Chapter XIX: Part IV (13)

No doubt I grew very pale; but I talked more fluently and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased--and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound--much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath--and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly--more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men--but the noise steadily increased. O God! what could I do? I foamed--I raved--I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder--louder--louder. And still the men chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard not?

They heard!--they suspected!--they knew!--they were making a mockery of my horror! this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!--and now--again!--hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed--tear up the planks! here! here! it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

THE UNCLE

H. G. BELL

I had an uncle once--a man
Of threescore years and three,
And when my reason's dawn began,
He'd take me on his knee,
And often talk, whole winter nights,
Things that seemed strange to me.

He was a man of gloomy mood,
And few his converse sought;
But, it was said, in solitude
His conscience with him wrought;
And then, before his mental eye,
Some hideous vision brought.

There was not one in all the house
Who did not fear his frown,
Save I, a little, careless child,
Who gamboled up and down,
And often peeped into his room,
And plucked him by his gown.

I was an orphan and alone--
My father was his brother,
And all their lives I knew that they
Had fondly loved each other;
And in my uncle's room there hung
The picture of my mother.

There was a curtain over it--
'Twas in a darkened place,
And few or none had ever looked
Upon my mother's face;
Or seen her pale, expressive smile
Of melancholy grace.

One night--I do remember well,
The wind was howling high,
And through the ancient corridors
It sounded drearily;
I sat and read in that old hall;
My uncle sat close by.

I read--but little understood
The words upon the book,
For with a sidelong glance I marked
My uncle's fearful look,
And saw how all his quivering frame
In strong convulsions shook.

A silent terror o'er me stole,
A strange, unusual dread;
His lips were white as bone--his eyes
Sunk far down in his head;
He gazed on me, but 'twas the gaze
Of the unconscious dead.

Then suddenly he turned him round,
And drew aside the veil
That hung before my mother's face;
Perchance my eyes might fail,
But ne'er before that face to me
Had seemed so ghastly pale.

"Come hither, boy!" my uncle said--
I started at the sound;
'Twas choked and stifled, in his throat,
And hardly utterance found;
"Come hither, boy!" then fearfully
He cast his eyes around.

"That lady was thy mother once--
Thou wert her only child;
O God! I've seen her when she held
Thee in her arms and smiled--
She smiled upon thy father, boy,
'Twas that which drove me wild!

"He was my brother, but his form
Was fairer far than mine;
I grudged not that;--he was the prop
Of our ancestral line,
And manly beauty was of him
A token and a sign.

"Boy! I had loved her too--nay, more,
'Twas I who loved her first;
For months--for years--the golden thought
Within my soul was nursed;
He came--he conquered--they were wed--
My air-blown bubble burst!

"Then on my mind a shadow fell,
And evil hopes grew rife;
The damning thought stuck in my heart,
And cut me like a knife,
That she, whom all my days I loved,
Should be another's wife!

"I left my home--I left the land--
I crossed the raging sea;
In vain--in vain--where'er I turned,
My memory went with me;
My whole existence, night and day,
In memory seemed to be.

"I came again, I found them here--
Thou'rt like thy father, boy--
He doted on that pale face there,
I've seen them kiss and toy--
I've seen him locked in her fond arms,
Wrapped in delirious joy!

"By Heaven! it was a fearful thing,
To see my brother now,
And mark the placid calm that sat
Forever on his brow,
That seemed in bitter scorn to say,
I am more loved than thou!

"He disappeared--draw nearer, child!--
He died--no one knew how;
The murdered body ne'er was found,
The tale is hushed up now;
But there was one who rightly guessed
The hand that struck the blow.

"It drove her mad--yet not his death--
No--not his death alone;
For she had clung to hope, when all
Knew well that there was none;
No, boy! it was a sight she saw
That froze her into stone!

"I am thy uncle, child--why stare
So frightfully aghast?--
The arras waves, but know'st thou not
'Tis nothing but the blast?
I, too, have had my fears like these,
But such vain fears are past.

"I'll show thee what thy mother saw--
I feel 'twill ease my breast,
And this wild tempest-laden night
Suits with the purpose best.
Come hither--thou hast often sought
To open this old chest.

"It has a secret spring; the touch
Is known to me alone;
Slowly I raise the lid, and now--
What see you, that you groan
So heavily? That thing is but
A bare-ribbed skeleton."

A sudden crash--the lid fell down--
Three strides he backward gave,
"Oh, God! it is my brother's self
Returning from the grave!
His grasp of lead is on my throat--
Will no one help or save?"

That night they laid him on his bed,
In raving madness tossed;
He gnashed his teeth, and with wild oaths
Blasphemed the Holy Ghost;
And, ere the light of morning broke,
A sinner's soul was lost.

VI

SCENES FROM THE DRAMA

The selections in this division are cut, condensed, and adapted for
practical use as dramas or monologues. In some cases lines of the
text as well as explanations are written in to connect the scenes
for clearer unity. For scenes from Shakespeare and readings from
the Bible, already universally printed and accessible, see the
indexes and directions as to the omissions of lines in various
cuttings in Fulton and Trueblood's "Choice Readings," published by
Messrs. Ginn & Company.

THE BELLS

HENRY L. WILLIAMS