RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
The Australian authoress Mary Helena Fortune (ca. 1833-1911) was one of the first women to write detective fiction, and probably the first to write it from the viewpoint of the detective. Her opus includes several novels and over 500 stories, many of which feature a detective by the name of Mark Sinclair. She wrote under the pseudonyms "Waif Wander" and "W.W."
IT was a strange experience altogether, and I have for years been very chary of relating it. The sight of Colonel Ardwell's name in a late paper, however, has recalled the whole affair so vividly to me, that I may interest you in recording it.
I came out to these colonies fully determined on settling and, when I heard that Bungarra Station was in the market, I immediately put myself in communication with the owner, Colonel Ardwell. I found him a jolly, agreeable man of the world, and we arranged at once that he should accompany me on a visit of inspection to the property.
'I owe to you that I shall be glad to get rid of the place,' he said, as, during the afternoon of the second day of our journey, we were getting near Bungarra.
'I mistook my vocation when I tried to make a country gentleman of myself. You see what a lonely country it is, and I do believe another six months of it would have killed me.'
'Have you owned the station long?' I inquired.
'About two years, and I haven't lived the fourth of the time on it. If you find the place suits you, I should strongly advise you to keep on McLeod; he's a pattern manager, and his heart is in his work. Oh, by-the-way, I forgot to tell you that there is a sort of encumbrance tacked to Bungarra in the shape of an old woman.'
'An old woman?'
'Yes; the late owner willed the sale of this property only on condition that it should afford her shelter and subsistence during her life. An annuity is also provided, and a certain room allotted to her during the remainder of her existence.'
'How strange!' I observed.
'Oh, she's some favourite old servant, I suppose, and she's a queer old soul, but I never found her the least trouble.'
'But surely Mr. Montford might have provided for the old woman without tacking her on to the estate?' I said.
'Well, yes, it does seem odd. I didn't mind, as I have said, but, if the old creature interferes with my sale of Bungarra, I must try and buy her off somehow.'
I WAS enchanted with Bungarra and all its surroundings. It lay in a splendid
country, a broad and magnificent view of which was afforded from nearly every
window of the house. And the unusual style of the said house formed not the
least of its attractions to me; it was so unlike anything I had conceived of
colonial architecture.
The building lay on the slope of a grand hill, and was of blue-stone, and one storey only. Already scarcely a stone was visible, for a thick screen of English ivy was flourishing around it and up to the very mouldings of the chimneys. The windows were small and were of diamond-paned, old-fashioned sashes, and the deep verandahs were heavily, pillared, and even in broad daylight only held as much light as that afforded by a thick forest.
'Fortunately the sitting rooms face the part of the house a stranger might set down as the back, or there would be no light at all in the place,' the colonel said, as we alighted from the vehicle and he introduced me to the capable-looking man McLeod, who was manager of the estate.
'McLeod will show you over the place for, to tell you the truth, I know very little more of it than my own three rooms and the stables. You will find it an oddly-planned house.'
It was an oddly-planned house, yet one built, I could quite believe, with the one view of suiting it to the requirements of the climate. It was built in the shape of the letter E, with the wing of the house that corresponded with the bottom of the E lying right against the hill. In the centre of the square formed by the three angles of the building, a fountain, supplied, as McLeod told me, by the drainage from the hill, scattered its radiating spray refreshingly in the sun, and the stone portico that completed the letter resemblance, as it were, was covered with a climbing rose-tree, heavy with blossoms. I need not, however, delay my story by any unnecessary description of Bungarra. I inspected it closely, approved of, and bought the property.
I saw the old woman encumbrance, and pitied her trembling hand and white, worn face, quite enough to put any idea of her being in the way out of my head; but that she was quite unaware that the property had changed hands until I went to live on it I discovered within an hour of my arrival.
I had taken up my own man, one I had brought from England with me, and as soon as McLeod, who had been making some arrangements with me, had gone out, Linton told me that the old woman was very anxious to speak to me. 'She's in an awful to-do about something, sir,' he added. 'I think I never saw a woman's face so white in my life.'
