Twice Told Tales

  THE WHITE OLD MAID.

  The moonbeams came through two deep and narrow windows and showed aspacious chamber richly furnished in an antique fashion. From onelattice the shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon the floor; theghostly light through the other slept upon a bed, falling between theheavy silken curtains and illuminating the face of a young man. Buthow quietly the slumberer lay! how pale his features! And how like ashroud the sheet was wound about his frame! Yes, it was a corpse inits burial-clothes.

  Suddenly the fixed features seemed to move with dark emotion. Strangefantasy! It was but the shadow of the fringed curtain waving betwixtthe dead face and the moonlight as the door of the chamber opened anda girl stole softly to the bedside. Was there delusion in themoonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye betray a gleam of triumph asshe bent over the pale corpse, pale as itself, and pressed her livinglips to the cold ones of the dead? As she drew back from that longkiss her features writhed as if a proud heart were fighting with itsanguish. Again it seemed that the features of the corpse had movedresponsive to her own. Still an illusion. The silken curtains hadwaved a second time betwixt the dead face and the moonlight as anotherfair young girl unclosed the door and glided ghostlike to the bedside.There the two maidens stood, both beautiful, with the pale beauty ofthe dead between them. But she who had first entered was proud andstately, and the other a soft and fragile thing.

  "Away!" cried the lofty one. "Thou hadst him living; the dead ismine."

  "Thine!" returned the other, shuddering. "Well hast thou spoken; thedead is thine."

  The proud girl started and stared into her face with a ghastly look,but a wild-and mournful expression passed across the features of thegentle one, and, weak and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her headpillowed beside that of the corpse and her hair mingling with his darklocks. A creature of hope and joy, the first draught of sorrow hadbewildered her.

  "Edith!" cried her rival.

  Edith groaned as with a sudden compression of the heart, and, removingher cheek from the dead youth's pillow, she stood upright, fearfullyencountering the eyes of the lofty girl.

  "Wilt thou betray me?" said the latter, calmly.

  "Till the dead bid me speak I will be silent," answered Edith. "Leaveus alone together. Go and live many years, and then return and tell meof thy life. He too will be here. Then, if thou tellest of sufferingsmore than death, we will both forgive thee."

  "And what shall be the token?" asked the proud girl, as if her heartacknowledged a meaning in these wild words.

  "This lock of hair," said Edith, lifting one of the dark clusteringcurls that lay heavily on the dead man's brow.

  The two maidens joined their hands over the bosom of the corpse andappointed a day and hour far, far in time to come for their nextmeeting in that chamber. The statelier girl gave one deep look at themotionless countenance and departed, yet turned again and trembled ereshe closed the door, almost believing that her dead lover frowned uponher. And Edith, too! Was not her white form fading into the moonlight?Scorning her own weakness, she went forth and perceived that a negroslave was waiting in the passage with a waxlight, which he heldbetween her face and his own and regarded her, as she thought, with anugly expression of merriment. Lifting his torch on high, the slavelighted her down the staircase and undid the portal of the mansion.The young clergyman of the town had just ascended the steps, and,bowing to the lady, passed in without a word.

  Years--many years--rolled on. The world seemed new again, so mucholder was it grown since the night when those pale girls had claspedtheir hands across the bosom of the corpse. In the interval a lonelywoman had passed from youth to extreme age, and was known by all thetown as the "Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet." A taint of insanity hadaffected her whole life, but so quiet, sad and gentle, so utterly freefrom violence, that she was suffered to pursue her harmless fantasiesunmolested by the world with whose business or pleasures she hadnaught to do. She dwelt alone, and never came into the daylight exceptto follow funerals. Whenever a corpse was borne along the street, insunshine, rain or snow, whether a pompous train of the rich and proudthronged after it or few and humble were the mourners, behind themcame the lonely woman in a long white garment which the people calledher shroud. She took no place among the kindred or the friends, butstood at the door to hear the funeral prayer, and walked in the rearof the procession as one whose earthly charge it was to haunt thehouse of mourning and be the shadow of affliction and see that thedead were duly buried. So long had this been her custom that theinhabitants of the town deemed her a part of every funeral, as much asthe coffin-pall or the very corpse itself, and augured ill of thesinner's destiny unless the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet came glidinglike a ghost behind. Once, it is said, she affrighted a bridal-partywith her pale presence, appearing suddenly in the illuminated halljust as the priest was uniting a false maid to a wealthy man beforeher lover had been dead a year. Evil was the omen to that marriage.Sometimes she stole forth by moonlight and visited the graves ofvenerable integrity and wedded love and virgin innocence, and everyspot where the ashes of a kind and faithful heart were mouldering.Over the hillocks of those favored dead would she stretch out her armswith a gesture as if she were scattering seeds, and many believed thatshe brought them from the garden of Paradise, for the graves which shehad visited were green beneath the snow and covered with sweet flowersfrom April to November. Her blessing was better than a holy verse uponthe tombstone. Thus wore away her long, sad, peaceful and fantasticlife till few were so old as she, and the people of later generationswondered how the dead had ever been buried or mourners had enduredtheir grief without the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet. Still yearswent on, and still she followed funerals and was not yet summoned toher own festival of death.

