Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/162

. 3, 1861.] of a quiet country life, I went up to my bed-room about half-past ten, with the intention of taking refuge from the ennui which was growing on me, in a good long night’s sleep. Finding, however, the heat an insuperable obstacle to closing my eyes, I got up, put on my dressing-gown, and lighting a cigar, sat down at the open window, and dreamily gazed out on the garden in front of the cottage. Before me several low flat meadows stretched down to the river, which separated us from the town. In the distance the massive towers of the cathedral appeared in strong and bright relief against the sky. The whole landscape indeed was bathed in a flood of light from the clear summer moon.

I was gradually getting sleepy, and beginning to think of turning in, when I heard a soft, clear voice, proceeding apparently from some one just beneath my window, saying,

“George, George, be quick! You are wanted in the town.”

I immediately looked from the window, and although the moon still shone most brilliantly, somewhat to my surprise I could see no one. Thinking, however, that it was some friend of my landlord’s, who was begging him to come into the town upon business, I turned from the window, and getting into bed, in a few minutes was fast asleep.

I must have slept about three hours, when I awoke with a sudden start, and with a shivering “gooseskin” feeling all over me. Fancying that this was caused by the morning air from the open window, I was getting out of bed to close it, when I heard the same voice proceeding from the very window itself.

“George, be quick! You are wanted in the town.”

These words produced an indescribable effect upon me. I trembled from head to foot, and, with a curious creeping about the roots of the hair, stood and listened. Hearing nothing more, I walked quickly to the window, and looked out. As before, nothing was to be seen. I stood in the shade of the curtain for some minutes, watching for the speaker to show himself, and then laughing at my own nervousness, closed the window and returned to bed.

The grey morning light was now gradually overspreading the heavens, and daylight is antagonistic to all those fears which under cover of the darkness will steal at times over the boldest. In spite of this, I could not shake off the uncomfortable feeling produced by that voice. Vainly I tried to close my eyes. Eyes remained obstinately open; ears sensitively alive to the smallest sound.

Some half-hour had elapsed, when again I felt the same chill stealing over me. With the perspiration standing on my forehead, I started up in bed, and listened with all my might. An instant of dead silence, and the mysterious voice followed:

“George, be quick! You must go into the town.”

The voice was in the room—nay, more, by my very bed side. The miserable fear that came over me, I cannot attempt to describe. I felt that the words were addressed to me, and that by no human mouth.

Hearing nothing more, I slowly got out of bed and by every means in my power convinced myself that I was wide awake, and not dreaming. Looking at myself in the glass on the dressing-table, I was at first shocked, and then, in spite of myself, somewhat amused, by the pallid hue and scared expression of my countenance.

I grinned a ghastly grin at myself, whistled a bit of a polka, and got into bed again.

I had a horrible sort of notion that some one was looking at me, and that it would never do to let them see that I was the least uneasy.

I soon found out, however, that bed, under the circumstances, was a mistake, and I determined to get up, and calm my nerves in the fresh morning air.

I dressed hurriedly, with many a look over my shoulder, keeping as much as possible to one corner of the room, where nobody could get behind me. The grass in front of my window was glistening with the heavy morning dew, on which no foot could press without leaving a visible trace.

I searched the whole garden thoroughly, but no sign could I see of any person having been there.

Pondering over the events of the night, which in spite of broad daylight and common sense, persisted in assuming a somewhat supernatural aspect, I wandered across the meadows towards the river, by a footpath which led to the ferry. As I drew near to the boatman’s cottage I saw him standing at his door, looking up the path by which I was approaching. As soon as he saw me, he turned and walked down to his boat, where he waited my arrival. “You are early on foot my friend, this morning,” said I, as I joined him.

“Early, sir,” answered he, in a somewhat grumbling tone; “yes, it is early, sir, and I have been waiting here for you this two hours or more.”

“Waiting for me, my friend—how so?”

“Yes, sir, I have; for they seemed so very anxious that you should not be kept waiting; they have been down from the farm twice this blessed night, telling me that you would want to cross the ferry very early this morning.”

I answered the man not a word, and getting into his boat, was quickly put across the water. As I walked rapidly up towards the town, I endeavoured to persuade myself that somebody was endeavouring to play a silly hoax upon me. At last, stopping at a gate through which I had to pass, I determined upon proceeding no further. As I turned to retrace my steps, suddenly the same shivering sensation passed over me—I can only describe it as a cold damp blast of air meeting me in the face, and then, stealing round and behind me, enveloping me in its icy folds.

I distinctly heard the words “George, George,” uttered in my very ear, in a somewhat plaintive and entreating tone.

I shuddered with a craven fear, and turning hastily round hurried on towards the town.

A few minutes’ walking brought me into the market-place. It was evidently market-day, for in spite of the early hour there was already a considerable bustle going on. Shops were being opened, and the country people were exposing