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for Love is always with you, and Love is stronger than Death is."
Virginia trembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few
moments there was silence. She felt as if she was in a terrible dream.
Then the ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighning of
the wind.
"Have you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?"
"Oh, often," cried the little girl, looking up; "I know
it quite well. It is painted in curious black letters, and it is difficult
to read. There are only six lines:
WHEN A GOLDEN GIRL CAN WIN
PRAYER FROM OUT THE LIPS OF SIN,
WHEN THE BARREN ALMOND BEARS,
AND A LITTLE CHILD GIVES AWAY ITS TEARS,
THEN SHALL ALL THE HOUSE BE STILL
AND PEACE COME TO CANTERVILLE.
But I don't know what they mean."
"They mean," he said sadly, "that you must weep with me
for my sins, because I have no tears, and pray with me for my my soul,
because I have no faith, and then, if you have always been sweet, and good,
and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me. You will see fearfull
shapes in darkness, and wicked voices will wisper in your ear, but they will
not harm you, for against the purity of a little child the powers of Hell
cannot prevail."
Virginia made no answer, and the ghost wrung his hands in wild despair
as he looked down at her bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very
pale, and with a strange light in her eyes. "I am not afraid," she
said firmly, "and I will ask the Angel to have mercy on you."
He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent
over it with old-fashioned grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold as
ice, and his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not falter, as he led
her across the dusky room. On the faded green tapestry were broidered little
huntsmen. They blew their tasselled horns and with their tiny hands waved to
her to go back. "Go back! little Virginia," they cried, "go
back!" But the ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her
eyes against them. Horrible animals with lizard tails, and goggle eyes,
blinked at her from the carven chimney-piece, and murmured "Beware!
little Virginia, beware! we may never see you again," but the ghost
glided on more swiftly, and Virginia did not listen. When they reached the
end of the room he stopped, and muttered some words she could not
understand. She opened her eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a
mist, and a great black cavern in front of her. A bitter cold wind swept
round them, and she felt something pulling at her dress. "Quick,
quick," cried the ghost, "or it will be too late," and, in a
moment, the wainscoting had closed behind them, and the Tapestry Chamber was
empty.
About ten minutes later, the bell rang for tea, and, as Virginia did
not come down, Mrs. Otis sent up one of the footmen to tell her. After a
little time he returned and said that he could not find Miss Virginia
anywhere. As she was in the habit of going out to the garden every evening
to get flowers for the dinner-table, Mrs. Otis was not at all alarmed at
first, but when six o'clock struck, and Virginia did not appear, she became
really agitated, and sent the boys out to look for her, while she herself
and Mr. Otis searched every room in the house. At half-past six the boys
came back and said that they could find no trace of their sister anywhere.
They were all now in the greatest state of exitement, and did not know what
to do, when Mr. Otis suddenly remembered that, some few days before, he had
given a band of gipsies permission to camp in the park. He accordingly at
once set off for Blackfell Hollow, where he knew they were, accompanied by
his eldest son and two of the farm-servants. The little Duke of Cheshire,
who was perfectly frantic with anxiety, begged hard to be allowed to go too,
but Mr. Otis would not allow him, as he was afraid there might be a scuffle.
On arriving at the spot, however, he found that the gipsies had gone, and it
was evident that their departure had been rather sudden, as the fire was
still burning, and some plates were lying on the grass. Having sent off
Washington and the two men to scour the district, he ran home, and
despatched telegrams to all the police inspectors in the country, telling
them to look out for a little girl who had been kidnapped by tramps or
gipsies. He then ordered his horse to be brought round, and, after insisting
on his wife and the three boys sitting down to dinner, rode off down the
Ascot road with a groom. He had hardly, however, gone a couple of miles,
when he heard somebody galloping after him, and, looking round, saw the
little Duke coming up on his pony, with his face very flushed and no hat.
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Otis," gasped out the boy, "but I
can't eat any dinner as long as Virginia is lost. Please, don't be angry
with me; if you had let us be engaged last year, there would never have been
all this trouble. You won't send me back, will you? I can't go! I won't
go!"
The Minister could not help smiling at the handsome young scapegrace,
and was a good deal touched at his devotion to Virginia, so leaning down
from his horse, he patted him kindly on the shoulders, and said, "Well,
Cecil, if you won't go back I suppose you must come with me, but I must get
you a hat at Ascot."
