III
It was Hallow-eve.
The north wind blew a cutting blast over the stately Charles, and broke the waves into a miniature flood; it swept the streets of the University city, and danced on into the outlying suburbs tossing the last leaves about in gay disorder, not even sparing the quiet precincts of Mount Auburn cemetery. A deep, clear, moonless sky stretched overhead, from which hung myriads of sparkling stars.
In Mount Auburn, where the residences of the rich lay far apart, darkness and quietness had early settled down. The main street seemed given over to the duskiness of the evening, and with one exception, there seemed no light on earth or in heaven save the cold gleam of the stars.
The one exception was in the home of Charlie Vance, or “Adonis,” as he was called by his familiars. The Vance estate was a spacious house with rambling ells, tortuous chimney-stacks, and corners, eaves and ledges; the grounds were extensive and well kept telling silently of the opulence of its owner. Its windows sent forth a cheering light. Dinner was just over.
Within, on an old-fashioned hearth, blazed a glorious wood fire, which gave a rich coloring to the oak-panelled walls, and fell warmly on a group of young people seated and standing, chatting about the fire. At one side of it, in a chair of the Elizabethan period, sat the hostess, Molly Vance, only daughter of James Vance, Esq., and sister of “Adonis,” a beautiful girl of eighteen.
At the opposite side, leaning with folded arms against the high carved mantel, stood Aubrey Livingston; the beauty of his fair hair and blue eyes was never more marked as he stood there in the gleam of the fire and the soft candle light. He was talking vivaciously, his eyes turning from speaker to speaker, as he ran on, but resting chiefly with pride on his beautiful betrothed, Molly Vance.
The group was completed by two or three other men, among them Reuel Briggs, and three pretty girls. Suddenly a clock struck the hour.
“Only nine,” exclaimed Molly. “Good people, what shall we do to wile the tedium of waiting for the witching hour? Have any one of you enough wisdom to make a suggestion?”
“Music,” said Livingston.
“We don’t want anything so commonplace.”
“Blind Man’s Buff,” suggested “Adonis.”
“Oh! please not that, the men are so rough!”
“Let us,” broke in Cora Scott, “tell ghost stories.”
“Good, Cora! yes, yes, yes.”
“No, no!” exclaimed a chorus of voices.
“Yes, yes,” laughed Molly, gaily, clapping her hands. “It is the very thing. Cora, you are the wise woman of the party. It is the very time, tonight is the new moon, and we can try our projects in the Hyde house.”
“The moon should be full to account for such madness,” said Livingston.
“Don’t be disagreeable, Aubrey,” replied Molly. “The ‘ayes’ have it. You’re with me, Mr. Briggs?”
“Of course, Miss Vance,” answered Reuel, “to go to the North Pole or Hades—only please tell us where is ‘Hyde House.’ ”
“Have you never heard? Why it’s the adjoining estate. It is reputed to be haunted, and a lady in white haunts the avenue in the most approved ghostly style.”
“Bosh!” said Livingston.
“Possibly,” remarked the laughing Molly, “but it is the ‘bosh’ of a century.”
“Go on, Miss Vance; don’t mind Aubrey. Who has seen the lady?”
“She is not easily seen,” proceeded Molly, “she only appears on Hallow-eve, when the moon is new, as it will be tonight. I had forgotten that fact when I invited you here. If anyone stands, tonight, in the avenue leading to the house, he will surely see the tall veiled figure gliding among the old hemlock trees.”
One or two shivered.
“If, however, the watcher remain, the lady will pause, and utter some sentence of prophecy of his future.”
“Has anyone done this?” queried Reuel.
“My old nurse says she remembers that the lady was seen once.”
“Then, we’ll test it again tonight!” exclaimed Reuel, greatly excited over the chance to prove his pet theories.
“Well, Molly, you’ve started Reuel off on his greatest hobby; I wash my hands of both of you.”
“Let us go anyway!” chorused the venturesome party.
“But there are conditions,” exclaimed Molly. “Only one person must go at a time.”
Aubrey laughed as he noticed the consternation in one or two faces.
“So,” continued Molly, “as we cannot go together, I propose that each shall stay a quarter of an hour, then whether successful or not, return and let another take his or her place. I will go first.”
“No—” it was Charlie who spoke—“I put my veto on that, Molly. If you are mad enough to risk colds in this mad freak, it shall be done fairly. We will draw lots.
“And I add to that, not a girl leave the house; we men will try the charm for the sake of your curiosity, but not a girl goes. You can try the ordinary Hallow-eve projects while we are away.”
With many protests, but concealed relief, this plan was reluctantly adopted by the female element. The lots were prepared and placed in a hat, and amid much merriment, drawn.
“You are third, Mr. Briggs,” exclaimed Molly who held the hat and watched the checks.
“I’m first,” said Livingston, “and Charlie second.”
“While we wait for twelve, tell us the story of the house, Molly,” cried Cora.
Thus adjured, Molly settled herself comfortably in her chair and began: “Hyde House is nearly opposite the cemetery, and its land joins that of this house; it is indebted for its ill-repute to one of its owners, John Hyde. It has been known for years as a haunted house, and avoided
