Everything around me seemed at my
disposal, and I think everyone loved me; I am
sure I loved them. Till about two years ago
—I remember it well—my father had come
to England, to us; and he seemed so proud
and so pleased with me and all I had done.
And one day, his tongue seemed loosened
with wine, and he told me much that I had
not known till then,—how dearly he had
loved my mother, yet how his wilful usage
had caused her death; and then he went on
to say how he loved me better than any
creature on earth, and how, some day, he
hoped to take me to foreign places, for that
he could hardly bear these long absences
from his only child. Then he seemed to change
suddenly, and said, in a strange, wild way,
that I was not to believe what he said; that
there was many a thing he loved better—his
horse—his dog—I know not what.

"And 'twas only the next morning that,
when I came into his room to ask his blessing
as was my wont, he received me with fierce
and angry words. 'Why had I,' so he asked,
'been delighting myself in such wanton
mischief—dancing over all the tender plants
in the flower-beds, all set with the famous
Dutch bulbs he had brought from Holland?'
I had never been out of doors that morning,
sir, and I could not conceive what he meant,
and so I said; and then he swore at me for a
liar, and said I was of no true blood, for he
had seen me doing all that mischief himself—
with his own eyes. What could I say? He
would not listen to me, and even my tears
seemed only to irritate him. That day was
the beginning of my great sorrows. Not
long after, he reproached me for my undue
familiarity—all unbecoming a gentlewoman
—with his grooms. I had been in the
stable-yard, laughing and talking, he said.
Now, sir, I am something of a coward by
nature, and I had always dreaded horses;
besides that, my father's servants—those
whom he brought with him from foreign
parts—were wild fellows, whom I had always
avoided, and to whom I had never spoken
except as a lady must needs from time to
time speak to her father's people. Yet my
father called me by names of which I hardly
know the meaning, but my heart told me
they were such as shame any modest woman;
and from that day he turned quite against
me;—nay, sir, not many weeks after that, he
came in with a riding-whip in his hand; and,
accusing me harshly of evil doings, of which
I knew no more than you, sir, he was about
to strike me, and I, all in bewildering
tears, was ready to take his stripes as great
kindness compared to his harder words,
when suddenly he stopped his arm mid-way,
gasped and staggered, crying out, 'The curse
—the curse!' I looked up in terror. In
the great mirror opposite I saw myself, and
right behind another wicked fearful self, so
like me that my soul seemed to quiver
within me, as though not knowing to which
similitude of body it belonged. My father
saw my double at the same moment, either
in its dreadful reality, whatever that might
be, or in the scarcely less terrible reflection
in the rnirror; but what came of it at that
moment I cannot say, for I suddenly swooned
away; and when I came to myself I was
lying in my bed, and my faithful Clarke
sitting by me. I was in my bed for days;
and even while I lay there my double was
seen by all, flitting about the house and
gardens, always about some mischievous or
detestable work. What wonder that everyone
shrank from me in dread—that my father
drove me forth at length, when the disgrace
of which I was the cause was past his
patience to bear. Mistress Clarke came
with me; and here we try to live such a life
of piety and prayer as may in time set me
free from the curse."

All the time she had been speaking, I had
been weighing her story in my mind. I had
hitherto put cases of witchcraft on one side,
as mere superstitions; and my uncle and I
had had many an argument, he supporting
himself by the opinion of his good friend Sir
Matthew Hale. Yet this sounded like the
tale of one bewitched; or was it merely the
effect of a life of extreme seclusion telling on
the nerves of a sensitive girl ? My scepticism
inclined me to the latter belief, and when she
paused I said:

"I fancy that some physician could have
disabused your father of his belief in
visions——"

Just at that instant, standing as I was
opposite to her in the full and perfect morning
light, I saw behind her another figure—a
ghastly resemblance, complete in likeness, so
far as form and feature and minutest touch
of dress could go, but with a loathsome
demon soul looking out of the grey eyes, that
were in turns mocking and voluptuous. My
heart stood still within me; every hair rose
up erect; my flesh crept with horror. I
could not see the grave and tender Lucy—
my eyes were fascinated by the creature
beyond. I know not why, but I put out my
hand to clutch it; I grasped nothing but
empty air, and my whole blood curdled to
ice. For a moment I could not see; then my
sight came back, and I saw Lucy standing
before me, alone, deathly pale, and I could
have fancied, almost, shrunk in size.

"IT has been near me?" she said, as if
asking a question.

The sound seemed taken out of her voice;
it was husky as the notes on an old harpsichord
when the strings have ceased to
vibrate. She read her answer in my face,
I suppose, for I could not speak. Her look
was one of intense fear, but that died away
into an aspect of most humble patience. At
length she seemed to force herself to face
behind and around her: she saw the purple
moors, the blue distant hills, quivering in
the sunlight, but nothing else.