The Lady of the Shroud by Bram Stoker (book series for 10 year olds .txt) 📕
"Sorry. But, of course, you don't understand such things." Then he went on talking before father had time to say a word.
"Let us get back to business. As you do not seem to follow me, let me explain that it is BECAUSE I do not forget that I wish to do this. I remember my dear mother's wish to make Aunt Janet happy, and would like to do as she did."
"AUNT Janet?" said father, very properly sneering at his ignorance. "She is not your aunt. Why, even her sister, who was married to your uncle, was only your aunt by courtesy." I could not help feeling that Rupert meant to be rude to my father, though his words were quite polite. If I had been as much bigger than him as he was than me, I should have flown at him; but he was a very big boy for his age. I am myself rather thin. Mother says thinness is an "appanage of birth."
"My Aunt Janet, sir, is an aunt by love. Courtesy is a small word to use in connection with such devoti
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wish to do him honour—though not in the way by which danger might be
carried on the wings of love. My brothers, our newest brother comes
to us from the Great Nation which amongst the nations has been our
only friend, and which has ere now helped us in our direst need—that
mighty Britain whose hand has ever been raised in the cause of
freedom. We of the Blue Mountains know her best as she stands with
sword in hand face to face with our foes. And this, her son and now
our brother, brings further to our need the hand of a giant and the
heart of a lion. Later on, when danger does not ring us round, when
silence is no longer our outer guard; we shall bid him welcome in
true fashion of our land. But till then he will believe—for he is
great-hearted—that our love and thanks and welcome are not to be
measured by sound. When the time comes, then shall be sound in his
honour—not of rifles alone, but bells and cannon and the mighty
voice of a free people shouting as one. But now we must be wise and
silent, for the Turk is once again at our gates. Alas! the cause of
his former coming may not be, for she whose beauty and nobility and
whose place in our nation and in our hearts tempted him to fraud and
violence is not with us to share even our anxiety.”
Here his voice broke, and there arose from all a deep wailing sound,
which rose and rose till the woods around us seemed broken by a
mighty and long-sustained sob. The orator saw that his purpose was
accomplished, and with a short sentence finished his harangue: “But
the need of our nation still remains!” Then, with an eloquent
gesture to me to proceed, he merged in the crowd and disappeared.
How could I even attempt to follow such a speaker with any hope of
success? I simply told them what I had already done in the way of
help, saying:
“As you needed arms, I have got them. My agent sends me word through
the code between us that he has procured for me—for us—fifty
thousand of the newest-pattern rifles, the French Ingis-Malbron,
which has surpassed all others, and sufficient ammunition to last for
a year of war. The first section is in hand, and will soon be ready
for consignment. There are other war materials, too, which, when
they arrive, will enable every man and woman—even the children—of
our land to take a part in its defence should such be needed. My
brothers, I am with you in all things, for good or ill!”
It made me very proud to hear the mighty shout which arose. I had
felt exalted before, but now this personal development almost
unmanned me. I was glad of the long-sustained applause to recover my
self-control.
I was quite satisfied that the meeting did not want to hear any other
speaker, for they began to melt away without any formal notification
having been given. I doubt if there will be another meeting soon
again. The weather has begun to break, and we are in for another
spell of rain. It is disagreeable, of course; but it has its own
charm. It was during a spell of wet weather that the Lady of the
Shroud came to me. Perhaps the rain may bring her again. I hope so,
with all my soul.
RUPERT’S JOURNAL—Continued.
April 23, 1907.
The rain has continued for four whole days and nights, and the lowlying ground is like a quagmire in places. In the sunlight the whole
mountains glisten with running streams and falling water. I feel a
strange kind of elation, but from no visible cause. Aunt Janet
rather queered it by telling me, as she said good-night, to be very
careful of myself, as she had seen in a dream last night a figure in
a shroud. I fear she was not pleased that I did not take it with all
the seriousness that she did. I would not wound her for the world if
I could help it, but the idea of a shroud gets too near the bone to
be safe, and I had to fend her off at all hazards. So when I doubted
if the Fates regarded the visionary shroud as of necessity
appertaining to me, she said, in a way that was, for her, almost
sharp:
“Take care, laddie. ‘Tis ill jesting wi’ the powers o’ time
Unknown.”
Perhaps it was that her talk put the subject in my mind. The woman
needed no such aid; she was always there; but when I locked myself
into my room that night, I half expected to find her in the room. I
was not sleepy, so I took a book of Aunt Janet’s and began to read.
The title was “On the Powers and Qualities of Disembodied Spirits.”
“Your grammar,” said I to the author, “is hardly attractive, but I
may learn something which might apply to her. I shall read your
book.” Before settling down to it, however, I thought I would have a
look at the garden. Since the night of the visit the garden seemed
to have a new attractiveness for me: a night seldom passed without
my having a last look at it before turning in. So I drew the great
curtain and looked out.
