Silas Harden, Rector of Runnigate, and has issue, three daughters. Younger brothers of his lordship, Francis and Henry, unmarried. Sisters of his lordship, Lady Barville, married to ^ir Theodore Barville, Bart ; and Anne, widow of the late Peter Norbury, Esq., of Norbury Cross. Bear his lordship's relations well in mind. Doctor. Three brothers. West- wick, Stephen, Francis, and Henry ; and two sisters, Lady Barville and Mra Norbuiy. Not one of the five will be present at the marriage ; and not one of the five will leave a stone un- turned to stop it if the Countess will only give them a chance. Add to these hostile members of the family another offended relative not mentioned in the " Peerage," a young lady.' A sudden outburst of protest in more than one part of the room stopped the coming disclosure, and released the Doctor from further persecution. * Don't mention the poor girl's name ; it's too bad to make a joke of that part of the business ; she has behaved nobly under shameful provocation ; there is but one excuse for Montbarry — he is either a madman or a fool' In these terms the protest expressed itself on all sides. Speaking confidentially to his next neighbour, the Doctor discovered that the lady referred to was already known to him (through the Countess's confession) THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 19 bany, of Mont- )r distinguished rty-eight years iV^ill be married we have heen 's next brother, liter of the Rev- has issue, three p, Francis and Lady Barville, Anne, widow of ross. Bear his 1 brothers, "West- ro sisters, Lady e will be present save a stone un- ) them a chance, mother offended ig lady.' one part of the ised the Doctor ) bad to make a ved nobly under or Montbarry — arms the protest [entially to his lady referred to Jess's confession) as the lady deserted by Lord Montbarry. Her name was Agnes Lockwood. She was described as being the superior of the Countess in personal attraction, and as being also by some I years the younger woman of the two. Making all allowamce for the follies that men committed every day in their relations i with women, Montbarry's delusion was still the most monstrous I delusion on record. In this ex])ression of opinion every man [present agreed — ^the lawyer even included. Not one of them icould call to mind the innumerable instances in which the sexual influence has proved irresistible in the persons of women Vithout even the pretension to beauty. The very members of the club whom the Countess (in spite of her personal disadvan- iges) could have most easily fascinated, if she had thought it rorth her while, were the members who wondered most loudly |kt Montbarry's choice of a wife. "While the topic of the Countess s marriage was still the one )pic of conversation, a member of the club entered the smoking- bom whose appearance instantly produced a dead silence. )octor Wybrov's next neighbour whispered to him, *Mont- |)ariy's brother — Henry "Westwick ! ' Tlie new-comer looked round liim slowly, with a bitter smile. • You are all talking of my brother,' he said. * Don't mind ina Not one of you can despise him more heartily than I ido. Go on, gentlemen — go on ! ' I But one man present took the speaker at his word. That man ^as the lawyer who had already undertaken the defence of the Jountess. * I stand alone in my opinion,* he said, * and I am not ashamed )f repeating it in anybody's hearing. I consider the Countess Tarona to be a cruelly-treated woman. Why shouldn't phe be 20 THE HA.UNTED HOTEL, Lord Montbarry's wife ? Who can say she has a mercenary motive in marrying him ? * • Montbarry's brother turned sharply on the speaker. * / say it,' he answered. The reply might have shaken some men. The lawyer stood on his ground as firmly as ever. * I believe I am right,' he rejoined, * in stating that his lord- ship's income is not more than sufficient to support his station in life ; also it is an income derived almost entirely from landed property in Ireland, every acre of which is entaUed.' Montbarry's brother made a sign, admitting that he had no objection to offer so far. * If his ^ordship dies first,* the lawyer proceeded, * I have been informed that the only provision he can make for his widow consists in a rent-charge on the property of no more than four hundred a year. His retiring pension and allowances, it is well-known die with him. Four hundred a-year is there- fore all that he can leave to the Countess, if he leaves her a widow.' ' Four hundred a year is not all,* was the reply to thia * My brother has insured his life for ten thousand pounds ; and he has settled the whole of it on the Countess, in the event of his death.* This announcement produced a strong sensation. Men looked at each other, and repeated the three startling words, * Ten thousand pounds !' Driven fairly to the wall, the lawyer made a last effort to defend his position. * ]\Iay I ask who inade that settlement a condition of the marriage ? ' he said. * Surely it was not the Countess herself ? ' Henry Wcstwick answered, * It was the Countess's broLher; ' and added, • which comes to the same thing.' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 21 as a nicrceiiary eaker. * / say it,' lie lawyer stood ! that he had no After that, there was no more to be said — so long, at least, as Montbarry's brother was present. The talk flowed into other channels ; and the Doctor went home. But his morbid curiosity about the Countess was not set at i rest yet. In his leisure moments he found, himself wondering whether Lord Montbarry's family would succeed in stopping the marriage after all And more than this, he was conscious [of a growing desire to see the infatuated man himself. Every lay during the brief interval before the wedding, he looked at the club, on the chance of hearing some news. Nothing lad happened, so far as the club knew. The Countess's position ras secure ; Montbarry's resolution to be her husband was ishaken They were both Roman Catholics, and they were I be married at the chapel in Spanish Place. So much the Doc- )r discovered about them — and no more. On the day of the wedding, after a feeble struggle with him- 3lf , he actually sacrificed his patients and their guineas, and lipped away secretly to see the marriage. To the end of his ife, he was angry with anybody who reminded him of what he ^ad done on that day ! The wedding was strictly private. A close carriage stood ^t the church door ; a few people, mostly of the lower class, id mostly old women, were scattered about the interior of le building. Here and there Doctor Wybrow detected the ices of some of his brethren of the club, attracted by curi- osity, like himself. Four persons only stood before the altar — le bride and bridegroom and their two witnesses. One of lese last was a faded-looking woman, who might have been le Countess's companion or maid ; the other was undoubtedly ier brother, Baron Kivar. The bridal party (the bride herself icluded) wore their ordinary morning costume. Lord Mont- 22 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. barry, personally viewed, was a middle-aged military man of the ordinary type : nothing in the least remarkable distin- guished him either in face or figure. Baron Rivar, again in bis way, was another conventional representative of another well- known type. One sees his finely pointed moustache, his bold eyes, his crisply-curling hair, and his dashing carriage of the head, repeated hundreds of times over on the Boulevards of Paris. The only note-worthy point about him was of the nega- tive sort — he was not in the least like his sister. Even the officiating priest was only a harmless, humble-looking old man, who went through his duties resignedly, and :elt visible rheu- matic difficulties every time he bent his kneea The one re- markable person, the Countess herself, only laised her veil at the beginning of the ceremony, and presented nothing in her plain dress that was worth a second look. Never, on the face of it, was there a less interesting and less romantic marriage than this. From time to time the Doctor glanced round at the door or up at the galleries, vaguely anticipating the appear- ance of some protesting stranger, in possession of some ter- rible secret, commissioned to forbid the progress of the service. Nothing in the shape of an event occurred — nothing extraor- dinary, nothing dramatic. Bound fast together as man and wife, the two disappeared, followed by their witnesses, to sign the registers; and still Doctor Wybrow waited, and still he cherished the obstinate hope that something worth seeing must certainly happen yet. The interval i)assed, and the married couple, returning to the church, walked together down the nave to the door. Doctor Wybrow drew back as they approached. To his confusion and surprise, the Countess discovered him. He heard her say to her husband, * One moment ; I see a friend. ' Lord Montbai ry THE HATTNTED HOTEL. 23 bowed and waited. She stepped up to the Doctor, took hia hand, and wning it hard. He felt her overpowering black eyes looking at him through her veiL ' One step more, you see, on the way to the end !' She whispered those strange words, and returned to her husband. Before the Doctor could recover himself and follow her. Lord and Lady Montbarry had stepped into their carriage, and had driven away. Outside the church door stood the three or four members of the club who, like Dr. Wybrow, had watched the ceremony out of curiosity. Near them was the bride's brother, waiting alona He was evidently bent on seeing the man whom his sister had spoken to, in broad daylight. His bold eyes rested on the Doctor's face, with a momentaiy flash of suspicion in them. The cloud suddenly cleared away; the Baron smiled with charming courtesy, lifted his hat to his sister's friend, .vid walked off The members constituted themselves into a elub conclave on the church steps. They began with the Baron. * Damned ill-looking rascal ! ' They went on with Montbarry. ' Is he going to take that horrid woman with him to Ireland ? ' * Not he I he can't face the tenantry ; they know about Agnes Lock- wood.' * Well, but where ts he going ? ' ' To Scotland.' 'Does she like that ? ' ' It's only for a f ortni^t ; they come back to London, and go abroad.' 'And they will never return to England, eh ?' ' Who can tell ? Did you eee how she looked at Montbarry, when she had to lift her veil at the beginning of the service? In his place, I should have bolted. Did you see her. Doctor?' By this time Dr. Wybrow had re- membered his patients, and had heard enough of the club gossip. He followed the example of Baron Rivar, and walked off. ' One step more, you see, on the way to the end,' he repeated to himself, on his way home. ' What end 1 ' 24 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. CHAPTER IV. ON ihe day of the marriage, Agnes Lock wood sat alone in the little drawing-room of her London lodgings, burning the letters which had been written to her by Montbarry in the byegone time. The Countess's maliciously smart description of her, ad- dressed to Dr. Wybrow, had not even hinted at the charm that most distinguished Agnes — the artless expression of good- ness and purity which instantly attracted every one who approached her. She looked by many years younger tlian she really was. With her fair complexion and her shy manner, it seemed only natural to speak of her as * a girl,' although she was now really advancing towards thirty years of age. She lived alone with an old nurse devoted to her, on a modest little income, which was just enough to support th*^ two. There were none of the ordinary signs of grief in her face, as she slowly tore the letters of her false lover in two, and threw the pieces into the small fire which had been lit to consume them. Un- happily for herself she was one of those women who feel too deeply to find relief in tears. Pale and quiet, with cold, trem- bling fingers, she destroyed the letters ono by one, without daring to read them again. She had torn the last of the series, and was still shrinking from throwing it after the rest into the swiftly destroying flame, when the old nurse came in, and asked if she would see 'Master Henry,' — meaning that youngest member of the Westwick family, who had publicly declared his contempt for liis l)rother in the smoking-room of iho club. Agnes hesitated. A faint tinge of colour stole ovt^r her face. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 25 There had been a long past time when Henry Weatwick had owned that he loved her. She had made her confession to him, acknowledging thcit her heart was given to his eldest bro- ther. He had submitted to his disappointment, and they had met thereafter as cousins and friends. Never before had she associated the idea of him with embarrassing recollections. But now, on the very day when his brother's marriage to another woman had consummated his brother's treason towards her, there was something vaguely repellent in the prospect of see- ing him. The old nurse (who remembered them both in their cradles) observed her hesitation ; and sympathizing of course with the man, put in a timely word for Henry. ' He says he s I going away, my dear ; and he only wants to shake hands and [say good bye.' This plain statement of the case had its effect. [Agnes decided on receiving her cousin. He entered the room so rapidly that he surprised her in the [aut of throwing the fragments of Montbarry's last letter into [rhe lire. She hurriedly spoke first. ' You are leaving London very suddenly, Henry. Is it busi- [ness or pleasure ? ' Instead of answering her, he pointed to the flaming letter, and [to some black ashes of burnt paper lying lightly in the lower [part of the fire-place. ' ' Are you burning letters V 'Yes.' ' 'His letters V *Yes.' He took her hand gently. • I had no idea I was intruding [on you at a time when you must wish to be alone. Forgive me, I Agues — I shall see you when I return.' She signed to him, with a faint smile, to take a chair. 26 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. l! * "We have known one another since we were children,' ah« said. * Why should I feel a foolish pride about myself in your presence? why should I have any secrets from you? I sent back all your brother's gifts to me some time ago. I have been advised to do more, to keep nothing that can remind me of him — in short, to bum his letters. I have taken the advice ; but I own I shrank a little from destroying the last of the let- ters. No — not because it was the last, but because it had this in it.' She opened her hand and showed hiih a lock of Montbarry's hair, tied with a morsel of golden cord. * Well ! well 1 let it go with the rest' She dropped it into the flame. For a while she stood with her back to Henry, leaning on the mantel-piece, and looking into the fird He took the chair to which she had pointed, with a strange contradiction of expression in his face : the tears were in his eyes, while the brows above were knit close in an angry frown. He muttered to himself, * Damn him ! ' She rallied her courage, and showed her face again when she spoke. * Well, Henry, and why are you going away 1 ' * I am out of spirits, Agnes, and I want a change.' She paused before she spoke again. His face told her plainly that he was thinking of /*«?• when he made that reply. She was grateful to him, but her mind was not with him : her mind was still with the man who had deserted her. She turned round again to the fire. * Is it true,' she asked, after a long silence, * that they have been married to-day ? ' He answered ungraciously in the one necessary word: — * Yea' * Did you go to the church V He resented the question with an expression of indignant Burpriae. * Go to the church ? ' he repeated * I would as soon go ilili THE HAUirrED HOTEL. «7 that they have ryword: — * Yea' to—.' He checked himself tibere. * ITo-w can yon ask t* he added in lower tonea ' I have nevei spoken to Montbarry, I have not even seen him, since he treated you like the scoundrel and the fool that he ia' She looked at him suddenly, without saying a word. He understood her and begged her pardon. But he was still angry. * The reckoning comes to some men,' he said ♦ even in this world. He will live to rue the day when he married that woman ! * Agnes took the chair by his side, and looked at him with a gentle surprise. * Is it quite reasonable to be so angry with her because your brother preferred her to me? ' she asked. Henry turned on her sharply. ' Do you def^ad the Countess, of all the people in the world 1 ' * Why not ? ' Agnes answered, * I know nothing against her. On the only occasion when we met, she appeared to be a singularly timid, nervous person, looking dreadfully ill ; and being indeed so ill that she fainted under the heat of the room. Why should we not do her justice 1 We know that she was innocent of any intention to wrong me ; we know that she was not aware of ngr engagement ' Henry lifted his hand impatiently, and stopped her. * There is such a thing as being too just and too forgiving 1 ' he inter- posed. * I can't bear to hear you talk in that patient way, after the scandalously cruel manner in which you have been treated. Try to forget them both, Agnea I wish to God I could help you to do it.' Agnes laid her hand on his arm. * You are very good to me, Henry ; but you don't quite understand ma I was thinking of myself and my trouble in quite a different way, when you came in. I was wondering whether anything which has so 28 THE HAUNTED HOTEl* entirely filled my heart, and so absorbed all that is best and truest in me, as my feeling for your brother, can really pass away as if it had never existed. I have destroyed the last visible things that remind me of him. In this world, I shall seo him no more. But is the tie that once bound us, completely k roken? Am I as entirely parted from the good and evil fortune of his life, as if we had never met and never loved? What do you think, Henrv? I can hardly believe it.' * If you could bring the retribution on him that he has de- served,' Henry Westwick answered sternly, ' I might be inclined to agree with you,' As that reply passed his lips the old nurse appeared again at the^door, announcing another visitor. ' I am sorry to disturb you, my dear. But nere is little Mrs. b'errari wanting to know when she may say a few words to you.' Agnes turneci to Henry, before she replied. * You remembei Emily Bidwell, my favourite pupil years ago at the village school, and afterwards my maid ? She left me, to marry an Ita- lian couiier named Ferrari — and I am afraid it has not turned out very well. Do you mind my having her in here, for a min- ute or two ? * Henry rose to take his leava * I should be glad to see Emily again at any other time,' he said. ' But it is best that I should go now. My mind is disturbed, Agnes ; I might say things to you, if I stayed here any longer, which — which are better not said now. I shall cross the Channel by the mail to-night, and see how a few weeks' change will help me.' He took her hand. * Is there anything in the world I can do for you? ' he asked very earnestly. She thanked him, and tried to rfileaso her hand. He held it with a tremulous lingering grasp. • God bless you, Agnes ! ' he said in faltering tones, THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 29 wizh his eyes on the ground. Her face flushed again, and the next instant turned paler than ever; she knew his heart as well as he knew it himself — she was too distressed to speak. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it fervently, and, with- out looking at her again, left the room. The nurse hobbled after him to the head of the stairs : she had not forgotten the time when the younger brother had been the unsuccessful rival of the elder for the hand of Agnes. ' Don't be down-hearted, Master Henry,' whispered the old woman, with the unscru- pulous common sense of persons in the lower rank of life. 'Try her again, when you come back ! • Left alone for a few moments, Agnes took a turn in the room, trying to compose herself. She paused before a little water-coloured drawing on the wall, which had belonged to her mother : it was her own portrait when she was a child. * How much happier we should be,' she thought to herself sadly, * if we never giew up ! * The courier's wife was shown in — a little meek melancholy woman, with white eyelashes, and watery eyes, who curtseyed deferentially and was troubled with a small chronic cougli. Agnes shook hands with her kindly. ' Well, Emily, what can I do for you?' The courier's wife made rather a strange answer : ' I'm afraid to tell you. Miss.' ' Is it such a very difficult favour to grant ? Sit down, and let me hear how you are going on. Perhaps the petition will slip out while we are talking. How does your husband behave to you ? ' Emily'G light grey eyes looked more watery than ever. She shook her head and sighed resignedly. 'I have no positive complaint to make against him. Miss. But I'm afraid he so THE HAUNTED HOTEL. ! doesn't care about me ; and he seems to take no interest in his home — I may almost say he's tired of his homa It might be better for both of us, Miss, if he went travelling for a while — not to mention the money, which is beginning to be wanted sadly.* She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and sighed again more resignedly than ever. *I don't quite understand,' said Agnea *I thought your husband had an engagement to take some ladies to Switzerland and Italy r * Tliat was his ill-luck. Miss. One of the ladies fell ill — and the others wouldn't go without her. They paid him a month's salary as compensation. But they had engaged him for the autumn and winter — and the loss is serioua' * I am sor^ to hear it, Emily. Let us hope he will soon have another chance.' * It's not his turn, Miss, to be recommended when the next appKcations come to the courier's office. You see, there are so many of them out of employment just now. If he could be privately recommended ' She stopped, and left the un- finished sentence to speak for itsel£ Agnes understood her directly. ' You want my recommen- dation,' she rejoined. ' Why couldn't you say so at once 1 ' Emily blushed. * It would be such a chance for my hus- band,' she answered confusedly. *A letter, inquiring for a good courier (a six months' engagement, Miss !) came to the office this morning. It's another man's turn to be chosen — and the secretary will recommend him. If my husband could only send his testimonials by the same post — ^with just a word in your name, Miss — it might turn the scale, as they say. A private recommendation between gentlefolks goes so far.' She ■topped again, and sighed again, and looked down at the carpet. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. II 81 as if she had some private reason for feeling a little ashamed of herself. i Agnes began to be rather weary of the persistent tone of mystery in which her visitor spoka * If you want my interest with a friend of mine/ she said, ' why can't you tell me the name 1 * The courier's wife began to cry. * I'm ashamed to tell you, Miss.' For the first time, Agnes spoke sharply. * Nonsense, Emily ! Tell me the name directly — or di-op the subject — whichever you like best' Emily made a last desperate effort She wrung her hand- kerchief hard in her lap, and let off the name as if she had been letting off a loaded gun : — * Lord Montbarry 1 ' Agnes rose and looked at her. * You have disappointed me,' she said very quietly, but with a look which the courier's wife had never seen in her face before. * Knowing what you know, you ought to be aware that it is impossible for me to communicate with Lord Mont- barry. I always supposed you had some delicacy of feeling. I am sorry to find that I have been mistaken.' Weak as she was, Emily had spirit enough to feel the reproof. She walked in her meek noiseless way to the door. ' I beg your pardon. Miss, I am not quite so bad as you think me. But I beg youj" pardon all the same.' She opened the door. Agnes called her back. There was something in the woman's apology that appealed irresistibly to her just and generous nature. * Come,' she said ; * we must not part in this way. Let me not misunderstand you, what is it that you expected me to do ? ' 82 THE HAUNTED HOTEL.. Ill Emily was wise enough to answer this time without any roservi), ' My husband will send his testimonials, Miss, to Lord ]\Iontbarry, in Scotland. I only wanted you to let him say in his letter that his wife has been known to you since she was a child, and that you feel some little interest in his welfare on that account. I don't ask it now. Miss. You have made me understand that I w ..s wrong.' Had sh really been wrong ? Past remembrances, as well as present troubles, pleaded powerfully with Agnes for the courier's wife. * It seems only a small favour to ask,' she said, speak- ing under the impulse of kindness which was the strongest impulse in her nature. * But I am not sure that I ought to allow my name to be mentioned in your husband's letter. Let me hear again eicaotly what he wishes to say.' Emily repeated the words — and then oflFered one of those suggestions, which have a special value of their own to persons unaccustomed to the use of their pens. * Suppose you try. Miss, how it looks in writing ? ' Childish as the idea was, Agnes tried the experi- ment. ' If I let you mention me,' she said, ' we must at least decide what you are to say.' She wrote the words in the briefest and plainest form : — ' I venture to state that my wife has been known from her childhood to Miss Agnes Lockwood, who feels some little interest in my welfare on that account.' Reduced to this one sentence, there was surely nothing in the reference to her name which implied that Agnes had permitted it, or that she was even aware of it. After a last struggle with herself, she handed the written paper to Emily. ' Your husband must copy it exactly ; without altering anything,' she stipulated. ' On that condition I grant your request.' Emily was not onlv thankful — she was really touched. Agnes hurried ! iiii THE HAUNTED HOTEL. S8 ithout any 8, Miss, to to let him ou sinco sho , his welfare have made }8, as well as ■ the courier's ) said, speak- bhe strongest t I ought to 5 letter. Let Imily repeated estions, which ^accustomed to LOW it looks in sd the experi- must at least words in the that my wife ,es Lockwood, that account.' [nothing in the tad permitted last struggle Imily. 'Your anything,' she pest.' EmUy lAJxnes hurried the little woman out of the room. ' Don't give me time to repent and take it back again,' she said. Emily vanished. ' Is the tie that once bound us completely broken 1 Am I as entirely parted from the good and evil fortune of his life as if we had never met and never loved ? Agnes looked at the clock on the mantel-piece. Not ten minutes since, those serious questions had been on her lips. It almost shocked her to think of the commonplace manner in which they had already met with their reply. The mail of that night would appeil once more to Montbarry's remembrance of her — in the choice of a servant Two days later, the post brought a few lines from Emily. [Her husband had got the place. Ferrari was engaged for six [months certain, as Iiord Montbarry's courier. f/ !i! I site 3Simn& ffitU •♦• CHAPTER IV. AFTER only one week of travelling in Scotland, my lord and my lady returned unexpectedly to London. Intro- duced to the mountains and lakes of the Highlands, her lady- ship positively declined to improve her acquaintance with them. When she was asked for her reason, she answered with a Roman brevity, * I have seen Switzerland.' For a week more, the newly-married couple remained in London, in the strictest retirement. On one day in that week the nurse returned in a state of most uncustomary excitement from an errand on which Agnes had sent her. Passing the door of a fashionable dentist, she had met Lord Montbarry himself just leaving the house. The good woman's report described him, with malicious pleasure, as looking wretchedly ill. ' His ( oeks are getting hollow, my dear, and his beard is turning grt y. I hope the dentist hurt him ! ' Knowing how heartily her faithful old servant hated the man who had deserted her, Agnes made due allowance for a large | infusion of exaggeration in the picture presented to her. Tlie main impression produced on her mind was an impression of nervous uneasiness. If she trusted herself in the streets by daylight while Lord Moutbarry remained in London, how THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 36 could she be sure that his next chance-meeting might not be a meeting with herself? She waited at home, privately ashamed of her own superstitious fears for the next two days. On the third day the fashionable intelligence of the newspapers announced the departure of Lord and Lady Montbarry for Paris, on their way to Italy. Mra Ferrari, calling the same evening, informed Agnes that her husband had left her with all reasonable expression of con- iugal kindness ; his temper being improved by the prospect of going abroad. But one other servant accompanied the travel- lers — Lady Montbarry's maid, rather a silent, unsociable wo- man, so far as Emily had heard. Her ladyship's brother, Baron Bivar, was already on the Continent. It had been arranged that he was to meet his sister and her husband at Borne. One by one the dull weeks succeeded each other in the life of Agnes. She faced her position with admirable courage, seeing her friends, keeping herself occupied in her leisure hours with reading and drawing, leaving no means untried of divert- ing her mind from the melancholy remembrance of the past. But she had loved too faithfully, she had been wounded too deeply, to feel in any adequate degree the influence of the moral remedies which she employed. Persons who met with her in the ordinary relations of life, deceived by her outward serenity of manner, agreed that 'Miss Lockwood seemed to be getting over her disappointment.' But an old friend and school-companion who happened to see her during a brief visit fco London, was inexpressibly distressed by the change that she detected in A^ea This lady Tas Mra Westwick, the wife of that brother of Lord Montbarry who came next to him in age. 36 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. and who was described in the * Peerage' as presumptive heir to the title. He was then away, looking af ! 3r his interests in some mining property which he possessed in America. Mrs. Westwick insisted on taking Agnes back with her to her home in Ireland. * Come and keep me company while my husband is away. My three little girls will make yon their playfellow, and the only stranger you will meet is the governess, whom I answer for your liking beforehand. Pack up your things, and I will call for you to-morrow on my way to the train.* In those hearty terms the invitation was given. Agnes thankfully accepted it. For three happy months she lived under the roof of her friend. The girls hung round her neck in tears at her departure ; the youngest of them wanted to go back with Agnes to London. Half in jest, half in earnest, she said to her old friend at parting, *If your governess leaves you, keep the place open for me.' Mrs. "Westwick laughed. The wiser children took it, seriously, and promised to let Agnes know. On the very day when Miss Lockwood returned to London, she was recalled to those associations with the past which she was most anxious to forget After the first kissings and greet- ings were over, the old nurse (who had been left in charge at the lodgings), had some startling information to communicate, aerivcd from the courier's wife. 'Here has been little Mrs. Ferrari,my dear, in a dreadful state of mind, inquiring when you would be back. Her hus- band has left Lord Montbarry, without a word of warning — and nobody knows what has become of him.' Agnes looked at her in astonishment. 'Are you sure of wb..^ you are saying 1' she asked. The nurse was quite sura ' Why, Lord bless you, the news THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 87 ,tive heir to interests in irica. Mrs. to her home ■f husband is • playfellow, less, whom I r things, and e train.' In es thankfully nder the roof L tears at her jk with Agnes aid to her old rou, keep the The wiser lbs know. )d to London, ,ast which she Lngs and gveet- in charge at communicate, in a dreadful |ck. Her hus- of warning — you sure of you, the uewB comes from the comiero' ofice in Golden Square — from the secretary. Miss Agnes, the secretary himself)' Hearing this* Agnes began to feel alarmed, as well as surprised. It was still early in the evening. ' She at once sent a message to Mrs. Fer- rari, to say that she had returned. In an hour more the courier's wife appeared, in a state of agitation which it was not easy to control Her n-^rrative, when she was at last able to speak connectedly, entirely confirmed the nurse's report of it After hearing from her husband with tolerable regularity from Paris, Rome, and Venice, Emily had twice written to him afterwards — and had received no reply. Feeling uneasy, she had gone to the office in Golden Square, to inquire if he had been heard of there. The post of the morning had brought a letter to the secretary from a courier then at Venica It con- tained startling news of Ferrari His wife ha:" been allowed to take a copy of it, which she now handed to Agnes to read. The writer stated that he had recently arrived in Yenica He had previously heard that Ferrari was with Lord .«>nd Lady Montbarry, at one of the old Venetian palaces which they had hired for a term. Being a friend of Ferrari, he had gone to pay him a visit. Ringing at the door that opened on the Grand Canal, and failing to make anyone hear him, he had gone round to a side entrance opening on one of the narrow lanes of Venice. Here, standing at the door, as if she was waiting for somebody — perhaps for the courier himself — he found a pale woman, with magnificent dark eyes, who proved to be no other than Lady Montbarry herself. She aaked, in Italian, what he wanted. He answered that he wanted to see the oeurier Ferrari, if it was quite convenient 38 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. i i She at once informed him that Ferrari had left the palace without assigning any reason, and without even leaving an ad- dress at which his monthly salary (then due to him), could be paid. Amazed at this reply, the courier inquired if any person had offended Ferrari, or quarrelled with hiuL The lady an- swered, * To my knowledge, certainly not. I am Lady Mont- barry ; and I can positively assure you that Ferrari was treated with the greatest kindness in this house. "We are as much astonished as you are at his extraordinary disappearance. If you should hear of him, pray let us tjiow, so that we may at least pay him the money which is due.' After one or two more questions (quite readily answered) re- lating to the date and the time of day at which Ferrari had left the palace, the courier took his leave. He at once entered on the necessary investigations — without the slightest result so far as Ferrari was concerned. Nobody had seen him, nobody appeared to have been taken into his confidence. Nobody knew anything (that is to say, anything of the slightest importance), even about persons so distinguished as liord and Lady Montbarry. It was reported that her lady- ship's English maid had left her, before the disappearance of Ferrari, to return to her relatives in her own country, and that Lady Montbarry had taken no steps to supply her placa His lordship was described as being in delicate health. He lived in tlie strictest retirement — nobody was admitted to him, not even his own rountrymen. A stupid old woman was discovered, who did the housework at the palace, arriving in the morning and going away again at night. She had never seen the lost courier — she had never seen even Lord Montbariy, who was then con- fined to his room. Her ladyship, 'a most gracious ^nd adorable THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 39 mistress,' was in constant attendance on her noble husband. There was no other servant then in the house (so far as the old woman knew), but herself. The meals were sent in from a restaurant. My lord, it was said, disliked strangers. My lord's brother-in-law, the Baron, was generally shut up in a remote part of the palace, occupied (the gracious mistress said) with experiments in chemistry. The experiments sometimes made a nasty smelL A doctor had latterly been called in to his lord- ship — an Italian doctor, long resident in Venice. Inquiries being addressed to this gentleman (a physician of undoubted capacity and respectability), it turned out that he also had never seen Ferrari, having been summoned to the palace (as his memorandum-book showed), at a date subsequent to the courier's disappearance. The doctor described Lord Montbarry's malady as bronchitis. So far, there was no reason to feel any anxiety, though the attack was a sharp one. If alarming symptoms should appear, he had arranged with her ladyship to call in another physician. For the rest, it was impossible to speak too liighly of my lady ; night and day she was at her lord's bedside. With these particulars began and ended the discoveries made by Ferrari's courier-friend. The police were on the look-out for the lost man — and that was the only hope which could be held forth, for the present, to Ferrari's wifa * What do you think of it. Miss V the poor woman asked eagerly. * What would you advise me to do 1 ' Agnes was at a loss how to answer her; it was an effort even to listen to what Emily was saying. The references in the courier's letter to Montbarry — ^the report of his illness, the melancholy picture of his secluded life — ^had re-opened the old wound. She was not even thinking of the lost Ferrari ; her mind was at Venice, by the sick man'a bedside. 