“’Twas night, calm night, the moon was high.”

Ancient Mariner.

Teazer and I had very little to say to each other for the rest of the evening. I was really so afraid of her that I had not the courage to be polite. When I offered to take her cup from her, she looked at me so angrily and clung to the saucer so tenaciously that I might well have thought she regarded me as a thief, who wanted to make away with her father’s crockery. Her manners were deplorably vulgar. She lay back in an arm-chair, and stuck her legs out in such a way that I wondered her father didn’t jump up and kick them in.

And what extraordinary delusion could he be labouring under in believing her well-read? He left the room for a short time during the evening, and finding myself alone with my half-civilised cousin, I felt myself under an obligation to address her. Willing to take her father’s word that she was well-read, I thought I would get her upon the subject of books, and asked her that very tea-party question, who was her favourite author.

“The ‘Family Herald,’” she answered.

I burst into a laugh. Her reply was so ridiculous, that I couldn’t have preserved my gravity had she even produced her revolver.“Your papa told me,” said I, “that you are a very great reader.”

“And what right have you to doubt his word?”

“Pray don’t think I do,” I stammered, rendered somewhat apprehensive by a gleam in her eyes.

“What made you laugh at me?”

“I thought you were laughing at me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she exclaimed, with an air of great contempt. “I must like people to laugh at them.”

Offended, and even disgusted, I turned away from her; but looking round a moment after, with the intention of speaking, I caught her smiling, though the smile instantly vanished when our eyes met.

“Miss Hargrave, it is very plain,” said I, “that I am an unwelcome guest. Had I foreseen the annoyance my intrusion would have caused you, I should certainly not have accepted your father’s invitation. However, I must entreat you to bear with me until to-morrow, when I will take care to please you by returning to Updown.”

“I have not asked you to go,” she answered. “You are not my guest, but my father’s. He asked you down for himself, not for me; so, providing you don’t trouble me, you may stop as long as you please.”

“Trouble you!” I exclaimed, warmly. “How have I troubled you? I have only been in the house a few hours. But I can remedy that by asking your father to allow me to use the library, or any room but this, until the train leaves to-morrow, and then we need not meet.”

“I hope you are not going to turn out a tale-bearer, and set my father against me.”

“What in heaven’s name do you mean?”

“Oh, you are quite welcome to swear, sir. But let me assure you, I am not to be frightened by oaths.”

“Oaths!” I stammered. But what use reasoning with a woman who manifestly was not in possession of her reason? I considered that I had been already a great deal too condescending. I had forgotten my dignity, and provoked a most audacious snubbing by an amiability that was totally at variance with those high and splendid conceptions which had hitherto characterised my self-estimates. No wonder my aunt had guessed that I would not like Teazer. “Teazer!” That was a dog’s name, and it suited my cousin to perfection. But did she behave to everybody as she behaved to me? Impossible. She wouldn’t have a friend. Perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps her temper and gross manners were the real cause of her father’s retired life; and yet, hadn’t I heard from somebody or other that she had had admirers, and received even an offer of marriage from an individual whose name figured in Debrett’s List? Nonsense! this must have been said merely to put me in conceit with the girl, and set me on the high road to courtship. Why, the cook down-stairs could teach her better manners than she had. It was a great pity. I felt sorry for her. She was, undeniably, good-looking; her eyes magnificent—splendid contradictions to her character. Watching her, when she was silent, I could have sworn, had I not known the truth about her nature, that she really possessed the profound passions and fine qualities her father strangely found in her. Though she threw her arms and legs about in the wildest search after inelegance, the utmost uncouthness of posture could scarcely deform or even qualify the inexpressible suggestions of grace with which her noble form was full fraught.

Her father came in with his hearty smile, and I envied him the affectionate glance he received from her. How was it that she could never look at me without a sneer or a frown? What was there in me to challenge her contempt? If there was one thing I used to pique myself upon more than another, it was my success with the ladies. At Longueville I was always in request. No picnic was planned, no ball or open-air fÊte given, in which my name was not conspicuous. I shall not be accused of blabbing, if I modestly assert that, on Valentine’s Day, I would receive as many as twenty letters, many of which were original poetry: and, on New Years’ Day, was I ever forgotten by Eugenie, by Sophie, by Marie, or by Celestine? Teazer was my St. Helena. What satisfaction in recalling my victories, the loving sighs and ogles that attended my gilded progress, now that my charms were exiled and lodged upon a barren rock?Bah! what need I care? wasn’t I in love with Conny? wasn’t I pledged to that golden-haired goddess? Bore I in my heart no memory of her deep, deep eyes, to compensate me for the contempt that gleamed in Teazer’s gaze, for the sneers that curled her decidedly beautiful lip? I might regret that she had not found me as conquering as others had done, that on my return to Updown I might bare my heart to Conny, and cry, “Behold! here are thy lineaments—thine only! Arrows barbed by beauty have been shot by eyes the most entrancing, and have glanced harmless from the adamant on which love hath painted in imperishable colours thy transcendent graces!” I say, it was only for Conny’s sake that I regretted Theresa didn’t find me irresistible. My vanity was not concerned—oh, certainly not. It was nothing to me—a young man—that a handsome woman should treat me as a baboon. Oh, no, nothing. My pride bled—for Conny.

