Emily Arnold

THE GHOST OF THE TREASURE-­CHAMBER

This rare story first appeared in Time in December 1886 and seems never to have been reprinted. No information about its author appears to be available. She signed her story “Emily Arnold” and is credited in the magazine’s table of contents as “Mrs Henry Arnold,” making her most likely the same person who published the three-­volume novel Monks-Hollow under that name in 1883.

I

Yes, I hated leaving India where I had been so happy for six years with my dear father, who was the colonel of a crack cavalry regiment at Allahabad. And now I was ordered home, for my health had begun to fail under the scorching sun and enervating climate.

Home, did I say? Alas! England was no home to me. All that were nearest and dearest to me were in India, and I felt that my heart would break at leaving my dear old dad, to whom I had been all in all since my mother’s death, which had occurred when I was only fourteen. But it was no use grieving over the inevitable. I had to go; and, as I had no wish to make our parting the harder by useless tears, I tried my best to conceal my sorrow, and I fancy my father did the same. Never can I forget the day when he saw me on board the steamer with my chaperone, Mrs. Somers; there was a long, lingering embrace, a few broken words, and then the gulf of waters widened between us, and his dear grey head and upright form faded from my sight, as the vessel ploughed her way through the smooth, green waves.

Upon landing, I was to go to some relatives, my mother’s own sister, the Trevalyons, who lived in Cornwall at Tregarthlyn Castle.

“By Tre, and Pol, and Pen,

You may know the Cornish men.”

The Trevalyons were a very old Cornish family, who had held Tregarthlyn ever since the reign of Elizabeth; but, of late years, bad times had come upon them; they had grown poorer and poorer; a succession of spendthrift heirs had wasted the substance; and my aunt, with her son and daughter, had much ado to make both ends meet. At all events, I was to stay with them for a time, the doctors being certain that the fresh Cornish air and bracing salt breezes would prove most beneficial to me.

I was naturally of a very nervous and excitable temperament, and was a good deal interested at finding that among the passengers was the celebrated Mr. Delaware, the clairvoyant and mesmerist, then on his way to England.

To tell the truth, I was just a little frightened of him, he was so tall and thin and solemn-looking, with large pale eyes, which seemed to read one’s inmost soul. I felt his piercing orbs fixed on me more than once during the first week on board, and I took care to keep out of his way. But one evening the captain announced that Mr. Delaware had kindly offered to entertain us with some of his spiritual manifestations and mesmerism.

Of course we were all very eager to witness the performance, which proved to be decidedly wonderful. It consisted of thought-reading, writing upon a slate by invisible agency, and in mesmerising most of the crew, who were invited upon the platform for the purpose.

As I was leaving the saloon at the end of the evening, the captain asked me to go with him on deck, and, having received permission from Mrs. Somers, I followed him. It was an exquisite night, bright and balmy; the sky, one vast sheet of purple, brilliant with stars; the moon, a huge globe of silver, illumining the wide expanse of gleaming waters.

Like most sensitive persons, I was peculiarly alive to beauty in every shape and form, and, breathless with delight, I leant against the side, and watched the phosphorescent light from the great green rollers, as they glided away to leeward. But my reverie was interrupted by a voice close by me.

“A lovely night, Miss Jocelyn.”

I started, and looked round. There, at my elbow, his tall, thin figure erect, his glassy eyes fixed on mine, was Mr. Delaware!

I assented coldly, for I was somewhat annoyed at the intrusion, but nothing daunted, he continued,—

“You have the true artistic temperament, I can see; you are emotional, and keenly susceptible to beauty. Is it not so?”

“How can you tell?” I replied, interested, in spite of myself.

He laughed. “I am used to studying faces, yours is a very characteristic one. You would make an excellent trance medium and clairvoyante.”

“Should I?” I exclaimed, much astonished. “Could you mesmerise me?”

“Easily,” he returned, smiling; “let me try.”

I hesitated. “Will you promise not to make me do anything foolish?”

“Yes, on my honour as a gentleman; you shall only tell me what you see, and the captain shall stand by you all the time.”

I felt horribly nervous, but eventually curiosity got the better of my fears.

I endeavoured to make my mind as blank as I was directed, and fixed my eyes upon those of Mr. Delaware. The sensations I experienced were curious; first, a hazy mist seemed to obscure all surrounding objects, through which Mr. Delaware’s eyes alone penetrated; then I lost consciousness, and, as in a dream, there arose before my mental vision a fair but wintry landscape, bounded by frowning hills, whose peaks seemed to touch the grey sky-line. Overlooking the valley stood an old picturesque building with castellated battlements, clothed with a tangle of creepers.

As I gazed at it, the light faded, a dim obscurity succeeded the shafts of sunshine, a cold blast seemed to turn my blood to ice, as from the gathering gloom, there approached a tall figure, enveloped in a martial cloak which hid its features. I heard a deep voice mutter:—“To you a task is given; see that you perform it.

