The dead man's message; an occult romance

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Professor in the Bosom of his Family, 5

II. A Pleasant Evening, 21

Chapter 1. The Professor In The Bosom Of His Family

Professor Aldwyn was seated in his library, deeply absorbed in the perusal of an article in the latest number of the Fin du Siecle magazine, his slippered feet stretched out on a t^elvet footstool before him, in front of a blazing fire. It was a magnificent fire. The crisp, frosty March air made the huge logs crackle and burn till the fiery sparks flew up the wide chimney in a shower of brilliance. The Professor’s easy chair was the very easiest that can be imagined ; under his head was a little crimson plush bolster that fitted into the hollow of his neck, and his ample dressing-gown folded over his figure in the most luxurious fashion. In fact, the Professor may be said to have been completely comfortable.

The room which he occupied evinced signs of wealth and good taste. It was almost lined with books ; from the ceiling to the floor were rows and rows of shelves filled with valuable and well-bound volumes, collected by their owner during the entire period of his life, which had now extended over some five and fifty years. The Professor lived in his books ; he cared for nothing else. He may almost be said to have eaten and drank books, for he seldom appeared at the domestic meals without one in his hands, which he would prop up

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against a tumbler or a cruet stand in front of him, and devour, in turn, with his dinner.

The carpet of the library was of rich, velvet pile ; the writing table, capacious and fitted with every necessary and convenience ; the chairs and sofas were substantial and luxurious. Heavy curtains shaded the windows and door, and two large argand lamps lighted the room by night. But, further than this, there was no elegance about the Professor’s library ; no flowers, nor dainty little tables, nor signs of feminine occupation were scattered about. It was essentially a man’s room — but the room of a man who knew how to look after himself. Professor Aldwyn lay back in his chair, with his pale-blue eyes, assisted by spectacles, gazing intently at his book. The article that riveted his attention was entitled, “Is Self-delusion Insanity?” And, as he devoured it, he kept on making low murmurs of appreciation and acquiescence.

“Very good! True, quite true. I must talk the matter over with Bunster ; and I should like to hear what Robson has to say on the subject. I will send them a wire to come in this evening, and we’ll argue it out together.”

And the Professor stretched out his feet still nearer to the generous, grateful fire, and reveled in its warmth. At this moment, there sounded a tap on the library door, a timid, hesitating tap, as if the tapper were not at all certain of the reception that would follow it.

“ Come in ! ” growled the Professor.

The door opened, and on the threshold stood one

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of the prettiest young women to be seen in a day’s march. She was tall and slender, with a fair complexion tinted like a wild rose, and soft, brown eyes, full of soul, and the capability of loving. This was Mrs. Aldwyn, the Professor’s second wife, to whom he had been married for only two years.

“What is it?” he asked, petulantly. “Don’t stand there with the door open! You are letting the most horrible draught into the room. Do, for goodness’ sake, either come in, or go away again 1 ”

The girl — she was not much more, only four and twenty — entered the room at once, and shut the door behind her, and then advanced a little towards his chair.

“ I am sorry to disturb you, Henry,” she began, “and I will not detain you a moment ; only I have just received this wire ” — holding out a yellow envelope to him — “from my cousin Ned. He has returned from sea, you know, and he wants to come and see me this evening. What shall I say in answer ? May I ask him to dinner ? ”

The Professor veered round in his chair and looked at her. He was a long, thin man, of rather a spare and ascetic appearance, notwithstanding his love of creature comforts ; and his pale-blue eyes peered at Mrs. Aldwyn through his glasses, as if he had detected or wished to detect her in a crime.

“Why?” he demanded, curtly.

His wife commenced to stammer. “ O ! for no particular reason ; only he is my first cousin, you know. We have not met for more than a year, and he wants to come. That’s all!”

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“Then he had better wait till he’s asked. We can’t have him to-night. It is not convenient ! Mr. Bunster and Mr. Robson are coming to dine with us.”

“ Have you asked them ? You never told me.”

“ No ; but I am going to ask them now. Stay a minute, and you can take the notes and send them by James.”

He turned to his writing-table, as he spoke, and commenced to write the notes of invitation. Having finished them, he handed them to his wife, and, without further comment, redirected his attention to his magazine article. Mrs. Aldwyn stood at the door a moment, twisting about the letters in her hand.

“ But, Henry,” she ventured to say, at last, “ if we are to entertain these two gentlemen, it will not make much difference if I ask Ned Standish as well.”

“ Not make much difference ! What are you talking about ? Do you suppose, when I invite my scientific friends here to discuss some important question, that I want a jibbering donkey like Ned Standish to interrupt us with his nonsense ? I won’t have him. You must send a wire and say you are engaged, and that he must call some other time. Though what you want to see him at all for, I can’t imagine.”

