The Ghost at the Rath

MANY may disbelieve this story, yet there
are some still living who can remember hearing,
when children, of the events which it details,
and of the strange sensation which their
publicity excited. The tale, in its present form,
is copied, by permission, from a memoir written
by the chief actor in the romance, and preserved
as a sort of heirloom in the family whom it
concerns.
In the year——, I, John Thunder, captain
in the Regiment, having passed many
years abroad following my profession, received
most unexpected notice that I had become
owner of certain properties which I had never
thought to inherit. I set off for my native
land, arrived in Dublin, found that my good
fortune was real, and at once began to look
about me for old friends. The first I met with,
quite by accident, was curly-headed Frank
O’Brien, who had been at school with me,
though I was ten years his senior. He was
curly-headed still, and handsome, as he had
promised to be, but careworn and poor.¹The surname O Brien is commonly used in literature to signal traditional Irish heritage. During
an evening spent at his chambers I drew all
his history from him. He was a briefless barrister.²A barrister is a type of lawyer in the United Kingdom. A briefless barrister refers to a barrister with no cases to work on, revealing Frank O’Briens professional struggles.
As a man, he was not more talented
than he had been as a boy. Hard work and
anxiety had not brought him success, only
broken his health and soured his mind. He was
in love, and he could not marry. I soon knew
all about Mary Leonard, his fiancée, whom he
had met at a house in the country somewhere,
in which she was governess. They had now
been engaged for two years; she active and
hopeful, he sick and despondent. From the
letters of hers which he showed me, I thought
she was a treasure, worth all the devotion he
felt for her. I thought a good deal about what
could be done for Frank, but I could not easily
hit upon a plan to assist him. For ten chances
you have of helping a smart man, you have not
two for a dull one.
In the mean time my friend must regain his
health, and a change of air and scene was
necessary. I urged him to make a voyage of
discovery to The Rath, an old house and park
which had come into my possession as portion of
my recently-acquired estates.³A rath is an ancient Irish ringfort, typically associated with early medieval settlements. Many were believed to be haunted or linked to the supernatural in Irish folklore. I had never been
to the place myself; but it had once been the
residence of Sir Luke Thunder, of generous
memory, and I knew that it was furnished, and
provided with a caretaker. I pressed him to
leave Dublin at once, and promised to follow
him as soon as I found it possible to do so.
So Frank went down to The Rath. The place
was two hundred miles away; he was a stranger
there, and far from well. When the first week
came to an end, and I had heard nothing from
him, I did not like the silence; when a fortnight
had passed, and still not a word to say he
was alive, I felt decidedly uncomfortable; and
when the third week of his absence arrived at
Saturday without bringing me news, I found
myself whizzing through a part of the country
I had never travelled before, in the same train
in which I had seen Frank seated at our
parting.
I reached D—— , and, shouldering my knapsack
walked right into the heart of a lovely
woody country. Following the directions I
had received, I made my way to a lonely road,
on which I met not a soul, and which seemed
cut out of the heart of a forest, so closely were
the trees ranked on either side, and so dense
was the twilight made by the meeting and
intertwining of the thick branches overhead. In
these shades I came upon a gate, like a gate run to seed, with tall, thin, brick pillars,
brandishing long grasses from their heads, and
spotted with a melancholy crust of creeping
moss. I jangled a cracked bell, and an old man
appeared from the thickets within, stared at me,
then admitted me with a rusty key. I breathed
freely on hearing that my friend was well and to
be seen. I presented a letter to the old man,
having a fancy not to avow myself.
I found my friend walking up and down the
alleys of a neglected orchard, with the lichened
branches tangled above his head, and ripe apples
rotting about his feet. His hands were locked
behind his back, and his head was set on one
side, listening to the singing of a bird. I never
had seen him look so well; yet there was a
vacancy about his whole air which I did not
like. He did not seem at all surprised to see
me, asked had he really not written to me,
thought he had; was so comfortable that he
had forgotten everything else. He thought he
had only been there about three days; could
not imagine how the time had passed. He
seemed to talk wildly, and this, coupled with
the unusual happy placidity of his manner,
confounded me. The place knew him, he told me
confidentially; the place belonged to him, or
should; the birds sang him this, the very trees
bent before him as he passed, the air whispered
him that he had been long expected, and should
be poor no more. Wrestling with my judgment
ere it should pronounce him mad, I followed
him in-doors. The Rath was no ordinary
old country-house. The acres around it were
so wildly overgrown that it was hard to decide
which had been pleasure-ground and where the
thickets had begun. The plan of the house was
grand, with mullioned windows, and here and
there a fleck of stained glass flinging back the
challenge of an angry sunset.⁴The description of mullioned windows and stained glass suggest medieval architectural influence, reinforcing the storys Gothic-resurgence setting of Victorian England. The vast rooms
were full of a dusky glare from the sky as I
strolled through them in the twilight.⁵Twilight is often used in Gothic fiction as a liminal time where the supernatural and worldly can more believably mix. The
antique furniture had many a blood-red splatch
on the abrupt notches of its dark carvings; the
dusty mirrors flared back at the windows, while
the faded curtains produced streaks of uncertain
colour from the depths of their sullen foldings.