“She, who through love the treasure seeks,

Puts nerve and courage to the test;

But woe betide her if she fail

The Phantom Knight’s lost bones to rest.”

As I stood in breathless horror, unable to stir a limb, the figure raised its arm, a skeleton hand emerged from the heavy folds of the cloak, and touched my elbow. A scorching pain shot through me, I uttered a shriek,—— and awoke to find Mr. Delaware bending over me anxiously.

“Well?” he said interrogatively.

“How strange!” I murmured, passing my hand over my eyes. “But why did you hit me? You must have done so, for my arm hurts me dreadfully,” and I pulled up the loose sleeve of my dress, and looked at it; but there was nothing to be seen.

“I have not touched you,” replied Mr. Delaware. “Was your vision pleasing?”

“No—not very,” I returned, thoroughly puzzled. “I saw a castle and a figure.”

“Probably foreshadowing what is to happen, Miss Jocelyn,” said the mesmerist.

“Heaven forbid!” I exclaimed; and then I wished him and the captain good-night, and went to my cabin, not a little upset and nervous.

I wrote down the doggerel verse I had heard, lest I should forget it, and retired to rest with my head full of the vision I had seen.

But my sleep was dreamless, and I awoke next morning ready to laugh at myself for my fears, and to think what a fool I had been to allow Mr. Delaware to practise his uncanny arts upon me.

When I met him, I briefly asked him to say nothing about it, as I did not wish Mrs. Somers to know how foolish I had been.

“I cannot understand,” I said, “how you managed to make me unconscious. I quite lost myself for a time.”

“You were unconscious for ten minutes,” he replied, regarding me gravely. “It is simply the extraordinary power that a strong and trained will has over a weaker one. And you, pray forgive me for saying so, are of a highly-strung organisation, and so peculiarly susceptible to magnetic and spiritual influence.”

“Do you believe in spirits?” I asked, much interested.

“Certainly I do; and I have every reason to think that the vision you saw last night came direct from the spirit world. You will know one day; when you do, will you tell me if I am right in my belief?”

I promised, feeling vaguely uncomfortable; the subject then dropped, nor did we again allude to it.

II

Mrs. Somers and I were landed at Plymouth one chilly day in the beginning of November. She was going on to London next morning, after she had handed me over to the tender mercies of my relations, whom I had expected to meet me.

We drove to Chubbs’ well-known and comfortable hotel, and were duly ushered into a cosy oak-panelled apartment, a blazing fire burning on the hearth, the table laid appetisingly for dinner. I pulled off my hat and cloak, and knelt down on the hearth-rug to warm my chilled hands, whilst Mrs. Somers bustled about with her numerous parcels and bags, worried her maid, interviewed the waiter, and finally departed to arrange her belongings for the night. I was feeling terribly forlorn and homesick, and an inexpressible longing came over me to have my dear old dad’s loving arms round me once more; with trembling fingers I drew from my neck a thin gold chain to which was attached a locket; I opened it, and with brimming eyes looked at his dear, kindly face; alas! it would be many weary months before I saw it again. I was just making up my mind for the luxury of a good cry, when the waiter announced a visitor. It was my cousin, Derrick Trevalyon, whom I had not met since I was a tiny child.

I sprang to my feet, as he came forward and took my hand, with such frank, honest sympathy in his dark grey eyes, that my heart warmed to him at once. And then he was so handsome! After all, beauty is a gift of the gods, and its sway is omnipotent. It is all very well for wise people to depreciate it, saying that it is but skin-deep, and that charms of mind are better than those of person. But, in my humble opinion, beauty wins, hands down. Would Helen of Troy, or Ninon de l’Enclos, or Cleopatra, have received a quarter of the meed of love and adoration they exacted, had they been plain women, were they as sagacious as Minerva herself?

Derrick Trevalyon was exceptionally handsome.

He was tall and finely built, with straight, clear-cut features, resolute grey eyes, and fair hair, which would have curled all over his well-shaped head had it not been too closely cropped.

“And you are Ruby?” he said, in low penetrating tones, still holding my hand in his firm clasp. “You are not much altered from the little girl I used to play with. My mother is longing to receive you. She sent you her best love, and regretted that she could not come with me to meet you, but this is one of her bad days.”

“I am so sorry,” I replied, withdrawing my hand, and motioning him to a seat by the fire. “Is Aunt Eleanor a great sufferer?”

“Yes, at times she has dreadful attacks of neuralgia;” and then he added, half to himself, “Poor mother, she is but ill-fitted to bear trouble.”

Our tête-à-tête was interrupted by Mrs. Somers, who welcomed my cousin very cordially, and we sat down presently to a cosy little dinner, admirably served, after which Derrick insisted upon carrying us off to the theatre, where he had secured a box.

The next morning I parted from Mrs. Somers with many expressions of regret, and the sincere hope that we might meet again ere long, and then Derrick and I started for Tregarthlyn Castle, which was some miles north of Penzance.

