


Edith Wharton


The Lady's Maid's Bell 


Wharton, Edith. "The Lady's Maid's Bell." 
Scribner's Magazine 32 (Nov. 1902): 549-60. 


About the print version 
The Lady's Maid's Bell 
Wharton, Edith Edited by editor 
Scribner's Magazine Nov. 1902 
Note: Vol. 32 
Published: 1902



I 
    IT was the autumn after I had the typhoid. I'd been three months in 
hospital, and when I came out I looked so weak and tottery that the two or three 
ladies I applied to were afraid to engage me. Most of my money was gone, and 
after I'd boarded for two months, hanging about the employment-agencies, and 
answering any advertisement that looked any way respectable, I pretty nearly 
lost heart, for fretting hadn't made me fatter, and I didn't see why my luck 
should ever turn. It did though -- or I thought so at the time. A Mrs. Railton, 
a friend of the lady that first brought me out to the States, met me one day and 
stopped to speak to me: she was one that had always a friendly way with her. She 
asked me what ailed me to look so white, and when I told her, "Why, Hartley," 
says she, "I believe I've got the very place for you. Come in to-morrow and 
we'll talk about it." 
   The next day, when I called, she told me the lady she'd in mind was a niece 
of hers, a Mrs. Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an invalid, who 
lived all the year round at her country-place on the Hudson, owing to not being 
able to stand the fatigue of town life. 
   "Now, Hartley," Mrs. Railton said, in that cheery way that always made me 
feel things must be going to take a turn for the better -- "now understand me; 
it's not a cheerful place i'm sending you to. The house is big and gloomy; my 
niece is nervous, vaporish; her husband -- well, he's generally away; and the 
two children are dead. A year ago, I would as soon have thought of shutting a 
rosy active girl like you into a vault; but you're not particularly brisk 
yourself just now, are you? and a quiet place, with country air and wholesome 
food and early hours, ought to be the very thing for you. Don't mistake me," she 
added, for I suppose I looked a trifle downcast; "you may find it dull, but you 
won't be unhappy. My niece is an angel. Her former maid, who died last spring, 
had been with her twenty years and worshipped the ground she walked on. She's a 
kind mistress to all, and where the mistress is kind, as you know, the servants 
are generally good-humored, so you'll probably get on well enough with the rest 
of the household. And you're the very woman I want for my niece: quiet, 
well-mannered, and educated above your station. You read aloud well, I think? 
That's a good thing; my niece likes to be read to. She wants a maid that can be 
something of a companion: her last was, and I can't say how she misses her. It's 
a lonely life . . . Well, have you decided?" 
   "Why, ma'am," I said, "I'm not afraid of solitude." 
   "Well, then, go; my niece will take you on my recommendation. I'll telegraph 
her at once and you can take the afternoon train. She has no one to wait on her 
at present, and I don't want you to lose any time." 
   I was ready enough to start, yet something in me hung back; and to gain time 
I asked, "And the gentleman, ma'am?" 
   "The gentleman's almost always away, I tell you," said Mrs. Ralston, 
quick-like -- "and when he's there," says she suddenly, "you've only to keep out 
of his way." 
   I took the afternoon train and got out at D -- -- -station at about four 
o'clock. A groom in a dog-cart was waiting, and we drove off at a smart pace. It 
was a dull October day, with rain hanging close overhead, and by the time we 
turned into the Brympton Place woods the daylight was almost gone. The drive 
wound through the woods for a mile or two, and came out on a gravel court shut 
in with thickets of tall black-looking shrubs. There were no lights in the 
windows, and the house did look a bit gloomy. 
   I had asked no questions of the groom, for I never was one to get my notion 
of new masters from their other servants: I prefer to wait and see for myself. 
But I could tell by the look of everything that I had got into the right kind of 
house, and that things were done handsomely. A pleasant-faced cook met me at the 
back door and called the house-maid to show me up to my room. "You'll see madam 
later," she said. "Mrs. Brympton has a visitor." 
   I hadn't fancied Mrs. Brympton was a lady to have many visitors, and somehow 
the words cheered me. I followed the house-maid upstairs, and saw, through a 
door on the upper landing, that the main part of the house seemed 
well-furnished, with dark panelling and a number of old portraits. Another 
flight of stairs led us up to the servants' wing. It was almost dark now, and 
the house-maid excused herself for not having brought a light. "But there's 
matches in your room," she said, "and if you go careful you'll be all right. 
Mind the step at the end of the passage. Your room is just beyond." 
   I looked ahead as she spoke, and half-way down the passage, I saw a woman 
standing. She drew back into a doorway as we passed, and the house-maid didn't 
appear to notice her. She was a thin woman with a white face, and a darkish 
stuff gown and apron. I took her for the housekeeper and thought it odd that she 
didn't speak, but just gave me a long look as she went by. My room opened into a 
square hall at the end of the passage. Facing my door was another which stood 
open: the house-maid exclaimed when she saw it. 
   "There -- Mrs. Blinder's left that door open again!" said she, closing it. 
   "Is Mrs. Blinder the housekeeper?" 
   "There's no housekeeper: Mrs. Blinder's the cook." 
   "And is that her room?" 