Dinner was laid for us in the library, a long
wainscoted room, with an enormous fire roaring
up the chimney, sending a dancing light over
the dingy titles of long unopened books.⁶Wainscoting refers to wooden paneling on the lower part of walls, popular in mansions of the 17th-19th centuries, adding to the decayed grandeur of the supposedly haunted house. The
old man who had unlocked the gate for me
served us at table, and, after drawing the dusty
curtains, and furnishing us with a plentiful
supply of fuel and wine, left us. His clanking
hobnailed shoes went echoing away in the
distance over the unmatted tiles of the vacant hall
till a door closed with a resounding clang very
far away, letting us know that we were shut up
together for the night in this vast, mouldy,
oppressive old house.⁷Hobnails are small nails used to reinforce boots. Commonly worn by laborers and servants in the 19th century, the detail of hobnailed shoes suggests the old caretakers working-class status.
I felt as if I could scarcely breathe in it. I
could not eat with my usual appetite. The air
of the place seemed heavy and tainted. I grew
sick and restless. The very wine tasted badly,
as if it had been drugged. I had a strange sort
of feeling that I had been in the house before,
and that something evil had happened to me in
it. Yet such could not be the case. What
puzzled me most was, that I should feel
dissatisfied at seeing Frank looking so well, and
eating so heartily. A little time before I should
have been glad to suffer something to see him
as he looked now; and yet not quite as he
looked now. There was a drowsy contentment
about him which I could not understand. He
did not talk of his work, or of any wish to
return to it. He seemed to have no thought of
anything but the delight of hanging about that
old house, which had certainly cast a spell
over him.
About midnight he seized a light, and
proposed retiring to our rooms. ” I have such
delightful dreams in this place,” he said. He
volunteered, as we issued into the hall, to take
me up-stairs and show me the upper regions of
his paradise. I said, ” Not to-night.” I felt a
strange creeping, sensation as I looked up the
vast black staircase, wide enough for a coach
to drive down, and at the heavy darkness bending
over it like a curse, while our lamps made
drips of light down the first two or three gloomy
steps. Our bedrooms were on the ground floor,
and stood opposite one another off a passage
which led to a garden. Into mine Frank
conducted me, and left me for his own.
The uneasy feeling which I have described
did not go from me with him, and I felt a
restlessness amounting to pain, when left alone in
my chamber. Efforts had evidently been made
to render the room habitable, but there was a
something antagonistic to sleep in every angle
of its many crooked corners. I kicked chairs
out of their prim order along the wall, and
banged things about here and there; finally,
thinking that a good nights rest was the best
cure for an inexplicably disturbed frame of mind,
I undressed as quickly as possible, and laid my
head on my pillow under a canopy, like the wings
of a gigantic bird of prey wheeling above me
ready to pounce.
But I could not sleep. The wind grumbled
in the chimney, and the boughs swished in the
garden outside; and between these noises I
thought I heard sounds coming from the interior
of the old house, where all should have been
still as the dead down in their vaults. I could
not make out what these sounds were.
Sometimes I thought I heard feet running about,
sometimes I could have sworn there were double
knocks, tremendous tantarararas at the great hall
door.⁸Tantara is the sound of a horn or trumpet blowing. Sometimes I heard the clashing of dishes,
the echo of voices calling, and the dragging
about of furniture. Whilst I sat up in bed
trying to account for these noises, my door
suddenly flew open, a bright light streamed in
from the passage without, and a powdered
servant in an elaborate livery of antique pattern
stood holding the handle of the door in his
hand, and bowing low to me in the bed.
“Her ladyship, my mistress, desires your
presence in the drawing-room, sir.”
This was announced in the measured tone of
a well-trained domestic. Then with another bow he retired, the door closed, and I was left in the
dark to determine whether I had not suddenly
awakened from a tantalising dream. In spite of
my very wakeful sensations, I believe I should
have endeavoured to convince myself that I had
been sleeping, but that I perceived light shining
under my door, and through the keyhole, from
the passage. I got up, lit my lamp, and dressed
myself as hastily as I was able.
I opened my door, and the passage down
which a short time before I had almost groped
my way, with my lamp blinking in the dense
foggy darkness, was now illuminated with a
light as bright as gas. I walked along it
quickly, looking right and left to see whence
the glare proceeded. Arriving at the hall, I
found it also blazing with light, and filled with
perfume. Groups of choice plants, heavy with
blossoms, made it look like a garden. The mosaic
floor was strewn with costly mats. Soft colours
and gilding shone from the walls, and canvases
that had been black gave forth faces of men and
women looking brightly from their burnished
frames. Servants were running about, the dining-
room and drawing-room doors were opening and
shutting, and as I looked through each I saw
vistas of light and colour, the moving of brilliant
crowds, the waving of feathers, and glancing of
brilliant dresses and uniforms. A festive hum
reached me with a drowsy subdued sound as if
I were listening with stuffed ears. Standing
aside by an orange-tree, I gave up speculating
on what this might be, and concentrated all my
powers on observation.