It was growing dark when we arrived at the lodge-gates and drove up a long avenue of fine old elms, whose leaves were now whirling down in showers in the wintry blast.

At the end of the avenue, the castle came into full view, but it was too dark to discern it, though there seemed to be a singular air of familiarity about it, which troubled me considerably. In another minute Derrick had sprung out, and was assisting me to alight.

“Welcome to Tregarthlyn, my fair cousin,” he said, heartily. I ran up the stone steps, and entered the hall, where I was folded in my aunt’s warm embrace.

“My dear little Ruby,” she said, kissing me affectionately, “how glad I am to see you; you must be tired to death with your long journey, and cold too. I hope Derrick has taken care of you,” and she led the way to the drawing-room,—such a pretty, quaint, old-fashioned apartment, sweet with the breath of flowers,—where I was placed in an arm-chair, and my aunt removed my hat and furs, and chafed my cold hands in her soft warm ones. The tea stood ready on a little Chippendale table in front of the hearth, and whilst she poured me out a cup, I had time to look at her. She reminded me of my dear, dead mother, and had altered but little in the last twelve years; her features were delicate, she had Derrick’s eyes, and her pretty, wavy, fair hair was now plentifully besprinkled with grey. She looked almost too young to be the mother of such a stalwart son.

As I sat there enjoying the warmth, Derrick plying me with hot scones and cake, the door opened and a girl entered.

She was not in the least like Derrick or my aunt, being short and dark, with black hair and laughing brown eyes; such a pretty girl! She greeted me as warmly as her mother had done, saying, “I am so glad you have come to spend this winter with us. I have sometimes been rather dull without a companion, so I shall thoroughly appreciate your society. We must teach you to skate, and there are lovely walks and rides about here. I hope you will soon be at home with us and will not feel strange.”

I replied that I felt at home already, which I think pleased my aunt, for she patted my cheek approvingly. When she presently suggested that I might like to go to my room, my cousin Beatrice accompanied me.

“I thought you would prefer to be near me,” she remarked, as, after ascending the broad oak staircase, we traversed a long corridor, with doors on one side, and finally entered a room at the end, which was simply yet comfortably furnished, and contained a bookcase in which I saw several of my favourite authors and poets, a couple of arm-chairs, and a writing-table; and, better than all, it opened into Bee’s bedroom, which gave me much inward satisfaction. I found her a bright, clever, and amusing companion, and she chatted away to me whilst she helped me to arrange my knick-knacks, and get ready for dinner.

The next morning I awoke early, and springing out of bed, ran to the window, and looked out over the gardens, which extended far into the valley beneath, through which ran a streamlet spanned by a couple of rustic bridges, and foaming over huge boulders covered with lichen. In the misty distance was a chain of hills, whose rugged tops were hidden by clouds.

Those hills seemed strangely familiar to me. Where had I seen them?

Like a lightning flash came the recollection of Mr. Delaware, and his interview with me.

As I stood spellbound, unable to believe the evidence of my own senses, the fog gradually rolled away, and there before me lay the landscape of my vision!

A sensation of utter bewilderment, not unmixed with fear, seized me; I dreaded I knew not what. But I longed to go out and get a view of the castle, which was impossible from my present position, so I dressed quickly, and, going downstairs, let myself noiselessly out of the hall-door, and ran down the grassy slope of the lawn, until I reached a thicket of arbutus and laurel, which I had noticed from my window.

Then I turned and faced the castle. Yes, there it stood, the very embodiment of my dream! the sun sparkling on the old diamond-paned windows, and tinting the few leaves left upon the trailing creepers a vivid crimson.

I felt as if turned to stone; and a great reverence for Mr. Delaware, and his spiritual arts, rose in my impressionable mind. As to the rest of my vision, I dared not let myself think of it, it was all too uncanny, too horrible. But my unpleasant reflections were abruptly ended by my cousin Derrick, who emerged from a side path in knickerbockers and gaiters, a gun over his shoulder, and who seemed unfeignedly pleased and astonished at seeing me.

“Good morning,” he said, taking off his cap, and the sun shone on his bright face and clustering brown hair; he looked so brave, and frank, and handsome, that my fears left me as if by magic.

“You are early; I’m afraid you did not sleep well.”

“Yes I did, capitally; but I was possessed of a demon of curiosity, and was obliged to come out. Now, you shall show me over the grounds.”

He gladly assented, and we made the tour of the gardens, which were extensive and very lovely, though Dame Nature had it a little too much her own way. Where there had been an army of gardeners were now only two; the acre or so of glass was unused, and falling into decay. The stables were the same; the fine stud reduced to a couple of old hunters, and a rough pony. My heart ached to see the ruin, the desolation, that had fallen upon what was evidently once a splendid estate.

I suppose my tell-tale countenance must have betrayed my feelings, for Derrick turned to me half-laughing, yet with an undercurrent of bitterness which he could not conceal; “It is the old story, Ruby; we must cry Ichabod, the glory has departed. The sins of the fathers are visited on the children. Do you know that in four months we must turn out of here?”

