The Earl's Hall
by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
The good governess had a particular liking for the old castle, and
when lessons were over, would take her book or her work into a large
room in the ancient building, called the Earl's Hall. Here she caused
a table and chair to be placed for her use, and in the chiaroscuro
would so sit at her favourite occupations, with just a little ray of
subdued light, admitted through one of the glassless windows above
her, and falling upon her table.
The Earl's Hall is entered by a narrow-arched door, opening close to
the winding stair. It is a very large and gloomy room, pretty nearly
square, with a lofty vaulted ceiling, and a stone floor. Being
situated high in the castle, the walls of which are immensely thick,
and the windows very small and few, the silence that reigns here is
like that of a subterranean cavern. You hear nothing in this solitude,
except perhaps twice in a day, the twitter of a swallow in one of the
small windows high in the wall.
This good lady having one day retired to her accustomed solitude, was
missed from the house at her wonted hour of return. This in a country
house, such as Irish houses were in those days, excited little
surprise, and no harm. But when the dinner hour came, which was then,
in country houses, five o'clock, and the governess had not appeared,
some of her young friends, it being not yet winter, and sufficient
light remaining to guide them through the gloom of the dim ascent and
passages, mounted the old stone stair to the level of the Earl's Hall,
gaily calling to her as they approached.
There was no answer. On the stone floor, outside the door of the
Earl's Hall, to their horror, they found her lying insensible. By the
usual means she was restored to consciousness; but she continued very
ill, and was conveyed to the house, where she took to her bed.
It was there and then that she related what had occurred to her. She
had placed herself, as usual, at her little work table, and had been
either working or reading—I forget which—for some time, and felt in
her usual health and serene spirits. Raising her eyes, and looking
towards the door, she saw a horrible-looking little man enter. He was
dressed in red, was very short, had a singularly dark face, and a most
atrocious countenance. Having walked some steps into the room, with
his eyes fixed on her, he stopped, and beckoning to her to follow,
moved back toward the door. About half way, again he stopped once more
and turned. She was so terrified that she sat staring at the
apparition without moving or speaking. Seeing that she had not obeyed
him, his face became more frightful and menacing, and as it underwent
this change, he raised his hand and stamped on the floor. Gesture,
look, and all, expressed diabolical fury. Through sheer extremity of
terror she did rise, and, as he turned again, followed him a step or
two in the direction of the door. He again stopped, and with the same
mute menace, compelled her again to follow him.
She reached the narrow stone doorway of the Earl's Hall, through which
he had passed; from the threshold she saw him standing a little way
off, with his eyes still fixed on her. Again he signed to her, and
began to move along the short passage that leads to the winding stair.
But instead of following him further, she fell on the floor in a fit.
The poor lady was thoroughly persuaded that she was not long to
survive this vision, and her foreboding proved true. From her bed she
never rose. Fever and delirium supervened in a few days and she died.
Of course it is possible that fever, already approaching, had touched
her brain when she was visited by the phantom, and that it had no