At ten o’clock Theresa went to bed. She gave me a finger to shake, but embraced her father as if he were her lover.

We were now in the parlour with cigars and spirits on the table. O’Twist, on placing these refreshments before us, had stared at me in the most outrageous manner. I could have punched his head, so angry did his insolence make me.

“Is that fellow mad?” I asked my uncle.

“Why, what makes you think so?”

“His trick of staring. At dinner his eye-balls stood out a foot beyond his cheeks, so intent was his gaze. Is he a Fenian, and does he mistake me for a constable?”

“Pooh, pooh, this is your fancy, my dear boy. O’Twist is the most harmless, good-natured creature in the whole world, and the politest. Corpulent as he is, I can assure you, on occasions he can comport himself with the dignity of a Lord Mayor. He often blunders, but as often recovers himself with capital Irish humour and grace.”

My uncle is a most extraordinary person, I thought. Whatever I find fault with he commends, and strangely, commends for the very qualities that are most wanting. I had too much good taste to pass any remarks upon his daughter’s behaviour to me; he was doing his utmost to make me comfortable, and it would be in the highest degree ungracious to grumble at this early stage. Yet as I was fully persuaded he had remarked his daughter’s manner, I was much surprised that he did not offer some excuses for it. Of course I could understand his silence on the motive of my visit. If I didn’t begin the subject, he couldn’t. It was for me to fall in love with Theresa, and make her in love with me; until the pie was made, he couldn’t very well put his finger in it. Let me confess I was heartily glad that delicacy did restrain him. Had he started the topic, in all probability I should have said something to offend him, for in the mood that then possessed me, nothing could have been more objectionable than a reference to my uncle Tom’s wild and preposterous scheme.

He talked to me a good deal about his brother’s bank and banking in general, and sounded my knowledge of the business with a great number of questions.

“You quite justify Tom’s opinion of you,” he exclaimed. “I should never have thought you capable of acquiring so much information in so short a space of time. Banking is a very fine business, and if Tom takes you into partnership, which he talks of doing, I see no reason why you shouldn’t become a very rich man.”

This was the nearest approach to his brother’s “scheme” which he made. I listened, expecting him to begin on the subject of my marriage with his daughter; but he immediately changed the conversation by inviting me to make myself thoroughly at home while I stayed with him, to call for anything I wanted, to use his horses—in short, to treat him as I treated my uncle Tom, “than which,” he added, “I shall expect no better compliment from you.”

I wished, secretly, that he would not be so hospitable, for the kinder he was, the harder it would be to find an excuse to get away from the house.

At eleven o’clock I began to yawn, and seeing this, he conducted me to my bed-room. “We have no fixed breakfast hour,” said he, “so you may choose your own time to leave your bed. I rarely close my eyes before half-past four, and am therefore seldom up before ten. But Teazer is usually down by half-past eight, so you may depend upon finding somebody to look after you.”

I shook hands with him, and he went away. I felt more wearied than sleepy. The night was very sultry, and I threw my window wide open before getting into bed. A brilliant moon rode high, and whilst I watched it I thought of Conny, and wondered if her dear eyes were upon it, and if she were thinking of me. Sweet girl! I pictured her delicate features upturned to the benign light, and the chastity they would take in the radiance. What a contrast between the two cousins! What a pity Theresa was so unmannerly! Her face haunted me. I am afraid it sometimes eclipsed Conny’s. How came it so gross a mind should be so finely clothed? From what did her eyes take their fire? Surely not from her heart. After all, what was she but a handsome animal? She could shoot, she could ride; she was very fit for the backwoods. What a wretched voice she had! what a feeble touch! And her father declared she could play and sing well! How slangy her language was, how beautiful her complexion, how inelegant her movements, how perfect her figure, how——!

Here I fell asleep.

I could hardly have slept longer than half-an-hour, when I started up broad awake, and stared about me. The moon was still high; the room was filled with its light.

What had awakened me?

Here something knocked three times upon the door. I presumed that the knocks fell upon the door; but, for all I knew, the sounds might have come from the floor, the ceiling, or the walls.

Here was an old house! Had it a ghost?

I sat upright in my bed, meaning to wait until the knocks sounded again before I called “Come in.” To my horror, the handle of the door was turned with exquisite caution, and the door was opened stealthily.

Burglars! I thought, and instantly looked towards the fender.

A short fat man in his shirt, with braces hanging loosely about his breeches, stepped into the room, but on catching sight of me, fell back a step and stood staring. It was O’Twist. The moonlight made him deadly white, and I scarcely knew him in his undress.

“What do you want?” I gasped, not doubting that the man had hoped to find me asleep, and to steal my watch and purse, and perhaps to murder me.