“Is it possible?” I cried aghast.

“Yes, we can no longer keep the wolf from the door. We have struggled on for years; the castle was heavily mortgaged during my father’s lifetime; now they mean to foreclose—we can do nothing. My mother has enough to keep her from starving. As to myself I mean to get a tutorship; thank Heaven, my college education will ensure me that! It is hard to give up the old place that has been ours for so many generations, but beggars mustn’t be choosers.”

There was a break in his voice, he turned away and busied himself with his gun.

I felt very grieved, but could think of nothing to say to comfort him.

Presently he continued, “The worst of it is that there is a rumour that an immense quantity of treasure lies concealed somewhere in the castle.”

My heart stood still.

“Treasure?” I repeated eagerly.

“Ah, then you have never heard the legend of the Trevalyons, nor of the ghost which is supposed to haunt Tregarthlyn. But how pale you are, Ruby; perhaps I had better postpone my story.”

“Oh no; tell me now,” I urged, and drawing my sealskin closely round me, for I shivered intensely, I seated myself upon one of the seats on the terrace which flanked the south side of the building­.

“Well, there was once upon a time, during the reign of Charles I., a certain Sir Guy Trevalyon. Of course he was a staunch Royalist, and something of a freebooter too, I’m afraid, judging by all accounts. This worthy knight was in close attendance upon the King, and was among the escort sent to convey the Queen Henrietta Maria to England. Later on he was despatched on a secret mission to Spain, and whilst there a quantity of Spanish treasure in the shape of money, drinking cups, flagons and chalices, all in pure gold, fell into his hands, and was brought here for concealment. Six months later, during the civil war, Tregarthlyn Castle was stormed by the Roundheads, who were successfully repulsed by Sir Guy; but after the siege was over the knight was found to be missing, and was never again heard of. What became of him, or the treasure, Heaven only knows. Every successive heir to the estate has searched the place, but to no purpose.”

“Have you?” I asked breathlessly.

“Yes indeed; you may think me a fool, but I have had surveyors and architects here for a month at a time. We found one secret chamber opening with a sliding panel from the picture gallery, but nothing more. There is an old doggerel rhyme about it; it runs something like this—

“ ‘She, who through love the——,’ ”

he broke off suddenly as I started forward, crying, “No, no, there must be some mistake—it can’t be.”

“Why, Ruby, what is the matter? you don’t mean to say you are frightened?”

I tried to smile, but I felt horrified; what did it all mean? Only too well I knew the remainder of the rhyme, for it haunted me. I had it written down in my desk at this very moment.

“I don’t see much chance of any lovely young maiden braving the ghost of Sir Guy for my sake,” he went on; but his tones seemed muffled and far away. I have a vague impression that he turned to me with keen solicitude in his glance; then he, the castle, everything, faded into a dark mist; a ghastly terror seemed to shake my very soul, and I fell forward, unconscious.

When I recovered myself I was in the warm breakfast-room, my aunt bending anxiously over me with a bottle of smelling salts.

“My dear child,” she said, “how you frightened me. I have been scolding Derrick for taking you out without any breakfast. You must remember, dear, that you are somewhat of an invalid, and quite unused to our cold climate.”

I sat up, and tried to smile. “Please don’t scold Derrick; it was all my fault.”

“Then you must promise me not to attempt to get up another morning until you are called. Now you must have some breakfast.”

At the mention of that somewhat overrated meal I began to think I was very hungry; and so, much to Derrick’s satisfaction (he seemed terribly put out by my sudden collapse, poor fellow), I allowed myself to be ensconced in a warm nook by the fire, and did ample justice to aunt’s hospitality. In the afternoon Bee offered to show me over the castle, and I gladly assented.

It was a rambling, old place, big enough to put up a regiment of soldiers. Two wings were entirely closed, and only saw daylight when it was necessary to remove the dust that gathered upon the time-worn furniture and brocaded hangings, relics of past generations.

Everywhere I saw the same evidences of decay, of poverty, that I had noticed out of doors; it was indeed sadly apparent that the glory of the Trevalyons had departed. When we entered the picture-gallery, which ran the length of the north wing, and was shut off by heavy folding doors, the sun was setting, and darkness was coming on apace. We passed down it, our footsteps making no sound upon the tapestried floor, the eyes of the dead and gone Trevalyons following us as eyes will do in an oil-painting, Bee pointing out to me the most noteworthy of them. I’m afraid they were mostly a lawless race, given to cards, dice, and wine, and more apt to love their neighbours’ wives than their own lawful spouses.

“This is the celebrated Sir Guy,” said Bee stopping short at a full-length picture of a knight in armour, his plumed casque in his hand; “he is supposed to haunt the castle. Isn’t he an old fright?”

I looked up at the dark and saturnine countenance above me with something of awe; certainly I felt no inclination to speak so irreverently of the Phantom Knight. His bold, black eyes gazed straight out from the canvas in a defiant stare, and—could it be fancy?—they seemed to me illumined as with an inward flame.