40 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * I haidly know what to say,' she answered. * I have had in\ experience in serio^^s matters of this kind.' * Do you think it would help you, Miss, if you read my hus- band's letters to me ? There are only three of them — they won't take long to read. * Agnes compassionately read the letters. They were not written in a very tender tone. * Dear Emily, ' and 'Yours affectionately' — these conventional phrases, were the only phrases of endearment which they contained. In the first letter. Lord Montbarry was not very favourabfy spoken of : — * We leave Paris to-morrow. I don't much like my lord. He is proud and cold, and, between ourselves, stingj- in money matters. I have had to dispute such trifles as a few centimes in the hotel bill ; and twice already, some sharp remarks have passed between the newly-married couple, in consequence of her ladyship's freedom in pure lasing pretty tempting things at the shops in Paris. * I can't afford it, you must keep to your allow- ance.' She has had to hear those words already. For my part, I like her. She has the nice, easy foreign mamiers — she talks to me as if I was a human being like herseLE.' The second letter was dated from Rome. * My lord's caprices ' (Ferrari wrote), ' have kept us perpetu- ally on the move. He is becoming incurably restlesa I sus- pect he is uneasy in his mind. Painful recollections I should say — I find him constantly reading old letters, when her lady- ship is not present. We were to have stopped at Genoa ; but he hurried us on. The same thing at Florence. Here, at Borne, my lady insists on resting. Her brother has met us at this place. There has been a quarrel already (the lady's maid tells me) between my lord and the Baron. The latter wanted t I THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 41 have had m\ to borrow money of the former. His lordship refused in lan- guage which offended Baron Bivar. My lady pacified them, and made them shake handa The third, and last letter, was from Venica * More of my lord's economy ! Instead of going to an hotel, we have hired a damp, mouldy, rambling old palace. My lady insists on having the best suites of rooms wherever we go — and the palace comes cheaper, for a two months' term. My lord tried to get it for longer ; he says the quiet of Venice is good for his nerves. But a foreign speculator has secured the palace, and is going to turn it into an hotel The Baron is still with as, and there have been more disagreements about money mat- ters. I don't like the Baron — and I don't find the attractions of my lady grow on me. She was much nicer before the Baron 'oined us. My lord is a punctual paymaster ; it's a matter of honour with him ; he hates parting with his money, but he does it because he has given his word. I receive' my salary regularly at the end of each month — not a franc extra, though I have done many things which are not part of a courier's proper work. Fancy the Baron tiying to borrow money of me ! He is an inveterate gambler. I didn't believe it when my lady's maid first told me so — but I have seen enough since to satisfy me that she was right. I have seen other things besides, which — well! which don't increase my respect for my lady and the Baron. The maid says she means to give warning to leave. She is a ospectable British female, and doesn't take things quite so easily as I do. It is a dull life here. No going into com- pany — -no company at home, not a creature sees my lord — ^not even the consul, or the banker. When he does go out, he goes alone, and generally towards nightfall Indoors, ho shuts him- 42 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 1 self up in his own room with his books, and sees as little of his wife and the Baron as possible. I fancy things are coming to a crisis here. If my lord's suspicions are once awakened, the consequences will be terrible. Under certain provocations, the noble Montbarry is a man who would stick at nothing. How- ever the pay is good — and I can't afford to talk of leaving the place, like my lady's maid.' Agnes handed back the letters — so suggestive of the penalty paid already for hi^ own infatuation by the man who had deserted her 1 — with feelings of shame and distress, which made her no fit counsellor for the helpless woman who depended on her advice. * The one thingj I can suggest,' she said, after first speaking some kind words of comfort and hope, ' is that we should con- sult a person of greater experience than oura Suppose I write and ask my lawyer (who is also my friend and trustee) to come and advise us to-morrow after hij business hours?' Emily eagerly and gratefully accepttd the suggestion. An hour was arranged for the meeting on the next day ; the cor- respondence was left under the care of Agnes ; and the courier " wife took her leave. Weary and heartsick, Agnes lay down on the sofa, to rest and compose hersel£ The careful nurse brought in a reviving cup of tea. Her quaint gossip about herself and her occupa,- tions while Agnes had been away, acted as a relief to her mistress's over-burdened mind. They were still talking quietly, when they were startled by a loud knock at the house door. Hurried footsteps ascended the stairs. The door of the sitting- room was thrown open violently ; the courier's wife rushed in like a mad womanr 'He's dead? they've murdered him I* THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 4>8 Those wild words were all she could say. She dropped rn her knees sA the foot of the sofa — held out her hand, with some- thing clasped in it — and fell back in a swoon. The mirse, signing to Agnes to open the windows, took the necessary measures to restore the fainting woman. 'What's this 1 ' she exclaiiaed. ' Here's a letter in her has.d. See what it is, Miss.' The open envelope was addressed (evidently in a feigned handwriting) to 'Mrs. Ferrari' The post-mark was * Venica' The contents of the envelope were a sheet of foreign note-pnpor, and a folded enclosure. On the note-paper, one line only was written. It was again in a feigned handwriting, and it contained these words :-- ' To console you for the loss of your husband* Agnes opened the enclosure next It was a Bank of England note for a thousand pounds. i 5i CHAPTER V. TTIHE next day, the friend and legal adviser of Agnes -L Lockwood, Mr. Troy, called on her by appointment in the evening. Mrs. Ferrari — still persisting in the conviction of her hus- band's death — ^had sufficiently recovered to be present at the consultation. Assisted by Agnes, she told the lawyer the little that was known relating to Ferrari's disappearance, and then produced the correspondence connected with that event. Mr. Troy read (first) the three letters addressed by Ferrari to his wife ; (secondly) the letter written by Ferrai:j's courier-friend, describing his visit to the palace and his interview with Lady Montbarry ; and (thirdly) the one line of anonymous writing which had accompanied the extraordinary gift of a thousand pounds to Ferrari's wife. • "Well known, at a later period, as the lawyer who acted for Lady Lydiard, in the case of theft, generally described as the case of ' My Lady's Money,' Mr. Troy was not only a man of learning and experience in his profession — he was also a man who had seen something of society at home and abroad. He possessed a keen eye for character, a quaint humour, and a kindly nature which had not been deteriorated even by a law- yer's professional experience of mankind. With all these per- sonal advantages, it is a question nevertheless whether he was the fittest adviser whom Agnes could have chosen under the circumstancea Little Mrs. Ferrari, with many domestic merits, was an essentially commonplace woman. Mr. Troy was the L THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 45 last person living who was likely to attract her sympathies — ho was the exact opposite of a commonplace man. 'She looks very ill, poor thing.* In these words the lawyer opened the business of the evening, referring to Mrs. Ferrari as unceremoniously as if she had been out of the room. ' She has suffered a terrible shock,' Agnes answered. Mr. Troy turned to Mrs. Ferrari, and looked at her agaifl, with the interest due to the victim of a shock. He drummed absently with his fingers on the table. At last he spoke to her. ' My good lady, you don't really believe that your husband is deadf Mrs. Ferrari put her handkerchief to her eyea The word * dead ' was ineffectual to express her feelings. ' ]\Iurdered ! ' she said sternly, behind her handkerchief. * Why 1 And by whom V Mr. Tioy asked Mrs. Ferrari seemed to find some difiiculty in answering. ' You have read my husband's letters, sir,' she began. ' I be- lieve he disovered ' She got as far as that, and there she stopped. * What did he discorer V There are limits to human patience — even the patience of a bereaved wifa This cool question irritated Mrs. Ferrari into expressing herself plainly at last * He discovered Lady Montbarry and the Baron ! ' she answered, with a burst of hysterical vehemtjuca ' The Baron is no more that vile woman's brother than I am. The Avickedness of those two wretches came to my poor dear husband's know- ledge. The lady's maid left her place on account of it. If Ferrari had gone away too, he would have been alive at this moment They have killed him. I say they have killed liim, II I 46 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. to prevent it from getting to Lord Montbarrj's eara' So in short, sharp sentences, and in louder and louder accents, Mr& Ferrari stated her opinion of the case. Still keeping his own view in reserve, Mr. Troy listened with an expression of satirical approval ' Very strongly stated, Mrs. Ferrari,* he said. * You build up your sentences well ; you clench your conclusions in a work- manlike manner. If you had been a man, you would have made a good lawyer — ^you would have taken juries by the scruff of their neck& Complete the case, my good lady — complete the casa Tell us next who sent you this letter, en- closing the banknote. The 'two wretches ' who murdered Mr. Ferrari would hardly put their hands in their pockets and send you a thousand pounds. Who is it— eh 1 I see the post-mark on the letter is * Venica' Have you any friend in that inter- esting city, with a large heart, and a purse to correspond, who has been let into the secret and who wishes to console you anonymously V It was not easy to reply to this. Mrs. Ferrari began to feel the first inward approaches of something like hatred to- wards Mr. Troy. ' I don't understand you, sir,' she answered. ' I don't think this is a joking matter.' Agnes interfered, for the first time. She drew her chair a little nearer to her legal counsellor and friend. ' What is the most probable explanation, in your opinion 1 ' she asked. * I shall offend Mrs. Ferrari, if I tell you,* Mr. Troy answered. * No, sir, you won't I ' cried Mrs. Ferrari, hating Mr. Troy undisguisedly by this time. The lawyer leaned back in his chair. * Very well,' he said, m THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 47 ra' So in jents, Mra •y listened u bnild up in a work- ould have Bs by the od lady — letter, en-, iered Mr. and send post-mark hat inter- >ond, "who isole you began to atred to- tnswered. • chair a •pinion ? ' Qswered. :r. Troy ) said, in his most good-humoured manner. * Let's have it out. Observe, madam, I don't dispute your view of the position of aflciirs at the palace in Venica You have your husband's letters to justify you ; and you have also the significant fact that Lady Mont- barry's maid did really leave the house. We will say, then, that Lord Montbarry has presumably been made the victim of a foul wrong— that Mr. Ferrari was the first to find it out — and that the guilty persons had reasons to fear, not only that he would acquaint Lord Montbarry with his discovery, but that he would be a principal witness against them if the scandal was made public in a court ol' law. Now mark ! Admitting all • this, I draw a totallv different conclusion from the conclusion at which you have arrived. Here is your husband left in this miserable household of three, under very awkward circum- stances for him. What does he dol But for the bank-note and the written message sent to you with it, I should say that he had wisely withdrawn himself from association with a dis- graceful discovery and exposure, by taking secretly to flight. The money modifies this view — unfavourably so far as Mr. Ferrari is concerned, I still believe he is keeping out of the way. But I now say ho is paid for keeping out of the way — and that bank-note there on the table is the price of his absence, paid by the guilty persons to his wife.' Mrs. Ferrari's watery grey eyes brightened suddenly; Mrs. Ferrari's dull drab-coloured complexion became enlivened by a glow of brilliant red. ' It's false ! ' she cried. ' It's a burning shame to speak of my husband in that way ! ' * I told you I should offend you ! ' said Mr. Troy. Agnes interposed once more — in the intei-ests of peace. She 48 THE HAUNTED HOTEL, took the offended wife's hand ; she appealed to the lawyer to re- consider that side of his theory which reflected harshly on FeiTarL While she was still speaking, the servant interrupted her by entering the room with a visiting-card. It was the card of Henry Westwick ; and there was an ominous request written on it in pencil ' 1 bring bad newa Let me see you for a minute down stairs.* Agnes immediately left the room. Alone with Mrs. Ferrari, Mr. Troy permitted his natural kind- ness of heart tb show itself on the surface at last. He tried to make his peace with the courier's wifa * You have every claim, my good soul, to resent a reflection cast upon your husband/ he began. ' I may evon say that I respect you for speaking so warmly in his def enca At the same time, remember that I ^m bound, in such a serious matter as this, to tell you what is really in my mind. I can have no intention of oflending you, seeing that T am a total stranger to you and to Mr. Ferrari A thousand pounds is a large sum of money ; and a poor man may excusably be tempted by it to do nothing worse than keep out of the way for a whila My only interest, acting on your behalf, is to get at the truth. If you will giv me time, I see no reason to despair of finding your husband yet' Ferrari's wife listened, without being convinced : her narrow little mind filled to its extreme capacity by her unfavourable opinion of Mr. Troy, had no room left for the process of correct- ing its first impression. ' I am much obliged to you, sir,' was all she said. Her eyes were more oommuuioative — her eyes added, in thew language, ' Yon may say vk'^t you please ; I will never forgive you to my dying day. ' Mr. Troy gave it up. He composedly wheeled his chair round, put his hands in Mai pooketi and looked out of the window. al si I rfl tc THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 49 rerto vG- pshly on errupted the card written k minute ral kind- tried to jflection 7 that I he same as this, itention land to ; and worse acting [e time, larrow lurable >rrect- was eyes ie;I )undy After an interval of silence, the drawing-room door was opened. Mr. Troy wheeled round again briskly to the table, expecting to see Agnea To his surprise there appeared, in her place, a perfect stranger to him — a gentleman, in the prime of life, with a marked expression of pain and embarrassment on his hand- some face. He looked at Mr. Troy, and bowed gravely. ' I am so unfortunate as to have brought news to Miss Agnes liockwood which has greatly distressed her,' he said. * She has retired to her room. I am requested to make her excuse, and to speak to you in her place,' Having introduced himself in those terms, he noticea jsIxb. Ferrari, and held out his hand to her kindly. * It is some years since we last met, Emily,' he said, ' I am afraid you have almost forgotten the 'Master Henry 'of old times.' Emily, in some little confusion, made her acknowledgments, and begged to know if she could be of any use to Miss Lockwood. * The old nurse is with her,' Henry answered; * they will be better left together.' He turned once more to Mr. Troy. * I ought to tell you,' he said, * that my name is Henry Westwick. I am the younger brother of the late Lord ]*iIontbarrv.' ' The late Lord Montbarry I ' Mr. Troy exckiraed. ' My brother died at Venice, yesterday evening. There is the telegram.' With that startling answer, he handed the paper to Mr. Troy. , The message was in these words : * Lady Montbarry, Venice. To Stephen Pkobert Westwick, Newbury's Hotel, London. It is useless to take the journey. Lui\l Montbarry died of bionohitis, at 8:40 this evening. All needful details by post' 50 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * Was this expected, sir ? ' the lawyer asked * I cannot say that it has taken us entirely by surprise,' Henry, answered * My brother Stephen (who is now the head of the family) received a telegram three days since, informing him that alarming symptoms had declared themselves, and that a second physician had been called in. He telegraphed back to say that he had left Ireland for London, on his way to Venice, and to direct that any further message might be sent to his hotel. The reply came in a second telegram. It announced that Lord Montbarry was in a state of insensibility, and that, in his brief intervals of consciousness, he recognised nobody. My brother was advised to wait in London for later information. The thiid telegram is now in your hands. That is all I know, up to the present time.' Happening to look at the courier's wife, Mr. Troy was struck by the expression of blank fear which showed itself in the woman's face. * Mrs. F^jrrari,' he said, * have you heard what Mr. Westwick has just told me ? ' * Every word of it, sir.* ' Have you any questions to ask 1 ' ' No, sir.' ^ Tou seem to be alarmed,' the lawyer pendsted. * Is it still about your husband ? * 'I shall never see my husband again, sir. I have thought so all along, as you know. I feel sure of it now.* * Sure of it, after what you have just heard ? ' ' Yes, sir.' * Can you tell me why 1 ' ' No, sir. It's a feeling I have. I can't tell why. * Oh, a feeling ? ' Mr. Troy repeated, in a tone of compassion* THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 51 ission- at« contempt * When it comes to feelings, my good soul 1' He left the sentence unfinished, and rose to take his leave of Mr. Westwick. The truth is, he began to feel puzzled himself, and he did not choose to let Mrs. Ferrari see it. * Accept the expression of my sympathy, sir,' he said to Mr. Westwick politely. * I wish you good evening.' Henry turned to Mrs. Ferrari as the lawyer closed the door. *I have heard of your trouble, Emily, from Miss Lockwood. Is there anything I can do to help you V ' Nothing, sir, thank you. Perhaps I had better go home after what has happened ? I will call to-morrow, and see if I can be of any use to Miss Agnes. I am very sorry for her.' She stole awa/, with her formal courtesy, her noiseless step, and her obstinate resolution to take the gloomiest view of her hus- band's case. Henry Westwick looked round him in lihe solitude of the little drawing-room. There was nothing to keep him in the house, and yet he lingered in it. It was something to be even near Agnes — ^to see the things belonging to her that were scattered about the room. There, in one comer was her chair, with her embroidery on the work-table by its side. On the little easel near the window was her last drawing, not quite finished yet. The book she had been reading lay on the sofa, with her tiny pencil-case in it to mark the place at which she had left ofi! One after another, he looked at the objects that reminded him Df the woman whom he loved — took them up tenderly — and laid them down again wiH^ i sigh. Ah, how far, how unattain- ably far from him, she waa still I * She will never forget Mont- bariy,' he thought to himself as he took up his hat to go * Not one of us feels his death as she feels it Miserable, miserable wretch — how she loved him I' 52 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. In the street, as Henry closed the house-door, he was stopped by a passing acquaintance — a wearisome inquisitive man — doubly unwelcome to him, at that moment. * Sad news, West- wick, this about your brother. Bather an unexpected death, wasn't it? "We never heard at the » 'ib that Montbarry's lungs were weak. What will the insurance offices do 1 ' Henry started; he had never thought of his brother's life insurance. What could the offices do but pay ? A death by bronchitis, certified by two physicians, was surely the least dis- putable of all deaths. ' I wish you hadn't put that question into my head 1 ' he broke out irritably. *Ahl ' said his friend, *you think the widow will get the money? So do 1 1 so do 1 1 ' CHAPTER VI. SOME days later, the insuranoe offices (two in number) received the formal announcement of Lord Montbarry's death, from her ladyship's London solicitors. The sum insured in each office was five thousand pounds — on which one year's premium only had been paid. In the face of such a Decuniary emergency as this, the Directors thought it desirable to consider their position. The medical advisers of the two offices, who had recommended the insurance of Lord Montbarrv's life, were called into council over their own reports. The result excited some interest among persons connected with the business of life insurance. Without absolutely declining to pay the money, the two offices (acting in concert) decided on sending a commission of inquiry to Venice, *for the purpose of obtaining further information.* Mr. Troy received the earliest intelligence of what was going on. He wrote at once to communicate his news to Agnes ; adding, what he considered to be a valauble hint, in these words : * You are intimately acquainted, I know, with Lady Barville, the late Lord Montbarry's eldest sister. The solicitors employed by her husband, are alyo the solicitors to one of the two insur- ance offices. There may possibly be something in the Eeport of the commission of inquiry touching on Ferrari's disappearanca Ordinary persons would not be permitted, of course, to see such a document. But a sister of the late lord is so near a relative as to b(j au exception to general rule& If Sir Tlieodore Ba: \ ille puts it on that footing, the lawyers, even if they do not allow 54 THE HAUNTED HOTEL, hla wife to look at the Report, will at least answer any discreet she settled the question in the swift, easy, rational French way. ' Madame's appearance was perfectly respectable. Madame might have reasons for not mentioning her name which Miladi might approve. In any case, there being no orders forbidding the introduction of a strange lady, the matter clearly rested between Madame and Miladi. Would Madame, therefore, be good enough to follow Miladi's maid up the stairs?' In spite of her resolution, Mrs. Ferrari's heart beat as if it would burst out of her bosom, when her conductress led her into an ante-room, and knocked at a door opening into a room beyond. But it is remarkable that persona of sensitively-ner- vous organization are the very persons who are capable of forc- ing themselves (apparently by the exercise of a spasmodic effort of will) into the performance of acts of the most audaeious cou- rage. A low, grave voice from the inner room said, ' Come in.' The maid, opening the door, announced, * A person to see you, Miladi, on business,' and immediately retired. In the one instant while these events passed, timid little Mrs. Ferrari mastered her own throbbing hoan; stepped over the threshold, 74 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. conscious of her clammy Lands, dry lips, and burning head; and stood in the presence of Lord Montbarry's widow, to all outward appearance as supremely self-nossessed as her ladyship herself. It was still early in the afternoon, but the light in the room was dim. The blinds were drawn down. Lady Montbarry sat with her back to the windows, as if even the subdued day-light was disagreeable to her. She had altered sadly for the worse in her personal appearance, since the memorable day when Doc- tor Wybrow had seen her in his consulting-room. Her beauty was gone — her face had fallen away to mere skin and bone ; the contrast between her ghastly complexion and her steely glittering black eyes, was more startling than ever. Bobed in dismal black, relieved only by the brilliant whiteness of her widow's cap — reclining in a psmther-like suppleness of attitude on a little green sofa — she looked at the stranger who had intruded on her, with a moment's languid curiosity, then dropped her eyes again to the hand-screen which she held between her face and the fira 'I don't know you,' she said. ' What do you want with me 1 ' • Mrs. Ferrari tried to answer. Her first burst of courage had already worn itself out. The bold words that she had determined to speak were living words still in her mind, but they died on her lips. Tliere was a moment of silence. Lady Montbarry looked round again at the speechless stranger. * Are you deaf ? ' she asked. There was another pause. Lady Montbarry quietly looked back again at the screen, and put another question. ' Do you want money V ' Money ! ' That one word roused the sinking spirit of the THE HAUNTED BOTEU 75 )ked she fetly Do the courier's wife. She recovered her courage j she fouud her voice. ' Look at me, my lady, if you please,' she said, with a sudden outbreak of audacity. Lady Montbarry looked round for the third time. The fatal words passed Mra Ferrari's lipa ' I come, my lady, to acknowledge the receipt of the money sent to Ferrari's widow.' Lady Montbarry's glittering black eyes rested with steady attention on the woman who had addressed her in those temin. Not the faintest expression of confusion or alarm, not even a momentary flutter of interest stirred the deadly stillness of her face. She reposed as quietly, she held the screen as composedly, as ever. The test had been tried, and had irretrievably, utterly failed. There was another silence. Lady Mojitbarry considered with herself. The smile that came slowly and went away suddenly — the smile at once so sad and so cruel — showed itself on her thin lips. She lifted her screen, and pointed with it to a seat at the farther end of the room. * Be so good as to take that chair,' she said. Helpless under her first bewildering sense of failure — not knowing what to say or what to do next — Mrs. Ferrari mechani- cally obeyed. Lady Montbarry, rising on the sofa for the fir.st time, vatched her with undisguised scrutiny as she crossed the room — then sank back in a reclining position once more. * No,' she said to herself quietly, ' the woman walks steadily ; she is not intoxicated — the only other possibility is tha,t she may bo mad.' She had spoken loud enough to be heard. Stung b; ' he insult Miu Ferrari instantly answered her. * I am no mort drunk or mad than you are 1 ' 76 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. *No?' said Lady Montbany. * Then you are only insolent 1 Tlie ignorant English mind (I have observed) is apt to be inso- lent in the exeicise of unrestrained English liberty. This is very noticeable to us foreigners among you people in the streets. Of course I can t be insolent to you, in return. I hardly know what to say to you. My maid was imprudent in admitting you so easily to my room. I suppose your respectable appear- ance misled her. I wonder who you are 1 You mentioned the name of a courier who left us very strangely. "Was he married by any chance? Are you his wife? And do you know where heisr Mrs. Ferrari's indignation burst its way through all restraints. She advanced to the sofa, ; she feared nothing, in the fervour and rage of her reply ' I am his widow — and you know it, you wicked woman ! Ah ! it was in an evil hour, when Miss Lockwood recommended my husband to be his lordship's courier ! ' Before she could add another word, Lady Montbarry sprang from the sofa with the stealthy suddenness of a cat — seized her by both shoulders — and shook her with the strength and frenzy of a mad woman. * You lie ! you lie ! you lie ! ' She dropped her hold at the tliird repetition of ohe accusation, and tlu'ew up her hands wildly with a gesture of despair. * Oh, Jesus Maria ! is it possible ! ' she cried. ' Can the courier have come to me through that woman 1 ' She turned 1 ike lightning on Mrs. Ferrari, and stopped her as she was escaping from the room. * Stay hero, you fool — stay here, and answer me ! If you cry out, as sure as the heavens are above you, I'll strangle you vath my own linnds. Sit down again — and fear nothing. Wretch ! It is I wlio am frightened — frightened out of my senses. Confess that you iietl, V>^ THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 77 3nzy her when you used Miss Lockwood's name just now ! No ! I don't believe you on your oath ; I will believe nobody but Miss Lock- wood herself. Where does she live 1 Tell me that, you noxious stinging little insect — and you may go.' Terrified as she wan, Mrs. FeiTari hesitated. Lady Montbarry lifted her hands threateningly, with the long, lean, yellow-white fingers out- spread and crooked at the tips. Mra Ferrari shrank at the sight of them, and gave the addre «. Lady Montbarry pointed contemptuously to the door — then Ciianged her mind. 'No! not yet ! you will tell Miss Lockwood what has happened, and she may refuse to see me. I will go there at once, and you shall go with me. As far as the house — not inside of it* Sit down again. I am going to ring for my maid. Turn your back to the door — ^your cowardly face is not fit to be seen ! ' She rang the belL The maid appeared. ' My cloak and bonnet — instantly!* The maid produced the cloak and bonnet from the bedroom. ' A cab at the door — before I can coimt ten, 1 ' The maid vanished. Lady Montbarry surveyed herself in the glass, and wheeled round again with her cat-like suddenness, to Mrs. Ferrari. *I look more than half dead already, don't 1 1 * she said, with a grim outburst of irony. * Give me yoTir arm.' She took Mrs. Ferrari's arm, and left the room. ' You have nothing to fear, so loiig as you obey,' she whispered, on the way downstairs. ' You leave meat Miss Lockwood's door, and never see me agam. In the hall, they were met by the landlady of the hotel. Lady Montbarry graciously presented her companion. 'My good friend Mi-a. Ferrari; I am so glad to have seen her.' The land- 78 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 1 ! lady accompanied them to the door. The cab was waiting. 'Get in first, good Mrs. Ferrari/ said her ladyship ; * and tell the man where to go.' They were driven away. Lady Montbanys variable humour changed again. With a low gix>an of misery, she threw herself back in the cab. Lost in her own dark thoughts, as careless of the woman whom she had bent to her iron will as if no such per. son sat by her side, she presorved a sinister silence, until they reached the house where M" .:ss Lockwood lodged. In an instant, she roused herself to action. She opened the door of the cab, and closed it again on Mrs. Ferrari, before the driver could get off his box. * Take that lady a mile farther on her way home ! ' she said, as she paid the man his fare. The next moment she had knocked at the house-door. ' Is Miss Lockwood at home ? ' * Yes, ma'jim.' She stepped over the threshold — ^the door closed on her. * Which way, ma'am 1 ' asked the driver of the cab. Mrs. Ferrari put her hand to her head, and tried to collect her thoughts. Could she leave her friend and benefactress helpless at Lady Montbarry's mercy ? She was still vainly en- deavouring' to decide on the course that she ought to follow — when a gentleman, stopping at Miss Lockwood's door, happened to look towards the cab- window, and saw her. ' Are you going to call on Miss Agnes, too 1 ' he asked. It was Henry Westwick. Mrs. Ferrai'i clasped her hands in gi'&titude as she recognised him. * Go in, sir ! ' she cried. * Go in, directly. That dreadful woman is with Miss Agnea Go and prot'Oct her ! ' * What woman 1 * Henry asked. The Auiiwer literally struck him speechleoi With amazement :, 1 ' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 79 idful and indignation in his faoe, he looked at Mrs. Ferrari as she pronounced the hated name of 'Lady Montbarry.' 'I'll see to it,' was all he said. He knocked at the house door ; and he too, in his turn, was let in. lent CHAPTEK X. ' -J- ADY MONTBAKRY, Miaa' .J J Agnes was writing a letter, when the servant astonished her by announcing the visitor's name. Her first impulse was to refuse to see the woman who had intruded on her. But Lady Montbarry had taken care to follow close on the servant's heels. Before Agnes could speak she had entered the room. * I beg to apologize for my intrusion, Miss I.ockwood. I have a question to ask you, in which 1 am very rniu-L interested. No one can answer me hilt yourself.' In low hesitating tones, with her glittering black eyes ^i^ent modestly on the ground, Lady Montbarry oi)ened the interview in those woids. Without answering, Agnes pointed to a cladx. She could do this, and, for the time, she could do no moro^ All that she had read of the hidden and sinister life in the palace at Venice ; all that she had heard of. iii ,,ntbarry's melancholy death and burial in a foreign ]and , vVi ' x^^t she knew of the mystery of Ferrari's disappearance, rushed into her mind, when the black-robed figure confronted her, standing just inside the door. The strange con duct of Lady Montbarry added a new perplexity to the doubts axid misgivings that troubled her There stood the adventuress whose character had left its mark on society all over Europe — the Fury who had terrified Mrs. Feriuri at the hotel — incon- ceivably transformed into a timid shrinking woman I Lady Mont- barry had not once ventured to look at Agnes, since she had made her way into the room. Advancing to take the chair that bad been ^jointed out to her, she he&itated, put her hand on the ^ .