"My throat! my throat is scorched," murmured the voice. "A dropof water!""What thing art thou?" said the brain-stricken youth, drawingnear the bed and tearing asunder its curtains. "Whose voice hastthou stolen for thy murmurs and miserable petitions, as if LadyEleanore could be conscious of mortal infirmity? Fie! Heap of diseasedmortality, why lurkest thou in my lady's chamber?""O Jervase Helwyse," said the voice- and as it spoke the figurecontorted itself, struggling to hide its blasted face- "look not nowon the woman you once loved! The curse of Heaven hath stricken me,because I would not call man my brother, nor woman sister. I wrappedmyself in PRIDE as in a MANTLE, and scorned the sympathies ofnature; and therefore has nature made this wretched body the medium ofa dreadful sympathy. You are avenged- they are all avenged- Natureis avenged- for I am Eleanore Rochcliffe!"The malice of his mental disease, the bitterness lurking at thebottom of his heart, mad as he was, for a blighted and ruined life,and love that had been paid with cruel scorn, awoke within thebreast of Jervase Helwyse. He shook his finger at the wretched girl,and the chamber echoed, the curtains of the bed were shaken, withhis outburst of insane merriment.
"Another triumph for the Lady Eleanore!" he cried. "All have beenher victims! Who so worthy to be the final victim as herself?"Impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed intellect, he snatchedthe fatal mantle and rushed from the chamber and the house. That nighta procession passed, by torchlight, through the streets, bearing inthe midst the figure of a woman, enveloped with a richly embroideredmantle; while in advance stalked Jervase Helwyse, waving the redflag of the pestilence. Arriving opposite the Province House, themob burned the effigy, and a strong wind came and swept away theashes. It was said that, from that very hour, the pestilence abated,as if its sway had some mysterious connection, from the first plaguestroke to the last, with Lady Eleanore's Mantle. A remarkableuncertainty broods over that unhappy lady's fate. There is a belief,however, that in a certain chamber of this mansion a female form maysometimes be duskily discerned, shrinking into the darkest cornerand muffling her face within an embroidered mantle. Supposing thelegend true, can this be other than the once proud Lady Eleanore?
THE END
.
1834
TWICE-TOLD TALES
MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CASTROPHE
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
A YOUNG FELLOW, a tobacco pedlar by trade, was on his way fromMorristown, where he had dealt largely with the Deacon of the Shakersettlement, to the village of Parker's Falls, on Salmon River. Hehad a neat little cart, painted green, with a box of cigars depictedon each side panel, and an Indian chief, holding a pipe and a goldentobacco stalk, on the rear. The pedlar drove a smart little mare,and was a young man of excellent character, keen at a bargain, butnone the worse liked by the Yankees: who, as I have heard them say,would rather be shaved with a sharp razor than a dull one.
Especially was he beloved by the pretty girls along the Connecticut,whose favor he used to court by presents of the best smoking tobaccoin his stock; knowing well that the country lasses of New Englandare generally great performers on pipes. Moreover, as will be seenin the course of my story, the pedlar was inquisitive, and somethingof a tattler, always itching to hear the news and anxious to tell itagain.
After an early breakfast at Morristown, the tobacco pedlar, whosename was Dominicus Pike, had travelled seven miles through asolitary piece of woods, without speaking a word to anybody buthimself and his little gray mare. It being nearly seven o'clock, hewas as eager to hold a morning gossip as a city shopkeeper to read themorning paper. An opportunity seemed at hand when, after lighting acigar with a sun-glass, he looked up, and perceived a man comingover the brow of the hill, at the foot of which the pedlar had stoppedhis green cart. Dominicus watched him as he descended and noticed thathe carried a bundle over his shoulder on the end of a stick, andtravelled with a weary, yet determined pace. He did not look as ifhe had started in the freshness of the morning, but had footed itall night, and meant to do the same all day.
"Good morning, mister," said Dominicus, when within speakingdistance. "You go a pretty good jog. What's the latest news atParker's Falls?"The man pulled the broad brim of a gray hat over his eyes, andanswered, rather suddenly, that he did not come from Parker's Falls,which, as being the limit of his own day's journey, the pedlar hadnaturally mentioned in his inquiry.
"Well then, rejoined Dominicus Pike, "let's have the latest newswhere you did come from. I'm not particular about Parker's Falls.
Any place will answer."
Being thus importuned, the traveller- who was as ill looking afellow as one would desire to meet in a solitary piece of woods-appeared to hesitate a little, as if he was either searching hismemory for news, or weighing the expediency of telling it. At last,mounting on the step of the cart, he whispered in the ear ofDominicus, though he might have shouted aloud and no other mortalwould have heard him.
"I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. "Old Mr.
Higginbotham, of Kimballton, was murdered in his orchard, at eighto'clock last night, by an Irishman and a nigger. They strung him up tothe branch of a St. Michael's pear-tree, where nobody would find himtill the morning."As soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated, thestranger betook himself to his journey again, with more speed thanever, not even turning his head when Dominicus invited him to smokea Spanish cigar and relate all the particulars. The pedlar whistled tohis mare and went up the hill, pondering on the doleful fate of Mr.
