Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth Ambrose—Where be these maskers, fool? Collin—Everywhere, sage! But chiefly there Where least they seem to mask!

Jonson—The Carnival.

It was All-Hallow Eve, a night long anticipated with delight by the whole neighborhood, and much longer still remembered with horror by the whole country.

It was the occasion of Sybil Berners’ mask ball; and Black Hall, the Black Valley, and the town of Blackville were all in a state of unprecedented excitement; for this was the first entertainment of the kind that had ever been given in the locality, and the gentry of three contiguous counties had been invited to assist at it.

Far distant from large cities and professional costumers as the rural belles and beaux of the neighborhood were, you will wonder what they did for fancy dresses.

They did very well. They ransacked the old cedar chests of their great-grandparents, and exhumed the rich brocades, cloths of gold and silvers, lutestrings, lamas, fardingdales, hair-cushions, and all the gorgeous paraphernalia and regalia of the ante-revolutionary queens of fashion. And they referred to old family portraits, and to pictures in old plays and novels, and upon the whole they got up their dresses with more fidelity to fact than most costumers do.

Some also went to the trouble and expense of a journey to New York to procure outfits, and these were commissioned to buy masks for all their friends and acquaintances who were invited to the ball.These preparations had occupied nearly the whole month of October. And now the eventful day had come, and the whole community was on tiptoe with expectation.

First, at Black Hall all was in readiness, not only for the ball and the supper, but for the accommodation of those lady friends of the hostess who, coming from a great distance, would expect to take a bed there.

And all was in readiness at the village hotel at Blackville, where gentlemen, coming from a distance to attend the ball, had engaged rooms in advance.

Nevertheless the landlord of the hotel was in a “stew,” for there were more people already arrived, on horseback and in carriages of every description, from the heavy family coach crammed with young ladies and gentlemen, to the one-horse gig with a pair of college chums. And the distracted landlord had neither beds for the human beings nor stalls for the horses. But he sent out among his neighbors, and tried to get “accommodations for man and beast” in private houses and stables.

“And the coach be come in, sir, and what be we to do with the passengers?” inquired the head waiter.

“Blast the coach! I wish it had tumbled down the ‘Devil’s Descent’ into the bottomless pit!” exclaimed the frantic host, seizing his gray locks with both hands, and running away from before the face of his tormentor—and jumping from the frying-pan into the fire, when he came full upon his daughter Bessie, who stopped him with:

“Pop, you must come right into the parlor. There’s a gentleman there as come by the coach, and says he must have a bed here to-night, no matter how full you maybe, or how much it may cost.”

“Impossible, Bessie! Clean impossible! Don’t drive me stark mad!” cried the landlord, jerking at his gray hair.

“Well, but, Pop, you must come and tell the gentleman so, or he’ll sit there all night,” remonstrated the girl.“Blow the fellow to blazes! Where is he?”

“In the parlor, Pop.”

The landlord trotted into the parlor and gave a little start, for, at first sight, he thought the gentleman’s head was on fire! But a second glance showed him that the gentleman only had the reddest hair he had ever seen in his life, and that the level rays of the setting sun, shining through the western window, and falling fall upon this head, set this red hair in a harmless blaze of light.

Recovering from his little shock, he advanced to the gentleman, bowed, and said:

“Well, sir, I am the landlord, and I understand you wish to see me.”

“Yes; I wish to engage a room here to-night.”

“Very sorry, sir; but it is out of the question. Every room in the house is engaged; even my room and my daughter’s room, and the servants’ rooms. And not only that, sir, but every sofa is engaged, and every rug; so you see it is clean impossible.”

“Impossible is it?” inquired the stranger.

“Clean impossible, sir! utterly impossible!” returned the host.

“All right; then it shall be done.”

“Sir!”

“I say, because it is impossible, it shall be done.”

“Eh!”

“Here is a hundred dollars,” said the stranger, laying down two bank-notes of fifty dollars each. “I will give you this money if you can induce any of your guests to give up a room for me to-night.”

“Why, really, sir, I should be delighted to accommodate such a very liberal gentleman, but—”

“You must decide at once. Now, or never,” said the stranger, firmly, for he saw the game was now in his own hands.“Well, yes, sir; I will find you a room. The two young college gents who took a room between them may be induced to give it up.”

“Must give it up, you mean,” amended the stranger.

“Well, yes, sir; just as you say, sir.”

