Mr. Gray's Strange Story

What may this mean....
So terribly to shake our dispositions
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls.
--Hamlet, Act 1, Scene IV.

I am a minister of the Presbyterian Church of Canada, fifty yearsold, in
sound health of body and mind. I have never had any belief inspiritualism,
clairvoyance or any similar psychical delusions. My favouritestudies at
college were logic and mathematics, and no one who knew me couldsuspect me
of belonging to that class of enthusiasts in which ghosts andother
preternatural manifestations have their origin. Yet I have hadone strange
experience in my life which apparently contradicts all mytheories of the
universe and its laws, nor have I ever been able to explain it onany
rational hypothesis. That there is some reasonable explanation Ibelieve, and
as there is no one living now, except myself, whom the factsconcern, I have
determined to give them to the world for the benefit of those whoare
interested in abnormal phenomena.

Twenty-five years ago I was minister of a newly built church, ina village
on the shore of Lake Erie. The village had sprung up round thesaw mills of
Mason and Company, lately erected to turn the giant pines thatgrew on the
sandy borders of the lake into lumber. When the pines were allworked up, the
great saw mills and lumber yards sought another locality, and thevillage
which had never had any individuality of its own dropped out ofexistence.

There was no manse, and I boarded in the house of the chiefmember of my
congregation, Mr. Michael Forrest, who owned a fine farm of fourhundred
acres dose to the village.

The Red House Farm, as it was called from the colour of the paintMichael
Forrest liberally bestowed on his buildings and fences, was inthose days a
pleasant place. There peace and plenty reigned, and everythingwithin and
without testified to good management, order and comfort.

My story opens in the parlour of the Red House, where, in theearly
afternoon of a splendid Indian summer day, a young man waswriting at a desk
placed under an open window that looked into a spacious verandahenclosed by
cedar posts round which climbing plants were twined inpicturesque profusion.
This "best room" was never used by the family except onSundays and festal
occasions, and at other times was given up to the minister, theRev. Gilbert
Gray, who writes this narrative.

The hurry and bustle of dinner were over, the dinner thingscleared away
and the kitchen and dining-room made tidy. Mrs. Forrest wassitting in her
rocking chair by the sunny kitchen window, and, her knitting inher lap, was
taking her afternoon nap, her cat curled up at her feet. All wasquiet in the
house till light steps came tripping down stairs, and two prettygirls
entered the verandah, sitting down on the high-backed bench ofrustic work,
each holding some bit of light needle-work in her hands. One wasthe only
child of Farmer Forrest and his wife; the other a niece, broughtup by Mrs.
Forrest from infancy, and filling the place of a second daughter.

I have said they were two pretty girls, but Marjory Forrest wasbeautiful.
She was a tall, graceful blonde, fair and pale, with rose-redlips, violet
eyes, and hair the very colour of sun-light. She looked like theheroine of
some happy love poem--happy, I say, for there was no hint oftragedy in her
pure, serene face. Celia Morris had a Hebe-like face and form,with bright
chestnut hair, merry brown eyes and a laughing mouth, showing tworows of
pearly teeth. She was just eighteen; two years younger thanMarjory.

They made a charming picture in their pretty print dresses, freshand
spotless, their bright heads bending over their work, andcatching the
changing lights and shades coming in through the autumn-tintedleaves. But
the picture darkened and dissolved as a handsome young man stoodin the open
arch of the doorway. The girls smiled a welcome, and, taking offhis hat, he
stepped in and threw himself down on a pile of mats made of thehusks of
Indian corn. He was the son of the head of the great lumber firmof Mason and
Company. His father was a hard-working, self-made man, but heprided himself
on bringing up his son to be a gentleman. Not an idle gentleman,however, and
he had lately sent the young man to the mills to gain somepractical
knowledge of business before admitting him to a juniorpartnership. As there
had been many satisfactory dealings between Mr. Mason and FarmerForrest,
Leonard Mason was made welcome at the Red House, and speedilyestablished
himself on a friendly footing. His frank, unaffected manner, andfreedom from
what Mrs. Forrest called "city airs," pleased thefarmer and his wife; his
knowledge of music and light literature charmed Marjory and Celia.The young
people were on the most familiar and friendly terms, butLeonard's attentions
were so equally divided between them that if he had a preferenceonly a very
close observer could have discerned it.

