A TALE OF MYSTERY

      IT is now some years since, that a family, that had lately come to this country, from the West Indies, took a house in our street, and domiciled among us — it consisted of a mother and two daughters.

      The mother, Mrs. M'Queen, was an old, withered, weather-beaten, little body, of slender frame, with clear, black, twinkling eyes, a hawk nose, and wrinkly features; putting one in mind of an ancient Sybil. When she spoke her countenance lighted up with animation, and her words came fluently and fast. She did not seem occasionally to be destitute of observation or good sense; but ever and anon, mixed up with her discourse, there was a flippancy, and at times an incoherence, which seemed less to say that her faculties were impaired, or her intellect weakened, than that she had long been a stranger to that moral standard which has been set up in our hearts for the guidance of our principles. I do not mean to say that she at all gave license to indecorum in speech or manner — quite the reverse. She had been educated in, and rigidly adhered to all the forms of the church of England; read her prayer-book; and, as far as external demeanor went, was a devout Christian. It appeared rather that a long residence in the west, where custom had seared her to behold, without sympathy or feeling, all the degradations which slavery imposes on a portion of our fellow creatures, had, by blunting the moral sense, rendered her at length an inadequate judge between right and wrong, yet left her the trappings of religion.

      Her eldest daughter was dark, of slender make, and about the average hight; quick and lively in her motions; with a rapid utterance, and a volubility in her discourse, which was not sometimes altogether pleasing. It was a little curious that her thoughts, like those of her mother, seemed generally to run in the same channel; and she seldom spoke of anything else than the West Indies, its towns and slave owners, and rum merchants — of the number of negroes they had kept on their property — of their habits, hours of work, recreation, and treatment — of their wives and children — the severities exercised to keep the slaves to their tasks — and of their revenge, cowardice, cunning, and blood-thirstiness. Whatever topic of conversation was introduced, something or other seemed to afford a handle for turning it upon this repulsive and sometimes disgusting subject.

      The other daughter was of a florid complexion, with bright yellow hair. She was taller than her sister, and rather handsome. Of the early history of this girl, on whose fate the interest of this little narrative hangs, I could only learn a few scattered, but these are rather striking, particulars. It appeared that, when little more than a girl, she had been addressed by a young gentleman abroad. The lover died; and after struggling a while with her feelings, the young lady became frenzied, and was sometime kept under restraint by her family — how long I never was able to ascertain. At the period when I first saw her, which must have been some ten or twelve years after this circumstance, time had exerted its soothing influence; and the general impression of her countenance was not that of despondency, but of cheerfulness and good humor. What may have been the original tone of her mind, I have, of course no means of ascertaining; but now it was evident that it was far from being firm and determined. She was nervous, and very apt to be overcome by sudden noises, or impressions of any kind; and yet could pass from what appeared to affect her with sorrowful emotions, to whatever excited laughter, with a rapidity that was startling, and far from being pleasant.

      On their arrival in our neighborhood, circumstances occurred which drew us into familiar acquaintanceship. It was in May that they settled among us; and after many interviews, in which the preceding traits of character developed themselves to me, the season wore in December.

      Half forgetful that they were Episcopalians, I made a call on Christmas day, and found only Mrs. M'Queen at home, the younger ladies having gone to church. After wishing each other the congratulations of the season with mutual heartiness, somehow or other, as it generally fell out, the conversation took some turn which led to the introduction of the West Indies, and a parcel of splendid dried seeds and berries, which had arrived from the agent on their property only two or three days before, was produced by the younger sister. Part of these I was solicited to take. As I was on the point of departture from the house, I was called to from the landing-place at the head of the stairs, by Miss Sophia, regarding the loan of a book, about which we had been speaking, and which I had promised to send them. She seemed all playfulness and good humor. Alas! I never heard — but tush, of that anon.

      It was then, as I have said, the depth of winter. The weather had been for some weeks boisterous and rainy; and although it had in some degree cleared up into frost, was still variable and uncertain; cloudy days and whistling nights, with falls of snow, and intervals of tinkling black ice. The harvest had been a bad one; provisions were high, and disease prevailed among the poorer classes to an unwonted extent. Every thing appeared to render more gloomy the already sufficiently somber aspect of external nature; and even the hilarity of Christmas time was insufficient to dispel the pervading cheerlessness of the season. The morrow was Sunday.

