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Chapter II, Part A · The Irtonwood Ghost

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  Section three of The Irtonwood Ghost by Eleanor Glynn. This LibriVox recording is in
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  the public domain. Chapter two, Part A. Next day was Christmas Eve,
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  and much occupied with all sorts of bygone amusements, in which a Christmas
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  tree for the children figured in the late afternoon. Every one was particularly gay
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  and cheerful. Only Ester Charters felt heavy as lead. Her dream haunted her.
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  It had certainly some meaning. It was the second time she had experienced
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  it, and the certificate, the loss of which might make such a difference
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  to her, could quite well look like the parchment on the desk. But
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  why there should be any connection with it and this house of which she had
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  never heard until her friends had taken it, she could not imagine. And
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  if there was some strange thread in it all, why should the picture of
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  the ghost be like herself? The money she could be deprived of had been
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  Algernon's money, and had not come to her through her own family at all.
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  So it would be more sensible and seemingly in sequins if the ghost looked
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  like him or one of her sisters in law. But she could not shake
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  off the unaccountable depression she was filled with, and she tried to divert herself
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  with mister Ambrose Duval's in spiriting conversation, to the rage of Sir George,
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  who had left Scotland on purpose to be present at this party and press his
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  suit, feeling full of hope that she would show him some grace. But
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  for some reason all had been at sixes and sevens between them, and this
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  hateful foreign man appeared to be the cause. Towards the end of the day,
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  Sir George's temper had got the better of him, and he had finally
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  gone off and talked to another woman in pique and disgust. And so once
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  more the night came and Esther was left alone in the cedar room. Now
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  the conduct of the foreign guest had excited suspicion as well as fury in the
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  breast of Sir George, and he had watched him unconsciously most of the day.
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  The brute had come to Ourtonwood with some purpose. He now felt sure
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  of that such extreme interest in all the rooms and the furniture was overdone,
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  if it were really an innocent fancy for old things. The library in particular
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  seemed to have attracted him, and he even contrived to be shown the famous
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  cedar chamber, while he said most insinuating and admiring things to its present occupant.
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  They had gone there a company of four or five after lunch. Old
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  Miss Harcourt among them, torn from her bridge. I would not sleep here
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  for the world, she said. I wonder how you can esther. You
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  must have nerves of iron and a conscience of snow like purity. It makes
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  me feel creepy, even in broad daylight. I am not afraid, affirmed
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  missus Charters, raising her head. From there, the group had returned to
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  the library, and here mister Duval pointed to an old escritoire which stood in
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  one window, unused now as a writing table. Its surface seemed a good
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  deal warped from the sunlight which had come in upon it, probably for many
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  years. This could be the one you told us about in your dream,
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  mister Duval said, furtively, watching her face and esther, recognized that it
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  was indeed the same, with a sharp thrill, but she laughed a little
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  nervously as she evaded a direct reply. Mister Duval was examining it closely,
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  passing smooth, finely moving fingers over all its sides and top. There is
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  probably some secret spring. He said. It would be amusing if your dream
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  came true and it disclosed deparchment and the drops of blood. But for some
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  reason Esther did not wish him to find it. If there was any spring,
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  she would examine it herself another time. With Ada alone and Sir George
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  watching now intently, felt all sorts of queer ideas come into his head.
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  By the time they said good night, the feeling that there was something going
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  on underneath grew so strong that he determined not to undress or go to bed.
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  He is going to have a try at opening that old bureau. I'd
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  make any bet, he said to himself, And I'll balk him if I
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  can, and discover what is up. So he pretended to be tired and
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  go on to his room when the other men moved to the smoking room,
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  which was in a side wing after the ladies had left. But in reality
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  he waited until he thought the butler would have extinguished the lights in the library
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  and the middle part of the house, and then he lit his candle and
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  softly crept down and stretched himself upon a sofa rather behind a screen, while
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  the dying embers of the fire gave a mysterious glow all over the rest of
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  the room and in the cedar chamber esther. Tired out and rather saddened at
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  the estrangement which she felt had grown up in the day between herself and her
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  hitherto ardent would be lover, got hastily to bed. It was her own
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  fault. She knew she had been most capricious and talked far too much to
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  the foreign man, whom she realized now she rather disliked. Underneath. She
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  had been foolish and nervous and jumpy to day, and she felt quite ashamed
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  of herself. But in a very short time she grew sleepy and all became
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  a blank, until with startling vividness for the third time, dream returned again,
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  and to it was added a dim figure which seemed to beckon to her
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  and compel her to rise and follow. From her warm, soft bed,
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  it seemed that she crept across the room to a panel beside the fireplace,
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  fascinated but without fear, following the ghostly shape, which, when it turned
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  its face looked so strangely like herself. And the panel glided back, disclosing
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  a dark opening, and still she was impelled to enter its black depths,
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  and all the while she felt herself descending a narrow stair, a dim iridescence
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  seemed like a nimbus to encircle the head of that faint wraith which was leading
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  her on where Meanwhile, in the library, Sir George was almost dozing off
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  to sleep on his sofa in the shadow of the screen. The clock had
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  struck two, and the fire had burnt so very low that hardly even a
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  glow now illumined the room. But a broad shaft of moonlight came in from
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  the top part of the window, to which the shutters did not reach.
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  It was composed of small panes with a coat of arms emblazoned in the center,
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  and the beams of the moon threw some weird shades upon the floor and
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  upon the old aescretoire, which happened to stand in its path of light.
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  Sir George thought to himself that he had, after all, perhaps been mistaken.
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  The foreigner had probably gone to bed with the rest, and he too
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  would turn in. When just as his meditations reached this far, he heard
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  the faintest noise of the door opening, and some one with stealthy footsteps cautiously
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  advance up the room, he felt, rather than saw, that it was
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  Ambrose Duval. As he sprang to his feet, he was securely hidden in
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  the black shadow of the screen. The man went softly to the shutter of
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  the moonlit window and with quiet, nervous hands undid its old fashioned bolt,
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  letting in a still broader shaft of light, which now allowed every detail of
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  the old bureau to be seen. Then he came eagerly to its side,
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  and Sir George held his breath and leaned forward, not to miss anything of
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  what might be going to happen. Mister Duval seemed to be feeling the lid,
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  which he opened with care, and then a search began for the secret
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  spring. And once or twice as he looked up as if for inspiration,
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  his face seemed like a fiend's in the ashen light. At last he appeared
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  to have discovered something. A drawer flew open with a jerk, and he
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  gave a sharp exclamation of pain. Some part of the steel spring had evidently
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  wounded his hand, but his hesitation was only momentary. With frantic eagerness,
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  he now drew forth a roll from the secret place. It looked to Sir
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  George like an old yellow parchment, and as Ambrose Duval bent to scrutinize it
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  with devilish satisfaction upon his face, there dropped from the cut on his hand
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  some drops of blood. The scene was the exact reproduction of missus Charter's dream
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  end of Section three.