It had formerly been a place of great magnificence, and the lofty ceilings of the state rooms were decorated with beautiful paintings. But the broad oaken stairs, down which had come so many generations, were thick with dust, and the pale moon, looking through the painted windows, saw only dreary rooms filled with floating shadows. But it was not the loneliness of the place that made it such a thing of horror to the simple folk around. There was said to be a curse on it, for the last proprietor had hanged himself, after spending the remains of his fortune in a last banquet. In the great dining-hall a ragged piece of rope, suspended from a hook in the wall, still showed the place where he committed the deed. It was here, after that last terrible orgie was done—after he had exhausted the wine of life, and found that the lees were bitter indeed—that he came and launched himself into another world. His ghost was said to haunt the scene of his former follies, and wail for the past that could not be undone. But the lights which announced his presence were probably only the glimmer of the moon on the glittering windows; and the wail of the wind whistling through the deserted halls, his voice. But the rustics would have been indignant at such a solution, and firmly held to the belief that, whatever modern science might say to the contrary, there were ghosts, and that Wolfden was haunted by one.
On the death of the last squire the estate had gone into Chancery, and the place to rack and ruin. No tenant could be found for it, even in this ghost-despising age, for the place was eerie, and a cloud hung over it. When the German Professor took it he was looked upon as a wonderfully brave man; and, indeed, it was whispered among the village gossips that he must have some acquaintance with the black art itself since he could trust himself so fearlessly among the ghostly inmates of Wolfden. Superstition still has her votaries, even in this enlightened age, among those lonely hills, and the strange-looking foreigner gave rise to many queer surmises.
The Professor did not occupy all the house, but only a small range of rooms on the right side. Those on the left were the state rooms, and these he shut up, leaving them to their dust and loneliness. Immediately above the rooms on the right side was an octagon-shaped apartment, which the Professor turned into a laboratory for the prosecution of his chemical experiments. A light could be seen in this room far into the small hours, for the Professor preferred working at night instead of in the day time. All day he was at the Hall, in the library with Sir Gilbert, hunting among the books, and helping the baronet with his History of Chemistry. Sir Gilbert was the only member at the Hall with whom the German was on friendly terms. Philippa avoided him, and showed plainly that she did not relish his company, while Lord Dulchester made no attempt to conceal his dislike—a dislike which the Professor cordially returned. The German kept a vigilant watch on Philippa, anxious to seize any opportunity which might offer itself of getting her into his power, for he was firmly resolved in his hideous purpose of killing her so as to add the last ingredient to the elixir. Wherever Philippa went she found those mesmeric eyes fixed steadily on her, like two evil planets blighting her with their malignant influence. Under this continual supervision she began to grow thin and pale. At all times she felt the burning gaze of those eyes, and would start nervously at every sound. Nature could not bear the strain, and at last Philippa saw that unless she removed herself from the influence of the Professor, she would soon be very ill. To this end she took a sudden resolution, and unfolded it to Jack in this wise:
“Jack,” said she, one evening, when they were alone in the drawing-room, and the Professor and Sir Gilbert were talking science over their wine; “do you believe in the evil eye?”
Lord Dulchester, who was gazing idly into the fire, turned round in dismay.
“Good heavens, Philippa, what put that idea into your head?”
“I believe the Professor has the evil eye,” went on Philippa, solemnly. “Whenever I look at him I always find his eyes fixed on me.”
“Just give me leave, and I’ll soon settle his eyes,” said Jack, grimly.
“Don’t be a fool, Jack,” was Miss Philippa’s ungrateful retort; “he is a friend of papa’s.”
“He doesn’t stay here,” replied Dulchester, sulkily.
“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” answered Philippa, candidly; “he is here every day. But, Jack,” she went on, “I can’t stand this much longer. I am sure I shall be ill——”
“You do look rather pale,” interjected Jack, eyeing her anxiously.
“So I have made up my mind to go up to London and stay with Aunt Gertrude.”
“Oh!”
Lord Dulchester gave a shiver. He had reason to remember that high-browed, Roman-nosed matron, who had hunted him through several seasons in the most determined manner, to secure him for one of her daughters, who were all equally high-browed and Roman-nosed.
“Don’t make faces, Jack,” said Philippa, smiling, for he had confided to her the system of social persecution to which her cousins had subjected him. “You need not come.”
“Oh, won’t I though,” retorted Dulchester, vivaciously. “I am not afraid; I am an engaged man now.”
“Jack,” said his lady-love, solemnly, with a malicious twinkle in her eye, “let me implore you not to let my beautiful cousins win your heart from me, for you know your engagement will be no obstacle; and oh, Lord Dulchester, they have brought the art of flirting to a very high state of perfection.”
“Let them try it on,” said Jack, laughing gaily at the idea; “I am quite willing to risk it, Phil.”
And so it was arranged. Philippa wrote to her aunt and received an effusive answer, stating that she would only be too glad, especially as they were going for the winter to the south of France; did dear Philippa mind? No, dear Philippa didn’t; she would have gone to the North Pole if necessary, to escape from those terrible eyes of the Professor. So she began to make arrangements, and fixed an early day for her departure.
* * *
Wolfden, November 22nd.—I have been peculiarly unfortunate with regard to the last ingredient of the elixir. I am no nearer the accomplishment of my desire than before. Miss Harkness persistently avoids me, and I am unable to get her alone. That lover is always with her, and I suspect would have no hesitation in doing me a personal injury. He hates me, I see, for he does not take the least pains to conceal his feelings. This is unfortunate, for it adds to my difficulties in the accomplishment of my design. I have asked Miss Harkness over here, but she persistently refuses to come; and at times I despair of getting her at all. Now, to add to my difficulties in the matter, she has arranged to go to the south of France, where, as she told me, she will probably stay for a long time. It is an impossibility for me to prolong my stay in England beyond the six months, so if she goes away now there is every probability that I shall lose her. There is yet a week before she leaves, so I may think of some plan before then whereby to accomplish my purpose. The thought often comes across me that if I kill her I shall be liable to the law of England. The law has no sympathy with the sacred cause of science, and would hang me for the murder (as it would call it) as calmly as if I were some common felon who had beaten his wife to death. It cannot be helped. If I wish to perfect this great discovery I see that there is no alternative but to become a victim to the law. But my discovery will live after me, and I shall be looked on as a glorious martyr to the cause of science. I will give this diary—in the event of my being hanged for the sacrifice of this girl on the altar of science—to some learned savant in my own country, to edit, and the world shall see how gradually I was led to the crowning act of my life. I shall be honoured as a martyr; therefore I have no hesitation in committing the deed which is likely to bring me within the arm of the law. “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church,” and my death shall be the means of giving to man an elixir by which to foresee both past and future. He will be able to see far ahead, and avert from the world those calamities which hitherto have fallen on it owing to the darkness which has veiled the future. What