The Filigree Ball | Page 3

ceremony;
with what result, you know.
Though the occasion was a joyous one and accompanied by all that
could give cheer to such a function, it had not escaped the old-time
shadow. One of the guests straying into the room of ancient and
unhallowed memory, the one room which had not been thrown open to
the crowd, had been found within five minutes of the ceremony lying
on its dolorous hearthstone, dead; and though the bride was spared a
knowledge of the dreadful fact till the holy words were said, a panic
had seized the guests and emptied the houses suddenly and completely
as though the plague had been discovered there.
This is why I hastened to follow Uncle David when he told me that all
was not right in this house of tragic memories.

II
I ENTER
Though past seventy, Uncle David was a brisk walker, and on this night
in particular he sped along so fast that he was half-way down H Street
by the time I had turned the corner at New Hampshire Avenue.
His gaunt but not ungraceful figure, merged in that of the dog trotting
closely at his heels, was the only moving object in the dreary vista of
this the most desolate block in Washington. As I neared the building, I
was so impressed by the surrounding stillness that I was ready to vow
that the shadows were denser here than elsewhere and that the few gas
lamps, which flickered at intervals down the street, shone with a more
feeble ray than in any other equal length of street in Washington.
Meanwhile, the shadow of Uncle David had vanished from the
pavement. He had paused beside a fence which, hung with vines,
surrounded and nearly hid from sight the little cottage he had
mentioned as the only house on the block with the exception of the
great Moore place; in other words, his own home.

As I came abreast of him I heard him muttering, not to his dog as was
his custom, but to himself. In fact, the dog was not to be seen, and this
desertion on the part of his constant companion seemed to add to his
disturbance and affect him beyond all reason. I could distinguish these
words amongst the many he directed toward the unseen animal:
"You're a knowing one, too knowing! You see that loosened shutter
over the way as plainly as I do; but you're a coward to slink away from
it. I don't. I face the thing, and what's more, I'll show you yet what I
think of a dog that can't stand his ground and help his old master out
with some show of courage. Creaks, does it? Well, let it creak! I don't
mind its creaking, glad as I should be to know whose hand - Halloo!
You've come, have you?" This to me. I had just stepped up to him.
"Yes, I've come. Now what is the matter with the Moore house?"
He must have expected the question, yet his answer was a long time
coming. His voice, too, sounded strained, and was pitched quite too
high to be natural. But he evidently did not expect me to show surprise
at his manner.
"Look at that window over there!" he cried at last. "That one with the
slightly open shutter! Watch and you will see that shutter move. There!
it creaked; didn't you hear it?"
A growl - it was more like a moan - came from the porch behind us.
Instantly the old gentleman turned and with a gesture as fierce as it was
instinctive, shouted out:
"Be still there! If you haven't the courage to face a blowing shutter,
keep your jaws shut and don't let every fellow who happens along
know what a fool you are. I declare," he maundered on, half to himself
and half to me, "that dog is getting old. He can't be trusted any more.
He forsakes his master just when -" The rest was lost in his throat
which rattled with something more than impatient anger.
Meanwhile I had been attentively scrutinizing the house thus pointedly
brought to my notice.

I had seen it many times before, but, as it happened, had never stopped
to look at it when the huge trees surrounding it were shrouded in
darkness. The black hollow of its disused portal looked out from
shadows which acquired some of their somberness from the tragic
memories connected with its empty void.
Its aspect was scarcely reassuring. Not that superstition lent its terrors
to the lonely scene, but that through the blank panes of the window,
alternately appearing and disappearing from view as the shutter pointed
out by Uncle David blew to and fro in the wind, I saw, or was
persuaded that I