At this intimation Sir Robert,starting on his feet and tossing his arms wildly upwards,uttered a shriek of such appalling and despairing terror that it was almost too fearful for human endurance;and long after the sound had ceased it seemed to the terrified imagination of the old servant to roll through the deserted passages in bursts of unnatural laughter.After a few moments Sir Robert said:
'Can't you send him away?Why does he come so soon?O God!O God!let him leave me for an hour;a little time.
I can't see him now;try to get him away.
You see I can't go down now;I have not strength.O God!O God!let him come back in an hour;it is not long to wait.
He cannot lose anything by it;nothing,nothing,nothing.Tell him that;say anything to him.'
The servant went down.In his own words,he did not feel the stairs under him till he got to the hall.The figure stood exactly as he had left it.He delivered his master's message as coherently as he could.
The stranger replied in a careless tone:
'If Sir Robert will not come down to me,I must go up to him.'
The man returned,and to his surprise he found his master much more composed in manner.He listened to the message,and though the cold perspiration rose in drops upon his forehead faster than he could wipe it away,his manner had lost the dreadful agitation which had marked it before.He rose feebly,and casting a last look of agony behind him,passed from the room to the lobby,where he signed to his attendant not to follow him.The man moved as far as the head of the staircase,from whence he had a tolerably distinct view of the hall,which was imperfectly lighted by the candle he had left there.
He saw his master reel,rather than walk down the stairs,clinging all the way to the banisters.He walked on,as if about to sink every moment from weakness.
The figure advanced as if to meet him,and in passing struck down the light.
The servant could see no more;but there was a sound of struggling,renewed at intervals with silent but fearful energy.It was evident,however,that the parties were approaching the door,for he heard the solid oak sound twice or thrice,as the feet of the combatants,in shuffling hither and thither over the floor,struck upon it.
After a slight pause he heard the door thrown open with such violence that the leaf seemed to strike the side-wall of the hall,for it was so dark without that this could only be surmised by the sound.
The struggle was renewed with an agony and intenseness of energy that betrayed itself in deep-drawn gasps.One desperate effort,which terminated in the breaking of some part of the door,producing a sound as if the door-post was wrenched from its position,was followed by another wrestle,evidently upon the narrow ledge which ran outside the door,overtopping the precipice.
This proved to be the final struggle,for it was followed by a crashing sound as if some heavy body had fallen over,and was rushing down the precipice,through the light boughs that crossed near the top.All then became still as the grave,except when the moan of the night wind sighed up the wooded glen.
The old servant had not nerve to return through the hall,and to him the darkness seemed all but endless;but morning at length came,and with it the disclosure of the events of the night.Near the door,upon the ground,lay Sir Robert's sword-belt,which had given way in the scuffle.
A huge splinter from the massive door-post had been wrenched off by an almost superhuman effort--one which nothing but the gripe of a despairing man could have severed--and on the rock outside were left the marks of the slipping and sliding of feet.
At the foot of the precipice,not immediately under the castle,but dragged some way up the glen,were found the remains of Sir Robert,with hardly a vestige of a limb or feature left distinguishable.The right hand,however,was uninjured,and in its fingers were clutched,with the fixedness of death,a long lock of coarse sooty hair--the only direct circumstantial evidence of the presence of a second person.
So says tradition.
This story,as I have mentioned,was current among the dealers in such lore;but the original facts are so dissimilar in all but the name of the principal person mentioned and his mode of life,and the fact that his death was accompanied with circumstances of extraordinary mystery,that the two narratives are totally irreconcilable (even allowing the utmost for the exaggerating influence of tradition),except by supposing report to have combined and blended together the fabulous histories of several distinct bearers of the family name.However this may be,I shall lay before the reader a distinct recital of the events from which the foregoing tradition arose.With respect to these there can be no mistake;they are authenticated as fully as anything can be by human testimony;and I state them principally upon the evidence of a lady who herself bore a prominent part in the strange events which she related,and which I now record as being among the few well-attested tales of the marvellous which it has been my fate to hear.Ishall,as far as I am able,arrange in one combined narrative the evidence of several distinct persons who were eye-witnesses of what they related,and with the truth of whose testimony I am solemnly and deeply impressed.
Sir Robert Ardagh,as we choose to call him,was the heir and representative of the family whose name he bore;but owing to the prodigality of his father,the estates descended to him in a very impaired condition.Urged by the restless spirit of youth,or more probably by a feeling of pride which could not submit to witness,in the paternal mansion,what he considered a humiliating alteration in the style and hospitality which up to that time had distinguished his family,Sir Robert left Ireland and went abroad.