      Some hours before daybreak, a loud knocking at my door aroused me from sleep. It was an urgent request for me to come, with the least possible delay, to Mrs. M'Queen's, as one of the ladies had been taken alarmingly ill, and they were anxious for my making arrangements for sending an express to a relative of the family, some miles distant. I obeyed this injunction with alacrity; but by the time I had hurried down the street, and gained admission, I found that a surgeon, who had at the same time been sent for, was in attendance.

      "What of your patient — what is the matter?" said I to him, breathlessly, as, with an anxious countenance, he came out of one of the sleeping apartments to the sitting parlor.

      He gravely shook his head,

      "It is all over, sir, the young lady must have been dead at least an hour. It is a little misterious, this business!"

      I was as thunderstruck.

      "Not possible," I said; "this is really dreadful. I saw Miss Sophia yesterday, in health and spirits!"

      "Her death is not the less certain on that account, however," added the surgeon. "It is a curious and perplexing case; and if you have no objection, I should like you, before leaving the house, to visit that chamber with me," pointing to the apartment he had just left.

      While we were conversing I heard, at intervals, the voice of the elder sister, as it were, occasionally breaking out to herself in incoherent ejaculations. The sounds evidently came from the room alluded to — wild, fitful, and startling. More indistinctly, and from an opposite quarter, I could now and then hear a low, murmuring sound, rising into what might be called a chatter or a giggle. This struck me as coming from the bed-room of the old lady.

      On calling in the servant and interrogating her, she seemed greatly agitated, and said that she had heard some noises while in bed; but these at length ceasing, and after a considerable pause, she could not positively say of what duration, as she was half asleep, the bell was violently rung for her. When she went into the room she was told that Miss Sophia had fainted, and saw her sister in bed with her, supporting her on her bosom, and bathing her temples. That she had continued some time assisting in the task, but that from the first she had remarked the lifeless look and chilly feel of the body. That for nearly an hour this course was pursued, the elder sister expressing surprise and impatience that their patient did not revive; and that at length she had suggested the propriety of calling in medical aid, which was at once assented to.

      In obedience to the request of the medical gentleman, I proceeded to the fatal apartment. Every thing in it wore an aspect of utter cheerlessness, little needing the melancholy catastrophe itself to add to its dismal effect. On a side-table stood a candle, whose black, smoky wick showed it to have been long unsnuffed; and on the bed were both the sisters — the living and the dead. The features of the latter, who was maintained half in a sitting posture by her sister, wore almost the placidity of sleep, save that around the mouth there was that swollen appearance peculiarly indicative of death. Her eyes were closed, and her long yellow hair, which had partly escaped from under her cap, lay in disheveled ringlets over her shoulders. It was dreadful to think that, only a few hours previously, those features had been lighted up with smiles. On the body and neck were black or purplish patches, which, to my unpracticed eye, bore a resemblance to contusions; but these, my medical friend assured me, were far from being unequivocal evidences of external injury, and were always very large and perceptible in cases of sudden death, unaccompanied by venous congestion.

      Before leaving the house, I undertook to get information conveyed by express to their relative, and promised to call in the evening.

      It is now necessary to give some idea of the geography of that part of the house connected with the details of this story. Suppose then, a large parlor, which, besides its general entrance-door, has one near its eastern and another near its western angle, each severally communicating with sleeping apartments in these directions. In the eastern room slept Mrs. M'Queen, in the western the eldest daughter.

      On Christmas night, it appeared from the account of the servant, Miss Sophia went to bed with her mother; whereas, from Miss M'Queen's statement, we were led to infer that she had come into her bed-room to sleep with her, and that after remaining there for some time she felt unable to compose herself, and had, after midnight, left her to go to her mother's apartment. From what could be gathered from the rhapsodies of the old lady — who seemed, in a few hours, to have made a rapid stride toward her dotage — first one inference was induced, then its opposite; and at length it was evident that nothing satisfactory could be collected — every thing, she said, being vague and indistinct.