Wheels were heard suddenly, and a resounding
knock banged at the door till it seemed that
the very rooks in the chimneys must be startled
screaming out of their nests. The door flew
open, a flaming of lanterns was seen outside,
and a dazzling lady came up the steps and swept
into the hall. When she held up her cloth of
silver train, I could see the diamonds that
twinkled on her feet.⁹The cloth of silver mentioned is a type of luxurious fabric woven with real silver threads, often worn by royalty or aristocracy. This, as well as the diamonds mentioned, highlights the ghost ladys wealth and high status. Her bosom was covered
with moss-roses, and there was a red light in her
eyes like the reflexion from a hundred glowing
fires.¹⁰The moss-rose is a literary symbol of love and mystery, while the red light in her eyes suggests a demonic or otherworldly presence. Her black hair went coiling about her
head, and couched among the braids lay a jewel
not unlike the head of a snake. She was flashing
and glowing with gems and flowers. Her
beauty and her brilliance made me dizzy. There
came a faintness in the air, as if her breath had
poisoned it. A whirl of storm came in with her,
and rushed up the staircase like a moan. The
plants shuddered and shed their blossoms, and
all the lights grew dim a moment, then flared up
again.
Now the drawing-room door opened, and
a gentleman came out with a young girl leaning
on his arm. He was a fine-looking, middle-aged
gentleman, with a mild countenance.
The girl was a slender creature, with golden
hair and a pale face. She was dressed in pure
white, with a large ruby like a drop of blood at
her throat. They advanced together to receive
the lady who had arrived. The gentleman
offered his arm to the stranger, and the girl who
was displaced for her fell back, and walked
behind them with a downcast air. I felt irresistibly
impelled to follow them, and passed with
them into the drawing-room. Never had I
mixed in a finer, gayer crowd. The costumes
were rich and of an old-fashioned pattern.
Dancing was going forward with spirit— minuets
and country dances.¹¹A minuet is a slow, formal dance popular in the 17th and 18th centuries, while country dances are lively group dances. The stately gentleman was
evidently the host, and moved among the company,
introducing the magnificent lady right and
left. He led her to the head of the room presently,
and they mixed in the dance. The arrogance
of her manner and the fascination of her
beauty were wonderful.
I cannot attempt to describe the strange
manner in which I was in this company, and
yet not of it. I seemed to view all I beheld
through some fine and subtile medium. I saw
clearly, yet I felt that it was not with my
ordinary naked eyesight. I can compare it to
nothing but looking at a scene through a piece
of smoked or coloured glass. And just in the
same way (as I have said before) all sounds
seemed to reach me as if I were listening with
ears imperfectly stuffed. No one present took
any notice of me. I spoke to several, and they
made no reply— did not even turn their eyes
upon me, nor show in any way that they heard
me. I planted myself straight in the way of a
fine fellow in a generals uniform, but he,
swerving neither to right nor left by an inch,
kept on his way, as though I were a streak of
mist, and left me behind him. Every one I
touched eluded me somehow. Substantial as
they all looked, I could not contrive to lay my
hand on anything that felt like solid flesh. Two
or three times I felt a momentary relief from
the oppressive sensations which distracted me,
when I firmly believed I saw Franks head at
some distance among the crowd, now in one
room and now in another, and again in the
conservatory, which was hung with lamps, and
filled with people walking about among the
flowers. But, whenever I approached, he had
vanished. At last I came upon him, sitting by
himself on a couch behind a curtain watching
the dancers. I laid my hand upon his shoulder.
Here was something substantial at last. He
did not look up; he seemed aware neither of
my touch nor my speech. I looked in his
staring eyes, and found that he was sound
asleep. I could not wake him.
Curiosity would not let me remain by his
side. I again mixed with the crowd, and found
the stately host still leading about the magnificent
lady. No one seemed to notice that the
golden-haired girl was sitting weeping in a
corner; no one but the beauty in the silver
train, who sometimes glanced at her
contemptuously. Whilst I watched her distress a
group came between me and her, and I
wandered into another room, where, as though I
had turned from one picture of her to look at
another, I beheld her dancing gaily in the full
glee of Sir Roger de Coverley, with a fine-
looking youth, who was more plainly dressed
than any other person in the room.¹²A Sir Roger de Coverley is a type of country dance popular in the United Kingdom in the 18th and 19th centuries. Never was
a better-matched pair to look at. Down the middle they danced, hand in hand, his face full
of tenderness, hers beaming with joy, right and
left bowing and curtseying, parted and meeting
again, smiling and whispering; but over
the heads of smaller women there were the
fierce eyes of the magnificent beauty scowling
at them. Then again the crowd shifted around
me, and this scene was lost.
For some time I could see no trace of the
golden-haired girl in any of the rooms. I
looked for her in vain, till at last I caught a
glimpse of her standing smiling in a doorway
with her finger lifted, beckoning. At whom?