“ I don’t often see any of my relations,” replied his wife, with a quivering lip, “nor do I often trouble you with a request on the subject. Ned will not be in town over a few days, and he says he may not have another opportunity of calling.”

“Well, he can’t come to-night, and that’s enough of it. It would destroy all my talk with my own friends.

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And I cannot understand, either, why you should always be hankering after your family in this childish manner. You have Madeline and Gilbert for companions. Why cannot you find your pleasure in them ?”

Ethel Aldwyn made no further remonstrance, but left the room, closing the door rather sharply behind her. As she reached the hall, a handsome girl of about eighteen opened the dining-room door and confronted her.

What did he say, Mumsey ? ” she asked. “ Beastly, as usual ? ”

Mrs. Aldwyn gave a sad smile.

“ I suppose you would say so, Maddy.”

“ He won’t let me ask Ned to dinner, because he is going to have Mr. Bunster and Mr. Robson to spend the evening with himself.”

“And what harm could nice, dear cousin Ned have done to those two horrid, old fogies? He would have been the only bright spot in the entertainment. But isn’t it just like papa ? He always opposes us in every possible way. Upon my word, I am beginning almost to hate him.”

“ Hush, hush, Maddy ; you mustn’t say that. It is wicked.”

“ Yes, Mumsey ; I know that’s always your cry ; but how can you expect me to love or respect a man who lives only to cross us ? What enjoyment do you ever have of your life, poor, dear thing ? You know you’re just as miserable as you can be.”

“ O, no ; I’m not,” replied Mrs. Aldwyn, winking away the suspicion of a tear. “ Papa has every right

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to have things as he chooses. He is the master of the house ; you must not forget that.”

“ And a nice master, too ! ” exclaimed Madeline, “living only to make everybody wretched. As for Gilbert, Mumsey, I believe he will murder his father some day, if he doesn’t take care. He’s perfectly bloodthirsty. You should have heard him talk last night. He says, if it goes on much longer, he shall run away from home.”

“O! that’s very naughty of Gilbert,” exclaimed Mrs. Aldwyn, in a concerned voice ; “ I must talk to him about it. There will be a terrible quarrel some day if your father hears of any of his speeches. But take these notes and this telegram to James, Maddy dear, and tell him to deliver them at once. There’s sixpence for the wire.”

“ And, I suppose, it’s to tell that dear, handsome cousin Ned that he’s not to come to-night,” said Madeline, in a disappointed tone.

“ Of course, my dear child,” replied her step-mother, gravely ; “ what else should I say after your father’s decision ? ”

Maddy made a grimace and ran off, and Mrs. Aldwyn passed into the dining-room, where Gilbert, a lad of sixteen, sat, in a discontented mood, before the fire. She felt very miserable as she did so. She dared not openly display her sympathy with the son and daughter of the house, but she felt their position and her own keenly. They were far bolder than herself, and criticised their father’s selfishness and utter disregard of their feelings openly ; but she dared not

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II imitate them, though she knew they were right in their judgment of the Professor’s character. For the sake of domestic peace, and in order to show Madeline and Gilbert a good example, she tried hard to hide what she thought of her husband’s conduct in her own breast; but she often felt that life was too hard for her. To be placed, at her age, as the sole influence for good, over two grown-up and discontented children, when she so sorely needed a mother’s guidance and counsel herself, was a very trying position for a young woman of four and twenty. But Gilbert and Madeline were very fond of her, and that was her great reward.

“ O, Gilbert ! ” she exclaimed, as she saw the lad seize the coal scoop and throw a good load of fuel on the fire, “be careful ; there’s a dear boy. If papa saw you heaping up the coals in that fashion he would read us a lecture on economy. And coals have been fearfully dear this year, you know.”

“ He doesn’t spare them on his own fire,” replied the boy, as he threw on another shovelful, “ so why are we to perish of cold? Jarpes told me he took in three scuttles of coals to the library yesterday. Professor Aldwyn likes to keep his toes warm ; so does Professor Aldwyn’s son. Bad luck to it ! I wish I was the son of anybody else ! ”

‘‘ Don’t say that, dear,” replied Ethel, soothingly. “ If you were not his son you would not be your mother’s, and, I am sure, you would never wish that.”

“ It’s a good thing she’s dead,” said the lad, doggedly, “and my only wonder is how he ever persuaded

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you, poor little Mumsey, to take her place. If she had been alive, she would have warned you not.”