   "Laws, no," said the house-maid, cross-like. "That's nobody's room. It's 
empty, I mean, and the door hadn't ought to be open. Mrs. Brympton wants it kept 
locked." 
   She opened my door and led me into a neat room, nicely furnished, with a 
picture or two on the walls; and having lit a candle she took leave, telling me 
that the servants'-hall tea was at six, and that Mrs. Brympton would see me 
afterward. 
   I found them a pleasant-spoken set in the servants' hall, and by what they 
let fall I gathered that, as Mrs. Railton had said, Mrs. Brympton was the 
kindest of ladies; but I didn't take much notice of their talk, for I was 
watching to see the pale woman in the dark gown come in. She didn't show 
herself, however, and I wondered if she ate apart; but if she wasn't the 
housekeeper, why should she? Suddenly it struck me that she might be a trained 
nurse, and in that case her meals would of course be served in her room. If Mrs. 
Brympton was an invalid it was likely enough she had a nurse. The idea annoyed 
me, I own, for they're not always the easiest to get on with, and if I'd known, 
I shouldn't have taken the place. But there I was, and there was no use pulling 
a long face over it; and not being one to ask questions, I waited to see what 
would turn up. 
   When tea was over, the house-maid said to the footman: "Has Mr. Ranford 
gone?" and when he said yes, she told me to come up with her to Mrs. Brympton. 
   Mrs. Brympton was lying down in her bedroom. Her lounge stood near the fire 
and beside it was a shaded lamp. She was a delicate-looking lady, but when she 
smiled I felt there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She spoke very 
pleasantly, in a low voice, asking me my name and age and so on, and if I had 
everything I wanted, and if I wasn't afraid of feeling lonely in the country. 
   "Not with you I wouldn't be, madam," I said, and the words surprised me when 
I'd spoken them, for I'm not an impulsive person; but it was just as if I'd 
thought aloud. 
   She seemed pleased at that, and said she hoped I'd continue in the same mind; 
then she gave me a few directions about her toilet, and said Agnes the 
house-maid would show me next morning where things were kept. 
   "I am tired to-night, and shall dine upstairs," she said. "Agnes will bring 
me my tray, that you may have time to unpack and settle yourself; and later you 
may come and undress me." 
   "Very well, ma'am," I said. "You'll ring, I suppose?" 
   I thought she looked odd. 
   "No -- Agnes will fetch you," says she quickly, and took up her book again. 
   Well -- that was certainly strange: a lady's maid having to be fetched by the house-maid whenever her lady wanted her! 
I wondered if there were no bells in the house; but the next day I satisfied 
myself that there was one in every room, and a special one ringing from my 
mistress's room to mine; and after that it did strike me as queer that, whenever 
Mrs. Brympton wanted anything, she rang for Agnes, who had to walk the whole 
length of the servants' wing to call me. 
   But that wasn't the only queer thing in the house. The very next day I found 
out that Mrs. Brympton had no nurse; and then I asked Agnes about the woman I 
had seen in the passage the afternoon before. Agnes said she had seen no one, 
and I saw that she thought I was dreaming. To be sure, it was dusk when we went 
down the passage, and she had excused herself for not bringing a light; but I 
had seen the woman plain enough to know her again if we should meet. I decided 
that she must have been a friend of the cook's, or of one of the othe* 
women-servants: perhaps she had come down from town for a night's visit, and the 
servants wanted it kept secret. Some ladies are very stiff about having their 
servants' friends in the house overnight. At any rate, I made up my mind to ask 
no more questions. 
   In a day or two, another odd thing happened. I was chatting one afternoon 
with Mrs. Blinder, who was a friendly disposed woman, and had been longer in the 
house than the other servants, and she asked me if I was quite comfortable and 
had everything I needed. I said I had no fault to find with my place or with my 
mistress, but I thought it odd that in so large a house there was no sewing-room 
for the lady's maid. 
   "Why," says she, "there is one; the room you're in is the old sewing-room." 
   "Oh," said I; "and where did the other lady's maid sleep?" 
   At that she grew confused, and said hurriedly that the servants' rooms had 
all been changed about last year, and she didn't rightly remember. 
   That struck me as peculiar, but I went on as if I hadn't noticed: "Well, 
there's a vacant room opposite mine, and I mean to ask Mrs. Brympton if I mayn't 
use that as a sewing-room." 
   To my astonishment, Mrs. Blinder went white, and gave my hand a kind of 
squeeze. "Don't do that, my dear," said she, trembling-like. "To tell you the 
truth, that was Emma Saxon's room, and my mistress has kept it closed ever since 
her death." 
   "And who was Emma Saxon?" 
   "Mrs. Brympton's former maid." 
   "The one that was with her so many years?" said I, remembering what Mrs. 
Railton had told me. 
   Mrs. Blinder nodded. 
   "What sort of woman was she?" 
   "No better walked the earth," said Mrs. Blinder. "My mistress loved her like 
a sister." 
   "But I mean -- what did she look like?" 
   Mrs. Blinder got up and gave me a kind of angry stare. "I'm no great hand at 
describing," she said; "and I believe my pastry's rising." And she walked off 
into the kitchen and shut the door after her. 