Could it be at me? Her eyes were fixed on
mine. I hastened into the hall, and caught
sight of her white dress passing up the wide
black staircase from which I had shrunk some
hours earlier. I followed her, she keeping some
steps in advance. It was intensely dark, but
by the gleaming of her gown I was able to
trace her flying figure. Where we went, I
knew not, up how many stairs, down how many
passages, till we arrived at a low-roofed large
room with sloping roof and queer windows
where there was a dim light, like the sanctuary
light in a deserted church. Here, when I
entered, the golden head was glimmering over
something which I presently discerned to be a
cradle wrapped round with white curtains, and
with a few fresh flowers fastened up on the
hood of it, as if to catch a baby’s eye. The
fair sweet face looked up at me with a glow of
pride on it, smiling with happy dimples. The
white hands unfolded the curtains, and stripped
back the coverlet. Then, suddenly there went
a rushing moan all round the weird room,
that seemed like a gust of wind forcing in through
the crannies, and shaking the jingling old
windows in their sockets. The cradle was an
empty one. The girl fell back with a look of
horror on her pale face that I shall never forget,
then flinging her arms above her head, she
dashed from the room.¹³The fleeing ghostly woman resembles the symbolic specter girl of supernatural stories, which often represents a female ghost who died tragically, usually involving murder, suicide, or betrayal. These souls are often written as seeking justice.
I followed her as fast as I was able, but the
wild white figure was too swift for me. I had
lost her before I reached the bottom of the
staircase. I searched for her, first in one room,
then in another, neither could I see her foe (as
I already believed to be), the lady of the silver
train. At length I found myself in a small
ante-room, where a lamp was expiring on the
table. A window was open, close by it the
golden-haired girl was lying sobbing in a chair,
while the magnificent lady was bending over
her as if soothingly, and offering her something
to drink in a goblet. The moon was rising
behind the two figures. The shuddering light
of the lamp was flickering over the girls bright
head, the rich embossing of the golden cup, the
lady’s silver robes, and, I thought, the jewelled
eyes of the serpent looked out from her bending
head. As I watched, the girl raised her face
and drank, then suddenly dashed the goblet
away; while a cry such as I never heard but
once, and shiver to remember, rose to the very
roof of the old house, and the clear sharp word
“Poisoned !” rang and reverberated from hall
and chamber in a thousand echoes, like the
clash of a peal of bells. The girl dashed herself
from the open window, leaving the cry
clamouring behind her. I heard the violent opening
of doors and running of feet, but I waited
for nothing more. Maddened by what I had
witnessed, I would have felled the murderess,
but she glided unhurt from under my vain blow.
I sprang from the window after the wretched
white figure. I saw it flying on before me with
a speed I could not overtake. I ran till I was
dizzy. I called like a madman, and heard the
owls croaking back to me. The moon grew
huge and bright, the trees grew out before it
like the bushy heads of giants, the river lay
keen and shining like a long unsheathed sword,
couching for deadly work among the rushes.
The white figure shimmered and vanished,
glittered brightly on before me, shimmered and
vanished again, shimmered, staggered, fell, and
disappeared in the river. Of what she was,
phantom or reality, I thought not at the moment:
she had the semblance of a human being
going to destruction, and I had the frenzied
impulse to save her. I rushed forward with
one last effort, struck my foot against the root
of a tree, and was dashed to the ground. I
remember a crash, momentary pain and
confusion; then nothing more.
When my senses returned, the red clouds of
the dawn were shining in the river beside me.
I arose to my feet, and found that, though much
bruised, I was otherwise unhurt. I busied my
mind in recalling the strange circumstances
which had brought me to that place in the dead
of the night. The recollection of all I had
witnessed was vividly present to my mind. I took
my way slowly to the house, almost expecting
to see the marks of wheels and other indications
of last nights revel, but the rank grass that
covered the gravel was uncrushed, not a blade
disturbed, not a stone displaced. I shook one
of the drawing-room windows till I shook off
the old rusty hasp inside, flung up the creaking
sash, and entered. Where were the brilliant
draperies and carpets, the soft gilding, the vases
teeming with flowers, the thousand sweet odours
of the night before? Not a trace of them; no,
nor even a ragged cobweb swept away, nor a
stiff chair moved an inch from its melancholy
place, nor the face of a mirror relieved from one
speck of its obscuring dust!
Coming back into the open air, I met the old
man from the gate walking up one of the weedy
paths. He eyed me meaningly from head to
foot, but I gave him good morrow cheerfully.
“You see I am poking about early,” I said.
“I faith, sir,” said he, ” an ye look like a
man that had been pokin about all night.”
“How so?” said I.
“Why, ye see, sir,” said he, ” Im used to t,
an I can read it in yer face like prent. Some
sees one thing an some another, an some only
feels an hears. The poor jintleman inside, he
says nothin, but he has beautyful dhrames.
