The Centre reporter. [volume] (Centre Hall, Pa.) 1871-1940, 1877-02-01
Esther ChiIIingworth's Ring.
A ATALE OF SALEM wITcHcRAFT.

Such q queer uld ring picked i.
out of the old lacQuered cabinet where
Aunt Lucinda 5 odds and ends of family
relcS-memento morris, antique trinkets.
and souvenirs of the past her past, that
seemed 50 very. very old; for she WIS my
mothers aunt. not mine-were slowed
away IN rows Of tlny drawers, packed in
soft jewelers. cotton, and smelling sweet
and strong OF Touka beans Ii WAS a
rng II OLD yellow gold, curiously dressed
with the laciEth cut crcsceutwiSe. ald
set IN tiny seed pearls: and the Jewels
and setting. as IL many old rings. opened
az the ccaxing of q finger, and showed a
wee space for hair-whuSc? | asked
Aunt Lucinda. but she was hurrving 10
shut mp the cabinet. and only said
Remind ne - tell you about il IN the
morning, child, FOR it was late. and she
wanted 10 send me off to bed.
Can't keep this, jus; to wear while
I'm here-it's - p7c5ry-ani Ill take
such good care Of It, auntic ?"
Well, put il on, said Aunt Lucinda
"and then run away. for its past eleven
O'Clock. To think Of You Keeping me
up talking until this late hour"
So | went away To bed, slipping the
harrow band Of frctted, carven, crustei
gold over my first finger, and watching
the rich, waEm flake Of light in the heart
cf the iacinth-ike drop OF clear
honey.
slept alone at Aunt Lucinda's, in a
qneer old roCm, with an open fireplace
and b1ass audlr0Is, and with a great,
high posted he'd, dark with lowered
chintz curtains. and a high and almus;
inaccessible mountain of feathers. into
which l usually lsape,l with the aid # a
chair, when had blown the candle ont
always went 10 sleep drowsily specu'a:-
ing upon the ancestral parsonage who had
r,posed IN tins old ark of 4 bel. under
:. n ancient red silk quilt: and wonder
Ing II any of their forgotten dEeams lurA-
ell round those lowered curtains. 10
creep into my BRAIN when sleep sets it.,
gates a.ar. / did not dream. tia. night.
a. any rate; | an sure Of i, for Lad not
slept ten minutes by the old s'a, ssster
clock on the mante.piece, when | was
awakened by the pressure Il hand.
IL Was not Aunt Lac.uda's hand: even
III sleep | knew the difference Of the
touch. They were young fingers tlas
sid eoldly over mine-Soft. round t.Ds.
thai lett q camp chill upon my Il .sll
where they crept along. As my senses
awoke cralUaly, l felt these fingers
working a. the rsng ON my left hand.
and fe.t q cold breath on my forehead
Ike puff OF night ar. | tired h strike
away the hand, bat It fastened clinginply
on mine, and 4 meaning voice said. Ia
s,onately, and yet piteously, ike q hurt
child:
Let me have it-let me have it,
Who are YOU? Where are vot {?
What Is il ?" | casped. struggling t. 81
upright in the deep trough OF the feather
bed. Aunt Lucinda -
The dark, still folds Of the curtains
wayered and moved. the streak Of liuh.
between them widened, and then thev
were pushed quite apart. Then / saw
the moon shining on the floor. and the
fire dying on the hearth between the
brass and irons, and figure standing bv
the bed-standing right in the arch made
by the parted curtains.
1t was woman, and / saw her Just as
plainly as | see at this moment the words
written by the pen in my hand. / could
ten you every item Of tie dress she wore.
even to the edging Of lace on the tight
sleeves that reached her elbows. and the
little blue damask figure on her grav
gown. Her face was very pale and
quiet, and there was no light in her eves;
they were heavy and dark, and the lids
were reddened as if with CRYING aud
waking; but she was beautiful for all
that-beautiful rs some old, dim picture
with story IN it. There she stood. with
her face and neck cleaning dull-white.
like old marble, above the gray gown.
and one lock Of her black hair twisted
round her throat, like soft necklace.
and her little damp, cold hand living on
mine, and her lips moved yet, rs If she
were saying over again
Let me have t."
" Who are you q / cried, trembling
aud hardly breathing What do YOU
want q
Ny ring-mine and Rogers. No
other woman can wear my ring. Look
don't you see the blood on it ?''
Aunt Lucinda's ring There was no
stain on it when she took If out of the
old casket; but saw it now in the moon
lght-a dash OF ugly red among the
crusted carvings. tore it off nv finger.
and flung it away as if it were a coal of
fire.
Who are you ?" | cried once more.
And the answer came softly and slow,
Like sigh:
Esther Chillingworth. "
/ stared up at her breathlessly.
Look at me, she murmured. "This
is the face that Rsger Vane loved nigh
two hundred years ago; this is the hand
that wore his ring-that sent it back to
him from Salem jail when he cared no
longer to remember how he slipped it on
with kisses. They say I was very fair to
see in those days. Look at me. Ami
,omely now ?"
She swept back her long hair from her
lace, but without displacing the lock that
surled like a snake around her throat:
md then, as looked at her, she broke
nto low wailing cry:
" | bad the fairest face in Salem-old
daughter. The grass
the flower fadeth.' The par
'on used to tell me it was a vain show.
lud | laughed him to scorn. For in the .
woods beyond Salem, when l was pick
ng May flowers, and rustling aside the /
,rown leaves to find their pink and white
clustered stars | met Roger Vane. and he
old me q suaotar faIa fhoy Al -. L..