II
   I HAD been near a week at Brympton before I saw my master. Word came that he 
was arriving one afternoon, and a change passed over the whole household. It was 
plain that nobody loved him below stairs. Mrs. Blinder took uncommon care with 
the dinner that night, but she snapped at the kitchen-maid in a way quite 
unusual with her; and Mr. Wace, the butler, a serious, slow-spoken man, went 
about his duties as if he'd been getting ready for a funeral. He was a great 
Bible-reader, Mr. Wace was, and had a beautiful assortment of texts at his 
command; but that day he used such dreadful language that I was about to leave 
the table, when he assured me it was all out of Isaiah; and I noticed that 
whenever the master came Mr. Wace took to the prophets. 
   About seven, Agnes called me to my mistress's room; and there I found Mr. 
Brympton. He was standing on the hearth; a big fair bull-necked man, with a red 
face and little bad-tempered blue eyes: the kind of man a young simpleton might 
have thought handsome, and would have been like to pay dear for thinking it. 
   He swung about when I came in, and looked me over in a trice. I knew what the 
look meant, from having experienced it once or twice in my former places. Then he turned his back on me, and went on 
talking to his wife; and I knew what that meant, too. I was not the kind of 
morsel he was after. The typhoid had served me well enough in one way: it kept 
that kind of gentleman at arm's-length. 
   "This is my new maid, Hartley," says Mrs. Brympton in her kind voice; and he 
nodded and went on with what he was saying. 
   In a minute or two he went off, and left my mistress to dress for dinner, and 
I noticed as I waited on her that she was white, and chill to the touch. 
   Mr. Brympton took himself off the next morning, and the whole house drew a 
long breath when he drove away. As for my mistress, she put on her hat and furs 
(for it was a fine winter morning) and went out for a walk in the gardens, 
coming back quite fresh and rosy, so that for a minute, before her color faded, 
I could guess what a pretty young lady she must have been, and not so long ago, 
either. 
   She had met Mr. Ranford in the grounds, and the two came back together, I 
remember, smiling and talking as they walked along the terrace under my window. 
That was the first time I saw Mr. Ranford, though I had often heard his name 
mentioned in the hall. He was a neighbor, it appeared, living a mile or two 
beyond Brympton, at the end of the village; and as he was in the habit of 
spending his winters in the country he was almost the only company my mistress 
had at that season. He was a slight tall gentleman of about thirty, and I 
thought him rather melancholy-looking till I saw his smile, which had a kind of 
surprise in it, like the first warm day in spring. He was a great reader, I 
heard, like my mistress, and the two were forever borrowing books of one 
another, and sometimes (Mr. Wace told me) he would read aloud to Mrs. Brympton 
by the hour, in the big dark library where she sat in the winter afternoons. The 
servants all liked him, and perhaps that's more of a compliment than the masters 
suspect. He had a friendly word for every one of us, and we were all glad to 
think that Mrs. Brympton had a pleasant companionable gentleman like that to 
keep her company when the master was away. Mr. Ranford seemed on excellent terms 
with Mr. Brympton too; though I couldn't but wonder that two gentlemen so unlike 
each other should be so friendly. But then I knew how the real quality can keep 
their feelings to themselves. 
   As for Mr. Brympton, he came and went, never staying more than a day or two, 
cursing the dulness and the solitude, grumbling at everything, and (as I soon 
found out) drinking a deal more than was good for him. After Mrs. Brympton left 
the table he would sit half the night over the old Brympton port and madeira, 
and once, as I was leaving my mistress's room rather later than usual, I met him 
coming up the stairs in such a state that I turned sick to think of what some 
ladies have to endure and hold their tongues about. 
   The servants said very little about their master; but from what they let drop 
I could see it had been an unhappy match from the beginning. Mr. Brympton was 
coarse, loud and pleasure-loving; my mistress quiet, retiring, and perhaps a 
trifle cold. Not that she was not always pleasant-spoken to him: I thought her 
wonderfully forbearing; but to a gentleman as free as Mr. Brympton I daresay she 
seemed a little offish. 
   Well, things went on quietly for several weeks. My mistress was kind, my 
duties were light, and I got on well with the other servants. In short, I had 
nothing to complain of; yet there was always a weight on me. I can't say why it 
was so, but I know it was not the loneliness that I felt. I soon got used to 
that; and being still languid from the fever, I was thankful for the quiet and 
the good country air. Nevertheless, I was never quite easy in my mind. My 
mistress, knowing I had been ill, insisted that I should take my walk regular, 
and often invented errands for me: -- a yard of ribbon to be fetched from the 
village, a letter posted, or a book returned to Mr. Ranford. As soon as I was 
out of doors my spirits rose, and I looked forward to my walks through the bare 
moist-smelling woods; but the moment I caught sight of the house again my heart 
dropped down like a stone in a well. It was not a gloomy house exactly, yet I 
never entered it but a feeling of gloom came over me. 
