Part 15

When the servants came, they said they had heard the noise, but thought it proceeded from above. Harding looked at his wife; and then turning to the servant, observed carelessly, that it must have been some noise in the street, and desiring him to withdraw, entreated the bride to pursue her song. She did; but the children had been too much alarmed to enjoy it, and the noise had in its character something so strange and so unearthly, that even the elders of the party, although bound not to admit anything like apprehension before their offspring, felt extremely well pleased when they found themselves at home.

When the guests were gone, and George’s wife lighted her candle to retire to rest, her father-in-law kissed her affectionately, and prayed God to bless her. He then took a kind leave of his son, and putting up a fervent prayer for his happiness, pressed him to his heart, and bade him adieu with an earnestness which, under the common-place circumstance of a temporary separation, was inexplicable to the young man.

When Harding reached his bed-room, he spoke to his wife, and entreated her to prepare her mind for some great calamity.

‘What it is to be,’ said Harding, ‘where the blow is to fall I know not; but it is over us this night!’

‘My life!’ exclaimed Mrs. Harding, ‘what new fancy is this?’

‘Eliza, love!’ answered her husband, in a tone of unspeakable agony, ‘I have seen her for the third and last time.’

‘Who?’

‘MARTHA, THE GIPSY.’

‘Impossible,’ said Mrs. Harding, ‘you have not left the house to-day.’

‘True, my beloved,’ replied the husband; ‘but I have seen her. When that tremendous noise was heard at supper, as the door was supernaturally opened, I saw her. She fixed those dreadful eyes of her’s upon me; she proceeded to the fire-place, and stood in the midst of the children, and there she remained till the servant came in.’

‘My dearest husband,’ said Mrs. Harding, ‘this is but a disorder of the imagination!’

‘Be it what it may,’ said he, ‘I have seen her. Human or superhuman—natural or supernatural—there she was. I shall not strive to argue upon a point where I am likely to meet with little credit: all I ask is, pray fervently, have faith, and we will hope the misfortune, whatever it is, may be averted.’

He kissed his wife’s cheek tenderly, and after a fitful feverish hour or two fell into a slumber.

From that slumber never awoke he more.—He was found dead in his bed in the morning.

‘Whether the force of imagination, coupled with the unexpected noise, produced such an alarm as to rob him of life, I know not,’ said my communicant; ‘but he was dead.’

The story was told me by my friend Ellis in walking from the City to Harley-street late one evening; and when we came to this part of the history we were in Bedford-square, at the dark and dreary corner of it where Caroline-street joins it.

‘And there,’ said Ellis, pointing downward, ‘is the street where the circumstance occurred.’

‘Come, come,’ said I, ‘you tell the story well, but I suppose you do not expect it to be received as gospel.’

‘Faith,’ said he, ‘I know so much of it that I was one of the twelfth-night party, and heard the noise.’

‘But you did not see the spectre?’ cried I.

‘No,’ replied Ellis, ‘I certainly did not.’

‘Nor anybody else,’ said I, ‘I’ll be sworn.’—A quick footstep was just then heard behind us.—I turned half round to let the person pass, and saw a woman enveloped in a red cloak, whose sparkling black eyes, shone upon by the dim lustre of a lamp above her head, dazzled me.—I was startled—‘Pray remember old MARTHA, THE GIPSY,’ said the hag.

It was like a thunder-stroke.—I instantly slipped my hand into my pocket, and hastily gave her three from a five-shilling piece.

‘Thanks, my bonny one,’ said the woman, and setting up a shout of contemptuous laughter she bounded down Caroline-street towards Russell-street, singing, or rather yelling a wild air.

Ellis did not speak during this scene—he pressed my arm tightly, and we quickened our pace. We said nothing to each other till we turned into Bedford-street, and the lights and passengers of Tottenham-court-road re-assured us.

‘What do you think of that?’ said Ellis to me.

‘Seeing is believing,’ was my reply.

I have never passed that dark corner of Bedford-square in the evening since.