My permission ushered her into the room almost instantly, and as she stood by the door, hesitatingly holding it in her hand, I had an opportunity of noticing her agitation as extreme. She was so thin and frail-looking, too, and her deep black dress so suggestive of trouble and death, that I felt for the poor old creature, and rose to place her a chair.
'Sit down, Mrs. Tone. If you have anything to say to me, you can say it more at your ease thus.'/p>
She sat down and lifted her dim eyes to my face as she nervously fingered the corners of her black apron. It seemed to me as if she were anxiously scanning and trying to read my character in my face.
'I didn't know that Colonel Ardwell had sold Bungarra until to-day, sir,' she began, 'and I'm anxious about it.'
'Oh, you may set your mind at rest,' I hastened to answer. 'I am quite aware of the life claim yon have on the property, that will be all right.'
'But the closed room, sir? Did the Colonel tell you about that?'
The question was so anxiously put, and such a strange one, that I looked hard into the woman's face as I returned. 'The closed room? What closed room?'
'The room where Mr. Montford died,' she replied, in a low voice, as her eyes fell to the floor, and her lips trembled.
'Oh, I remember now Colonel Ardwell did say something about a room being shut up at the back—something about an absurd talk of its being haunted, wasn't it? But the colonel never visited it, did he?'
'No, sir, no foot has crossed the threshold since the master died, and he wouldn't rest in his grave if any foot did.'
'My good woman,' I said, with a firmness that I have no doubt gave her some insight into my determination of character, 'if there is one thing more utterly abominable and disgusting to me than another it is superstitions nonsense of any sort. I will take care there are no ghosts about this house while I am its owner. Which of these keys is that of this haunted room?' and I laid the bundle of keys on the table before her. She pointed to one, rusted and discoloured.
'That is it, but for God's sake, sir, be warned, for there is no luck in crossing the wishes of the dead.'
'When the wishes of the dead interfere with the comfort of the living, they shall not be considered at Bungarra,' I replied. 'Mr. Montford's wishes as to yourself he has made lawful and binding on good parchment, but there is no mention of a reserved room.'
'He had not time, or he would have done it,' she murmured.
'No time?'
'No sir. I don't think that Colonel Ardwell ever knew how Mr. Montford died, for he never tried to desecrate the room he cut off from the living by his expressed dying wishes, but as you, sir, are determined to let light into a spot daylight should never penetrate, I tell you that Mr. Montford was murdered in that chamber.'
As she spoke, the old woman rose and curtsied to me, and then went out of the door with a tottering step, yet without another word.
I was angry, and my curiosity was excited. I put out my hand, and touched the bell for my man.
'Linton,' I said, when he appeared, 'there's a room in this house that has been shut up for years it seems—I want to visit it—do you know in what part of the building it is?'
'I can guess, sir, for I was wondering at the state of a door, at the end of the hill wing, as Mr. McLeod calls it. It does not seem to have been opened or dusted for ages, and the cobwebs are in every corner of it.'
'Here's the key of it. I am going to visit that room.'
As we passed along the ball that ran right through the building and round its every wing, I looked, but saw nothing of Mrs. Tone. I thought, perhaps, she might wish to look once more into the room that evidently held a deep interest for her—but it was not so. Somehow or other, as I followed Linton along the dim passage that led to the closed room, I felt for the first time in my life some idea of the sensations encountered by the superstitious when they approach the dread scene of a murder or a tragedy.
THE room was the very last in the corridor, and as Linton, with some
difficulty, turned the rusty key in the lock and opened the door, nothing was
visible but a darkness wonderful to exist in the broad light of day. The one
window opened into the quadrangle formed by the arms of the building, but it
was so overgrown by the interlaced ivy that the few rays it admitted were
easily caught by the closed Venetian blind inside. Linton at once draw up the
blind and opened the window, while I eagerly waited to see what appearance
was presented by this chamber of death.