   Mrs. Brympton seldom went out in winter; only on the finest days did she walk 
an hour at noon on the south terrace. Excepting Mr. Ranford, we had no visitors 
but the doctor, who drove over from D -- -- -about once a week. He sent for me 
once or twice to give me some trifling direction about my mistress, and though 
he never told me what her illness was, I thought, from a waxy look she had now 
and then of a morning, that it might be the heart that ailed her. The season was 
soft and unwholesome, and in January we had a long spell of rain. That was a 
sore trial to me, I own, for I couldn't go out, and sitting over my sewing all 
day, listening to the drip, drip of the eaves, I grew so nervous that the least 
sound made me jump. Somehow, the thought of that locked room across the passage 
began to weigh on me. Once or twice, in the long rainy nights, I fancied I heard 
noises there; but that was nonsense, of course, and the daylight drove such 
notions out of my head. Well, one morning Mrs. Brympton gave me quite a start of 
pleasure by telling me she wished me to go to town for some shopping. I hadn't 
known till then how low my spirits had fallen. I set off in high glee, and my 
first sight of the crowded streets and the cheerful-looking shops quite took me 
out of myself. Toward afternoon, however, the noise and confusion began to tire 
me, and I was actually looking forward to the quiet of Brympton, and thinking 
how I should enjoy the drive home through the dark woods, when I ran across an 
old acquaintance, a maid I had once been in service with. We had lost sight of 
each other for a number of years, and I had to stop and tell her what had 
happened to me in the interval. When I mentioned where I was living she rolled 
up her eyes and pulled a long face. 
   "What! The Mrs. Brympton that lives all the year at her place on the Hudson? 
My dear, you won't stay there three months." 
   "Oh, but I don't mind the country," says I, offended somehow at her tone. 
"Since the fever I'm glad to be quiet." 
   She shook her head. "It's not the country I'm thinking of. All I know is 
she's had four maids in the last six months, and the last one, who was a friend 
of mine, told me nobody could stay in the house." 
   "Did she say why?" I asked. 
   "No -- she wouldn't give me her reason. But she says to me, Mrs. Ansey, she 
says, if ever a young woman as you know of thinks of going there, you tell her 
it's not worth while to unpack her boxes." 
   "Is she young and handsome?" said I, thinking of Mr. Brympton. 
   "Not her! She's the kind that mothers engage when they've gay young gentlemen 
at college." 
   Well, though I knew the woman was an idle gossip, the words stuck in my head, 
and my heart sank lower than ever as I drove up to Brympton in the dusk. There 
was something about the house -- I was sure of it now . . . 
   When I went in to tea I heard that Mr. Brympton had arrived, and I saw at a 
glance that there had been a disturbance of some kind. Mrs. Blinder's hand shook 
so that she could hardly pour the tea, and Mr. Wace quoted the most dreadful 
texts full of brimstone. Nobody said a word to me then, but when I went up to my 
room Mrs. Blinder followed me. 
   "Oh, my dear," says she, taking my hand, "I'm so glad and thankful you've 
come back to us!" 
   That struck me, as you may imagine. "Why," said I, "did you think I was 
leaving for good?" 
   "No, no, to be sure," said she, a little confused, "but I can't a-bear to 
have madam left alone for a day even." She pressed my hand hard, and, "Oh, Miss 
Hartley," says she, "be good to your mistress, as you're a Christian woman." And 
with that she hurried away, and left me staring. 
   A moment later Agnes called me to Mrs. Brympton. Hearing Mr. Brympton's voice 
in her room, I went round by the dressing-room, thinking I would lay out her 
dinner-gown before going in. The dressing-room is a large room with a window 
over the portico that looks toward the gardens. Mr. Brympton's apartments are 
beyond. When I went in, the door into the bedroom was ajar, and I heard Mr. 
Brympton saying angrily: -- "One would suppose he was the only person fit for 
you to talk to." 
   "I don't have many visitors in winter," Mrs. Brympton answered quietly. 
   "You have me!" he flung at her, sneering. 
   "You are here so seldom," said she. 
   "Well -- whose fault is that? You make the place about as lively as a family 
vault -- " 
   With that I rattled the toilet-things, to give my mistress warning and she 
rose and called me in. 
   The two dined alone, as usual, and I knew by Mr. Wace's manner at supper that 
things must be going badly. He quoted the prophets something terrible, and 
worked on the kitchen-maid so that she declared she wouldn't go down alone to 
put the cold meat in the ice-box. I felt nervous myself, and after I had put my 
mistress to bed I was half-tempted to go down again and persuade Mrs. Blinder to 
sit up awhile over a game of cards. But I heard her door closing for the night, 
and so I went on to my own room. The rain had begun again, and the drip, drip, 
drip seemed to be dropping into my brain. I lay awake listening to it, and 
turning over what my friend in town had said. What puzzled me was that it was 
always the maids who left . . . 
   After a while I slept; but suddenly a loud noise wakened me. My bell had 
rung. I sat up, terrified by the unusual sound, which seemed to go on jangling 
through the darkness. My hands shook so that I couldn't find the matches. At 
length I struck a light and jumped out of bed. I began to think I must have been 
dreaming; but I looked at the bell against the wall, and there was the little 
hammer still quivering. 
   I was just beginning to huddle on my clothes when I heard another sound. This 
time it was the door of the locked room opposite mine softly opening and 
closing. I heard the sound distinctly, and it frightened me so that I stood 
stock still. Then I heard a footstep hurrying down the passage toward the main 
house. The floor being carpeted, the sound was very faint, but I was quite sure 
it was a woman's step. I turned cold with the thought of it, and for a minute or 
two I dursn't breathe or move. Then I came to my senses. 
