Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??, 1890-03-07
ONE NIGHT OF HORROR.
BY w. H. sTACPOOLE.

Onc nlgnt went 10 DeQ Win glossy
brown hair, and the face of girl OF
eighteen; next morning left my room
as gray as it is now, though forty-two
years have passed away since then.
In one night an awful horror struck me
suddenly with the weight of scores OF
years.
My father was Mr. Marriott, a ship
broker, who lived in Russell Square, Lon
don, with his family, consisting of my
mother and four children, of whom was
the eldest. One morning, in the Deem
Der of 1912, while we were sitting at
breakfast, my mother said, as she finished
reading letter which had just been de-
livered, ''It's from Judith. She wants
Ellen to 90 and stay for a month at The
Willows. But do not like the idea. She
never even called on us when she came
back to England last summer. Besides,
we have known almost nothing of her for
years past"
ooh: l should like immensely to see
AunS Judith, " [ cried.
But you have never seen, and dom
know anything about her," replied my
mother. ''It is nearly ten years now
since | saw her, and she did not leave
a very pleasant impression on my mind.
| had not seen her, of course, since | was
a child; but, as | have often told you,
there was something curious and weird
about her that was not to my liking. In
fact, she did not seem like a sister of
mine"
Aunt Judith was my mothers eldest sis
ter by fifteen years. When she was about
twenty she married German Baron who
was professor in university. Why it
was nobody knew, but some two years or
so after her marriage Aunt Judith be-
came very apathetic as regarded her re-
iations in England, and but rarely CORE
sponded with them.
Her husband, the Baron and Professor,
died about three years before the time of
which [ speak. Mourning cards were
unknown in those days; still she might
have sent word to inform her sister of
her bereavement. To our great astonish-
ment, it was only from a friend who had
attended his funeral that we heard,
casually, that he was dead, and that she
was a widow.
Well! both my mother and my father
were unwilling to let me go to The Will
lows; my mother, because she had, or
seemed to me to have, a prejudice
against her sister; my father, for no rea-
son that could make out, except that he
echoed my mother. At all events, [
overcame their opposition at last, and
started, one fine, or rather gloomy,
morning-for the clouds were dark and
T T loft
for The Willows, mansion in War
wickshire which had been left to my
Aunt Judith by my grandfather. Tray
cling was slower in those days than it is
now, and it was not until nearly six
O'Clock in the evening that | drove, in
the numbering coach which conveyed
me, up the dreary carriage-path which
led to The Willows.
Aunt Judith had only returned to live
there during the past six months, and so
was not surprised to find the place in a
very untidy state. Such, at least, was
my impression from what saw through
the darkness of the evening.
Things, however, seemed to change
for the better when we drew up at the
house itself. 1t was great, struggling
building, which had stood for more than
a century, and was cold and forbiddlng
to look at from the outside. But from
the windows, and what I could see of the
hall, it seemed to be well-lit, warm, and
well appointed within. A female SER
want came out to meet me as the coach
stopped at the door.
"Nad'moiselle Marriott9' she inquired,
in a German voice as I decended.
yes" replied.
"Ah! your aunt would like we'll to see
YOU" she said, II shall take you to her.
She is dressing for dinner" I followed
her upstairs, and into large bedroom.
Standing before glass at the end of the
room was a tall woman whom, from the
descriptions had heard of her, I i'm
mediately recognized as Aunt Judith.
Her figure was very erect, almost ma
jesuc, but her face puzzled me. The
features were very regular, and Clearly
drawn. There was in them considera-
bic amount of power, and yet, what I
could not understand, curious, wizened,
almost craven expression, which just
bordered on being sinister. I was only a
girl at the time, and knew nothing of
physiognomy, but, instinctively, felt a
sense of uneasiness as met her keen gray
eyes, which seemed never to rest for a
moment, but to wander about as if at the
bidding of an uneasy spirit, though her
demeanor was otherwise curiously calm
and sef-possessed.
Your room is not ready yet, but it
will be presently" she said, when we
had greeted each other; s'you can dress