It was a tolerably large room, furnished with every convenience as the bedchamber of a gentleman accustomed to be surrounded with the luxuries as well as the comforts of life. The large half-tester bed was hung and draped with a handsome cretonne, the couch at the foot of the bed, and the easy-chair by the fire-place) were covered with the same. A large mirror occupied a prominent place on the carved toilet-table, on which yet remained the combs, brushes, and other toilet requisites, probably as the last owner had left them, and directly opposite the bed and toilet were the double doors of a large closet, in which still hung many garments that gave out a damp, mildewed smell as the doors were opened.
The strangest thing of all was, however, the fact that from one side of the floor, close to the bed, the rich carpet was tossed back, and the boards, whereon were great, dark stains, lay quite exposed. I use the word 'tossed' advisedly, for the carpet was not folded back, but lay as if it had been thrown back by a strong and hurried hand.
My man raised his eyes from contemplating those dark stains, and meeting mine said, seriously: 'This must be the room where Mr, Montford was murdered, sir.'
'Oh, you've heard that story, then?' I asked.
'Yes, sir. The waiter at the hotel where we bided told me, and seemed to wonder that I did not already know.'
'Ah I and he doubtless hinted a little about a ghost, and all that sort of thing, eh?'
'Well, yes, sir; he did say that this room was said to be haunted.'
'Exactly so. Now, Linton, you have known me long enough to believe that I won't have any such nonsensical tales about a place that has become my property. I don't believe in ghosts of any shape or form, and, to settle the matter, I shall take this room as a sleeping-chamber for myself. See that it is put in order, have a good fire made, throw open the door and window, have that ivy pruned that keeps out air and light, and to-night I'll see what sort of ghost haunts Bungarra. '
'All right, sir.'
I was going away, leaving the arrangement entirely to Linton, when a curiosity that I felt growing on me urged me to ask a question: 'By the way, did you hoar any particulars of this murder, Linton?'
'I suspect the man told me all he knew himself, sir. It seems Mr. Montford was a very odd character, and was known to keep all his money under his own hand. One morning when this old woman, Mrs. Tone, came to bring the hot water as usual, she found him lying there on the floor in his own blood, and so badly wounded that, although he lived for two days, he scarcely spoke, save to the lawyer that made his will. Mrs. Tone and her son were with him when he died, and no one else.'
'Her son? Where is he now?'
'I don't know, sir. The old woman must have been very fond of her master, for they say she has never held up her head since, and has aged a good twenty years since he died.'
I went away to the sitting-room, and sat down to try and puzzle a meaning out of the strange story I had heard in connection with the old woman's name. That some mystery surrounded both her and the memory of her late master, I was certain, yet I was somewhat uneasy as to the effect my decision to occupy the room myself might have upon her, so I determined to communicate it myself, and see if any expression she might let fall would be any guide to me.
IT was a lovely afternoon, the sun as it drooped to the west falling fully on
the playing waters of the fountain in the centre of what I may term the
court-yard formed by the angles of the building. I went on, and, standing in
the porch, looked toward the room where my valet was busy. It was on my
right, at the extreme end of the wing of the house, as I have already stated,
and then for the first time I observed, at a little distance from the room,
and lying right against the hill itself, a small tenement with a chimney and
a patch of flowers in front. It struck me that it was the habitation of old
Mrs. Tone.
Impulsively I strolled across the yard and approached the open door of the small cottage. If I had any doubts as to it being the old woman's place of abode, the sight of her seated inside, with her head bowed on the table, and her withered hands clasped above it, was sufficient to set them at rest.
The poor creature was apparently in great agitation—great sobs shaking her frail body from head to foot. I could not help wondering if this awful grief had anything to do with the opening of the room in which her unfortunate master had died, but I do not think I should have ventured to make my presence known under this circumstance. However, hardly had I drawn back to go, when she lifted her white, tear-stained face, and saw me. The thoughts of my mind sprang to my lips ere I had time to think.
