“Please call him down, and give me the keys of the house.”
The gardener came, following very reluctantly, at my bidding, while I again entered the villa, and went over every room, stationing him in the hall, so that no one could possibly escape during my visit to the lower and upper floors. I searched from cellar to garret, while Mrs. Scott, with her pale-blue eyes wide open, and affecting a bustling bravery which her looks belied, accompanied me. Once, at a sudden noise, she seized the skirts of my overcoat, but resigned them when I told her it was caused by John’s shutting the front hall-door.
“Dear! dear! there’s rats in the villa, at last!” she exclaimed, removing the cover of a flour-barrel which stood in the storeroom. “They’ve been in this flour! I’m sorry, for they’re an awful pest. They’ll make trouble if I don’t watch ’em clost. I believe I’ll pizen ’em. Mrs. Moreland told me to take this flour home and use it up; but we haven’t needed it yet, and I’ve left it here, and now they’ve made pretty work with it.”
“If there are rats here, I shan’t be surprised at all kinds of noises,” I remarked. “Rats are equal to almost anything. They will tramp like an army of men, or stalk like a solitary burglar. They will throw down plates and cups—like this one, broken on the floor here, since we came here last; muss pillows and drag books out of place. You really will have to keep a sharp lookout.”
“They won’t cry like a child, nor moan like a sick person, nor stand on balconies dressed in shrouds!” observed the housekeeper.
“I think they would do the first two,” and I smiled, “but as to the latter, I’m not prepared to assert.”
“I reckon not. I only wish you’d seen it, Mr. Redfield.”
“I shall stay tonight in the hope of that pleasure, Mrs. Scott.”
“I’m right glad to hear you say so, sir. It’s not pleasant to be placed in the situation I am—to know what I know, and not to have my word taken.”
It was true; it could not be pleasant for her to have her earnest statements received with so much skepticism; I did not wonder that she felt hurt, almost offended; at the same time I felt as if I, in my turn, should be intensely aggravated if I found out there was nothing in all this flurry.
This second search resulted in nothing, like the first. It was nearly dark when we returned to the cottage, where Mrs. Scott allowed me to dandle her fat, good-natured baby, Johnny, while she prepared tea in a style befitting the important occasion of “company.”
“If you’re in earnest about sittin’ up to watch, I’ll make coffee, instid of tea, if it’s agreeable to you, Mr. Redfield. It’s better to keep one awake.”
I assented to this assertion, being of a similar opinion myself. She set her husband to grinding the delectable berry in a hand-mill, and soon an excellent supper, with cold ham and hot biscuits, was placed upon the table. The night promised to be clear and cold; the moon would not rise until about eleven; I fortified myself against the hardships of my adventure by two cups of strong coffee, with a substantial meal; passed an hour or two chatting with the couple and singing Johnny to sleep; then, about eight o’clock, I buttoned my overcoat close, tied my muffler about my neck, and went forth to begin picket-duty.
“I’ll leave the coffeepot on the stove, and a good fire,” was the parting promise of the good woman, who seemed to think I had rather a solemn time before me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Scott; if I make no discoveries by one or two o’clock, I shall come in to warm myself, and give up the hope for this occasion. You know midnight is the witching-hour—it will be useless to stay much later.”
“The Lord be with you,” she said, earnestly.
Armed with a stout walking-stick, with which I intended to inflict punishment upon any intruder of earthly mold, I walked out on the lawn, taking such a survey as I could in the dim light; like the rain in the children’s riddle, I went “round and round the house,” and finally took station on the front porch, where I walked softly back and forth, listening for sounds within and without. I heard and saw nothing. The long hours slipped slowly away. Just before moonrise the darkness seemed to deepen, as it does before dawn. My intention was to take up some position on the lawn, where, unseen myself, I could command the approaches to the villa, and also have a view of Henry’s room, with the balcony. It was time now to secrete myself, before the approaching moon should reveal me to the person or persons who might themselves be on the watch. Accordingly, I selected a seat on the little rustic bench, completely encircled with bushy evergreens, which not only concealed my person, but afforded me considerable protection from the cold. I can not, to this day, breathe the pungent odor of the spicy trees, without recalling the experiences of that night. A silence, like that which Dr. Kane speaks of as one of the most impressive features of the long Arctic night, brooded around; over against the hills came gradually stealing the silvery luster of the rising moon, while the valleys yet lay in profoundest gloom; the dimly glimmering stretches of snow broadened into whiter fields; the picturesque villa, with its turrets and porches and pointed roof, stood black and quiet before me. I could hear a dog barking afar off, as it were some dream-dog barking in some dreamworld. I had almost forgotten the cause of my being there, at that strange hour, in that lone spot, gazing at that dark mass of building, empty of life and warmth as was her heart of joy or hope; the intense cold, the odor of the pines and