^ > V*'«\, THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 81 con, kabts iress ne — Icon- lont- Ihad bhat the rail to support Lorself, and still remained standing. 'Pleajs*- ^ive rae a moment to compose myself,' she said faintly. Her Lead sank on her bosom : she stood before Agnes like a conscious cidDrit before a merciless judge. The silence that followed was literally the silence of fear on both sides. In the midst of it the door was opened once more — and Ppury Westwick appeared. He looked at Lady Montbarry with a moment's steady atten- tion — bowed to he" with formal politeness — and passed on in silence. At the sight of her husband's brother, the sinking spirit of the woman sprang to life again. Her drooping figure became erect. Her eyes met Westwick's look, brightly defiant. She returned his bow with an icy smile of contempt. Henry crossed the room to Agnes. - ' Is Lady Montbairy here by your invitation?' he asl?'^ quietly. 'No.' * Do you wish to .lee her?' * It is very painful to me to see her.* H9 turned and looked at his sister-in-law. * Pr ^^ou hear that ? ' he asked coldly. * I hear it,' she answered more coidly stilL * Your vinit is, to say the least of it, ill-timed. * Your interference is, to say the least of it, out of placf , With that retort. Lady Mori ' harry ii pproached Agues. The presence of Henr}^ 'Westwi(;k aeemed at once to relieve and embolden her. * Permit me to ask my question, Miss Lock- wood,' she said, with graoefid courtesy. 'It is nothing to embfurass you. When the couriei* Ferrari .ipplied to my late husband for employment, did you .' Her n -^lution fjiiled her, before ahe // r-T 82 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. could say more. She sank trembling into the nearest chair, and, after a moment's struggle, composed herself again. ' Did you permit Ferrari/ she resumed, ' to make sure of being choson for our courier, by using your name 1 ' Agnes did not reply with her customary directness. Trifling as it was, the reference to Montbany, proceeding fi-om that woman of all others, confused and agitated her. 'I have known Ferrari's wife for many years,' she began. * And I take an interest ' Lady Montbarry abruptly lifted her hands with a gesture of entreaty. 'Ah, Miss Lockwood, don't waste time by talking of his wife ! Answer my plain question, plainly ! ' ' Let me answer her,' Henry whispered. * I will undertake to speak plainly enotigh.' Agneb refused by a gestui'e. Lady Montbarry's interruption had roused her sense jf what was due to herself. She resumed her reply in plainer terms. 'When Ferrari wrote to the late Lord Montbarry,' she said, *he did certainly mention my nama' Even now, she had innocently failed to see the object which her visitor had in view. Lady Montbarry's impatience became un- governable. She started to her feet, and advanced to Agues. ' Was it with your knowledge and permission that Ferrari used your name?' she asked. 'The whole soul of my question h in tliat. For God's sake, answer me — Yes, or No 1 ' «Yes.* That one word struck Lady Montbarry as a blow might have atvvtck her. The fierce life that had .Uiimated her face the in- stant before, faded out of it suddenly, and left her like a woman tiamod to stone. She stood, mechanically confronting Agnes, ' - THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 88 Jiave Ihe in- roman ignes, with a stillness so wrapt and pt ler^i that not even the breath she drew was perceptible to the two persons who were looking at her. Henry spoke to her roughly. 'Rouse yo rself,'he said. *You have received your answer.' She looked round at him. * I have received my sentence,' she rejoined — and turned slowly to leave the room. To Henry's astonishment, Agnes stopped her. ' Wait a mo- ment, Lady Montbarry. I have something to ask on my side.' Lady Montbarry paused on the instant — silently submissive as if she had heard a word of command. Henry drew Agnes away to the other end of the room, and remonstrated with her. 'You do wrong to call that person back,' he said. — 'No,' Agnes whispered, ' I have had time to remember.' — *To remem- ber what? ' — *To remember Ferrari's wife : Lady Montbarry may have heai'd something of the lost man.' — 'Lady ]Montbarry may have heard, but she won't tell.' — * It may be so, Henry, but, for Emily's sake, I must try.' — Henry yielded. ' Your kind- ness is inexhaustible,' he said, with his admiration of her kindling m his eyes. * Always thinking of others ; never of yourself !' Meanwhile, Lady Montbarry waited Avith a resignation that could endure any delay. Agnes returned to her, leaving Henry by himself. ' Pardon me for keeping you waiting,' she said in her gentle, courteous way. ' Y"ou have spoken of Ferrari. I wish to speak of him too.' Lady Montbarry bent her head in silence. Her hand trembled as she took out her handkerchief, and passed it over her forehead. Agnes detected the trembling, and shrank back a step. * Is the subject painful to you V she asked timidly. Still silent^ Lady Montbarry invited her by a wave of the 84 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. hand to go on. Henry approached, attentively watching hia .sister-in-law. Agnes went on. *No trace of Ferrari has been discovered in England,' she «aid. 'Have you any news of him 1 And will you tell me (if you have heard anything), in mercy to his wife 1 ' Lady Montbarry's thin lips suddenly relaxed into their sad and cruel smila 'Why do you ask me about the lost courier V she said. * You will know what has become of him, Miss Lockwood, when the time is ripe for it ' Agnes started. * I don't understand you,' she said. * How shall I know 1 Will some one tell me V ' Some one will tell; you.' Henry could keep silence no longer, 'Perhaps, your ladyship may be the pei-son,' he interrupted with ironical politeness. She answered him with contemptuous ease. 'You may be right, Mr. West^vic\-. One day or another, I may be the per- son who tells Misu Lockwood what has become of Ferrari, if ' She stopped ; with her eyes fixed, on Agnes. 'If what?' Henry asked. 'If Miss Lockwood forces me to it Agnes listened in astonishment. 'Force you to itV she rcpuatcd. ' How can I do that? Do you mean to say my will is stronger tlian yours V 'Do you mean to say that the candle doesn't bum tlie moth, wLon the moth flies into it?' Lady Montbarry rejoined. 'Have you ever heard of such a thing as the fascination of terror. I am dra'wn to you by the fascination of terror. I have no right to visit you. I have no wish to visit you : you are my enemy. For the first time in my life, against my own will, I submit to ^ THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 85 f I my enomy. See ! 1 am waiting, because you told me to wait — and the fear of you (I swear it!) creeps through mo while I stand here. Oh, don't let me excite your curiosity or your pity! Follow the example of Mr, Westwick. Be hard and brutal, and unforgiving, like him. Grant me my release. Tell me to go.' The frank and simple nature of Agnes could discover but one 'ntelligible meaning in this strange outbieak. 'You are mistaken in thinking me your enemy,' shb said. *The wrong you did me when you gave your hand to Lord Montbarry was not intentionally done. I forgave you my suiSer- ings in his lifetime. I forgive you even more freely i.ow that he has gone.' Henry heard her with mingled emotions of admiration and distress! 'Say no more!' he exclaimed. 'You are too good to her ; she is not worthy of it.' The interruption passed unheeded by Lady Montbarry. The simple words in which Agnes had replied seemed to have absorbed the whole attention of this strangely-changeable woman. As she listened, her face settled slowly into an expression of hard and tearless sorrow. There was a marked change in her voice when she spoke next. It expressed that last worst resignation which has done with hope. 'You good innocent creature,' she said, 'what does your amiable forgiveness matter 'i What are your poor little wrongs, in the reckoning for gi*eater wrongs which is demanded of me 1 1 am not trying to frighten you : I am only miserable about myself. Do j ou know what it is to have a firm presentiment of calamity that is coming to you — and yet to hope that your own positive conviction will not prove true ? When I first met you, Ijefore mv marriage, and lii-st felt your influence over me, I Imd 86 VHE HAUNTED HOTETi, that hope. It was a starveling sort of hope that lived a lingei*- ing life in me until to-day. You struck it dead, when you an- swered my question about Ferrari' 'How have I destroyed your hopes?' Agnes asked. * Wnat connection is there between my permitting Ferrari to use my name to Lord Montbarry, and tLj strange and dreadful things you are saying to me now ? ' *The time is near, Miss Lockwood, when you will discover that for yourself. In the meanwhile, you shall know what my fear of you is, in the plainest words I can find. On the day when I took your hero from you and blighted your life — I am firmly persuaded of ii -you were made the instrument of the retribution that my spis of many years had deserved. Oh, such things have happened before to-day ! One person has, befoi'e now, been the means of innocently ripening the growth of evil in another. You have done that already — and you have more to do yet. You have still to bring me to the day of discovery, and to the punishment that is my doom. We shall meet again — ^liere in England, or there in Venice where my husband died — and meet for the last time.* In spite of her better sense, in spite of her natural superiority to supei-stitions of all kinds, Agnes was impressed by the terrible earnestness with which those words were spoken. She turned pale as she looked at Hem-v. ' Do t/ou understand her 1 ' she asked. * Nothing is easier than to understand her,' he replied con- temptuously. *She knows what has become of Ferrari ; and she is confusing you in a cloud of nonsense, because she daren't own the truth. Let her go I ' If a dog had been under one of the chaii's, and had barked, THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 87 What Lady Montbarry could not havo proceeded more impenetrably with the last words she h?. '^. to say to Agnes. ' Advise your interesting Mrs. Ferrari to wait a little longer,' she said. * Yoii will know what has become of her husband, and you will tell her. There will be nothing to alarm you. Some trifling event will bring us together the next time — as trifling, I dare say, as the engagement of Ferrari Sad nonsense, Mr. Westwick, is it not ? But you make allowances for women j we all talk nonsense. Good morning. Miss Lockwood.' She opened the door — suddenly, as if she was afraid of being called back for the second time— and left them ' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 la Ki2 |2.2 I.I f."^ i^ Wuu 1.8 11.25 U ill 1.6 III V r "VQ v^^"* ;> '>%* ^ .^^ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation :0^ V iV \\ ^ 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WnSTH.N.Y. MSSO (71«)«7^-4S03 CHAPTER XI « T-XO yon flu^k Ae is imAV Agnes asked _Ly ' I think she is srinplj wicked. False, superstitions, in- veterately cruel — but not mad. I believe her main motive in coming here was to enjoj the luxury of frightening you.' * She has frightened ma I am ashamed to own it — ^but so it is.' Henry looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and seated him- self on the sofa by her side. * I am very anxious about you, Agnes,' he said. * But for the fortunate chance which led me to call here to-day — ^who knows what that vile '^oman might not have said or done, if she had found you alone 1 My dear, you are leading a sadly unpro- tected solitary life. I don't like to think of it ; I want to see it changed — especially after what has happened to-day. No ! no ! it is useless to tell me that you have your old nurse. She is too old ; she is not in your rank of life — ^there is no suiiicient protection in the companionship of such a person for a lady in your position. Don't mistake me, Agnes ! what I say, I say in the sincerity of my devotion to you.' He paused, and took her hand. She made a feeble effort to withdraw it — and yielded. * Will the day never come,' he pleaded, * when the privilege of protecting you may be mine ? when you will be the pride and joy of my life, as long as my life lasts ? ' He pressed her hand gently. She made no reply. The colour came and went on her face ; her eyes were turned away from him. * Have I been so unhappy as to ofiendyou)' he asked. She answered that — she said, almost in ft whisper, ' Na' ' H«fe I distressed yout' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 89 * You nave made me think of the sad days that are gone.' She said no more ; she only tried to withdraw her hand from his for the second time. He still held it ; he lifted it to his lips. * Can I never make you think of other days than those — o£ the happier days to come 1 Or, if you must think of the time that is passed, can you not look back to the time when I £rst loved you V She sighed as he put the question. * Spare me, Henry,' she answered sadly. * Say no more 1 ' The colour rose again in her cheeks ; her hand trembled in his. She looked lovely, with her eyes cast down and her bosom heaving gently. At that moment he would have given every- thing he had in the world to take her ii! his arms and kiss her. Some mysterious sympathy, passing from his hand to hers, seemed to tell her what was in his mind She snatched her hand away, and suddenly looked up at him. The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing ; she let her eyes speak for her. They warned him — without anger, without unkindness — but still they warned him to press her no fuiliher that day. * Only tell me that I am forgiven,' he said, as he rose from the sofa. * Yes,' she answered quietly, * you are forgiven.* * I have not lowered myself in your estimation, Agnes V «Oh,nor * Do you wish me to leave you 9 * She rose, in her turn, from the sofa, and walked to her writing table before she replied. The unfinished letter which she had been writing when Lady Montbarry interrupted her, lay open on the blotting-book. As she looked at the letter, and then looked at Henry, the smile that charmed everybody showed itself in her faca 90 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 'You must not go just yet/ she said : * I have somethini^ to tell you. I hardly know how to express it. The shortest way perhaps will be to let you find it out for yourself. You have been speaking of my lonely unprotected life here. It is not a very happy life, Henry — I own that* She paused, obsendng the growing anxiety of his expression as he looked at her, with a shy satisfaction that perplexed her. * Do you know that I have anticipated your idea 'i ' she went on. * I am going to make a great change in my life — ^if your brother Stephen and his wife will only consent to it' She opened the desk of the writing-table while she spoke, took a letter out, and handed it bo Henry. He I'eceived it from her mechanically. Vague doubts, which he hardly understood^ himself, kept him silent It was impossible that the * change in her life ' of which she had spoken could mean that she was about to be married — and yet he was con- scious of a perfectly unreasonable reluctance to open the letter. Their eyes met ; she smiled again. ' Look at the address,' she said. * You ought to know the handwriting — ^but I dare say you don't' He looked at the addres& It was in the large, irregular, un- certain writing of a child. He opened the letter instantly. * Dear Aunt Agnes, — Our govei-ness is going away. She has had money left to her, and a house of her own. We have had cake and wine to drink her health. You promised to be our governess if we wanted another. We want you. Mamma knows nothing about this. Please come before Mamma) can get another govemesa Your loving Lucy, who writes this. Clara and Blanche have tried to wri-^e tea But they are too young to do it They blot the paper.' \. THE HAUNTED HOTEU 91 rtest way STou have b is not a observdng her, with >w that I going to phen and jk of the landed it ts, which npossible en could was con- lie letter, address,' are say liar, un- tly. She has ave had be our iiamma can get Clara young * Your eldest niece,* Agnes exclaimed, as Henry looked at her in amazement. ' The children used to call me aunt when I was staying with their mother in Ireland, in the autumn. The three girls were my inseparable companions — they are the most charm- ing children I know. It is quit? true that I oflfered to be their governess, if they ever wanted one, on the day when I left them to return to London. I was writing to propose it to their mother, just before you came.' * Not seriously !' Henry exclaimed. Agnes placed her unfinished letter in his hand. Enough of it had been written to show that she did seriously propose to enter the household of Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Westwick as gov- erness to their children 1 Henry's bewilderment was not to be expressed in worda * They won't believe you are in earnest,' he said. * Why not ? ' Agnes asked quietly. * You are my brother Stephen's cousin ; you are his wife's old friend ! ' ' All the more reason, Henry, for trusting me with the charge of their children.' * But you are their equal ; you are not obliged to gain your living by teaching. There is something absurd in your entering their service as a governess I ' *What is there absurd in iti The children love me; the mother loves me; the father has shown me innumerable in- stances of his true friendship and regard. I am the veiy woman for the place — and, as to my education, I must have con pletely forgotten it indeed, if I am not fit to teach three children, the eldest of whom is only eleven years old. You say I aiu thoii equal Are there no other women who serve as govemessei , \.. 92 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. and who are the equals of the persons whom they serve ? Be- sides, I don't know that I am, their equal. Have I not heard that your brother Stephen was the next hoir to the titlr> % Will he not be the new lord ? Never mind answering me ! We won't dispute whether I am right or wrong in turning governess — we will wait the event I am weary of my lonely useless existence here, and eager to make my life more happy and more useful in the household of all others in which I should most like to have c. place. If you will look again, you will see that I have these personal considerations still to urge before I finish my letter. You don't know your brother and his wife as well as I do, if you doubt their answer. I believe they have courage enough and heart enough to say Yos.* Henry submitted without being convinced. He was a man who disliked all eccentric departures from custom and routine ; and ho felt especially suspicious of the change proposed in the life of Agnes. With new interests to occupy her mind, she might be less favourably disposed to listen to him, on the next occasion when ho urged his suit. The influence of the * lonely useless existence ' of which sho com- plained, was distinctly an influence in his favour. While her heart was empty, her heart was accessibla But with his nieces in full possession of it, the clouds of doubt overshadowed his prospecjjs. He knew the sex well enough to keep these purely selfish perplexities to himself. The waiting-policy was especially the policy to pursue with a woman as sensitive as Agnes. If ho once offended her delicacy he was lost. For the moment he wisely controlled himself and changed the subject. * My little niece's letter has had an effect,' he said, ' which the child never contemplated in writing ii She has just re- ^yu. •ve ? Bc- iiot heard lo? WJl We won't ness — we existence useful in 3 to have ave these ny letter. .8 I clo, if :e enougii ires from IS of the rests to posed to it. The ho com- hilo her is nieces wed his purely pecially es. If ent he '* which lust re- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 08 minded mo of one of the objects that I had in calling on you to-day.* Agnes looked at the child's letter. * How does Lucy do that V she iisked. ' Lucy's governess is not the only lucky person who has hnd money left her,' Hemy answered. ' Is your old nurse in the house V ' You don't moan to say that nui-se has got a legacy ? ' * She has got a hundred pounds. Send for her, Agnes, while I show you the letter.' He took a handful of letters from his pocket, and looked through them, while Agnes rang the belL Returning to him, she noticed a piinted letter among the rest, which lay oi)en on the table. It was a * prospectus,' and the title of it was ' Palace Hotel Company of Venice (Limited).' The two words, * Palace ' and 'Venice,' instantly recalled her mind to the unwelcome visit of Lady Montbarry, 'What is that?' she asked, pointing to the title. Henry suspended his search, and glanced at the prospectus. * A really promising speculation,' he said. 'Large hotels always pay well, if they are well managed. I know the man who is appointed to be manager of this hotel, when it is opened to the public ; and I have such entire confidence in him that I have become one of the shareholders of the Company.' The reply did not appear to satisfy Agnes. * Why is the hotol called the " Palace Hotel 1 " ' she inquired. Henry looked ab her, and at once penetrated her motive for asking the question. ' Yes,' he said, ' it is the palace that Mont- barry hired at Venice; and it has been purchased by the Company to be chan*;ed into an hotel' 94 TH£ HAUNTED HOTEL. n' Agues turned away in Bilence, and took a chair at the farther end of the room. Henry had disappointed her. His income as a younger son stood in need, as she well knew, of all the ad- ditions that he could make to it by successful speculation. But she was unreasonable enough, nevertheless, to disapprove of his attempting to make money already out of the house in which his brother had died. Incapable of understanding this purely sentimental view of a plain matter of business, Henry returned to his papers, in some perplexity at the sudden change in the manner of Agnes towards him. Just as he found the letter of which he was in search, the nurse made her appearance. He glanced at Agnes, expecting that she would speak first. Sho never even looked up, when the nurse came in. It was left to Henry to tell the old woman why the beU had summoned her to the drawing-room. * Well, nurse,' he said, ' yon have had a windfall of luck. You have had a legacy left you of a hundred pounds.' The nurse showed no outward signs of exultation. She waited a little to get the announcement of the legacy well settled in her mind — and then she said quietly, ' Master Henry, who gives me that money, if you please ? ' ' My late brother. Lord Montbarry, gives it to you.* (Agnes instantly looked up, interested in the matter for the first tima) Henry went on : * His will leaves legacies to the surviving old servants of the family. There is a letter from his lawyers, au- thorising you to apply to them for *Ja.e money.' In every class of society, gratitude is the rarest of all human virtues. In the nurse's class it is especially rare. Her opinion of the man who had deceived and deserted her mistress re- mained the same opinion still, perfectly undisturbed by the passing cironmstance of the l^acy. ii THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 95 he farther [is income all the tui- tion. But •ove of his I in which bds purely T returned Lge in the e letter of inca He irst. Sh« as left to loned her I of luck. 1 ' ' ' le waited settled in rho gives (Agnes jt tima) vingold rers, au- hnman opinion ess re- aBsinq- * I wonder who reminded my lord of the old servants ? ' she said. ' He would never have heart enough to remember them himself !' Agnes suddenly interposed. Nature, always abhorring mono- tony, institutes reserves of temper as elements in the composition of the gentlest women living. Even Agnes could, on rai-e occa- sions, be angry. The nurse's view of Montbarry's character seemed to have provoked her beyond endurance. * K you have any sense of shame in you,' she broke out, * you ought to be ashamed of what you have just said ! T our ingrati- tude disgusts me, I leave you to speak with her, Henry — you won't mind it 1 ' With this significant intimation that he too had dropped out of his customary place in her good opinion, she left the room. The nurse received the smart reproof administered to her with eveiy appearance of feeling rather amused by it than not. When the door had closed, this female philosopher winked at Henry. * Tliere's a power of obstinacy in young women,' she remarked. * Miss Agnes wouldn't give my lord up as a bad one, even when he jilted her. And now she's sweet on him after he's dead. Say a word against him, and she fires up as you see. ^Jl obstinacy ! It will wear out with time. Stick to her. Master Henry — stick to her ! ' * She doesn't seem to have ofiended you,' said Henry. * She ? ' the nurse repeated in am; zement — * she ofiend me ? I like her in her tantrums ; it reminds me of her when she was a baby. Lord bless you ! when I go to bid her good night, she'll give me a big kiss, poor dear — and say, Nurse, I didn't mean it ! About this money, Master Henry ? If I waa younger 1 should 96 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. spend it in dress and jewellery. But I'm too old for that. What shall I do with my legacy vrhen I have got it? * * Put it out at interest,' Henry suggested. ' Get so much a year for it, you know.' * How much shall I get ? ' the nurse asked. * If you put your hundred pounds into the Funds, you will get between three and four pounds a year.' The nurse shook her hetui * Three or four pounds a year 1 That won't do I I want more than that Look here. Master Henry. I don't care about this bit of money — ^I never did like the man who has left it to me, though he was your brother. If I lost it all to-morrow, I shouldn't break my heart ; I'm well enough off, as it is, for the rest of my days. They say you're a speculator. Put me in for a good thing, there's a dear ! Neck or nothing — and that for the Funds!' She snapped her fingers to express her contempt for security of investment at three per cent. Henry produced the prospectus of the Venetian Hotel Com- pany. 'You're a funny old woman,' he said. * There you dashing speculator — ^there is neck-or-nothing for you ! You must keep it a secret from Miss Agnes, mind. I'm not at all sure that she would approve of my helping you to this investment' The nurse took out her spectacles. * Six per cent, guaranteed,' she read ; * and the Directors have every reason to believe that ten per cent, or more, will be ultimately realizad to the share- holders by the hotel' * Put me into that. Master Henry ! And, wherever you go, for Heaven's sake recommend the hotel to your friends!' So the nurse, following Henry's mercenary example, had /ler pecuniary interest, too, in the house in which Lord Montbarry had died. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 97 Three days passed before Henry was able to visit Agnes agaip. In that time, the little cloud between them had entirely passed away. Agnes received him with even more than her customary kindness. She was in better spirits than usual. Her letter to Mra Stephen Westwick had been answered by return of post ; and her proposal had been joyfully accepted, with one modifi- cation. She was to visit the Westwicks for a month — and, if she really liked teaching the children, she was then to be governess, aunt, "ind cousin, all in one — and was only to go away in an event which her friends in Ireland persisted in contemplating, the event of her marriage. * You see I was right,' she st. d to Henry. He was still incredulous. ' Are you really going f ' he asked. * I am going next week.' ' When shall I see you again ? ' ' You know you are always welcome at your brother's house. You can see me when you like.' She held out her hand. * Par- don me for leaving you^ — I am beginning to pack up already.' Henry tried to kiss her at parting. She drew back directly. ' Why not ? I am your cousin,' he said. ' I don't like it,' she answered. Henry looked at her, and submitted. Her refusal to grant him his privilege as a cousin was a good sign — ^it was indirectly an act of encouragement to him in the character of her lover. On the first day in the new week, Agnes left London on her way to Ireland. As the eyent proved, this was not destined to be the end of her journey. The way to Ireland was only the first stage on her way to the palace at Yemca f I I !! i 8be SbirA PS»rt. »♦» CHAPTER XH IN the spring of the year 1861. Agnes was established at the country-seat of her good friends — now promoted (on the death of the first lord, without offspring) to be the new Lord and Lady Montbarry. The old nurse was not sepai-ated from her mistress. A place, suited to her time of life, had been found for her in the pleasant Irish household. She was perfectly hapi)y in. her new sphere ; jand she spent her first half-year's dividend from the Venice Hotel Company, with characteristic prodigality, in presents for the children. Early in the year, also, the directors of the life insurance offices, submitted to circumstances, and paid the ten thousand pounds. Immediately afterwards, the widow of the iivst Lord Montbarry (otherwise, the dowager Lady Montbarry) left Eng- land, with Baron Rivar, for the United States. The Baron's object was announced in the scientific columns of the newspapers, to be investigation into the present state of experimental chem- istry in the great American republic. His sister informed in- quiring friends that she accompanied him, in the hope of find- ing consolation in change of scene after the bereavement that had fallen on her. Hearing this news from Henry Westwick (then paying a visit at his brother's house), Agnes was conscious of a certain sense of relief. 'With the Atlantic between us,' she said, 'surely I have done with that terrible woman now!' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 99 blished at moted (on new Lord ■ated from . )een found ctly happy s dividend n-odigality, insurance thousand lirst Lord left Eng- le Baron's ^wspapers, ital chem- lormed in- ie of find- lent that kVestwick Iconscious |ween us,' nowl' Barely a week passed after those words had been spoken, before an event happened which reminded Agnes of ' the terrible woman' once more. On that day, Henry's engagements had obliged him to return to London. He had ventured, on the morning of his depar- ture, to press his suit once more on Agnes ; and the children, as he had anticipated, proved to be innocent obstacles in the way of his success. On the other hand, he had privately secured a firm ally in his sister-in-Jaw. 'Have a little patience,' the new Lady Montbarry had said; 'and leave me to turn the influence of the children in the right direction ; they can persuade her to listen to you — and they shall !* The two ladies had accompanied Henry, and some other guests who went away at the same time, to the railway station, and had just driven back to the house, when the servant announced that 'a person, of the name of Holland, was waiting to see her ladyship.* * Is it a woman?* *Yes, my lady.* Young Lady Montbarry turned to Agnea * This is the very person,' she said, 'whom your lawyer thought likely to help him, when he was trying to trace the lost courier.* 'Tou don't mean the English maid who was with Lady Mont- barry at Venice V * My dear 1 don't speak of Montbarry's horrid widow, by the name which is my name now. Stephen and I have arranged to call her by her foreign title, before she was married. I am ' Lady Montbarry,* and she is 'the Countess. ' In that way thera will be no confaiion. — ^Yes, Mra Holland was in my service before she became the Countess's maid. She waa a perfectly T- 100 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. trustworthy person, with one defect that obliged me to send hci* away — a aullen temper which led to perpetual complaints of her in the servants' halL Would you like to see her?' Agnes accepted the proposal, in the faint hope of getting some information for the courier's wife. Tlie complete defeat of every attempt to trace the lost man had been accepted as final by Mrs. Ferrari She had deliberately arrayed herself in widow's mourn- ing; and was earning her livelihood in an employment which the unwearied kindness of Agnes had procured for her in Lon- don. The last chance of penetrating the mystery of Ferrari's disappearance seemed to rest now on what Ferrari's former fel- low-servant might be able to tell. With highly-wrought ex- pectations, Agnes followed her friend into the room in which Mrs. Kolland was waiting. A tall, bony woman, in the autumn of life, with sunken eyes and iron-grey hair, rose stiffly from her chair, and saluted the ladies with stern submission as they opened the door. A person of unblemished character, evidently — ^but not without visible drawbacks. Big bushy eyebrows, an awfully deep and solemn voice, a harsh unbending manner, a complete absence in her figure of the undulating linos characteristic of the sex, presented Virtue in this excellent person under its least alluring aspect Strangers, on a first introduction to her, were accustomed to wonder why she was not a man. 'Are you pretty well, Mrs. BoUandf ' *T am aa well as I can expect to be^ my lady, at my time of lifa' * Is there anything I oan do for yout' * Your ladyship oan do me a great favour, if you will please ■peak to my character while I was in your service. I am offered THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 101 I send lici- ats of her ting some ,t of every il by Mrs. (r's moum- 3nt which er in Lon- i Ferraxi's tormer fel- fought ex- 0. in which inken eyes laluted the A person out visible ind solemn ace in her presented ing aspect, istomed to uy time of will please am oifered a place, to wait on an invalid lady who has lately come to live in this neighbourhood.' * Ah, yes — I have heard of her. A Mrs. Carbury, with a very pretty niece I am told. But. Mrs. Bolland, you left my service some time aga Mra Carbury will surely expect you to refer to the last mistress by whom you were employed.' A flash ol virtuous indignation irradiated Mrs. Holland's sunken eye& She coughed before she answered, as if her ' last mistress ' stuck in her throat * I have explained to Mrs. Carbuiy, my lady, that the person I last served — L really cannot give her her title in your lady- ship's presence ! — ^has left England for America. Mrs. Carbury knows that I quitted the person of my own free will, and knows why, 'and approves of my conduct so far. A word from your ladyship will be amply sufi&cient to get me the situation.' * Very well, Mrs. Bolland, I have no objection to be your reference, under uxe circumstanoea Mrs. Carbury will find me at home to-morrow until two o'clock.' * Mr& Carbury is not well enough to leave the house, my lady. Her niece, Miss Haldane, will call and make the inquiries, if your ladyship has no objection.' * I have not the least objection. The pretty niece carries her own welcome with her. Wait a minute, Mra Rolland. This lady is Miss Lockwood — my husband's cousin, and my friend. She is anxious to speak to you about the courier who was in the late Lord Montbarry's service at Venice.' Mrs. Bolland's busby eyebrows frowned in stem disapproval of the new topic of conversation. * I regret to hear it, my lady,' was all she said. ' Perhaps, you have not been informed of what happened, after 102 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. you left Venice t* Agnes ventured to add. * Ferrari left the palace secretly ; and he has never been heard of since.