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diff --git a/924-h/924-h.htm b/924-h/924-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ec4df58 --- /dev/null +++ b/924-h/924-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,996 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>To be Read at Dusk, by Charles Dickens</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, To be Read at Dusk, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: To be Read at Dusk + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: January 11, 2015 [eBook #924] +[This file was first posted on May 30, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO BE READ AT DUSK*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1905 Chapman & Hall edition (<i>The +Works of Charles Dickens</i>, volume 28) by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1><span class="smcap">To be Read at Dusk</span></h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">By CHARLES DICKENS</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.<br +/> +NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS<br /> +1905</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span>, two, three, four, five. +There were five of them.</p> +<p>Five couriers, sitting on a bench outside the convent on the +summit of the Great St. Bernard in Switzerland, looking at the +remote heights, stained by the setting sun as if a mighty +quantity of red wine had been broached upon the mountain top, and +had not yet had time to sink into the snow.</p> +<p>This is not my simile. It was made for the occasion by +the stoutest courier, who was a German. None of the others +took any more notice of it than they took of me, sitting on +another bench on the other side of the convent door, smoking my +cigar, like them, and—also like them—looking at the +reddened snow, and at the lonely shed hard by, where the bodies +of belated travellers, dug out of it, slowly wither away, knowing +no corruption in that cold region.</p> +<p>The wine upon the mountain top soaked in as we looked; the +mountain became white; the sky, a very dark blue; the wind rose; +and the air turned piercing cold. The five couriers +buttoned their rough coats. There being no safer man to +imitate in all such proceedings than a courier, I buttoned +mine.</p> +<p>The mountain in the sunset had stopped the five couriers in a +conversation. It is a sublime sight, likely to stop +conversation. The mountain being now out of the sunset, +they resumed. Not that I had heard any part of their +previous discourse; for indeed, I had not then broken away from +the American gentleman, in the travellers’ parlour of the +convent, who, sitting with his face to the fire, had undertaken +to realise to me the whole progress of events which had led to +the accumulation by the Honourable Ananias Dodger of one of the +largest acquisitions of dollars ever made in our country.</p> +<p>‘My God!’ said the Swiss courier, speaking in +French, which I do not hold (as some authors appear to do) to be +such an all-sufficient excuse for a naughty word, that I have +only to write it in that language to make it innocent; ‘if +you talk of ghosts—’</p> +<p>‘But I <i>don’t</i> talk of ghosts,’ said +the German.</p> +<p>‘Of what then?’ asked the Swiss.</p> +<p>‘If I knew of what then,’ said the German, +‘I should probably know a great deal more.’</p> +<p>It was a good answer, I thought, and it made me curious. +So, I moved my position to that corner of my bench which was +nearest to them, and leaning my back against the convent wall, +heard perfectly, without appearing to attend.</p> +<p>‘Thunder and lightning!’ said the German, warming, +‘when a certain man is coming to see you, unexpectedly; +and, without his own knowledge, sends some invisible messenger, +to put the idea of him into your head all day, what do you call +that? When you walk along a crowded street—at +Frankfort, Milan, London, Paris—and think that a passing +stranger is like your friend Heinrich, and then that another +passing stranger is like your friend Heinrich, and so begin to +have a strange foreknowledge that presently you’ll meet +your friend Heinrich—which you do, though you believed him +at Trieste—what do you call <i>that</i>?’</p> +<p>‘It’s not uncommon, either,’ murmured the +Swiss and the other three.</p> +<p>‘Uncommon!’ said the German. +‘It’s as common as cherries in the Black +Forest. It’s as common as maccaroni at Naples. +And Naples reminds me! When the old Marchesa Senzanima +shrieks at a card-party on the Chiaja—as I heard and saw +her, for it happened in a Bavarian family of mine, and I was +overlooking the service that evening—I say, when the old +Marchesa starts up at the card-table, white through her rouge, +and cries, “My sister in Spain is dead! I felt her +cold touch on my back!”—and when that sister +<i>is</i> dead at the moment—what do you call +that?’</p> +<p>‘Or when the blood of San Gennaro liquefies at the +request of the clergy—as all the world knows that it does +regularly once a-year, in my native city,’ said the +Neapolitan courier after a pause, with a comical look, +‘what do you call that?’</p> +<p>‘<i>That</i>!’ cried the German. +‘Well, I think I know a name for that.’</p> +<p>‘Miracle?’ said the Neapolitan, with the same sly +face.</p> +<p>The German merely smoked and laughed; and they all smoked and +laughed.</p> +<p>‘Bah!’ said the German, presently. ‘I +speak of things that really do happen. When I want to see +the conjurer, I pay to see a professed one, and have my +money’s worth. Very strange things do happen without +ghosts. Ghosts! Giovanni Baptista, tell your story of +the English bride. There’s no ghost in that, but +something full as strange. Will any man tell me +what?’</p> +<p>As there was a silence among them, I glanced around. He +whom I took to be Baptista was lighting a fresh cigar. He +presently went on to speak. He was a Genoese, as I +judged.</p> +<p>‘The story of the English bride?’ said he. +‘Basta! one ought not to call so slight a thing a +story. Well, it’s all one. But it’s +true. Observe me well, gentlemen, it’s true. +That which glitters is not always gold; but what I am going to +tell, is true.’</p> +<p>He repeated this more than once.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Ten years ago, I took my credentials to an English gentleman +at Long’s Hotel, in Bond Street, London, who was about to +travel—it might be for one year, it might be for two. +He approved of them; likewise of me. He was pleased to make +inquiry. The testimony that he received was +favourable. He engaged me by the six months, and my +entertainment was generous.</p> +<p>He was young, handsome, very happy. He was enamoured of +a fair young English lady, with a sufficient fortune, and they +were going to be married. It was the wedding-trip, in +short, that we were going to take. For three months’ +rest in the hot weather (it was early summer then) he had hired +an old place on the Riviera, at an easy distance from my city, +Genoa, on the road to Nice. Did I know that place? +Yes; I told him I knew it well. It was an old palace with +great gardens. It was a little bare, and it was a little +dark and gloomy, being close surrounded by trees; but it was +spacious, ancient, grand, and on the seashore. He said it +had been so described to him exactly, and he was well pleased +that I knew it. For its being a little bare of furniture, +all such places were. For its being a little gloomy, he had +hired it principally for the gardens, and he and my mistress +would pass the summer weather in their shade.</p> +<p>‘So all goes well, Baptista?’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Indubitably, signore; very well.’</p> +<p>We had a travelling chariot for our journey, newly built for +us, and in all respects complete. All we had was complete; +we wanted for nothing. The marriage took place. They +were happy. I was happy, seeing all so bright, being so +well situated, going to my own city, teaching my language in the +rumble to the maid, la bella Carolina, whose heart was gay with +laughter: who was young and rosy.</p> +<p>The time flew. But I observed—listen to this, I +pray! (and here the courier dropped his voice)—I observed +my mistress sometimes brooding in a manner very strange; in a +frightened manner; in an unhappy manner; with a cloudy, uncertain +alarm upon her. I think that I began to notice this when I +was walking up hills by the carriage side, and master had gone on +in front. At any rate, I remember that it impressed itself +upon my mind one evening in the South of France, when she called +to me to call master back; and when he came back, and walked for +a long way, talking encouragingly and affectionately to her, with +his hand upon the open window, and hers in it. Now and +then, he laughed in a merry way, as if he were bantering her out +of something. By-and-by, she laughed, and then all went +well again.</p> +<p>It was curious. I asked la bella Carolina, the pretty +little one, Was mistress unwell?—No.—Out of +spirits?—No.—Fearful of bad roads, or +brigands?