   "Alice Hartley," says I to myself, "someone left that room just now and ran 
down the passage ahead of you. The idea isn't pleasant, but you may as well face 
it. Your mistress has rung for you, and to answer her bell you've got to go the 
way that other woman has gone." 
   Well -- I did it. I never walked faster in my life, yet I thought I should 
never get to the end of the passage or reach Mrs. Brympton's room. On the way I 
heard nothing and saw nothing: all was dark and quiet as the grave. When I 
reached my mistress's door the silence was so deep that I began to think I must 
be dreaming, and was half-minded to turn back. Then a panic seized me, and I 
knocked. 
   There was no answer, and I knocked again, loudly. To my astonishment the door 
was opened by Mr. Brympton. He started back when he saw me, and in the light of 
my candle his face looked red and savage. 
    "You!" he said, in a queer voice. "How many of you are there, in God's 
name?" 
   At that I felt the ground give under me; but I said to myself that he had 
been drinking, and answered as steadily as I could: "May I go in, sir? Mrs. 
Brympton has rung for me." 
   "You may all go in, for what I care," says he, and, pushing by me, walked 
down the hall to his own bedroom. I looked after him as he went, and to my 
surprise I saw that he walked as straight as a sober man. 
   I found my mistress lying very weak and still, but she forced a smile when 
she saw me, and signed to me to pour out some drops for her. After that she lay 
without speaking, her breath coming quick, and her eyes closed. Suddenly she 
groped out with her hand, and " Emma," says she, faintly. 
   "It's Hartley, madam," I said. "Do you want anything?" 
   She opened her eyes wide and gave me a startled look. 
   "I was dreaming," she said. "You may go, now, Hartley, and thank you kindly. 
I'm quite well again, you see." And she turned her face away from me. 

III 
   THERE was no more sleep for me that night, and I was thankful when daylight 
came. 
   Soon afterward, Agnes called me to Mrs. Brympton. I was afraid she was ill 
again, for she seldom sent for me before nine, but I found her sitting up in 
bed, pale and drawn-looking, but quite herself. 
   "Hartley," says she quickly, "will you put on your things at once and go down 
to the village for me? I want this prescription made up -- " here she hesitated 
a minute and blushed -- "and I should like you to be back again before Mr. 
Brympton is up." 
   "Certainly, madam," I said. 
   "And -- stay a moment -- " she called me back as if an idea had just struck 
her -- "while you're waiting for the mixture, you'll have time to go on to Mr. 
Ranford's with this note." 
   It was a two-mile walk to the village, and on my way I had time to turn 
things over in my mind. It struck me as peculiar that my mistress should wish 
the prescription made up without Mr. Brympton's knowledge; and, putting this 
together with the scene of the night before, and with much else that I had 
noticed and suspected, I began to wonder if the poor lady was weary of her life, 
and had come to the mad resolve of ending it. The idea took such hold on me that 
I reached the village on a run, and dropped breathless into a chair before the 
chemist's counter. The good man, who was just taking down his shutters, stared 
at me so hard that it brought me to myself. 
   "Mr. Limmel," I says, trying to speak indifferent, "will you run your eye 
over this, and tell me if it's quite right?" 
   He put on his spectacles and studied the prescription. 
   "Why, it's one of Dr. Walton's," says he. "What should be wrong with it?" 
   "Well -- is it dangerous to take?" 
   "Dangerous -- how do you mean?" 
   I could have shaken the man for his stupidity. 
   "I mean -- if a person was to take too much of it -- by mistake of course -- 
" says I, my heart in my throat. 
   "Lord bless you, no. It's only lime-water. You might feed it to a baby by the 
bottleful." 
   I gave a great sigh of relief, and hurried on to Mr. Ranford's. But on the 
way another thought struck me. If there was nothing to conceal about my visit to 
the chemist's, was it my other errand that Mrs. Brympton wished me to keep 
private? Somehow, that thought frightened me worse than the other. Yet the two 
gentlemen seemed fast friends, and I would have staked my head on my mistress's 
goodness. I felt ashamed of my suspicions, and concluded that I was still 
disturbed by the strange events of the night. I left the note at Mr. Ranford's 
-- and, hurrying back to Brympton, slipped in by a side door without being seen, 
as I thought. 
   An hour later, however, as I was carrying in my mistress's breakfast, I was 
stopped in the hall by Mr. Brympton. 
   "What were you doing out so early?" he says, looking hard at me. 
   "Early -- me, sir?" I said, in a tremble. 
   "Come, come," he says, an angry red spot coming out on his forehead, "didn't 
I see you scuttling home through the shrubbery an hour or more ago?" 
   I'm a truthful woman by nature, but at that a lie popped out ready-made. "No, 
sir, you didn't," said I, and looked straight back at him. 
   He shrugged his shoulders and gave a sullen laugh. "I suppose you think I was 
drunk last night?" he asked suddenly. 
   "No, sir, I don't," I answered, this time truthfully enough. 
   He turned away with another shrug. "A pretty notion my servants have of me!" 
I heard him mutter as he walked off. 
