Hers was a personality that
no lapse of time, nothing could efface; a personality that made itself
felt on boys of all temperaments, most of all, of course, on those
who--like myself--were highly strung and sensitive. She was classical mistress at L.'s, the then well-known dame school in
Clifton, where for three years--prior to migrating to a Public School--I
was well grounded in all the mysticisms of Kennedy's Latin Primer and
Smith's First Greek Principia. I doubt if she got anything more than a very small salary--governesses
in those days were shockingly remunerated--and I know,--poor soul, she
had to work monstrously hard. Drumming Latin and Greek into heads as
thick as ours was no easy task. But there were times, when the excessive tension on the nerves proving
too much, Mrs. Hartnoll stole a little relaxation; when she allowed
herself to chat with us, and even to smile--Heavens! those smiles! And
when--I can feel the tingling of my pulses at the bare mention of
it--she spoke about herself, stated she had once been young--a
declaration so astounding, so utterly beyond our comprehension, that we
were rendered quite speechless--and told us anecdotes. Of many of her narratives I have no recollection, but one or two, which
interested me more than the rest, are almost as fresh in my mind as when
recounted. The one that appealed to me most, and which I have every
reason to believe is absolutely true,[1] is as follows:--I give it as
nearly as I can in her own somewhat stilted style:--

"Up to the age of nineteen, I resided with my parents in the Manor
House, Oxenby. It was an old building, dating back, I believe, to the
reign of Edward VI, and had originally served as the residence of noble
families. Built, or, rather, faced with split flints, and edged and
buttressed with cut grey stone, it had a majestic though very gloomy
appearance, and seen from afar resembled nothing so much as a huge and
grotesquely decorated sarcophagus. In the centre of its frowning and
menacing front was the device of a cat, constructed out of black
shingles, and having white shingles for the eyes; the effect being
curiously realistic, especially on moonlight nights, when anything more
lifelike and sinister could scarcely have been conceived. The artist,
whoever he was, had a more than human knowledge of cats--he portrayed
not merely their bodies but their souls. [Footnote 1: I have subsequently met several people who experienced the
same phenomena in the house, which was standing a short time ago.] "In style the front of the house was somewhat castellated. Two
semicircular bows, or half towers, placed at a suitable distance from
each other, rose from the base to the summit of the edifice, to the
height of four or five stairs; and were pierced, at every floor, with
rows of stone-mullioned windows. The flat wall between had larger
windows, lighting the great hall, gallery, and upper apartments. These
windows were wholly composed of stained glass, engraved with every
imaginable fantastic design--imps, satyrs, dragons, witches,
queer-shaped trees, hands, eyes, circles, triangles and cats. "The towers, half included in the building, were completely circular
within, and contained the winding stairs of the mansion; and whoever
ascended them when a storm was raging seemed rising by a whirlwind to
the clouds. "In the upper rooms even the wildest screams of the hurricane were
drowned in the rattling clamour of the assaulted casements. When a gale
of wind took the building in front, it rocked it to the foundations,
and, at such times, threatened its instant demolition. "Midway between the towers there stood forth a heavy stone porch with a
Gothic gateway, surmounted by a battlemented parapet, made gable
fashion, the apex of which was garnished by a pair of dolphins, rampant
and antagonistic, whose corkscrew tails seemed contorted--especially at
night--by the last agonies of rage convulsed. The porch doors stood
open, except in tremendous weather; the inner ones were regularly shut
and barred after all who entered. They led into a wide vaulted and lofty
hall, the walls of which were decorated with faded tapestry, that rose,
and fell, and rustled in the most mysterious fashion every time there
was the suspicion--and often barely the suspicion--of a breeze. "Interspersed with the tapestry--and in great contrast to its
antiquity--were quite modern and very ordinary portraits of my family. The general fittings and furniture, both of the hall and house, were
sombre and handsome--truss-beams, corbels, girders and panels were of
the blackest oak; and the general effect of all this, augmented, if
anything, by the windows, which were too high and narrow to admit of
much light, was much the same as that produced by the interior of a
subterranean chapel or charnel house. "From the hall proceeded doorways and passages, more than my memory can
now particularize. Of these portals, one at each end conducted to the
tower stairs, others to reception rooms and domestic offices. "The whole of the house being too large for us, only one wing--the right
and newer of the two--was occupied, the other was unfurnished, and
generally shut up. I say generally because there were times when either
my mother or father--the servants never ventured there--forgot to lock
the doors, and the handles yielding to my daring fingers, I
surreptitiously crept in. "Everywhere--even in daylight, even on the sunniest of mornings--were
dark shadows that hung around the ingles and recesses of the rooms, the
deep cupboards, the passages, and silent, winding staircases. "There was one corridor--long, low, vaulted--where these shadows
assembled in particular. I can see them now, as I saw them then, as they
have come to me many times in my dreams, grouped about the doorways,
flitting to and fro on the bare, dismal boards, and congregated in
menacing clusters at the head of the sepulchral staircase leading to the
cellars. Generally, and excepting at times when the weather was
particularly violent, the silence here was so emphatic that I could
never feel it was altogether natural, but rather that it was assumed
especially for my benefit--to intimidate me. If I moved, if I coughed,
almost if I breathed, the whole passage was filled with hoarse
reverberating echoes, that, in my affrighted ears, appeared to terminate
in a series of mirthless, malevolent chuckles. Once, when fascinated
beyond control, I stole on tiptoe along the passage, momentarily
expecting a door to fly open and something grim and horrible to pounce
out on me, I was brought to a standstill by a loud, clanging noise, as
if a pail or some such utensil were set down very roughly on a stone
floor. Then there was the sound of rushing footsteps and of someone
hastily ascending the cellar staircase. In fearful anticipation as to
what I should see--for there was something in the sounds that told me
they were not made by anything human--I stood in the middle of the
passage and stared.