An for the Lords sake, sir, take him out o
this, for I’ve seen him wandherin’ about like a ghost himself in the heart of the night, an
him that sound sleepin’ that I couldn’t wake
him!”
At breakfast I said nothing to Frank of my
strange adventures. He had rested well, he
said, and boasted of his enchanting dreams. I
asked him to describe them, when he grew
perplexed and annoyed. He remembered nothing,
but that his spirit had been delightfully
entertained whilst his body reposed. I now felt a
curiosity to go through the old house, and was
not surprised, on pushing open a door at the
end of a remote mouldy passage, to enter the
identical chamber into which I had followed the
pale-faced girl when she beckoned me out of the
drawing-room. There were the low brooding
roof and slanting walls, the short wide latticed
windows to which the noonday sun was trying
to pierce through a forest of leaves. The hangings
rotting with age shook like dreary banners
at the opening of the door, and there in the
middle of the room was the cradle; only the
curtains that had been white were blackened
with dirt, and laced and overlaced with cobwebs.
I parted the curtains, bringing down a shower
of dust upon the floor, and saw lying upon the
pillow, within, a child’s tiny shoe, and a toy. I
need not describe the rest of the house. It was
vast and rambling, and, as far as furniture
and decorations were concerned, the wreck of
grandeur.
Having strange subject for meditation, I
walked alone in the orchard that evening. This
orchard sloped towards the river I have
mentioned before. The trees were old and stunted,
and the branches tangled overhead. The ripe
apples were rolling in the long bleached grass.
A row of taller trees, sycamores and chestnuts,
straggled along by the rivers edge, ferns and
tall weeds grew round and amongst them, and
between their trunks, and behind the rifts in
the foliage, the water was seen to flow. Walking
up and down one of the paths I alternately
faced these trees and turned my back upon them.
Once when coming towards them I chanced to
lift my eyes, started, drew my hands across my
eyes, looked again, and finally stood still gazing
in much astonishment. I saw distinctly the
figure of a lady standing by one of the trees,
bending low towards the grass. Her face was
a little turned away, her dress a bluish white,
her mantle a dun brown colour. She held a
spade in her hands, and her foot was upon it,
as if she were in the act of digging. I gazed
at her for some time, vainly trying to guess at
whom she might be, then I advanced towards
her. As I approached, the outlines of her figure
broke up and disappeared, and I found that she
was only an illusion presented to me by the
curious accidental grouping of the lines of two
trees which had shaped the space between them
into the semblance of the form I have described.
A patch of the flowing water had been her robe,
a piece of russet moorland her cloak. The spade
was an awkward young shoot slanting up from
the root of one of the trees. I stepped back
and tried to piece her out again bit by bit, but
could not succeed.
That night I did not feel at all inclined to
return to my dismal chamber, and lie awaiting
such another summons as I had once received.
When Frank bade me good night, I heaped
fresh coals on the fire, took down from the
shelves a book, from which I lifted the dust in
layers with my penknife, and, dragging an
armchair close to the hearth, tried to make myself
as comfortable as might be. I am a strong,
robust man, very unimaginative, and little troubled
with affections of the nerves, but I confess that
my feelings were not enviable, sitting thus alone
in that queer old house, with last nights strange
pantomime still vividly present to my memory.
In spite of my efforts at coolness, I was excited
by the prospect of what yet might be in store
for me before morning. But these feelings
passed away as the night wore on, and I nodded
asleep over my book.
I was startled by the sound of a brisk light
step walking overhead. Wide awake at once, I
sat up and listened. The ceiling was low, but
I could not call to mind what room it was that
lay above the library in which I sat. Presently
I heard the same step upon the stairs, and the
loud sharp rustling of a silk dress sweeping
against the banisters. The step paused at the
library door, and then there was silence. I got
up, and with all the courage I could summon
seized a light, and opened the door; but there
was nothing in the hall but the usual heavy
darkness and damp mouldy air. I confess I
felt more uncomfortable at that moment than I
had done at any time during the preceding
night. All the visions that had then appeared
to me had produced nothing like the horror of
thus feeling a supernatural presence which my
eyes were not permitted to behold.
I returned to the library, and passed the
night there. Next day I sought for the room
above it in which I had heard the footsteps, but
could discover no entrance to any such room.
Its windows, indeed, I counted from the outside,
though they were so overgrown with ivy I
could hardly discern them, but in the interior
of the house I could find no door to the chamber.
I asked Frank about it, but he knew and cared
nothing on the subject; I asked the old man at
the lodge, and he shook his head.
“Och!” he said, ” don’t ask about that room.
The doors built up, and flesh and blood have
no consarn wid it. It was her own room.”
“Whose own?” I asked.
“Ould Lady Thunders. An whisht, sir I
that’s her grave .”
“What do you mean?” I said. ” Are you
out of your mind?”
He laughed queerly, drew nearer, and lowered
his voice. ” Nobody has asked about the room
these years but yourself,” he said. ” Nobody
misses it goin’ over the house. My grandfather
was an ould retainer o the Thunder family, my
father was in the service too, an I was born
myself before the ould lady died. Yon was her room, an she left her etarnal curse on her
family if so be they didn’t lave her coffin there.
