The Watcher

The Watcher
by J. Sheridan Le Fanu
First published in Ghost Stories and Tales of Mystery , 1851

PROLOGUE
* * *
"How long wilt thou not depart from me? Thou terrifiest me through
visions: so that my soul chooseth strangling rather than my life."
It is now more than fifty years since the occurrences which I am about
to relate caused a strange sensation in the gay society of Dublin. The
fashionable world, however, is no recorder of traditions; the memory of
selfishness seldom reaches far; and the events which occasionally
disturb the polite monotony of its pleasant and heartless progress,
however stamped with the characters of misery and horror, scarcely
ever outlive the gossip of a season; and, except perhaps in the
remembrance of a few more directly interested in the consequences of
the catastrophe, are in a little time lost to the recollection of all. The
appetite for scandal, or for horror, has been sated; the incident can yield
no more of interest or of novelty; curiosity, frustrated by impenetrable
mystery, gives over the pursuit in despair; the tale has ceased to be new,
grows stale and flat; and so, in a few years, inquiry subsides into
indifference and all is forgotten.
Somewhere about the year 1794, the younger brother of a certain
baronet, whom I shall call Sir James Barton, returned to Dublin. He had
served in the navy with some distinction, having commanded one of his
Majesty's frigates during the greater part of the American war. Captain
Barton was now apparently some two or three-and-forty years of age.
He was an intelligent and agreeable companion, when he chose it,

though generally reserved, and occasionally even moody. In society,
however, he deported himself as a man of the world, and a gentleman.
He had not contracted any of the noisy brusqueness sometimes
acquired at sea; on the contrary, his manners were remarkably easy,
quiet, and even polished. He was in person about the middle size, and
somewhat strongly formed; his countenance was marked with the lines
of thought, and on the whole wore an expression of gravity and even of
melancholy; being however, as we have said, a man of perfect breeding,
as well as of affluent circumstances and good family, he had, of course,
ready access to the best society of the metropolis, without the necessity
of any other credentials. In his personal habits Captain Barton was
unexpensive. He occupied lodgings in one of the "then" fashionable
streets in the south side of the town, kept but one horse and one servant,
and though a reputed free-thinker, yet lived an orderly and moral life,
indulging neither in gaming, drinking, nor any other vicious pursuit,
living very much to himself, without forming any intimacies, or
choosing any companions, and appearing to mix in gay society rather
for the sake of its bustle and distraction, than for any opportunities
which it offered of interchanging either thoughts or feelings with its
votaries. Barton was therefore pronounced a saving, prudent, unsocial
sort of a fellow, who bid fair to maintain his celibacy alike against
stratagem and assault, and was likely to live to a good old age, die rich,
and leave his money to a hospital.
It was soon apparent, however, that the nature of Mr. Barton's plans
had been totally misconceived. A young lady, whom we shall call Miss
Montague, was at this time introduced into the gay world of Dublin, by
her aunt, the Dowager Lady Rochdale. Miss Montague was decidedly
pretty and accomplished, and having some natural cleverness, and a
great deal of gaiety, became for a while a reigning toast. Her popularity,
however, gained her, for a time, nothing more than that unsubstantial
admiration which, however pleasant as an incense to vanity, is by no
means necessarily antecedent to matrimony; for, unhappily for the
young lady in question, it was an understood thing, that, beyond her
personal attractions, she had no kind of earthly provision. Such being
the state of affairs, it will readily be believed that no little surprise was
consequent upon the appearance of Captain Barton as the avowed lover

of the penniless Miss Montague.
His suit prospered, as might have been expected, and in a short time it
was confidentially communicated by old Lady Rochdale to each of her
hundred and fifty particular friends in succession, that Captain Barton
had actually tendered proposals of marriage, with her approbation, to
her niece, Miss Montague, who had, moreover, accepted the offer of his
hand, conditionally upon the consent of her father, who was then upon
his homeward voyage from India, and expected in two or three months
at furthest. About his consent there could be no doubt. The delay,
therefore, was one merely of form; they were looked upon as absolutely
engaged, and Lady Rochdale,