I glanced hastily round. Was it a shaft of sunlight that had caused that unearthly radiance? No, the gallery was already shrouded in darkness.

With a sudden feeling of terror I turned to Bee, who had gone on, and said in a half-whisper, “I don’t like this place, it is eerie; let us go downstairs,” and seizing her arm, I hurried her towards the door, and we ran down the corridor as if all the ghosts imaginable had been at our heels.

Bee threw herself, breathless and laughing, into a chair when we reached the drawing-room.

“I declare you have given me quite a scare,” she said as soon as she could speak. “What on earth did you see or hear? I expect Derrick frightened you this morning with his silly stories.”

“I wish you would not laugh about it,” I returned rather pettishly; “I detest ghosts and all that sort of thing.”

Bee jumped up and kissed me in her usual impulsive fashion.

“Poor little coz! she looks like a ghost herself with her pale face, and her wondering blue eyes.”

“Am I really so hideous?” I asked plaintively, with an anxious glance at the adjacent mirror.

“Oh, alarmingly so,” laughed my mischievous cousin. “That is, if one can be hideous with lovely, rippling, auburn hair, eyes like violets, and a little face like a wild rose.”

“You are too poetical to be truthful, I am afraid,” I returned severely; “but, tell me now, have you ever seen the ghost?”

“I? No, never, thank heaven! Sir Guy has not troubled me. He evidently thinks I am far too material a person to be honoured with his spiritual attentions. But with an ethereal being, like yourself, it may be different. I should not be at all surprised if he paid you a visit, if only out of deference to your personal charms. I have always heard that he was a great admirer of beauty; quite a gay Lothario in fact.”

This was too much; I was feeling horribly nervous and unstrung, and here, to Bee’s utter dismay, I burst into a fit of hysterical weeping.

In an instant she was on her knees beside me, her arms clasping my waist, her pretty, soft, rosy face pressed to mine, whilst she whispered contritely, “My little darling cousin, do forgive me. I am a brute to tease you. I did not mean a word of it, but I am not accustomed to the society of such a delicate little flower as you, so you must forgive me. Sir Guy is a myth, no one that I know of has ever seen him, or any other ghost. Of course, all old places boast of one; it is the proper thing to have, like old silver, old port, and ancestral portraits.” So she petted and cheered me, until gradually I recovered myself, though it was some time before I could quite shake off the nervous, uncomfortable feelings that had risen in my breast since my arrival.

III

The days slipped away very quickly, and I soon felt quite at home and happy with my relations, though there was scarcely any hour in the twenty-four that I did not think, with a swelling heart, of my dearest old dad, so many, many miles away. I grew rapidly stronger and better; the pure Cornish air, laden with the briny breath of the broad Atlantic, blew a faint colour into my cheeks; and perhaps a hidden happiness, which I scarcely yet realised, lent a brighter colour to my eyes. Yes, I was happy; for I felt that Derrick Trevalyon loved me! I was not a child, and I had had a certain amount of experience in the ways of mankind in India, so I was not likely to deceive myself. I read his secret in the ardent gaze of his honest grey eyes, in the fervent clasp of his hand, in the tender inflection of his voice when he addressed me; and gradually the conviction dawned upon me that I reciprocated his affection. And with that knowledge came the belief that it was in me to do something—what, I could not determine—to help him at this crisis.

As the time passed his resolute young face grew graver and graver; on more than one occasion I found my aunt in tears, which she vainly endeavoured to conceal; and even my irrepressible cousin Bee seemed sad and anxious. Only too well I knew the cause. In three months they would be homeless! I had never learned the value of money; my father was scarcely a rich man, but we had always had enough for comfort, if not luxury; but now I longed for wealth as ardently as the most inveterate miser could have done.

I had now quite got over my old fear of Sir Guy Trevalyon, and in fact passed an hour or so every day in the gallery, which commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding country, whose exquisite hills and dales I was constantly sketching.

We spent a very pleasant Christmas Eve. The rector of the adjacent parish, and his noisy family, together with some distant neighbours, were our guests, and after dinner we had charades, finishing up with a dance. The next day there was a Christmas Tree for the village children, at which Bee and I had worked hard for some weeks, and an entertainment at the schools for the old men and women.

On New Year’s Eve we were bidden to a dance at Viscount Ruthlyn’s, about ten miles away, to which festivity both Bee and I were looking forward with feverish eagerness. We had seen a good deal of the Honourable Gerald Trevor, his lordship’s eldest son, during the last few weeks. Scarcely a day passed without bringing him over upon some excuse or another, and he seldom went away without a glimpse of Bee’s pretty face, and some of her saucy speeches ringing in his ears. In truth, she snubbed him unmercifully; but he seemed to like it, possibly because it offered such a complete contrast to the reception he usually met with at the hands of the fair sex, being the heir to large possessions. We started off in high spirits for the ball, Derrick having expressed his satisfaction at our appearance, which we secretly agreed left nothing to be desired,—we were dressed alike in white tulle—and arrived safely, in spite of the slippery state of the roads and the snow that had been falling during the day. Dancing had commenced, and all the notabilities of the county were footing it merrily. The old oak-panelled rooms were gay with flowers and holly, whose shining crimson berries gleamed like fire amongst the myriads of wax-lights.

