The Spectre in the Train.

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[BY HELEN.]

      "Try to get into an empty carriage," said my aunt, as she wished me good-bye, "and do not on any account remain in one with only one other person in it, either man or woman. It is most dangerous; you might be shut up with a lunatic."

      I laughed as I ran lightly down the stairs and sprang into the cab that was to convey me to the station.

      My aunt was a dear old lady, but a most timorous one, and the fortnight that I spent with her had been trying in the extreme, on account of her fears. Our walks abroad had been terrible to me in consequence. If a horse looked over a gate as we passed it was going to jump it and run after us; if a cow lifted her head in neighbouring field, we must walk on quickly for fear of being tossed; all the dogs we met looked mad; all the beggars dangerous tramps, etc. The worry all this was to a healthy country girl may be imagined. But I had patiently borne with this intense fussiness in consideration of her kindness, and had taken solemn walks on the roads when I should have liked to have been scampering across the fields, and had trundled about in her basket carriage behind a venerable pony with hardly a kick left in him.

      Now all this was going to be changed. I had received a telegram that day from some friends who were crossing over to France, telling me to meet them at Charing-cross Station the following morning, and, as I had only been waiting an escort to join my parents in the South of France, I could not miss this opportunity. Hence this night journey.

      I did not share my aunt's fears respecting lunatics; in fact, I hardly knew the meaning of the word 'fear.' I was wild with joy at the thought of going abroad for the first time, and counting the moments until I should meet my mother, who had gone to Cannes for her health some months before, leaving me to pay visits to relatives.

      "Try to find me an empty carriage," I asked a porter; slipping some money into his hand as the train steamed into the station.

      I knew the express did not stop after our station for some time, and I wanted to get a good rest, as I had been to a dance the night before.

      Alas! faces appeared at all the windows; every carriage seemed occupied by one or two persons, they all, like myself, no doubt, trying to find room to rest themselves.

      Just as the train stopped, however, a tall man dashed out of a first-class compartment, pushed hurriedly past me as if pursued, and entered another carriage, already occupied by two persons.

      I had no time to speculate on his reason for changing his seat, for the porter hurried me towards this vacated, carriage, and in the bustle of arranging my small packages, wraps, etc., I forgot all about the circumstance.

      Directly the train started I made myself up a very comfortable bed with the cushions, took off my hat, tied a fleecy shawl over my head, and composed my&elf to slumber.

      In, as it seemed to me, an incredibly short time I was roused from my happy dreams.

      I could not imagine what had awoke me, and I sat up rubbing my eyes. My first sensation had been of intense cold, but it seemed that with all my wraps that could pot have been the cause. Still, drowsy though I was, I felt an icy chill sweep over me, and glanced towards the window at the far end of the carriage to see if it was open.

      The window was up, but to my astonishment I had a fellow passenger.

      How could she have got in? and where? I had been sure of privacy for half-an-hour. I must have slept longer than I thought.

      I laid down again, not feeling inclined to enter into conversation with a stranger, and closed my eyes to prevent her taking the initiative. The cursory glance I had bestowed on her had shown me that she was dressed in black, and by her dress I should not have judged her to be a lady, but her face was turned towards the window, and I only saw a quantity of red-gold hair.

      Again I began to drop off to sleep, and again I was awakened by the same, sensation of cold. This time t started up, wide awake.

      I have said that I hardly knew the meaning of the word "fear." and that was strictly the case. The nearest approach to the sensation I had ever experienced was once when on a runaway horse that was going in the direction of a gravel pit. But then all my energies were concentrated on trying to turn him, and I had not room, as it were, for fear.

      Now an unconquerable feeling of terror seized me. I could not imagine why, and was provoked with myself for the weakness. What was there to frighten me?

      The speed of the train? Never before had such a slight cause affected me in the least. We were certainly going along with great rapidity, but it was not the first time that I had been alone in a carriage going at full speed. Ah! but I was not alone! could that be the reason of my fear? Surely my aunt's silly injunctions could not have had this effect on me?