'I hope it is not anything connected with the closed room that is troubling you thus,' I said. 'You are old enough to know that such foolish superstitions should not be carried to the edge of the grave.'
'I do not blame you—you know no better, and it is the will of God,' she replied, shortly, as she wiped her dim eyes.
'You lead too lonely a life, my poor woman,' I continued, 'you have brooded over the sad loss of a doubtless good master until your brain has become weakened. At your age it is not right for you to live by yourself. Where is your son, who was here at Mr. Montford's death?'
If I had struck the woman with a stone she could not have more visibly staggered; she drew back suddenly, as if from a heavy blow, and stared at me with a terror that almost communicated itself to me. What had I said or done to cause such an awful exhibition of fear and horror as lay stark in that old woman's face? I began to think, as the most simple elucidation of all the mystery that seemed to surround her, that her brain was really giving way under her trouble and loneliness.
'You did not understand me, I fear, Mrs. Tone. I only asked you if you knew where your son was, he would be company for you and, if you thought fit, I have no doubt employment could be found for him on the station. Do you know where he is?'
'He is dead! dead! dead!' she cried, wildly, 'dead to life, dead to hope, dead to God, and dead to me!' and tossing her thin arms above her head, she tottered into an inner chamber and left me to go back even more bewildered than when I had left the parlour.
AS I passed the open window of the room I had decided on occupying, I paused
and looked in. Linton had got McLeod a housekeeper at work with him, the
carpet was lifted and shaken, and the hangings removed from the bed for the
purpose of airing and dusting, doubtless. The mattresses and bedding had also
disappeared and the floor had been scrubbed. A bright fire blazed on the low
hearth, and the most superstitious would have found little of the haunted
room in the appearance presented by the renovated chamber. I said as much to
my man while the woman had gone out to bring the carpet off the grass.
'Yes, sir, it begins to look more habitable, but it is too hurried; the day is wearing so fast. I have not been able to clean out, the closet, which, you know, is full of the dead gentleman's clothes, and I have put the mattresses and bedding in there until to-morrow.—But that will not come out,' and she pointed to the bloodstains on the floor by the bed, which were beginning to creep boldly to view again from the drying moisture of the scrubbing brush.
'Never mind; the carpet will cover it,' was my reply, as I went away.
WELL, night came, and bedtime, when escorted by my attendant, I went to spend
my first night in the mysterious chamber. Nothing could look more
comfortable. My own easy-chair and slippers stood by the clear fire; all my
toilet requisites were spread out on the snowily-draped toilet, the silver
tops and stoppers reflecting themselves brightly in the tall, dark mirror
behind them. The lamp burned clearly, and the bed, folded down ready for
occupation, looked soft and white, and enticing enough to tempt a man less
fatigued than I found myself to the soundest of slumbers.
'Would it not he as well for me to sleep on this couch to-night, sir, so as to be handy in case you want me?' Linton hesitatingly asked as he was about to retire, and was lowering the light with the evident intention of leaving it burning.
'What?' I almost roared, 'am I to have you turning superstitious on my hands, too Linton? Well, I give you notice, that if I ever see such another symptom of it, you leave my service, if you had been twenty instead of ten years in it. What should I want you for? or if I should, there is a bell close to the bed. Put out that light, and go,'
Before complying, the man took the bell-pull which was the old-fashioned cord and tassel, and twined it lightly round the bed-post, so as to be within reach of my hand, then he blew out the light, and went out on tip-toe, and without another word.
It would be false to say that I did not experience any unusual emotions as I lay there in the semi-darkness, and in the room where a dread tragedy had been performed, for I did. Not that I was afraid, or had the least anticipation of any spiritual visitation, but I got to picturing that last night of Mr. Montford, and fancying his sensations an he awoke with the murderer's knife at his breast. A straggle for dear life had been enacted on the very bed I occupied; ruddy blood had poured so deeply into the boards by my side that the stains yet bore witness against the murderer and refused to be obliterated.