The scene was beautiful, but almost entirely desolate. All was
ghastly in the raw, hard gleams of moonlight coming fitfully through
the masses of flying cloud. The wind was rising, and the air was
damp and cold. I looked round the room instinctively, and noticed
that the fire was laid ready for lighting, and that there were small-cut logs of wood piled beside the hearth. Ever since that night I
have had a fire laid ready. I was tempted to light it, but as I
never have a fire unless I sleep in the open, I hesitated to begin.
I went back to the window, and, opening the catch, stepped out on the
terrace. As I looked down the white walk and let my eyes range over
the expanse of the garden, where everything glistened as the
moonlight caught the wet, I half expected to see some white figure
flitting amongst the shrubs and statues. The whole scene of the
former visit came back to me so vividly that I could hardly believe
that any time had passed since then. It was the same scene, and
again late in the evening. Life in Vissarion was primitive, and
early hours prevailed—though not so late as on that night.
As I looked I thought I caught a glimpse of something white far away.
It was only a ray of moonlight coming through the rugged edge of a
cloud. But all the same it set me in a strange state of
perturbation. Somehow I seemed to lose sight of my own identity. It
was as though I was hypnotized by the situation or by memory, or
perhaps by some occult force. Without thinking of what I was doing,
or being conscious of any reason for it, I crossed the room and set
light to the fire. Then I blew out the candle and came to the window
again. I never thought it might be a foolish thing to do—to stand
at a window with a light behind me in this country, where every man
carries a gun with him always. I was in my evening clothes, too,
with my breast well marked by a white shirt. I opened the window and
stepped out on the terrace. There I stood for many minutes,
thinking. All the time my eyes kept ranging over the garden. Once I
thought I saw a white figure moving, but it was not followed up, so,
becoming conscious that it was again beginning to rain, I stepped
back into the room, shut the window, and drew the curtain. Then I
realized the comforting appearance of the fire, and went over and
stood before it.
Hark! Once more there was a gentle tapping at the window. I rushed
over to it and drew the curtain.
There, out on the rain-beaten terrace, stood the white shrouded
figure, more desolate-appearing than ever. Ghastly pale she looked,
as before, but her eyes had an eager look which was new. I took it
that she was attracted by the fire, which was by now well ablaze, and
was throwing up jets of flame as the dry logs crackled. The leaping
flames threw fitful light across the room, and every gleam threw the
white-clad figure into prominence, showing the gleam of the black
eyes, and fixing the stars that lay in them.
Without a word I threw open the window, and, taking the white hand
extended to me, drew into the room the Lady of the Shroud.
As she entered and felt the warmth of the blazing fire, a glad look
spread over her face. She made a movement as if to run to it. But
she drew back an instant after, looking round with instinctive
caution. She closed the window and bolted it, touched the lever
which spread the grille across the opening, and pulled close the
curtain behind it. Then she went swiftly to the door and tried if it
was locked. Satisfied as to this, she came quickly over to the fire,
and, kneeling before it, stretched out her numbed hands to the blaze.
Almost on the instant her wet shroud began to steam. I stood
wondering. The precautions of secrecy in the midst of her suffering-
-for that she did suffer was only too painfully manifest—must have
presupposed some danger. Then and there my mind was made up that
there should no harm assail her that I by any means could fend off.
Still, the present must be attended to; pneumonia and other ills
stalked behind such a chill as must infallibly come on her unless
precautions were taken. I took again the dressing-gown which she had
worn before and handed it to her, motioning as I did so towards the
screen which had made a dressing-room for her on the former occasion.
To my surprise she hesitated. I waited. She waited, too, and then
laid down the dressing-gown on the edge of the stone fender. So I
spoke:
“Won’t you change as you did before? Your—your frock can then be
dried. Do! It will be so much safer for you to be dry clad when you
resume your own dress.”
“How can I whilst you are here?”
Her words made me stare, so different were they from her acts of the
other visit. I simply bowed—speech on such a subject would be at
least inadequate—and walked over to the window. Passing behind the
curtain, I opened the window. Before stepping out on to the terrace,
I looked into the room and said:
“Take your own time. There is no hurry. I dare say you will find
there all you may want. I shall remain on the terrace until you
summon me.” With that I went out on the terrace, drawing close the
glass door behind me.
I stood looking out on the dreary scene for what seemed a very short
time, my mind in a whirl. There came a rustle from within, and I saw
a dark brown figure steal round the edge of the curtain. A white
hand was raised, and beckoned me to come in. I entered, bolting the
window behind me. She had passed across the room, and was again
kneeling before the fire with her hands outstretched. The shroud was
laid in partially opened folds on one side of the hearth, and was
steaming heavily. I brought over some cushions and pillows, and made
a
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