To-day he did not respond as readily as usual to Celia's livelychatter,
and he soon got up from his seat on the mats, and, placinghimself against
one of the posts, from which point of vantage he could better seeMarjory's
face, said, "I am going to Hamilton."

Marjory looked up with a startled glance. Celia laughed a quicklittle
laugh as she asked, "not this very minute, are you?"

"I am going to-morrow; my father wants me."

"Well, I suppose you mean to come back again," saidCelia lightly.

"Yes, but not for a week. Shall you miss me very much whileI am away?"

"Why, of course; there won't be any one to sing 'Come intothe garden,
Maud.' Will there Marjory?"

"No, indeed," said Marjory.

"I wonder which of you will miss me most. If I knew, I wouldask her to
give me a lock of her hair to wear round my wrist as a keepsake."

Celia's eyes were fixed on Leonard with an eager questioningexpression,
but he was looking at Marjory, who kept her eyes steadily on herwork, though
a faint blush was stealing over her face.

"I'll tell you what we must do," said Leonard. "I'llget two long and two
short lots, and you must both draw. Whoever draws two long lotsloses a lock
of her hair to me.

"I know you won't refuse me," he continued pleadingly,"because there may
be an accident to the train I am going on, and I may be killed,and then
you'd be sorry for having been so unkind."

"What nonsense," cried Celia.

"Not at all," said Leonard, "wise men of oldbelieved in the judgment of
lots." And breaking off a slender vine-tendril he divided itinto two long
and two short lots, arranging them with some mysteriousmanipulations between
his fingers. Then, kneeling on one knee, he held them to Marjory.

Slowly, with tremulous fingers and blushing cheeks, Marjory drewa long
lot. Leonard seemed going to say something, but checking himselfheld out the
lots to Celia. Celia did not blush; she grew deathly pale as shedrew out her
lot. It was a short one.

"I see you don't intend to lose, Miss Celia," saidLeonard.

I think I hear now the wild, hysterical laugh with which sheanswered him.
Then, I did not heed it.

"If you draw a short one this time," said Leonard, ashe again held the
lots to Marjory, "we shall have to try again," but ashe spoke the second
long lot was in her hand.

"Oh, kind fortune!" cried Leonard.

He tried to make Marjory look at him, but she would not meet hiseyes.
Still, those subtle signs that lovers learn to read theflickering flame on
her cheek, the quivering of her lips and eyelids, who can saywhat--gave him
courage. Snatching up her scissors, he held them over her head."May I?" he
asked beseechingly. With shy, timid grace she bent her fair headstill lower;
he felt the mute consent, and the next moment one long braid wassevered from
the rest and lying in his hand.

"Fasten it round my wrist with a true lover's knot," hewhispered, softly
touching her fingers with the braid. She took it at once, and ashe pushed up
his sleeve she wound it round his wrist, Leonard helping her totie the
mystic knot. Holding her hand, which did not try to escape, hedrew her
gently towards him and kissed the virgin lips that confidinglymet his.

At that moment a shadow, as if from the wild flight of a bird,passed
before the window at which I sat, and swift as an arrow from abow Celia
darted out of the verandah. Till then I had seen and heard allthat passed in
a sort of stupor, like that which sometimes takes possession ofone who
listens to his death sentence, though every word is indeliblywritten on the
tablets of his memory. Unwittingly I had been playing the part ofan
eavesdropper. Now consciousness returned, and, like a man comingout of a
trance, I got up and left the room and the house.

. . . . . . .

I had walked fast and far before I returned to the Red House, andthe moon,
a brilliant hunter's moon, was flooding earth and heaven withlight as I came
in sight of the verandah. The inmates seemed all standingoutside, among them
a tall, finely-made young man, whom I at once recognized asArchie Jonson,
farmer Forrest's nephew, generally supposed to be the heir to theRed House
Farm. A marriage between him and Celia had been planned by thefarmer and his
wife while the cousins were children. Archie had always beendevoted to
Celia, and she had been fond of him till he tried to win her forhis wife.
Then, either from coyness or coquetry, she became cold andunresponsive. His
entreaties for an immediate marriage were indignantly refused,and the utmost
concession she would make was that after she was one and twentyshe might
think about it. A quarrel ensued, and, deeply wounded, Archieleft his home.
He was passionately fond of the water, and being known as a braveand skilful
sailor he found no difficulty in obtaining the place of mate onone of the
best schooners on the lakes.