"Oh, bother my hat! I want Virginia!" cried the little Duke,
laughing, and they galloped on to the railway station. There Mr. Otis
inquired of the station-master if any one answering to the description of
Virginia had been seen on the platform, but could get no news of her. The
station-master, however, wired up and down the line, and assured him that a
strict watch would be kept for her, and, after having bought a hat for the
little Duke from a linen-draper, who was just putting up his shutters, Mr.
Otis rode off to Bexley, a village about four miles away, which he was told
was a well-known haunt of the gipsies, as there was a large common next to
it. Here they roused up the rural policeman, but could get no information
from him, and, after riding all over the common, they turned their horses'
heads homewards, and reached the Chase about eleven o'clock, dead-tired and
almost heartbroken. They found Washington and the twins waiting for them at
the gate-house with lanterns, as the avenue was very dark. Not the slightest
trace of Virginia had been discovered. The gipsies had been caught on
Brockerly meadows, but she was not with them, and they had explained their
sudden departure by saying that they had mistaken the date of Chorton Fair,
and had gone off in a hurry for fear they might be late. Indeed, they had
been quite distressed at hearing of Virginia's disappearance, as they were
very grateful to Mr. Otis for having allowed them to camp in his park, and
four of their number had stayed behind to help in the search. The carp-pond
had been dragged, and the whole Chase thoroughly gone over, but without any
result. It was evident that, for that night at any rate, Virginia was lost
to them; and it was in a state of the deepest depression that Mr. Otis and
the boys walked up to the house, the groom following behind with the two
horses and the pony. In the hall they found a group of frightened servants,
and lying on a sofa in the library was poor Mrs. Otis, almost out of her
mind with terror and anxiety, and having her forehead bathed with
eau-de-cologne by the old housekeeper. Mr. Otis at once insisted on her
having something to eat, and ordered up a supper for the whole party. It was
a melancholy meal, as hardly any one spoke, and even the twins were
awestruck and subdued, as they were very found of their sister. When they
had finished, Mr. Otis, in spite of the entreaties of the little Duke,
ordered them all to bed, saying that nothing more could be done that night,
and that he would telegraph in the morning to Scotland Yard for some
detectives to be sent down immediately. Just as they were passing out of the
dining-room, midnight began to boom from the clock tower, and when the last
stroke sounded they heard a crash and a sudden shrill cry; a dreadful peal
of thunder shook the house, a strain of unearthly music floated through the
air, a panel at the top of the staircase flew back with a loud noise, and
out on the landing, looking very pale and white, with a little casket in her
hand, stepped Virginia. In a moment they had all rushed up to her. Mrs. Otis
clasped her passionately in her arms, the Duke smothered her with violent
kisses, and the twins executed a wild war-dance round the group.
"Good heavens! child, where have you been?" said Mr. Otis,
rather angrily, thinking that she had been playing some foolish trick on
them. "Cecil and I have been riding all over the country looking for
you, and your mother has been frightened to death. You must never play these
practical jokes any more."
"Except on the ghost! except on the ghost!" shrieked the
twins, as they capered about.
"My own darling, thank God you are found; you must never leave my
side again," murmured Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and
smoothed the tangled gold of her hair.
"Papa," said Virginia quietly, "I have been with the
ghost. He is dead, and you must come and see him. He had been very wicked,
but he was really sorry for all that he had done, and he gave me this box of
beautiful jewels before he died."
The whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, but she was quite
grave and serious; and, turning round, she led them through the opening in
the wainscoting down a narrow secret corridor, Washington following with a
lighted candle, which he had caught up from the table. Finally, they came to
a great oak door, studded with rusty nails. When Virginia touched it, it
swung back on its heavy hinges, and they found themselves in a little low
room, with a vaulted ceiling, and one tiny grated window. Imbedded in the
wall was a huge iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton, that was
stretched out at full length on the stone floor, and seemed to be trying to
grasp with its long fleshless fingers an old-fashioned trencher and ewer,
that were placed just out of its reach. The jug had evidently been once
filled with water, as it was covered inside with green mould. There was
nothing on the trencher but a pile of dust. Virginia knelt down beside the
skeleton, and, folding her little hands together, began to pray silently,
while the rest of the party looked on in wonder at the terrible tragedy
whose secret was now disclosed to them.
