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Updated: May 25, 2025
Below the last lines written by Miss Dunross nothing met my eyes now but the blank white paper! My first impulse was to look at my watch. When the ghostly presence had written in my sketch-book, the characters had disappeared after an interval of three hours. On this occasion, as nearly as I could calculate, the writing had vanished in one hour only.
I saw the twilight glimmering between the curtains and I saw no more. She had spoken. She had gone. I was near Miss Dunross near enough, when I put out my hand, to touch her. She started and shuddered, like a woman suddenly awakened from a dreadful dream. "Speak to me!" she whispered. "Let me know that it is you who touched me." I spoke a few composing words before I questioned her.
These are my imperishable relics; these are the deeds of my life that I shall love best to look back on, when the all-infolding shadows of death are closing round me. In the hours when I was alone, my thoughts occupying themselves mostly among the persons and events of the past wandered back, many and many a time, to Shetland and Miss Dunross.
I had read in medical books of cases of morbid nervous sensitiveness exactly similar to the case of Miss Dunross, as described by herself and that had been enough for me. Now that my mother's idea had found its way from her mind to mine, the impression produced on me was painful in the last degree.
"No, George. I only doubt whether she told you all the truth." "What do you mean?" "Don't be offended, my dear. I believe Miss Dunross has some more serious reason for keeping her face hidden than the reason that she gave you." I was silent. The suspicion which those words implied had never occurred to my mind.
During the hard times which intervened between these gleams of opulence, the pair roughed it uncomplainingly as best they might. The major would sometimes create a fictitious splendour by dilating upon the beauties of Castle Dunross, in county Mayo, which is the headquarters of all the Clutterbucks. "We'll go and live there some day, me boy," he would say, slapping his comrade on the back.
Here was the idea of which I had been vainly in search! Quite superfluous as a method of pleading my cause with Mrs. Van Brandt, the portrait offered the best of all means of communicating with Miss Dunross, without absolutely violating the engagement to which her father had pledged me.
She glides back to my bedside before she speaks again. When she does answer, it is in these startling words: "You were mistaken, Mr. Germaine. Your room has been darkened not on your account, but on mine." MISS DUNROSS had so completely perplexed me, that I was at a loss what to say next.
Look up, when you leave the house to-morrow, at the center window over the doorway that will be answer enough." To say that these melancholy lines brought the tears into my eyes is only to acknowledge that I had sympathies which could be touched. When I had in some degree recovered my composure, the impulse which urged me to write to Miss Dunross was too strong to be resisted.
Peter appeared, and received his instructions. "Move the screen," said Miss Dunross. Peter obeyed; the ruddy firelight streamed over the floor. Miss Dunross proceeded with her directions. "Open the door of the cats' room, Peter; and bring me my harp. Don't suppose that you are going to listen to a great player, Mr.
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