“And I must have it in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And supper served there in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your company at supper, as I want to have a little talk with you.”

“All right, sir.”

“And now, you can go and see about the room.”

“Just so, sir,” said the landlord, gathering up the two fifty-dollar bills that had bought him, body and soul, and then bowing himself out of the room.

“‘Money makes the mare go,’ and the horse too. I wonder what he’ll think when he finds out his bank bills are not worth the paper they are printed on,” mused the stranger, as he paced thoughtfully up and down the room.

Fortunately for the landlord’s speculation, bad as it ultimately proved, the two collegians who had engaged his best front bedroom had not yet arrived to take possession of it. Therefore the business of turning it over to a more profitable party was the more immediately practicable. All the landlord had to do was to see that a fire was kindled in the fireplace, and the table was set for supper.

Then he returned to the parlor, to conduct, in person, such a wealthy and munificent patron to his apartment.

“Ah! this is cosy!” said the stranger, sinking into an arm-chair, and spreading his hands over the blazing fire, whose beams were caught and reflected by his red hair, until it shone like a rival conflagration.

“Glad you like your quarters, sir,” said the landlord, putting his hand upon the pocket that contained the purse with the two fifty-dollar bills to see that they were safe.“Ah! here comes the supper. Now, landlord, I want you to join me, that we may have that little chat I spoke of,” said the stranger, wheeling his arm-chair around to the table, while the waiter arranged the dishes, and stared at the flaming red head of the guest.

“What name might I have the honor of entering on my books, sir, if you please?” inquired the host, as he obligingly took his seat opposite his guest.

“What name might you have the honor of entering on your books?” repeated the stranger, helping himself to a huge slice of ham. “Well, you might have the honor of entering quite a variety of names on your books, as I dare say you do; but for the sake of brevity, which is the soul of wit, you may put down Smith—John Smith of New York city. Common name, eh, landlord, and from a big city? Can’t help that—fault of my forefathers and godfathers. Whenever I have to sign a check the bankers make me write myself down as ‘John Smith of John.’ Can’t do any better than that if it were to avert a financial crisis. All my ancestors have been John Smiths, from the days of William Rufus, when his chief armorer John, surnamed the ‘Smiter,’ for his lusty blows, founded the family. So you may set me down as ‘John Smith of John, New York city.’ And now send the waiter away, and fall to and tell me some of your neighborhood news.”

Nothing but the consciousness of the possession of those two big bills would have given the landlord courage to have left his business below stairs to take care of itself even for the half hour to which he mentally resolved to limit his interview with the stranger. However, he dismissed the waiter with some extra charges, and then placed himself at the service of his guest, and even took the initiative of the tÊte-À-tÊte by asking:

“You are quite a stranger in this neighborhood, sir?”

“Quite.”“Travelling on business, or for pleasure?”

“Pleasure.”

“A delightful season this, to travel in, sir; neither too warm, nor too cold. And the country never looks so rich and beautiful as in its autumn foliage.”

“True,” answered the stranger, briefly, and then he added, “I didn’t ask you to come here to catechize me, my good friend; but to submit to be catechized yourself, and to amuse me with the gossip of the neighborhood.”

Again nothing but the consciousness of a heavy fee would have induced the host of the “Antlers” to put up with this traveller’s “nonsense,” as he termed his general assumption of superiority.

“What would you like to hear about, then, sir?” growled the landlord.

“First, what important families have you in this part of the country?”

“Well, sir, the most principlest is the Bernerses of Black Hall, which have returned from their bridal tour about a month ago and taken up their abode there in the old ancestral home.”

“The Berners! Who are they?” inquired the traveller, carelessly trifling with the wing of a pheasant.

“You must be a stranger indeed, sir, not to know the Bernerses of Black Hall,” said the landlord, with an expression of strong disapprobation.

“Well, as I don’t know them, and as they seem to be persons of the highest distinction, perhaps you will tell me all about them,” said the traveller.

And the landlord not unwillingly gave the guest the full history of the Berners of Black Hall, down to the marriage of the last heiress, at which the bridegroom took the name of the bride’s family. And then he described the situation of the Hall and the way in which it might be reached, and ended by saying:“And if you think of making any stay in this neighborhood, sir, and will send your card to Mr. and Mrs. Berners, they will be sure to call on you and show you every attention in their power, sir; invite you to their house, introduce you to the neighbors, make parties for you, and make you generally welcome among us.”

“They are very hospitable, then?”