"Hallo!" suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, who had been
looking out of the window to try and discover in what wing of the house the
room was situated. "Hallo! the old withered almond-tree has blossomed.
I can see the flowers quite plainly in the moonlight."
"God has forgiven him," said Virginia gravely, as she rose to
her feet, and a beautifull light seemed to illumine her face.
"What an angel you are!" cried the young Duke, and he put his
arm round her neck, and kissed her.
Four days after these curious incidents a funeral started from
Canterville Chase at about eleven o'clock at night. The hearse was drawn by
eight black horses, each of which carried on its head a great tuft of
nodding ostrich-plumes, and the leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple
pall, on which was embroidered in gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By the
side of the hearse and the coaches walked the servants with lighted torches,
and the whole procession was wonderfully impressive. Lord Canterville was
the chief mourner, having come up specially from Wales to attend the
funeral, and sat in the first carriage along with little Virginia. Then came
the United States Minister and his wife, then Washington and the three boys,
and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It was generally felt that, as she
had been frightened by the ghost for more than fifty years of her life, she
had a right to see the last of him. A deep grave had been dug in the corner
of the churchyard, just under the corner of the yew-tree, and the service
was read in the most impressive manner by the Rev. Augustus Dampier. When
the ceremony was over, the servants, according to an old custom observed the
Canterville family, extinguished their torches, and, as the coffin was being
lowered into the grave, Virginia stepped forward, and laid on it a large
cross made of white and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so, the moon came
out from behind a cloud, and flooded with its silent silver the little
churchyard, and from a distant copse a nightingale began to sing. She
thought of the ghost's description of the Garden of Death, her eyes became
dim with tears, and she hardly spoke a word during the drive home.
The next morning, before Lord Canterville went up to town, Mr. Otis had
an interview with him on the subject of the jewels the ghost had given to
Virginia. They were perfectly magnificent, especially a certain ruby
necklace with old Venetian setting, which was really a superb specimen of
sixteenth-century work, and their value was so great that Mr. Otis felt
considerable scruples about allowing his daughter to accept them.
"My Lord," he said, "I know that in this country
mortmain is held to apply to trinkets as well as to land, and it is quite
clear to me that these jewels are, or should be, heirlooms in your family. I
must beg you, accordingly, to take them to London with you, and to regard
them simply as a portion of your property which has been restored to you
under certain strange conditions. As for my daughter, she is merely a child,
and has as yet, I am glad to say, but little interest in such appurtenances
of idle luxury. I am also informed by Mrs. Otis, who, I may say, is no mean
authority upon Art - having had the priviledge of spending several winters
in Boston when she was a girl - that these gems are of great monetary worth,
and if offered for sale would fetch a tall price. Under these circumstances,
Lord Canterville, I feel sure that you will recognise how impossible it
would be for me to allow them to remain in the possession of any member of
my family; and, indeed, all such vain gauds and toys, however suitableor
necessary to the dignity of the British aristocracy, would be completely out
of place among those who have been brought up on the severe, and I believe
immortal, principles of Republican simplicity. Perchaps I shoud mention that
Virginia is very anxious that you should allow her to retain the box, as a
memento of your unfortunate but misguided ancestor. As it is extremely old,
and consequently a good deal out of repair, you may perchaps think fit to
comply with her request. For my own part, I confess I am a good deal
surprised to find a child of mine expressing sympathy with mediaevalism in
any form, and can only account for it by the fact that Virginia was born in
one of your London suburbs shortly after Mrs. Otis had returned from a trip
to Athens."
Lord Canterville listened very gravely to the worthy Minister's speech,
pulling his grey moustache now and then to hide an involuntary smile, and
when Mr. Otis had ended, he shook him cordially by the hand, and said,
"My dear sir, your charming little daughter rendered my unlucky
ancestor, Sir Simon, a very important service, and I and my family are much
indebted to her for her marvellous courage and pluck. The jewels are clearly
hers, and, egad, I believe that if I were heatless enough to take them from
her, the wicked old fellow would be out of his grave in a fortnight, leading
me the devil of a life. As for their being heirlooms, nothing is an heirloom
that is not so mentioned in a will or legal document, and the existence of
these jewels has been quite unknown. I assure you I have no more claim on
them than your buttler, and when Miss Virginia grows up I daresay she will
be pleased to have pretty things to wear. Besides, you forget, Mr. Otis,
that you took the furniture and the ghost at a valuation, and anything that
belonged to the ghost passed at once into your possession, as, whatever
activity Sir Simon may have shown in the corridor at night, in point of law
he was really dead, and you acquired his property by purchase."