—No. And what made it more mysterious was, +the pretty little one would not look at me in giving answer, but +<i>would</i> look at the view.</p> +<p>But, one day she told me the secret.</p> +<p>‘If you must know,’ said Carolina, ‘I find, +from what I have overheard, that mistress is haunted.’</p> +<p>‘How haunted?’</p> +<p>‘By a dream.’</p> +<p>‘What dream?’</p> +<p>‘By a dream of a face. For three nights before her +marriage, she saw a face in a dream—always the same face, +and only One.’</p> +<p>‘A terrible face?’</p> +<p>‘No. The face of a dark, remarkable-looking man, +in black, with black hair and a grey moustache—a handsome +man except for a reserved and secret air. Not a face she +ever saw, or at all like a face she ever saw. Doing nothing +in the dream but looking at her fixedly, out of +darkness.’</p> +<p>‘Does the dream come back?’</p> +<p>‘Never. The recollection of it is all her +trouble.’</p> +<p>‘And why does it trouble her?’</p> +<p>Carolina shook her head.</p> +<p>‘That’s master’s question,’ said la +bella. ‘She don’t know. She wonders why, +herself. But I heard her tell him, only last night, that if +she was to find a picture of that face in our Italian house +(which she is afraid she will) she did not know how she could +ever bear it.’</p> +<p>Upon my word I was fearful after this (said the Genoese +courier) of our coming to the old palazzo, lest some such +ill-starred picture should happen to be there. I knew there +were many there; and, as we got nearer and nearer to the place, I +wished the whole gallery in the crater of Vesuvius. To mend +the matter, it was a stormy dismal evening when we, at last, +approached that part of the Riviera. It thundered; and the +thunder of my city and its environs, rolling among the high +hills, is very loud. The lizards ran in and out of the +chinks in the broken stone wall of the garden, as if they were +frightened; the frogs bubbled and croaked their loudest; the +sea-wind moaned, and the wet trees dripped; and the +lightning—body of San Lorenzo, how it lightened!</p> +<p>We all know what an old palace in or near Genoa is—how +time and the sea air have blotted it—how the drapery +painted on the outer walls has peeled off in great flakes of +plaster—how the lower windows are darkened with rusty bars +of iron—how the courtyard is overgrown with grass—how +the outer buildings are dilapidated—how the whole pile +seems devoted to ruin. Our palazzo was one of the true +kind. It had been shut up close for months. +Months?—years!—it had an earthy smell, like a +tomb. The scent of the orange trees on the broad back +terrace, and of the lemons ripening on the wall, and of some +shrubs that grew around a broken fountain, had got into the house +somehow, and had never been able to get out again. There +was, in every room, an aged smell, grown faint with +confinement. It pined in all the cupboards and +drawers. In the little rooms of communication between great +rooms, it was stifling. If you turned a picture—to +come back to the pictures—there it still was, clinging to +the wall behind the frame, like a sort of bat.</p> +<p>The lattice-blinds were close shut, all over the house. +There were two ugly, grey old women in the house, to take care of +it; one of them with a spindle, who stood winding and mumbling in +the doorway, and who would as soon have let in the devil as the +air. Master, mistress, la bella Carolina, and I, went all +through the palazzo. I went first, though I have named +myself last, opening the windows and the lattice-blinds, and +shaking down on myself splashes of rain, and scraps of mortar, +and now and then a dozing mosquito, or a monstrous, fat, blotchy, +Genoese spider.</p> +<p>When I had let the evening light into a room, master, +mistress, and la bella Carolina, entered. Then, we looked +round at all the pictures, and I went forward again into another +room. Mistress secretly had great fear of meeting with the +likeness of that face—we all had; but there was no such +thing. The Madonna and Bambino, San Francisco, San +Sebastiano, Venus, Santa Caterina, Angels, Brigands, Friars, +Temples at Sunset, Battles, White Horses, Forests, Apostles, +Doges, all my old acquaintances many times +repeated?—yes. Dark, handsome man in black, reserved +and secret, with black hair and grey moustache, looking fixedly +at mistress out of darkness?—no.