Lost Heart story

What! Master Stephen?’ said Parkes, awaking to the consciousness of the

boy’s presence. ‘Master Stephen knows well enough when I’m a-playing a

joke with you, Mrs Bunch.’

In fact, Master Stephen knew much too well to suppose that Mr Parkes

had in the first instance intended a joke. He was interested, not

altogether pleasantly, in the situation; but all his questions were

unsuccessful in inducing the butler to give any more detailed account of

his experiences in the wine-cellar.

* * * * *

We have now arrived at March 24, 1812. It was a day of curious

experiences for Stephen: a windy, noisy day, which filled the house and

the gardens with a restless impression. As Stephen stood by the fence of

the grounds, and looked out into the park, he felt as if an endless

procession of unseen people were sweeping past him on the wind, borne

on resistlessly and aimlessly, vainly striving to stop themselves, to catch

at something that might arrest their flight and bring them once again into

contact with the living world of which they had formed a part. After

luncheon that day Mr Abney said:

‘Stephen, my boy, do you think you could manage to come to me tonight

as late as eleven o’clock in my study? I shall be busy until that time, and

I wish to show you something connected with your future life which it is

most important that you should know. You are not to mention this matter

to Mrs Bunch nor to anyone else in the house; and you had better go to

your room at the usual time.’

Here was a new excitement added to life: Stephen eagerly grasped at the

opportunity of sitting up till eleven o’clock. He looked in at the library

door on his way upstairs that evening, and saw a brazier, which he had

often noticed in the corner of the room, moved out before the fire; an old

silver-gilt cup stood on the table, filled with red wine, and some written

sheets of paper lay near it. Mr Abney was sprinkling some incense on the

brazier from a round silver box as Stephen passed, but did not seem to

notice his step.

The wind had fallen, and there was a still night and a full moon. At about

ten o’clock Stephen was standing at the open window of his bedroom,

looking out over the country. Still as the night was, the mysterious

population of the distant moon-lit woods was not yet lulled to rest. From

time to time strange cries as of lost and despairing wanderers sounded

from across the mere. They might be the notes of owls or water-birds, yet

they did not quite resemble either sound. Were not they coming nearer?

Now they sounded from the nearer side of the water, and in a few

moments they seemed to be floating about among the shrubberies. Then

they ceased; but just as Stephen was thinking of shutting the window and

resuming his reading of Robinson Crusoe , he caught sight of two figures

standing on the gravelled terrace that ran along the garden side of the

Hall — the figures of a boy and girl, as it seemed; they stood side by side,

looking up at the windows. Something in the form of the girl recalled

irresistibly his dream of the figure in the bath. The boy inspired him with

more acute fear.

Whilst the girl stood still, half smiling, with her hands clasped over her

heart, the boy, a thin shape, with black hair and ragged clothing, raised

his arms in the air with an appearance of menace and of unappeasable

hunger and longing. The moon shone upon his almost transparent hands,

and Stephen saw that the nails were fearfully long and that the light

shone through them. As he stood with his arms thus raised, he disclosed

a terrifying spectacle. On the left side of his chest there opened a black

and gaping rent; and there fell upon Stephen’s brain, rather than upon his

ear, the impression of one of those hungry and desolate cries that he had

heard resounding over the woods of Aswarby all that evening. In another

moment this dreadful pair had moved swiftly and noiselessly over the dry

gravel, and he saw them no more. Mr Abney was found in his chair, his head thrown back, his face stamped

with an expression of rage, fright, and mortal pain. In his left side was a

terrible lacerated wound, exposing the heart. There was no blood on his

hands, and a long knife that lay on the table was perfectly clean. A

savage wild-cat might have inflicted the injuries. The window of the study

was open, and it was the opinion of the coroner that Mr Abney had met

his death by the agency of some wild creature. But Stephen Elliott’s study

of the papers I have quoted led him to a very different conclusion.