* Mrs. RoUand mysteriously closed her eyes — as if to exclude some vision of the lost courier which was of a nature to disturb a respectable woman. * Nothing that Mr. Ferrari could do would surprise me,' she replied in her deepest bass tones. * You speak rather harshly of him,' said Agnes. Mrs. RoUand suddenly opened her eyes again. *I speak harshly of nobody without reason,* she said. ' Mr. Ferrari be- haved to me, Miss Lockwood, as no man living has ever behaved — ^before or since.' 'What did he do r Mra RoUand answered with a stony stare of horror : — * He took liberties with me.' Young Lady Montbarry suddenly turned aside, and put her handkerchief over her mouth in convulsions of suppressed laughter. Mra. Rolland went on, with a grim enjoyment of the bewil- derment which her reply had produced in Agnes. * And when I insisted on an apology. Miss, he had the audacity to say that the life at the palace was dull, and he didn't know how else to amuse himself ? ' * I am afraid I have hardly made myself understood,' said Agnea * I am not speaking to you out of any interest in Fer- rari Are you aware that he is married 1 * ' I pity his wife,' said Mrs. RoUand. * She is naturally in great grief about him,' Agnes proceeded. * She ought to thank God she is rid of him,* Mra Rolland in- terposed. Agnes still persisted. ' 1 have known Mrs. Feirari from her THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 103 shildhood, and I am sincerely anxious to help her in this matter. Did you notice anything, while you were at Venice, that would account for her husband's extraordinary disappearance 1 On what sort of terms, for instance, did he live with his master and mistress 1 ' • * On terms of familiarity with his mistress,' said Mrs. Rol- laud, ' which were simply sickening to a respectable English ser- vant. She used to encourage him to talk to her about all his affairs — how he got on with his wife, and how pressed he was for money, and such like — just as if they were equala Con- temptible — that's what I call it.' * And his master?' Agnes continued. * How did Ferrari get on with Lord Montbarry 'i ' ' My lord used to live shut up with his studies and his sor- rows,' Mrs. Roliand answered, with a hard solemnioy expressive of respect for his lordship's memory. ' Mr. Ferrari got his money when it was due ; and he cared for nothing else. " If I could afford it, I would leave the place too ; but I can't afford it." Those were the last words he said to me, on the morning when I left the palace. I made no reply. After what had hap- pened (on that other occasion) I was naturally not on speaking terms with Mr. Ferrari' ' Can you really tell me nothing which will throw any light on this matter 1 ' * Nothing,' said Mrs. Holland, with an undisguised relish of the disappointment that she was inflicting. ' There was another member of the family at Venice,' Agnes resumed, determined to sift the question to the bottom while she had the chance, * There was Baron Rivar.' Mrs. RoUand lifted her large hands, covered with rusty black Ig 104 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. gloves, m mute protest against the introduction of Baron Rivar as a subject of inquiry. ' Are you aware, Miss,' she began, * that I left my place in consequence of what I observed 1 ' Agnes stopped her thera * I only wanted to ask,' she ex- plained, ' if anything was* said or done by Baron Rivar which might account for Ferrari's strange conduct.' ' Nothing that I know of,' said Mrs. Bolland. * The Baron and Mr. Ferrari (if I may use such an expression) were " birds of a feather," so far as I could see — I mean, one was as un- principled as the other. I am a just woman ; and I will give you an exampla Only the day before I left, I heard the Baron say (through the open door o " his room while I was passing along the corridor), " Ferrari, I want a thousand pounds. What would you do for a thousand pounds?" And I heard Mr. Fer- rari answer, " Anything, sir, as long as I was not found out." And then they both burst out laughing. I heard no more than that. Judge for yourself. Miss.' Agnes reflected for a moment. A thousand pounds was the sum that had been sent to Mrs. Ferrari in the anonymous let- ter. Was that enclosure in any way connected, as a result, with the conversation between the Baron and Ferrari 1 It was useless to press any more inquiries on Mrs. Bolland. She could give no further information which was of the slightest import- ance to the object in view. There was no alternative but to grant her her dismissal One more effort had been made to Hnd a trace of the lost man — and once again the e&ort had failed. They were a family party at the dinner-table that day. The only guest left in the house was a nephew of the new Lord Montbarry — the oldest son of his sister^ Lady Baryille. I^ady /^ THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 105 The Lord l^ady Montbarry could not resist telling the story of the first (and last) attack made on the virtue of Mra Bolland, with a comically- exact imitation of Mrs. Holland's deep and dismal voice. Being asked by her husband what was the object which had brought that formidable person to the house, she naturally mentioned the expected visit of Miss Haldana Arthur BarviUe, unusually silent and preoccupied so far, suddenly struck into the conver- sation with a burst of enthusiasm. ' Miss Haldane is the most charming girl in all Ireland ! ' he said. * I caught sight of her yesterday, over the wall of her garden, as I was riding by. What time is she coming to-morrow 1 Before two ? I'll look into the drawing-room by accident — I am dying to be introduced to herl' Agnes was amused by his enthusiasm. *Are you in love with Miss Haldane already t ' she asked. Arthur answered gravely, * It's no joking matter. I have been all day at the garden wall, waiting to see her again 1 It depends on Miss Haldane to make me the happiest or the wretchedest man Jiving.' ' You foolish boy ! How can you talk such nonsense ? ' He was talking nonsense undoubtedly. But, if Agnes had only known it, he was doing something more than that He was innocently leading her another stage nearer on the vay to Venice, CHAPTER Xm AS the smnmer-months advanced, the transformation of the Venetian palace into the modem hotel proceeded rapidlj/ towards completion. The outside of the building, with its fine Palladian fronl looking on the canal, was wisely left unaltered. Inside, as s matter of necessity, the rooms were almost rebuilt — so far at least as the size and the arrangement of them were concerned. The vast saloons were partitioned off into ' apartments ' contain- ing three or four rooms each. The broad corridors in the upper regions, afiorded spare sjpace enough for rows of Jittle bed cham- bers, devoted to servants and to travellers with Tmited means. Nothing was spared but the solid floors and the finely-carved ceilings. These last, in excellent preservation as to workman- ship, merely required cleaning, and regilding here, and there, to add greaJy to the beauty and importance of the best rooms in the hotel. The only exception to the complete re-organisation of the interior was at one extremity of the edifice, on the first and second floors. Here there happened, in each case, to be rooms of such comparatively moderate size, and so attractively decorated, that the architect suggested leaving them as they were. It was afterwards discovered that these were no other than the apartments respectively occupied by Lord Montbarry (on the first floor), and by Baron Rivar (on the second). The room in which Montbarry had died was still fitted up as a bedroom, and was now distinguished as Number Fourteen. The room above it, in which the Baron had slept, took its place on the hotel-register as Number Thirty-Eight. With the oma- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 107 fronl ments on the walls aad ceilings cleaned and brightened up, and Mdth the heavy old-fashioned beds, chairs, and tables replaced by bright, pretty and luxurious modem furniture, these two promised to be at once the most attractive and most comfortable bedchambers in the hotel As for the onceKlesolate and disused ground floor of the building, it was now transformed, by means of splendid dining-rooms, reception-rooms, billiard-rooms, and smoking-rooms, into a palace by itself. Even the dungeon-like vaults beneath, now lighted and ventilated on the most approved modem plan, had been turned as if by magic into kitchens, servants' offices, ice-rooms, and wine cellars, worthy of the splen- dour of the grandest hotel in Italy, in the now byegone period of seventeen years sinca Passing from the lapse of the summer months at Venice, to the lapse of the summer months in Ireland, it is next to be re- corded that Mrs. BoUand obtained the situation of attendant on the invalid Mrs. Carbury ; and that the fair Miss Haldane, like a female Caesar, came, saw, and conquered, on her first day's visit to the new Lord Montbarry's house. The ladies were as loud in her praises as Arthur BarvUle himself. Lord Montbarry declared that she was the only per- fectly pretty woman he had ever seen, who was really unconscious of her own attractions. The old nurse said she looked as if she had just stepped out of a picture, and wanted nothing but a gUt frame round her to make her complete. Miss Haldane, on her side, returned from her first visit to the Montbarrys charmed with her new acquaintances. Later on the same day, Arthur called with an ofiering of fruit and flowers for Mrs. Carbury, and with iostructions to ask if she was well enough to receive Lord and Lady Montbarry and Miss Lockwood on the 108 THE HAUNTED HOTEL, morrow. In a week's time, the two households were on the friendliest teiius. Mrs. Oarbury, confined to the sofa by a spinal malady, had been hitherto dependent on her niece for one of the few pleasures she could enjoy, the pleasure of having the best new novels read to her as they came out. Discover- ing this, Arthui." volunteered to relieve Miss Haldane, at inter- vals, in the office of reader. He was clever at mechanical contri- vances of all sorts, and he introduced improvements in Mrs. Car- bury's couch, and in the means of conveying her from the bed- chamber to the drawing-room, which alleviated the poor lady's sufferings and brightened her gloomy lifa With these claims on the gratitude of the aunt, aided by the personal advantages which he unquestionably possessed, Arthur advanced rapidly in the favour of the charming nieca She was, it is needless to say, perfectly well aware that he was in love with her, while he was himself modestly reticent on the subject — so far as words went But she was not equally quick in penetrating the nature of her own feeling towards Arthur. Watching the two young people with keen powers of observation, necessarily ooQcentrated on them by the complete seclusion of her life, the invalid lady discovered signs of roused sensibility in Miss Haldane. when Arthur was present, which had never yet shown themselves in her social relations with other admirers eager to pay thoir ad- dresses to her. Having drawn her own conclusions in private, Mrs. Oarbury took the first favourable opportunity (in Arthur's interests) of putting them to the test ' I don't know what I shall do,' she said one day, * when Ar- thur goes away.' Miss Haldane looked up quickly from her work. * Suiely be 18 not going to leave us I ' she exclaimed THE HAUNTED HOTEU 109 Ar- * My dear ! he has already stayed at Ms uncle's honse a month longer than he inteiided. His father and mother naturally ex- pect to see him at home again.' Miss Haldane met this difficulty with a suggestion, which could only have proceeded from a judgment already disturbed by the ravages of the tender passion. ' Why can't his father and mother go and see him at Lord Montbarry's ? ' she asked. * Sir Theodore's place is only thirty miles away, and Lady Bar- ville is Lord Montbanry's sister. They needn't stand on cere- mony.' 'They may have other engagements,' Mrs. Carbury remarked. ' My dear aunt, we don't know that 1 Suppose you ask Ar- thur?' • Suppose you ask him I* Miss Haldane bent her head again over her work. Suddenly as it was done, her aunt had seen her face — and her face betrayed her. When Arthur came the next day, Mrs. Carbury said a word to him in private, while her niece was in the garden. The last new novel lay neglected on the table. Arthur followed Miss Haldane into the garden. The next day, he wrote home, enclos- ing in his letter a photograph of Miss Haldane. Before the end of the week, Sir Theodore and Lady Barville arrived at Lord Montbarry's, and formed their own judgment of the fidelity of the portrait They had themselves married early in life — and, strange to say, they did not object on principle to the early marriages of other peopla The question of age being thus disposed of, the course of true love had no other obstacles to encounter. Miss Haldane was an only child, and was possessed of an ample fortuno. Arthur's career at the universiiy had 110 THE HAU^TTED HOTEL. been creditable, but certainly not brilliant enougb to present his withdrawal in the light of a disaster. As 8' leodore's eldest son, his position was already made for hin. Ae was two-and- bwenty years of age ; and the young lady was eighteen. There was really no producible reason for keeping the lovers waiting, and no excuse for deferring the wedding-day beyond the first week in September. In the interval while the bride and bride- groom would be necessarily absent on the inevitable tour abroad, a sister of Mrs. Carbuiy volunteered to stay with her during the temporary separation from her nieca On the conclusion of the honeymoon, the young couple were to return to Ireland, and were to establish themselves in Mrs. Carbury's spacious and comfortable house. These arrangements we^e decided upon early in the month of August. About the same date, the last alterationB in the old palace at Venice were completed. The rooms were dried by steam ; the cellars were stocked ; the manager collected round him his army of skilled servants ; and the new hotel was adver tised all over Europe to optax in October. CHAPTER XTV. *I (Mias Agnes Lockwood to Mrs. Ferrari.) PROMISED to give you some account, dear Emily, of the marriage of Mr. Arthur Barville and Miss Haldane. It took place ten days since. But I have had so many things to look after in the absence of the master and mistress of this house, that I am only able to write to you to-day. * The invitations to the wedding were limited to members of the families, on either side, in consideration of the ill-health of Miss Haldane's aunt. On the side of the Montbarry family, there were present, besides Lord and Lady Montbarry, Sir Theo- dore and Lady Barville ; Mrs. Norbury (whom you may remem- ber as his lordship's second sister) ; and Mr. Francis Westwick, and Mr. Henry Westwick. The three children and I attended the ceremony as bridesmaida We were joined by two young ladies, cousins of the bride and very agreeable girls. Our dresses were white, trimmed with green in honour of Ireland ; and we each had a handsome gold bracelet given to us as a present from the bridegroom. If you add to the persons whom I have already mentioned, the elder members of Mrs. Carbury's family, and the old servants in both houses — ^privi- leged to drink the healths of the married pair at the lower end of the room — ^you will have the list of the company at the wed- ding-breakfast complete. * The weather was perfect, and the ceremony (with music) was beautifully performed. As for the bride, no words can des- cribe how lovely she looked, or how well she went through it alL 112 THK HAUNT£D HOTEL. We were vary merry at the breakfast, and the speeches W(!nt oil on the whole quite well enough. The last speech, before the party broke up, was made by Mr. Henry Westwick, and was the best of all He made a happy suggestion, at the end, wliich has produced a veiy unexpected change in my life here. * As well as I remember he concluded in these words : — " On one point, we are all agreed — we are sorry that the parting hour is near, and we should be glad to meet again ? Why should we not meet again 1 This is the autumn time of the year ; we are most of us leaving home for the holidays. What do you say (if you have no engagements that will prevent it) to joining our young married friends before the close of their tour, and renewing the social success of this delightful breakfast by another festival in houQur of the honeymoon ) The bride and bridegroom are going to Germany and the Tyrol, on then- way to Italy. I propose hat we allow them a month to them- selves, and that we arrange to meet them afterwards in the north of Italy — say at Venice." * This proposal was received with great applause, which was changed into shouts of laughter by no less a person than my dear old nursa The moment Mr. Westwick pronounced the word " Venice," she started up among the servants at the lower end of the room, and called out at the top of her voice, " Go to our hotel, ladies and gentlemen ! We get six per cent, on our money already ; and if you will only crowd the place and call for the best of everything, it will be ten per cent, in our pockets in no tima Ask Master Henry ! " 'Appealed to in this irresistible manner, Mr. Westwick had no choice but to explain that he was concerned as a shareholder in a new Hotel Company at Venice, and that he had invested a i i ( ! it THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 113 (Jilt oil )re the yas the ich has )rds : — parting Why of the What at it) to sir tour, kf ast by •ide and lieir way DO them- |s in the dch was than my liced the le lower " Go to on our land call I pockets had no >lder in rested a small sum of money for the nurse (not very considerately as I think) in the speculation. Hearing this, the company, by way of humouring the joke, drank a new toast : — Success to the nurse's hotel, and a speedy rise in the dividend ! * When the conversation returned in due time to the more serious question of the proposed meeting at Venice, difficulties began to present themselves, caused of course by invitations for the autumn which many of the guests had already accepted. Only two members of Mrs. Carbury's family were at liberty to keep the proposed appointment. On our side we were more at leisure to do as we pleased. Mr. Henry Westwick decided to go to Venice in advance of the rest, to test the accommoda- tion of the new hotel on the opening day. Mrs. Norbury and Mr. Francis Westwick volunteered to follow him ; and, after some persuasion, Lord and Lady Montbarry consented to a species of compromise. His lordship could not conveniently spare time enough for the journey to Venice, but he and Lady Montbarry arranged to accompany Mrs. Norbury and Mr. Francis Westwick as far on their way to Italy as Paria Five days since they took their departure to meet their travelling companions in London ; leaving me here in charge of the three dear children. They begged hard of course to be taken with papa and mamma. But it was thought better not to interrupt the progress of their education and not to expose them (especially the two younger girls) to the fatigues of travelling. * I have had a charming letter from the bride, this morning, dated Cologne. You cannot think how artlessly and prettily she assures me of her happinesa Some people, as they say in Ireland, are bom to good luck — and I think Arthur Barville is one of them. B 114 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * When you next write, I hope to hear that you are in bettei health and spirits, and that you continue to like your employ- ment Believe me, sincerely your friend, — A. L.' Agnes had just closed and directed her letter, when the eldest of her three pupils entered the room with the startling announce- ment that Lord Montbarry's travelling-servant had arrived from Paris ! Alarmed by the idea that some misfortune had happened, she ran out to meet the man in the haU. Her face told him how seriously he had frightened her, before she could speak. * There's notliing wrong, Miss,' he hastened to say. ' My lord and my lady are enjoying themselves at Paria They only want you and the young ladies to be with them.' Saying these amazing words, he handed to Agnes a letter from Lady Mcntbarry. * Dearest Agnes ' (she read), * I am so charmed with the de- lightful change in my life — ^it is six years, remember, since I last travelled on the Contiaent — that I have exerted all my fas- cinations to persuade Lord Montbarry to go on to Venice. And, what is more to the purpose, I have actually succeeded ! He has just gone to his room to write the necessary letters of excuse in time for the post to England. May you have as good a hus- band, my dear, when your time comes ! In the meanwhile, the one thing wanting now to make my happiness complete, is to have you and the darling children with us. Montbarry is just as miserable without them as I am — though he doesn't confess it so freely. You will have no difficulties to trouble you. Louis will deliver these hurried lines, and will take care of you on the journey to Paris. Kiss the children for me a thousand times — and never mind their education for the present ' Pack up instantly, my dear, and I will be fonder of you than ever. Your affectionate friend, Adela Montbarrv.' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 115 n bettei employ- le eldest anounce- arrived lUne had Her face ilae could y. 'My Chey only Saying rom Lady ft Agnes folded up the letter; and, feeling the need of com- posing herseK, took refuge for a few minutes in her own room. Her first natural sensations of surprise and excitement at the prospect of going to Venice were succeeded by impressions of a less agreeable kind. With the recoveiy of her customary composure came the unwelcome remembrance of the parting words spoken to her by Montbarry's widow : — * We shall meet again — ^here in England, or there in Venice where my husband died — and meet for the last time.' It was an odd coincidence, to say the least of it, that the march of events should be unexpectedly taking Agnes to Venice, after those words had been spoken ! Was the woman of the mysterious warnings and the wild black eyes, still thousands of miles away in America ? Or was the march of events taking lier unexpectedly, too, on the journey to Venice 1 Agnes started out of her chair, ashamed of even the momentary con- cession to superstition which was implied by the mere presence of such questions as these in her mind. She rang the bell, and sent for her little pupils, and announced their approaching departure to the household. The noisy deliglit of the children, the inspiiiting effort of packing up in a hurry, I'oused all her energies. Sbe dismissed her own absurd mis- givings from consideration with the contempt that they de- served. She worked as only women can work, when their liearts are in what they do. The travellers reached Dublin bhat day, in time for the boat to England. Two days later, they were with Lord and Lady Moutbarry at Paris, ■ > 9[\)t ibitrti) |lart« »♦• CHAPTER XVL TT was only the twentieth of September, when Agnes and the children reached Paris. Mrs. Norbury and her brother Francis had then already started on their journey to Italy — at least three weeks before the date at which the new hotel was to open for the reception of travellers. The person answerable for this premature departure was Francis Westwick. Like his younger brother Henry, he had increased his pecu. iiiary resources by his own enterprise and ingenuity ; with this difference that his speculations were connected with the Artt;. He had made money in the first instance, by a weekly news- i)aper ; and he had then invested his profits in a London Theatre. This latter enterprise, admirably conducted, had been rewarded by the public with steady and liberal encouragement. Pondering over a new form of theatrical attraction foi- tlio coining winter season, Francis had determined to revive the languid public taste for the 'ballet' by means of ;xn entertain- ment of his own invention, combining dramatic interest with dancing. He was now, accordingly, in search of the best dancer (possessed of the indispensable pcu-soiial attractions) who was to be found in the theatres of the continent. Hearing from his foreign correspondents of two women who had made successful first appearances, one at Milan and one at THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 117 ; and the L- brother -J Italy— Lew hotel -tare was , his pecn. with this the Arte. )kly news- London had been Iragemcnt. ii for tlio •evivc the lentertaiTi- ;rest with the best ^tractions) jontincnt. Imen who Ind one at Elorence, he had arranged to visit those cities, and to judge of the merits of the dancers for himself, before he joined the bride and bridegroom. His widowed sister, having friends at Florence whom she was anxiuu.^ to see, readily accompanied him. Tlie Montbarrys remained at Paris, until it was tune t: present themselves at the family meeting in Venice, Henry found tliem still in the French capital, when he arrived from London on his way to the opening of the new hotel. Against Lady Montbarry's advice, he took the opportunity of renewing his addresses to Agnes. He could hardly hav** chosen a more unpropitious time for pleading his cause with her. The gaieties of Pans (quite incomprehensibly tc herself as well as to everyone about her) had a depressing effect on her spirits. She had no illness to complain of ; she shared willingly in the ever varying succession of amusements offered to strangers by the ingenuity of the liveliest people in the world — but nothing roused her : she remained persistently dull and weary through it all. In this frame of mind and body, she was in no humour to receive Henry's ill-timed addresses with favour, or even with patience : she plainly and positively refused to listen to him. 'Why do you remind me of what I have suffered 1 ' she asked petulantly. * Don't you see that it has left its mark on me for life V *I thought I knew something of women by this time,' Henry said, appealing privately to Lady Montbarry for conso- lation. * But Agnes completely puzzles me. It is a year since Montbarry's death ; and she remains as devoted to his memory as if he had died faithful to her — she still feels the loss of him, as none of iba feel it ! ' ' She is the truest woman that ever breathed the breath of 118 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. i life,' Lady Montbarry answered. 'Remember that, and yoii will understand her. Can such a woman as Agnes give her love or refuse it, according to circumstances \ Because th(i man was unworthy of her, was he less the man of her choice 1 The truest and best friend to him (little as he deserved it) in his lifetime, she naturaUy remains the truest and best friend to his memory now. If you really love her, wait ; and trust to your two best friends — to time and to me. There is my advice ; let your own experience decide whether it is not the best advice that I can offer. Kesume your journey to Venice to-morrow ; and when you take leave of Agnes, speak to her as cordially as if nothing had happened.* Henry wisely followed this advice. Thoroughly understand- ing him, Agnes made the- leave-taking friendly and pleasant on her side. WTien he stopped at the door for a last look at her, she hurriedly turned her head so that her face was hidden from liiiii. Was that a good sign 1 Lady Montbarry, accompanying Henry down the stairs, said, 'Yes, decidedly! Write when you get to Venice. We shall wait here to receive letters from Ar- thur and his wife, and we shall time our departure for Italy accordingly.' A week passed, and no letter came from Henry. Some days later, a telegram was received from him. It was despatched from Milan, instead of from Venice ; and it brought this strange message : — 'I have left the hotel. Will return on the ar/ival of Arthur and his wife. Address, meanwhile, Albergo Reale, Milan.' Preferring Venice before all other cities of Europe, and having arranged to remain there until the family meeting took place, what unexpected event had led Henry to alter his plans 1 d yoii will er love or man was Che truest 5 lifetime. s memory two best your own )hat I can and when if nothing iderstand- pleasant ok at her, Iden from npanying when you from Ar- for Italy ome days jspatehed s strange Irfival of Reale, ?pe, and ing tool? IS plans 1 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 119 and why did he state the bare fact, without adding a word of ex. planation.? Let the narrative follow him — and find the answer to those questions at Venica CHAPTER XVIL THE Palace Hotel, appealing for encouragement mainly to English and American travellers, celebrated the open- ing of its doors, as a matter of course, by the giving of a grand banquet, and the delivery of a long succession of speechea Delayed on his journey Henry Westwick only reached Venice in time to join the guests over their coffee and cigars. Observing the splendour of the reception rooms, and taking note especially of the artful mixture of comfort and luxury in the bedchambers, he began to share the old nurse's views of the future, and to contemplate seriously the coming dividend of ten per cent. The hotel was beginning well, at all events. So much interest in the enterprise had been aroused, at home and abroad, by profuse advertising that the whole accommodation of the building had been secured by travellers of all nations for the opening night Henry only obtained one of the small rooms on the upper floor, by a lucky accident — ^the absence of the gentleman who had written to engage it. He was quite satisfied, and was on his way to bed, when another accident altered his prospects for the night, and moved him into another and a better room. Ascending on his way to the higher regions as far as the first floor of the hotel, Henry's attention was attracted by an angry voice protesting, in a strong New England accent, against one of the greatest hardships that can be inflicted on a citizen of the United States — ^the hardship of sending him to bod without gas inhiafoom. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 121 nainly to he open- a grand sches. reached id cigars, d taking 1 luxury views of dividend Bnts. So ome and elation of ions for le small sence of as quite accident another he first I angry nst one II of the out gaR The Americans are not only the most hospitable people to be found on the face of the earth — -they are (under certain con- ditions) tlie most patient and good-tempered people as well. But they are human ; and the limit of American endurance is found in the obsolete institution of a bedroom candle. The American traveller, in the present case, declined to believe that his bedroom was in a completely finished state without a gas- burner. The manager pointed to the fine antique decorations (renewed and regilt) on the walls and ceiling, and explained that the emanations of burning gas-light would certainly spoil tli em in the course of a few months. To this the traveller replied that it was possible, but that he did not understand decoratioi.a A bedroom with gas in it was what he was used to, was what he '^ wanted, and was what he was determined to have. The com- pliant manager volunteered to ask some other gentleman, housed on the inferior upper story (which was lit throughout with gas), to change rooms. Hearing this, and being quite willing to ex- change a small bed-chamber for a large one, Henry volunteered to be the other gentleman. The excellent American shook hands with him on the spot. ' You 6,re a cultured person, sir,' he said; 'and youvfTll no doubt understand the decorations.' Henry looked at the number of the room on the door as he opened it. The number was Fourteen. Tired and sleepy, he naturally anticipated a good night's rest. In the thoroughly healthy state of his nervous system, he slei)t as well in a bed abroad as in a bed at home. Without the slightest assignable reason, however, his just expectations were disappointed. The luxurious bed, the well-ventilated room, the delicious tranquillity of Venice by night, all were in favour of his sleeping well. He never slept at all. An indescribable V ' 122 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. sense of dej ressioii and discomfort kept him waking through darkness and daylight alike. He went down to the coif(5e-room as soon as the L-^tel was astir, and ordered some breakfast. An- other unacGOUiitah'e change in himself appeared with the ap- pearance of the meai He was absolutely without appetite. An excellent omelette and cutlets cooked to perfection, he sent away untasted — he, whose appetite never failed him, whose digestion was still equal to any demands on it ! The day was bright and fine. He sent for a gondola, and was rowed to the Lido. Out on the aiiy Lagoon, he felt like a new man. He had not left the hotel ten minutes before he was fast asleep in the gon- dola. Waking, on rekching the landing-place, he crossed the Lido, and enjoyed a morning's swim in the Adriatic. There was only a poor restaurant on the island, in those days ; but his apjDetite was now ready for anything ; he eat whatever was offered to him, like a famished man. He could hardly believe, when he reflected on it, that he had sent away untasted his ex- cellent breakfast at the hotel Returning to Venice, he spent the rest of the day in the pioture-galleries and the churches. Towards six o'clock his gondola took him back, with another fine appetite, to meet some travelling- acquaintances with whom he had engaged to dine at the table d'hdte. The dinner was deservedly rewarded with the highest approval by every guest in the hotel but one. To Henry's astonishment, the appetite with which he had entered the house mysteriously and completely left him when he sat down to table. He could drink some wine, but he could literally eat nothing. ' What in tlie world is the matter with you ? ' hib travelling-acquaint- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 123 througli rtie-rooni }t. An- tbe ap- ite. An he sent 1, whose ola, and B had not the gon- )ssed the ; There lys ; but ;ever was T believe, dhis ex- in the ock his ;o meet laged to approval ishment, eriously le could ' What .cquaint- ances asked. He could honestly answer, ' I know no more than you do.' When night came, he gave his comfortable and beautiful bed- room another trial. The result of the second experiment was a repetition of the result of the first. Again he felt the all- pervading sense of depression and discomfort. Again he passed a sleepless night. And once more, when he tried to eat his breakfast, his appetite completely failed him ! This personal experience of the new hotel was too extraordin- ary to be passed over ui silence. Henry mentioned it to his friends in the public room, in the hearing of the manager. The manager, naturally zealous in defence of the hotel, was a little hurt at the implied reflection cast on Niunber Fourteen. He invited the travellers present to judge for themselves whe- ther Mr. Westwick R bedroom was to blame for Mr. W^estwick's sleepless nights ; and he especially appealed to a grey-headed gentleman, a guest at the breakfast-table of an English tra- veller, to take the lead in the investigation. ' This is Doctor Bruno, our first physician in Venice,' he explained. * I appeal to him to say if there are any unhealthy influences in Mr. West- wick's room.' Introduced to Number Fourteen, the doctor looked round him with a certain appearance of interest which was noticed by everyone present. ' The last time I was in this room,' he said, ' was on a melancholy occasion. It was before the palsice was changed into an hotel. I was in professional attendance on an English nobleman who died here.' One of the persons present inquired the name of the nobleman. Doctor Bruno answered (without the slightest suspicion that he was speaking before a brother of the dead man), *■ Lord Montbarry.' 