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Page 8
Nothing worthy of record occurred until evening; at least nothing
which at the time impressed me as of import, though I afterward
remembered that Darrow's behaviour was somewhat strange. He
appeared singularly preoccupied, and on one occasion started
nervously when I coughed behind him. He explained that a
disagreeable dream had deprived him of his sleep the previous night
and left his nerves somewhat unstrung, and I thought no more of it.
When the light failed we were all invited into the parlour to
listen to a song by Miss Darrow. The house, as you are perhaps
aware, overlooks Dorchester Bay. The afternoon had been very hot,
but at dusk a cold east wind had sprung up, which, as it was still
early in the season, was not altogether agreeable to our host,
sitting as he was, back to, though fully eight feet from, an open
window looking to the east. Maitland, with his usual quick
observation, noticed his discomfort and asked if he should not
close the window. The old gentleman did not seem to hear the
question until it was repeated, when, starting as if from a reverie,
he said: "If it will not be too warm for the rest of you, I would
like to have it partly closed, say to within six inches, for the
wind is cold"; and he seemed to relapse again into his reverie.
Maitland was obliged to use considerable strength to force the
window down, as it stuck in the casing, and when it finally gave
way it closed with a loud shrieking sound ending in the bang of
the counterweights. At the noise Darrow sprang to his feet,
exclaiming: "Again! The same sound! I knew I could not mistake
it!" but by this time Gwen was at his side, pressing him gently back
into his seat, as she said to him in an undertone audible to all of
us: "What is it, father?" The old gentleman only pressed her
closer by way of reply, while he said to us apologetically: "You
must excuse me, gentlemen. I have a certain dream which haunts
me,--the dream of someone striking me out of the darkness. Last
night I had the same dream for the seventh time and awoke to hear
that window opened. There is no mistaking the sound I heard just
now; it is identical with that I heard last night. I sprang out
of bed, took a light, and rushed down here, for I am not afraid
to meet anything I can see, but the window was closed and locked,
as I had left it! What do you think, Doctor," he said, turning to
me, "are dreams ever prophetic?"
"I have never," I replied, anxious to quiet him, "had any
personal experience justifying such a conclusion." I did not tell
him of certain things which had happened to friends of mine, and
so my reply reassured him.
Maitland, who had been startled by the old gentleman's conduct,
now returned to the window and opened it about six inches. There
was no other window open in the room, and yet so fresh was the air
that we were not uncomfortable. Darrow, with ill-concealed pride,
then asked his daughter to sing, and she left him and went to the
piano. "Shall I not light the lamp?" I asked. "I think we shall
not need it," the old gentleman replied, "music is always better
in the gloaming."
In order that you may understand what follows, it will be necessary
for me to describe to you our several positions in the room. The
apartment is large, nearly square, and occupies the southeast corner
of the house. The eastern side of the room has one window, that
which had been left open about six inches, and on the southern side
of the room there were two windows, both of which were securely
fastened and the blinds of which had been closed by the painters who,
that morning, had primed the eastern and southern sides of the house,
preparatory to giving it a thorough repainting. On the north side of
the room, but much nearer to the western than the eastern end, are
folding doors. These on this occasion were closed and fastened. On
the western side of the room is the piano, and to the left of it,
near the southwest corner, is a door leading to the hallway. This
door was closed. As I have already told you, Darrow sat in a
high-backed easy-chair facing the piano and almost in the centre of
the room. The partly opened window on the east side was directly
behind him and fully eight feet away. Herne and Browne sat upon
Darrow's right and a little in front of him against the folding
doors, while Maitland and I were upon his left, between him and the
hall door. Gwen was at the piano. There are no closets, draperies,
or niches in the room. I think you will now be able to understand
the situation fully.
Whether the gloom of the scene suggested it to her, or whether it
was merely a coincidence, I do not know, but Miss Darrow began to
sing "In the Gloaming" in a deep, rich contralto voice which seemed
fraught with a weird, melancholy power. When I say that her voice
was ineffably sympathetic I would not have you confound this quality
either with the sepulchral or the aspirated tone which usually is
made to do duty for sympathy, especially in contralto voices. Every
note was as distinct, as brilliantly resonant, as a cello in a
master's hand. So clear, so full the notes rang out that I could
plainly feel the chair vibrate beneath me.
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