Read Online Classic Ghost Stories by Wilkie Collins, M. R. James, Charles Dickens and Others - Free Book Online

leaves a message on his card.”
    She looked for the message, and appeared to be disappointed: there was no writing on the card.
    Mr. Rayburn lingered a little in the doorway, on the chance of hearing something more. The landlady’s vigilant eyes discovered him.
    â€œDo you know this gentleman?” she said maliciously to her lodger.
    â€œNot that I remember.”
    Replying in those words, the lady looked at Mr. Rayburn for the first time; and she suddenly drew back from him.
    â€œYes,” she said, correcting herself; “I think we met——”
    Her embarrassment overpowered her; she could say no more.
    Mr. Rayburn compassionately finished the sentence for her.
    â€œWe met accidentally in Kensington Gardens,” he said.
    She seemed to be incapable of appreciating the kindness of his motive. After hesitating a little she addressed a proposal to him, which seemed to show distrust of the landlady.
    â€œWill you let me speak to you upstairs in my own rooms?” she asked.
    Without waiting for a reply, she led the way to the stairs. Mr. Rayburn and Lucy followed. They were just beginning the ascent to the first floor, when the spiteful landlady left the lower room, and called to her lodger over their heads:
    â€œTake care what you say to this man, Mrs. Zant! He thinks you’re mad.”
    Mrs. Zant turned round on the landing, and looked at him. Not a word fell from her lips. She suffered, she feared, in silence. Something in the sad submission of her face touched the springs of innocent pity in Lucy’s heart. The child burst out crying.
    That artless expression of sympathy drew Mrs. Zant down the few stairs which separated her from Lucy.
    â€œMay I kiss your dear little girl?” she said to Mr. Rayburn. The landlady, standing on the mat below, expressed her opinion of the value of caresses, as compared with a sounder method of treating young persons in tears: “If that child was mine,” she remarked, “I would give her something to cry for.”
    In the meantime, Mrs. Zant led the way to her rooms.
    The first words she spoke showed that the landlady had succeeded but too well in prejudicing her against Mr. Rayburn.
    â€œWill you let me ask your child,” she said to him, “why you think me mad?”
    He met this strange request with a firm answer.
    â€œYou don’t know yet what I really do think. Will you give me a minute’s attention?”
    â€œNo,” she said positively. “The child pities me, I want to speak to the child. What did you see me do in the Gardens, my dear, that surprised you?” Lucy turned uneasily to her father; Mrs. Zant persisted. “I first saw you by yourself, and then I saw you with your father,” she went on. “When I came nearer to you, did I look very oddly—as if I didn’t see you at all?”
    Lucy hesitated again; and Mr. Rayburn interfered.
    â€œYou are confusing my little girl,” he said. “Allow me to answer your questions—or excuse me if I leave you.”
    There was something in his look, or in his tone, that mastered her. She put her hand to her head.
    â€œI don’t think I’m fit for it,” she answered vacantly. “My courage has been sorely tried already. If I can get a little rest and sleep, you may find me a different person. I am left a great deal by myself; and I have reasons for trying to compose my mind. Can I see you to-morrow? Or write to you? Where do you live?”
    Mr. Rayburn laid his card on the table in silence. She had strongly excited his interest. He honestly desired to be of some service to this forlorn creature—abandoned so cruelly, as it seemed to her own guidance. But he had no authority to exercise, no sort of claim to direct her actions, even if she consented to accept his advice. As a last resource he ventured on an allusion to the relative of whom she had spoken downstairs.
    â€œWhen do you expect to see your