I was surprised at seeing him, as he was not expected home untilafter the
close of navigation, but still more astonished when he came tomeet me before
I reached the house.

"Where's Celia?" he called out as he came near.

"Celia?" I exclaimed, with a sudden feeling of alarm,"Isn't she at home?"

"No; Marjory thought she went with you to the village."

"She hasn't been with me. I haven't seen her."

"My God!" he burst out passionately; "where canshe be?"

"Perhaps she's hiding from you, for fun," I said.

"No; they had missed her before I got here."

The farmer was calling us to come on, and, as soon as we werenear enough,
he told us that shortly after dinner he had seen Celia runningdown the road
to the bush. "But you see," he said, "I was sotaken aback by Leonard coming
to ask me for Marjory, that I forgot I had seen her till thisminute."

"She must have gone to get maple leaves for her Christmaswreath," said
Marjory.

"But what keeps her so late?" said Mrs. Forrest.

"Why, you needn't be scared about her," said thefarmer; "there's nothing
to harm her. There hasn't been a bear or a wolf, or even arattlesnake, seen
in these woods for forty years; nor no such vermin as tramps,neither."

"There's that swamp," rejoined his wife; "she'salways hunting for some
sort of weeds in it, and I often think she'll fall in and getdrowned."

"She couldn't be drowned if she didn't walk into the middleof it on
purpose," said the farmer. "But where's Archie going?"

"To bring home Celia," Archie called back, as he walkedoff at a pace that
soon took him out of sight.

"I'm sure I'm glad he's gone after her," said Mrs.Forrest. "She might have
hurt her foot on a stub or a stone, and not be able to walk."

I suggested that Leonard and I had better follow Archie, andLeonard said
he was going to make the same proposal.

"Archie won't want you," said the farmer. "IfCelia has hurt herself, he
can carry her home as easy as a baby; and like the job, too, Iguess."

"Oh, let them go, father!" said Marjory. "You seehow anxious mother is,
and so am I."

"All right, let them go if they like," said the farmer;adding in an
irritable tone, that showed he was himself getting uneasy, "womenare always
making a fuss about nothing."

The moon was at the full, and the sky without a cloud. Everycluster of
golden rod and purple aster along the fences, every stick andstone on the
road were as dearly seen as at noonday. Leonard and I hurried onfilled with
an unspoken dread. The road was at first in a straight line, buton coming to
a piece of marshy land it turned away to the bush; a path fromthis turning
led to the swamp, a few yards distant.

These swamps are often places of surpassing beauty. There everyspecies of
wild fowl make their nests and rear their young broods, and thebrilliant
flowers and luxuriant leaves of all kinds of water plants formlovely aquatic
gardens, richly coloured with ever-varying tints from April toDecember, and
always the delight of an artist's eye. Round the edges of theswamp the water
is usually shallow enough for the hunters to wade through inpursuit of their
game, but in the centre it is often dangerously deep, and only tobe crossed
in a skiff or canoe.

Where the road divided, Leonard would have kept a straight courseto the
bush, but a terrible fear dragged me in the other direction."No; come this
way!" I cried, and he turned and followed me in silence.Faster and faster we
hurried on till we reached the swamp. There a heart-rending sightmet our
eyes. Archie Jonson was struggling through the beds of water-lilies,reeds
and rushes that obstructed his way, clasping Celia in his arms.Her long hair
fell down dank and dripping, her arms hung stiff and lifeless,her face
gleamed ghastly white under the strong moonlight. She was dead!"Drowned!
drowned!"

As he ran towards him, Archie laid her on a grassy mound. Herlimbs were
not distorted and her face was composed, except that her eyeswere wide open
as if in startled surprise. "You are a doctor as well as aminister," Archie
said to me, hoarsely; "see if there is any life left."

There was none. She had been dead for hours. As I said so, Archiesprung up
from his kneeling attitude beside Celia, and turned to Leonardwith a deadly
rage and hatred in his eyes.

"This is your doing," he said.

"Mine!" exclaimed Leonard. "Are you mad?"