Mr. Otis was a good deal disressed at Lord Canterville's refusal, and
begged him to reconsider his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite
firm, and finally induced the Minister to allow his daughter to retain the
present the ghost had given her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the young
Duchess of Cheshire was presented at the Queen's first drawing-room on the
occasion of her marriage, her jewels were the universal theme of admiration.
For Virginia received the coronet, which is the reward of all good little
American girls, and was married to her boy-lover as he came of age. They
were both so charming, and they loved each other so much, that every one was
delighted at the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had
tried to catch the Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had
given no less than three expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, and,
strange to say, Mr. Otis himself. Mr. Otis was extremely fond of the young
Duke personally, but, theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use his
own words, "was not without apprehension lest, amid the enervating
influences of a pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true principles of
Republican simplicity should be forgotten." His objections, however,
were completely overruled, and I believe that when he walked up the aisle of
St. George's, Hanover Square, with his daughter leaning on his arm, there
was not a prouder man in the whole length and breadth of England.
The Duke and the Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to
Canterville Chase, and on the day after their arrival they walked over in
the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pine-woods. There had been a
great deal of difficulty at first about the inscription on Sir Simon's
tomb-stone, but finally it had been decided to engrave on it simply the
initials of the old gentleman's name, and the verse from the library window.
The Duchess had brought with her some lovely roses, which she strewed upon
the grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they strolled into
the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the Duchess sat down on a fallen
pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking a cigarette and looking up
at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw his cigarette away, took hold of
her hand, and said to her, "Virginia, a wife should have no sectrets
from her husband."
"Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you."
"Yes, you have," he answered, smiling, "you have never
told me what happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost."
"I have never told any one, Cecil," said Virginia gravely.
"I know that, but you might tell me."
"Please don't ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I
owe him a great deal. Yes, don't laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see
what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than
both."
The Duke rose and kisse his wife lovingly. "You can have your
secret as long as I have your heart," he murmured.
"You have always had that, Cecil."
"And you will tell our children some day, won't you?"
Virginia blushed.
Virginia trembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few
moments there was silence. She felt as if she was in a terrible dream.
Then the ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighning of
the wind.
"Have you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?"
"Oh, often," cried the little girl, looking up; "I know
it quite well. It is painted in curious black letters, and it is difficult
to read. There are only six lines:
PRAYER FROM OUT THE LIPS OF SIN,
WHEN THE BARREN ALMOND BEARS,
AND A LITTLE CHILD GIVES AWAY ITS TEARS,
THEN SHALL ALL THE HOUSE BE STILL
AND PEACE COME TO CANTERVILLE.
But I don't know what they mean."
"They mean," he said sadly, "that you must weep with me
for my sins, because I have no tears, and pray with me for my my soul,
because I have no faith, and then, if you have always been sweet, and good,
and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me. You will see fearfull
shapes in darkness, and wicked voices will wisper in your ear, but they will
not harm you, for against the purity of a little child the powers of Hell
cannot prevail."
Virginia made no answer, and the ghost wrung his hands in wild despair
as he looked down at her bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very
pale, and with a strange light in her eyes. "I am not afraid," she
said firmly, "and I will ask the Angel to have mercy on you."
He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent
over it with old-fashioned grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold as
ice, and his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not falter, as he led
her across the dusky room. On the faded green tapestry were broidered little
huntsmen. They blew their tasselled horns and with their tiny hands waved to
her to go back. "Go back! little Virginia," they cried, "go
back!" But the ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her
eyes against them. Horrible animals with lizard tails, and goggle eyes,
blinked at her from the carven chimney-piece, and murmured "Beware!
little Virginia, beware! we may never see you again," but the ghost
glided on more swiftly, and Virginia did not listen. When they reached the
end of the room he stopped, and muttered some words she could not
understand. She opened her eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a
mist, and a great black cavern in front of her. A bitter cold wind swept
round them, and she felt something pulling at her dress. "Quick,
quick," cried the ghost, "or it will be too late," and, in a
moment, the wainscoting had closed behind them, and the Tapestry Chamber was
empty.