   Not till I had settled down to my afternoon's sewing did I realize how the 
events of the night had shaken me. I couldn't pass that locked door without a 
shiver. I knew I had heard someone come out of it, and walk down the passage 
ahead of me. I thought of speaking to Mrs. Blinder or to Mr. Wace, the only two 
in the house who appeared to have an inkling of what was going on, but I had a 
feeling that if I questioned them they would deny everything, and that I might 
learn more by holding my tongue and keeping my eyes open. The idea of spending 
another night opposite the locked room sickened me, and once I was seized with 
the notion of packing my trunk and taking the first train to town; but it wasn't 
in me to throw over a kind mistress in that manner, and I tried to go on with my 
sewing as if nothing had happened. 
   I hadn't worked ten minutes before the sewing-machine broke down. It was one 
I had found in the house, a good machine, but a trifle out of order: Mrs. 
Blinder said it had never been used since Emma Saxon's death. I stopped to see 
what was wrong, and as I was working at the machine a drawer which I had never 
been able to open slid forward and a photograph fell out. I picked it up and sat 
looking at it in a maze. It was a woman's likeness, and I knew I had seen the 
face somewhere -- the eyes had an asking look that I had felt on me before. And 
suddenly I remembered the pale woman in the passage. 
   I stood up, cold all over, and ran out of the room. My heart seemed to be 
thumping in the top of my head, and I felt as if I should never get away from 
the look in those eyes. I went straight to Mrs. Blinder. She was taking her 
afternoon nap, and sat up with a jump when I came in. 
   "Mrs. Blinder," said I, "who is that?" And I held out the photograph. 
   She rubbed her eyes and stared. 
   "Why, Emma Saxon," says she. "Where did you find it?" 
   I looked hard at her for a minute. "Mrs. Blinder," I said, "I've seen that 
face before." 
   Mrs. Blinder got up and walked over to the looking-glass. "Dear me! I must 
have been asleep," she says. "My front is all over one ear. And now do run 
along, Miss Hartley, dear, for I hear the clock striking four, and I must go 
down this very minute and put on the Virginia ham for Mr. Brympton's dinner." 
IV
   TO all appearances, things went on as usual for a week or two. The only 
difference was that Mr. Brympton stayed on, instead of going off as he usually 
did, and that Mr. Ranford never showed himself. I heard Mr. Brympton remark on 
this one afternoon when he was sitting in my mistress's room before dinner. 
   "Where's Ranford?" says he. "He hasn't been near the house for a week. Does 
he keep away because I'm here?" 
   Mrs. Brympton spoke so low that I couldn't catch her answer. 
   "Well," he went on, "two's company and three's trumpery; I'm sorry to be in 
Ranford's way, and I suppose I shall have to take myself off again in a day or 
two and give him a show." And he laughed at his own joke. 
   The very next day, as it happened, Mr. Ranford called. The footman said the 
three were very merry over their tea in the library, and Mr. Brympton strolled 
down to the gate with Mr. Ranford when he left. 
   I have said that things went on as usual; and so they did with the rest of 
the household; but as for myself, I had never been the same since the night my 
bell had rung. Night after night I used to lie awake, listening for it to ring 
again, and for the door of the locked room to open stealthily. But the bell 
never rang, and I heard no sound across the passage. At last the silence began 
to be more dreadful to me than the most mysterious sounds. I felt that someone 
were cowering there, behind the locked door, watching and listening as I watched 
and listened, and I could almost have cried out, "Whoever you are, come out and 
let me see you face to face, but don't lurk there and spy on me in the 
darkness!" 
   Feeling as I did, you may wonder I didn't give warning. Once I very nearly 
did so; but at the last moment something held me back. Whether it was compassion 
for my mistress, who had grown more and more dependent on me, or unwillingness 
to try a new place, or some other feeling that I couldn't put a name to, I 
lingered on as if spell-bound, though every night was dreadful to me, and the 
days but little better. 
   For one thing, I didn't like Mrs. Brympton's looks. She had never been the 
same since that night, no more than I had. I thought she would brighten up after 
Mr. Brympton left, but though she seemed easier in her mind, her spirits didn't 
revive, nor her strength either. She had grown attached to me, and seemed to 
like to have me about; and Agnes told me one day that, since Emma Saxon's death, 
I was the only maid her mistress had taken to. This gave me a warm feeling for 
the poor lady, though after all there was little I could do to help her. 
   After Mr. Brympton's departure, Mr. Ranford took to coming again, though less 
often than formerly. I met him once or twice in the grounds, or in the village, 
and I couldn't but think there was a change in him too; but I set it down to my 
disordered fancy. 
   The weeks passed, and Mr. Brympton had now been a month absent. We heard he 
was cruising with a friend in the West Indies, and Mr. Wace said that was a long 
way off, but though you had the wings of a dove and went to the uttermost parts 
of the earth, you couldn't get away from the Almighty. Agnes said that as long 
as he stayed away from Brympton, the Almighty might have him and welcome; and 
this raised a laugh, though Mrs. Blinder tried to look shocked, and Mr. Wace 
said the bears would eat us. 