124 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. I Henry quietly left the room, without saying a word to any . body. He was not, in any sense of the term, a superstitious man. But he felt, nevertheless, an insurmountable reluctance to re- maining in the hotel. He decided on leaving Venice. To ask for another room would be, as he could plainly see, an oftcncc in the eyes of the manager. To remove to another hotel, would be to openly abandon an establishment in the success oi which he had a pecuniary interest. Leaving a note for Ar- thur Barville, on his arrival in Venice, in which he merely mentioned that he had gone to looK at the Italian lakes, and that a line addressed to his hotel at Milan would bring him back again, he took thd afternoon train to Padua — and dined with his usual appetite, and slept as well as ever that night. The next day, a gentleman and his wife, returning to Eng- land by vay of Venice, arrived at the hotel and occupied Number Fourteen. Still mindful of the slur that had been cast on one of his best bedchambers, the manager took occasion to ask the travel- lers the next morning how they liked their room. They left him to judge for himself how well they were satisfied, by re- maining a day* longer m Venice than they had originally planned to do, solely for the purpose of enjoying the excellent accom- modation ottered to them by the new hotel. ' We have met with nothmg like it in Italy, they said ; ' you may rely on our recommending you to all our friends.' On the day when Number Fourteen was again vacant, an English lady travelling alone with her niaid arrived at the hotel, saw the room, and at once engaged it. The lady was Yv&. Jsjvburj, She had left Francis West I THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 126 to any LIS man. 36 to re To ask 1 oflbncc T hotel, access oi for Ar- ! merely kes, and ring him id dined night, to Eng- occupied 16 of his 16 travel- ley left by re- planned t accom- ave met J on our ;ant, an 6 hotel, West wick at Milan, occupied in negotiating for the appearance at his theatre of the new dancer at the Scala. Not having heard to the contrary, Mrs. Norbury supposed that Arthur Barville and his wife had already arrived at Venice. She was more interested in meeting the young married couple than in waiting the result of the hard bargaining which delayed the engagement of the new dancer ; and she volunteered to make her brother's apolo- gies, if his theatrical business caused hira to be late in keeping his appointment at the honeymoon festival. Mrs. Norbury's experience of Number Fourteen differed en- tirely from her brother Henry's experience of the room. Falling asleep as readily as usual, her repose was disturbed by a succession of frightful dreams ; the central figure in every one of them being the figure of her dead brother, the first Lord Montbarry. She saw him starving in a loathsciue prison ; she saw him pursued by assassins, and dying under their knives ; she saw him drowning in immeasurable depths of dark water ; she saw him in a bed of fire, burning to death in the flames ; she saw him tempted by a shadowy creature to drink, and dying of the poisonous draught. The reiterated horror of these dreams had such an efiect on her that she rose with the dawn of day, afraid to trust herself again in bed. In the old times, she had been noted in the family as the one member of it who lived on aflectionate terms with Montbarry. His other sister and his brothers were constantly quarrelling with him. Even his mother owned that her eldest son was of all her children the child whom she least liked. Sensible and resolute woman as she was, Mrs. Norbury shuddered with terror as she sat at the window of her room, watching the sunrise, and thinking of her dream& 126 TBS HAUNTED HOTEL. She made the first excuse that occurred to her, when her maid came m at the usual hour, and noticed how ill she looked. The woman was of so superstitious a temperament that it would have been in the last degree indiscreet to trust her with tht tiiitli. Mr& Norbury merely remarked that she had not found the bed quite to her liking, on account of the large size of it. iShe was accustomed at home, as her maid knew, to sleep in a small bed. Informed of this objection later in the day, the manager regretted that he could only offer to the lady the choice of one other bedchamber, numbered Thirty-eight, and situated immediately over the bedchamber which she desired to leave. Mrs. Norbury accepted the proposed change of quarteis. She was now about to pass her second night in the room occupied in the old days of the palace by Baron Rivar. Once more, she fell asleep as usual And, once more, the frightful dreams of the first night terrified her ; following each other in the same succession. This time her nerves, already shaken, were not equal to the renewed torture of terror iafiicted on them. She threw on her dressing-gowr «.nd rushed out of her room in the middle of the night. The poi-ter, alarmed by the banging of the door, met her hurrying headlong down the stall's, in search of the first human being she could find to keep her company. Considerably surprised at this last new manifestation of tbe famous * English eccentricity,' the man looked at the hotel register, and led the lady upstairs again to the room occupied by her maid The maid was not asleep, and more wonderful still, was not even undressed. She received her mistress quietly. When they were alone, and when Mrs. Norbury had, as a matter of necessity, taken her attendant into her confidence, the woman made a very strange reply. THB HAUNTED HOTEL. 127 1 her niuid le looked. ,t it would • with tht not found sizo of it. sleep in a i day, the the choice [1 situated to leave. tei's. She 1 occupied more, the )wing each )S, already r iiiHicted ed out of ed by the the staii's, keep her ifestation the hotel occupied rful still, quietly. a matter e woman ' I haye been asking about the hotel, at the servants' supper to-night,' she said. * The valet of one of the gentlemen staying here has heard that the late Lord Montbarry was the last per- son who lived in the palace, before it was made into an hotel. The room he died in, ma'am, was the room you slept in last night. Your room to-night is the room just above it I said nothing for fear of frightening you. For my own part, I have passed the night as you see, keeping my light in, and reading my Bible. In my opinion, no member of your family can hope to be happy or comfortable in this house.' * What do you mean 9 ' * Please to let me explain myself, ma'am. When Mr. Henry Westwick was here (I have this from the valet, too) he oc- cupied the room his brother died in (without knowing it) like you. For two nights he never closed his eyea Without any reason for it (the valet heard him tell the gentlemen in the coffee-room) he could not sleep ; he felt so low and so wretched in himself. And what is more, when daytime came, he couldn't even eat while he was under this roof. You may laugh at me, ma'am — but even a servant may draw her own conclusiona It's my conclusion that something happened to my lord, which we none of us know about, when he died in this house. His ghost walks iji torment until he can tell it ! The living persons related to him are the persons who feel he is near them — the persons who may yet see him in the time to coma Don't, pray don't, stay any longer in this dreadful place! I wouldn't stay another night here myself — no, not for anything that could be offered me ! ' Mr& Norbury at once set her servant's mind at ease on this last point 128 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. *.r don't tliiiik about it as you do,' she said gravely. * But I should like to speak to my brother of what has happened. We will go back to Milan. ' Some hours necessarily elapsed before they could leave the hotel, by the first train in the forenoon. In that interval, Mrs. Norbury's maid found an opportunity of confidentially informing the valet of what had passed between her mistress and herself. The valet had other friends to whom he related the circumstances in his turn. In due course of tjjne, the narrative, pa3sing from mouth to mouth, reached the ears of the manager. He instantly saw that the credit of the hotel was in danger, unless something was done to retrieve the character of the room numbered Fourteen. English travellers, well ac- quainted with the peerage of their native country, informed him that Henry Westwick and Mrs, Norbury were by no means the only members of the Mcntbarry family. Curiosity might bring more of them to the hotel, after hearing what had hap- pened. The manager's ingenuity easily hit on the obvious means of misleading them, in this case. The numbers of all the rooms were enamelled in blue, on white china plates, screwed to the doors. He ordered a new plate to be prepared, bearing the number, * 13 A'; and he kept the room empty, after its tenant for the time being had gone away, mtil the plate was ready. He then re-numbered the room ; placing the removed Number Fourteen Oi) the door of his own room (on the second floor), which, not being to let*, had not previously been numbered at all. By this device, Number Fourteen, disappeared at once and forever, from the books of the hotel, as the number of a bedroom to let Having warned the servants to beware of gostiipping with THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 129 * But I appened. eave the portiinity [ between to whom le of tjjfltte, be ears of hotel was character , well ac- infoimed no means sity might had hap- ous means the rooms ed to the laring the ts tenant as ready. Number nd floor), red at all. once and bedroom travellers on the subject of the changed nnml)ers, under penalty of being dismissed, the manager composed hi& mind with the reflection that he had done his duty to his employers. ' Now,' he thought to himself, with an excusable sense of triumph, * let the whole family come here if they like I The hotel is a match for them,' with CHAPTER XVIU BEFORE the end of the week, the manager found himself in relations with * the family ' once more. A telegram from Milan announced that Mr. Francis Westwick would arrive in Venice on the next day, and would be obliged if Number Four- teen, on the first floor, could be reserved for him, in the event of its being vacant at the tima The manager paused to consider, before he issued his directions. The re-numbered room had been last let to a French gentle- man. It would be occupied on the day of Mr. Francis Westwick's arrival, but it would be empty again on the day after. Would it be well to reserve the room for the special occupation of Mr. Francis ? and when he had passed the night unsuspiciously and comfortably in ' No. 13 A,' to ask him in the presence of wit- nesses how he liked his bed-chamber? In this case,, if the re- putation of the room happened to be called in question again, the answer would vindicate it, on the evidence of a member of the very family which had first given Number Fourteen a bad name. After a little reflection, the manager decided on trying the experiment, and directed that * 13 A' should be reserved accordingly. On the next day Francis Westwick arrived, in excellent spirits. He had signed agreements with the most popular dancer in Italy ; he had transfeired the charge of Mra Norbury to his brother Henry, who had joined him in Milan ; and he was now at full liberty to amuse himself by testing in every possible THE HAUNTED "HOTEL. 131 ad himself gram from L arrive in nber Four- 1 the event i directions, inch gentle- Westwick's 3r. Would ition of Mr. ciously and Qce of wit- ,if the re- ition again, a member 'teen a bad on trying e reserved excellent dancer in kury to his le was now [•y possible way the extraordinary influence exercised over his relatives by the new hotel. When his brother and sister first told him what their experience had been, he instantly declared that iie would go to Venice in the interest of his theatre. The cir- cumstances related to him contained invaluable hints for i ghost-drama. The title occurred to him in the railway : • The Haunted Hotel.' Post that in red letters six feet high, on a black ground, all over London — and ^^rust tuo excitable public to crowd into the theatre ! Received with the politest attention by the manager, Francis met with a disappointment on entering the hotel. ' Some mis- take, sir. No such room on the first floor as Number Fourteen. The room bearing that number is on the second floor, and has been occupied by me from the day when the hotel opened. Per- haps you meant number 13 A, on the first iloor ? Tt will be at your service to-morrow — a charming room. In the meantime, we will do the best we can for you, to-night ? ' A man who is the successful manager of a theatre ia probably the last man in the civilized universe who is capable e to hear Thus far, ly spoken rresistible it from a 11 that had ) an hotel, cplanation id himself. lome event competent The pros- 5. ' I may e thought. pounds in ievotion to lanager) he experience id been, in 3f supersti- rant maid. Bd. ' But ostly influ- ,s they one hosen rela- know the •ate mate- stooped What impression had he produced ) It was an impression vrhich his utmost ingenuity had failed to anticipate. She stood by his side — just as she had stood before Agnes when her question about Ferrari was plainly answered at last — like a woman turned to stone. Her eyes were vacant and rigid ; all the life in her face had faded out of it. Francis took her by the hand. Her hand was as cold as the pavement they were stand- ing on. He asked her if she was ilL Not a muscle in her moved. He might as well have spoken to the dead. ' Surely,' he said, * you are not foolish enough to take what I have been teUing you seriously ? ' Her lips moved slowly. As it seemed, she was making an effort to speak to him. * Louder,' he said. * I can't hear yoiL* She struggled to recover possession of herseli A faint light began to soften the dull cold stare of her eyes. In a moment more she spoke so that he could hear her. * I never thought of the other world,' she murmured, in low dull tones like a woman talking in her sleep. Her mind had gone back to the day of her last memorable interview with Agnes ; she was slowly recalling the confession that had escaped her, the warning words which she had spoken at that past time. Necessarily incapable of understanding this, Francis looked at her in perplexity. She went on in the same dull vacant tone, steadily following out her own train of thought, with her heedless eyes on his face, and her wandering mind far away from h\m. * I said some trifling event would bring us together the next time. I was wrong. No trifling event will bring us togethf^r, 148 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. i! I said I might be the person who told her what had boconu; of Ferrari, if she forced me to it. Shall I feel some otlu-i- influence than hers ? Will lie force me to it H When sJie sees him, shall / see him too ? ' Her head sank a little ; her heavy eyelids dropped slowly ; she heaved a long, low, weary sigh. Francis put her arm in his, and made an attempt to rouse her. * Come, Countess, you are weary and over- wrought. We have had enough talking to-night. Let me see you safe back to your hotel. Is it far from here % ' She sitarted when he moved, and obliged her to move with him, as ii ae had suddenly awakened her out of a deep sleep. ' Not far,' she said, faintly. ' The old hotel on the quay. My mind's in a strange state ; I have forgotten the name.' ♦Danieli's?' *Yes!' He led her on slowly. She accompanied him in silence as far as the end of the Piazzetta. There when the full view of the moonlit Lagoon revealed itself, she stopped him as he turned towards the Riva degli Schiavoni ' I have something to ask you. I want to wait and think.' She recovered her lost idea, after a long pause. * Are you going to sleep in the room to-night 1 ' she asked. He told her that another traveller was in possession of the room that night. ' But the manager has reserved it for me to" morrow,' he added, ' if I v/ish to have it.' ' No,' she said. ' You must give it up.' 'To whom?' * To me.' He started. 'After what I have told you, do you i-eally wuili to sleep in that room to-morrow niajht ? ' 1 bocoun: mo other L slie sees 1 slowly ; 3r arm in We have ik to your uove with > sleep, the quay, ime.' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 149 silence as ,11 view of im as he icthing to asked. on of the 'or me to- )U really *I must sleep in it.' * Are you not afraid 9 ' * I am horribly afraid.' * So I should have thought, aft"i what I have observed in you to-night. Why should you 'iake the room ! you are not obliged to occupy it, unless you like. ' * I was not obliged to go to Venice, when I left America,' sho answered. ' And yet I came here. I must take the room and keep the room, until — ' She bi*oke off at those words. • Never mind tlic rest,' she said. ' It doesn't interest you.' It was useless to dispute with her. Francis changed the subjec'. ^ We can do nothing to-night,' he said. ' I will call on you to-morrow morning, and hear what you think of it then. They moved on again to the hotel. As they approached the door, Francis asked if she was st.-iying in Venice, under her own name. She shook her head. 'As yoiu* brother's widow, I am known here. As Countess Narona, I am known hero. I want to be unknown, this time, to strangers in Venice ; I am travelling under a common English name.' She hesitated, and stood still. 'What has come to nio?' she muttered to herself. ' Some things I remember; and some I forget. I forgot Danieli's — and now I forget my English name.' She drew him hurriedly into the hall of the hotel, on the wall of which hunL" a list of visitors' names. Running her finger slowly d6wn the list, she [)ointed to the English name that she had assumed . — ' Mrs. James.' ' Remember that when you call to-morrow,' she said. ' My liead is horivy. Good night.' Francis went back to his own hotel, wondering what the events 150 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. of the next day -would bring fortk A new turn in his affnirs had taken place in his absence. As ho crossed the hall, lie was requested by one of the servants to walk into the private office. The manager was waiting there with a gravely pre- occupied manner, as if he liad something serious to say. Ke re- gretted to hear that Mr. Francis Westwick had, like other members of the famil;/ , liscovered mysterious sources of dis- comfort in the new hotel. He had been informed in strict confidence of Mr. Westwick's extraordinary objection to the atmosphere of the bedroom upstairs. Without presuming to discuss the matter, he mu&t beg to be excused from reserving the room for Mr. Westwick after what had happened. Francis answered sharply, a little ruffled by the tone in which the manager had spoken to hica. ' I might, very possibly, have declined to sleep in the room, if you had reserved it,' he said, * Do you wish me to leaTe the hotel 1 ' The manager saw the error that he had committed, and hast- ened to repair it. * Certainly not, sir ! We will do our best to make you comfortable, while you stay mth us. I beg your pardon if I have said anything to offend you. The reputation of an establishment like tliis is a matter of very serious import- ance. May I hope that you will do us the great favour to say nothing about what has happened upstairs ? The two French gentlemen have kindly promised to keep it a secret. ' This apology left Francis no polite alternative but to grant the manager's request. * There is an end to the Countess's wild scheme,' he thought to himself, as he retired for the night. So much the better for the Countess ! ' He rose late the next morning. Inquiring for his Parisian friends, he was informed that both the French gentlemen liarl s affairs hall, ho private rely pre- K8 re- ke other 3 of dis- iii strict a to the iming to reserving I in which bly, have he said, ,nd hast- best to beg your putation iraport- ir to say French to grant ountess's le night. Parisian nen had THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 151 left for Milan. As he crossed the hall, on his way to the res- taurant, ho noticed the head porter, chalking the numbers of the rooms on some articles of luggage which were waiting to go upstaii*a One trunk attracted his attention by the extraordinary number of old travelling labels left on it. The porter was mark- ing it at the moment — and the number was, ' 13 A.' Francis instantly looked at the card fastened on the lid. It bore the common English name, ' Mrs. James ! ' He at once inquired about the lady. She had arrived early that morning, and she was then in the Reading Room. Looking into the room, he dis. covered a lady in it alone. Advancing a little nearer, ho found himself face to face with the Countess. She was seated in a dark corner, with her head down and her arms crossed over her bosom. * Yes,' she said in a tone of weary impatience, before Francis could speak to her. *I thought it best not to wait for you — I determined to get here before anybody else could take the room.' * Have you taken it for longl' Francis asked. ' You told me Miss Lockwood would be here in a week's time. I have taken it for a week.' * What has Miss Lockwood to do with it ? ' * She has everything to do with it — she must sl'^op in the room. I sliall give the room up to her when she comes here.' Francis began to understand the superstitious purpose that she had in view. ' Are you (an educated woman) really of the same opinion ds my sister's maid ! ' he exclaimed. ' Assuming your ^isurd superstition to be a serious thing, you are taking the \\40ng means to prove it true. If I and my brother and sister have seen nothing, how should Agnes Lockwood discover what was not revealed to Us ? She is only distantly related to the Montbanys — she is only our cousin,' 152 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * S-^ie was nearer to the heart of the Montbariy who is dead than any cf you,' the Countess answered sternly. * To the last day of his life, my miserable husband repented his desertion of her. She will see what none of you have seen — she shall have the room.' Francis listened, utterly at a loss to account for the motives that animated her. * I don't see what interest you have in try- ing this extraordinary experiixient,' he said. * It is my interest not to try it 1 It is my interest to fly from Venice, and never set eyes on Agnes Lockwood or any of youi family again ! ' * What prevents you from doing thatl* She started to her feet and looked at him wildly. *I know no more what prevents me than you do 1 * she burst out. * Some will that is stronger than mine drives me on to my destruction, in spite of my own self ! ' She suddenly sat down again, and waved her liand for him to go. * Leave me,' she said. * L'3av& nie to my thoughts.' Francis left her, firmly persuaded by this time that she was out of her senses. For the rest of the day, he saw nothing of her. Tlie night, so far as he knew, passed quietly. The next morn- ing he breakfasted early, determining to wait in the restaurant for the appearance of the Countess. She came in and ordered her breakfast quietly, looking dull and worn and self-absorbed, as she had looked when he last saw her. He hastened to her table, and asked if anyt umg had happened in the night. * Nothing,' she answered. * You have rested as well as usual ? ' * Quite as well as usual. Have you had any letters this morn- ing ? Have you heard when she is coming ? ' ' I have had no letters. Are you really going to stay here ? THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 153 is dead blic lost tion of lU have motives I in tvy- ly from 3f your I know * Some ruction, lin, and * L'3avG morn- herel Has your oxperience of last night not altered the opinion which yo\i expressed to me yesterday 1 ' * Not at the least' The momen fcary gleam of animation which had crossed hor faco when slie questioned him about Agnes, died out of it again when he answered her. She looked, she spoke, she eat her breakfast, with a vacant resignation, like a woman who had done with hopes, done with interests, done with everything but the mechanical movements and instincts of life. Francis went out, on the customary travellers' pilgrimage to the shrines of Titian and Tintoret. After some hours of absence, he found a letter waiting for him when ho got back to the hotel. It was written by his brother Henry, and it re- commended him to return to Milan immediately. Tho proprietor of a French theatre, recently arrived from Venice, was trying to induce the famous dancer whom Francis had engaged, to break faith with him and accept a, higher salary. Having made this startling announcement, Henry proceeded to inform his brother that Lord and Lady Montbarry, with Agnes and the children, would arrive in Venice in three days more. * They know nothing of our adventures at the hotel,' Henry wrote ; ' and they have telegraphed to the manager for the accommodation that tliey want. There would be something absurdly superstitious in our giving them a warning which would frighten the ladies and children out of the best hotel in Venice. We shall be a strong party this time — too strong a party for ghosts ! I shall meet tho travellers on their arrival of course, and try my luck again at what you call the haunted hotel. Arthur Barville and his wife have already got as far on their way as Trent; and two of tho lady's relations have arranged to accompany them on the journey to Venice.' 154 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. Naturally indignant at the conduct of his Parisian colleague, Francis mado his preparations for returning to Milan by the train of that day. On his way out, he asked the manager if his brother's tele- ffvara. had beon received. The telegram had arrived, and, to the surprise of Francis, the rooms were already reserved. ' I thought you would refuse to let any more of the family into the house," ho said satirically. The manager answered (with the duo dash of respect) in the same tone. * Number Thirteen A. is safe, sir, in the occupation of a stranger. I am the servant of the Com- pany ; and I dare not turn money out of the hotel.' Hearing this Francis said good-bye — and said nothing more. He was ashamed to acknowledge it to himself, but he felt an irresistible curiosity to know what would happen when Agnes arrived at the hotel. Besides ' Mrs. James ' had reposed confi- dence in him. He got into his gondola, respecting the confidence of * Mrs. James.' Towards evening on the third day. Lord Montbarry and his travelling companions arrived, punctual to their appointment. ' Mra James,' sitting at the window of her room watching for them, saw the new Lord land from the gondola first. He handed his wife from the steps. The three children were next com- mitted to his care. Last of all, Agnes appeared in the little black doorway of the gondola-cabin ; and, taking Lord Mont- barry 's hand, passed in her turn to the stops. She wore no veil. As she ascended to the door of the hotel, the Countess (eyeing her through an opera-glass) noticed that she paused to look at the outside of the building, and that her face was very pale. K colleague, fin by the ^ her's tele- ,nd, to the I thought ;lie house,' ) due dash ssafe, sir, the Com- img more, he felt an len Agnes Dsed confi- confidence and his itment. Itching for 'e handed lext com- Ithe little Ird Mont- 'e no veil. ;s (eyeing look at pale. CHAPTER XXL LOED and Lady Montbarry ■W3re received by the house- keeper ; the manager being absent for a day or two on business connected with the affairs of the hotel. The rooms reserved for the travellers on the first floor were three in number ; consisting of two bedrooms opening into each other, and communicating on the left, with a drawing-room. Complete so far, the arrangements pro^'ed to be less satisfactory in reference to the third bedroom required for Agnes and for the oldest daughter of Lord Montbarry, who usually slept with her on their travels. The bed-chamber on the right of the drawing- room was already occupied by an English widow lady. Other bed-chambers at the other end of the corridor were also let in every case. There was accordingly no alternative but to place at the disposal of Agnes a comfortable room on the second floor. Lady Montbarry vainly complained of this separation of one of the members of her travelling party from the rest. The house- keeper hinted that it was impossible for her to ask other travel- lers to give up their rooms. She could only express her regret, and assure Miss Lockwood that her bed-chamber on the second floor was one of the best rooms in that part of the hotel. On the retirement of the housekeeper. Lady Montbarry noticed that Agnes had seated herself apai't, feeling apparently no inter- est in the question of the bedrooms. Was she ill? No; she 'elt a little unnerved by the railway journey, and that was all. Hearing this. Lord Montbarry proposed that she should go out with him, and try the experiment of half an hour's walk in the 156 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. cool evening air. Agnes gladly accepted the suggestion. They, directed their steps towards the square of St. Mark, so as to enjoy the breeze blowing over the lagoon. It was the first visit of Agnes to Venice. The fascination of the wonderful city of the waters exerted its full influence over her sensitive nature. The proposed half hour of the walk had passed away, and was fast expanding to half an hour more, before Lord Montbarry could persuade his companion to remember that dinner was waiting for them. As they returned, passing under the colon- nade, neither of them noticed a lady in deep mourning, loitering in the open space of the square. She started as she recognised Agnes walking with the new Lord Montbarry — hesitated for a moment — and then followed them, at a discreet distance, back to the hotel. Lady Montbarry received Agnes in high spirits — with news of an 3vcnt which had happened in her absence. She had not left the hotel more than ten minutes, before? a little note in pencil was brought to Lady Montbarry by the housekeeper. The writer proved to be no less a person than tlie v/idow lady who occupied the room on the other side of tlie dravring-room, which her ladyship had vainly hoped to secure ior Agnes. Writing under the name of Mrs. James, the polite widow explained that she had heard from the housekcjoper of the (usappointment experienced l>y Lady Montbarry in the matter of the rooms. Mrs. James w is quite alone ; and as long as her L'cd-chamber was airy and comfortable, it mattered nothing to her whether she slept on the iirst or second floor of the house. She had accordingly mueli pleasure in proposing to change rooms with Miss Lockwood. Her luggage had already been removed, and IVIiss Lockwood had only to take possession of the room (Number 13 A^, which was now entirely at her disposal. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 157 a. They , so as to 5rst visit l1 city of 3 nature, and was 'ontbarry mer was tie colon- loitering Bcogniscd ited for a nee, back 1 news of * ^ immediately proposed to see Mrs. James,' Lady Montbairy continued, ' and to thank her personally for her extreme kind- i^ess. But I was informed that she had gone out, without leav- ing word at what hour she might be expected to return. I have written a little note of thd,nks, saying that we hope to have the pleasure of personally expressing our sense of Mrs. James s courtesy to-morrow. In the meantime, Agnes, I have ordered your boxes to be removed downstairs. Go ! — and judge for yourself, my dear, if that good lady has not given up to you the prettiest room in the house ! ' With these words, Lady Montbarry left Miss Lockwood to make a hasty toilet for dinner. The new room at once produced a favourable impression on Agnes. The large window, opening into a balcony, commanded an admirable view of the canal. The decorations on the walls and ceiling, were carefully copied from the exquisitely graceful designs of Raphael in the Vatican. The massive wardrobe pos- sessed compartments of unusual size, in which double the num- ber of dresses that Agnes possessed might have been conveniently hung at full length. In the inner corner of the room, near the head of the bedstead, there was a recess which had been turned into a little dressing-room, and which opened by a second door on the inferior btaiicase of the hotel, commonly used by the serv- ants. Noticing these aspects of the i-oom at a glance, Agnes made thejiecessary change in her dress, as quickly as possible. On her ^\.Ly back to the drawing-room she was addressed by a chambermaid in the corridor who asked for her key. ' I will put your room tidy for the night, Miss,' the woman said, * andl will then bring the key back to you in the ^'> ^ wing-room.' While the chambermaid was at hcjworK, a solitary lady, loitering about the corridor of the second story, was watching 158 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. her over the bannisters. After awhile, the maid appeared, .nth her pail in her hand, leaving the room by way of the dressing- room and ohe back stairs. As she passed out of sight, the lady on the second floor (no other, it is needless to add, than the Countess herself) ran swiftly down the stairs, entered the bed- chamber by the principal door, and hid herself in the empty side compartment of the wardrobe. The chambermaid returned, completed her work, locked the door of the dressing-room on the inner side, locked the principal entrance door on leaving the room, ^nd returned the key to Agnes in the drawing-room. The travellers were just sitting down to their late dinner, when one of the children noticed that Agnes was not wearing her watch. Had she, left it in her bed-chamber in the hurry of changing her dress ? She rose from the table at once, in search of her watch ; Lady Montbarry advising her, as she went out, to see to the security of her bed-chamber in the event of there being thieves in the house. Agnes found her watch, for- gotten on the toilet table, as she had anticipated. Before leav- ing the room again, she acted on Lady Montbarry's advice, and tried the key in the lock of the dressing-room door. It was properly secured. She left the bed-chamber, locking the main door behind her. Immediately on her departure, the Countess, oppressed by the confined air in the wardrobe, ventured on stejiping out of her liiding-place into the empty room. Entering the di'essing-room on tiptoe, she listened at the door, until the silence outside informed her that the corridor was empty. Upon this, she unlocked the door, and passing out, closed it again softly ; leaving it to all appearance (when viewed on the inner side) as carefully secured as Agues had seen it when aho tried the kev in the lock wifV^ her own hand. