A GHOST IN THE DAYS OF '45

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 88, 7 February 1885, Page 4

A GHOST IN THE DAYS OF '45

The harvest of rebellion had been reaped on the field and on the gallows. The harvests of Cheshire had been garnered ; geese feasted amid the stubble ; the aftermath was mown and stacked ; the potatoes dug on Bowdon Downs ; the hazel nuts in Wood Lane tempted the village boys ; beech and oak were dropping mast and aoorns within the precincts of the Oaklands; Uaves -yellow, red, brown— hung limp upon the trees, or, crisp and sear, li tered the pathways, and driving before the wind, tapped at tht> windows of the house whose master, sitting alone by his fireside, had a something tapping at his breast, just as the leaves tapped on the panes— and conscience wa^the driving wind. Walking moodily through hif» own meadow that afternoon, he had looked over the heige, whore it skirted Wood Lane, to lebuke some children who were roughly tearing down the bratpbles to gather ripe blackberries". He knew them for the, younger children of Barnes, the weaver; but in their midst stood a white-headed ragged 1 urchin some two years old, who looked up at him with large blue eyes, and a mouth all stained with the fruit. That face was haunting him as he sat by the fire at eventide, with his book of philosophy unread— sat until the moon rose, and the bats camß out and flapped agaiust the casement louder than the leaves. Why did it haunt, him so ? " Such a child might have been Sybilla's had she borne one? — and they call- d it iom," whispered conscience. "Geraid has not returned. I have noither fr end nor child by my hearth. Might I not have had child and grandchild both, had 1 been more forgiving ?" And so conscience tapped, as there he sat, tte shadows deepening around him, the cuitain undrawn, no caudles lit. In the bright kitchen, Ursula sat in state in her b'ue camlet gown and farthingale, directing the maids, who were busy sorting damsons for wine, picking stray leaves from elderberries, and prepaiing the evening meal. Josh, with a dog at his feet, and a red handkerchief over his head, sat dozing by the fire. Cand 63 in tall mahogany silver-mounted candlesticks stood unlimited on a waiter, with snuffers and tray by their side. "Strange, master hns not rung for his candles." said one. " bush !" exclaimed another in a frightened whisper. " There it is again ! Dent you heur it ?" Hear it ! The dog heard it, and Josh heard it and wakened up; and Ursula heard it, and clamping her hands, uttered a pious ejaculation in her fear " (iod save us all ! there it is again ; Miss Sybilla's wheel going hard and fast, and her dooi locked, and her far away." lt Ay, it be Mi*s Sybilla's wheel, sure enocf,' 1 put in Josh. " What beoop?" "An' thix bo th' third toime wen beared it," cried a girl. "Summat's happened to th' young missus, an' yon's her ghoast !" said Josh in ati oracular whi-per The musical hum of the wheel was certainly clear and distinct as a song. Silence fell on the white-laced listeners. " I wonder if master hears it?" asked one, below her breath. " Master, he seems to hear nowt, now-a-days," muttered the old man, A bell rang. " ('here's master ringing for his candles," cried Ursula But no one stirred. And still was heard the monotonous tium-m m-tn. Again rang the library bell. In fear tlm-e maid -i together threaded the passages with the lighted candles. Nothing wa» to be heard at the library door, and no one dared speak of Sybilla's spinning-wheel to their mafter. The servants were afraid to go about the house alone, or pass the door of the deserted room on their way to bed, for the drone or the wheel did not cease. And it drove sleep from their pillows Mr Vetiables u-ed the other stairs, and heard nothing more than what he took for the Mghmg of the wind. ISight by night the sound was heard; only on the Sabbaths was it silent. Rumour went abroad that the house was haunted. The timid maids at length refused to pass the doors of Sybilla's rooms on their way to bed, and Ursula was no more courageous. They preferred sleeping as best they could on tables and settles in the kitchen ; Ursula took possetsion of a gue^t-chamber near her master's ; Josh resumed his abandoned quarters above the stables. Only Mr Venables, occupied with hi." own thoughts, walked about in unalarmed ignorance ; yet even he was conscious of a mysterious something in the air of his household and of the village ; and he be^an to speculate why Gerard did not return. Now and again he encountered the same little fellow in the lanes with others, ponrly clad, but no longer in rags; and once or twice he stooped and stroked the child's white head, and gave him a silver groat. But he only went back to his solitary hearth more moody and silent And still from twilight until dawn the wheel was heard to hum-m-m ; and whispers went abroad ,of a mysterious figure like Miss Sybi lla (always ML«s Sybilla) seen in the dim lig'it to flit under the dark shadows ot yews and evergreens and over the bridge, and to carry a bundle with her, as she must have done when she fled. There was only one opinion, that she was dead, and her unquiet spirit could not rest unforgiven. With the coming of December came Squire i^erard. In every line of his melancholy face was seen disappointment. He sat down in his old place, opposite to Mr Venables, wearily. He thought he saw a look of expectation in the old man's face, and he noted that his hair had become white as snow. "I have no tidings. No one bearing the nnme of either Furnival or Venables had been heard of in Snow Hill. I tried Southwark, whither the prisoners bad been re moved, thinking she might have followed her unfortunate husband ; but though I heard of a poor, torn-down wretch, who had shrieked out • Hugh' as the prisoners were driven on board the transport, I could find ho trace of her, high or low ; and I fear we never shall. God help her !" With his head bent low, his hands clasped between his knees, Mr Venables had listened in silence. But Gerard saw hn shoulders heave, and his whole frame convulse with strong emotion. Gerard made no stay. As Josh went with him to open and secure the outer gate, he told in awe-stricken tones how the house was haunted, and the servants afraid to stay. " Master heerd the wheel himsel' last week ; bur he swore some on us weer playin' him a trick, and only last night as was he nailed up th door as shuts off them rooms, and with his own hands, while th' varry wheel wer buzzing its loudest. He said he'd silence the spinner; no tricks should [ be played in his house. But lor,' Squire, th' | wheel went on just th' same." '