“Hospitable! Why, sir, even when they were on their bridal tour, they fell in with a lovely lady in distress, and what do they do but pay her bills at the hotel, and fetch her and her child and her servant, all, bag and baggage, home with themselves, to stay at Black Hall as long as ever she likes?”

“Indeed! That was a very unusual stretch of hospitality. And this lady is still with them?” inquired the stranger.

“She is that, sir; although the word do go around that it would be well if she was to go away.”

“Ah! why so?”

“Well, sir—but, lord, it is all servants’ gossip, and there may be nothing in it; but they do say that the master of the house is too fond of the visitor, and likewise she of him; and that this do make the mistress of the house very unhappy.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the stranger, in a half-suppressed voice.

“They do say, sir, that whenever the mistress turns her back, they two—the master and the guest—do go on like any pair of sweethearts, which is a great scandal, if it’s true.”

“Ah ha!” muttered the stranger, clenching and grinding his teeth.

“Howsever, sir, if the master is in love with the visitor, and the mistress is made unhappy thereby, that is no reason why they should put off their mask ball and disappoint the whole community, I suppose they think; so they have not done so; but they have their ball this evening, just as if they were the happiest household in the country.”

“Oh, a mask ball have they, this evening! And what sort of an affair is it to be?”

“Well, sir, the ball is to be like other balls, I believe, only that the guests are to appear in fancy dresses, or in loose gowns called dominoes, and to wear false faces until supper-time, when they unmask and reveal themselves to each other.”

“Yes, that is just like other mask balls,” said the stranger, and then he seemed to fall into thought for a few minutes; and then, rousing himself, he said:

“Landlord, you told me that your house is very full to-night, and so you must have a great deal of business on your hands.”

“I just have, sir,” replied the impatient host.

“Then I will not detain you any longer from your other guests. Pray send the waiter to remove this service immediately. And then, I think, as I am very much fatigued by my stage-coach journey over your beastly roads, I will retire to bed,” said the stranger.

And the landlord, glad to be relieved, got up and bowed himself out.

His exit was soon followed by the entrance of the waiter who quickly cleared the table and also retired.

The next proceedings of the stranger were rather singular.

As soon as he found himself quite alone, he locked his door, to secure himself from any possibility of interruption, and hung a towel over the key-hole, to guard his movements from observation, and then he unlocked his portmanteau, and took from it a strange and horrible disguise, that I will try to describe, so as to make it plain to the reader.

It was a tight-fitting suit, the pantaloons and jacket being made all in one piece, and of such elastic material as to fit close to the form. The ground of this dress was black; but upon it was painted, in strong relief of white, the blanched bones of a skeleton—thus: down the legs of the pantaloons were traced the long bare leg bones, with the large joints of the hips, knees, and ankles; across the body was traced the white ribs, breast-bone, and collar-bone; and down the sleeves were traced the long bones of the arms, with the large shoulder-blades, elbow-joints, and wrists; the bones of the hands were traced in white upon tight-fitting black gloves, and those of the feet upon tight-fitting black socks: a round scull-cap was to be drawn over the head; this was all white, to represent the skull, and had its skeleton features marked out with black.

The stranger having divested himself of his upper garments then put on this horrible dress. When he had finished his revolting toilet, even to the drawing on of the skull-cap, he surveyed himself in the mirror that reflected as ghastly a figure of “Death,” as Milton, DantÉ, or even Gustav DorÉ, ever conceived.

He laughed sardonically, as he exclaimed:

“Ah ha! they will not expect ‘Death’ to be a guest at their ball!”

Then over this grim costume he threw a large travelling cloak, and upon his head he placed a broad-brimmed black felt hat. And now, being all ready, he prepared to leave the room.

First he put out the light, and then he cautiously unlocked the door, and, secure from observation himself, he looked out to see if the coast was clear.

The passage was dark, but soon he saw a door on the opposite side open, and two young men come out in masquerade dresses, and hasten, laughing and talking, down the stairs. They were evidently on their way to the mask ball.The next instant, the door on the same side with his own opened, and a lady and gentleman, both in black dominoes and masks, came out and passed down stairs.

“Good!” said the stranger to himself. “If I am met at all, I shall be mistaken for one of the invited guests of the ball, and pass out without being recognized.” And so saying, he softly drew the key from the inside of the lock, and closed and locked the door, and taking the key with him, glided down the stairs and out of the house, and took the road to Black Hall.