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The Haunted Hotel-Part19_WILKIE COLLINS (1824-1899)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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he related, without further hesitation, what his own experience

had been, and what the experience of his relatives had been,



in the haunted hotel. He even described the outbreak of superstitious

terror which had escaped Mrs. Norbury's ignorant maid.



'Sad stuff, if you look at it reasonably,' he remarked.

'But there is something dramatic in the notion of the ghostly influence



making itself felt by the relations in succession, as they one after

another enter the fatal room--until the one chosen relative comes



who will see the Unearthly Creature, and know the terrible truth.

Material for a play, Countess--first-rate material for a play!'



There he paused. She neither moved nor spoke. He stooped and looked

closer at her.



What impression had he produced? It was an impression which his

utmost ingenuity had failed to anticipate. She stood by his side--



just as she had stood before Agnes when her question about Ferrari

was plainly answered at last--like a woman turned to stone.



Her eyes were vacant and rigid; all the life in her face had faded

out of it. Francis took her by the hand. Her hand was as cold



as the pavement that they were standing on. He asked her if she

was ill.



Not a muscle in her moved. He might as well have spoken to the dead.

'Surely,' he said, 'you are not foolish enough to take what I



have been telling you seriously?'

Her lips moved slowly. As it seemed, she was making an effort



to speak to him.

'Louder,' he said. 'I can't hear you.'



She struggled to recover possession of herself. A faint light began

to soften the dull cold stare of her eyes. In a moment more she



spoke so that he could hear her.

'I never thought of the other world,' she murmured, in low dull tones,



like a woman talking in her sleep.

Her mind had gone back to the day of her last memorable interview



with Agnes; she was slowly recalling the confession that had escaped her,

the warning words which she had spoken at that past time.



Necessarily incapable of understanding this, Francis looked

at her in perplexity. She went on in the same dull vacant tone,



steadily following out her own train of thought, with her heedless

eyes on his face, and her wandering mind far away from him.



'I said some trifling event would bring us together the next time.

I was wrong. No trifling event will bring us together.



I said I might be the person who told her what had become of Ferrari,

if she forced me to it. Shall I feel some other influence than hers?



Will he force me to it? When she sees him, shall I see

him too?'



Her head sank a little; her heavy eyelids dropped slowly;

she heaved a long low weary sigh. Francis put her arm in his,



and made an attempt to rouse her.

'Come, Countess, you are weary and over-wrought. We have had



enough talking to-night. Let me see you safe back to your hotel.

Is it far from here?'



She started when he moved, and obliged her to move with him,

as if he had suddenly awakened her out of a deep sleep.



'Not far,' she said faintly. 'The old hotel on the quay.

My mind's in a strange state; I have forgotten the name.'



'Danieli's?'

'Yes!'



He led her on slowly. She accompanied him in silence as far

as the end of the Piazzetta. There, when the full view of



the moonlit Lagoon revealed itself, she stopped him as he turned

towards the Riva degli Schiavoni. 'I have something to ask you.



I want to wait and think.'

She recovered her lost idea, after a long pause.



'Are you going to sleep in the room to-night?' she asked.

He told her that another traveller was in possession of the room



that night. 'But the manager has reserved it for me to-morrow,'

he added, 'if I wish to have it.'



'No,' she said. 'You must give it up.'

'To whom?'



'To me!'

He started. 'After what I have told you, do you really wish






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