She wasn’t goin’ undher the ground to the
worms. So there it was left, an they built up
the door. God love ye, sir, an don’t go near it.
I wouldn’t have tould you, only I know yeve
seen plenty about already, an ye have the look
o one that’d be ferretin’ things out, savin yer
presence.”
He looked at me knowingly, but I gave him
no information, only thanked him for putting
me on my guard. I could scarcely credit what
he told me about the room: but my curiosity
was excited regarding it. I made up my mind
that day to try and induce Frank to quit the
place on the morrow. I felt more and more
convinced that the atmosphere was not healthful
for his mind, whatever it might be for his body.
The sooner we left the spot, I thought, the better
for us both; but the remaining night which I
had to pass there I resolved on devoting to the
exploring of the walled-up chamber. What
impelled me to this resolve I do not know.
The undertaking was not a pleasant one, and I
should hardly have ventured on it had I been
forced to remain much longer at The Rath. But
I knew there was little chance of sleep for me
in that house, and I thought I might as well go
and seek for my adventures as sit waiting for
them to come tor me, as I had done the night
before. I felt a relish for my enterprise, and
expected the night with satisfaction. I did not
say anything of my intention either to Frank or
the old man at the lodge. I did not want to
make a fuss, and have my doings talked of all
over the country. I may as well mention here
that again, on this evening, when walking in
the orchard, I saw the figure of the lady digging
between the trees. And again I saw that this
figure was an illusive appearance; that the water
was her gown, and the moorland her cloak, and
a willow in the distance her tresses.
As soon as the night was pretty far advanced,
I placed a ladder against the window which was
least covered over with the ivy, and mounted it,
having provided myself with a dark lantern.
The moon rose full behind some trees that
stood like a black bank against the horizon,
and glimmered on the panes as I ripped away
branches and leaves with a knife, and shook
the old crazy casement open. The sashes were
rotten, and the fastenings easily gave way. I
placed my lantern on a bench within, and was
soon standing beside it in the chamber. The
air was insufferably close and mouldy, and I
flung the window open to the widest, and beat
the bowering ivy still further back from about
it, so as to let the fresh air of heaven blow into
the place. I then took my lantern in hand, and
began to look about me.
The room was vast and double; a velvet
curtain hung between me and an inner chamber.
The darkness was thick and irksome, and the
scanty light of my lantern only tantalised me.
My eyes fell on some grand spectral looking
candelabra furnished with wax-candles, which,
though black with age, still bore the marks of
having been guttered by a draught that had
blown on them fifty years ago, I lighted these;
they burned up with a ghastly flickering, and
the apartment, with its fittings, was revealed to
me. These latter had been splendid in the days
of their freshness: the appointments of the rest
of the house were mean in comparison. The
ceiling was painted with exquisite allegorical
figures, also spaces of the walls between the dim
mirrors and the sumptuous hangings of crimson
velvet, with their tarnished golden tassels and
fringes. The carpet still felt luxurious to the
tread, and the dust could not altogether obliterate
the elaborate fancy of its flowery design.
There were gorgeous cabinets laden with
curiosities, wonderfully carved chairs, rare
vases, and antique glasses of every description,
under some of which lay little heaps of dust
which had once no doubt been blooming flowers.
There was a table laden with books of poetry
and science, drawings and drawing materials,
which showed that the occupant of the room
had been a person of mind. There was also
a writing-table scattered over with yellow papers,
and a work-table at a window, on which lay
reels, a thimble, and a piece of what had once
been white muslin, but was now saffron colour,
sewn with gold thread, a rusty needle sticking
in it. This and the pen lying on the inkstand,
the paper-knife between the leaves of a book,
the loose sketches shaken out by the side of a
portfolio, and the ashes of a fire on the grand
mildewed hearth-place, all suggested that the
owner of this retreat had been snatched from it
without warning, and that whoever had thought
proper to build up the doors, had also thought
proper to touch nothing that had belonged to
her.
Having surveyed all these things, I entered
the inner room, which was a bedroom. The
furniture of this was in keeping with that of the
other chamber. I saw dimly a bed enveloped
in lace, and a dressing-table fancifully garnished
and draped. Here I espied more candelabra,
and going forward to set the lights burning, I
stumbled against something. I turned the blaze
of my lantern on this something, and started
with a sudden thrill of horror. It was a large
stone coffin.
I own that I felt very strangely for the next
few minutes. When I had recovered the shock,
I set the wax-candles burning, and took a better
survey of this odd burial-place. A wardrobe
stood open, and I saw dresses hanging within.
A gown lay upon a chair, as if just thrown off,
and a pair of dainty slippers were beside it. The
toilet-table looked as if only used yesterday,
judging by the litter that covered it; hair-
brushes lying this way and that way, essence-
bottles with the stoppers out, paint-pots
uncovered, a ring here, a wreath of artificial
flowers there, and in front of all that coffin, the
tarnished cupids that bore the mirror between
their hands smirking down at it with a grim
complacency.¹⁴Cupids symbolize love and romance in decorative art dating back to ancient Greece. The tarnished description suggests the decay of grandeur and lost love.
