Wondering who it could be,
he leaned forward to inspect it closer. The figure moved, an icy
current of air ran through him, and he saw to his horror the livid
countenance of the dead Jean. There she was, staring down at him with
lurid, glassy eyes; her cheeks startlingly white, her hair fluttering
in the wind, her neck and forehead bathed in blood.
Paralysed with terror, Mr. Stuart could not remove his gaze, and it
was not until one of the menials opened the carriage door to assist
him down, that the spell was broken and he was able to speak and move.
He then flew into the house, and spent the rest of the night in the
most abject fear.
After this he had no peace--Allanbank was constantly haunted. The
great oak doors opened and shut of their own accord at night with loud
clanging and bangs, and the rustling of silks and pattering of
high-heeled shoes were heard in the oak-panelled bedrooms and along
the many dark and winding passages.
From her attire, which was a piece of lace made of thread, the
apparition became known as "Pearlin' Jean," and a portrait of her was
actually painted. It is recorded that when this picture was hung
between one of Mr. Stuart and his lady-love, the hauntings ceased, but
that as soon as it was removed they were renewed. Presumably, it was
not allowed to remain in the aforesaid position long, for the
manifestations appear to have gone on for many years without
intermission.
Most phantasms of the dead inspire those who see them with
horror,--and that is my own experience,--but "Pearlin' Jean" seems to
have been an exception to this rule.
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