The Ghost Book by Lady Cynthia Asquith

Author:Lady Cynthia Asquith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WordFire Press

“Oddly enough, I can remember nothing, try as I may, between that strange vigil and the moment when I myself, wakened out of a brief sleep, sat up in bed to see Lunt standing inside my room holding a candle. He was wearing a nightshirt, and looked huge in the candlelight, his black beard falling intensely dark on the white stuff of his shirt. He came very quietly towards my bed, the candle throwing flickering shadows about the room. When he spoke, it was in a voice low and subdued, almost a whisper.

“‘Would you come,’ he asked, ‘only for half an hour—just for half an hour?’ he repeated, staring at me as though he didn’t know me. ‘I’m unhappy without somebody—very unhappy.’

“Then he looked over his shoulder, held the candle high above his head, and stared piercingly at every part of the room. I could see that something had happened to him, that he had taken another step into the country of Fear—a step that had withdrawn him from me and from every other human being.

“He whispered: ‘When you come, tread softly; I don’t want anyone to hear us.’

“I did what I could. I got out of bed, put on my dressing gown and slippers, and tried to persuade him to stay with me. The fire was almost dead, but I told him that we would build it up again, and that we would sit there and wait for the morning; but no, he repeated again and again: ‘It’s better in my own room; we’re safer there.’

“‘Safe from what?’ I asked him, making him look at me. ‘Lunt, wake up! You’re as though you were asleep. There’s nothing to fear. We’ve nobody but ourselves. Stay here and let us talk, and have done with this nonsense.’

“But he wouldn’t answer; only drew me forward down the dark passage, and then turned into his room, beckoning me to follow. He got into bed and sat hunched up there, his hands holding his knees, staring at the door, and every once and again shivering with a little tremor. The only light in the room was that from the candle, now burning low, and the only sound was the purring whisper of the sea.

“It seemed to make little difference to him that I was there. He did not look at me, but only at the door, and when I spoke to him, he did not answer me nor seem to hear what I had said. I sat down beside the bed and, in order to break the silence, talked on about anything, about nothing, and was dropping off, I think, into a confused doze, when I heard his voice breaking across mine.

“Very clearly and distinctly he said: ‘If I killed her, she deserved it; she was never a good wife to me, not from the first; she shouldn’t have irritated me as she did—she knew what my temper was. She had a worse one than mine, though. She can’t touch me; I’m as strong as she is.

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