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 159 Bd, with Iressing- bhe lady han the ;he bed- pty side Btumed, u on the ring the Dm. dinner, wearing le hurry once, in he went 3vent of tch, for- )re leav- ice, and It was le main by the of her ^e door, lor was ig out, dewed when Whi^e the Montbarrys were still at dinner, Henry Westwick joined them, arriving from Milan. "When he entered the room, and again when he advanced to shake hand§ with her, Agnes was conscious of a latent feeling which secretly reciprocated Henry's unconcealed pleasure on meeting her again. For a moment only she returned his look ; and in that moment her own observation told her that she had silently encouraged him to hopa She saw it in the sudden glow of happiness which overspread his face , and she con- fusedly took refuge in the usual conventional enquiries relating to the relatives whom he had left at Milan. Taking his place at the table, Henry gave a most amusing account o* the position of his brother Francis between the mer- cenary opera-dancer on one side, and the unscrupulous manager of the French theatre on the other. Matters had proceeded to such extremities, that the law had been called on to interfere, and had decided tlie dispute in favour of Francis. On winning the victory the English manager had at once left Milan, recalled to London by the aflfairs of his theatre. He was accompanied on the journey back, as he had been accompanied on the jour- aey out, by his sister. Resolved, after passing two nights of terror in the Venetian hotel, never to enter it again, Mrs, Nor- bury asked to be excused from appearing at the family festival, jn the ground of ill-health. At her age, travelling fatigued her, ind she was glad to take advantage of her brother's escort to return to England. While the talk at the dinner-table flowed easily onward, the 3vening-time advanced to night — and it became necessary to think of sending the children to bed. As Agnes rose to leave the room, accompanied by the eldest jirl, she observed with surprise that Henry's manner suddenly 160 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. changed. He looked serious and pre-occupied ; ana when his niece wished him good night, he abruptly said to her, * Marian, I want to know what part of the hotel you sleep in ? ' Marian, puzzled by the question, answered that she was going to sleep as usual, with 'Aunt Agnes.' Not satisfied with that reply, Henry next inquired whether the bedj-oom was near the room occupied by the other members of the travelling party. Answer- ing for the child, and wondering what Henry's object could possibly be, Agnes mentioned the polite sacrifice made to her convenience by Mrs. James. ' Thanks to that lady's kindness," she said, ' Marian and I are only on the other side of the draw- ing-room.' Henry made no remark; he looked incomprehensibly discontented as he opened the door for Agnes and her compa- nion to pass out. After wishing them good night, he waited in the corridor until he saw them enter the fatal corner-room — and then he called abruptly to his brother, ' Come out, Stephen, and let us smoke ! ' ' As soon as the two brothers were at liberty to speak together privately, Henrj- explained the motive which had led to his strange inquiries about the bed-rooms. Francis had informed him of the meeting with the Countess at Venice, aiid of all that had followed it ; and Henry now carefully rcj^^eated the narra- tive to his brother in all its details. ' I i.m not satisfied,' he added, ' about that woman's purpose in giving up her room. Without alarming the ladies by telling them what I have just told you, can you not wai'n Agnes to be careful in securing her door 'I ' Lord Montbarry replied, that the warning had been already given by his wife, and that Agnes might be trusted to take good care of herself and her little bedfellow. For the rest, he looked upon the story of the Countess and her superstitions as THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 161 [e just ig her [ready take 1st, he HIH US a piece of theatrical exaggeration, amusing enough in itself, but quite unwortliy of a moment's serious attention. While the gentlemen were absent from the hotel, the room which had been already associated with so many startling cir- cumstances, became the scene of another strange event, in which Lady Montbarry's eldest child was concerned. Little Marian had been got rr -^dy for bed as usual, and had (so far) taken hardly any notice of the new room. As she knelt down to say her prayers, she happened to look up at that part of the ceiling above her which was just over the head of the bed. The next instant she alarmed Agnes, by starting to her feet with a cry of terror, and pointing to a small brown spot on one of the white panelled spaces of the carved ceiling. ' It's a spot of blood ! ' the child exclaimed. ' Take me away ! I won't sleep here ! ' Seeing plainly that it would be useless to reason with hev while she was in the room, Agnes hurriedly wrapped Marian in a dressing gown, and carried her back to her mother in tlie drawing-room. Here, the ladies did their best to soothe and reassure the trembling girL The effort proved to be useless ; the impression that had been produced on the young and sensitive mind was not to be removed by persuasion. Marian could give no explanation of the panic of terror that had seized her. She was quite unable to say vhy the spot on the ceiling looked like the colour of a spot of blood. She only knew that she should die of terror if she saw it again. Under these circum- stances, but one alternative was left. It was arranged that tin* child should pass the night in the room occupied by her two younger sisters and the nurse. In Iialf an hour more, Marian was peacefully asleep with her arm round her sister's neck. Lady Montbarry went back with 102 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. A.gnes to her room to see the spot on the ceiling ' which had so strangely frightened the child. It was so small as to be only just perceptible, and had in all probability been caused by the caielessness of a workman, or by a dripping from water ac- cidentally spilt on the floor of the room above. * I really cannot understand why Marian should place such a terrible interpretation on such a trifling thing,' Lady Mont- barry remarked. * I suspect the nurse is in some way answerable for what has happened,' Agnes suggested. ' She may quite possibly have been telling Marian some tragic nursery story which has left its mischievous impression behind it. Persons in her position are sadly ignorant of the danger of exciting a child's imagination. You. had better caution the nurse to-morrow.' Lady Montbarry looked round the room with admiration. ' Is it not prettily decorated V she said. ' I suppose, Agnes, you don't mind sleeping here by yourself ? ' Agnes laughed. * I feel so tired,' she replied, ' that I was thinking of bidding you good-night, instead of gomg back to the irawing-room.' Lady Montbarry turned towards the door. ' I see your jewel-case on the table,' she resumed. * Don't forget to lock the other door there, in the dressing-room.' * I have already seen to it, and tried the key myself,' said Agnes. * Can I be of any use to you before I go to bed 1 * *No, my dear, thank you; I feel sleepy enough to follow y^our example. Good night, Agnes — and pleasant dreams on. youi' first night iu Ytiiuce had 80 )e only sed by Eiter ac- ce such f Mont- rhat has »ly have s left its tion are filiation. niration. pes, you i,t I was ik to the 36 your Ito lock ?1£,' said V follow kams OH' CHAPTEU XXIL HAVING closed and secured the door on Lady Montbarry's departure, Agnes put on her dressing-gowxi, and, turn- ing to her open boxes, began the business of unpacking. In the hurry of making her toilet for dinner, she had taken the first dress that lay uppermost in the trunk, and had thrown her travelling costume on the bed. She now opened the doors of the wardrobe for the first time, ai d began to hang her dresses on the hooks in the large compartment on one side. After a few minutes only of this occupation, she grew weary of it, and decided on leaving the trunks as they were, until the next morning. The oppressive south wind, which had blown throughout the day, still prevailed at night. The atmosphere of the room felt close -, Agnes threw a shawl over her head and shoulders, and, opening the window, stepped into the bal- cony to look at the view. The night was heavy and overcast ', nothing could be distinctly seen. The canal beneath the window looked like a black gulf, the opposite houses were barely visible as a row of shadows, dimly relieved against the starless and moonless sky. At long intervals, the warning cry of a belated gondolier was just audible, as he turned the corner of a distant canal, and called to invisible boats which might be approaching him in the darkness. Now and then, the nearer dip of an oar in the water told of the viewless passage of other gondolas bringing guests back to the hotel. Excepting these rare sounds, the mysterious night-silence of Venice was literally the silence of the grave. 164 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. Leaning on the parapet of the balcony, Agnos looked va- , cantly into the black void beneath. Her thou ,hts reverted to the miserable man who had broken his plec'^^'cd faith to her, and who had died in that house. Some change seemed to have come over he; ^'n*" i.;r arrival in Venice; some new influence appeared to be ■ r,. For the first time in her experience of herself, compassi am' egret were not the only emotionh aroused in her by the remembrance of the dead Montbarry. A keen sense of the wrong that she had suffered, never yet felt by that gentle and forgiving nature, was felt by it now. She found herself thinking of the bygone days of her humijiation almost as harshly as Henry Westwick had thought of them — she who had rebuked him the last time he had spoken slightingl}' of his brother in her presence ! A sudden fear and doubt of herself startled her physically as well as morally. She turned from the shadowy abyss of the dark water as if the mystery and the gloom of it had been answerable for the emotions which had taken her by surprise. Abruptly closing the window, she threw aside her shawl, and lit the candles on the mantelpiece) impelled by a stidden craving for light in the solitude of her room. The cheering brightness round her, contrasting with the black gloom outside, restored her spirits. She felt herself enjoying the light like a child ! Would it be well (she asked herself) to get ready for bed 1 No ! Tlie sense of drowsy fatigue that she had felt half an hour since was gone. She returned to the dull employment of unpacking her boxes. After a few minutes only, the occupa- tion became irksome to her once more. She sat down by the table, and took up a guide-book. * Suppose I inform myself,' she thought, * on the subject of Venice i ' :e(l vii- , ;rtod to to her, to liavc ifluencc ience ot motions atbarry- yet felt ST. She , niliation em — she ghtingly d doubt le turned mystery ns Y^hich low, she itelpiecC) of her Ihe black ling the tor bed 1 half an [ment of occupa- by the keif,' she THE HAUNTED HOTEL. IG Her attention wandered from the book, before she had turned the iirst page of it. The image of Henry Wostwiek was the present imago in lun- memory now. Recalling the minutest incidents and details of the evening, she could think of nothing which j)re8ented him un- der other than a favourable and interesting aspect. She smikid to herself softly, her colour rose by fine gradatir 3, hh who felt the full luxury of dwelling on the perfect truth a,?d odesty of his devotion to her. Was the depression of spi its tVom which she had suffered so persistently on her travels attributable, by any chance, to their long separation from each other — embit- tered perhaps by her own vain regret whe. she remembered her harsh reception of him in Paris 1 Suddenly conscious of this bold question, and of the self-abandonment which it implied, she returned mechanically to her book, startled by the unre- strained liberty of her own thoughts. What lurking tempta- tions to forbidden tenderness find their hiding places in a woman's dressing-gown, when she is alone in her room at night ! With her heart in the tomb of the dead Montbarry, could Agnes even think of another man, and think of love 1 How shameful ! how unworthy of her ! For the second time, sIk; tried to interest herself in the guidcvbook — and once more sluj tried in vain. Throwing the book aside, she turn(!(l desperately to the one resource that was left, to her luggage — resolved to fatigue herself without mercy, until she was weaiy enough and sleepy enough to find a safe refuge in bed. For some little time, she persisted in the monotonous occu[»a- tion of transf(!rring her clothes from her trunk to the wardrobe. The large clock in the hall, striking midnight, reminded her that it was getting late. She sat down for a moment in an ai-m-chair by the bedside, to rest. 166 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. The silence in the house now caught her attention, and held it — held it disagreeably. Was everybody in bed and asleep but herself ? Surely it was time for her to follow the general ex- ample 1 With a certain irritable nervous haste, she rose again and undressed herself. * I have lost two hours of rest/ she thought, frowning at the reflection of herself in the glass, as she arranged her hair foi* the night. ' I shall be good for nothing to-morrow ! ' She lit the night-light, and extinguished the candles — with one exception, which she removed to a little table, placed on the side of the bed opposite the side occupied by the arm-chair. Hnving put her travelling-box of matches and guide-book near the candle, in case she might be sleepless and might want to I'ead, she blew out the light, and laid her head on the pillow. The curtains of the bed were looped back to let the air pass freely over her. Lying on her left side, with her face turned away from the table, she could see the arm-chair by the dim night-light. It had a chintz covering — representing large bunches of roses scattered over a pale green ground. She tried to weary herself into drowsiness by counting over and over again the bunches of roses that were visible from her point of view. Twice her attention was distracted from the counting, by sounds outside — by the clock chiming the half-past twelve ; and then again, by the fall of a pair of boots on the upper floor, thrown out to be cleaned, and with that barbarous disregard of the comforts of others which is observable in humanity when it inhabits an hotel. In the silence that followed these passing disturbances, Agnes went on counting the roses on the arm-chair more and more slowly. Before long she confused herself in the figures — tried to begin counting again — thought she would wait a little first — felt her eyelids drooping, and her head sink- held it V sp but ral ex- 5 again jt,' she as she lothmg i — with . on the n-chair. 3k near want to I pillow, air pass 3 turned the dim punches ied to r again : view. by , and V floor, sijard of THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 1G7 ng, me ing lower and lower on the pillow — sighed faintly — and sank into sleep. How long that first sleep lasted she never knew. She could only remember, in the after-time, that she awoke instantly. Every faculty and perception in her passed the boundary line between insensibility and consciousness, so to speak, at a leap. "Without knowing why, she sat up suddenly in the bed, lisjtening for she knew not what. Her head was in a whirl ; her heart beat furiously, without any assignable cause. But one trivial event had happened during the interval while she had been asleep. The night-light had gone out ; and the room, as a matter of course, was in total darkness. She felt for the match-box, and paused after finding it. A vague sense of confusion was still in her mind. She was in no hurry to light the match. The pause in the darkness was, gtrangely enough, agreeable to her. In the quieter flow of her thoughts during this interval, she could ask herself the natural question : — What cause had awak- ened her so suddenly, and had so strangely shaken her nerves ? Had it been the influence of a dream 1 She had not dreamed at all — or, to speak more correctly, she had no waking remem- brance of having dreamed. The mystery was beyond her fathoming : the darkness began to oppress her. She struck the match on the box, and lit her candla As the welcome light diSused itself over the room, she turned from the table and looked towards the other side of the bed. In the moment when she turned, the chill of a sudden terror gripped her round the heart, as with the clasp of an icy hand. She was not alone in the room ! There — in the chair at the bedside — there, suddenly revealed tinder the flow of light from the candle, was the figure of a 168 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. woman reclining. Her head lay back over the chair. Her face, turned up to the ceiling, had the eyes closed, as if she was wrapped in a deep sleep. The shock of the discovery held Agnes speechless and helf)- less. Her first conscious action, when she was in some degree mistress of herself again, was to lean over the bed, and to look closer at the woman who had so incomprehensibly stolen into her room in the dead of night. One glance was enough : she started back with a cry of amazement. The person in the chair was no other than the widow of the dead Montbarry — the woman who had warned her that they were to meet again, and that the place might be Venice ? Her courage returned to her, stung into action by the natural sense of indignation which the presence of the Countess provoked. 'Wake up!' she called out. * How dare you come here? How did you get inl Leave the room — or I will call for help!» 8he raised her voice at the last words. It produced no- effect. Leaning farther over the bed, she boldly took the Countess by the shoulder and shook her. Not even this effort succeeded in rousing the sleeping woman. She still lay back in the chair, possessed by a torpor like the torpor of death — in- sensible to sound, insensible to touch. ' Was she really sleeping % Or had she fainted 1 ' Agnes looked closer at her. She had not fainted. Her- breathing was audible, rising and falling in deep heavy gasps. At intervals she ground her teeth savagely. Beads of perspi- ration stood thickly on her forehead. Her clenched hands rose and fell slowly from time to time on her lap. Was she in the agony of a dream or was she spiritually conscious of something hidden in the room ? ] i ^ t ( b S li Her B was help degree ,0 look n into ti: she in the arry — again, natural >voked. ) herel all for ced no> ok the 8 effort )aek in h — in- eping?! Her- gasps, jerspi- is rose , in the lething THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 169 The doubt involved in that last question was unendurable. Agnes determined to rouse the servants who kept watch in the hotel at night. The bell-handle was fixed to the wall, on the side of the bed by which the table stood. She raised herself from the crouching position which she had assumed in looking close at the Countess; and, turning towards the other side of the bed, stretched out her hand to the bell. At the same instant, she stopped and looked upward. Her hand fell helplessly at her side. She shuddered, and sank back on the pillow. What had she seen 1 She had seen another intruder in her room. Midway between her face and the ceiling, there hovered a human head — severed at the neck, like a head struck from the body by the guillotine. Nothing visible, nothing audible, had given her warning of its appearanca Silently and suddenly, the head had taken its place above her. No supernatural change had passed over the room, or was perceptible in it now. The dumbly -tortured figure in the chair ; the broad window opposite tlie foot of the bed, with the black night beyond it ; the candle burning on the table — these, and all other objects in the room, remain unaltered. One obj ct more, unutterably horrid, had been added to the rest. That was t he only change — no more, no less. By the yellow candle-light she saw the head distinctly, hovering in mid-air above her. She looked at it steadfastly, spell-bound by the terror that held her. The flesh of tlie face was gone. The shrivelled skin was darkened in liue, like the skui of an Egyptian mummy — Bxcept at the neck. There it was of a lighter colour ] there 170 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. it showed spots and splashes of the hue of that brown spot on the ceiling, which the child's fanciful terror had distorted into the likeness of a spot of blood. Thin remains of a discoloured moustache and whiskers, hanging over the upper lip, and over the hollt ws where the cheeks had once been, made the head just recogn' sable as the head of a man. Over all the features death and tine had done their obliterating work. The eyelids were closed. The hair on the skull, discoloured like the hair on the face, had been burnt a^ ay in places. The bluish lips, parted in a lixed grin, showed the double row of teeth. By slow degrees the hovering head (perfectly still when she first saw it) began to descend towards Agner ^.o 3he lay beneath. By slow degrees that strange doubly-blended odour, which the Commis- si(.ners h&d discovered in the vaults of the old palace — which had sickened Francis "Webtwick in the bed-c!iamber of the new hotel — spread its fetid exhalations over the room. Downward and down"v^rtrd the hideous apparition made its slow progress, until it stopped close over Agnes — stopped, and turned slowly, so that the face of it confronted the upturned face of the woman in the chair. After that there came a pause. Then a momenta,ry move- ment disturbed the rigid repose of the dead face. Tlie closed eyelids opened slowly. The eyes revealed them- selves, bright with the glassy film of death — and fixed their dreadful look on the woman in the chair. Agnes saw that look ; saw the reclining woman rise, as if in obedience to some sileiit command — and saw no more. Her next conscious impression was of the sunlight pouring in at the window ; of the friendly presence of Lady Montbarry at the bedside ; and of the children's wonderinj^ faoes peeping in at the door. CHAPTER XXIII. * 'X7"0U have some influence over Agnes. Try what you can do, Henry, to make her take a sensible vieAv of the matter. There is really nothing to make a fuss about. My wife's maid knocked at her door early in the morning, with the customary cup of tea. Getting no answer she went round to the dressing room — found the door on that side unlocked — and discovered Agnes on the bed in a fainting fit. With my wife's help they brought her to herself again ; and she told the extra- oi'dinaiy story which I have just repeated to you. You must liave soon for yourself that she has been over-fatigued, jxtor thing, by our long railway journeys ; her nerves are out of order — and she is just the person to be easily terrified by a dream. She obstinately refuses, however, to accept this rational view. Don't suppose that I have been severe with her ! All that a man can do to humour her I have done I have written to the Countess (in her assumed name) offering to restore the room to her. She writes back, positively declining to return to it. I have accordingly arranged (so as not to have the thing known in the hotel) to occupy the room for one or two nights, and to leave Agnes to recover her spirits under my wife's care. Is there anything more that I can do? Whatever questions Agnes has asked of mo I have answered to the best of my ability ; she knows all that you told mo about Francis and the Countess last night. But try as I may I can't cpiiet her mind. I Jiave given up the attempt in despair, and left her in the drawing-room. Go, like a good fellow, and try what you can do to compose her.' 172 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. In those words Lord Montbarry stated the case to his brother from the rational point of view. Henry made no remark, ho went straight to the drawing room. He found Agnes walking rapidly backwards and forwards, flushed and excited. ' If you come here to say what your brother has been saying to me,' she broke out before he could speak, * spare yourself the trouble. I don't want common sense — I want a true friend who will believe in me, ' * I am that friend, Agnes,' Henry answered quietly, ' and y on know it.' * You really believe that I am not deluded by a dream ? ' * I know that you are not deluded — in one particular, at least.' * In what particular ? ' * In what you have said of the Countess. It is perfectly true ' Agnes stopped him there. * Why do I only hear this morn- ing that the Countess and Mrs. James are one and the same person 1 ' she asked distrustfully. * Wliy was I not told of it last night r ' You forget that you had accepted the exchange of rooms l)c fore I reached Venice,' Henry replied. ' I felt strongly tempted to tell you, even then — but your sleeping arrangements for the night were all made ; I should only have inconvenienced ard !ilarmedyou. I waited till the morning, after hearing from my brother that you had yourself seen to your security from any in- trusion. How that intrusion was accomplished it is impossible to say. I can only declare that the Countess's presence by your bedside last night was no dream of yours. On her own autho- iity I can testify that it was a r(nility.' rotlicr rk, ho . wards, , your could V 1 sense lid you I?' liar, at srfectly morn- same d of it oms be eniptcd for the ed and 'om my any in- lossiblc >y your autho- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. I7r, Have ' On her own authority 1 ' Agnes repeated eagerly you seen her this morning ? ' ' I have seen her not ten minutes since ' What was she doing 1 ' ' She was busily engaged in writing. I coula not even get her to look at me until I thought of mentioning your name.' ' She remembered me, of course 1 ' ' She remembered you with some difficulty. Finding that she wouldn't answer me on any other terms, I questioned her as if I had come direct from you. Then she spoke. She not only admitted that she had the same superstitious motive for placing you in that room which she had acknowledged to Francis — she even owned that she had been by your bedside, watching through the night, " to see wluit you saw," as she expressed it. Hearing this, I tried to persuade her to tell me liow she got into the room. Unluckily, her manuscript on the table caught her eye ; she returned to her writing. " The Uaron wants money," she said, " I must get on with my play." What she saw, or dreamed, while she was in your room last night, it is at present impossible to discover But judging by my brotlier's account of her, as well as by what 1 remember of her myself, 3ome recent inlluence has been at work which lias produced a marked change in this wretched woman for the worse. Her mind is, in certain respects, unquestionably deranged. One proof of it is that she spoke to me oi the Baron as if he were still a living man. When Francis saw her, she declared that the Baron was dead, which ist'e truth. The United States Consul at Milan showed us the aniiouncement of the death in an Ame- rican newspaper, .^o far as I can see, such sense as she still possesses seems to be entirely absorbed in one absurd id(ia — the idea of writing a play vor Francis to bring out at his theatre. sm rX" 'TSSri',T,*;^^;'wr!»i«irfWi ■i^ 174 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. : He admits that he encouraged her to hope she might get money in this way. I think he did wrong. Dun't you agree with me V Without heeding the question, Agnes rose abruptly from hei chair. ' Do me one more kindness, Henry,' she said. * Take me tc the Countess at once.' Henry hesitated. * Are you composed enough to see her, after the shock that you have sufiered 1 ' he asked. She trembled, the flush on her face died away, and left it deadly pale But she held to her resolution. ' You have heard of what I saw last night f she said faintly. * Don't speak of it ! ' Henry inter^iosed. * Don't uselessly agitate yourself.' * I must speak ! My mind is full of horrid questions about it, I know I can't identify it — and yet I ask myself over and over again, in whose likeness did it appear ? Was it in the likeness of Ferrari ? or was it — ? s^« stopped, shuddering. ' The Countess knows, I musL see the ruh^ess ! ' she resumed vehe- mently. * Whether my courage fails me or not, I must make the attempt. Take me to her before I have time to feel afraid of it ! ' Henry locked at her anxiously. * If you are really sure of your own resolution,* he said, * I agree with you — the sooner you see her the better. You remember how strangely she talked of your influence over her, when she forced her way into your room in London V * I remember it perfectly. Why do you ask 1 ' * For this reason. Tn the present state of her mind, I doubt If r.be will hd muoh longer capable of realizing her wild itlea of you as the avengijig an{ ^'1 who is to bring her to a leckoning 'I !;>' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 176 about ^er and in the 'The vehe- make feel doubt idea of coning J' tot her evil deeds. It may be well to try what your influence can do while she is still capable of feeling it* He waited to hear what Agnes would say. She took his arm and led him in silence to the door. They ascended to the second floor, and, after knocking, entered the Countess's room. She was still busily engaged in writing. WTien she looked up from the paper, and saw Agnes, a vacant expression of doubt was the only expression in her wild black eyes. After a few moments, the lost remembrances and associations appeared to return slowly to her mind. The pen dropped from her hand. Haggard and trembling, she looked closer at Agnes, and recog- nised he." at last. ' Has the time come already 1 ' she said in low awe-stricken tones. ' Give me a little longer respite, I haven't done my writing yet ! ' She dropped on her knees, and held out her clasped hands ' entreatingly. Agnes was far fum having recovered, after tbti shock that she had sufiered in the night : her nerves were fa from being equal to the strain that was now laid on them. She was so startled by the change in the Countess that she was at a loss what to say or to do next. Henry was < liged to speak to her, * Put your questions while you have the chance,' ho said, lowering liis voice. * See ! the vacant look is coming over her face again.' Agnes tried to rally her courage. ' Yoii were in my room last night ' she began. Before she could add a word more, the Countess lifted her hands, and wrung them above her head with a low moan of horror. Agnes shrank back, and turned as if to leave the room. Henry stopped h^r, and whispered to her to try again. She obeyed him after an efloi ' I slept last 176 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. h i '1^ 1^ night in the room that you gave up to me,' she resumed. ' I saw ' The Countess suddenly rose to her feet. ' No more of that,' she cried. ' Oh, Jesu Maria ! do you think I want to be told what you saw ? Do you think I don't know what it means for you and for me ? Decide for your self, Miss. Examine your own mind. Are you well assured that the day of reckoning has come at last 1 Are you ready to follow me back, through the crimes of the past, to the secrets of the dead ? ' She turned again to the writing-table, without waiting to be answered. Her eyes flashed : she looked like her old self once more as she spoke. It was only for a moment. The old ardour and impetuosity were nearly worn out. Her head sank ; she sighed heavily as she unlocked a d ^sk which stood on the table. Opening a drawer in the desk, she took out a leaf of vellum, covered with faded writing. Some ragged ends of silken thread were still attached to the leaf, as if it had been torn out of a book. ' Can you read Italian ? ' she asked, handing the leaf to Agnes. Agnes answered silently by an inclination of her head. ' The leaf,' the Countess proceeded, ' once belonged to a book in t^'e <*id lil rsiry of the palace, while this building was still a palacp, Bv wh vm it was torn out you have no need to know. For wnat pit posi it was torn out you may discover for your- self, if you wiii. Read it first — at the fifth line fro^ the top of the page.' .'kgnes felt the seriOTJs necessity of composing herself. * Give roe a chair,' she said to Henry. * And I will do my best.' He placed himself behind her chair so that he could look over her THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 177 : that,' )e told ansfor 3 your koning hrough cj to be If once ardour ik ; she le table, vellum, a thread )ut of a leaf to a book [s still a |o know. )V your- le top of 'Give k' He l)ver her shoulder and help her to understand the writing on the leaf. Rendered into English, it ran as follows : — ' I have now completed my literary survey of the first floor of the palace. At the desire of my noble and gracious patron, the lord of this glorious edifice, I next ascend to the second floor, and continue my catalogue or description of the pictures, deco- rations, and other treasures of art therein contained. Let me begin with the corner room at the western extremity of the palace, called the Room of the Caryatides, from the statues which support the mantel-piece. This work is of comparatively recent execution : it dates from the eighteenth century only, and reveals the corrupt taste of the period in every part of it. Still, there is a certain interest which attaches to the mantel- piece : it conceals a cleverly constructed hiding-place between the floor of the room and the ceiling of the room beneath, which was made during the last evil days of the Inquisition in Venice, and which is reported to have saved an ancestor of my gracious lord pursued by that terrible tribunal. The machinery of this curious place of concealment has been kept in good order by the present lord, as a species of curiosity. He condescended to show me the method of working it Approaching the two Carya- tides, rest your hand on the forehead (midway between the eye- brows) of the figure which is on your left as you stand opposite to the fireplace, then press the head inwards as if you were pushing it against the wall behind. By doing this, you set in motion the hidden machinery in the wall which turns the hearthstone on a pivot, and discloses the hollow place below. There is room enough in it for a man to he easily at full length. The method of closing the c«,vity again is equally simple. Place both yonr hands on the temples of the figure ; pull as if you 178 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. I I ! I were pulling it towards you — and the hearthstone wUl revolve into its proper position again. ' * You need read no further,' said the Countess. * Be careful to remember what you have read.' She put back the page of vellum in her writing-desk, locked it, and led the way to the door. * Come ! ' she said ; ' and see what the mocking Frenchman called, " The beginning of the end." ' Agnes was barely able to rise from her chair ; she trembled from head to foot. Henry gave her his arm to support her. ' Fear nothing,' hfe whispered ; ' I shall be with you.' The Countess proceeded along the westward corridor, and stopped at the door numbered, Thirty Eight. This was the room which had been inhabited by Baron Rivar in the old days of the palace : the room situa )ed immediately over the bedchambei' in W'lich Agnes had passed the night. For tLj last two days it had been empty. The absence of luggage in it when they opened the door, showed that it had not yet been let. ' You see ! ' said the Countess, pointing to the carved figure at the fire-place ; * and you know what to do. Ha^•e I deserved that you should temper justice with mercy t ' she went on in lower tones. ' Give me a few hours more to myself. The Baron wants money — I must get on with my play,' She smiled vacantly, and imitated the action of writing with her right hand as she pronounced the last words. The elToi-t of concentrating her weakened mind on other and less familiar topics than the constant want of money in the Ba ion's lifetime, and the vague prospect of gain from the still unfinished play, had evidently exhausted her poor reserves of strength. When her request had been granted she addressed no expressions of ii t si f( THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 179 revolve e careful k, locked penchmaii gratitude to Agnes , slie oniy aaid, * Feel no fear, Miss, of my attempting to escape you. Where you are, there I must be till the end comes.' Her eyes wandered round the room with a last weary and stupefied look. She returned to nei- writing ^vith .slow ani.1 feeble steps, like the steps of an old woman. ; trembled jport her. ridor, and ,s the room (Id days of ledchamber ;wo days it when they rved tigure I deserved went on in The Baron riting with 'he effort of iss familiar I's lifetime, lished play, Ith. When ^ressions of I CHAFI EK XXIV. HENRY and Agnes were left alone in the Room of the Caryatides. The person who had written the description of the palace — probably a poor author or artist — had correctly pointed out the defects of the mantel-piece. Bad taste, exhibiting itself on the most costly and splendid scale, was visible in every part of the work. It was, nevertheless, greatly admired by ignorant travel- lers of all classes; partly on account of its imposing size, and partly on account of the number of variously-coloured marbles which the sculptor had contrived to introduce into his design. Photographs of the mantel-piece were exhibited in the public rooms, and found a ready sale among English and American visitors to the hotel. Henry led AgneB to the figure on the left, as they stood facing the empty fire-place. ' Shall I try the experiment,' he asked, ' or will you 1 ' She abruptly drew her arm away from him, and turned back to the door. * I can't even look at it,' she said, ' That merciless marble face frightens me ! ' Henry put his hand on the forehead of the figure. ' What is there to alarm you, my dear, in this conventionally classical face ? ' he asked, jestingly. Before he could press the head in- wards. Agues hurriedly opened the door. ' Wait till I am out of the room ! ' she cried. ' The bare idea of what you may find there horrifies me ! ' She looked back into the room as she crossed the threshold. ' I won't leave you altogether,' she said, ' I will wait outside.' 