On the corner of this table was a small golden
salver, holding a plate of some black mouldered food, an antique decanter filled with wine, a
glass, and a phial with some thick black liquid,
uncorked.¹⁵A salver is a tray typically made of silver for formal circumstances. I felt weak and sick with the
atmosphere of the place, and I seized the
decanter, wiped the dust from it with my
handkerchief, tasted, found that the wine was good,
and drank a moderate draught. Immediately it
was swallowed I felt a horrid giddiness, and
sank upon the coffin. A raging pain was in my
head and a sense of suffocation in my chest.
After a few intolerable moments I felt better,
but the heavy air pressed on me stiflingly, and
I rushed from this inner room into the larger
and outer chamber. Here a blast of cool air
revived me, and I saw that the place was
changed.
A dozen other candelabra besides those I had
lighted were flaming round the walls, the hearth
was all ruddy with a blazing fire, everything
that had been dim was bright, the lustre had
returned to the gilding, the flowers bloomed
in the vases. A lady was sitting before the
hearth in a low arm-chair. Her light loose
gown swept about her on the carpet, her black
hair fell round her to her knees, and into it her
hands were thrust as she leaned her forehead
upon them and stared between them into the
fire. I had scarcely time to observe her attitude
when she turned her head quickly towards me,
and I recognised the handsome face of the
magnificent lady who had played such a sinister part
in the strange scenes that had been enacted
before me two nights ago. I saw something
dark looming behind her chair, but I thought it
was only her shadow thrown backward by the
firelight.
She arose and came to meet me, and I
recoiled from her. There was something horridly
fixed and hollow in her gaze, and filmy in the
stirring of her garments. The shadow, as she
moved, grew more firm and distinct in outline
and followed her like a servant where she
went.
She crossed half of the room, then beckoned
me, and sat down at the writing-table. The
shadow waited beside her, adjusted her paper,
placed the ink-bottle near her and the pen
between her fingers. I felt impelled to approach
near her, and to take my place at her left
shoulder, so as to see what she might write.
The shadow stood at her other hand. As I
became more accustomed to the shadows
presence he grew more loathsome and hideous.
He was quite distinct from the lady, and moved
independently of her with long ugly limbs. She
hesitated about beginning to write, and he made
a wild gesture with his arm, which brought her
hand down quickly on the paper, and her pen
began to move at once. I needed not to bend
and scrutinise in order to read what was written.
Every word as it was formed flashed before me
like a meteor.
“I am the spirit of Madeleine, Lady Thunder,
who lived and died in this house, and whose
coffin stands in yonder room among the vanities
in which I delighted. I am constrained to
make my confession to you, John Thunder,
who are the present owner of the estates of your
family.”¹⁶The ghosts confession follows the tradition of spectral justice, where spirits return to reveal past wrongs and set things right, often signaling the climax or falling action of a supernatural tale.
Here the pale hand trembled and stopped
writing. But the shadow made a threatening
gesture, and the hand fluttered on.
“I was beautiful, poor, and ambitious, and
when I entered this house first on the night of
a ball given by Sir Luke Thunder, I determined
to become its mistress. His daughter, Mary
Thunder, was the only obstacle in my way. She
divined my intention, and stood between me
and her father. She was a gentle, delicate girl,
and no match for me. I pushed her aside, and
became Lady Thunder. After that I hated her,
and made her dread me. I had gained the object
of my ambition, but I was jealous of the
influence possessed by her over her father, and I
revenged myself by crushing the joy out of her
young life. In this I defeated my own purpose.
She eloped with a young man who was devoted
to her, though poor, and beneath her in station.
Her father was indignant at first and my malice
was satisfied; but as time passed on I had no
children, and she had a son, soon after whose
birth her husband died. Then her father took
her back to his heart, and the boy was his idol
and heir.”
Again the hand stopped writing, the ghostly
head drooped, and the whole figure was
convulsed. But the shadow gesticulated fiercely,
and cowering under its menace, the wretched
spirit went on:
“I caused the child to be stolen away. I
thought I had done it cunningly, but she tracked
the crime home to me. She came and accused
me of it, and in the desperation of my terror at
discovery, I gave her poison to drink. She
rushed from me and from the house in frenzy,
and in her mortal anguish fell in the river.
People thought she had gone mad from grief
for her child, and committed suicide. I only
knew the horrible truth. Sorrow brought an
illness upon her father, of which he died.
Up to the day of his death, he had search
made for the child. Believing that it was alive,
and must be found, he willed all his property
to it, his rightful heir, and to its heirs for ever.
