FullReads

“But what was the good of that?” rejoined a pert young one. “That could not undo what was done.”

“Yes, it could.”

“What! bring the dead to life?”

“No; but comfort the murderer. I could not bear to see the pitiable misery he was in. He was far happier with the rope round his neck, than he was with the purse in his pocket. I saved him from killing himself too.”

“How did you make him confess?”

“Only by wallowing on the wall a little.”

“How could that make him tell?”

“He knows.”

The Shadow was silent; and the king turned to another, who was preparing to speak.

“I made a fashionable mother repent.”

“How?” broke from several voices, in whose sound was mingled a touch of incredulity.

“Only by making a little coffin on the wall,” was the reply.

“Did the fashionable mother confess too?”

“She had nothing more to confess than everybody knew.”

“What did everybody know then?”

“That she might have been kissing a living child, when she followed a dead one to the grave.–The next will fare better.”

“I put a stop to a wedding,” said another.

“Horrid shade!” remarked a poetic imp.

“How?” said others. “Tell us how.”

“Only by throwing a darkness, as if from the branch of a sconce, over the forehead of a fair girl.–They are not married yet, and I do not think they will be. But I loved the youth who loved her. How he started! It was a revelation to him.”

“But did it not deceive him?”

“Quite the contrary.”

“But it was only a shadow from the outside, not a shadow coming through from the soul of the girl.”

“Yes. You may say so. But it was all that was wanted to make the meaning of her forehead manifest–yes, of her whole face, which had now and then, in the pauses of his passion, perplexed the youth. All of it, curled nostrils, pouting lips, projecting chin, instantly fell into harmony with that darkness between her eyebrows. The youth understood it in a moment, and went home miserable. And they’re not married yet.”

“I caught a toper alone, over his magnum of port,” said a very dark Shadow; “and didn’t I give it him! I made delirium tremens first; and then I settled into a funeral, passing slowly along the length of the opposite wall. I gave him plenty of plumes and mourning coaches. And then I gave him a funeral service, but I could not manage to make the surplice white, which was all the better for such a sinner. The wretch stared till his face passed from purple to grey, and actually left his fifth glass only, unfinished, and took refuge with his wife and children in the drawing-room, much to their surprise. I believe he actually drank a cup of tea; and although I have often looked in since, I have never caught him again, drinking alone at least.”

“But does he drink less? Have you done him any good?”

“I hope so; but I am sorry to say I can’t feel sure about it.”

“Humph! Humph! Humph!” grunted various shadow throats.

“I had such fun once!” cried another. “I made such game of a young clergyman!”

“You have no right to make game of anyone.”

“Oh yes, I have–when it is for his good. He used to study his sermons–where do you think?”

“In his study, of course. Where else should it be?”

“Yes and no. Guess again.”

“Out amongst the faces in the streets.”

“Guess again.”

“In still green places in the country?”

“Guess again.”

“In old books?”

“Guess again.”

“No, no. Tell us.”

“In the looking glass. Ha! ha! ha!”

“He was fair game; fair shadow game.”

“I thought so. And I made such fun of him one night on the wall! He had sense enough to see that it was himself, and very like an ape. So he got ashamed, turned the mirror with its face to the wall, and thought a little more about his people, and a little less about himself. I was very glad; for, please your majesty,”–and here the speaker turned towards the king–“we don’t like the creatures that live in the mirrors. You call them ghosts, don’t you?”