“ Gilbert, it does make me so unhappy to hear you talk like that,” replied Mrs. Aldwyn ; and, at that moment, the Professor entered the room.

“ Why are you not at college ? ” he demanded of his son ; but Gilbert made no answer.

“ Gilbert, dear, your father speaks to you,” interposed Ethel, with a look of alarm. She had come to be so frightened, poor girl, of the constant squabbling that took place between her husband and his children.

“ I heard him,” said the lad, insolently.

“Then why don’t you answer me, sir ?” exclaimed the Professor, angrily. “ Why are you not at school ? ”

“ Because you told me, last night, that I was such an ass, and an idiot, and a fool, that you were sick of paying the college fees for me, and that I had better take a broom and sweep a crossing, for I was fit for nothing else,” responded his son.

“ Then why haven’t you taken the hint, and done as I advised you ? ” said the father.

“Henry! Henry! ’’said his wife, in a tone of expostulation.

“ Don’t you attempt to interfere, Ethel, between my children and myself, for you will do neither them nor yourself any good by it,” exclaimed the Professor. “This lad is incorrigibly lazy and insolent, and he must be kept in check. Look at him now, as he sits there, with his rough hair and his dirty hands ! Do you suppose I am going to sit down to luncheon with a savage like that ? Go to your room, sir, and make yourself

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decent. And what do you mean by heaping coals on the fire ? Isn’t it enough that I have all the expense of your sister and yourself on my hands, that you must add to it by wasting my substance in that fashion ? Take them off at once ! ”

‘‘Take them off yourself!” cried the boy, as he darted from his seat and left the room.

“ Is this some of your doing ? ” inquired the Professor of his wife.

“ I think you might do me more justice than that, Henry,” she replied. “ Maddy and Gilbert would both tell you that I never encouraged either of them in rebellion against you.”

She sat down at the table as she spoke. Her heart was bursting with a sense of unkindness and injustice, and her sympathy was all with the poor boy, who had known no better way of expressing his disapproval of the domestic tyranny that went on in the house, morning, noon and night, and made the children of this man hate and despise him.

Madeline now ran into the room, fresh from having encountered her brother on the stair. She was much the more determined spirit of the two, as she possessed the more vigorous frame and constitution. She threw one glance of defiance at her father, and then walked straight up to her step-mother and kissed her.

“What’s the matter, Mumsey?” she asked. “No fresh worry, is there } ”

“ I consider that a most impertinent way of speaking,” said the Professor, frowning. “What do you mean. Miss, by no ‘ fresh worry ’ } ”

“Just what I said, papa. Mumsey looks sad; so I asked if it were due to a stale worry, or a fresh one. It’s plain enough English, isn’t it?”

“ I cannot understand why you should ask your mamma such a question at all,” was the irritable reply. “What worries have you to complain of, Ethel, fresh or stale ? ”

“ Don’t you think we have had sufficient argument ? ” said Mrs. Aldwyn, as she looked up and tried to smile. “ Let us take our luncheon now. It is past the usual time. What will you have, Henry? Cutlets or mince ? ”

“ Mince ! cutlets ! ” repeated the Professor, with a sneer; “both warmed up from yesterday. How many times have I told you that I don’t care how plain my meals are ; no man ever cared less for eating than I do ; but I cannot stand rechauffes. They are perfectly tasteless to me. I would rather have dry bread.”

“ Here it is, papa,” said Maddy, passing him the loaf.

“ They are not so nice, as fresh-cooked plats, perhaps,” said Mrs. Aldwyn ; “though, I think, cook is very careful about warming them again ; but they are far less expensive, you know, Henry, and you often complain of my housekeeping bills, as it is.”

“ Well, let the children eat them, then, and give me something fresh, a sweetbread or a curry ; it matters little, so that I can eat it ; but I cannot digest those over-cooked dishes. They disagree with me.”

“ So they do with me,” exclaimed Maddy, pushing her plate away. “ If you can’t eat them, no more can

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I. I must have inherited your fastidious liver ; so you had better fork out some more housekeeping money for Mumsey, forthwith.”

“ Is this intended for impertinence ? ” demanded the Professor, grandly.

“ O ! dear me, no ! ” exclaimed his daughter. “ It’s only an example of heredity.”

“What have you for dinner this evening.^” he said, professing not to hear Maddy’s answer, and turning to his wife.

“Turbot, roast lamb, and macaroni,” she answered.

“You are not going to ask my friends, Bunster and Robson, to sit down to a dinner like that, I hope. They are coming to have an important discussion with me on a scientific subject. We must feed them well.”

