’A lady with a lamp I see,
Pass through the glimmering gloom,
And flit from room to room.’
Longfellow.
For want of being able to take exercise, the first
part of the night had always been sleepless with
me, though my dear mother thought it wrong to recognise
the habit or allow me a lamp. A fire, however,
I had, and by its light, on the second night after
Christmas, I saw my door noiselessly opened, and
Clarence creeping in half-dressed and barefooted.
To my frightened interrogation the answer came, through
chattering teeth, ’It’s I—only
I—Ted—no—nothing’s
the matter, only I can’t stand it any longer!’
His hands were cold as ice when he grasped mine, as
if to get hold of something substantial, and he trembled
so as to shake the bed. ‘That room,’
he faltered. ’’Tis not only the moans!
I’ve seen her!’
‘Whom?’
‘I don’t know. There she stands
with her lamp, crying!’ I could scarcely distinguish
the words through the clashing of his teeth, and
as I threw my arms round him the shudder seemed to
pass to me; but I did my best to warm him by drawing
the clothes over him, and he began to gather himself
together, and speak intelligibly. There had
been sounds the first night as of wailing, but he had
been too much preoccupied to attend to them till,
soon after one o’clock, they ended in a heavy
fall and long shriek, after which all was still.
Christmas night had been undisturbed, but on this
the voices had begun again at eleven, and had a strangely
human sound; but as it was windy, sleety weather,
and he had learnt at sea to disregard noises in the
rigging, he drew the sheet over his head and went to
sleep. ‘I was dreaming that I was at
sea,’ he said, ’as I always do on a noisy
night, but this was not a dream. I was wakened
by a light in the room, and there stood a woman with
a lamp, moaning and sobbing. My first notion
was that one of the maids had come to call me, and
I sat up; but I could not speak, and she gave another
awful suppressed cry, and moved towards that walled-up
door. Then I saw it was none of the servants,
for it was an antique dress like an old picture.
So I knew what it must be, and an unbearable horror
came over me, and I rushed into the outer room, where
there was a little fire left; but I heard her going
on still, and I could endure it no longer.
I knew you would be awake and would bear with me, so
I came down to you.’
Then this was what Chapman and the maids had meant.
This was Mrs. Sophia Selby’s vulgar superstition!
I found that Clarence had heard none of the mysterious
whispers afloat, and only knew that Griff had deserted
the room after his own return to London. I related
what I had learnt from the old lady, and in that
midnight hour we agreed that it could be no mere
fancy or rumour, but that cruel wrong must have been
done in that chamber. Our feeling was that all
ought to be made known, and in that impression we
fell asleep, Clarence first.