"I am not mad. There is Celia, the girl I loved better thanmy life, lying
dead before my eyes, and you are her murderer!"

"Good Heavens!" cried Leonard, "What do you mean?"

"The shock has been too much for him," I said. "Archie,my poor fellow, you
don't know what you are saying."

"I know very well what I am saying. he--that man there--fooledCelia, poor
little innocent child, with his fine flattering manners till shethought he
was making love to her, and when she found out he had only beenplay-acting
with her, she couldn't bear it. It made her crazy, and she camedown to the
swamp and drowned herself. Oh, my God, she drowned herself. Butit was he
made her do it."

"I never made love to Celia in my life," said Leonard."I loved Marjory
from the first hour I saw her."

"Oh, I dare say. You were only playing with Celia, but shethought you were
in earnest. Listen to me, minister," he continued,controlling his passion
with wonderful self-command; "I had a warning, but I was ablind idiot and
did not take it. Three nights ago, I dreamed that I saw Celiastanding on a
bank sloping down to a big piece of water, and a man was standingbeside her,
and while I was looking on in a stupid kind of wonder, I saw shewas slipping
down towards the water and not able to stop herself, and she heldout her
hand to the man and cried to him to help her, but he turned rightround and
went up the bank. Then I woke, and the dream seemed so real itmade me feel
queer; but I never had any belief in dreams, and when I got upand went out
into the daylight, I laughed at myself for being frightened at anight-mare
and thought no more about it. But the next night the dream cameagain; and
this time I saw Celia throw herself into the water; and the manstood on the
bank and looked on. Then I knew the dream was sent to warn me ofsome danger
to Celia, though I couldn't tell what it meant, and I came homeas quick as I
could. And the first person I saw was the man I had seen in mydream--the man
I am looking at now, and I heard he was going to marry Marjory;and Celia
could not be found. Then when aunt Forrest mentioned the swamp,the meaning
of the dream came to me like a flash, and I made for the swamp,but I had
come too late--too late to save her, but not too late to revengeher wrongs."

I attempted to reason with him as well as I could, and tried toshow him
how wicked and absurd it was to let a dream--a nightmare, as hehad himself
called it--put such wild fancies into his head.

"And you cannot know that she drowned herself; it may havebeen an
accident," I said.

"It was no accident; she drowned herself in her madness.When I got to the
swamp I saw a bit of ribbon hanging on the reeds, and I went ontill I came
to the deep water; there I found her. She had not sunk very fardown because
her skirt had caught on a stake that stood up there, and I gother out easily
enough. But she was dead; and you, Leonard Mason, will have toanswer to me
for her death."

"I tell you I am innocent of her death as you are!"

"Can you swear it?" cried Archie. "Can you swearit while she lies there
before your eyes?"

"I can, I never had any love for Celia, and I never tried tomake her think
I had. I swear it before the God that hears me!"

As Leonard uttered this oath, Archie kept his eyes fixed on himwith
piercing intensity; but Leonard met the searching gaze withoutflinching.

"If you have sworn to a lie," Archie said, "yoursin will find you out, and
you will have to answer to me for what you have done when youleast expect
it."

Then he wheeled round, and going to his dead sweet-heart, tookher in his
arms. "Go before me, minister," he said--"gobefore me, and tell them what is
coming."

He would not allow me to help him, so Leonard and I walked onbefore, and
Archie followed with his piteous burden. He was a tall powerfulyoung man,
besides being under such a strong excitement as gives threefoldstrength to
every nerve, and he carried poor Celia's death-weight, as if shehad been a
living child.

But I can write no more of that night of grief and anguish. Whenthe dismal
morning came, Archie had gone.

. . . . . . .

Three days after her death Celia was laid in the villagegraveyard; a
peaceful spot away from all noise or traffic, on the side of agentle hill
within site of the Red House. No one but Archie Jonson, LeonardMason and
myself ever suspected the manner of her death. It was naturallysupposed that
while gathering flowers in the swamp she had fallen into somehidden pool
from which the water plants that covered it would prevent herescape.

