Page 38 - 1951 VES Meteor

' Y o u n g Kirk, who h a d t o g o t o Charleston five days before the wed- ding on business, was to return late the afternoon of the wedding, which was to be at eight. The day came and everything was prepared. I had never seen Margaret quite so happy.
Then the hour of the wedding came. Margaret dressed and the guests and the minister orrived, as the wedding was to be in the house. Time passed, but Richard did not come. At last, Margaret with tears of hurt, grief, and worry went to her room. Paul went to his room also, even though he was the only person who did not appear to be worried or surprised. All the guests went home, leaving only the minister and myself sitting here,
as you and I are now.
'The minister and I had been talk- ing for some time, when the clock struck twelve. On its final stroke we heard the foint sound of hoof-beats coming down the avenue from the entrance. They grew louder. I knew them. They were the hoof-beats of Richord's horse, which I had heard come down that long avenue so many times. They came on, but we just sat there fearing that we might be wrong in t hinking it his horse. A t last, they stopped at the steps and then we could heor the horse go around to the stable, which he had been trained to do. We heard the steps of Richard rush up on the porch, and we heard Margaret run down the hall stairs and fling open the doors. There was a pause and then there was an awful scream. We rushed into the hall, to
find Margaret lying in the threshold of the open door. But Richard was not there. There wos nothing wrong with her. She hod only fainted. Mar- garet had screamed and fainted be- cause when she had opened the door, she had not been met with the open arms of her lover, but instead a horrible woll of blackness and empti- ness. W e searched for the horse, b ut it was not to be found. The only person who slept any that night was Paul.
"The next morning, the report came that the bodies of Richard and his horse had been found, shot to death in a swomp between here and Char- leston. Then we all knew why Paul had acted as he had. He had had them shot. That very day, Margaret packed her baggage and went to Richmond to live with an aunt and vncle there. When she left, she swore with her lost words tho+ she would never return until Richard came back.
"Paul wos not put in prison, as they could never prove thot he had had Richard shot. He was so ostracized here, however, that he was forced to move away. He gave me the house and I have been here running the plantation ever since. I have tried many times to get Margaret to re-
turn, but she never has."
Then Miss Lucy turned to me and addressed me directly.
"The reason," she said, "that I did not let you in at once, is that tonight is the anniversary of that event. To- night at twelve you will hear the ghost of that horse gallop down the avenue, stop at the steps, and then go around to the stable. You will hear Richard rush up to the door as he has done of this night ever since he was shot."
With the ejaculotion of these words, I sat up straight in my chair. Now everything was clear. I knew why she had wanted to be alone. I hardly knew what to say. I didn't really think that the ghosts of thot horse and boy would come, as she had said. I was about to try to comfort her when the clock began to strike. It was striking twelve. It wos too late for words. I sat back. The truth would come now.
Upon the fiinal stroke of the clock, I listened, and then I sat up very straight. I heard the faint sound of hoof-beats ringing through the wa rm
summer oir. Chills ran up and down my back. I had never witnessed any- thing like this. The hoof-beats came on. I looked ot Miss Lucy. She was calm, reposed, ond looked as though she were o hundred miles away. The hoof-beots come on. I still didn't want to believe, but there they were get- ting louder and louder. At last they stopped at the steps of the old house. I heard the footsteps of a young man rush up on the porch. Then I heard the nimble steps of a young girl run- ning down the hall stairs. I looked at Miss Lucy again, as she had not said that Margaret would enter into this. Now her face was no longer calm. An expression of fear had replaced the beoutiful calmness I had seen there. Meonwhile the steps of the girl
reached the door. I heard the bar being removed ond the key turning in the lock. I looked at Miss Lucy again. The expression of fear was still there, but now the flicker of a faint smile crossed her lips. The door opened. I, thinking now that Miss
Lucy had meant that the whole thing
would repeat itself, braced myself, ex- pecting to hear an awful scream. But no scream followed. Instead we heard the footsteps of both boy and girl go- ing down the steps. Then we realized that the horse had not gone to the stable. W e both jumped up anc rushed into the hall, finding that the big double doors, which had been so carefully locked and barred by Corine, were now flung wide. By the time we reached the porch, the horse had been mounted and had started down the avenue from the house.
I looked over Miss Lucy's shoulder into the dimly lighted gloom of the avenue where the moon was s~inina through in patches. As the sound of the hoof-beots crossed one of these patches, I will still swear that I saw a horse with two riders. One was a boy and the other a girl wearing a full dress ond veil, like a wedding gown.
14
THE METEOR
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a t
talked little. There came a rap at the
door, and in a minute Corine re- turned and honded Miss Lucy o:1e of those familiar yellow envelopes of a telegram. She opened and read it. Then she turned to me and handed me the telegrom with tears in her eyes and yet a smile on her face.
I read it. It was from Richmond. The message of the telegram was:
Next morning
breakfast we
' Margaret twelve."
died last
night at
SOUTHERN CAB
COMP ANY
DIAL
2-2332
DOYLE - FLORISTS
708 Main Street
V-Ciub Agents-Winston and Thomas