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Through the large glass windows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people could discern the figure of Lady Eleanore, strangely combining an almost queenly stateliness with the grace and beauty of a maiden in her teens.
And as Eleanore looked up to the stars I saw their brightness in her eyes. "Yes," she said at last, "I'm sure. I'm sure you'd better take his advice and write as truthfully as you can the whole story as you see it now of this strange harbor you have known." We talked long and eagerly that night. I began my story of the harbor.
On the way home Daniel walked with Eleanore. Gertrude followed at some distance with M. Rivière; she could not walk rapidly. “How did you find it, Eleanore? Didn’t you have the feeling that you were at a feast of corpses?” “Dear,” she murmured; they walked on. After they had gone along for some time in perfect silence, they came to a narrow gateway.
There is a belief, however, that in a certain chamber of this mansion a female form may sometimes be duskily discerned, shrinking into the darkest corner and muffling her face within an embroidered mantle. Supposing the legend true, can this be other than the once proud Lady Eleanore?
It must be removed at once." The old woman smiled, and answered in the same low, mysterious voice, "It is the blood of Lady Eleanore de Canterville, who was murdered on that very spot by her own husband, Sir Simon de Canterville, in 1575. Sir Simon survived her nine years, and disappeared suddenly under very mysterious circumstances.
She repeated that this was the way it was, and she could not help it. Once again she asked that he spare her feelings on this point. Her face took on a serious expression; it resembled an old picture. There was something dream-like in her words. “Well, if that is all you have on your mind, Eleanore, I am sure that it will be easy for me to respect your wish,” said Daniel.
She went straightway to her father’s house to find out why Eleanore so rarely came to see her. “I don’t like to come; Daniel is so unkind to me,” said Eleanore. Gertrude replied that he was unkind to everybody, including her herself, and that she must not pay any attention to this; for she knew full well that Daniel liked her—and perhaps he himself was offended because she never called.
That tinge of the marvellous which is thrown over so many of these half-forgotten legends has probably imparted an additional wildness to the strange story of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe. The ship in which she came passenger had arrived at Newport, whence Lady Eleanore was conveyed to Boston in the governor's coach, attended by a small escort of gentlemen on horseback.
I should like to write the truth as I see it about each kind of harbor. But I need the money my wife is going to have a child. So I'll take that steady position and try to grind part of the truth away." "What have you been doing?" Eleanore asked when I came home. "You look like a ghost." "Not at all," I replied. "I've been getting a job." "Tell me about it." I told her part.
“I merely thought that Benda had sent me his greetings,” replied Eleanore, and blushed with embarrassment. Daniel then held the letter above the chimney of the lamp, waited until it had caught fire, and then threw it on the floor, where it burned up. “It is late, and father is already waiting,” said Eleanore, after they had eaten in great haste. “I will take you home,” declared Daniel.
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