Archie was not at her funeral, nor had he returned to the farm,but, two
days after she was buried, he wrote to Mrs. Forrest telling herthat he had
rejoined his vessel, the White Bird, which was going up LakeSuperior with a
cargo, the last trip she intended to make that season. The lettermade no
mention of Celia and was very brief, but it was calmly andcoherently
written, and the Forrests hoped he intended to come home when theschooner
was laid up. But this gleam of light was soon lost in deeperdarkness. In the
middle of November a letter from the owners of the White Birdcame to Michael
Forrest, informing him that the vessel with all her crew had beenlost on
Lake Superior in one of those sudden storms which, after a longperiod of
fine weather in the fall, sometimes break over the lakes. Herfigure head, on
which her name and that of the firm to which she belonged werecarved, had
been found floating, and recognized by another vessel, confirmingthe fears
for her fate that had been felt. The bodies of the crew werenever found, for
the ice-cold depths of Lake Superior never give up their dead.

The winter passed slowly and sadly at the Red House, but with thespring
came the promise of new hope and joy. Mr. Mason had built apretty house for
Leonard and his bride near the Mills, of which Leonard was to bechief
manager. They were to be married in May, and the month famous forits caprice
wore its fairest aspect that year. The sorrows which Marjory hadgone through
seemed only to have deepened the tender sweetness of her delicatebeauty, and
purified the happiness that illumined her lovely eyes. Leonard,as handsome
and charming as ever, had grown more manly and thoughtful, and,if possible,
was more in love with Marjory than ever. The old people gainednew life from
Marjory's happy prospects, and if I had not known what depths ofregret sad
remembrance can lie silent and secret in the human heart I mighthave thought
that Celia and Archie were forgotten.

The wedding day came in warm and bright, and as full of openingbuds and
blossoms as if it had been expressly made for the occasion. Theceremony was
to take place in the Red House parlour at six o'clock in theevening. The
supper was to follow immediately. The bride and bride-groom werethen to be
driven to the nearest station to meet the train for Hamiltonwhere they were
to stay a few days and then go on to Niagara Falls to spend theremainder of
their honeymoon there.

It was a busy day at the Red House. Two or three young girls fromthe
village came to help in the pleasant task of putting all therooms in festal
array, and in preparing the dainties liberally provided for thewedding
feast.

As the time for the ceremony drew near, the day's excitement rosehigher
and higher. The bridesmaids were dressing the bride, Mrs. Forrestand two
favourite assistants were setting out the supper table. Thefarmer had taken
most of the guests to see his new peach orchard. Two young men,one a cousin
of Leonard's who had come from Hamilton to be the best man, werechatting and
laughing through an open window with two pretty girls who weredecorating the
wedding cake with dainty little flags bearing embroidered mottosplaced among
loves and doves and other appropriate devices in sugar. Leonardand I were
standing in the doorway of the verandah, and the eager bridegroomwas looking
at his watch.

"It only wants twelve minutes to six," he said, "Ihope Marjory is ready."

"Your watch is too fast," I said, laughing. "Minewants fully a quarter."

As I spoke a boy employed to do "chores" came round thebarnyard and said,
"There's a man wants to see Mr. Leonard Mason."

"A man--what man?" asked Leonard impatiently.

"Dun know. He says he must see you for a minute."

"Oh, hang it!" said Leonard. "Well, I suppose Ican give him a minute," and
he stepped out of the verandah. Then, looking back at me, heexclaimed, "I
hope the day is not going to change."

It was already changing. Grey clouds coming up from the lake werecreeping
over the sun. An icy wind followed them, chilling me to the bone,and I heard
a distant peal of thunder. Farmer Forrest came hurrying hisguests into the
verandah. "Is all ready, minister?" he enquired. "Where'sLeonard?"

"He went to the yard to speak to a man that wanted to seehim, I answered.

"Well, we'd best go into the parlour now, and receive thebride and
bridegroom in state," said the farmer leading the way.

As Leonard did not come at once, I went to meet him, wondering athis
delay. The clouds were growing darker; there was a sharp gleam oflightning,
and the thunder that followed showed it was nearer. The storm wascertainly
coming up, but it might be only a shower.

