I spent hour after hour roaming through the corridors, the copses, and
my beloved flower gardens, in eager search of some spot I could
unhesitatingly affirm was the home of the genii. Most ardently I then
hoped that the sunbeams would follow me, and that the breeze charged
with cool heliotrope would greet me as it did Aunt Deborah. In the daytime, all Hennersley was sunshine and flowers, and, stray
where I would, I never felt lonely or afraid; but as the light waned I
saw and felt a subtle change creep over everything. The long aisles of
trees that in the morning only struck me as enchantingly peaceful and
shady, gradually filled with strangely terrifying shadows; the hue of
the broad swards deepened into a darkness I did not dare interpret,
whilst in the house, in its every passage, nook, and corner, a gloom
arose that, seeming to come from the very bowels of the earth, brought
with it every possible suggestion of bogey. I never spoke of these things to my relatives, partly because I was
ashamed of my cowardice, and partly because I dreaded a fresh rebuke. How I suffered! and how I ridiculed my sufferings in the mornings,
when every trace of darkness was obliterated, and amid the radiant
bloom of the trees I thought only of heliotrope and sunbeams. One afternoon my search for the abode of the genii led me to the
wingless side of the house, a side I rarely visited. At the foot of
the ivy-covered walls and straight in their centre was laid a wide
bed of flowers, every one of which was white. But why white? Again
and again I asked myself this question, but I dared not broach it to
my relatives. A garden all white was assuredly an enigma--and to every
enigma there is undoubtedly a key. Was this garden, which was all
white, in any way connected with the sunbeams and heliotrope? Was it
another of the mysteries God concealed from little girls? Could this
be the home of the genii? This latter idea had no sooner entered my
head than it became a conviction. Of course! There was no doubt
whatever--it was the home of the genii. The white petals were now a source of peculiar interest to me. I was
fascinated: the minutes sped by and still I was there. It was not
until the sun had disappeared in the far-distant horizon, and the grim
shadows of twilight were creeping out upon me from the neighbouring
trees and bushes, that I awoke from my reverie--and fled! That night--unable to sleep through the excitement caused by my
discovery of the home of the genii--I lay awake, my whole thoughts
concentrated in one soul-absorbing desire, the passionate desire to
see the fairy of Hennersley--I had never heard of ghosts--and hear its
story. My bedroom was half-way down the corridor leading from the head
of the main staircase to the extremity of the wing. After I said good-night I did not see my aunts again till the
morning--they never by any chance visited me after I was in bed. Hence
I knew, when I had retired for the night, I should not see a human
face nor hear a human voice for nearly twelve hours. This--when I
thought of the genii with its golden beams of light and scent of
heliotrope--did not trouble me; it was only when my thoughts would not
run in this channel that I felt any fear, and that fear was not of the
darkness itself, but of what the darkness suggested. On this particular night, for the first few hours, I was sublimely
happy, and then a strange restlessness seized me. I was obsessed with
a wish to see the flower-garden. For some minutes, stimulated by a
dread of what my aunts would think of such a violation of
conventionality on the part of a child, I combated furiously with the
desire; but at length the longing was so great, so utterly and wholly
irresistible, that I succumbed, and, getting quietly out of bed, made
my way noiselessly into the corridor. All was dark and still--stiller than I had ever known it before. Without any hesitation I plunged forward, in the direction of the
wingless side of the house, where there was a long, narrow, stained
window that commanded an immediate prospect of the white garden. I had seldom looked out of it, as up to the present this side of the
house had little attraction for me; but all was changed now; and, as I
felt my way cautiously along the corridor, a thousand and one fanciful
notions of what I might see surged through my brain. I came to the end of the corridor, I descended half a dozen stairs, I
got to the middle of the gallery overlooking the large entrance
hall--below me, above me, on all sides of me, was Stygian darkness. I
stopped, and there suddenly rang out, apparently from close at hand, a
loud, clear, most appallingly clear, blood-curdling cry, which,
beginning in a low key, ended in a shriek so horrid, harsh, and
piercing, that I felt my heart shrivel up within me, and in sheer
desperation I buried my fingers in my ears to deaden the sound. I was now too frightened to move one way or the other. All the
strength departed from my limbs, and when I endeavoured to move my
feet, I could not--they appeared to be fastened to the ground with
lead weights. I felt, I intuitively felt that the author of the disturbance was
regarding my terror with grim satisfaction, and that it was merely
postponing further action in order to enjoy my suspense. To block out
the sight of this dreadful creature, I clenched my eyelids tightly
together, at the same time earnestly imploring God to help me. Suddenly I heard the low wail begin again, and then the echo of a
far-off silvery voice came softly to me through the gloom: "It's an
owl--only an owl!" With lightning-like rapidity the truth then dawned on me, and as I
withdrew my clammy finger-tips from my ears, the faint fluttering of
wings reached me, through an open skylight. Once again I moved on;
the gallery was left behind, and I was well on my way down the
tortuous passage leading to my goal, when a luminous object, of vast
height and cylindrical shape, suddenly barred my progress. Overcome by a deadly sickness, I sank on the floor, and, burying my
face in my hands, quite made up my mind that my last moments had come. How long I remained in this position I cannot say, to me it seemed
eternity. I was eventually freed from it by the echo of a gentle
laugh, so kind, and gay, and girlish, that my terror at once departed,
and, on raising my head, I perceived that the cause of my panic was
nothing more than a broad beam of moonlight on a particularly
prominent angle of the wall. Heartily ashamed at my cowardice, I got up, and, stepping briskly
forward, soon reached the stained-glass window. Pressing my face against the pane, I peered through it, and there
immediately beneath me lay the flowers, glorified into dazzling gold
by the yellow colour of the glass. The sight thrilled me with joy--it
was sublime. My instinct had not deceived me, this was indeed the
long-looked-for home of the genii.