During the evening, Derrick and I found ourselves in the cool depths of the conservatory, where rare exotics bloomed in a wealth of ferns and creepers. Almost hidden behind some giant palms was a cushioned lounge; I sank down upon it with a sigh of content, and commenced fanning myself.

“Hark,” said Derrick, listening intently, “it is twelve o’clock; there go the bells. Can you hear them?” and as he spoke, the wild musical ring of many iron tongues announced the death of the old year, the birth of the new.

“Ring out wild bells to the wild sky,

The flying clouds, the frosty light;

The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.”

So I quoted softly as Derrick leant towards me and took my hand in his.

“God bless my dear little cousin, and give her a very happy year,” he said tenderly, looking into my eyes.

“I should like to wish you the same,” I commenced shyly, for his earnest gaze somewhat disturbed me.

He dropped my hand, and, turning away, picked a spray of Cape Jessamine.

“Do you know I am going to London to-morrow?” he asked abruptly.

“No, are you really?”

“I am going to interview a gentleman, who requires a tutor for his son. You may wish me luck if you like.”

My eyes filled with tears, his tone was so bitter, so unlike himself.

“Derrick,” I said earnestly, “I wish I could help you. I would give all I possess to be able to do something for you all. I wonder what that rhyme means.”

I stopped suddenly, half frightened at the light that flashed over his face.

“ ‘She who through love the treasure seeks,’ ” he said gently. “Ruby, don’t tempt me to tell you what I have been longing to say for days past. I am a poor penniless beggar, who has no right to think of love, or any such luxury.”

“Don’t say that, Derrick; what has money to do with love?”

“A great deal, my sweet romantic little coz; the world cannot get on without it.”

I looked up at him, our eyes met, and then somehow, Derrick’s arm slipped round my waist, and my cheek found a comfortable resting-place on his shoulder, whilst he whispered that he adored me, had done so in fact ever since he saw me at Chubbs’ Hotel,—a forlorn, tearful little figure, kneeling by the fire.

I went home in a dream of happiness, and, as I bade Derrick good-night, promised to be down the next morning to give him his breakfast before starting for London.

On reaching my room, I told Bee I was tired to death, and shut the door leading into her apartment. There was a bright fire in the grate, and, after undressing, I slipped on a warm dressing-gown, and sat down to consider the state of affairs. The fixed idea in my head was still how I could help my darling. What on earth was the meaning of that doggerel rhyme? Why had I been troubled with that extraordinary vision on board the Victoria, if nothing was to come of it?

I sat there thinking and thinking until the fire went out, and I awoke to the fact that I was intensely sleepy and very cold. I got into bed, but I could not sleep; over and over again I recalled my curious interview with Mr. Delaware. He had said that I was peculiarly susceptible to spiritual influence. Surely, the spirits would not harm me if what I desired to know was to benefit those I loved. With a sudden, but irresistible impulse, I rose, took my candle, and stole noiselessly out of the room, along the corridor, to the picture gallery.

I paused for an instant with my hand on the door.

What mad act was I about to do? I knew not—but I was in that stage of exultation when fear is unknown. I turned the handle slowly and entered.

The cold moonlight, pouring in at the uncovered windows, fell athwart the picture of Sir Guy Trevalyon, standing grim and forbidding in his suit of mail.

I went up to it, scarcely conscious of what I was about, but feeling vaguely that I was acting under the guidance of a superior will; I fell upon my knees, and held out my arms imploringly to the portrait. “Great Shade,” I murmured, “help me to find this treasure. If it be true that thou walkest through these walls seeking rest, I pledge myself to give thee Christian burial if thou wilt grant my prayer, for the sake of thy descendants, now in such trouble.”

Was my petition impious, do you think? I know that it came from my heart; as I ended, my eyes fixed upon the scornful ones above me, a radiant flame, as of an expiring ember burned in them. I almost fancied that those dark harsh features softened as they looked down upon me. I rose from my knees, and was advancing towards the door, when a deep sigh, which was almost a groan, startled me.

In an access of terror I flew along the corridor, and regaining my room locked the door, and jumped into bed.

But I was too nervous, too excited, to sleep.

Great Heaven! what had I done? Invoked the spirit of the dreaded Sir Guy?

A crowd of horrible impossibilities overwhelmed me; I dared remain no longer by myself. I went into Bee’s room, and asked her to let me share her bed, to which she willingly consented; and after a long time I fell asleep.