Gerard rode away thoughtfully. He was not without * tinge of the superstition of the time j and what he had heard but confirmed hit* fears that his dearly loved Sybilla was no more The morning, crisp and keen, saw him once more at the < >aklands. He found the owner in the grounds giving 1 orders for the filling up of a p»p in the hedge that separated the meadowr from Wood Lane, and looking haggard, though composed. They strolled together hy the water-side, talking of various matters ; but no sooner were they out of earshot than Gerard ad verted to the rumour he h»id heard. " A dastardly trick, sir." cr ed the old gentleman, through the ashen pallor of his lips. "It was a worry time and a sorry jest tn play on a childless man. But I've silenced the wheel ; there was no spinning last night." " Hut, sir-" What further Gerard would have said was cut short A tittle blue eyed child, coming: through the gap in the hedge, ran across the meadow to meet them, followed at a distance by Barnos, the weaver. " What oo done wi 1 my mammy, granddad ? Mammy, 'at tarn' to 'pin! What, oo done w-i' mammy ?" almost shrieked the litt.le fellow between his sobs. Gorard gazed at the child, and then at Mr Venables, who seemed struck dumb as a statue. " I want my mammy !" began the child again. "Mrs Furnival, Mo^ter," explained Barnes npologotio?illy, as he came up, " she cam' opp here to spin i' th' noight-toime t' keep her-en an' th' little chap ; an' we hunna seen her fdn— " A hoarse cry burst from the old man Flinginy his arms wildly in the air, he rushed over the bridge, and through the court-yard, towards the house. But Oerard was before him. armed with a gardener's pick he had caught up by the way. At the very back of the splintered dotr they found Sybilla prostrate with hunger, cold, exhaustion, and despair. For the first time Oeiard's arms enfolded her, and he bore her swiftly to the warmth and life below, insensible, but living. Kisses from little lips did almost as much as Ursula's cordials to restore her. She opened her eye* to see Tom on her father.* knee ; to feel her hand within that father's clasp ; to hear his fervent "Thank God ! she revives ! I have not killed my darling !" And, a« in a dream, a soothing sense of home, forgiveness, peace, stole into her aoul, though her eyelids drooped again. -"Sybilla and other Stories." By Mrs G. Linnreus Banks.