Although it was Sunday, all idea of church was abandoned, and an air of excitement and mystery pervaded the entire household.
However, after an hour’s rest and some food, I declared myself fit to go; and the whole party, led by me, proceeded upstairs. It struck me forcibly, as we passed along the gallery, the wonderful contrast of myself and my phantom guide of last night flitting along in the moonlight, in silence, with the dead of many years looking at us from the walls—and now ten chattering human beings tumbling over one another in their eagerness each to be the first to make the discovery. I walked straight to the panel—the last but one; and then I paused—paused, because suddenly and completely the knowledge and power of opening it had passed from me. My hands dropped to my sides, and I turned round and faced the anxious and expectant people.
“I have forgotten it,” I cried; “it has suddenly gone from me; I cannot tell you how to open it.”
“What do you mean?” said Lord Glencoine anxiously: “you told me it slid. Push it—let us try.”
He approached the panel, and he tried—we all tried—but nothing would do. For more than an hour we went on pushing, feeling for a bolt, trying by every means we could think of to effect an opening, but all in vain; at last we gave it up in despair, and went downstairs bitterly disappointed, and I sat hour after hour in the drawing-room, going through last night’s scene again—trying to recall the lady’s movements as she passed her hand along it: all in vain—the knowledge had gone from me, and it was useless. I could see, too, Lord and Lady Glencoine were terribly disappointed, though they did their best not to let me see it, and talked of having the panelling broken open the next day.
In the afternoon several of the party went for a walk, but Lady Glencoine and I remained by the fire, carrying on a spasmodic conversation. Suddenly a thought came to me, and I rose hastily and hurried to my room.
When there, I took the crystal from the drawer, and sitting down with it in my hand, I gazed into it, breathless with excitement. Should I, or should I not, see what I wished? I watched the usual mist rising in it; and then—yes—the lady again appeared; this time, though, her hand was not upraised, she was standing there. I longed, I almost prayed, that she might open the panel to me; and then, to my intense delight, I saw her hand slowly move towards the wall behind her, and, placing the back of her hand on the panel, she let her fingernails just pass under the framework, and it sprang open.
I waited for a moment till the picture faded away, and then, throwing down the crystal, I ran downstairs, almost falling down the steps in my haste. Into the drawing-room I flew, where my hostess was still sitting dreaming idly before the fire in the fading light.
“Come, come,” I cried, “I have found how to open it”. And startled, and I imagine rather thinking I had gone mad, Lady Glencoine followed me, calling to her husband, as she saw him passing through the hall, to come with us. I again went into the gallery and approached the panel. Trembling with excitement, my knees shaking beneath me, I placed the back of my hand on it, passing my finger-nails under the framework, and immediately it flew open. Almost faint with my discovery, I leant against the wall, and Lord and Lady Glencoine and their son remained staring at the open doorway.
I was the first to recover myself.
“A light—a light!” I cried; and ran to my room, returning with a candle and a box of matches.
“Lady Glencoine,” I said, lighting them, “either you or your son must wait here, as we cannot risk the door being shut upon us. Come, who will stay?”
“I had better do so,” she answered, “as I shall be of no use, and I am not quite sure I should like to venture into it.”
“But first,” I said (so certain was I that we should discover the jewels), “first we must get a crowbar, or something, which will remove the stone; because, although it is loose, it is a large one, and would be too heavy for our hands, I think.”
We touched the gallery bell; and the butler, who had lived many years in the family, answered it, and I think he was nearly overcome when he saw the open door, but he too was filled with excitement, and hurried off for an implement.
Then we started. I have often wondered since that we had the courage. I led the way, followed by Lord Glencoine, his son, and the butler.
“How very extraordinary we should have never found this passage!” exclaimed my host; “and no steps too—so curious—just a level passage.”
In a moment, when we got into the room, we gazed in silence and awe. Lord Glencoine took the candle from me, and kneeling down on the floor examined it. There, scattered about, were bits of old stuff—rags, they might be called—and amongst them was a skull and some bones.
“It is what I suspected,” he said, in a low, hushed tone: “bones—human bones. It means that that poor lady must have come here to hide the jewels, and the door must have been shut upon her, and she died an awful death. Even after these hundreds of years, how terrible it seems!”
The horror of what he said was upon us, and for a moment we stood solemnly gazing at the human tragedy of many years ago. Then, recovering himself, he turned to the butler.
“Come,” he said—“the crowbar.”
I pointed to the stone, and in a moment they had lifted it; and there, lying in scattered and careless profusion, were the celebrated jewels of Eleanor, Lady Glencoine, for the sake of which she had gone to meet this terrible death.
In silence we lifted them out—diamonds, rubies, the pearls, the girdle of the picture—none were missing; together with heaps of smaller necklaces and other ornaments. We carried them into the daylight and the gallery, where Lady Glencoine was anxiously awaiting us.
“Far beyond our wildest hopes,” said her husband, in a low voice. “Taverndale is saved, and to you,” turning to me, “we are indebted for this.”
I shook my head. It was not I. I was only the instrument—the medium. But it was no use saying this now, and I had had enough. Mind and body alike both craved for rest, and I left them and went to my room. That night I slept without a waking thought. If the Phantom Lady came to me, my sleep was far too deep to be disturbed; but I think her work was done, and that she too was taking her rest.
My story is over.
Perhaps some will like to hear that the Glencoines, saved by the many thousands their jewels realised, still live on at Taverndale.
The day after the discovery they reverently gathered up the remains of Eleanor, Lady Glencoine, and placed them in a corner of the churchyard; and, often as I have been to Taverndale since that time, and inhabited again and again that same room, I have never once felt that strange presence. My own belief is, that her weary steps will nevermore tread that long gallery, and that she has gone to her rest, for which she had sought so long.
But the mysteries, to us, of these things always remain. The spirit world is so near us, and we are mostly so unconscious of it, so slow to believe it; and, although bordering on it, we have so little faith and so little insight. Many break their hearts or go mad in seeking to unravel it. Some day, somehow, it will come to us, and we shall know it. Till then, let us wait—wait—wait.
THE WATER GHOST OF HARROWBY HALL,
by John Kendrick Bangs
The trouble with Harrowby Hall was that it was haunted, and, what was worse, the ghost did not merely appear at the bedside of a person, but remained there for one mortal hour before it disappeared.