About ten minutes later, the bell rang for tea, and, as Virginia did
not come down, Mrs. Otis sent up one of the footmen to tell her. After a
little time he returned and said that he could not find Miss Virginia
anywhere. As she was in the habit of going out to the garden every evening
to get flowers for the dinner-table, Mrs. Otis was not at all alarmed at
first, but when six o'clock struck, and Virginia did not appear, she became
really agitated, and sent the boys out to look for her, while she herself
and Mr. Otis searched every room in the house. At half-past six the boys
came back and said that they could find no trace of their sister anywhere.
They were all now in the greatest state of exitement, and did not know what
to do, when Mr. Otis suddenly remembered that, some few days before, he had
given a band of gipsies permission to camp in the park. He accordingly at
once set off for Blackfell Hollow, where he knew they were, accompanied by
his eldest son and two of the farm-servants. The little Duke of Cheshire,
who was perfectly frantic with anxiety, begged hard to be allowed to go too,
but Mr. Otis would not allow him, as he was afraid there might be a scuffle.
On arriving at the spot, however, he found that the gipsies had gone, and it
was evident that their departure had been rather sudden, as the fire was
still burning, and some plates were lying on the grass. Having sent off
Washington and the two men to scour the district, he ran home, and
despatched telegrams to all the police inspectors in the country, telling
them to look out for a little girl who had been kidnapped by tramps or
gipsies. He then ordered his horse to be brought round, and, after insisting
on his wife and the three boys sitting down to dinner, rode off down the
Ascot road with a groom. He had hardly, however, gone a couple of miles,
when he heard somebody galloping after him, and, looking round, saw the
little Duke coming up on his pony, with his face very flushed and no hat.
"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Otis," gasped out the boy, "but I
can't eat any dinner as long as Virginia is lost. Please, don't be angry
with me; if you had let us be engaged last year, there would never have been
all this trouble. You won't send me back, will you? I can't go! I won't
go!"
The Minister could not help smiling at the handsome young scapegrace,
and was a good deal touched at his devotion to Virginia, so leaning down
from his horse, he patted him kindly on the shoulders, and said, "Well,
Cecil, if you won't go back I suppose you must come with me, but I must get
you a hat at Ascot."
"Oh, bother my hat! I want Virginia!" cried the little Duke,
laughing, and they galloped on to the railway station. There Mr. Otis
inquired of the station-master if any one answering to the description of
Virginia had been seen on the platform, but could get no news of her. The
station-master, however, wired up and down the line, and assured him that a
strict watch would be kept for her, and, after having bought a hat for the
little Duke from a linen-draper, who was just putting up his shutters, Mr.
Otis rode off to Bexley, a village about four miles away, which he was told
was a well-known haunt of the gipsies, as there was a large common next to
it. Here they roused up the rural policeman, but could get no information
from him, and, after riding all over the common, they turned their horses'
heads homewards, and reached the Chase about eleven o'clock, dead-tired and
almost heartbroken. They found Washington and the twins waiting for them at
the gate-house with lanterns, as the avenue was very dark. Not the slightest
trace of Virginia had been discovered. The gipsies had been caught on
Brockerly meadows, but she was not with them, and they had explained their
sudden departure by saying that they had mistaken the date of Chorton Fair,
and had gone off in a hurry for fear they might be late. Indeed, they had
been quite distressed at hearing of Virginia's disappearance, as they were
very grateful to Mr. Otis for having allowed them to camp in his park, and
four of their number had stayed behind to help in the search. The carp-pond
had been dragged, and the whole Chase thoroughly gone over, but without any
result. It was evident that, for that night at any rate, Virginia was lost
to them; and it was in a state of the deepest depression that Mr. Otis and
the boys walked up to the house, the groom following behind with the two
horses and the pony. In the hall they found a group of frightened servants,
and lying on a sofa in the library was poor Mrs. Otis, almost out of her
mind with terror and anxiety, and having her forehead bathed with
eau-de-cologne by the old housekeeper. Mr. Otis at once insisted on her
having something to eat, and ordered up a supper for the whole party. It was
a melancholy meal, as hardly any one spoke, and even the twins were
awestruck and subdued, as they were very found of their sister. When they
had finished, Mr. Otis, in spite of the entreaties of the little Duke,
ordered them all to bed, saying that nothing more could be done that night,
and that he would telegraph in the morning to Scotland Yard for some
detectives to be sent down immediately. Just as they were passing out of the
dining-room, midnight began to boom from the clock tower, and when the last
stroke sounded they heard a crash and a sudden shrill cry; a dreadful peal
of thunder shook the house, a strain of unearthly music floated through the
air, a panel at the top of the staircase flew back with a loud noise, and
out on the landing, looking very pale and white, with a little casket in her
hand, stepped Virginia. In a moment they had all rushed up to her. Mrs. Otis
clasped her passionately in her arms, the Duke smothered her with violent
kisses, and the twins executed a wild war-dance round the group.