Who was the murderer? I knew nothing of the affair save what I had gathered that day, and I was ignorant of a fact that I afterwards discovered, viz., that Mr. Montford was supposed to have recognised the spiller of blood but sealed his lips as to his identity, that remained to that very day unknown.
THE glow of the red embers alone gave a faint light around the hearth, and
the silence, save by the ticking of my watch above my head, was unbroken. The
unaccustomed air, exercise, and excitement of the day had fatigued me, and
gradually my thoughts began to wander and grow confused. I fell asleep, and
knew no more until I was suddenly awakened by a strange concussion that I
could not comprehend, and which seemed to have shaken the bed as though some
heavy body had violently struck against it. I sat up in bed and listened.
For a moment I could have fancied that someone was in the room, and that I heard a door creak, but, feeling angry with myself for being so impressed by what must have been a dream, I took the matches from the night stand, struck one, and lit the ready wax-light.
As soon as it fairly threw its illumination round the chamber I saw lying at the foot of the bed the bedding and mattresses removed by Linton from the bedstead I lay upon. I was very angry, for I felt considerably shaken by the sudden start I had been awakened with, and I took advantage of my man's arrangement of the bell-rope to pull it lustily.
Linton made his appearance so quickly that it was evident he had not retired, and he presented himself with a frightened-looking face that still further aggravated me.
'What is the matter, sir? Oh!' and he stared at the bedding on the floor in such undisguised astonishment that I could have struck him.
'The matter? You see it well enough. How dare yon, sir —how dare you arrange that bedding be carelessly in the closet that it must come tumbling out in the dead of night? At my time of life it might be of very serious consequence to me to be awakened by a shook like this.'
'I beg your pardon, sir; I packed the heap up with my own hands, and it seemed to me an impossibility for it to tumble down.'
'There's your impossibility!' I said, pointing to the annoying matter. 'Take it out of this, to the passage, the yard, anywhere, so that I am ensured from a repetition of this annoyance.'
'But the closet door is shut, Sir. Have you been up?'
No, I had not been up; yet there was the closet door closed to a certainty.
'Bah! it has a tendency to close itself like many other doors,' I remarked. 'Get that rubbish out and take yourself off, Linton:'
The man passed round to take up some of the blankets, etc., for removal, and, all at once I saw him stop and droop the candle he carried in his hand toward the floor.
'You haven't been out of bed, sir,' he said, looking at me with a puzzled and rather frightened expression—'you haven't noticed the carpet?'
'The carpet?'
I looked over the bed to see what was the matter with the carpet, and was more than astonished, for the floor was bare where the stains were and the carpet flung back, just as I had observed it to be on my first visit to the room. I know it could not have been so when I had retired, as I entered the bed from the carpeted spot where Mr. Montford's blood had been spilled.
'There's some trickery going on here,' I declared, 'and that old woman's in it; take out that heap of rubbish, and, when you have done so, I will lock the door behind you.'
I could perceive from Linton's manner that he was far from being at ease, and cast furtive looks toward the closet as he passed it. He did not, however, offer to open or search it, but, when he had once more retired, I rose, looked the door, and opened that of the closet, which had no lock, but simply a latch, lifted by means of a brass handle on the outside. It was not even latched, and, though hung round with clothes, could by no means have afforded concealment to a human being.
Again I returned to bed, having assuredly latched the door of the closet I had closely I examined, and drawn up the blind, against which the moonlit shadows of ivy leaves were flickering, as the soft breeze moved them to and fro.
It was some time ere I slept again. In spite of my reason I felt somewhat nervous and ill at ease. I forgot to say that Linton had re-spread the carpet over the unholy stains, and it was the fact of the carpet being removed that puzzled me most. But at last, with the full determination of throwing some light on the mystery by a full search on the morrow, I dropped off asleep once more.
