CHAPTER XXVI. A BURIAL.

themomentcomprehendedthatblue,yetlurid,flashoutofhisangryeyebutIreaditsmeaningnow.He,Ibelieved,wasnotapttoregardwhatconcernedmefromafairpointofview,nortojudgemewithtoleranceandcandour:Ihadalwaysfoundhimsevereandsuspicious:thethoughtthattheseletters,merefriendlylettersastheywere,hadfallenonce,andmightfallagain,intohishands,jarredmyverysoul. WhatshouldIdotopreventthis?Inwhatcornerofthisstrangehousewasitpossibletofindsecurityorsecresy?Wherecouldakeybeasafeguard,orapadlockabarrier? Inthegrenier?No,Ididnotlikethegrenier.Besides,mostoftheboxesanddrawersthereweremouldering,anddidnotlock.Rats,too,gnawedtheirwaythroughthedecayedwoodandmicemadenestsamongstthelitteroftheircontents:mydearletters(mostdearstill,thoughIchabodwaswrittenontheircovers)mightbeconsumedbyvermincertainlythewritingwouldsoonbecomeobliteratedbydamp.Nothegrenierwouldnotdo—butwherethen? Whileponderingthisproblem,Isatinthedormitorywindow-seat.Itwasafinefrostyafternoonthewintersun,alreadysetting,gleamedpaleonthetopsofthegarden-shrubsinthe“alléedéfendue.”Onegreatoldpear-tree—thenun’spear-tree—stoodupatalldryadskeleton,grey,gaunt,andstripped.Athoughtstruckme—oneofthosequeerfantasticthoughtsthatwillsometimesstrikesolitarypeople.Iputonmybonnet,cloak,andfurs,andwentoutintothecity. Bendingmystepstotheoldhistoricalquarterofthetown,whosehoarandovershadowedprecinctsIalwayssoughtbyinstinctinmelancholymoods,Iwanderedonfromstreettostreet,till,havingcrossedahalfdeserted“place”orsquare,Ifoundmyselfbeforeasortofbroker’sshopanancientplace,fullofancientthings.WhatIwantedwasametalboxwhichmightbesoldered,orathickglassjarorbottlewhichmightbestopperedorsealedhermetically.Amongstmiscellaneousheaps,Ifoundandpurchasedthelatterarticle. Ithenmadealittlerollofmyletters,wrappedtheminoiledsilk,boundthemwithtwine,and,havingputtheminthebottle,gottheoldJewbrokertostopper,seal,andmakeitair-tight.Whileobeyingmydirections,heglancedatmenowandthensuspiciouslyfromunderhisfrost-whiteeyelashes.Ibelievehethoughttherewassomeevildeedonhand.InallthisIhadadrearysomething—notpleasure—butasad,lonelysatisfaction.TheimpulseunderwhichIacted,themoodcontrollingme,weresimilartotheimpulseandthemoodwhichhadinducedmetovisittheconfessional.WithquickwalkingIregainedthepensionnatjustatdark,andintimefordinner. Atseveno’clockthemoonrose.Athalf-pastseven,whenthepupilsandteacherswereatstudy,andMadameBeckwaswithhermotherandchildreninthesalle-à-manger,whenthehalf-boarderswereallgonehome,andRosinehadleftthevestibule,andallwasstill—Ishawledmyself,and,takingthesealedjar,stoleoutthroughthefirst-classedoor,intotheberceauandthenceintothe“alléedéfendue.” Methusaleh,thepear-tree,stoodatthefurtherendofthiswalk,nearmyseat:heroseup,dimandgray,abovethelowershrubsroundhim.NowMethusaleh,thoughsoveryold,wasofsoundtimberstillonlytherewasahole,orratheradeephollow,nearhisroot.Iknewtherewassuchahollow,hiddenpartlybyivyandcreepersgrowingthickroundandthereImeditatedhidingmytreasure.ButIwasnotonlygoingtohideatreasure—Imeantalsotoburyagrief.ThatgriefoverwhichIhadlatelybeenweeping,asIwrappeditinitswinding-sheet,mustbeinterred. Well,Iclearedawaytheivy,andfoundtheholeitwaslargeenoughtoreceivethejar,andIthrustitdeepin.Inatool-shedatthebottomofthegarden,laytherelicsofbuilding-materials,leftbymasonslatelyemployedtorepairapartofthepremises.Ifetchedthenceaslateandsomemortar,puttheslateonthehollow,secureditwithcement,coveredtheholewithblackmould,and,finally,replacedtheivy.Thisdone,Irested,leaningagainstthetreelingering,likeanyothermourner,besideanewly-soddedgrave. Theairofthenightwasverystill,butdimwithapeculiarmist,whichchangedthemoonlightintoaluminoushaze.Inthisair,orthismist,therewassomequality—electrical,perhaps—whichactedinstrangesortuponme.IfeltthenasIhadfeltayearagoinEngland—onanightwhentheauroraborealiswasstreamingandsweepingroundheaven,when,belatedinlonelyfields,Ihadpausedtowatchthatmusteringofanarmywithbanners—thatquiveringofserriedlances—thatswiftascentofmessengersfrombelowthenorthstartothedark,highkeystoneofheaven’sarch.Ifelt,nothappy,farotherwise,butstrongwithreinforcedstrength. Iflifebeawar,itseemedmydestinytoconductitsingle-handed.Iponderednowhowtobreakupmywinter-quarters—toleaveanencampmentwherefoodandforagefailed.Perhaps,toeffectthischange,anotherpitchedbattlemustbefoughtwithfortuneifso,Ihadamindtotheencounter:toopoortolose,Godmightdestinemetogain.Butwhatroadwasopen?—whatplanavailable? OnthisquestionIwasstillpausing,whenthemoon,sodimhitherto,seemedtoshineoutsomewhatbrighter:araygleamedevenwhitebeforeme,andashadowbecamedistinctandmarked.Ilookedmorenarrowly,tomakeoutthecauseofthiswell-definedcontrastappearingalittlesuddenlyintheobscurealley:whiterandblackeritgrewonmyeye:ittookshapewithinstantaneoustransformation.Istoodaboutthreeyardsfromatall,sable-robed,snowy-veiledwoman. Fiveminutespassed.Ineitherflednorshrieked.Shewastherestill.Ispoke. “Whoareyou?andwhydoyoucometome?” Shestoodmute.Shehadnoface—nofeatures:allbelowherbrowwasmaskedwithawhiteclothbutshehadeyes,andtheyviewedme. Ifelt,ifnotbrave,yetalittledesperateanddesperationwilloftensufficetofillthepostanddotheworkofcourage.Iadvancedonestep.Istretchedoutmyhand,forImeanttotouchher.Sheseemedtorecede.Idrewnearer:herrecession,stillsilent,becameswift.Amassofshrubs,full-leavedevergreens,laurelanddenseyew,intervenedbetweenmeandwhatIfollowed.Havingpassedthatobstacle,Ilookedandsawnothing.Iwaited.Isaid,—“Ifyouhaveanyerrandtomen,comebackanddeliverit.”Nothingspokeorre-appear