The Lady of the Shroud by Bram Stoker (knowledgeable books to read .txt) 📖

in the

wish to do him honour—though not in the way by which danger might be

carried on the wings of love. My brothers, our newest brother comes

to us from the Great Nation which amongst the nations has been our

only friend, and which has ere now helped us in our direst need—that

mighty Britain whose hand has ever been raised in the cause of

freedom. We of the Blue Mountains know her best as she stands with

sword in hand face to face with our foes. And this, her son and now

our brother, brings further to our need the hand of a giant and the

heart of a lion. Later on, when danger does not ring us round, when

silence is no longer our outer guard; we shall bid him welcome in

true fashion of our land. But till then he will believe—for he is

great-hearted—that our love and thanks and welcome are not to be

measured by sound. When the time comes, then shall be sound in his

honour—not of rifles alone, but bells and cannon and the mighty

voice of a free people shouting as one. But now we must be wise and

silent, for the Turk is once again at our gates. Alas! the cause of

his former coming may not be, for she whose beauty and nobility and

whose place in our nation and in our hearts tempted him to fraud and

violence is not with us to share even our anxiety.”

 

Here his voice broke, and there arose from all a deep wailing sound,

which rose and rose till the woods around us seemed broken by a

mighty and long-sustained sob. The orator saw that his purpose was

accomplished, and with a short sentence finished his harangue: “But

the need of our nation still remains!” Then, with an eloquent

gesture to me to proceed, he merged in the crowd and disappeared.

 

How could I even attempt to follow such a speaker with any hope of

success? I simply told them what I had already done in the way of

help, saying:

 

“As you needed arms, I have got them. My agent sends me word through

the code between us that he has procured for me—for us—fifty

thousand of the newest-pattern rifles, the French Ingis-Malbron,

which has surpassed all others, and sufficient ammunition to last for

a year of war. The first section is in hand, and will soon be ready

for consignment. There are other war materials, too, which, when

they arrive, will enable every man and woman—even the children—of

our land to take a part in its defence should such be needed. My

brothers, I am with you in all things, for good or ill!”

 

It made me very proud to hear the mighty shout which arose. I had

felt exalted before, but now this personal development almost

unmanned me. I was glad of the long-sustained applause to recover my

self-control.

 

I was quite satisfied that the meeting did not want to hear any other

speaker, for they began to melt away without any formal notification

having been given. I doubt if there will be another meeting soon

again. The weather has begun to break, and we are in for another

spell of rain. It is disagreeable, of course; but it has its own

charm. It was during a spell of wet weather that the Lady of the

Shroud came to me. Perhaps the rain may bring her again. I hope so,

with all my soul.

 

RUPERT’S JOURNAL—Continued.

April 23, 1907.

 

The rain has continued for four whole days and nights, and the lowlying ground is like a quagmire in places. In the sunlight the whole

mountains glisten with running streams and falling water. I feel a

strange kind of elation, but from no visible cause. Aunt Janet

rather queered it by telling me, as she said good-night, to be very

careful of myself, as she had seen in a dream last night a figure in

a shroud. I fear she was not pleased that I did not take it with all

the seriousness that she did. I would not wound her for the world if

I could help it, but the idea of a shroud gets too near the bone to

be safe, and I had to fend her off at all hazards. So when I doubted

if the Fates regarded the visionary shroud as of necessity

appertaining to me, she said, in a way that was, for her, almost

sharp:

 

“Take care, laddie. ‘Tis ill jesting wi’ the powers o’ time

Unknown.”

 

Perhaps it was that her talk put the subject in my mind. The woman

needed no such aid; she was always there; but when I locked myself

into my room that night, I half expected to find her in the room. I

was not sleepy, so I took a book of Aunt Janet’s and began to read.

The title was “On the Powers and Qualities of Disembodied Spirits.”

“Your grammar,” said I to the author, “is hardly attractive, but I

may learn something which might apply to her. I shall read your

book.” Before settling down to it, however, I thought I would have a

look at the garden. Since the night of the visit the garden seemed

to have a new attractiveness for me: a night seldom passed without

my having a last look at it before turning in. So I drew the great

curtain and looked out.

 

The scene was beautiful, but almost entirely desolate. All was

ghastly in the raw, hard gleams of moonlight coming fitfully through

the masses of flying cloud. The wind was rising, and the air was

damp and cold. I looked round the room instinctively, and noticed

that the fire was laid ready for lighting, and that there were small-cut logs of wood piled beside the hearth. Ever since that night I

have had a fire laid ready. I was tempted to light it, but as I

never have a fire unless I sleep in the open, I hesitated to begin.