“I tort I’d look in to see if you were all right, sor,” he answered.

“Right! what do you mean? I was asleep.”

“Thrue, sor.”

Here he advanced, went to the window, pulled down the sash, and drew the curtains. I was so much amazed by his actions that I could barely articulate. Was he walking in his sleep? Impossible. Somnambulists can’t converse. Was he labouring under a sudden and severe access of insanity? Idiot that I was to leave my razor exposed on the dressing table!

“What are you doing?” I gurgled.

“Preevinting the moon from shoining upon your honour’s head,” he replied, gazing complacently round him, and then moving towards the door.

“What’s the moon got to do with you?” I cried. “I always sleep with my window open in summer. How dare you close it without my leave, or enter my room at all?”

“Niver moind, sor, niver moind,” he answered soothingly and blandly. “Your honour will be grateful to me in the marning whin you foind oi’ve saved yer from taking cowld.”

And so saying, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I sprang out of bed in a great passion, pulled back the curtain, flung the sash up, and then went to the door, intending to lock it, and save myself from the villain’s intentions, whatever they were; but to my deep annoyance I found there was no key. To remedy this, I thrust a chair under the handle, and a small table against the chair, and got into bed, puzzling my brains over the fellow’s design, and wondering what my uncle would think, when I told him that his sleek O’Twist was a midnight ruffian. “May I be hanged twenty times over, if I don’t sleep at Updown to-morrow night,” I growled, kicking about under the single sheet, and wishing my uncle Dick, and Teazer, and his house, and his servants, and everything that belonged to him in Jehanum.

My anger, however, didn’t prevent me from falling asleep. In truth, I had been thoroughly tired by my journey, my walk from the station, the great heat, and the fatiguing dance my uncle had led me through the grounds. But I was not to sleep long. A violent crash awoke me, and my first impression was that the house had been struck by a thunderbolt.

I hopped out of bed wide awake, and stood watching the fat figure of O’Twist, who was picking up the chair and table he had knocked over in pushing open the door.

“Be off!” I shouted, darting at him.

He skipped aside, his braces trailing in his wake, but instead of leaving the room, seized a chair, which he brandished with both hands, crying, “You’d betther not touch me! I’m a moorderous man whin my blood is up! you’d betther not touch me!”

“I’ll kill you,” I gasped, “if you don’t leave this room at once! How dare you intrude upon me a second time?”

“Let me shut the window, sor—let me pull the curtains tew—you’ll be much aisier in you’re moind wid de moon hid—indade you will, sor,” he answered, jamming himself into a corner and holding the chair over his head.

I looked at him aghast. It was quite clear to me that he was raving mad. The moonlight had penetrated his brain, and he was clamouring to have it hid! Wasn’t it well known, that all mad people raged when the moon was full? I mustn’t be violent. No, no. He must be humoured, or he might dash my brains out.

“Look here,” said I, “if I close the window and draw the curtains, will you promise not to break in upon me again?”

“If you’ll promise to kape the moon hid.”

“Anything to get rid of you,” I said; “but I pledge you my word of honour, if you break your promise I’ll throw you out of the window. Hear that! and to-morrow——”

But I checked myself. I had threatened enough. I might drive him frantic. There was no key to the door, and nothing could keep him from crawling in and cutting my throat, should I again fall asleep, but the bed or the chest of drawers against the door, neither of which I was able to stir.

He put the chair down cautiously, edged towards the window, watching me intently, whilst I backed from him as he approached, watching him intently, pulled down the sash, drew the curtains, and slided sideways towards the door.

“You’ll kape your word, sor?” he inquired.

“Yes, and you had better keep yours, or look out!”

He closed the door, and I was again left alone.

A long time passed before I fell asleep. I never expected for a moment that this madman would not once more pop his vile head in to see if the moon was hid, and lay for a great while in a state of passionate anxiety waiting for him to appear, that I might spring upon and beat him. Gradually the moonshine passed off the window, and the room grew dark. Then another kind of light began to creep upon the blind; it brightened and broadened; the sparrows twittered; and it was clear daylight when I dropped off into a very uneasy slumber.

I was awakened by the voice of O’Twist, informing me that it was half-past eight. I bade him in a stern voice, which I hoped would carry terror with it through the panels of the door, to bring me some hot water. But he had gone away. As I was in no temper to lie in bed, I jumped up, meaning to shave in cold water, then to hasten down-stairs, give Theresa (if she were up), a piece of my mind, wait until my uncle left his room, that I might acquaint him with the gross treatment to which I had been subjected by his servant, and then quit the house. But when I looked for my razor, it was gone! I was thunder-struck. I perfectly remembered leaving it on the toilet-table after unpacking my travelling bag, and I was equally sure it was in the same place when O’Twist first entered the room, for I recalled a cold shudder that had passed through me on reflecting what might happen should the maniac’s eye fasten upon the cold steel. Had he taken it? No doubt he had, and in all human probability with the intention of using it against me. What miraculous interposition of Providence had saved my throat?