“ What additions do you wish me to make ? ”

“ Soup, for one, then game to follow the lamb, sweets, and dessert. And have a bottle or two of champagne from the cellar — right-hand bin, number i8. And I don’t want the children to dine at table to-night. Let them make their dinner now.”

“ But why didn’t you say so before, Henry,” she expostulated. “ Gilbert has had no dinner at all, and Maddy next to nothing.”

“ Let her sit down and make it now, then,” said the Professor ; “ and, as for that young brute upstairs, let him go without till he learns to treat me with proper respect. I’ll ship him off to sea in the next collier I hear of, if he doesn’t take care.”

“ And why am I not to dine down-stairs to-night ? ” asked Madeline.

“ Because I don’t choose that you shall,” was the only reply she got, as her father left the room.

As the door closed, Maddy made a mock respectful curtsy to him, with her fingers to her nose.

“ O ! you dear ! ” she exclaimed ; “ you nice, loving, careful father! You ought to have a statue erected to you, you ought. Why, you haven’t as much feeling for your children as a cat has for her kittens. Ugh ! if I thought I could ever behave like that to mine, I would go and hang myself before I had any.”

She snapped her fingers twice or thrice at the closed door, and then, turning to see how her step-mother was taking her rebellious conduct, she perceived that she had laid her head down on her outstretched arms, and was quietly crying to herself.

“ O 1 Mumsey, Mumsey ! ” cried Maddy, flying to her side, “ what a beast I am to have made you cry ! But I cannot love him, dear ; it is no use. I cannot ! I cannot 1”

“ It seems all so hopeless,” sighed Mrs. Aldwyn, “ and I feel so for poor Gilbert. What is to be done for the boy ? Where will it all end ? ”

“ Let’s run away, the whole lot of us together,” suggested Maddy ; “ I’ll come, for one, and we should be happier working for our bread than obliged to bear his tempers, day after day. Do think of it, Mumsey.”

“ No, dearest, we mustn’t even think of it. It’s wicked. We haven’t placed ourselves in this position — at least you and Gilbert haven’t — and so you must do your duty till God pleases to show you a way out of it. It won’t be for long, Maddy, you know. You are sure

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to marry some day, and Gilbert will go out into the world ; and, then, you will both be free to make your own lives.”

“ And leave you here, poor darling, to bear it all by yourself,” exclaimed the warm-hearted girl. “ That would be a shame. Why, it would be enough to kill anybody.”

For an answer, Ethel put her face down on the table, and began to sob.

“ It was my own fault, my own fault,” she murmured,

and I must bear it as best I can. O, Maddy, be careful how you marry. Keep a good man’s love when you get it. Keep it as the greatest treasure of your life.”

They were crying, quietly, in each others’ arms, when a fearful tumult in the hall made them start to their feet.

“ How dare you ? ” they heard Gilbert’s voice exclaim ; “ What have I done that you should strike me ? I have borne it from no man yet, and I will not bear it from you.”

Ethel and Maddy ran to the door, and opened it at once. There stood Gilbert, his eyes flashing with rage, and his coat thrown off, as if he intended to close in with the Professor, and give him a thrashing.

“Gilbert, Gilbert, what are you doing?” cried Ethel, as she flew towards him. “ Think where you are, and who you are speaking to.”

“ Leave me alone,” replied the lad, shaking off her detaining arm ; “ I will brook no interference in this matter. My father has treated me like a brute, and he must give me an account of it. He found me in the kitchen having some luncheon, and he accused me of stealing and wasting his property ; and, when I answered him, he struck me with that cane, and I won’t bear it ; I won’t.”

“ O, Henry, it is not possible,” exclaimed his wife, in distress.

It is quite possible. If luncheon is laid for him in the dining-room, which he refuses to eat, and then he steals from the larder what may be intended for another meal, he is wasting my property, and I shall chastise him for it as I think fit,” replied the Professor, still brandishing the cane in his hand.

“No, you won’t,” cried the lad defiantly; “you’ve thrashed me for the last time. If you attempt to touch me again. I’ll give you a jolly good licking, father or no father.”

“Are you sure I am your father?” demanded the Professor, in a sneering tone. “/ should not like to swear to it myself. You may be the son of my next door neighbor, for aught I know. You have never shown signs of having any blood of mine in your veins.”

This insult to his dead mother seemed to make all the blood in the boy’s body boil, and swell his figure to twice its size. He advanced close to his father’s side, and hissed in his ear —

“You coward. You double-dyed coward and liar, to try and villify my mother’s name. Take that,” and he struck the Professor straight across the mouth.

Ethel and Maddy screamed. They thought there

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wculd be bloodshed between the father and son ; but the Professor, instead of wielding the stick again, turned very pale and trembled.

