Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1877-01-13
Esther Chillingworth's Ring.
A TALE OF SALEM wITcHCRAFT

Such a queer old ring Ipicked it
out of the old lacquered cabinet, where
Aunt Lucinda's odds and ends OF family
reGcs--memento morris, antique trinkets,
and souvenirs of the past her past, that
seemed So very, very old; for she was my
mothers aunt, not mine, were slowed
away in rows of tiny drawers, packed in
soft jewelers. cotton, aud smelling sweet
aud strong of Tonka beans. 1t was a
ring OF old yellow gold, curiously dressed
with the jacinth cut crescentwise, and
set in tiny seed pearls; and the jewels
and setting, as in many old rings, opened
at the coaxing Of a finger, and showed
wee space for hair-whose? I asked
Aunt Lucinda, but she was hurrying to
shut up the cabinet, and only said
Remind " me to tell you about III the
morning, child" for it was late, and she
wanted to send me off to bed.
Cant I keep this, just to wear while
I'm here--it's so pretty-and IN take
such good care Of it, auntie %
We'll, put it on, said Aunt Lucinda;
'tand then run away, for it's past eleven
o'clock. To think of you keeping me
up talking until this late hour!'
So I went away to bed, slipping the
narrow band of fretted, carven, crusted
gold over my first finger, and watching
the rich, warm flake of light in the heart
OF the jacinth--like Il drop of clear
honey.
1 slept alone at Aunt Lucinda's, in a
queer old room, with an open fireplace
and brass andirons, and with great,
high posted bed, dark with lowered
chintz curtains, and a high and almost
inaccessible mountain of feathers, into
which | usually leaped with the aid of
chair, when had blown the candle out.
always went to sleep drowsily speculat-
ing upon the ancestral parsonage who had
reposed in this old ark of a bed, under
that ancient red silk quilt; and wonder
ing If any of their forgotten dreams lurk-
ed round those fowered curtains, to
creep into my brain when sleep sets its
gates ajar. did not dream, that night,
at any rate; am sure of it, for L had not
slept ten minutes by the old alabaster
clock ON the mantelpiece, when 1 was
awakened by the pressure of hand.
1t was not Aunt Lucinda's hand; even
in sleep / knew the difference of the
touch. They were young fingers that
slid coldly over mine-soft, round tips,
that left q damp chill upon my flesh
where they crept along. AS my sences
awoke gradually, felt these fingers
working at the ring on my left hand,
and felt cold breath on my forehead,
like puff of night air. tried to strike
away the hand, but it fastened clingingly
on mine, and a moaning voice said, pas
sionately, and yet piteously, like a hurt
child:
Let me have it-let me have itr'
"-Who are you? Where are you :?
What is it p [ gasped, struggling to sit
upright in the deep trough Of the feather
bed. "Aunt Lucinda p
The dark, still folds of the curtains
wavered and moved, the streak of light
between them widened, and then they
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 by
the bed-standing right In the arch made
by the parted curtains.
IT was woman, and / saw her Just as
plainl y as see at this moment the words
written by the pen in my hand. I could
tell you every item of the 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 gray
gown. Her face was very pale and
quiet, and there was no light in her eyes:
they were heavy and dark, and the lids
were redeemed as if with CRYING and
waking; but she was beautiful for all
that-beautiful as some old, dim picture
Will. story in it. There she stood, with
her face and neck cleaning ull-white,
like old marble, above the gray gown,
and one lock of her black hair twisted
round her throat, like soft necklace,