IT must have been instinct that awoke me next, for, as I suddenly opened my
eyes, not a sound fell upon my ears. With an unacknowledged dislike to turn
my back toward the side from which the carpet had been so mysteriously
removed, I had fallen asleep with my face toward it and toward the
window.
I saw the shadows of the ivy-leaves, and the moon's rays streaming between them, and, as I more fully aroused myself, I became conscious of a dark object lower down, and between me and the lower part of the window—some being was doubtless in the room with me!
I did not move. I watched it so closely that, even in the darkness below the window, I began to fancy I could trace the outlined shape of a kneeling human form.
The bowed head that alone rose to intervene between me and the brightness of the moonlit window, seemed to oscillate slowly to and fro, and a something bright certainly gleamed in what appeared to be clasped hands over which long voluminous sleeves draped themselves darkly. So near seemed this figure to me that, reaching out my hand, I could have touched it, yet, coward that I was after all, I dared not stretch it out. One movement I made. It was to seize the matches for the purpose of striking a light.
As I did so, and the growing blaze grew, flickered, and caught the wick of the wax-light, I eagerly looked toward the window. There was nothing there—not the shadow of a shadow, but the carpet was again thrown back from the stains of blood.
I SLEPT no more that night, and was rejoiced to see the daylight appear after
the longest hour of darkness I had ever experienced. While yet in the silence
and depth of night I had to own to myself that I experienced a sort of
unaccountable awe at the apparently unearthly visitations I had experienced;
but as the day beams broke sunnily into the weird room I begin to fancy I
must have dreamed of that kneeling form, or pictured it to myself by the
force of an excited imagination. It required only the sight of the
disarranged carpet to assure me that some kind of unknown power had really
been at work in the looked room.
I rang the bell, rose and unlocked the door to admit Linton, whose very first look was one of horror at the again disturbed carpet. Knowing I should require his assistance in the thorough examination I intended in making, I told him my experiences of the night while I was dressing.
'We are the subjects of some trick, the object of which is to keep us out of this room,' I concluded. 'the trick I am bent upon discovering for the purpose of punishing its author. The object, I daresay, will be found out also; but I am certain that old woman has something to do with both.'
First I caused every article of attire to be turned out of the closet, and made a close search of it for some surreptitious means of entrance, but I could find none. Then, while Linton was disposing of the late Mr. Montford's garments, over hedges and fences, for the purpose of being thoroughly aired, I went to old Mrs. Tone's cottage, intending plainly to accuse her of having annoyed me during the night, but I was fated to be disappointed, at every step. The cottage was locked up and silent, and the very key had disappeared from the key-hole.
'Someone there must be residing in the neighbourhood' who is acquainted with the circumstances of Mr. Montford's death,' I said to my man, after breakfast. 'I shall ride over to the township and see if I cannot find out the medical man who attended him at his death.'
'That will be useless, sir,' Linton replied. 'I have been inquiring of Mr. McLeod, the manager, and he says the doctor here is a new man, come since he did himself, which was only when Colonel Ardwell bought the properly. Do you think, sir, that it would be any good to enquire of the Catholic clergyman? They say the dead gentleman was a very strict Roman Catholic, and so is Mrs. Tone.'
'It can, at least, do no harm to try and get some advice in the affair,' I said; 'but you may be sure if the clergyman knows anything he has been bound to secrecy, or more of the affair would be known in the neighbourhood. However, I shall call on the clergyman.'
AND in an hour I had ridden from Bungarra, leaving Linton strict orders to
keep the mysterious chamber close fastened until my return. I was fortunate
in finding Father O'Connor at home—and an intelligent and friendly
man-of-the-world. He listened to my relation of my troubles and mysteries
with a face that grew more and more serious as I proceeded. When I related
the fact of Mrs. Tone's disappearance he rose suddenly, and with some
excitement.
