PAGE 6
The Secret Of Sobriente’s Well
by
She had never been superstitious. As a child she had heard the negroes talk of “the hants,”–that is, “the HAUNTS” or spirits,–but had believed it a part of their ignorance, and unworthy a white child,–the daughter of their master! She had laughed with Dick Ruggles over the illusions of Larry, and had shared her father’s contemptuous disbelief of the wandering visitant being anything but a living man; yet she would have screamed for assistance now, only for the greater fear of making her weakness known to Mr. Starbuck, and being dependent upon him for help. And with it came the sudden conviction that HE had seen this awful vision, too. This would account for his impatience of her presence and his rudeness. She felt faint and giddy. Yet after the first shock had passed, her old independence and pride came to her relief. She would go to the spot and examine it. If it were some trick or illusion, she would show her superiority and have the laugh on Starbuck. She set her white teeth, clenched her little hands, and started out into the moonlight. But alas! for women’s weakness. The next moment she uttered a scream and almost fell into the arms of Mr. Starbuck, who had stepped out of the shadows beside her.
“So you see you HAVE been frightened,” he said, with a strange, forced laugh; “but I warned you about going out alone!”
Even in her fright she could not help seeing that he, too, seemed pale and agitated, at which she recovered her tongue and her self-possession.
“Anybody would be frightened by being dogged about under the trees,” she said pertly.
“But you called out before you saw me,” he said bluntly, “as if something had frightened you. That was WHY I came towards you.”
She knew it was the truth; but as she would not confess to her vision, she fibbed outrageously.
“Frightened,” she said, with pale but lofty indignation. “What was there to frighten me? I’m not a baby, to think I see a bogie in the dark!” This was said in the faint hope that HE had seen something too. If it had been Larry or her father who had met her, she would have confessed everything.
“You had better go in,” he said curtly. “I will see you safe inside the house.”
She demurred at this, but as she could not persist in her first bold intention of examining the locality of the vision without admitting its existence, she permitted him to walk with her to the house, and then at once fled to her own room. Larry and her father noticed their entrance together and their agitated manner, and were uneasy. Yet the colonel’s paternal pride and Larry’s lover’s respect kept the two men from communicating their thoughts to each other.
“The confounded pup has been tryin’ to be familiar, and Polly’s set him down,” thought Larry, with glowing satisfaction.
“He’s been trying some of his sanctimonious Yankee abolition talk on Polly, and she shocked him!” thought the colonel exultingly.
But poor Polly had other things to think of in the silence of her room. Another woman would have unburdened herself to a confidante; but Polly was too loyal to her father to shatter his beliefs, and too high-spirited to take another and a lesser person into her confidence. She was certain that Aunt Chloe would be full of sympathetic belief and speculations, but she would not trust a nigger with what she couldn’t tell her own father. For Polly really and truly believed that she had seen a ghost, no doubt the ghost of the murdered Sobriente, according to Larry’s story. WHY he should appear with only his head above ground puzzled her, although it suggested the Catholic idea of purgatory, and he was a Catholic! Perhaps he would have risen entirely but for that stupid Starbuck’s presence; perhaps he had a message for HER alone. The idea pleased Polly, albeit it was a “fearful joy” and attended with some cold shivering. Naturally, as a gentleman, he would appear to HER–the daughter of a gentleman–the successor to his house–rather than to a Yankee stranger. What was she to do? For once her calm nerves were strangely thrilled; she could not think of undressing and going to bed, and two o’clock surprised her, still meditating, and occasionally peeping from her window upon the moonlit but vacant garden. If she saw him again, would she dare to go down alone? Suddenly she started to her feet with a beating heart! There was the unmistakable sound of a stealthy footstep in the passage, coming towards her room. Was it he? In spite of her high resolves she felt that if the door opened she should scream! She held her breath–the footsteps came nearer–were before her door–and PASSED!