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Page 17
"You asked me a moment ago if I were ever nervous," I began, as I
regained my seat at her side. "I replied, 'Sometimes'; but I might
have said if I had not feared being too abrupt, 'Never till I came
into this house.'"
Her surprise partook more of curiosity than I expected.
"You are nervous here," she repeated. "What is the reason of that,
pray? Has Ellen been chattering to you? I thought she knew enough
not to do that. There's nothing to fear here, Miss Saunders;
absolutely nothing for you to fear. I should not have allowed you
to remain here a night if there had been. No ghost will visit
you."
"No, I hear they never wander above the second story," I laughed.
"If they did I should hardly anticipate the honor of a visit. It
is not ghosts I fear; it is something quite different which affects
me,--living eyes, living passions, the old ladies next door," I
finished falteringly, for Mrs. Packard was looking at me with a
show of startling alarm. "They stare into my room night and day.
I never look out but I encounter the uncanny glance of one or the
other of them. Are they live women or embodied memories of the
past? They don't seem to belong to the present. I own that they
frighten me."
I had exaggerated my feelings in order to mark their effect upon
her. The result disappointed me; she was not afraid of these two
poor old women. Far from it.
"Draw your curtains," she laughed. "The poor things are crazy and
not really accountable. Their odd ways and manners troubled me at
first, but I soon got over it. I have even been in to see them.
That was to keep them from coming here. I think if you were to
call upon them they would leave you alone after that. They are
very fond of being called on. They are persons of the highest
gentility, you know. They owned this house a few years ago, as
well as the one they are now living in, but misfortunes overtook
them and this one was sold for debt. I am very sorry for them
myself. Sometimes I think they have not enough to eat."
"Tell me about them," I urged. Lightly as she treated the topic I
felt convinced that these strange neighbors of hers were more or
less involved in the mystery of her own peculiar moods and
unaccountable fears.
"It's a great secret," she announced naively. "That is, their
personal history. I have never told it to any one. I have never
told it to my husband. They confided it to me in a sort of
desperation, perhaps because my husband's name inspired them with
confidence. Immediately after, I could see that they regretted the
impulse, and so I have remained silent. But I feel like telling
you; feel as if it would divert me to do so--keep me from thinking
of other things. You won't want to talk about it and the story
will cure your nervousness."
"Do you want me to promise not to talk about it?" I inquired in
some anxiety.
"No. You have a good, true face; a face which immediately inspires
confidence. I shall exact no promises. I can rely on your
judgment."
I thanked her. I was glad not to be obliged to promise secrecy.
It might become my imperative duty to disregard such a promise.
"You have seen both of their faces?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Then you must have observed the difference between them. There is
the same difference in their minds, though both are clouded. One
is weak almost to the point of idiocy, though strong enough where
her one settled idea is concerned. The other was once a notable
character, but her fine traits have almost vanished under the spell
which has been laid upon them by the immense disappointment which
has wrecked both their lives. I heard it all from Miss Thankful
the day after we entered this house. Miss Thankful is the older
and more intellectual one. I had known very little about them
before; no more, in fact, than I have already told you. I was
consequently much astonished when they called, for I had supposed
them to be veritable recluses, but I was still more astonished when
I noted their manner and the agitated and strangely penetrating
looks they cast about them as I ushered them into the library,
which was the only room I had had time to arrange. A few minutes'
further observation of them showed me that neither of them was
quite right. Instead of entering into conversation with me they
continued to cast restless glances at the walls, ceilings, and even
at the floor of the room in which we sat, and when, in the hope of
attracting their attention to myself, I addressed them on some
topic which I thought would be interesting to them, they not only
failed to listen, but turned upon each other with slowly wagging
heads, which not only revealed their condition but awakened me to
its probable cause. They were between walls rendered dear by old
associations. Till their first agitation was over I could not hope
for their attention.
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