  One afternoon the great street of the town was all alive with businessand bustle, though the sun now gilded only the upper half of thechurch-spire, having left the housetops and loftiest trees in shadow.The scene was cheerful and animated in spite of the sombre shadebetween the high brick buildings. Here were pompous merchants in whitewigs and laced velvet, the bronzed faces of sea-captains, the foreigngarb and air of Spanish Creoles, and the disdainful port of natives ofOld England, all contrasted with the rough aspect of one or twoback-settlers negotiating sales of timber from forests where axe hadnever sounded. Sometimes a lady passed, swelling roundly forth in anembroidered petticoat, balancing her steps in high-heeled shoes andcourtesying with lofty grace to the punctilious obeisances of thegentlemen. The life of the town seemed to have its very centre not farfrom an old mansion that stood somewhat back from the pavement,surrounded by neglected grass, with a strange air of loneliness ratherdeepened than dispelled by the throng so near it. Its site would havebeen suitably occupied by a magnificent Exchange or a brick blocklettered all over with various signs, or the large house itself mighthave made a noble tavern with the "King's Arms" swinging before it andguests in every chamber, instead of the present solitude. But, owingto some dispute about the right of inheritance, the mansion had beenlong without a tenant, decaying from year to year and throwing thestately gloom of its shadow over the busiest part of the town.

  Such was the scene, and such the time, when a figure unlike any thathave been described was observed at a distance down the street.

  "I espy a strange sail yonder," remarked a Liverpool captain--"thatwoman in the long white garment."

  The sailor seemed much struck by the object, as were several otherswho at the same moment caught a glimpse of the figure that hadattracted his notice. Almost immediately the various topics ofconversation gave place to speculations in an undertone on thisunwonted occurrence.

  "Can there be a funeral so late this afternoon?" inquired some.

  They looked for the signs of death at every door--the sexton, thehearse, the assemblage of black-clad relatives, all that makes up thewoeful pomp of funerals. They raised their eyes, also, to the sun-giltspire of the church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from itsbell, which had always toll
ed till now when this figure appeared inthe light of day. But none had heard that a corpse was to be borne toits home that afternoon, nor was there any token of a funeral exceptthe apparition of the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.

  "What may this portend?" asked each man of his neighbor.

  All smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain trouble intheir eyes, as if pestilence, or some other wide calamity, wereprognosticated by the untimely intrusion among the living of one whosepresence had always been associated with death and woe. What a cometis to the earth was that sad woman to the town. Still she moved on,while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, and the proudand the humble stood aside that her white garment might not waveagainst them. It was a long, loose robe of spotless purity. Its wearerappeared very old, pale, emaciated and feeble, yet glided onwardwithout the unsteady pace of extreme age. At one point of her course alittle rosy boy burst forth from a door and ran with open arms towardthe ghostly woman, seeming to expect a kiss from her bloodless lips.She made a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with an expression ofno earthly sweetness, so that the child shivered and stood awestruckrather than affrighted while the Old Maid passed on. Perhaps hergarment might have been polluted even by an infant's touch; perhapsher kiss would have been death to the sweet boy within the year.

  "She is but a shadow," whispered the superstitious. "The child putforth his arms and could not grasp her robe."

  The wonder was increased when the Old Maid passed beneath the porch ofthe deserted mansion, ascended the moss-covered steps, lifted the ironknocker and gave three raps. The people could only conjecture thatsome old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had impelled thepoor woman hither to visit the friends of her youth--all gone fromtheir home long since and for ever unless their ghosts still hauntedit, fit company for the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.

  An elderly man approached the steps, and, reverently uncovering hisgray locks, essayed to explain the matter.