      At any rate, the sensation of fear was a most unpleasant one, and I must conquer it at once. I sat bolt upright this time, and took a good look at my fellow passenger. She had moved, and this time her face was turned in my direction. Heavens! what a face! It was that of a woman still young, and who had most of the attributes of beauty. Masses of red-gold hair, well-cut features, dark eyes. But the melancholy expression of countenance, the wild, despair, almost amounting to terror, in the eyes, the ghastly pallor of the face, rendered her terrible to behold. She was not looking at me, she did not seem to be aware of my presence, but was staring into vacancy. My aunt's words, "You might be shut up with a lunatic," recurred to my mind. And yet the woman did not look deprived of reason; there was no vacancy in her gaze, the light of madness did not shine in her eye. She looked a prey to the deepest sorrow, the darkest despair, as if a clouding of the mental faculties would be a boon to her, as if madness itself would not be terrible as were her reasoning thoughts.

      She had not yet looked at me, but my eyes were riveted on her face; a strange, weird fascination it had for me. I longed, and at the same time dreaded, to meet those despairing eyes. As I gazed on her I could not help speculating as to what she was, to what class she belonged. Her face was refined, her dress was common and simple, a plain black skirt, a black shawl pinned tightly across her shoulders. She wore no hat, nor did I see one near her; she was thinly clad for a night journey in January. Was it the black dress, the dark background, that gave her that unearthly pallor, not like that of any living person?

      I started violently. Had I ever seen a living human being so white? Had I ever seen any one remain motionless for so long?

      I looked at my watch. Only fifteen minutes had elapsed since the train started, and from the station at which I got in to Endborough, the next station where this express stopped, it took half an hour to travel. How, then, had this woman got in? Not by ordinary means, that was evident; and at the rate at which the train was going it would hardly have been possible for an active man to have clambered in through the window had that been down, and I well remembered having seen before I laid down to sleep that both were pulled up.

      I was never imaginative, rather resembling Wordsworth's hero, to whom a "primrose by the river's brim" was "a yellow primrose, nothing more." I think that had it been daylight I should not have been struck by anything abnormal about my fellow passenger. But the dim light from the lamp falling on this despairing face seemed to bring out its intense pallor more than the glare of day would have done, and I felt; for the first time in my life that terrible dread that the presence of the supernatural awakens in the stoutest hearts when it is really felt.

      Not that I then for a moment imagined that the motionless figure at the other end of the carriage was not of flesh and blood like myself. I had never thought much of the supernatural; essentially practical, I had ridiculed the idea of anything in the way of apparitions whenever it had been suggested to me by any speculative companion of my schooldays. Certain well-authenticated stories of ghostly visitants I could hardly disbelieve, but the subject had never had any charm for me, and, as I have said, I had never given it much thought. I hated myself for the feeling of terror I experienced, but ho! how J longed for the time to pass. I glanced again at my watch, ten minutes more before we were due at Endborough. How slowly the time passed, how fast the train rushed on. I had hoped once that the woman would look at me; I now dreaded meeting her gaze, and yet, if she would only move, anything would be better than this statue-like stillness. I felt as if I must speak to her, ask her what gave her, that look of wild despair, but I dared not break the silence.

      The train dashed on, five minutes more and we should be at Endborough. I tried to pull myself together, tried to think of the pleasure I should feel in meeting my parents, of the delight of seeing new places, but my thoughts were not under my control, I was completely unhinged, and my eyes, in spite of myself, wandered to the corner of the carriage, where sat the still-motionless figure.

      Suddenly a wilder feeling of terror than ever seized me. I am sure that it was as intense as any felt by a hopeless lunatic, that if it had lasted much longer I should myself have became insane. Why this new wave of terror crept over me I have never been able to imagine; it came before what; I am about to describe happened, but the feeling was so intense that I could hardly resist screaming out loud.

      Still the merciless train dashed on, still the mute despairing figure sat rigid and motionless in her corner. To my excited fancy, voices mingled with the sound of the rushing train, one more distinct than the rest, that of a little child. Heavens! I head it close to the window at the other end of the carriage, crying, "Mother, let me in; mother, let me in."

      The woman did not seem to hear, neither did she move. I could not withdraw my eyes from the window; the glass was dulled with, vapour, but I seemed to see something close to it. Yes, little hands tapping against it. I saw them distinctly, and again I heard the cry, "Mother, let me in; mother, let me in."

      In agony I rose from my seat, about to cross over to the window.

      Then at last the figure moved, and those glassy, despairing eyes met mine. Then I knew —

*       *       *       *       *      *

      How I kept my reason during those awful moments I cannot to this day imagine. Even now as I write, a shuddering horror takes possession of me, and I seem to see that terrible — but no, I will not I dwell on the terror of the time.