</p> +<p>At last we got through all the rooms and all the pictures, and +came out into the gardens. They were pretty well kept, +being rented by a gardener, and were large and shady. In +one place there was a rustic theatre, open to the sky; the stage +a green slope; the coulisses, three entrances upon a side, +sweet-smelling leafy screens. Mistress moved her bright +eyes, even there, as if she looked to see the face come in upon +the scene; but all was well.</p> +<p>‘Now, Clara,’ master said, in a low voice, +‘you see that it is nothing? You are +happy.’</p> +<p>Mistress was much encouraged. She soon accustomed +herself to that grim palazzo, and would sing, and play the harp, +and copy the old pictures, and stroll with master under the green +trees and vines all day. She was beautiful. He was +happy. He would laugh and say to me, mounting his horse for +his morning ride before the heat:</p> +<p>‘All goes well, Baptista!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, signore, thank God, very well.’</p> +<p>We kept no company. I took la bella to the Duomo and +Annunciata, to the Café, to the Opera, to the village +Festa, to the Public Garden, to the Day Theatre, to the +Marionetti. The pretty little one was charmed with all she +saw. She learnt Italian—heavens! miraculously! +Was mistress quite forgetful of that dream? I asked Carolina +sometimes. Nearly, said la bella—almost. It was +wearing out.</p> +<p>One day master received a letter, and called me.</p> +<p>‘Baptista!’</p> +<p>‘Signore!’</p> +<p>‘A gentleman who is presented to me will dine here +to-day. He is called the Signor Dellombra. Let me +dine like a prince.’</p> +<p>It was an odd name. I did not know that name. But, +there had been many noblemen and gentlemen pursued by Austria on +political suspicions, lately, and some names had changed. +Perhaps this was one. Altro! Dellombra was as good a +name to me as another.</p> +<p>When the Signor Dellombra came to dinner (said the Genoese +courier in the low voice, into which he had subsided once +before), I showed him into the reception-room, the great sala of +the old palazzo. Master received him with cordiality, and +presented him to mistress. As she rose, her face changed, +she gave a cry, and fell upon the marble floor.</p> +<p>Then, I turned my head to the Signor Dellombra, and saw that +he was dressed in black, and had a reserved and secret air, and +was a dark, remarkable-looking man, with black hair and a grey +moustache.</p> +<p>Master raised mistress in his arms, and carried her to her own +room, where I sent la bella Carolina straight. La bella +told me afterwards that mistress was nearly terrified to death, +and that she wandered in her mind about her dream, all night.</p> +<p>Master was vexed and anxious—almost angry, and yet full +of solicitude. The Signor Dellombra was a courtly +gentleman, and spoke with great respect and sympathy of +mistress’s being so ill. The African wind had been +blowing for some days (they had told him at his hotel of the +Maltese Cross), and he knew that it was often hurtful. He +hoped the beautiful lady would recover soon. He begged +permission to retire, and to renew his visit when he should have +the happiness of hearing that she was better. Master would +not allow of this, and they dined alone.</p> +<p>He withdrew early. Next day he called at the gate, on +horseback, to inquire for mistress. He did so two or three +times in that week.</p> +<p>What I observed myself, and what la bella Carolina told me, +united to explain to me that master had now set his mind on +curing mistress of her fanciful terror. He was all +kindness, but he was sensible and firm. He reasoned with +her, that to encourage such fancies was to invite melancholy, if +not madness. That it rested with herself to be +herself. That if she once resisted her strange weakness, so +successfully as to receive the Signor Dellombra as an English +lady would receive any other guest, it was for ever +conquered. To make an end, the signore came again, and +mistress received him without marked distress (though with +constraint and apprehension still), and the evening passed +serenely. Master was so delighted with this change, and so +anxious to confirm it, that the Signor Dellombra became a +constant guest. He was accomplished in pictures, books, and +music; and his society, in any grim palazzo, would have been +welcome.</p> +<p>I used to notice, many times, that mistress was not quite +recovered. She would cast down her eyes and droop her head, +before the Signor Dellombra, or would look at him with a +terrified and fascinated glance, as if his presence had some evil +influence or power upon her. Turning from her to him, I +used to see him in the shaded gardens, or the large half-lighted +sala, looking, as I might say, ‘fixedly upon her out of +darkness.’ But, truly, I had not forgotten la bella +Carolina’s words describing the face in the dream.</p> +<p>After his second visit I heard master say:</p> +<p>‘Now, see, my dear Clara, it’s over! +Dellombra has come and gone, and your apprehension is broken like +glass.’</p> +<p>‘Will he—will he ever come again?’ asked +mistress.</p> +<p>‘Again? Why, surely, over and over again! +Are you cold?’ (she shivered).</p> +<p>‘No, dear—but—he terrifies me: are you sure +that he need come again?’</p> +<p>‘The surer for the question, Clara!’ replied +master, cheerfully.</p> +<p>But, he was very hopeful of her complete recovery now, and +grew more and more so every day. She was beautiful. +He was happy.</p> +<p>‘All goes well, Baptista?’ he would say to me +again.</p> +<p>‘Yes, signore, thank God; very well.’</p> +<p>We were all (said the Genoese courier, constraining himself to +speak a little louder), we were all at Rome for the +Carnival. I had been out, all day, with a Sicilian, a +friend of mine, and a courier, who was there with an English +family. As I returned at night to our hotel, I met the +little Carolina, who never stirred from home alone, running +distractedly along the Corso.</p> +<p>‘Carolina! What’s the matter?’</p> +<p>‘O Baptista! O, for the Lord’s sake! where +is my mistress?’</p> +<p>‘Mistress, Carolina?’</p> +<p>‘Gone since morning—told me, when master went out +on his day’s journey, not to call her, for she was tired +with not resting in the night (having been in pain), and would +lie in bed until the evening; then get up refreshed. She is +gone!—she is gone! Master has come back, broken down +the door, and she is gone! My beautiful, my good, my +innocent mistress!’</p> +<p>The pretty little one so cried, and raved, and tore herself +that I could not have held her, but for her swooning on my arm as +if she had been shot. Master came up—in manner, face, +or voice, no more the master that I knew, than I was he. He +took me (I laid the little one upon her bed in the hotel, and +left her with the chamber-women), in a carriage, furiously +through the darkness, across the desolate Campagna. When it +was day, and we stopped at a miserable post-house, all the horses +had been hired twelve hours ago, and sent away in different +directions. Mark me! by the Signor Dellombra, who had +passed there in a carriage, with a frightened English lady +crouching in one corner.</p> +<p>I never heard (said the Genoese courier, drawing a long +breath) that she was ever traced beyond that spot. All I +know is, that she vanished into infamous oblivion, with the +dreaded face beside her that she had seen in her dream.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘What do you call <i>that</i>?’ said the German +courier, triumphantly. ‘Ghosts! There are no +ghosts <i>there</i>! What do you call this, that I am going +to tell you? Ghosts! There are no ghosts +<i>here</i>!’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><i>I</i> took an engagement once (pursued the German courier) +with an English gentleman, elderly and a bachelor, to travel +through my country, my Fatherland. He was a merchant who +traded with my country and knew the language, but who had never +been there since he was a boy—as I judge, some sixty years +before.</p> +<p>His name was James, and he had a twin-brother John, also a +bachelor. Between these brothers there was a great +affection. They were in business together, at +Goodman’s Fields, but they did not live together. Mr. +James dwelt in Poland Street, turning out of Oxford Street, +London; Mr. John resided by Epping Forest.</p> +<p>Mr. James and I were to start for Germany in about a +week. The exact day depended on business. Mr. John +came to Poland Street (where I was staying in the house), to pass +that week with Mr. James. But, he said to his brother on +the second day, ‘I don’t feel very well, James. +There’s not much the matter with me; but I think I am a +little gouty. I’ll go home and put myself under the +care of my old housekeeper, who understands my ways. If I +get quite better, I’ll come back and see you before you +go. If I don’t feel well enough to resume my visit +where I leave it off, why <i>you</i> will come and see me before +you go.’ Mr. James, of course, said he would, and +they shook hands—both hands, as they always did—and +Mr. John ordered out his old-fashioned chariot and rumbled +home.