The Old Stone House and Other Stories | Page 2

at my fears or feel increased awe of my
surroundings. For it was the twigs of a tree which had seized me, and
for a long limb such as this to have grown into a place intended for the
abode of man, necessitated a lapse of time and a depth of solitude
oppressive to think of.
Anxious to be rid of suggestions wellnigh bordering upon the
superstitious, I took one peep from the front windows, and then
descended to the first floor. The sight of my horse quietly dozing in the
summer sunlight had reassured me, and by the time I had recrossed the
dismal threshold, and regained the cheerful highway, I was conscious
of no emotions deeper than the intense interest of a curious mind to
solve the mystery and understand the secret of this remarkable house.
Rousing my horse from his comfortable nap, I rode on through the
forest; but scarcely had I gone a dozen rods before the road took a turn,
the trees suddenly parted, and I found myself face to face with wide
rolling meadows and a busy village. So, then, this ancient and deserted
house was not in the heart of the woods, as I had imagined, but in the
outskirts of a town, and face to face with life and activity. This
discovery was a shock to my romance, but as it gave my curiosity an
immediate hope of satisfaction, I soon became reconciled to the
situation, and taking the road which led to the village, drew up before
the inn and went in, ostensibly for refreshment. This being speedily
provided, I sat down in the cosy dining-room, and as soon as
opportunity offered, asked the attentive landlady why the old house in
the woods had remained so long deserted.
She gave me an odd look, and then glanced aside at an old man who sat
doubled up in the opposite corner. "It is a long story," said she, "and I

am busy now; but later, if you wish to hear it, I will tell you all we
know on the subject. After father is gone out," she whispered. "It
always excites him to hear any talk about that old place."
I saw that it did. I had no sooner mentioned the house than his white
head lifted itself with something like spirit, and his form, which had
seemed a moment before so bent and aged, straightened with an interest
that made him look almost hale again.
"I will tell you," he broke in; "I am not busy. I was ninety last birthday,
and I forget sometimes my grandchildren's names, but I never forget
what took place in that old house one night fifty years ago--never,
never."
"I know, I know," hastily interposed his daughter, "you remember
beautifully; but this gentleman wishes to eat his dinner now, and must
not have his appetite interfered with. You will wait, will you not, sir,
till I have a little more leisure?"
What could I answer but Yes, and what could the poor old man do but
shrink back into his corner, disappointed and abashed. Yet I was not
satisfied, nor was he, as I could see by the appealing glances he gave
me now and then from under the fallen masses of his long white hair.
But the landlady was complaisant and moved about the table and in and
out of the room with a bustling air that left us but little opportunity for
conversation. At length she was absent somewhat longer than usual,
whereupon the old man, suddenly lifting his head, cried out:
"She cannot tell the story. She has no feeling for it; she wasn't there."
"And you were," I ventured.
"Yes, yes, I was there, always there; and I see it all now," he murmured.
"Fifty years ago, and I see it all as if it were happening at this moment
before my eyes. But she will not let me talk about it," he complained,
as the sound of her footsteps was heard again on the kitchen boards.
"Though it makes me young again, she always stops me just as if I
were a child. But she cannot help my showing you--"

Here her steps became audible in the hall, and his words died away on
his lips. By the time she had entered, he was seated with his head half
turned aside, and his form bent over as if he were in spirit a thousand
miles from the spot.
Amused at his cunning, and interested in spite of myself at the childish
eagerness he displayed to tell his tale, I waited with a secret impatience
almost as great as his own perhaps, for her to leave the room again, and
thus give him the opportunity of finishing his sentence. At last there
came