Classic Ghost Stories by Wilkie Collins, M. R. James, Charles Dickens and Others Page B

it which was nearest to the window, Mrs. Zant was pacing to and fro across the breadth of the room. At the opposite end of the table, John Zant was seated. Taken completely by surprise, he showed himself in his true character. He started to his feet, and protested with an oath against the intrusion which had been committed on him.
    Heedless of his action and his language, Mr. Rayburn could look at nothing; could think of nothing, but Mrs. Zant. She was still walking slowly to and fro, unconscious of the words of sympathy which he addressed to her, insensible even as it seemed to the presence of other persons in the room.
    John Zant’s voice broke the silence. His temper was under control again: he had his reasons for still remaining on friendly terms with Mr. Rayburn.
    â€œI am sorry I forgot myself just now,” he said.
    Mr. Rayburn’s interest was concentrated on Mrs. Zant: he took no notice of the apology.
    â€œWhen did this happen?” he asked.
    â€œAbout a quarter of an hour ago. I was fortunately at home. Without speaking to me, without noticing me, she walked upstairs like a person in a dream.”
    Mr. Rayburn suddenly pointed to Mrs. Zant.
    â€œLook at her!” he said. “There’s a change!”
    All restlessness in her movements had come to an end. She was standing at the farther end of the table which was nearest to the window, in the full flow of sunlight pouring at that moment over her face. Her eyes looked out straight before her—void of all expression. Her lips were a little parted; her head drooped slightly towards her shoulder, in an attitude which suggested listening for something or waiting for something. In the warm brilliant light, she stood before the two men, a living creature self-isolated in a stillness like the stillness of death.
    John Zant was ready with the expression of his opinion.
    â€œA nervous seizure,” he said. “Something resembling catalepsy, as you see.”
    â€œHave you sent for a doctor?”
    â€œA doctor is not wanted.”
    â€œI beg your pardon. It seems to me that medical help is absolutely necessary”
    â€œBe so good as to remember,” Mr. John Zant answered, “that the decision rests with me, as the lady’s relative. I am sensible of the honour which your visit confers on me. But the time has been unhappily chosen. Forgive me if I suggest that you will do well to retire.”
    Mr. Rayburn had not forgotten the housekeeper’s advice, or the promise which she had exacted from him. But the expression in John Zant’s face was a serious trial to his self-control. He hesitated, and looked back at Mrs. Zant.
    If he provoked a quarrel by remaining in the room, the one alternative would be the removal of her by force. Fear of the consequences to herself, if she was suddenly and roughly roused from her trance, was the one consideration which reconciled him to submission. He withdrew.
    The housekeeper was waiting for him below, on the first landing. When the door of the drawing-room had been closed again, she signed to him to follow her, and returned up the stairs. After another struggle with himself, he obeyed. They entered the library from the corridor—and placed themselves behind the closed curtain which hung over the doorway. It was easy so to arrange the edge of the drapery as to observe, without exciting suspicion, whatever was going on in the next room.
    Mrs. Zant’s brother-in-law was approaching her, at the time when Mr. Rayburn saw him again.
    In the instant afterwards, she moved—before he had completely passed over the space between them. Her still figure began to tremble. She lifted her drooping head. For a moment, there was a shrinking in her—as if she had been touched by something. She seemed to recognise the touch: she was still again.
    John Zant watched the change. It suggested to him that she was beginning to recover her senses. He tried the experiment of speaking to