</p> +<p>It was on the second night after that—that is to say, +the fourth in the week—when I was awoke out of my sound +sleep by Mr. James coming into my bedroom in his flannel-gown, +with a lighted candle. He sat upon the side of my bed, and +looking at me, said:</p> +<p>‘Wilhelm, I have reason to think I have got some strange +illness upon me.’</p> +<p>I then perceived that there was a very unusual expression in +his face.</p> +<p>‘Wilhelm,’ said he, ‘I am not afraid or +ashamed to tell you what I might be afraid or ashamed to tell +another man. You come from a sensible country, where +mysterious things are inquired into and are not settled to have +been weighed and measured—or to have been unweighable and +unmeasurable—or in either case to have been completely +disposed of, for all time—ever so many years ago. I +have just now seen the phantom of my brother.’</p> +<p>I confess (said the German courier) that it gave me a little +tingling of the blood to hear it.</p> +<p>‘I have just now seen,’ Mr. James repeated, +looking full at me, that I might see how collected he was, +‘the phantom of my brother John. I was sitting up in +bed, unable to sleep, when it came into my room, in a white +dress, and regarding me earnestly, passed up to the end of the +room, glanced at some papers on my writing-desk, turned, and, +still looking earnestly at me as it passed the bed, went out at +the door. Now, I am not in the least mad, and am not in the +least disposed to invest that phantom with any external existence +out of myself. I think it is a warning to me that I am ill; +and I think I had better be bled.’</p> +<p>I got out of bed directly (said the German courier) and began +to get on my clothes, begging him not to be alarmed, and telling +him that I would go myself to the doctor. I was just ready, +when we heard a loud knocking and ringing at the street +door. My room being an attic at the back, and Mr. +James’s being the second-floor room in the front, we went +down to his room, and put up the window, to see what was the +matter.</p> +<p>‘Is that Mr. James?’ said a man below, falling +back to the opposite side of the way to look up.</p> +<p>‘It is,’ said Mr. James, ‘and you are my +brother’s man, Robert.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir. I am sorry to say, Sir, that Mr. John +is ill. He is very bad, Sir. It is even feared that +he may be lying at the point of death. He wants to see you, +Sir. I have a chaise here. Pray come to him. +Pray lose no time.’</p> +<p>Mr. James and I looked at one another. +‘Wilhelm,’ said he, ‘this is strange. I +wish you to come with me!’ I helped him to dress, +partly there and partly in the chaise; and no grass grew under +the horses’ iron shoes between Poland Street and the +Forest.</p> +<p>Now, mind! (said the German courier) I went with Mr. James +into his brother’s room, and I saw and heard myself what +follows.</p> +<p>His brother lay upon his bed, at the upper end of a long +bed-chamber. His old housekeeper was there, and others were +there: I think three others were there, if not four, and they had +been with him since early in the afternoon. He was in +white, like the figure—necessarily so, because he had his +night-dress on. He looked like the figure—necessarily +so, because he looked earnestly at his brother when he saw him +come into the room.</p> +<p>But, when his brother reached the bed-side, he slowly raised +himself in bed, and looking full upon him, said these words:</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">James</span>, <span +class="smcap">you have seen me before</span>, <span +class="smcap">to-night</span>—<span class="smcap">and you +know it</span>!’</p> +<p>And so died!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I waited, when the German courier ceased, to hear something +said of this strange story. The silence was unbroken. +I looked round, and the five couriers were gone: so noiselessly +that the ghostly mountain might have absorbed them into its +eternal snows. By this time, I was by no means in a mood to +sit alone in that awful scene, with the chill air coming solemnly +upon me—or, if I may tell the truth, to sit alone +anywhere. So I went back into the convent-parlour, and, +finding the American gentleman still disposed to relate the +biography of the Honourable Ananias Dodger, heard it all out.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO BE READ AT DUSK***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 924-h.htm or 924-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/2/924 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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