1 of the palace — [ out the If on the ,rt of the Lit travel- size, and 1 marbles is design, he public Linerican od facing |he asked, him, and she said, I' What is classical head in- I am out may find as she she said, THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 181 She closed the door. Left by himself. Heni-y lifted his hand once more to tlm marbl<' foreiicad of the figure. For the second time, he \^tiH checked on the point of setting the machinery of the hiding-place in motion. On this occasion, the interruption camo from an outbreak of friendly voices in the corridor. A. vvoman'H voice cxclHimed, ' Dearest Agnes, how glad I am to see you again ! ' A man's voice followed, ottering to introduce some friend to 'Miss Lockwood.' A third voice (which Henry recognised as the voice of the manager of the hotel) became audihlo next, directing the housekeeper to show the ladies and gentlemeu tlic vacant aj^artments at the other end of the corridor. ' If mort? accommodation is wanted,' the manager went on, ' I have a cJiarining room to let here.' He opened the door as he S]»oke, and found himself face to face with Henry Westwick. ' This is indeed an agreeable surprise, sir ! ' said the mana- ger, cheerfully. ' You are admiring our famous chimney-piece, I see. May I ask, Mr. WestAvick, how you find yourself in the hotel, this time'} Have the supernatural influences afiected your appetite again V *The supernatural influences have spared me, this time,' Henry answered. ' Perhaps you may yet find that the}" have afiected some other member of the family.' He spoke gravely, resenting the familiar tone in which the manager had referred to his previous visit to the hotel. ' Have you just returned 1 ' he asked, by way of changing the topic. * Just this minute, sir. I had the honour of travelling in the same train with friends of yours who have arrrived at the hotel — Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Barville, and their travelling companions. Miss Lockwood is with them, looking at the rooms. They will ,1 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 1.25 a 121 Urn «f Bi III1I2.2 ■IS KS LS 12.0 1.4 I Photographic Sdaices Corporation rV iV >V\ 4 ^\^\ ^ -<^.i* 23 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) I7^-4S03 /> J 'A % 182 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. be here before long, if they find it convenient to have an extra room at their disposal.' This announcement decided Henry on exploring the hiding- place before the interruption occurred. It had crossed his mind, when Agnes left hira, that he ought perhaps to have a witness, in the not very probable event of some alarming discovery taking place." The too-familiar manager, suspecting nothing, was there at his disposal. He turned again to the Caryan figure, mali- ciously resolving to make the manager his witness. * I am delighted to hear that our friends have arrived at last, he said. * Before I shake hands with them, let me ask you a question about this queer work of art here. I see photographs of it downstairs. Are they for sale 1 ' 'Certainly, Mr. Westwick.' ' Do you think the chimney-piece is as solid as it looks ? ' Henry proceeded. * When you came in, I was just wondering whether this figure here had not accidentally got loosened from tlie wall behind it.' He laid his hand on the marble forehead, for the third time. ' To my eye, it looks a little out of the per- pendicular. I almost fancy I could jog the head just now, when I touched it.' He pressed the head inwards as he said those word... A bound of jarring iron was instantly audible behind the wall. The solid hearthstone in front of the fire-place turned slowly at the feet of the two men, and disclosed a dark cavity below. At the same moment, the strange and sickening combination of odours, hitherto associated with the vaults of the old palace and with the bedchamber beneath, now floated up from the open re- cess, and filled the room. The manager started back. ' Good God, Mr. Westwick ! ' he exclaimed, ' what does thia mean ? ' u THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 183 3 an extra ^ he hiding- l his mind, a witness, ery taking , was there ^iire, mali- recl at last, I ask you a hotographs it looks? ' wondering ened from forehead, of the per- now, when said those d tlie wall, ned slowly dty below, jination of palace and le open re- twiok ! ' he Kemembering, not only what his brother Francis had felt in the room beneath, but what the experience of Agnes had been on the previous night, Henry was determined to be on his guard. * I am as much surprised as you are,' was his only reply. * Wait for me one moment, sir,' said the manager. ' I must stop the ladies and gentlemen outside from coming in.' He hurried away — not forgetting to close the door after him. Henry opened the window, and waited there breathing the purei' air. Vague apprehensions of the next discovery to come, filled his mind for the first time. He was doubly resolved, now, not to stu^ a step in the investigation without a witnes& The manager returned with a wax taper in his hand, which he lighted as soon as he entered the room. * We need fear no interruption now,' he said. ' Be so kind, Mr. Westwick, as to hold the light. * It is my business to find out what this extraordinary discovery means.' Henry held the taper. Looking into the cavity, by the dim and flickering light, they both detected a dar>: object at the bottom of it. * I think I can reach the thing,' the manager re- marked, * if I lie down, and put my hand into the hole ' He knelt on the floor — and hesitated. ' Might I ask you, sir, to give me my gloves ? ' he said. ' They are in my hat, on the chair behind you.* Henry gave him the gloves. ' I don't know what I may be going to take hold of,' the manager explained, smiling rather uneasily as he put on his right glove. He stretched himself at full length on the floor, and passed his right arm into the cavity. * I can't say exactly what I have got hold of,' he said. 'But I have got it.' Half raising himself, he drew his hand out. The next instant he started to his feet with a shriek of 184 THK HAUNTED HOTEL. terror. ▲ humao head dropped from his nerveless grasp on the floor, Mid rolled to Henry's feet. It was the hideous head that Agnes had seen hovering above her, in the vision of the night ! The two men looked at each other, both struck speechless by the same emotion of hon'or. The manager was the first to control himseli * See to the door, for Grod's sake ! ' he said 'Some of the people outside may have heard me.' Henry moved mechanically to the door. Even when he had his hand on the key, ready to turn it in the lock in ose of necessity, he still looked back at the appal- ling object on the floor. There was no possibility of identifying those decayed and distorted features with any living creature whom he had seen — and yet, he was conscious of feeling a vague and awful doubt which shook him to the soul. The ques- tions which tortured the mind of Agnes, were now kis questions too. He asked himself, ' Tn whose likeness might T have recog- nised it before the decay set in 1 The likeness of Ferrari ? or the likeness of 1 ' He paused trembling, as Agnes had paused trembling before him. Agnes I The name, of all women's names the dearest to him, was a terror to him now ! Wliat was he to say to her ? What might be the consequence if he trusted her with the terrible truth % No footsteps approached the door ; no voices were audible outside. The travellers were still occupied in the rooms at the eastern end of the corridor. In the brief interval that had passed, the manager had suffici ently recovered himself to be able to think once more of the first and foremost interest of his life — the interest of the hotel He approached Henry anxiously. * If tiiis frightful discovery becomes known,' he said, ' the grasp on 30US liead bu of the Bchless by to control seems to be exercised by all horrible sights, drew him ba.k again to the ghastly object on the floor. Dream or reality, how had Agnes survived the sight of it ? As the question passed through his mind, he noticed for the first time something lying on the floor near the head. Looking closer, he perceived a thin little plate of gold, with three false teeth attached to it, which had apparently dropped out (loosened by the shock) when the manager let the head fall on the floor. The importance of this discovery, and the necessity of not t-oo readily communicating it to others, instantly struck Henry. Here surely was a chance — if any chance remained — of identi- fying the shocking relic of humanity which lay before him, the dumb witness of a crime ! ' Acting on this idea, he took possession of the teeth, purposing to use them as a last means of inquiry when other attempts at investigation had been tried and had failed. He went back again to the window : the solitude of the room began to weigh on his spirits. As he looked out again at the view, there was a soft knock at the door. He hastened to open it — and checked himself in the act. A doubt occurred to him. Was it the manager who had knocked ? He called out, •Who is there?' The voice of Agnes answered him. ' Have you anjrthing to tell me, Henry V He was hardly able to reply. 'Not just now,* he said, con- fusedly. ' Forgive me if I don't open the door. I will speak to you A little later.' The sweet voice made itself heard again, pleading with him piteously. ' Don't leave me alone, Henrj 1 I can't go back to the happy people downstairs.' THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 187 on which , kirn back ght of it 1 }d for the Looking , ;hree false b (loosened L the floor, jity of not ck Henry, —of identi- •efore him, a,, he took last means been tried iide of the ut again at lastened to 3ccurred to called out, mything to e said, con- will speak How con Id he resist that appeal l He heard her sigh — he lieard the rustling of her dress as she moved away in despair. The very thing that he had shrunk from doing but a few minutes since was the thing that he did now ! He joined Agnes in the corridor. She turned as she heard him, and pointed trembling in tne airection of the closed looui. * Is it so terrible as that 'i ' she asked faintly. He put his arm round her to sujiport her. A thought came to him as he looked at her, waiting in doubt and fear for his reply. ' You shall decide the question for yourself/ he said, * if you will tirst put on your hat and cloak, and come out with lie.' She was naturally surprised. ' Can you tell me your object in going out '{ ' she asked. He owned what his object was unreservedly. * I want, before ill things,' he said, * to satisfy your mind and mine on the sub- ject of Montbarry's death. I am going to take you to the doctor who attenided him in his illness, and to the consul who followed him to the grave.' Her eyes rested on Henry gi-atef ully. * Oh, how well you understand me ! ' she said. The manager joined them at the same moment, on hid way up the stairs, Henry gave him the key of the room, and then called to the servants in the hall to have a gondola ready at the steps. * Are you leaving the hotel? ' the manager asked. *In search of evidence,' Henry whispered, pointing to the key. * If the authorities want me, I shall be back in an hour.* g with him go back to CHAPTER XXV THE cCay had advanced to evening. Lord Montbany and the bridal party had gone to the opera, Agnes alone, pleading the excuse of fatigue, remained at the hotel. Having kept up appearances by accompanying his friends to the theatre, Henry Westwick slipped away after the first act and joined Agnes in the drawing-room * Have you thought of what I said to you earlier in the day 1 ' he asked, taking a chair at her side. * Do you agree with me that the one dreadful doubt which oppressed us both is at least set at rest ? ' Agnes shook her head sadly. * I wish I could agree with you, Henry — I wish I could honestly say that my mind is at ease. The answer would have discouraged most men. Henry's pa- tience (where Agnes was concerned) was equal to any demands on it. * If you will only look back at the events of the day,' he said, *you must surely admit that we have not been completely baffled. Remember how Dr. Bruno disposed of our doubts : — " After thirty years of medical practice, do you think I am likely to mistake the symptoms of death by bronchitis 1 " If ever there was an unanswerable question, there it is ! Was the consul's testimony doubtful in any part of it ? He called at the palace to offer his services, after hearing of Lord Montbariy's death ; he arrived at the time when the coffin was in the house 'f he himself saw the corpse placed in it, and the lid screwed down. The evidence of the priest was equally beyond THE HAUNTRD HOTEL. 180 ►any and les alone, Having ?. theatre, ,d joined the day 1 '' with me Ls at least ^ee with aind is at enry s pa- demands he said, ompletely oubts : — nk I am tis?" If "Was the ed at the ntbariy's IS in the the lid y beyond dispute. Ho remained in the room with the coffin, reciting the prayers for the dead, until the fimeral left the palace. Bear all these statements in mind, Agnes ; and how can you deny that the question of Montbarry's death and burial is a question set at rest ? Wo have xcsXly but one doubt left : we have still to ask ourselves whetlier the remains which I dis- covered are the remains of the lost courier or not. There is the case as I understand it Have I stated it fairly ? ' Agnes could not deny that he had stated it fairly. * Then what prevents you from experiencing the same sense of relief that I feel 1 ' Henry asked. What I saw lasi< night prevents me,' Agnes answered. ' When we spoke of this subject, after our inquiries were over, you reproached me with taking, what you called, the super- stitious ^ Jew, I don't quite admit that — but I do acknowledge that I should find the superstitious view intelligible if I heard it expressed by some other person. Remembering what your brother and I once were to each other in the bygone time. T can understand the apparition making itself visible to Me, to claim the mercy of Christian burial, and the vengeance due to a crime. I can even perceive some faint possibility of truth in the ex- planation which you described as the mesmeric theory — that what I saw might be the result of magnetic influence commu- nicated to me, as I lay between the remains of the murdered husband above me and the guilty wife suflering the tortures of remorse at my bedside. But what I do not understand is, that I should have passed through that r her own no: at the here is the »wn hands, lony to be ng by my '♦* Agnes and I dis- )pened the so many an(.l that I n with her I was it the hea>i ,t the man- evidence, tempting was to be tion. For i up from d, " AVhat the head. I answered that it was to be privately buried, after photographs of it had first been taken. I even went the length of commu- nicating the opinion of the surgeon consulted, that some chem- ical means of arresting decomposition had bees used, and had only partially succeeded-^and I asked her point-blank if the surgeon was right ? The trap was not a bad one — but it completely failed. She said in the coolest maimer, "Now you are here, I should like to consult you about my play ; I am at a loss for some new incidents." Mind ! there was nothing satirical in this. She was really eager to read her wonderful work to me — evidently supposing tha^ I took a special interest in such things, because my brother is the manager of a theatre 1 I left her, making the first excuse that occurred to me. So far as I am concerned, I can do nothing with her. But it is pos- sible that your influence may succeed with her again, as it has succeeded already. Will you make the attempt, to satisfy your own mind? She is still upstairs; and I am quite ready to accompany you.' Agnes shuddered at the bare suggestion of another interview with the Countess. * I can't! I daren't!' she exclaimed. 'After what has hap- pened in that horrible room, she is more repellent to me than ever. Don't ask me to do it, Henry ! Feel my hand — you ha\ 3 turned me as cold as death only with talking of it ! * She was not exaggerating the terror that possessed her. Henry hastened to change the subject. * Let us talk of something more interesting,' he said, * I have a question to ask you about yourself. Am I right in believing that the sooner you get away from Venice the happier you will be?' 192 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * Right 1 ' she repeated, excitedly. * You are more than vv^ht f No words can say how I long to be aw.iy from this horrible plact). But you know how I am situated — you lieard what Lord Montbarry said at dinner-time ? ' ' Suppose he has altered his plans since dinner-time ? ' Henry suggested. Agnes looked surprised. * I thought he had received letters from England which obliged him to leave Venice to-morrow,' she said. ' Quite true/ Henry admitted. * He had arranged to start for England to-morrow, and to leave you and Lady Montbarry and the children to enjijy your holiday in Venice under my care. Circumstances have occurred, however, which have forced him to alter his plans. He must take you all back with him to- morrow, because I am not able to assume the charge of you. I am obliged to give up my holiday in Italy, and retiu'n to England too.' Agnes looked at him in some little perplexity : she was not quite sure whether she understood him or not. * Are you really obliged to go back ? ' she asked. Henry smiled as he answered her. ' Keep the secret,' he said, * or Montbarry will never forgive me ! ' She read the rest in his face. * Oh?' she exclaimed, blushing brightly, ' you have not given up your pleasant holiday in Italy on my account V ' I shall go back with you to England, Agnes. That will be holiday enough for me.' She took his hand in an irrepressible outburst of gratitude. ' How good you are to me ! ' bhe murmured tenr'firly. ' What should I have done in the troubles that have come to me, with- 11 right r horrible •d what Henry I letters Qorrow,' stai't for irry and my care, •ccd him him to- of you. etm'n to was not .re you |cret,' he >lushing , in Italy Ihat will ratitude. What le, with- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 193 out your sympathy 1 I can't tell you, Henry, how I feel your kindness. She tried impulsively to lift his hand to her lips. He gently stopped her. 'Agnes,' he said, 'are you beginning to under stand how ti-uly I love you ? ' That simple question found its own way to her heart. She owned the whole truth, without saying a word. She looked at him — and then looked away again. He drew her to his bosom. 'My own darling ! ' he whispered — and kissed her. Softly and tremulously, the sweet lips lin- gered, and touched his lips in return. Then her head drooped. She put her arms round his neck, and hid her face in his bosom. They spoke no more. The charmed silence had lasted but a little while, when it was mercilessly broken by a knock at the door. Agnes started to her feet. She placed herself at the piano : the instrument being opposite to the door, it was impossible, when she seated herself on the music-stool, for any person en- tering the room to see her face. Henry called out irritably, ' Come in.' The door was not opened. The person on the other side asked a strange question. • Is Mr. Henry V/"estwick alone 1 ' Agnes instantly recognized the voice of the Countess. She hurried to a second door, which communicated with one of the ))ed-rooms. * Don't let her come near me ! ' she whispered ner- vously. * Good night, Henry 1 good night ! ' If Henry could, by an effort of will, have transported the Countess to the uttermost ends of the earth, he would have made the effort without remorse. As it was, he only repeated, more irritably than ever, * Come in ! ' 194 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. Ill- M She entered the room slowly with her everlasting manuscript in her hand. Her step was unsteady ; a dark flush appeared on her face, in place of its customary pallor ; her eyes were blood-shot and widely dilated. In approaching Henry, she showed a strange incapability of calculating her distances — she struck against the table near which he happened to be sitting. When she spoke, her articulation was confused, and her pronunciation of some of the longer words was hardly in- telligible. Most men would have suspected her of being under the influence of some intoxicating liquor. Henry took a truer view — he said, as he placed a chair for her, * Countess, I am afraid you have been working too hard : you look as if you wanted rest.' She put her hand to her head. * My invention has gone,' she said. *I can't ^Tite my fourth act It's all a blank — all a blank ! ' Henry advised her to wait till the next day. * Go to bed,' he suggested ; * and try to sleep.* , She waved her liand impatiently. * I must finish the play,' she answered. *I only want a hint from you. You must know something about plays. Your brother has got a theatre. You must often have heard him talk about fourth and fifth acts — you must have seen rehearsals, and all the rest of it.' She abruptly thrust the manuscript into Henry's hand. * I can't read it to you,' she said ; ' I feel giddy when I look at my own writing. Just run your eye over it, there's a good fellow — and give me a hint.' Henry glanced at the manuscript. He happened to look at the list of the persons of the drama. As he read the list he started and turned abruptly to the Countcos, intending to ask lier for some explanation. The words were suspended on his THE HAtJNTED HOTEL. 195 amiscript appeared syes were enry, she stances — aed to be ^ 'used, and hardly in- jing under tok a truer bess, I am : as if you gone, she ank — all a >o to bed,' the play,' You must a theatre. id fifth acts )f it.' She *I can't at my own ellow — and i to look at the list he ling to ask dcd on his lipa It was but too plainly useless to speak to her. Her head lay back on the upper rail of the chair. She seemed to be half asleep already. The flush on her face had deepened : she looked like a woman who was in danger of having a fit. He rang the bell, and directed the man who answered it to send one of ^^hc; chambermaids upstairs. His voice seemed to partially rouse the Countess ; she opened her eyes in a slow drowsy way. * Have you read it ? ' she asked. It was necessary as a mere act of humanity to humour her. * I will read it willingly,' said Henry, * if you will go upstairs to bed. You shall hear what I think of it to-morrow morning. Our heads will be clearer, we shall be better able to make the fourth act in the morning.' The chambermaid came in while he was speaking. * I am afraid the lady is ill,' Henry whispered. ' Take her up to her room.' The woman looked at the Countess and whispered back. * Shall we send for a doctor, sir ? ' Henry advised taking her upstairs first, and then asking the manager's advice. There was great difficulty in persuading her to lise, and accept the support of the chambermaid's arm. It was only by reiterated promises to read the play that night, and to make the fourth act in the moining, that Henry prevailed on the Countess to return to her room. Left to himself, he began to feel a certain languid curiosity in relation to the manuscript. He looked over the pages, read- ing a line here and a line there. Suddenly he changed colour as he read — and looked up from the manuscript like a man be- wildered. * Good God 1 what does this maan ? he said to hin\- self. His eyes turned nervously to th,« door by which Agnes had 196 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. left him. She might return to the drawing-room ; she might want to see what the Countess had written. He looked back ac,i in at the passage which startled him— considered with hizi- sdf for a moment — and suddenly and softlj loft tho room. M CHAPTER XXVI. ENTERING his own room on the upper floe?, Henry piuced the manuscript on his table, open at the first leaf. His nerves were unquestionably shaken ; his hand trembled as he turned the pages ; he started at chance noises on the staircase of the hotel. The scenario, or outline, of the Countess's Play began with no formal prefatory phrases. She presented lici-sclf and lier work with the easy familiarity of an old friend. * Allow me, dear Mr. Francis Westwick, to introduce to vou the persons in my propoecd Play. Behold them, arranged symmetrically in a line. * ]My Lord. The Baron. The Courier. The Doctor. The Countess. * I don't trouble myself, you see, to invent fictitious family names. My characters are sufficiently distinguished by their social titles, and by the striking contrast which they present one with another. 'The First Act opens * No ! Before I open the First Act, I must announce, in justice to myself, that this Play is entirely the work of my own invention. I scorn to borrow from actual events ; and, wliat is more extraordinary still, I have not stolen one of my ideas from the Modern Frencli drama. As the mr.i.cv^or of an Eng- lish theatre, you will naturally refuse to believe this. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters — except the opening of my first tvot. I I I w 198 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. * We are at Homburg, in the famous Salon d'Or, at the height' of the season. The Countess (exquisitely dressed) is seated at the green table. Strangers of all nations are standing behind the players, venturing their money or only looking on. My Lord is among the strangers. He is struck by the Countess's personal appearance in which beauties and defects are fantas- tically mingled in the most attractive manner. He watches the Countess's game, and places his money where he sees her deposit her own little stake. She looks round at him, and says " Don't trust to my colour ; 1 have been unlucky the whole evening. Place your stake on the other colour, and you may have a chance of -♦^inning." My Lord (a true Englishman) blushes, bows, and obeys. The Countess proves a true prophet. She loses again. My Lord wins twice the sum that he has risked. ' The Countess rises from the tabla S])0 has no more money, and she offers my Lord her chair. * Instead of taking it, he politely places his winnings in her hand, and begs her to accept the loan as a favour to himself. The Countess stakes again, and loses again. My Lord smiles superbly, and presses a second loan on her. From that moment her luck turns. She wins, and wins largely. Her brother, the Baron, trying his fortune in another room, hears of what is going on, and joins my Lord and the Countess. 'Pay attention, if you please, to the Baron. He in delineated as a remarkable and intert^sting character. ' This noble person has begun life with a single-minded de- votion to tlie science of experimental chemistry, very surprising in a young and handsome man with a brilliant future before liim. A profound knowledge of the oocnlt sciences has per- suaded thQ Baron that it is possible to solve the famous problem THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 199 9 height 3ated at ; behind n. My )untess's B f antas- bcbes the sees her and says le whole you may ;lishman) prophet. ,t he has ro money, igs in her himself, rd smiles Lt moment [other, the If what is Iclineatcd lindcd de- uirprising lie before has per- ls problem called the " Philosopher's Stone." His own pecuniary re- sources have long since been exhausted by his costly experiment. His sister has next supplied him with the small fortune at her disposal ; reserving only the family jewels, placed in the charge of her banker and friend at Frankfort. The Countess's fortune also being swallowed up, the Baron has in a fatal moment sought for new supplies at the gaming table. He proves, at starting on his perilous career, to be a favourite of fortune; wins largely, and alas ! profanes his noble enthusiasm for science by yielding his soul to the all-debasing passion of the gamester. ' At the period of the Play the Baron's good foitune has de- serted him. He sees his way to a crowning ex^jeriment in the fatal search af oer the secret of transmuting the baser metals into gold. But how is he to pay the preliminary expenses? Destiny like a mocking echo, answers How 1 ' * Will his sister's winnings (with my Lord's money) prove large enough to help him 1 Eager for this result, he gives the Countess his advice how to play. F jm that disastrous mo- ment the infection of his own adverse fortune spreads to his sister. She loses again, and again — loses to the last farthing. * The amiable and wealthy Lord offers a third loan ; but the scrupulous Countess positively refuses to take it. On leaving the table, she presents her brother to my Lord. The gentlemen fall into pleasant talk. My Lord asks leave to pay his respects to the Countess, the next morning, at her hotel. The Baron hospitably invites him to breakfast. My Lord accepts, with a last admiring glance at the Countess which does not escape her brother's observation, and takes his leave for the nights 'Alone with his sister, the Baron speaks out plainly. "Our affairs," he says, " are in a desperate condition, and must find a desperate remedy. Wait for me here while I make inquiries 200 THE HAUlfTED HOTEL. about my Lord. iTou have evidently produced a strong im- ' pression on Mm. If we can turn that impression into money,' no matter at what sacrifice, the thing must be done." * The Countess now occupies the stage alone, and indulges in a soliloquy which develops her character. 'It is at once a dangerous and attractive character. Im- mense capacities for good are implanted in her nature, side by side with equally remarkable capacities for evil. It rests with circumstances to develop either the one or the other Being a person who produces a sensation wherever she goes, this noble lady is naturally made the subject of all sorts of scandalous reports. To one of ijhese reports (which falsely and abominably points to the Baron as her lover mstead ot her b 'other) she, now refers with just indignation. She has just expressed her desire to leave Homburg, as the p'ace in which the vile calumny first took its rise, when the Baron returns, overhears her last words, and says to her, " Yes, leave Homburg by all means ; provided you leave it in the character of my Lord's betrothed wife!" * The Countess is startled and shocked. She protests that she does not reciprocate my Lord's admiration for her. She even goes the length of refusing to see him again. The Baron answers, "I must positively have command of money. Take youi' choice, between marrying my Lord's income, in the in- terest of my grand discovery — or leave me to sell myself and my title to the first rich woman of low degree who is ready to buy me." * The Countess listens in surprise and dismay. Is it possible that the Baron is in earnest? He is horribly in earnest " The woman who will buy me," he says, "is m the next room to us at this moment. She is the wealthy widow of a Jewish THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 201 ng im- money,* ilges in r. Im- side by its with Being a is noble ndalous ninably tier) shf- ised her ialumny her last means; jtrothed ;hat she le even Baron Take the in- elf and •eady to possible earnest, t room Jewish iisui-e?'