   We were all glad to hear that the West Indies were a long way off, and I 
remember that, in spite of Mr. Wace's solemn looks, we had a very merry dinner 
that day in the hall. I don't know if it was because of my being in better 
spirits, but I fancied Mrs. Brympton looked better too, and seemed more cheerful 
in her manner. She had been for a walk in the morning, and after luncheon she 
lay down in her room, and I read aloud to her. When she dismissed me I went to 
my own room feeling quite bright and happy, and for the first time in weeks 
walked past the locked door without thinking of it. As I sat down to my work I 
looked out and saw a few snow-flakes falling. The sight was pleasanter than the 
eternal rain, and I pictured to myself how pretty the bare gardens would look in 
their white mantle. It seemed to me as if the snow would cover up all the 
dreariness, indoors as well as out. 
   The fancy had hardly crossed my mind when I heard a step at my side. I looked 
up, thinking it was Agnes. 
   "Well, Agnes -- " said I, and the words froze on my tongue; for there, in the 
door, stood Emma Saxon. 
   I don't know how long she stood there. I only know I couldn't stir or take my 
eyes from her. Afterward I was terribly frightened, but at the time it wasn't 
fear I felt, but something deeper and quieter. She looked at me long and long, 
and her face was just one dumb prayer to me -- but how in the world was I to 
help her? Suddenly she turned, and I heard her walk down the passage. This time 
I wasn't afraid to follow -- I felt that I must know what she wanted. I sprang 
up and ran out. She was at the other end of the passage, and I expected her to 
take the turn toward my mistress's room; but instead of that she pushed open the 
door that led to the backstairs. I followed her down the stairs, and across the 
passageway to the back door. The kitchen and hall were empty at that hour, the 
servants being off duty, except for the footman, who was in the pantry. At the 
door she stood still a moment, with another look at me; then she turned the 
handle, and stepped out. For a minute I hesitated. Where was she leading me to? 
The door had closed softly after her, and I opened it and looked out, 
half-expecting to find that she had disappeared. But I saw her a few yards off, 
hurrying across the court-yard to the path through the woods. Her figure looked 
black and lonely in the snow, and for a second my heart failed me and I thought 
of turning back. But all the while she was drawing me after her; and catching up 
an old shawl of Mrs. Blinder's I ran out into the open. 
   Emma Saxon was in the wood-path now. She walked on steadily, and I followed 
at the same pace, till we passed out of the gates and reached the high-road. 
Then she struck across the open fields to the village. By this time the ground 
was white, and as she climbed the slope of a bare hill ahead of me I noticed 
that she left no foot-prints behind her. At sight of that, my heart shrivelled 
up within me, and my knees were water. Somehow, it was worse here than indoors. 
She made the whole countryside seem lonely as the grave, with none but us two in 
it, and no help in the wide world. 
   Once I tried to go back; but she turned and looked at me, and it was as if 
she had dragged me with ropes. After that I followed her like a dog. We came to 
the village, and she led me through it, past the church and the blacksmith's 
shop, and down the lane to Mr. Ranford's. Mr. Ranford's house stands close to 
the road: a plain old-fashioned building, with a flagged path leading to the door between box-borders. The lane was deserted, and 
as I turned into it, I saw Emma Saxon pause under the old elm by the gate. And 
now another fear came over me. I saw that we had reached the end of our journey, 
and that it was my turn to act. All the way from Brympton I had been asking 
myself what she wanted of me, but I had followed in a trance, as it were, and 
not till I saw her stop at Mr. Ranford's gate did my brain begin to clear 
itself. It stood a little way off in the snow, my heart beating fit to strangle 
me, and my feet frozen to the ground; and she stood under the elm and watched 
me. 
   I knew well enough that she hadn't led me there for nothing. I felt there was 
something I ought to say or do -- but how was I to guess what it was? I had 
never thought harm of my mistress and Mr. Ranford, but I was sure now that, from 
one cause or another, some dreadful thing hung over them. She knew what it was; 
she would tell me if she could; perhaps she would answer if I questioned her. 
   It turned me faint to think of speaking to her; but I plucked up heart and 
dragged myself across the few yards between us. As I did so, I heard the 
house-door open, and saw Mr. Ranford approaching. He looked handsome and 
cheerful, as my mistress had looked that morning, and at sight of him the blood 
began to flow again in my veins. 
   "Why, Hartley," said he, "what's the matter? I saw you coming down the lane 
just now, and came out to see if you had taken root in the snow." He stopped and 
stared at me. "What are you looking at?" he says. 
   I turned toward the elm as he spoke, and his eyes followed me; but there was 
no one there. The lane was empty as far as the eye could reach. 
   A sense of helplessness came over me. She was gone, and I had not been able 
to guess what she wanted. Her last look had pierced me to the marrow; and yet it 
had not told me! All at once, I felt more desolate than when she had stood there 
watching me. It seemed as if she had left me all alone to carry the weight of 
the secret I couldn't guess. The snow went round me in great circles, and the 
ground fell away from me. . . . 
   A drop of brandy and the warmth of Mr. Ranford's fire soon brought me to, and 
I insisted on being driven back at once to Brympton. It was nearly dark, and I 
was afraid my mistress might be wanting me. I explained to Mr. Ranford that I 
had been out for a walk and had been taken with a fit of giddiness as I passed 
his gate. This was true enough; yet I never felt more like a liar than when I 
said it. 
