The Face of the Abbot | Page 2

on the heights above the
Mondego River. The castle dated from the twelfth century, and had
seen brave and violent deeds. It was supposed to be haunted by an old
monk who was said to have been murdered there, but within living
memory no one had seen him. At least, so Helen had informed me.
Punctually at three o'clock on the following day I found myself at West
Terrace, and was shown into my young friend's pretty little
sitting-room.
"How kind of you to come, Mr. Druce!" she said. "May I introduce you
to my uncle, Senhor de Castro?"
The Senhor, a fine-looking man, who spoke English remarkably well,
bowed, gave a gracious smile, and immediately entered into
conversation. His face had strong features; his beard was iron-grey, so
also were his hair and moustache. He was slightly bald about the
temples. I imagined him to be a man about forty-five years of age.
"Now," said Helen, after we had talked to each other for a few minutes,
"perhaps, Uncle Petro, you will explain to Mr. Druce what has
happened."

As she spoke I noticed that her face was very pale and that her lips
slightly trembled.
"It is a painful story," said the Portuguese, "most horrible and
inexplicable."
I prepared myself to listen, and he continued:--
"For the last few months my dear friend had been troubled in his mind.
The reason appeared to me extraordinary. I knew that Sherwood was
eccentric, but he was also matter-of-fact, and I should have thought him
the last man who would be likely to be a prey to nervous terrors.
Nevertheless, such was the case. The old castle has the reputation of
being haunted, and the apparition that is supposed to trouble Mondego
is that of a ghastly white face that is now and then seen at night peering
out through some of the windows or one of the embrasures of the
battlements surrounding the courtyard. It is said to be the shade of an
abbot who nas foully murdered there by a Castilian nobleman who
owned the castle a hundred years ago.
"It was late in April of this year when my brother-in-law first declared
that he saw the apparition. I shall never forget his terror. He came to me
in my room, woke me, and pointed out the embrasure where he had
seen it. He described it as a black figure leaning out of a window, with
an appallingly horrible white face, with wide-open eyes apparently
staring at nothing. I argued with him and tried to appeal to his common
sense, and did everything in my power to bring him to reason, but
without avail. I he terror grew worse and worse. He could think and
talk of nothing else, and, to make matters worse, he collected all the old
literature he could find bearing on the legend. This he would read, and
repeat the ghastly information to me at meal times. I began to fear that
his mind would become affected, and three weeks ago I persuaded him
to come away with me for a change to Lisbon. He agreed, but the very
night before we were to leave I was awakened in the small hours by
hearing an awful cry, followed by another, and then the sound of my
own name. I ran out into the courtyard and looked up at the battlements.
There I saw, to my horror, my brother-in-law rushing along the edge,
screaming as though in extreme terror, and evidently imagining that he

was pursued by something. The next moment he dashed headlong
down a hundred feet on to the flagstones by my side, dying
instantaneously. Now comes the most horrible part. As I glanced up I
saw, and I swear it with as much certainty as I am now speaking to you,
a black figure leaning out over the battlement exactly at the spot from
which he had fallen--a figure with a ghastly white face, which stared
straight down at me. The moon was full, and gave the face a clearness
that was unmistakable. It was large, round, and smooth, white with a
whiteness I had never seen on human face, with eyes widely open, and
a fixed stare; the face was rigid and tense; the mouth shut and drawn at
the corners. Fleeting as the glance was, for it vanished almost the next
moment, I shall never forget it. It is indelibly imprinted on my
memory."
He ceased speaking.
From my long and constant contact with men and their affairs, I knew
at once that what De Castro had just said instantly raised the whole
matter out of the commonplace; true or untrue, real or false, serious
issues we at stake.
"Who else was in the castle that night?" I asked
"No one," was his