. She has the money I want to reach the solution of the great problem. I have only to be that woman's husband, and to make myself master of untold millions of gold. Take five minutes to consider what I have said to you, and tell me on my return which of us is to marry for the money I want, you or I." * As ho turns away, the Countess stops him. * All the noblest sentiments in her nature are exalted to the highest pitch, " Where is the true woman," she exclaims, " who wants time to consummate the sacrifice of herself, when the man to whom she is devoted demands it ? " She does not want five minutes — she does not want five seconds — she holds out her hand to him, and she says " Sacrifice me on the altar of your glory ! Take as stepping-stones on the way to your triumph, my love, my liberty, and my life ! " * On this grand situatioii the curtain falls. Judging by my first act, Mr. Westwick, tell me truly, and don't be afraid of turning my head : — Am I not capable of writing a good play 9' Henry paused between the First and Second Acts ; reflecting, not on the merits of the Play, but on the strange resemblance which the incident ' so far presented to the incidents that had attended the disastrous marriage of the first Lord Montbarry. Was it possible that the Countess, in the present condition of her mind, supposed herself to be exercising her invention when she was only exercising her memory ? The question involved consideration too serious to be made the subjecu o* a hasty decision. Reserving his opinion, Heni-y 202 THE HAUNTED HOTEL turned the page, and devoted himself to the reading of tjio next act. The manuscript proceeded as follows : — 'The Second Act opens at Venice. An interval of four months has elapsed since the date of the scene at the gambling table. The action now takes place in the reception-room of one of the Venetian palaces. * The Baron is discovered, alone, on the stage. He reverts to the events which have happened since the close of the First Act. The Countess has sacrificed herself ; the mercenairy mar- riage has taken place — but not without obstacles, caused by difference of opinion on the question of marriage settlements. ' Private inquiHes, instituted in England, have informed the Baron tliat my Lord's income is derived chiefly from, what is called, entailed property. In case of accidents, he is surely bound to do something for his bride ? Let him, for example, insure his life, for a sum proposed by the Baron, and let him so settle the money that his widow shall have it, if he dies first. ' My Lord hesitates. The Baron wastes no time in useless discussion. "Let us by all means" (he says) "consider the marriage as broken ofi!" My Lord shifts his ground, and pleads for a smaller sum than the sum proposed. The Baron briefly replies, "I never bargain." My Lord is in love ; the natural result follows — he gives way. ' So far, the Baron has no cause to complain. But my Lord's, turn comes, when the marriage has been celebrated, and when the honeymoon is over. The Baron has joined the mar- .ried pair at a palace which they have hired in Venice. He is still bent on solving the problem oi the " Philosoplier's Stone." His laboratory is set up in the vaults beneath the palace — so that ^raells from chemical experiments may not incommode the Coun- THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 203 ig of tbo ,1 of four gambling ii-roora of reverts to the First nairy mar-, caused by ements. informed om, what is surely .' example, id let him dies first, in useless sider the nd pleads n briefly natural lay Lord's. |ted, and the mar- . He is Is Stone." -so that Ihe Coun- tess, in the higher regicas of the house. Tho one obstacle in the way of his grand discovery is, as usual, tho want of money. His position at the present time has become truly critical. Ho owes debts of honour to gentlemen in his own rank of life, which must positively be paid and he proposes, in his own friendly manner, to borrow the money of my Lord. My Lord positively refuses, in tho rudest terms. Tho Baron applies to his sister to exercise her conjugal influence. She can only ans- wer that her noble husband (being no longer distractedly in love with her) now appears in his true character, as one of the meanest men 1 iving. The sacrifice of the marriage has been made, and has already proved useless. ' Such is the state of afiairs at the opening of the second act. ' The entrance of the Countess suddenly disturbs the Baron's reflections. She is in a state bordering on frenzy. Incoherent expressions of rage burst from her lips : it Ig some time before she can sufficiently control herself to speak plainly. She has been doubly insulted — first, by a menial person in- her employ- ment ; secondly, by her husband. Her maid, an Englishwoman, has declared that she will serve the Countess no longer. She will give up her wages, and return at once to England. Being asked her reason for this strange proceeding, she insolently hints that the Countess's service is no service for an honest woman, since the Baron has entered the house. The Countess does, what any lady in her position would do ; she indignantly dis. misses the wretch on the spot. ' My Lord, hearing his wife's voice raised in anger, leaves the study in which he is accustomed to shut himself up over his books, and asks what this disturbance means. The Countess informs him of the outrageoxis language and conduct of her maid. My Lord not only declares his entire approval of the 204 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. woman's conduct j but expresses his own . . anable doubts of his wife's fidelity, in language of such horrible bnualiiy that no lady could pollute her lips by repeating it. ' If I had been a man," the Countess says : " and if I had had a weapon in my hand, I would have struck him dead at my feet ! " * The Baron, listening silently so far, now speaks. ''Permit mo to finish the sentence for you," he says. ** You would have struck your husband dead at your feet ; and by that rash act, you would have deprived yourself oi the insurance money set- tled on the widow — the very money which is wanted to relieve your brother from the unendurable pecuniary position which he now occupies ! " * The Countess gfavely reminds the Baron thac this is no joking matter. After what my Lord has said to her, she has little doubt that he will communicate his infamous suspicions to his lawyers in England. If nothing is done to prevent it, she may be divorced and disgraced, and thrown on the world, with no resource but the sale of her jewels to keep her irom starving. * At this moment, the Courier who has been engaged to travel wila my Lord from England, crosses the stage with a letter to take to the post. The Countess stops him, and asks to look at the address on the letter. She takes it from him for a moment, and shows it to her brother. The handwriting is my Lord's ; and the letter is directed to his lawyers in London. ' The Courier proceeds to the post-office. The Baron and the Countess look at each other in silence. No words are needed. They thoroughly understand the position in which they are tjlaced; they clearly sne the terrible remedy for it. What is the plain alternative before them 1 Disgrace and rum — or, my Lord's cloath I THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 205 * The Baron walks backwards and forwards in great agitation, talking to liimself. The Countess hoars fragments of what he is saying. Ho speaks of my Lord's constitution probably weakened in India — of a cold which my Lord has caught two or three days since — of the remarkable manner in which such slight things as colds sometimes end in serious illness and death. ' lie observes that the Countess is listening to him, and asks if she has anything to propose. She is a woman who, with many defects, has the great merit of speaking out. " Is there no such thing as a serious illness" she asks, " corked up in one of those bottles of yours in the vaults downstairs 'i " * The Baron answers by gravely shaking his head. What is he afraid of ? — a possible examination of the body after death ? No : he can set any post-mortem examination at defiance. It is the process of administering the poison that be dreads. A man so distinguished as my Lord cannot be taken seriously ill without medical attendance. Where there is a doctor there is always danger of discovery. Then, again, there is the Courier, faithful to my Lord as long as my Lord pays him. Even if the Doctor sees nothing suspicious, the Courier may discover something. The poison, to do its work with the necessary se- crecy, must be repeatedly administered in graduated doses. One trifling miscalculation or mistake may rouse suspicion. The insurance office may hear of it, and may refuse to pay the money. As things are, the Baron will not risk it, and will not allow his sister to risk it in his place. ' My Lord himself is the next character who appeal's. He has repeatedly rung for the Courier, and the bell has not been answered, " What does this insolence mean ] " 206 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. The Countess (speaking with quiet dignity — ^for why should her infamous husband have the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he has wounded her?) reminds my Lord that the Coui-ier has gone to the post. My Lord asks suspiciously if she has looked at the letter. The Countess informs him coldly that she has no curiosity about his letters. Referring to the coM from which he is suffering, she inquires if he thinks of consulting a medical man. My Lord answers roughly that he is quite old enough to be capable of doctoring himself. ' As he makes this reply, the Courier appears, returning from the post. My Lord gives him orders to go out again and buy some lemons. He proposes to try hot lemonade as a means of inducing perspiration in bed. In that way he has formerly cured colds, and in that way he will cure the cold from which he is suflfering now. ' The Courier obeys in silence. Judging by appearances he goes very reluctantly on this second errand. * My Lord turns to the Baron (who has thus far taken no part in the conversation) and asks him, in a sneering tone, how much longer he proposes to prolong his stay in Venice. The Baron answers quietly, " Let us speak plainly to one another, my Lord. If you wish me to leave your house, you have only to say the word, and I go." My Lord turns to his wife, and asks if she can support the calamity of her brother's absence — laying a giossly insulting emphasis on the word, "brother." The Countess preserves her impenetrable composure ; nothing in her betrays the deadly hatred with which she regards the titled ruffian who has iosulted her. " You are master in this house, my Lord," is all she says. "Do as you please." * My Lord looks at his wife ; looks at the Baron — and sud- denly alters his tone. Does he perceive in the composure of THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 207 ly should iiig how 9 Courier ; she has that she oM from suiting a quite old •eturning gain and i a means formerly •m which :ances he taken no Dne, how e. The ther, my ly to say asks if -laying The hing in le titled house, ind sud- )sure of the Countess and her brother something lurking under tne sur- face that threatens him ? This is at hnat certain, he makes a clumsy apology for the language that he has used. (Abject wretch 1) * My Lord's excuses are interrupted by the return of the Courier with the lemons and hot water. ' The Countess observes for the first time that the man looks ill. His hands tremble as he places the tray on the table. My Lord orders his Courier to follow him, and make the lemonade in the bedroom. The Countess remarks, that the Courier seems hardly capable of obeying his orders. Hearing this, the man admits that he is ill. He, too, is suffering from a cold ; he has been kept waiting in a draught at the shop where he bought the lemons ; he feels alternately hot and cold, and he begs per- mission to lie down for a little while on his bed. Feeling her humanity appealed to, the Countess volunteers to make the lemonade herself. My Lord takes the Courier by the arm, leads him aside, and whispers these words to him. " Watch her, and see that she puts nothing into the lemonade ; then bring it to me with your own hands ; and, then, go to bed, if you like."' ' Without a word more to his wife, or to the Baron, my Lord leaves the room. * The Countess makes the lemonade, and the Courier takes it to his master. * Returning, on the way to his own room, he is so weak, and feels, he says, so giddy, that he is obliged to support himself by the backs of the chairs as he passes them. The Baron, always considerate to persons of low degree, offers his arm. " I am afraid, my poor fellow," he says, " that vou are really ill." The 208 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. Courier makes this extraordinary answer : *'• It's all over with mo, Sir : I have caught my death." * The Countess is naturally startled. " You are not an old man,'' she says, trying to rouse the Courier's spirits. " At your age, catching cold doesn't surely mean catching your death ? ' The Courier fixes his eyes despairingly on the Countess. ' ** My lungs are weak, my Lady," he says, " I have already had two attacks of bronchitis. The second time, a great physi- cian joined my own Doctor in attendance on me. He consid- ered my recovery almost in the J 'ght of a miracle. Take care of yourself," he said. '' If you have a third a tack of bronchitis, as certainly as two and two make fourj you wiU be a dead man. I feel the same inward shivering, my Lady, that I felt on those two former occasions — and 1 1 ^U you again, I have caught my death in Venice." * Speaking some comfoi-ting words, the B-iron leads him to his room. The Countess is left alone on i he st.T-ge * She seats herself, and looks towards the dcor by which (be Courier has been led out. " Ah ! my poor fellow," she says, " if you could only change constitutions with my Lord, what a happy result would follow for the Baron and for me 1 If you could only get cured of a trumpery cold with a little hot lemon- ade, and if hs could only catch his death in your place — ! " * She suddenly pauses — considers for awhile — and springs to her feet, with a cry of triumphant surprise ; the wonderful, the unparalleled idea has crossed her mind like a iiash of lightning. Make the two men change names and places ; and the deed is done ! Where are the obstacles ? Remove my Lord (by fair means or foul) from his room ; and keep him secretly prisoner in the palace, to live or die as future necessity may determine. Place the Courier m the vacant bed, and call in the doctor to THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 209 with mo, it an old ' At your ' death ? ' B ah:eady jat physi- !e consid- Cake care ronchitis, le a dead hat I felt n, I have um to hi3 hich I be she savs, •rd, what If you it lemon- !" 3rings to brful, the jightning. deed is (by fair isoner in Itcrmine. ioctor to see him — ill, in my Lord's character, and (if he dies) dying un- der my Lord's name.' The manuscript dropped frcm Henry's hands. A si:kening sense of horror overpowered him. The question which had oc- curred to his mind at the close of the First Act of the PJay as- sumed a new and terrible interest now. As far as the scene of the Countess's soliloquy, the incidents of the Second Act had reflected the events of his late brother's life as faithfully as the incidents of the First Act Was the monstrous plot, revealed in the lines which he had just read, the offspring of the Count- ess's morbid imagmation 1 or had she, in this case also, deluded herself with the idea that she was inventing when she was really writing under the influence of her own guilty remembrance of I'he past 1 If the latter interpretation were the true one, he had just read the narrative of the contemplated murder of his ^^rother, planned in cold blood by a woman who was at that mo- ment inhabi' 'ng the same house with him. While, to make the fataliry complete, Agnes herself had innocently provided the con- spirator with the one man who was fitted to be the passive agent of th-^ir cr.'me. Even the bare doubt that it might be so, was more than he could endure. He left his room ; resolved to force the truth out of the Countess, or to denounce her before the authorities as a mnrdoress at large. Arrived at her door, he was met by a person just leaving the room. The person was the manager. He was hardly recognis- able ; he looked and spoke like a man in a state of desperation. 'Oh, go in if you like ! ' he said to Henry. ' Mark this, sir ! I am not a supoistitious man ; but T do begin to believe that crimes carry their own curse with them. This hotel is under N 210 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. a curse. What Imppens m the morning ? We discover a crime committed in the old days of the palace. The light comes, and brings another dreadful event with it — a death ; a sudden and shocking death, in the house. Go in, and see for yourself ! I &hall resign my situation, Mr. Westwick ; I can't contend v/ith fatalities that pursue me here I ' Henry entered the room. The Countess was stretched on her bed. The doctor on one side and the chambermaid on the other, were standing looking lit her. From time to time, she drew a heavy stertorous breath, like a person oppressed in sleeping. ' Is she likely to die 'i ' Henry asked. * She is dead,' the doctor answered. * Dead of the rupture of a blood-vessel on the brain. Those sounds that you hear are purely mechanical — they may go on for hours.' Henry looked at the chambermaid. She had little to tell. The Countess had refused to go to bed, and had i)laced herself at her desk to proceed with her writing. Finding it useless to remonstrate with her, the maid had left the room to speak to the manager. In the shortest possible time, the doctor was sum- moned to the hotel, and found the Countess dead on the floor. There was this to tell — and no more. Looking at the writing-table as he went out, Henry saw the sheet of paper on which the Countess had traced her last lines of writing. The characters were almost illegible. Henry could just distinguish the words, ' First Act,' and 'Persons of the Drama.' The lost wretch had been thinking of her Play to the last, and had begun it all over again I rer a crime comes, and iidden and ourself ! I atend v/ith tor on one iig looking ous breath, y to die'^ I rupture of a hear are ttle to tell, d herself at useless to ipeak to the was sum- 1 the floor. ry saw the T last lines 'enry could ons of the 'lay to the CHAPTER XXVJI. HENRY returned to his room. His tirst impulse was to throw aside the manuscript, and look at it again. The one chance of relieving his mind from the dreadful uncertainty that ojipressed it, by obtaining positive evi- dence of the truth, was a chance annihilated by the Countess's death. What good purpose could be served, what relief could be anticipate, if he read more ? He walked up and down the room. After an interval, his thoughts took a new direction ; the question of the uianusciipt presented itself under another point of view. Thiis far, his reading had only informed him that the conspiracy had been planned. How did he know that the plan had been put in exe- cution. The manuscript lay just before him on the floor. He hesitated — then picked it up ; and, returning to the table, read on as follows, from the point at wliich he had left off. 'While the Countess is still absorbed in the bold yet simple combination of circumstances which she has discovered, the Baron returns. He takes a serious view of tlie case of the Courier ; it may be necessary, he thinks, to send for medical «dvice. No servant is left in the palace, now the English maid has taken her departure. The Baron himself must fetcli the doctor, if the; doctor is really needed. * " Let us have medical help, by all moans," his sister replies. " But wait and hear something that I have to say to you first." She then electrifies the Baion by communicating her idea to him. 212 THE HAUNTED HOTEL What danger of discovery have they to dread ? My Lord's life in Venice has been a life of absolute seclusion : nobody but his banker knows him, even by personal appearance. He has presented his letter of credit as a perfect stranger ; and he and his banker have never seen each other since that first visit. He has given no parties, and gone to no parties. On the few occa- sions when he has hired a gondola or taken a walk, he has al- ways been alone. Thanks to the atrocious suspicion which makes liim ashamed of being scon with his wife, he has led the very life which makes tlie proposed enterprise easy of accomplishment. * The cautious Baron listens — but gives no positive opinion as yet. "See what you can do with the Courier,'' he Gays j " and I will decide when I hear the result. One valuable hint I may give you before you go. Your man is easily tempted by money — if you only offer him enough. The other day I asked him, in jest, what ho would do for a thousand pounds. He answered, * Anything. ' Bear that in mind , and ofier your highest bid without bargaining." ' The scene changes to the Courier's room, and shows the poor wretch with a photographic portiait of his wife in his hand, crying. The Countess enters. * She wisely begins by sympathising with her contemplated accomplice. He is duly grateful ; he conlid(;s his sorrows to his gracious mistress. Now that he believes himself to be on his death-bed, he feels remoi'se for his neglectful treatment of his wife. He could resign himself to die ; but despair over- po\\'ors him when he remembers that he has saved no money, and that he will leave his widow, without resources, to the mcicy of the world. * On this hint the Countess speaks. " Suppose you were asked to do a perfectly easy thing," she says; "and suppose THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 218 (Orel's life body but He has id he and /■isit. He few occa- 16 has al- ch makes the very lisliment. I opinion he says , able hint tempted er day I pounds, fier your ihe poor is hand, mplated rrows to o be on ment of ,ir over- money, to the »u were suppose you were rewarded for doing it by a present of a thousand pounds, as a legacy for your widow 1 " * The Courier raises himself on his pillow, and looks at the Countess with an expression of incredulous surprise. She can hardly be cruel enough (he thinks) to joke with a man in his miserable plight. Will she say plainly what this perfectly easy thing is, the doing of which will meet with such a magni- ficent reward 1 ' The Countess answers that question by confiding her pro- ject to the Courier, without the slightest reserve. > * Some minutes of silence follow when she has done. The Courirr ia not weak enough yet to speak without stopping to think rst. Still keeping his eyes on tlie Countess, he makes a quaintly insolent remark on what he has just heard, " I have not hitherto been a religious man ; but I feel myself on the way to it. Since your ladyship has spoken to me, I believe in the Devil." It is the Countess's interest to see the humorous side of this confession of faith. She takes no oflbnce. She only says, " I will give you half an hour by yourself, to think over my proposal. You arc in danger of death. Decide, in your wife's interests, whether you will die worth nothing, or die worth a thousand pounds." ' Left alone, the Courier seriously considers his position — and decides. He rises with ditllculty ; writes a few lines on a leaf taken from his pocket-bock ; and with slow and faltering steps leaves the room. ' The Countess, returning at the expiration of the Iialf-liour's interval, llnds the room empty. While she is wondering, the Courier opens the door. What has he been doing out of his bed 1 He answers, " I have been pvotoctiiig my own life, iny lady, on the bare chance that I may recover from the bronchitis for 214 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. the third time. If you or the Baron attempt to hurry me out of t]iis woild, or to deprive me of my thousaud pounds reward, I shall tell the doctor where he will find a few lines of writing, which d( scribe your ladyship's plot. I may not have strength enough, in the case sui)posed, to betray you by making a com- plete confession with my own lips ; but I can employ my last breath to speak the half-dozen words which will tell the doctor whore ho is to look Those words, it is needless to add, will be addressed to your ladyship, if I find your engagements towards me faithfully kept." ' With this audacious preface, he proceeds to state the con- ditions on which he will play his part in the conspiracy, and die (if he does die) worth a thousand pounds. * Either the Countess or the Baron arc to taste the food and drink brought to his bedside, in his presence, and even the medicines which the doctor may prescribe for him. As for the money, it is to be produced in one bank note, folded in a sheet of papc;r, on which a line is to be written, dictated by the Courier. The two enclosures are then to be sealed up in an envelope, addressed to his wife, and stamped ready for the post. This done, the letler is to be placed under his pillow ; the Baron or the Countess being at liberty to satisfy themselves, day by day at their own time, that the letter remains in its l)lace, with the seal unbroken, as long as the doctor has any lioiiC of his patient's recovery. The last stipulation follows. The Courier has a conscience ; and with a view to keeping it easy, insis'.s that he shall be left in ignorance of that part of the plot which relates to the sequestration of my Lord. Not that he cares particularly what becomes of his miserly master — but lie does dislike taking other peo})le's responsibilities on his own shouldiirs. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 215 'These conditions being agreed to, the Countess calls in the Baron, who has been waiting events in the next room. ' He is informed that the Courier has yielded to tempta- tion ; but he is still too cautious to make any compromising remarks. Keeping his back turned on the bed, he shows a bottle to the Counteas. It is labelled " Chloroform." She un- derstands that my Lord is to be removed from his room in a convenient state of insensibility. In what part of the palace is he to be hidden? As they open the door to go out, the Countess whispers that question to the Baron. The Baron whis-* pers back, " In the vaults ! " On those words, the curtain falla' pll( lea OHAPTER XXVIIL SO the Second Act ended. Turning to the Third Act, Henry looked wearily at the pages as he let them slip through his fingers. Both in mind and body, ho began to feel the need of repose. In one important respect, the latter portion of the manu- 'script differed from the pages which he had just been reading. Signs of an overwrought brain showed themselves, here and there, as the outline of the Play approached its end. The hand- writing grew worse and worse. Some of the longer sentences were left unfinished. In the exchange of dialogue, questions and answers were not always attributed respectively to the right speaker. At certain intervals the writer's failing intel- ligence seemed to recover itself for awhile; only to relapse again, and to lose the thread of tlie narrative more hopelessly than ever. After reading one or two of the more coherent passages, Henry recoiled from the ever-darkening horror of the story. He closed the manuscript, heartsick and exhausted, and threw him- self on his bed to rest. The door opened almost at the same moment. Lord Montbarry entered the room. ' We have just returned from the Opera,' he said ; * and wc have heard the news of that miserable woman's death. They say you spoke to her in her last moments ; and I want to hear how it happened.' * You shall hear how it happened,' Henry answered ; * and more than that. You are now the head of the family, Ste- imi THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 217 e same phen ; and I feel bound, in the position which oppresses nio, to leave you to decide what ought to be done.' With those introductoiy words, he told his brother how the Countess's Play had come into his hands. * Road the first few pages,' he said, ' I am anxious to know whether the same impression is produced on both of us.' Before Lord Montbarry had got half way through the First Act, he stopped, and looked at his brother. * What does she mean by boasting of this as her own invention,' he asked. ' Was she too crazy to remember that these things really hap- pened ? ' This was enougli for Henry : the same impression had been produced on both of them. ' You will do as you please, he said. ' But if you will be guided by me, spare yourself the read- ing of those pages to come, which describe our brother's terrible expiation of his heartless marriage.' * Have you read it all, Henry ? ' * Not all. I shrank from reading some of the latter part of it. Neither you nor I saw much of our elder brother after we left school; and, for my part, I felt, and never scrupled to ex- press my feeling, that he behav« i infamously to Agnes. But when I read that unconscious confession of the murderous con- spiracy to which he fell a victim, I remembered, with something like remorse, that the same mother bore us. I have felt for him to-night, what I am ashamed to tliiuk I never felt for him before.' Lord Montbariy took his brother's hand. * You are a good fellow, Hcury,' he said ; * but are you quite Bui'e that you have not been needlessly distressing yourself? Because some of this crazy creature's writing accidcutally tells 218 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. what we know to be the truth, does it follow that all the rest is to be relied on to the end V * There is no possible doubt of it,' Henry replied. * No possible doubt 1 ' his brother repeated. ' I shall go on with my reading, Henry — and see what justification there may be for that confident conclusion of yours.' He read on steadily, until he had reached the conclusion of the Second Act. Then he looked uj). * Do you really believe that the mutilated remains which you discovered this morning are the remains of our brother 1 ' ho asked. * And do you believe it on such evidence as this 1 ' Henry answered silently, by a sign in the affirmative. Lord Montbarry checked himself — evidently on the point of entering an indignant protest. * You acknowledge that you have not read the later scenes of the piece,' he said. ' Don't be childish, Henry ? If you persist in pinning your faith on such stuff as this, the least you can do is to make yourself thoroughly acquainted with it. Will you read the third Act? No? Then I shall read it to you.' He turned to the third Act, and ran over those fragmentary passages which were clearly enougli expressed to be intelligible to the mind of a stranger. . * Here is a scene in the vaults of the palace,' he began. * Tlio victim of the conspiracy is sleef)ing on his miserable bed ; and the Baron and the Countess are considering the position in which they stand. The Countess (as well as I can make it out) has raised the money that is wanted, by borrowing on the security of her jewels at Frankfort ; and the Courier upstairs is still declared by the doctor to have a chance of recovery. What are the conspirators to do, if the man does recover ? The cautious Baron suggests setting the prisoner free. If he ven- fcurf bo i the unk letti refii THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 219 tures to appeal to the law, it is easy to declare that he is subject to insane delusion, and to call his owji wife as a witness. On the other hand, if the Courier dies, how is the sequcbtrated and unknown nobleman to be put out of the way ? Passively, by letting him starve in his prison 1 No . the Baron is a man of refined tastes j he dislikes needless cruelty. The active policy remanis. Say, assassination by the knife of a hired bravo ? The Baron objects to trusting an accomplice : also to spending money on any one but himself. Shall they drop their prisoner into the Canal 1 The Baron declines to trust water — water will show him on the surface. Shall they set his bed on fire ? An excellent idea ', but the smoke might be seen. No : pois- oning is no doubt an easier death than he deserves, but there is really no other safe way out of it than to poison him. Is it possible, Henry, that you believe this consultation really took place V Henry made no reply. The succession of questions that had just been read to him exactly followed the succession of the dreams that had terrified Mrs. Norbury, on the two nights which she had passed at the hotel. It was useless to point out this coincidence to his brother. He only said, 'Go on.' Lord Montbarry turned the pages until he came to the next intelligible passage. * Here,' he proceeded, * is a double scene on the stage — so far as I can understand the sketch of it. The doctor is upstairs, innocently writing the certificate of my Lord's decease, by the dead courier's bedside. Down in the vault the Baron stands by the corpse of the murdered lord, preparing the strong chemical acids which are to reduce it to a heap of ashes. — Surely, it is not worth while to trouble ourselves with decyphering such mel- odramatic horrors as these ? Let us get on ! let us get on ! " I 220 THE HAUNTED HOTEL. He turned the leaves again ; attempting vainly to discover the meaning of the confused scenes that followed. On the last page but one he found the last intelligible sentences. * The third Act,' he said, ' seems to be divided into two Parts or Tableaux. I think 1 can read the \viiting at t je beginning of the second Part. Tlie Baron tnd the Countess open the scene. The Baron's hands are mysteriously concealed by gloves. He has reduced the body to ashes, by his own system of crema- tion, with the exception of the head ' Henry interrupted his brother tliore, * Don't read any more ! ' he exclaimed. ' Let us do the Countess justice,' Lord Montbarry persisted. * There are not half a dozen lines more that I can make out. The accidental breaking of his jar of acid has burnt the Baron's hands severely. He is still unable to proceed to the destruction of the head — and the Countess is woman enough (with all her wickedness) to shrink from attempting to take his place — when the first news is received of the coming arrival of the commis- sion of inquiry despatched by the Insurance Olhcta. The Baron feels no alarm. Inquire as the commission may, it is the natural death of the Courier (in my Lord's character) that they are blindly investigating. The head not being destroyed, the obvious alternative is to hide it — and the Baron is equal to the occasion. His studies in the old library have informed him of a safe place of concealment in the palace. The Countess may recoil from handling the acids, and watching the process of cre- mation. But she can surely sprinkle a little disinfecting powder ' ' No more ! ' Henry reiterated. * No more.' * There is no more that can be read, my dear fellow. The last pag tha sitti THE HAUNTED HOTEL. 221 page looks like sheer deliriuui. She may well have told you that her invention had failed her ! * 'Face the truth honestly, Stephen — and say her memory.' Lord jNIontbarry rose from the table at which ho had been sitting, and looked at his brother with pitying eyes. * Your nerves are out of order, Henry,' he said. ' And no wonder, after that frightful discovery under the hearth-stone. We won't dispute about it ; we will wait a day or two until you are quite yourself again. In the meantime, let us under- stand each other on one point at least. You leave the question of what is to be done with these pages of wiiting to me, as the the head of the family 1 ' 'I do.' Lord Montbairy quietly took up the manuscript, and threw it into the fire. * Let this rubbish be of some use,' he said, holding the pages down with the poker. * The room is getting chilly — let the Countess's Play set some of these charred logs flaming again.' He waited a little at the fire-place, and returned to his brother. ' Now, Henry, I have a last word to say, and then I have done. I am ready to admit that you have stum- bled, by an unlucky chance, on the proof of a crime committed in the old days of the palace, nobody knows how long ago. With that one concession, I dispute everything else. Rather than agree in the opinion you have formed, I won't believe any- thing that has happened. The supernatural influences that some of us felt when we flrst slept in this hotel — ^your loss of appetite, our sister's dreadful dreams, the smell that overpowered Francis, and the head that appeared to Agnes — I declare them all to be sheer delusions ! I believe in nothing, nothing, nothing ! ' He opened the door to go out, and looked back into the room. ' Yes,' he resumed, * there is one thing I believe in. My wife «)•>•) THE HAUNTED HOTEL. has committed a breach of contidence — I belioNo Agnes will maiTy you. Good night, Henry. We leave Venice the lirsl thing to-morrow morning.' So Lord Montbarry disposal of the mystery of TJ)'' Haunted Hotel. 'i i i I roSTCRIPT. A LAST means of dcoidinfj; tlui (rtin^i'cnco of opinion hv, tw(;en tho two biotluTH whh Htill in Htniry's jiosacssion. Ho had las own idea of tlui use. io which lio nii^^lit put tbo false tootli, as a iikiuuh of imjuiry, whcui hi.s tVillow-travclh^H re* turned to l']ii:j;hind. The only surviving;; depository of tho doiiKistic luHtory of tlu! family in past years was A^ncis liOt;kwo;)d'H old iiiirsi!. Henry took his first opportunity of tryinjj; to i-(!vivo her peisonal rtjcol- lections of the deceascnl Lord Montbarry. But tluj nurso had never forgiven th(5 gr(;at man of the f.unily for his des(!rtion of Alines : she llatly rofused to consult \\v.r memory. * Even the bare sight of my lord, when [ last saw him in London,' said tho old woman, ' niado my linger-nails itch to set their mark on his face, I was mni on an (irrand hy Miss Agn