IV

How long I had slept I know not, but I suddenly awoke with a violent start. I glanced at my companion, she was slumbering sweetly, I sat up and looked fearfully round the room. The night-light was burning dimly; outside the window was nothing but darkness, the moon had disappeared. How silent everything seemed.

Hark! what was that sound? Surely in the distance I could hear the clank of armour; as it were the echo of a mailed footstep ascending the staircase.

I listened intently, but my heart beat with such suffocating throbs as almost to render me deaf to all else. Every nerve in my body seemed strained to its utmost tension. In breathless suspense I waited; yes, there it was again, that muffled but steady footfall, coming slowly along the corridor towards our room. Nearer and nearer it approached; and, oh horror! stopped at our door!

That door was locked, for I had turned the key myself when I came in. The handle was softly turned, it opened, and there entered a tall figure enveloped in a long grey misty cloak. It advanced to the foot of the bed, and, raising its arm, beckoned to to me with a skeleton finger.

I sat fascinated, an icy terror numbing my limbs, paralysing my faculties, my eyes fixed on those of the figure, which glittered like a lambent flame from beneath the folds of the cloak.

As I gazed spellbound, I seemed to hear the words, “You have summoned me—you must follow me.”

But I could not have moved a limb. At last I realised the fearful consequences of my rash act, and with a wild cry to Heaven for mercy, I turned, and, flinging myself upon the pillow, hid my face. I seized my cousin, and in a whisper implored her to wake; I shook her, I even pinched her, but though usually so light a sleeper, she remained immovable. Then I wondered if my grisly visitor had departed, but I dared not look up. Unable to endure the agony of suspense any longer, with a desperate effort, I at length ventured to peep out. Oh God! there it stood; its flaming eyes still fixed on me, its fleshless hand still beckoning.

Then as I watched it there came over me something of the same curious sensation I had experienced when Mr. Delaware mesmerised me. It seemed as though I became partially unconscious, my material self remaining motionless and inert, whilst my spiritual faculties were singularly clear and acute. In a dream of horror,—such horror that even now the remembrance of it curdles the very blood in my veins,—yet impelled by an irresistible attraction, I slipped gradually out of bed, and advanced towards the apparition.

It turned, and led the way to the door, which opened, and we emerged into the corridor. How ghostly, how quiet the old house seemed! only the clank of the phantom’s footsteps disturbing the slumbering echoes. Where was Derrick? I wondered. What would he do if he could see me now, a little white figure flitting along in the wake of the lost Sir Guy. Suppose I should never see him again! Ah! and my poor old dad, what would he ——? a frenzied shriek came to my lips but I stifled it; after all it was my own fault, and I must suffer for my impious rashness.

We came to the door of the picture-gallery; it opened of its own accord. The gallery was full of light, but, oh Heaven! not the light of the blessed day, nor of the moon; but the phosphorescent glare that comes from the putrescence of a charnel-house. The place seemed alive with misty forms; impalpable shapes, perhaps of the dead and gone Trevalyons, glided past me, and faint whispers and sighs sounded in my ears. Probably they were wondering what reckless mortal was this who dared to brave the spirits of the departed. I glanced at Sir Guy’s portrait—it had disappeared!—only the frame remained.

The ghost paused at the sliding panel which Derrick had shown me, it flew back; he entered, then beckoned me to follow. I would have given worlds to refuse, to run away, to scream, to do anything that would alarm the household; but I could not. My lips were dumb, and the strong magnetic attraction, impossible to resist, that had dragged me from my bed, now forced me to go on. I stepped into the recess, the panel closed; I was a prisoner!

Sir Guy advanced to the end of the small room; I saw his hand raised to a portion of the wainscot, it fell back, and presented to my astonished gaze a steep stone staircase. Down we went. It must have been pitch-dark, but we needed no candle; that pale, phosphorescent gleam accompanied us. The stone steps were dank and slippery with slime, whilst noisome creatures that foster in the dark—horrible toads and bats, that filled me with loathing—slunk away at the strange light, and the clank of armour. If only I could have screamed aloud it would have been some relief to my agonized brain, but I was powerless to utter a sound. I counted the steps as we descended. There were three flights of a hundred each.

At length we came to a huge iron door, bolted and barred. It opened at our approach, and we passed into a kind of vaulted chamber built of great blocks of stone. The ghost laid his hand upon one—it was the centre of the fourth tier—an enormous piece of solid masonry swung back, discovering a smaller room. Here, Sir Guy came to a standstill; he beckoned me nearer, I obeyed him and, looking round, I saw by the light he emitted a pile of gold cups, goblets, drinking vessels of every kind and shape, chalices and crosses set with gleaming jewels. But what was that figure seated by the table on which the treasure was heaped? It was habited as a cavalier, while the remains of a plumed hat hung from the back of a chair.

As I gazed at it in horrified silence, it raised its bent head from the table, and looked at me. It was a skeleton, the fleshless, grinning skull glaring horribly in the faint obscurity. Then an icy breath seemed to freeze the marrow in my bones, and a voice said, “I have granted your request; see that you fulfil your promise to me, or you will be lost for ever.”