“You pitiful coward!” repeated Gilbert, “I would beg my bread from door to door before I would eat another crust at the expense of the defamer of my dead mother. Do you remember the text, * And in hell he lifted up his eyes ’ ? It will come back to you, depend on that ; and you will remember, then, that your son cursed you for the love of his mother. I am going now. You will not see me more, and I hope I may never see you again, either in this world or the next.”

He was about to rush from the house, but his sister prevented him. “Gillie,” she cried, “you will not go without bidding me goodby ? ”

“No, Maddy, and Mumsey, too,” he said, returning to embrace them ; “ I shall never forget your love to me; never — never!”

“ But you will come back, my dear boy. You cannot go like this,” said Ethel.

“Never, whilst that man lives,” replied the lad, determinedly.

“ But you have no money, no clothes.”

“ I will write to you ; you can send them to me,” he said.

“That she certainly will not do,” said the Professor, as he drew his wife away. “ If you leave this house, sir, you leave it forever, and will never have any assistance from me as long as you live.”

“All right ; I don’t want it,” cried Gilbert, as he ran out of the house, and slammed the hall door after him.

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“ It is impossible. You cannot let him go like this,” said Ethel, indignantly.

“ He has made it possible for himself,” replied the Professor. “He has chosen to rebel against my authority, and, with my consent, he never enters these doors again.”

He turned away to the library as he spoke, leaving the two women to gaze at each other aghast, and wonder what was to happen next.

CHAPTER 11.

A PLEASANT EVENING.

After this scene, the dinner party was hardly likely to be a success, at all events, for Ethel Aldwyn. She looked very pretty in the plain, black dress she chose to wear, which was just cut down at the neck to show her fair white throat, nestled in billows of soft lace. She arranged her hair very carefully, and tried hard to erase the traces of emotion from her countenance ; but her eyelids were red and swollen from weeping, and her lips quivered as she spoke. Maddy had gone up to bed, utterly refusing to take anything to eat or drink. She was much attached to her brother Gilbert, and declared, vehemently, that if he did not return home, she should follow him. Her step-mother had been arguing the matter with her, and begging her to do nothing rash or hasty. She had a secret dread in her heart regarding Madeline, which she had never mentioned, even to the girl herself.

The year before, she had been thrown into contact with the family of one of her school companions, and, though they had not been quite of her own social standing, Ethel had not liked to discourage the intimacy, because the Reynolds had been very kind to Maddy, and the girl had few young friends, on account of her father never allowing her to invite any girls to

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visit her at her own home. Her step-mother had felt glad at first, therefore, to see the interest she took in going to the Reynolds’ house, until she found out, by accident, that the eldest son was carrying on a sort of flirtation with Madeline. Wilfred Reynolds was a handsome, smart, young fellow, but very commonplace ; and Ethel knew well that the Professor — who, notwithstanding his unamiable disposition, was undeniably a gentleman by birth — would never consent to an engagement, or marriage, between his daughter and the Reynolds’ son. She had, therefore, tried to lessen the intimacy by every means in her power ; but she had not been entirely successful ; and, when Maddy talked about leaving home, or having her revenge, she was always afraid she entertained some idea of eloping with young Mr. Reynolds. She did not like the dogged manner with which Maddy had received the episode of the afternoon. The girl was very high-spirited, and capable of taking strong measures in order to get her own way. Ethel dreaded the effect of Gilbert’s quarrel with his father upon her nature, which was not unlike the Professor’s in its obstinacy and high temper. She felt very uneasy about both her step-children, and descended to the drawing-room, to receive her guests, in anything but a happy mood.

Mr. Punster and Mr. Robson were too partial to a good dinner to have refused the invitation ; and they were both standing on the hearth-rug, arrayed in white waistcoats and swallow-tailed coats, when she entered the room. The Professor was with them, talking as amicably on the topics of the day, as if he had had no dis^

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turbance in the house, and his only son was comfortably domesticated beneath the paternal roof. His pale-blue eyes did not show the least trace of emotion, nor his manner annoyance. He was absorbed in the discussion of some new book, and did not even lift his eyes when his young wife came up to his side. He did just raise them, as Mr. Bunster officiously questioned her as to whether she had not caught a cold in the rough weather they had been having — her eyes looked just a little inflamed to him — but, after one glance of caution, he dropped them again, and returned to his argument.

The dinner had been announced, and the party was about to adjourn to the dining-room, when a slight commotion was heard in the hall. Ethel started. Could it be Gilbert come back again, finding out already, perhaps, how hopeless opposition to home authority is, when one has no other resources? — when her ear caught the sound of a familiar voice, and her face flushed crimson.