   When I dressed Mrs. Brympton for dinner she remarked on my pale looks and 
asked what ailed me. I told her I had a headache, and she said she would not 
require me again that evening, and advised me to go to bed. 
   It was a fact that I could scarcely keep on my feet; yet I had no fancy to 
spend a solitary evening in my room. I sat downstairs in the hall as long as I 
could hold my head up; but by nine I crept upstairs, too weary to care what 
happened if I could but get my head on a pillow. The rest of the household went 
to bed soon afterward; they kept early hours when the master was away, and 
before ten I heard Mrs. Blinder's door close, and Mr. Wace's soon after. 
   It was a very still night, earth and air all muffled in snow. Once in bed I 
felt easier, and lay quiet, listening to the strange noises that come out in a 
house after dark. Once I thought I heard a door open and close again below: it 
might have been the glass door that led to the gardens. I got up and peered out 
of the window; but it was in the dark of the moon, and nothing visible outside 
but the streaking of snow against the panes. 
   I went back to bed and must have dozed, for I jumped awake to the furious 
ringing of my bell. Before my head was clear I had sprung out of bed, and was 
dragging on my clothes. It is going to happen now, I heard myself saying; but 
what I meant I had no notion. My hands seemed to be covered with glue -- I 
thought I should never get into my clothes. At last I opened my door and peered 
down the passage. As far as my candle-flame carried, I could see nothing unusual 
ahead of me. I hurried on, breathless; but as I pushed open the baize door 
leading to the main hall my heart stood still, for there at the head of the 
stairs was Emma Saxon, peering dreadfully down into the darkness. 
   For a second I couldn't stir; but my hand slipped from the door, and as it 
swung shut the figure vanished. At the same instant there came another sound 
from below stairs -- a stealthy mysterious sound, as of a latch-key turning in 
the house-door. I ran to Mrs. Brympton's room and knocked. 
   There was no answer, and I knocked again. This time I heard some one moving 
in the room; the bolt slipped back and my mistress stood before me. To my 
surprise I saw that she had not undressed for the night. She gave me a startled 
look. 
   "What is this, Hartley?" she says in a whisper. "Are you ill? What are you 
doing here at this hour?" 
   "I am not ill, madam; but my bell rang." 
   At that she turned pale, and seemed about to fall. 
   "You are mistaken," she said harshly; "I didn't ring. You must have been 
dreaming." I had never heard her speak in such a tone. "Go back to bed," she 
said, closing the door on me. 
   But as she spoke I heard sounds again in the hall below: a man's step this 
time; and the truth leaped out on me. 
   "Madam," I said, pushing past her, "there is someone in the house -- " 
   "Someone -- ?" 
   "Mr. Brympton, I think -- I hear his step below -- " 
   A dreadful look came over her, and without a word, she dropped flat at my 
feet. I fell on my knees and tried to lift her: by the way she breathed I saw it 
was no common faint. But as I raised her head there came quick steps on the 
stairs and across the hall: the door was flung open, and there stood Mr. 
Brympton, in his travelling-clothes, the snow dripping from him. He drew back 
with a start as he saw me kneeling by my mistress. 
   "What the devil is this?" he shouted. He was less high-colored than usual, 
and the red spot came out on his forehead. 
   "Mrs. Brympton has fainted, sir," said I. 
   He laughed unsteadily and pushed by me. "It's a pity she didn't choose a more 
convenient moment. I'm sorry to disturb her, but -- " 
   I raised myself up, aghast at the man's action. 
   "Sir," said I, "are you mad? What are you doing?" 
   "Going to meet a friend," said he, and seemed to make for the dressing-room. 
   At that my heart turned over. I don't know what I thought or feared; but I 
sprang up and caught him by the sleeve. 
   "Sir, sir," said I, "for pity's sake look at your wife!" 
   He shook me off furiously. 
   "It seems that's done for me," says he, and caught hold of the dressing-room 
door. 
   At that moment I heard a slight noise inside. Slight as it was, he heard it 
too, and tore the door open; but as he did so he dropped back. On the threshold 
stood Emma Saxon. All was dark behind her, but I saw her plainly, and so did he. 
He threw up his hands as if to hide his face from her; and when I looked again 
she was gone. 
   He stood motionless, as if the strength had run out of him; and in the 
stillness my mistress suddenly raised herself, and opening her eyes fixed a look 
on him. Then she fell back, and I saw the death-flutter pass over her. . . . 
   We buried her on the third day, in a driving snow-storm. There were few 
people in the church, for it was bad weather to come from town, and I've a 
notion my mistress was one that hadn't many near friends. Mr. Ranford was among 
the last to come, just before they carried her up the aisle. He was in black, of 
course, being such a friend of the family, and I never saw a gentleman so pale. 
As he passed me, I noticed that he leaned a trifle on a stick he carried; and I 
fancy Mr. Brympton noticed it too, for the red spot came out sharp on his 
forehead, and all through the service he kept staring across the church at Mr. 
Ranford, instead of following the prayers as a mourner should. 
   When it was over and we went out to the graveyard, Mr. Ranford had 
disappeared, and as soon as my poor mistress's body was underground, Mr. 
Brympton jumped into the carriage nearest the gate and drove off without a word 
to any of us. I heard him call out, "To the station," and we servants went back 
alone to the house. 



