As soon as dinner was over our guest retired to array herself in magnificent evening costume.It had been arranged that the readings were to take place in her own sitting-room; and she was so enthusiastically desirous to do honor to the occasion, that she regretted not having brought with her from London the dress in which she had been presented at court the year before, and not having borrowed certain materials for additional splendor which she briefly described as "aunt's diamonds."Toward eight o'clock we assembled in the sitting-room, and a strangely assorted company we were.At the head of the table, radiant in silk and jewelry, flowers and furbelows, sat The Queen of Hearts, looking so handsome and so happy that I secretly congratulated my absent son on the excellent taste he had shown in falling in love with her.Round this bright young creature (Owen, at the foot of the table, and Morgan and I on either side)sat her three wrinkled, gray-headed, dingily-attired hosts, and just behind her, in still more inappropriate companionship, towered the spectral figure of the man in armor, which had so unaccountably attracted her on her arrival.This strange scene was lighted up by candles in high and heavy brass sconces.Before Jessie stood a mighty china punch-bowl of the olden time, containing the folded pieces of card, inside which were written the numbers to be drawn, and before Owen reposed the Purple Volume from which one of us was to read.The walls of the room were hung all round with faded tapestry; the clumsy furniture was black with age; and, in spite of the light from the sconces, the lofty ceiling was almost lost in gloom.If Rembrandt could have painted our background, Reynolds our guest, and Hogarth ourselves, the picture of the scene would have been complete.
When the old clock over the tower gateway had chimed eight, Irose to inaugurate the proceedings by requesting Jessie to take one of the pieces of card out of the punch-bowl, and to declare the number.
She laughed; then suddenly became frightened and serious; then looked at me, and said, "It was dreadfully like business;" and then entreated Morgan not to stare at her, or, in the present state of her nerves, she should upset the punch-bowl.At last she summoned resolution enough to take out one of the pieces of card and to unfold it.
"Declare the number, my dear," said Owen.
"Number Four," answered Jessie, ****** a magnificent courtesy, and beginning to look like herself again.
Owen opened the Purple Volume, searched through the manuscripts, and suddenly changed color.The cause of his discomposure was soon explained.Malicious fate had assigned to the most diffident individual in the company the trying responsibility of leading the way.Number Four was one of the two narratives which Owen had found among his own papers.
"I am almost sorry," began my eldest brother, confusedly, "that it has fallen to my turn to read first.I hardly know which Idistrust most, myself or my story."
"Try and fancy you are in the pulpit again," said Morgan, sarcastically."Gentlemen of your cloth, Owen, seldom seem to distrust themselves or their manuscripts when they get into that position.""The fact is," continued Owen, mildly impenetrable to his brother's cynical remark, "that the little thing I am going to try and read is hardly a story at all.I am afraid it is only an anecdote.I became possessed of the letter which contains my narrative under these circumstances.At the time when I was a clergyman in London, my church was attended for some months by a lady who was the wife of a large farmer in the country.She had been obliged to come to town, and to remain there for the sake of one of her children, a little boy, who required the best medical advice."At the words "medical advice" Morgan shook his head and growled to himself contemptuously.Owen went on:
"While she was attending in this way to one child, his share in her love was unexpectedly disputed by another, who came into the world rather before his time.I baptized the baby, and was asked to the little christening party afterward.This was my first introduction to the lady, and I was very favorably impressed by her; not so much on account of her personal appearance, for she was but a little wo man and had no pretensions to beauty, as on account of a certain simplicity, and hearty, downright kindness in her manner, as well as of an excellent frankness and good sense in her conversation.One of the guests present, who saw how she had interested me, and who spoke of her in the highest terms, surprised me by inquiring if I should ever have supposed that quiet, good-humored little woman to be capable of performing an act of courage which would have tried the nerves of the boldest man in England? I naturally enough begged for an explanation; but my neighbor at the table only smiled and said, 'If you can find an opportunity, ask her what happened at The Black Cottage, and you will hear something that will astonish you.' I acted on the hint as soon as I had an opportunity of speaking to her privately.The lady answered that it was too long a story to tell then, and explained, on my suggesting that she should relate it on some future day, that she was about to start for her country home the next morning.'But,' she was good enough to add, 'as Ihave been under great obligations to you for many Sundays past, and as you seem interested in this matter, I will employ my first leisure time after my return in telling you by writing, instead of by word of mouth, what really happened to me on one memorable night of my life in The Black Cottage.'
"She faithfully performed her promise.In a fortnight afterward Ireceived from her the narrative which I am now about to read."BROTHER OWEN'S STORY
OF
THE SIEGE OF THE BLACK COTTAGE.
To begin at the beginning, I must take you back to the time after my mother's death, when my only brother had gone to sea, when my sister was out at service, and when I lived alone with my father in the midst of a moor in the west of England.
