But I was not comforted, for I knew the visit of the
strange woman was not a dream; and I was awfully
frightened.
I was a little consoled by the nursery maid’s
assuring me that it was she who had come and looked
at me, and lain down beside me in the bed, and that
I must have been half-dreaming not to have known her
face. But this, though supported by the nurse,
did not quite satisfy me.
I remembered, in the course of that day, a venerable
old man, in a black cassock, coming into the room
with the nurse and housekeeper, and talking a little
to them, and very kindly to me; his face was very sweet
and gentle, and he told me they were going to pray,
and joined my hands together, and desired me to say,
softly, while they were praying, “Lord hear
all good prayers for us, for Jesus’ sake.”
I think these were the very words, for I often repeated
them to myself, and my nurse used for years to make
me say them in my prayers.
I remembered so well the thoughtful sweet face of
that white-haired old man, in his black cassock, as
he stood in that rude, lofty, brown room, with the
clumsy furniture of a fashion three hundred years old
about him, and the scanty light entering its shadowy
atmosphere through the small lattice. He kneeled,
and the three women with him, and he prayed aloud
with an earnest quavering voice for, what appeared
to me, a long time. I forget all my life preceding
that event, and for some time after it is all obscure
also, but the scenes I have just described stand out
vivid as the isolated pictures of the phantasmagoria
surrounded by darkness.
A Guest
I am now going to tell you something so strange that
it will require all your faith in my veracity to believe
my story. It is not only true, nevertheless,
but truth of which I have been an eyewitness.
It was a sweet summer evening, and my father asked
me, as he sometimes did, to take a little ramble with
him along that beautiful forest vista which I have
mentioned as lying in front of the schloss.
“General Spielsdorf cannot come to us so soon
as I had hoped,” said my father, as we pursued
our walk.
He was to have paid us a visit of some weeks, and
we had expected his arrival next day. He was
to have brought with him a young lady, his niece and
ward, Mademoiselle Rheinfeldt, whom I had never seen,
but whom I had heard described as a very charming
girl, and in whose society I had promised myself many
happy days. I was more disappointed than a young
lady living in a town, or a bustling neighborhood can
possibly imagine. This visit, and the new acquaintance
it promised, had furnished my day dream for many weeks.
“And how soon does he come?” I asked.
“Not till autumn. Not for two months, I
dare say,” he answered. “And I am
very glad now, dear, that you never knew Mademoiselle
Rheinfeldt.”
