The letters concluded by intimating that he would avail himself of my father and mother's repeated invitation to spend some time at Ashtown,particularly as the physician who had been consulted as to my sister's health had strongly advised a removal to her native air.
There were added repeated assurances that nothing serious was apprehended,as it was supposed that a deranged state of the liver was the only source of the symptoms which at first had seemed to intimate consumption.
In accordance with this announcement,my sister and Mr.Carew arrived in Dublin,where one of my father's carriages awaited them,in readiness to start upon whatever day or hour they might choose for their departure It was arranged that Mr.Carew was,as soon as the day upon which they were to leave Dublin was definitely fixed,to write to my father,who intended that the two last stages should be performed by his own horses,upon whose speed and safety far more reliance might be placed than upon those of the ordinary post-horses,which were at that time,almost without exception,of the very worst order.The journey,one of about ninety miles,was to be divided;the larger portion being reserved for the second day.
On Sunday a letter reached us,stating that the party would leave Dublin on Monday,and,in due course,reach Ashtown upon Tuesday evening.
Tuesday came the evening closed in,and yet no carriage;darkness came on,and still no sign of our expected visitors.
Hour after hour passed away,and it was now past twelve;the night was remarkably calm,scarce a breath stirring,so that any sound,such as that produced by the rapid movement of a vehicle,would have been audible at a considerable distance.For some such sound I was feverishly listening.
It was,however,my father's rule to close the house at nightfall,and the window-shutters being fastened,I was unable to reconnoitre the avenue as I would have wished.It was nearly one o'clock,and we began almost to despair of seeing them upon that night,when I thought I distinguished the sound of wheels,but so remote and faint as to make me at first very uncertain.The noise approached;it became louder and clearer;it stopped for a moment.
I now heard the shrill screaming of the rusty iron,as the avenue-gate revolved on its hinges;again came the sound of wheels in rapid motion.
'It is they,'said I,starting up;'the carriage is in the avenue.'
We all stood for a few moments breathlessly listening.On thundered the vehicle with the speed of a whirlwind;crack went the whip,and clatter went the wheels,as it rattled over the uneven pavement of the court.A general and furious barking from all the dogs about the house,hailed its arrival.
We hurried to the hall in time to hear the steps let down with the sharp clanging noise peculiar to the operation,and the hum of voices exerted in the bustle of arrival.
The hall-door was now thrown open,and we all stepped forth to greet our visitors.
The court was perfectly empty;the moon was shining broadly and brightly upon all around;nothing was to be seen but the tall trees with their long spectral shadows,now wet with the dews of midnight.
We stood gazing from right to left,as if suddenly awakened from a dream;the dogs walked suspiciously,growling and snuffing about the court,and by totally and suddenly ceasing their former loud barking,expressing the predominance of fear.
We stared one upon another in perplexity and dismay,and I think I never beheld more pale faces assembled.By my father's direction,we looked about to find anything which might indicate or account for the noise which we had heard;but no such thing was to be seen--even the mire which lay upon the avenue was undisturbed.
We returned to the house,more panic-struck than I can describe.
On the next day,we learned by a messenger,who had ridden hard the greater part of the night,that my sister was dead.
On Sunday evening,she had retired to bed rather unwell,and,on Monday,her indisposition declared itself unequivocally to be malignant fever.She became hourly worse and,on Tuesday night,a little after midnight,she expired.
The residuary legatee of the late Frances Purcell,who has the honour of selecting such of his lamented old friend's manus as may appear fit for publication,in order that the lore which they contain may reach the world before scepticism and utility have robbed our species of the precious gift of credulity,and scornfully kicked before them,or trampled into annihilation those harmless fragments of picturesque superstition which it is our object to preserve,has been subjected to the charge of dealing too largely in the marvellous;and it has been half insinuated that such is his love for diablerie,that he is content to wander a mile out of his way,in order to meet a fiend or a goblin,and thus to sacrifice all regard for truth and accuracy to the idle hope of affrighting the imagination,and thus pandering to the bad taste of his reader.He begs leave,then,to take this opportunity of asserting his perfect innocence of all the crimes laid to his charge,and to assure his reader that he never PANDERED TO HISBAD TASTE,nor went one inch out of his way to introduce witch,fairy,devil,ghost,or any other of the grim fraternity of the redoubted Raw-head-and-bloody-bones.His province,touching these tales,has been attended with no difficulty and little responsibility;indeed,he is accountable for nothing more than an alteration in the names of persons mentioned therein,when such a step seemed necessary,and for an occasional note,whenever he conceived it possible,innocently,to edge in a word.