      According to promise I made my visit in the evening, after having passed a day of wretched anxiety. The sudden demise was, of course, the sole topic of conversation, and regarding it, one circumstance was adhered to by the elder sister. This was, however, an unaccountable one, being that she could not remain comfortable upon her sister's leaving her, and that, after some broken and unrefreshing sleep, she could not resist getting up in the dark, and groping her way across the parlor; in so doing, she stumbled and fell; it was over the body of her sister, which was stretched on the carpet.

      I could never understand, notwithstanding all my endeavors to the purpose, what steps were taken on this discovery, or how the corpse was conveyed into the adjoining room; as the servant only allowed that she was summoned after Miss M'Queen had been for a considerable time using means to restore suspended animation, but in vain.

      The old lady being confined to her bed, I did not see her during this visit; but I heard her frequently pulling the bell, and could casually catch the tones of her singular voice. In Miss M'Queen's manner there was a singular mixture of absorbed attention and frivolity. At times she was silent, and it was evident from her eyes that she had been weeping; while, anon, she spoke in a rapid and flurried manner about her sister, the West Indies, the weather, or the news of the day. She occasionally left the room abruptly, with a candle in her hand, and went alone into the apartment where the body was laid out, and then in a few moments would come back — listen as if she heard a sound — and again enter into conversation on different topics.

      The occurrences of the day rendered me very nervous, and vague doubts were constantly crossing my mind. Over all hung the veil of impenetrable mystery.

      Concomitant circumstances tended to render this still more perplexing. Surmises were now hazarded, which before I had never heard a whisper of — the servant appeared to know more than she had disclosed — and the family inhabiting the adjoining house to that in which the catastrophe happened, averred that they had been repeatedly surprised by noises during the night, and that on the fatal one they had been both loud and frequent. The many tongues of rumor were all loosened on the subject, and imputations were laid at the door of the mother, by some, and of the sister by others; while not a few shook their heads when the name of the victim herself was mentioned. All, however, was mere surmise; no one, perhaps, knew so much of the particular circumstances as myself, and I knew only enough to render conjecture hazardous, and all conclusions uncertain.

      The funeral took place on the last day of the year; and along with the more immediate relatives, I was invited, as a mark of respect, to attend an hour earlier than that fixed upon for the interment, that I might be present at the reading of the funeral service; which, from the inclemency of the weather, was to be read in the house. The scene was most impressive. Neither of the ladies appeared, and after the "earth to earth, and dust to dust" had been pronounced, the clergyman laid two sealed packets into the folds of the shroud. These, I afterwards learned, were, the one a bundle of letters relating to the early attachment which I have before alluded to — the other containing two or three small presents (a book, a ring, and a miniature,) made to her during the same season. In a sealed note, dated some years before, although not discovered until after her decease, she had desired these to be laid with her in the grave.

      Few events in my life ever effected me so deeply as those I have now related, and for a long time they continued to haunt my imagination, opening up a maze of doubts and horrors, and throwing a gloom over existence.

      When the feelings are deeply excited all objects are adventitiously colored, be it in the hues of joy or grief; and perhaps it was from this very reason, that the funeral scene in the church-yard had for me an unwonted impressiveness. All nature wore the dull and cheerless aspect of winter. It had rained incessantly during the previous night; and through the morning the skies were shrouded in a heavy leaden hue. But though the sward was saturated with moisture, the rain had ceased, and a light breeze wailed amid the leafless branches of the solemn old trees around.

      We had reached the grave and were lowering the coffin down, when suddenly the light breeze was changed to tempest. It blew a perfect hurricane, and the earth, sand, and bones, which had been dug out, were caught up and whirled about in a shower, which forced the attendants to cling to the sepulchral railings, or to hurry for shelter to the lee of the church. The sexton and his men alone remained at their posts, battling with the whirlwind until their task was finished.

      Several years have passed away since the mysterious catastrophe, and as the principal parties have died, and yet "made no sign," it is not probable that any light will ever be thrown upon it now.

      Shortly after the event, Mrs. M'Queen and her remaining daughter left the neighborhood, and all intercourse ceased with the few in it who had formed temporary acquaintance with them.