'I must return to Bungarra with you, air,' he said. 'You are quite right in supposing that I know much of the facts of Mr. Montford's murder that are unknown to the police; these facts were confided to me under seal of confession—a seal which death must soon break if it has not already done so. Excuse me while I order my horse.'
We returned together to the station, and nearly in silence, as the priest seemed anxiously brooding, and in haste to reach our destination.
As soon as we dismounted in the court, he walked straight to Mrs. Tone's door, and knocked and called loudly, 'Mary! Mary Tone! open; it is I, Father O'Connor,' but there was neither reply or sound, and, without further parley, being a tall, powerful man, he put his shoulder to the door and burst it open. There was no one in the little room, and no sign of late habitation. As the priest was about to enter the back apartment, he turned to me and said, hurriedly:
'Oblige me by going to Mr. Montford's room, sir, I will join you there shortly, and explain all this,' and he disappeared, closing the door behind him.
These extraordinary proceedings certainly require some explanation,' I observed, with some annoyance, to Linton, who was standing at the door, 'but open the door and let us await his reverence as he has indicated.'
The haunted room being, as I have before said, the last of the wing against the hill, it was but a few steps from Mrs. Tone's place, yet to gain it we had to go round by the portico and go along the hall to it. Linton placed the key in the door, turned it in the look, and drew back to allow me to enter. I did until I had passed the threshold, and then, with an exclamation half of fear and half of amazement, I stood still for a moment to realise the awful picture before my eyes.
On the bare floor by the bedside, for the replaced carpet had again been drawn back, a figure in a long, dark and coarse garment was lying still and motionless. The figure was that of a man, and the portion of the countenance unhidden by the tangled grey beard was ghastly white and emaciated to extremity. The sunken eyes were open partially, and the thin hands clasped to the scarcely-heaving breast a silver crucifix. From the position in which the body lay it would seem as if the man had fallen over from his knees, and it was but too evident that he was dying—even in that moment of painful surprise it flashed upon me that I was looking upon the murderer of Mr. Montford!
At this moment, to my greater surprise, Father O'Connor entered the room by the door of the closet, and, kneeling by the dying man, raised his head on his knee. Evidently he was recognised, for a sad smile passed over his lips as he weakly murmured. 'It is just, Father, I die on the spot where I took life,' and his head fell over and rested a dead cheek on the dark stain of the blood he bad spilled,
I CANNOT even yet recall without pain the feelings I experienced during the
next few hours at my new purchase. The clergyman had found Mrs. Tone in a
dying state in the cellar that had served as her son's voluntary hiding place
from the world since the murder of her master. It was impossible and
impolitic to attempt further concealment, and a magisterial inquiry held on
the bodies brought to light most of the particulars related to me privately
by Father O'Connor.
'John Tone had always been a wild character,' he said, 'and the tame life at Bungarra did not suit him, so he made up his mind to rob his master of the gold he knew was kept in a small vault communicating with Mr. Montford's room by a well-concealed spring door in the closet. He did not calculate on his master's waking and recognising him, however, and in his terror of discovery and punishment stabbed him to the death, as he hoped. He did not immediately die, however, and the mother's pleadings for her boy's life acted so upon the dying gentleman that he helped to conceal the crime, entrusting the truth to none but me. I felt less responsibility in keeping the secret as the wretched man was so overcome with repentance and remorse as to be unwilling to look in the face of day, and had spent those years in penances and prayers and fasting that would have worn out a stronger frame than his. It was his practice to pray nightly on the spot he had spilled blood—his crime was great, his atonement was heavy—may God rest his soul.'
I HAVE spent many happy days at Bungarra since these events. My only and
widowed sister has joined me from home, and her happy children make the fine
old house gay with lively voices. The ivy on the stone walls is green and
clustering, the roses on the porch, blushing and sweet-scented. The fountain
plays and sparkles its diamond spray in the sun, and there are no ghosts
haunting the long halls; yet, I must confess to the weakness of having razed
Mrs. Tone's cottage to the ground and re-closed Mr. Montford's room.