The ghost turned to me, casting his fiery eyes upon mine, he raised his hand, and laid it upon my arm, just as he had done in the vision. A scorching pain shot through me, and served to loosen my tongue. I gave one awful shriek which rang through the vaulted dungeons; a shriek which did not seem to me like my own voice, and frightened me as much as it did the bats; then the ghostly figures, the golden treasure, all faded away in a thick crimson mist, and I remembered no more.

V

When I regained consciousness I was lying at the foot of Sir Guy Trevalyon’s picture; I raised myself on my elbow and looked around; the sickly rays of the cold wintry morning were stealing through the windows. My teeth were chattering—my head throbbed and burned, but I noticed that Sir Guy had returned to his frame, and stood grim and grisly as when I last saw him. Presently there was a sound of voices outside; hasty footsteps ran along the corridor, and my Aunt Beatrice and a couple of frightened maids appeared, looking thoroughly scared and anxious.

“What is the matter, my dear child?” said my aunt, helping me to rise; “your scream awoke us. Why are you in here? you must surely have been walking in your sleep. Even Derrick, in his distant room, heard you.”

I looked from one to the other dazed and wondering. How could they have heard my shriek at the bottom of that awful stone staircase, beneath the ground? Then suddenly a fear, a doubt, and a great joy came upon me; I flung myself into my aunt’s arms, and burst into alternate tears and laughter, “I have found the treasure-chamber,” I cried. “Yes, I have found it; there are three flights with a hundred steps in each.”

“Good Heaven!” exclaimed my aunt seriously alarmed; “the child is raving. We must get her to bed; she is evidently very ill. Sarah, ask Mr. Derrick to ride off at once for the doctor—at once, mind.”

“I am not ill,” I gasped, “I have found the treasure;” but I could say no more, a sudden feeling of utter horror and fear of what I had endured overcame me and choked my utterance. I remember but little of what followed; I was carried to my room and put to bed.

When the doctor came he said I must have had some very severe shock, and considered my condition serious, with grave symptoms of brain fever. I think I must have told them all my story in my delirium. For three days I was a raving lunatic, and terrified those about me with my piteous appeals to them to save me from Sir Guy Trevalyon. But, thank God! I pulled through; and when I was well enough to be moved into another room, Derrick himself carried me in his strong arms into aunt’s cosy boudoir, and there I told them the story I have endeavoured to relate here, from my mesmeric trance on board the Victoria to the discovery of the hidden gold.

“I am afraid you don’t believe me,” I said as I ended, and I noticed that Aunt Eleanor looked at me anxiously, with an incredulous expression on her gentle face; she evidently thought I was still wandering. But Derrick knelt down beside me. “My little darling,” he said, tenderly, seriously, “I believe everything you tell me; and I will go at once and prove the truth of your words.”

“You can’t go alone,” I entreated. “Wait till to-morrow, and get Gerald Trevor to accompany you. I will send him a note at once, and Lord Ruthlyn shall come too.”

He did so; and the next morning Gerald arrived with his father. When Derrick explained why he required their presence they were tremendously excited and curious.

We accompanied them to the picture gallery; they opened the sliding panel and entered the tiny recess. I pointed out the spot which Sir Guy’s finger had pressed. There was a moment of breathless suspense—then incredulity turned to awe, for the partition flew out as I had told them, and disclosed the stone staircase.

I gave one glance at it; then, shivering with horror, I hid my face on my aunt’s shoulder, and she and Bee led me away.

My story is told. They found everything exactly as I had related, but they could not unclose the iron door which Sir Guy had opened with a touch. Two locksmiths had to be summoned from the town, and it was accomplished at last; the solid masonry in the stone chamber swung back, as I described, and disclosed the long-lost treasure that Sir Guy had brought from Spain, and which probably caused his ruin. The figure seated at the table was doubtless that of the missing knight, who had been caught a prisoner in this secret chamber by the untoward closing of the aperture, which opened by a spring from the outside. It is needless to say that his remains were carefully collected, and interred with full honours in the Church of Tregarthlyn, and later on I had a brass inserted in the ancient pavement to the memory of the Phantom Knight. Besides, did I not owe him a debt of gratitude for his kindly conduct to myself?—and I was so horribly afraid of his visiting me again.

Amongst the treasure were found many Spanish doubloons, and broad gold pieces; enough, thank God! to free Tregarthlyn from the mortgages and debts encumbering it, and to enable my Derrick to hold up his head amongst the greatest in the land.

That summer he and I sailed for India for our honeymoon, my dear father coming over to England to give me to him.

Whether I ever did descend those awful stairs with the ghost of Sir Guy Trevalyon, or whether, under the influence of some powerful supernatural influence, I evolved what I have related from my inner consciousness, I know not; but it is a singular fact that I still bear upon my arm the print of those four skeleton fingers; and, what is more, my two little children have also the sign manual of the ghost of the Treasure-Chamber.