I went back to the window, and, opening the catch, stepped out on the

terrace. As I looked down the white walk and let my eyes range over

the expanse of the garden, where everything glistened as the

moonlight caught the wet, I half expected to see some white figure

flitting amongst the shrubs and statues. The whole scene of the

former visit came back to me so vividly that I could hardly believe

that any time had passed since then. It was the same scene, and

again late in the evening. Life in Vissarion was primitive, and

early hours prevailed—though not so late as on that night.

 

As I looked I thought I caught a glimpse of something white far away.

It was only a ray of moonlight coming through the rugged edge of a

cloud. But all the same it set me in a strange state of

perturbation. Somehow I seemed to lose sight of my own identity. It

was as though I was hypnotized by the situation or by memory, or

perhaps by some occult force. Without thinking of what I was doing,

or being conscious of any reason for it, I crossed the room and set

light to the fire. Then I blew out the candle and came to the window

again. I never thought it might be a foolish thing to do—to stand

at a window with a light behind me in this country, where every man

carries a gun with him always. I was in my evening clothes, too,

with my breast well marked by a white shirt. I opened the window and

stepped out on the terrace. There I stood for many minutes,

thinking. All the time my eyes kept ranging over the garden. Once I

thought I saw a white figure moving, but it was not followed up, so,

becoming conscious that it was again beginning to rain, I stepped

back into the room, shut the window, and drew the curtain. Then I

realized the comforting appearance of the fire, and went over and

stood before it.

 

Hark! Once more there was a gentle tapping at the window. I rushed

over to it and drew the curtain.

 

There, out on the rain-beaten terrace, stood the white shrouded

figure, more desolate-appearing than ever. Ghastly pale she looked,

as before, but her eyes had an eager look which was new. I took it

that she was attracted by the fire, which was by now well ablaze, and

was throwing up jets of flame as the dry logs crackled. The leaping

flames threw fitful light across the room, and every gleam threw the

white-clad figure into prominence, showing the gleam of the black

eyes, and fixing the stars that lay in them.

 

Without a word I threw open the window, and, taking the white hand

extended to me, drew into the room the Lady of the Shroud.

 

As she entered and felt the warmth of the blazing fire, a glad look

spread over her face. She made a movement as if to run to it. But

she drew back an instant after, looking round with instinctive

caution. She closed the window and bolted it, touched the lever

which spread the grille across the opening, and pulled close the

curtain behind it. Then she went swiftly to the door and tried if it

was locked. Satisfied as to this, she came quickly over to the fire,

and, kneeling before it, stretched out her numbed hands to the blaze.

Almost on the instant her wet shroud began to steam. I stood

wondering. The precautions of secrecy in the midst of her suffering-

-for that she did suffer was only too painfully manifest—must have

presupposed some danger. Then and there my mind was made up that

there should no harm assail her that I by any means could fend off.

Still, the present must be attended to; pneumonia and other ills

stalked behind such a chill as must infallibly come on her unless

precautions were taken. I took again the dressing-gown which she had

worn before and handed it to her, motioning as I did so towards the

screen which had made a dressing-room for her on the former occasion.

To my surprise she hesitated. I waited. She waited, too, and then

laid down the dressing-gown on the edge of the stone fender. So I

spoke:

 

“Won’t you change as you did before? Your—your frock can then be

dried. Do! It will be so much safer for you to be dry clad when you

resume your own dress.”

 

“How can I whilst you are here?”

 

Her words made me stare, so different were they from her acts of the

other visit. I simply bowed—speech on such a subject would be at

least inadequate—and walked over to the window. Passing behind the

curtain, I opened the window. Before stepping out on to the terrace,

I looked into the room and said:

 

“Take your own time. There is no hurry. I dare say you will find

there all you may want. I shall remain on the terrace until you

summon me.” With that I went out on the terrace, drawing close the

glass door behind me.

 

I stood looking out on the dreary scene for what seemed a very short

time, my mind in a whirl. There came a rustle from within, and I saw

a dark brown figure steal round the edge of the curtain. A white

hand was raised, and beckoned me to come in. I entered, bolting the

window behind me. She had passed across the room, and was again

kneeling before the fire with her hands outstretched. The shroud was

laid in partially opened folds on one side of the hearth, and was

steaming heavily. I brought over some cushions and pillows, and made

a