I looked all round the horizon, and while I was noting thedarkening
clouds, two men going up the road to the graveyard came into myview; a gleam
of the fading sunlight making them distinctly visible. The one infront was
more than commonly tall, and led the way with swift, vigorousstrides. He was
dressed in what seemed a sailor's rough jacket and trousers, anda sailor's
glazed hat with floating ribbons. His companion followed him withcuriously
unequal steps, as if dragged by some invisible chain. It was easyto
recognize in this last Leonard in his new wedding suit; and as Igazed the
conviction flashed upon me that the man in front was ArchieJonson. After
all, then, Archie had not been drowned when the White Bird waslost. But by
what strange power had he compelled Leonard to leave his waitingbride and
follow him to the graveyard?

Such an extraordinary proceeding was both mysterious andalarming, and
might be dangerous for Leonard; and on the impulse of the momentI followed
them as fast as I could. I was a rapid walker, but they had astart of some
minutes, and I could not overtake them.

When I entered the graveyard the whole sky was wrapped in a blackpall
except a little space above the plot of ground, bordered withperiwinkles, in
which Celia's grave lay. The white stone at the head of the graveand the
figures of two men beside it stood vividly out under that clearspace, while
the black cloud came swiftly on as if to swallow them up. Thetall man had
his hand on the gravestone, his face was turned towards me and Icould see
every feature. It was Archie Jonson's face, lividly pale; or itmight have
been the shadow of the thunder cloud that made it appear so.Leonard's back
was towards me, and he confronted Archie--if Archie it was--in afixed and
moveless attitude. I saw them distinctly for a moment; the nextthe black
cloud that seemed almost to touch the ground covered them, andall was hidden
from eyes. Then a bolt of blue flame with a red light in itscentre shot from
the cloud, and an awful crash seemed to rend the heavens. Ablinding torrent
of rain succeeded, but it ceased in a minute or two; the cloudpassed on, and
the sun, now near its setting, shone clear in the western sky.Anxiously I
looked round for Leonard and his mysterious companion. Leonardwas lying
stretched on Celia's grave; Archie, or his avenging ghost, orwhatever had
assumed his likeness, had disappeared.

Going up to Leonard, I found him dead; killed by the lightning Isupposed,
though I saw no sign of its having touched him. As I was stillstooping over,
half stunned by the shock, his cousin and two or three otheryoung men came
round me. They had heard a confused account of our having gone tothe
graveyard, and while others were looking for us in the barns andout-houses,
they had come to see if it could be true. We made a rough litterof pine
boughs on which we laid poor Leonard, the young men carrying thebier while I
walked before, wondering how it would be possible for me to tellthe awful
tidings it was my hard fate to bring.

But it was not left to me. Marjory, who had been waiting andwatching in an
agony of terror at Leonard's absence, had seen the ominousprocession coming
down the hill, and before anyone could prevent her she was flyingmadly to
meet it. Desperately I tried to stop her, but she broke away fromme, saw her
lover's dead body lying on the bier, and fell at the feet of thebearers in a
death-like swoon; her dainty wedding dress and fair hair wreathedwith
flowers, lying in the muddy pools the thunder-rain had made.

It was long before she could be brought back to life, and thenher mind was
gone. She remembered nothing of the past, she had no recognitionof the
present; she knew no more, not even her mother; she never spoke,and did not
seem conscious of anything said to her. She lingered a few daysin this
state, and then died so quietly that the watchers did not knowwhen she
passed away.

The poor old people did not long survive the wreck of all theirearthly
hopes. The Red House farm was sold, and Michael Forrest'sproperty was
divided among relations he had never known.

Leonard Mason's death was, of course, attributed to lightning.The "chore"
boy's description of the man with whom Leonard had gone to thegrave was so
fanciful, and so mixed with improbable incidents, that his talewas not
credited by anyone. From some dreamy, incoherent utterances ofMrs.
Forrest's, it was afterwards believed that Leonard had gone tothe graveyard
at Marjory's desire to lay a wreath of flowers on Celia's grave;and when the
conjecture was added that the unknown man must have been anexpress messenger
from Hamilton, bringing the wreath that had delayed by somemistake, the
mystery was supposed to be explained. As for the strange thingsconnected
with this tragedy that had come to my knowledge, I kept themhidden in my
breast.

I have never seen or heard anything of Archie Jonson since hisinexplicable
appearance on that fatal day; and I have been informed that itwas absolutely
impossible the best sailor that ever lived could have escaped insuch a storm
as that in which the White Bird, with her crew, foundered.