The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1863-04-09

from a short sleep which had succeed
ed the long night of fever. How intensity re-
freshing that brief but deep slumber was to
me! How delicious the gradual fading-out OF
the sense of horror and bewilderment, with all
the hideous COMMISSIONS of delirium, into the
blank tranquility of dreamless sleep! When
[ awoke, my mead was still painful, and my
frame as feeble as if Ihad lain for a week on a
sick bed.
But my brain was cleared, and l was able
to think quietly of what had happened.
''Lrcy," l said, 'tyou do not know what
frightened me, or why l tainted"
NO dearest, not exactly"
but you can know nothing Of it, my dear
Lucy. You were not with me when | came
into this room last night. You did not see
Ipaused, utterly unable to finish my sen
tence.
"Did not see whom-or what, my dear Isa-
bel p
The shadow, in this room, of your brother
Laurence"
NY whole frame trembled with the r~ecollec-
ton of my terror of the night betore,as said
this vet | was able to observe Lucy's face,
and | saw that its natural hue had faded to an
ashen pallor.
The shadow, Isabel - she faltered, not as
if in any surprise at my words, but rather as
if she merely spoke because she felt Obliged to
make some reply to me.
Eyes, Lucy" / said, raising myself upon
the pillow, and graspiog her wrist, ''the shad-
ow of your brother Laurence. The living,
breathing, moving image of your brother, with
every linea1nent and every shade Of colorin2
reflected in the phantom face as well as they
would be reflected in a mirror. Not shadoWy,
transparent, or vanishing, but as palpable as
you are to me this very moment. Good heav-
ems Lucy, l give you my solemn word that
heard the phantom footsteps along that gal
Iery as distinctly as | have ever heard the
steps Of Laurence himself; the firm, heavy
tread Of a strong man"
Lucy Wendale sat for some time perfectly
silent, looking straight before her-not at me,
but out at the half-open window, round which
the ivy-leaves were 1uttering, to the dim moor
land melting into purple distance across the
tree-tops in the park. Her profile was turned
towards me but | could see by her firmly
compressed lips and fixed eyes that she was
thinking deeply.
Presently she said, slowly and deliberately,
and without once looking at me as she spoke:
''You must be fully aware, my dearest lsa-
bel, that these decisions are OF common occur
renee with people Of an extremely nervous tenn
permanent. You may be one Of these delicate
Iy organized persons you had thrown your
self last night into a very sensitive and hys-
terical state in your anxiety about Laurence.
With your whole mind full of his image, with
all kinds of shadowy terrors about danger to
him, what more likely than that you should
c~oniure, up an object such as that which you
fancy you saw last night?
But so palpable, Lucy-so perfectly dis
'It would be as eaay for the brain to shape
a distinct as an indistinct form. Grant the
possibility of optical de~lusion-a fact establish
ed by a host of witnesses-and you cannot
limit the character of the delusion. But |
must ct our doctor Mr.. Arden. to talk to you
about this. He is something of a metaphysi-
clan as well as a medical man, and will be able
to cure your mental ills, and regulate this fe-
verish pulse of yours at the same time. Iau-
has ridden over to York to fetch him,
and | dare say they will both be here direct
ly."
'Lucy, remember, now, you must never
tell Laurence the cause ofmy last nights faint
ing fit"
GNever, Isabel. was about to make the
very same request to you. 1t IS much better
that he should never know it."
'.Much better; for, oh, Lucy, do you remem-
Der that in all ghost-storics the appearance OF
the shadow, or double, Of a living person is a
presage of death to that person ? The thought
this brings back all my terror. My Lau-
my darling, if anything should happen
to him! !"
Come. Bella, Mr.. Arden must talk to you.
In the meantime, here comes Mrs. Person with
your breakfast. While you are taking 1t, l
will go to the library, and look for Sir Walter
Scotts DemoaOL0qg. You will find instances
in that book of the optical decisions | have
Of"
The housekeeper came bustling into the room
with the breakfast-tray, which she placed on
a table by the bed. When she had arranged
everything for my comfort and prOpped me
up with a luxurious pile of pillows, she turn
ed round to speak with Lucy.
'Oh, Miss Lucy" she said, poor James
Beck is so awfully cut up. If you'd only just
see him. and tell him"
Lucy silenced her with one look a brief
but all-expresive glance Of warning and APP
proval. | could not help wondering what pos
sible reason there could be for making a mys-
tery of some little trouble Of James Becks."
Mr.. Arden. the York surgeon, was the most
DELIGHTFUL of men. He came with Lucy into
nv room. and laughed and chatted me out Of
nv low spirits before he had been with me a
of an hour.
He talked so much of hysteria, optical delu-
sions, false impressions OF outward objects, disc
ordered and abnormal states of the organ OF
and other sentimental, s~eml-physlcal
infirmities, that he fairly bewildered me into
agreeing with and believing all he sad;
81 hear YOU are a most accomplished horse
woman, Miss Morley" he said, rs he rose to
leave us; ''and as the day promises to be fne'
| must strongly recommend a canter across
the moors, with Mr.. Wendale as your cava-
lier. Go to sleep between this and luncheon
rise in time to eat a mutton-chop and drink a
glass of bitter ale; ride for two hours IN the
s~unniest part of the afternoon, a a h9It
dinner, and go to bed early and VIII answer
for your seeing no more OF the ghost. lou
have no idea how much indigestion has to do
with these things. l dare say if were to see
your bill Of fare for yesterday, should dlscoV-
er Lady Adela's cook Is responsible Tor the
phantom, and that he made his first appear
ance among the entrees. Who can wonder
that the Germans are a ghoSI-seekllS peopie,
when it is remembered that they eat raspber-
ry jam with roast veal
l followed the doctors advice to the letter
and at three o'clock in the afternoon Laurence
and | were galloping across the mooriand, ting
ed with a yellow hazy light in the September
sunshine. Like NEST impressionable people,I
soon recovered from my nervous shock; and
by the time l sprang from the saddle before
the wide stone portico at Fernwood, l had al
most forgotten my terrors Of the night before.
A fortnight after. this my aunt and LETT
Yorkshire for Brighton, whittier Laurence
speedily followed US. Before leaving did all
in my power to induce Lucy to accompany
us, but in vain. She thanked my aunt and
me for our invitation, but declared that she
could not leave Fernwood. Wedeparted, there
fore, without having won her, as had hoped
to have done, from the monotony OF her soil
tary life, and without having seen Mr.. Wen
T. l-- - H., v.x-c4l,TnlIG noc1l-