  "None, madam," said he, "have dwelt in this house these fifteen yearsagone--no, not since the death of old Colonel Fenwicke, whose funeralyou may remember to have followed. His heirs, being ill-agreed amongthemselves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin."

  The Old Maid looked slowly round with a slight gesture of one hand anda finger of the other upon her lip, appearing more shadow-like thanever in the obscurity of the porch. But again she lifted the hammer,and gave, this time, a single rap. Could it be that a footstep was nowheard coming down the staircase of the old mansion which all conceivedto have been so long untenanted? Slowly, feebly, yet heavily, like thepace of an aged and infirm person, the step approached, more distincton every downward stair, till it reached the portal. The bar fell onthe inside; the door was opened. One upward glance toward thechurch-spire, whence the sunshine had just faded, was the last thatthe people saw of the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet.

  "Who undid the door?" asked many.

  This question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath the porch, no onecould satisfactorily answer. Two or three aged men, while protestingagainst an inference which might be drawn, affirmed that the personwithin was a negro and bore a singular resemblance to old Caesar,formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death some thirty yearsbefore.

  "Her summons has waked up a servant of the old family," said one, halfseriously.

  "Let us wait here," replied another; "more guests will knock at thedoor anon. But the gate of the graveyard should be thrown open."

  Twilight had overspread the town before the crowd began to separate orthe comments on this incident were exhausted. One after another waswending his way homeward, when a coach--no common spectacle in thosedays--drove slowly into the street. It was an old-fashioned equipage,hanging close to the ground, with arms on the panels, a footman behindand a grave, corpulent coachman seated high in front, the whole givingan idea of solemn state and dignity. There was something awful in theheavy rumbling of the wheels.

  The coach rolled down the street, till, coming to the gateway of thedeserted mansion, it drew up, and the footman sprang to the ground.

  "Whose grand coach is this?" asked a very inquisitive body.

  The footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of the old house,gave three taps with the iron hammer, and returned to open the coachdoor. An old man possessed of the heraldic lore so common in that dayexamined the shield of arms on the panel.

  "Azure, a lion's head erased, between three flowers de luce," said he,then whispered the name of the family to whom these bearings belonged.The last inheritor of its honors was recently dead, after a longresidence amid the splendor of the British court, where his birth andwealth had given him no mean station. "He left no child," continuedthe herald, "and these arms, being in a lozenge, betoken that thecoach appertains to his widow."

  Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made had not the speakerbeen suddenly struck dumb by the stern eye of an ancient lady whothrust forth her head from the coach, preparing to descend. As sheemerged the people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her figuredignified in spite of age and infirmity--a stately ruin, but with alook at once of pride and wretchedness. Her strong and rigid featureshad an awe about them unlike that of the white Old Maid, but as ofsomething evil. She passed up the steps, leaning on a gold-headedcane. The door swung open as she ascended, and the light of a torchglittered on the embroidery of her dress and gleamed on the pillars ofthe porch. After a momentary pause, a glance backward and then adesperate effort, she went in.

  The decipherer of the coat-of-arms had ventured up the lower step,and, shrinking back immediately, pale and tremulous, affirmed that thetorch was held by the very image of old Caesar.

  "But such a hideous grin," added he, "was never seen on the face ofmortal man, black or white. It will haunt me till my dying-day."

  Meantime, the coach had wheeled round with a prodigious clatter on thepavement and rumbled up the street, disappearing in the twilight,while the ear still tracked its course. Scarcely was it gone when thepeople began to question whether the coach and attendants, the ancientlady, the spectre of old Caesar and the Old Maid herself were not all astrangely-combined delusion with some dark purport in its mystery. Thewhole town was astir, so that, instead of dispersing, the crowdcontinually increased, and stood gazing up at the windows of themansion, now silvered by the brightening moon. The elders, glad toindulge the narrative propensity of age, told of the long-fadedsplendor of the family, the entertainments they had given and theguests, the greatest of the land, and even titled and noble ones fromabroad, who had passed beneath that portal. These graphicreminiscences seemed to call up the ghosts of those to whom theyreferred. So strong was the impression on some of the more imaginativehearers that two or three were seized with trembling fits at one andthe same moment, protesting that they had distinctly heard three otherraps of the iron knocker.

  "Impossible!" exclaimed others. "See! The moon shines beneath theporch, and shows every part of it except in the narrow shade of thatpillar. There is no one there."

  "Did not the door open?" whispered one of these fanciful persons.