"Good heavens! child, where have you been?" said Mr. Otis,
rather angrily, thinking that she had been playing some foolish trick on
them. "Cecil and I have been riding all over the country looking for
you, and your mother has been frightened to death. You must never play these
practical jokes any more."
"Except on the ghost! except on the ghost!" shrieked the
twins, as they capered about.
"My own darling, thank God you are found; you must never leave my
side again," murmured Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and
smoothed the tangled gold of her hair.
"Papa," said Virginia quietly, "I have been with the
ghost. He is dead, and you must come and see him. He had been very wicked,
but he was really sorry for all that he had done, and he gave me this box of
beautiful jewels before he died."
The whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, but she was quite
grave and serious; and, turning round, she led them through the opening in
the wainscoting down a narrow secret corridor, Washington following with a
lighted candle, which he had caught up from the table. Finally, they came to
a great oak door, studded with rusty nails. When Virginia touched it, it
swung back on its heavy hinges, and they found themselves in a little low
room, with a vaulted ceiling, and one tiny grated window. Imbedded in the
wall was a huge iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton, that was
stretched out at full length on the stone floor, and seemed to be trying to
grasp with its long fleshless fingers an old-fashioned trencher and ewer,
that were placed just out of its reach. The jug had evidently been once
filled with water, as it was covered inside with green mould. There was
nothing on the trencher but a pile of dust. Virginia knelt down beside the
skeleton, and, folding her little hands together, began to pray silently,
while the rest of the party looked on in wonder at the terrible tragedy
whose secret was now disclosed to them.
"Hallo!" suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, who had been
looking out of the window to try and discover in what wing of the house the
room was situated. "Hallo! the old withered almond-tree has blossomed.
I can see the flowers quite plainly in the moonlight."
"God has forgiven him," said Virginia gravely, as she rose to
her feet, and a beautifull light seemed to illumine her face.
"What an angel you are!" cried the young Duke, and he put his
arm round her neck, and kissed her.
Four days after these curious incidents a funeral started from
Canterville Chase at about eleven o'clock at night. The hearse was drawn by
eight black horses, each of which carried on its head a great tuft of
nodding ostrich-plumes, and the leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple
pall, on which was embroidered in gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By the
side of the hearse and the coaches walked the servants with lighted torches,
and the whole procession was wonderfully impressive. Lord Canterville was
the chief mourner, having come up specially from Wales to attend the
funeral, and sat in the first carriage along with little Virginia. Then came
the United States Minister and his wife, then Washington and the three boys,
and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It was generally felt that, as she
had been frightened by the ghost for more than fifty years of her life, she
had a right to see the last of him. A deep grave had been dug in the corner
of the churchyard, just under the corner of the yew-tree, and the service
was read in the most impressive manner by the Rev. Augustus Dampier. When
the ceremony was over, the servants, according to an old custom observed the
Canterville family, extinguished their torches, and, as the coffin was being
lowered into the grave, Virginia stepped forward, and laid on it a large
cross made of white and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so, the moon came
out from behind a cloud, and flooded with its silent silver the little
churchyard, and from a distant copse a nightingale began to sing. She
thought of the ghost's description of the Garden of Death, her eyes became
dim with tears, and she hardly spoke a word during the drive home.
The next morning, before Lord Canterville went up to town, Mr. Otis had
an interview with him on the subject of the jewels the ghost had given to
Virginia. They were perfectly magnificent, especially a certain ruby
necklace with old Venetian setting, which was really a superb specimen of
sixteenth-century work, and their value was so great that Mr. Otis felt
considerable scruples about allowing his daughter to accept them.
