Smyrna times., 1890-03-19
ONE NIGHT OF HORROR.

One night l went to bed with glossy
brown hair, and the face of a girl of 1S:
next morning left my room with hair
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 a Mr.. Marriott, a shin
broker, who lived in Russell square with
his family, consisting of my mother and
four children, of whom l was the eldest.
One morning, in the December of 1842.
while we were sitting at breakfast, nv
mother said, as she finished reading a
letter which had just been delivered.
Its from Judith. She wants Ellen tn
go and stay a month at The Willows
But l do not like the idea. She never
even called on us when she camo back
to England last summer. Besides, we
have known almost nothing of her for
years past"
"Oh! | should like immensely to see
Aunt Judith, l cried.
But you have never seen, and don't
know anything about her" replied nv
mother. ut is nearly ten wears now
since l saw her, and she didn't leave a
very pleasant impression on nv mind.
had not seen her, of course, since l
was child, but, as | have often told
you, there was something curious and
weird about her that was not to nv ik-
ing. In fact, she did not seem like a
sister of mine"
Aunt judith was my mothers elder
sister by fifteen years. When she was
about twenty she married a German
baron who was professor in a univer-
slty Why it was nobody knew, but
some two years or so after her marriage
Aunt judith became very apathetic as
regarded her relations in England. and
but rarely corresponded with them.
Her husband, the baron and professor.
dled about three years before the time of
which l speak. Mourning cards were
unknown in those days; still she might
nave sent word to inform her S. .,.r of
her bereavement. To our great aston
lshment, it was only from a friend who
attended his funeral that we heard. cas-
ually, that he was dead and that she was
a widow.
"el' both my father and my mother
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
reason that could make out, EXCEPT that
he echoed my mother. At all events. l
Overcame their opposition at last, and
started, one fine, or rather gloomy, morn
mg-for the clouds were dark and heavy
remember, as left LOndon-for The
willows, mansion in Warwickshire
which had been left to my Aunt Judith
by my grandfather. Travelling was slower
IN those days than it is now, and il was
not until nearly 6 o'clock in the evening
that l drove, in the numbering coach
winch conveyed me, up the drearv car
rage path which led to The Willows.
Aunt Judith had only returned to live
there during the past six months, so l
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 a great, Struggling
building, which had stood for more than
a century, and was cold and forbiddin0
to look at from the outside. But from
the windows, and what 1 could see of
the hall, it seemed to be well lit, warm
and well appointed within. A female
servant came out to meet me as the coach
stopped at the door.
Mile. Marriott" she inquired, in a
German voice, as descended.
"Yes," replied.
"Ahi your aunt would like well To see
you" she said. II shall take Won to her
She is dressing for dinner" I followed
her up stairs, and into large bedroom.
Standing before glass at the end of the
room was tall woman whom, from the
description l had heard of her, imme-
diately recognized as Aunt Judith.
Her figure was very erect, almost ma
Jestlc, but her face puzzled me. The
features were very regular, and clearly
drawn. There was in them a consider.
able amount of power, and yet, what /
couldn not understand, curious, wizened,
almost craven expression, which lust
bordered on being sinister. was only
girl at tho time, and knew nothing of
physiognomy. but, instinctively, l felt a
sense of uneasiness as l met her keen
gray eyes, which seemed never to rest
Tor moment, but to wander about as IL
at the bidding of an uneasy spirit, though
her demeanor was otherwise curiously
calm and self possessed.
"Your room is not ready vet. but IL
will be presently" she said, when we
bad greeted each other; ''you can dress
here. We have few friends to dinner
tonight. Your parents are well, Ihope."
Your parentsl' and this in allusion to |
her own sister, whom she had not seen |
Tor yearsl Her greeting-in fact, her
manner, everything about her-was per-
fectly polite, but strangely cold.
"Yes." )" l replied, "they are quite well.
thank you"
You can come down stairs when Won
are ready" she continued, as she stood
before the glass, giving the last touches
to her toilet. Dinner will be on the
table in about twenty minutes. I had
better go down--they will be waiting for
me, saying which abe left the room.
A curious woman, / thought, when she
was gone; and, altogether, did not care
much about her-perhaps, also, was a
little sorry that, against the wishes of
my parents, had come to The Willows
At all. When came into the drawing
room found a party OF about dozen
people assembled there. There were, be-
aides my aunt and an elderly German
lady, who was a relative of her late hus-
band, the clergyman of the parish with
his wife and two daughters, the local
aoctor-a good looking young man Of
about six OF seven and twenty; the squire
and three or four others, who, like myself,
we're staying on visit at the houile.