  "Didst thou see it too?" said his companion, in a startled tone.

  But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea that a thirdvisitant had made application at the door of the deserted house. Afew, however, adhered to this new marvel, and even declared that a redgleam like that of a torch had shone through the great front window,as if the negro were lighting a guest up the staircase. This too waspronounced a mere fantasy.

  But at once the whole multitude started, and each man beheld his ownterror painted in the faces of all the rest.

  "What an awful thing is this!" cried they.

  A shriek too fearfully distinct for doubt had been heard within themansion, breaking forth suddenly and succeeded by a deep stillness, asif a heart had burst in giving it utterance. The people knew notwhether to fly from the very sight of the house or to rush tremblingin and search out the strange mystery. Amid their confusion andaffright
they were somewhat reassured by the appearance of theirclergyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, who had taughtthem and their fathers the way to heaven for more than the space of anordinary lifetime. He was a reverend figure with long white hair uponhis shoulders, a white beard upon his breast and a back so bent overhis staff that he seemed to be looking downward continually, as if tochoose a proper grave for his weary frame. It was some time before thegood old man, being deaf and of impaired intellect, could be made tocomprehend such portions of the affair as were comprehensible at all.But when possessed of the facts, his energies assumed unexpectedvigor.

  "Verily," said the old gentleman, "it will be fitting that I enter themansion-house of the worthy Colonel Fenwicke, lest any harm shouldhave befallen that true Christian woman whom ye call the 'Old Maid inthe Winding-Sheet.'"

  Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the steps of themansion with a torch-bearer behind him. It was the elderly man who hadspoken to the Old Maid, and the same who had afterward explained theshield of arms and recognized the features of the negro. Like theirpredecessors, they gave three raps with the iron hammer.

  "Old Caesar cometh not," observed the priest. "Well, I wot he no longerdoth service in this mansion."

  "Assuredly, then, it was something worse in old Caesar's likeness,"said the other adventurer.

  "Be it as God wills," answered the clergyman. "See! my strength,though it be much decayed, hath sufficed to open this heavy door. Letus enter and pass up the staircase."

  Here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy state of a veryold man's mind. As they ascended the wide flight of stairs the agedclergyman appeared to move with caution, occasionally standing aside,and oftener bending his head, as it were in salutation, thuspractising all the gestures of one who makes his way through a throng.Reaching the head of the staircase, he looked around with sad andsolemn benignity, laid aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and wasevidently on the point of commencing a prayer.

  "Reverend sir," said his attendant, who conceived this a very suitableprelude to their further search, "would it not be well that the peoplejoin with us in prayer?"

  "Well-a-day!" cried the old clergyman, staring strangely around him."Art thou here with me, and none other? Verily, past times werepresent to me, and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, asmany a time heretofore, from the head of this staircase. Of a truth, Isaw the shades of many that are gone. Yea, I have prayed at theirburials, one after another, and the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet hathseen them to their graves."

  Being now more thoroughly awake to their present purpose, he took hisstaff and struck forcibly on the floor, till there came an echo fromeach deserted chamber, but no menial to answer their summons. Theytherefore walked along the passage, and again paused, opposite to thegreat front window, through which was seen the crowd in the shadow andpartial moonlight of the street beneath. On their right hand was theopen door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left.

  The clergyman pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the latter.

  "Within that chamber," observed he, "a whole lifetime since, did I sitby the death-bed of a goodly young man who, being now at the lastgasp--" Apparently, there was some powerful excitement in the ideaswhich had now flashed across his mind. He snatched the torch from hiscompanion's hand, and threw open the door with such sudden violencethat the flame was extinguished, leaving them no other light than themoonbeams which fell through two windows into the spacious chamber. Itwas sufficient to discover all that could be known. In a high-backedoaken arm-chair, upright, with her hands clasped across her breast andher head thrown back, sat the Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet. Thestately dame had fallen on her knees with her forehead on the holyknees of the Old Maid, one hand upon the floor and the other pressedconvulsively against her heart. It clutched a lock of hair--oncesable, now discolored with a greenish mould.

  As the priest and layman advanced into the chamber the Old Maid'sfeatures assumed such a semblance of shifting expression that theytrusted to hear the whole mystery explained by a single word. But itwas only the shadow of a tattered curtain waving betwixt the dead faceand the moonlight.

  "Both dead!" said the venerable man. "Then who shall divulge thesecret? Methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind like the light andshadow across the Old Maid's face. And now 'tis gone!"