I buried the deeds under a tree in the orchard,
and forged a will, in which all was bequeathed
to me during my lifetime. I enjoyed my state
and grandeur till the day of my death, which
came upon me miserably, and, after that, my
husbands possessions went to a distant relation
of his family. Nothing more was heard of
the fate of the child who was stolen; but he
lived and married, and his daughter now toils
for her bread — his daughter, who is the rightful
owner of all that is said to belong to you,
John Thunder. I tell you this that you may
devote yourself to the task of discovering this
wronged girl, and giving up to her that which
you are unlawfully possessed of. Under the
thirteenth tree standing on the brink of the
river at the foot of the orchard you will find
buried the genuine will of Sir Luke Thunder.
When you have found and read it, do justice, as
you value your soul. In order that you may know the grandchild of Mary Thunder when you
find her, you shall behold her in a vision ——”
The last words grew dim before me; the
lights faded away, and all the place was in
darkness, except one spot on the opposite wall.
On this spot the light glimmered softly, and
against the brightness the outlines of a figure
appeared, faintly at first, but growing firm and
distinct, became filled in and rounded at last to
Ihe perfect semblance of life. The figure was
that of a young girl in a plain black dress, with
a bright, happy face, and pale gold hair softly
banded on her fair forehead. She might have
been the twin-sister of the pale-faced girl whom
I had seen bending over the cradle two nights
ago; but her healthier, gladder, and prettier
sister. When I had gazed on her some
moments, the vision faded away as it had come;
the last vestige of the brightness died out upon
the wall, and I found myself once more in total
darkness. Stunned for a time by the sudden
changes, I stood watching for the return of the
lights and figures; but in vain. By-and-by
my eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity, and
I saw the sky glimmering behind the little
window which I had left open. I could soon
discern the writing-table beside me, and
possessed myself of the slips of loose paper which
lay upon it. I then made my way to the
window. The first streaks of dawn were in the
sky as I descended my ladder, and I thanked
God that I breathed the fresh morning air once
more, and heard the cheering sound of the
cocks crowing.
All thought of acting immediately upon last
nights strange revelations, almost all memory
of them, was for the time banished from my
mind by the unexpected trouble of the next few
days. “That morning I found an alarming
change in Frank. Feeling sure that he was
going to be ill, I engaged a lodging in a cottage
in the neighbourhood, whither we removed
before nightfall, leaving the accursed Rath
behind us. Before midnight he was in the
delirium of a raging fever.
I thought it right to let his poor little fiancée
know his state, and wrote to her, trying to
alarm her no more than was necessary. On the
evening of the third day after my letter went I
was sitting by Franks bedside, when an
unusual bustle outside aroused my curiosity, and
going into the cottage kitchen I saw a figure
standing in the firelight which seemed a third
appearance of that vision of the pale-faced golden-
haired girl which was now thoroughly imprinted
on my memory, a third, with all the woe of the
first; and all the beauty of the second. But
this was a living breathing apparition. She was
throwing off her bonnet and shawl, and stood
there at home in a moment in her plain black
dress. I drew my hand across my eyes to make
sure that they did not deceive me. I had beheld
so many supernatural visions lately that it
seemed as though I could scarcely believe in
he reality of anything till I had touched it.
“Oh, sir,” said the visitor, ” I am Mary
Leonard, and are you poor Franks friend ?
Oh, sir, we are all the world to one another,
and I could not let him die without coming to
see him!”
And here the poor little traveller burst into
tears. I cheered her as well as I could, telling
her that Frank would soon, I trusted, be out of
all danger. She told me that she had thrown
up her situation in order to come and nurse him.
I said we had got a more experienced nurse than
she could be, and then I gave her to the care
of our landlady, a motherly country-woman.
After that I went back to Franks bedside, nor
left it for long till he was convalescent. The
fever had swept away all that strangeness in his
manner which had afflicted me, and he was quite
himself again.
There was a joyful meeting of the lovers.
The more I saw of Mary Leonard’s bright face
the more thoroughly was I convinced that she
was the living counterpart of the vision I had
seen in the burial chamber. I made inquiries as
to her birth, and her fathers history, and found
that she was indeed the grandchild of that Mary
Thunder whose history had been so strangely
related to me, and the rightful heiress of all
those properties which for a few mouths only
had been mine. Under the tree in the orchard,
the thirteenth, and that by which I had seen
the lady digging, were found the buried deeds
which had been described to me. I made an
immediate transfer of property, whereupon some
others who thought they had a chance of being
my heirs disputed the matter with me, and went
to law. Thus the affair has gained publicity,
and become a nine days wonder. Many things
have been in my favour, however: the proving
of Mary’s birth and of Sir Lukes will, the
identification of Lady Thunders handwriting on
the slips of paper which I had brought from
the burial chamber; also other matters which
a search in that chamber brought to light. I
triumphed, and I now go abroad leaving Frank
and his Mary made happy by the possession of
what could only have been a burden to me.
So the MS. ends. Major Thunder fell in
battle a few years after the adventure it relates.
Frank O’Briens grandchildren hear of him
with gratitude and awe. The Rath has been
long since totally dismantled and left to go to
ruin.

Word Count: 9599