"My Lord," he said, "I know that in this country
mortmain is held to apply to trinkets as well as to land, and it is quite
clear to me that these jewels are, or should be, heirlooms in your family. I
must beg you, accordingly, to take them to London with you, and to regard
them simply as a portion of your property which has been restored to you
under certain strange conditions. As for my daughter, she is merely a child,
and has as yet, I am glad to say, but little interest in such appurtenances
of idle luxury. I am also informed by Mrs. Otis, who, I may say, is no mean
authority upon Art - having had the priviledge of spending several winters
in Boston when she was a girl - that these gems are of great monetary worth,
and if offered for sale would fetch a tall price. Under these circumstances,
Lord Canterville, I feel sure that you will recognise how impossible it
would be for me to allow them to remain in the possession of any member of
my family; and, indeed, all such vain gauds and toys, however suitableor
necessary to the dignity of the British aristocracy, would be completely out
of place among those who have been brought up on the severe, and I believe
immortal, principles of Republican simplicity. Perchaps I shoud mention that
Virginia is very anxious that you should allow her to retain the box, as a
memento of your unfortunate but misguided ancestor. As it is extremely old,
and consequently a good deal out of repair, you may perchaps think fit to
comply with her request. For my own part, I confess I am a good deal
surprised to find a child of mine expressing sympathy with mediaevalism in
any form, and can only account for it by the fact that Virginia was born in
one of your London suburbs shortly after Mrs. Otis had returned from a trip
to Athens."
Lord Canterville listened very gravely to the worthy Minister's speech,
pulling his grey moustache now and then to hide an involuntary smile, and
when Mr. Otis had ended, he shook him cordially by the hand, and said,
"My dear sir, your charming little daughter rendered my unlucky
ancestor, Sir Simon, a very important service, and I and my family are much
indebted to her for her marvellous courage and pluck. The jewels are clearly
hers, and, egad, I believe that if I were heatless enough to take them from
her, the wicked old fellow would be out of his grave in a fortnight, leading
me the devil of a life. As for their being heirlooms, nothing is an heirloom
that is not so mentioned in a will or legal document, and the existence of
these jewels has been quite unknown. I assure you I have no more claim on
them than your buttler, and when Miss Virginia grows up I daresay she will
be pleased to have pretty things to wear. Besides, you forget, Mr. Otis,
that you took the furniture and the ghost at a valuation, and anything that
belonged to the ghost passed at once into your possession, as, whatever
activity Sir Simon may have shown in the corridor at night, in point of law
he was really dead, and you acquired his property by purchase."
Mr. Otis was a good deal disressed at Lord Canterville's refusal, and
begged him to reconsider his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite
firm, and finally induced the Minister to allow his daughter to retain the
present the ghost had given her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the young
Duchess of Cheshire was presented at the Queen's first drawing-room on the
occasion of her marriage, her jewels were the universal theme of admiration.
For Virginia received the coronet, which is the reward of all good little
American girls, and was married to her boy-lover as he came of age. They
were both so charming, and they loved each other so much, that every one was
delighted at the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had
tried to catch the Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had
given no less than three expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, and,
strange to say, Mr. Otis himself. Mr. Otis was extremely fond of the young
Duke personally, but, theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use his
own words, "was not without apprehension lest, amid the enervating
influences of a pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true principles of
Republican simplicity should be forgotten." His objections, however,
were completely overruled, and I believe that when he walked up the aisle of
St. George's, Hanover Square, with his daughter leaning on his arm, there
was not a prouder man in the whole length and breadth of England.
The Duke and the Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to
Canterville Chase, and on the day after their arrival they walked over in
the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pine-woods. There had been a
great deal of difficulty at first about the inscription on Sir Simon's
tomb-stone, but finally it had been decided to engrave on it simply the
initials of the old gentleman's name, and the verse from the library window.
The Duchess had brought with her some lovely roses, which she strewed upon
the grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they strolled into
the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the Duchess sat down on a fallen
pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking a cigarette and looking up
at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw his cigarette away, took hold of
her hand, and said to her, "Virginia, a wife should have no sectrets
from her husband."
"Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you."
"Yes, you have," he answered, smiling, "you have never
told me what happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost."
"I have never told any one, Cecil," said Virginia gravely.
"I know that, but you might tell me."
"Please don't ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I
owe him a great deal. Yes, don't laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see
what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than
both."
The Duke rose and kisse his wife lovingly. "You can have your
secret as long as I have your heart," he murmured.
"You have always had that, Cecil."
"And you will tell our children some day, won't you?"
Virginia blushed.