      As we steamed into Endborough station, the light, and the sight of other human beings, roused me from the stupor of fear into which I had fallen, and I beckoned to the guard to let me out.

      He appeared surprised, as he knew my destination, but immediately opened the door and at my request found a seat for me elsewhere.

      As I left the carriage in which I had passed such a mauvais quart d'heure, I cast a glance behind me. The dreaded occupant had vanished as mysteriously as she had appeared, and, while following my conductor along the platform, I began to wonder whether what I had gone through had not been all a hideous dream, and felt inclined to turn back and try my carriage again.

      But my nerves were not equal to the task, and I took up my position in a compartment in which three people were seated, or stretched at full length, as the case with one man, who, as I passed him, pulled his rug out of my way with an injured look. I felt not the least compunction in disturbing him, anyone in my position would have done the same, — and I should have liked to see him go through the ordeal that I had suffered. I was tempted to tell him that there was an empty carriage behind if he cared to take a seat in it, but I refrained.

      Opposite to my sulky friend sat a lady — his wife, I presumed — and at the other end of the carriage was the man who had passed me as I was getting into the train, the man who had left that very carriage. I sat down opposite him, placing myself as far from the lady as I could, for the very sight of a woman then filled me with horror; and, leaning back, shut my eyes resolutely, satisfied this time that I need not fear anything supernatural.

      But sleep was now impossible, and after trying for a quarter of an hour or so to repose I gave up the attempt, lit a reading lamp I had with me, and had recourse to a novel. I noticed my opposite neighbour regarding me fixedly, though covertly, and wondered whether my face showed traces of the fright I had undergone.

      Could my hair have turned grey? Horrible thought! But hair had turned grey on less provocation! I surreptitiously pulled down a lock, and squinted at it from under my eyelashes in fear, and trembling. No, it was still dark brown as when I started on my journey. What a mercy! Again I felt the stranger looking at me, and an intense wish to question him as to his experiences in the other carriage took possession of me, so I was not a little pleased on arriving at Paddington to find that he followed me into the hotel, where I intended to have some breakfast, as it was too early to proceed to Charing-cross.

      While waiting for my coffee I went to warm myself at the fire, and. my fellow passenger approached me.

      "You will, I hope, excuse what may seem a liberty," he began, courteously, "but I think you changed carriages at Endborough. Will you think me unpardonably inquisitive if I ask the reason?"

      "I think you know it," I replied, flippantly enough, "for I saw you dashing out of the carriage in question at Tethford before I got in."

      He flushed to his brow, and I was sorry for my malicious remark. A man does not care to confess to terror, even of the supernatural.

      "Had I seen you enter that carriage I should have turned hack and warned you," he replied, at length; "pray tell me what you saw, for I think we may confess to each other, as I have found out that you, too, had a disagreeable experience."

      After a little hesitation I consented to speak, and, on comparing notes, we found the same vision, or whatever one might like to call it, had appeared to both of us. I found that he was as sceptical as myself with regard to supernatural visitants; but one cannot disbelieve the evidence of one's own eyesight, and we had gone through a most extraordinary experience, the mystery of which he was determined to fathom.

      He promised to let me know the result, and I gave him my address at Cannes, and also my home address in case his researches should have to be pursued for long. He was a perfect gentleman, and we spent an agreeable hour together, both, I fancy, being glad of companionship; though in saying so I do not wish to make any insinuations against my fellow passenger's courage.

      By all the laws of three-volume novels, this encounter ought to have resulted in an engagement between us at least, if not a marriage; but such was not the case, and I can console my vanity by the fact that he must have been engaged to another girl at the time of which I write, for I saw an account of his wedding in a paper a month or so after.

      I did not hear from him for some time, but at last I received a letter, stating that he had discovered that a tragedy had been enacted on the line some time ago. A woman had been found dead in a first-class carriage, with evidence to show that she must have poisoned herself; a child of about six years of age was on the same night found lying dead on the rails some miles behind the station t which the guard had made the discovery of the woman's body, and the conclusion was that she had thrown the child out (for they had entered the carriage together) and then had poisoned herself.

      She was thinly clad in black, and had red-gold hair. No money or letter had been found in her pockets, no clue to her name or relations, and the mystery was never solved.

      Why she should still in spirit undertake, that extremely unpleasant journey I cannot of course imagine: I can only repeat what I saw! At any rate, from time forth I became less sceptical as to apparitions, and am most particular in travelling not to avoid the company of my fellow-creatures.