Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan and the
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The Evil Guest
By J. Sheridan LeFanu
1895
"When Lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth Sin: and Sin, when it isfinished, bringeth forth Death."
About sixty years ago, and somewhat more than twenty miles from theancient town of Chester, in a southward direction, there stood a large,and, even then, an old-fashioned mansion-house. It lay in the midst of ademesne of considerable extent, and richly wooded with venerable timber;but, apart from the somber majesty of these giant groups, and thevarieties of the undulating ground on which they stood, there was littlethat could be deemed attractive in the place. A certain air of neglectand decay, and an indescribable gloom and melancholy, hung over it. Indarkness, it seemed darker than any other tract; when the moonlight fellupon its glades and hollows, they looked spectral and awful, with a sortof churchyard loneliness; and even when the blush of the morning kissedits broad woodlands, there was a melancholy in the salute that saddenedrather than cheered the heart of the beholder.
This antique, melancholy, and neglected place, we shall call, fordistinctness sake, Gray Forest. It was then the property of the youngerson of a nobleman, once celebrated for his ability and his daring, butwho had long since passed to that land where human wisdom and courageavail naught. The representative of this noble house resided at thefamily mansion in Sussex, and the cadet, whose fortunes we mean to sketchin these pages, lived upon the narrow margin of an encumbered income, ina reserved and unsocial discontent, deep among the solemn shadows of theold woods of Gray Forest.
The Hon. Richard Marston was now somewhere between forty and fifty yearsof age—perhaps nearer the latter; he still, however, retained, in aneminent degree, the traits of manly beauty, not the less remarkable forits unquestionably haughty and passionate character. He had married abeautiful girl, of good family, but without much money, somewhere abouteighteen years before; and two children, a son and a daughter, had beenthe fruit of this union. The boy, Harry Marston, was at this time atCambridge; and his sister, scarcely fifteen, was at home with herparents, and under the training of an accomplished governess, who hadbeen recommended to them by a noble relative of Mrs. Marston. She was anative of France, but thoroughly mistress of the English language, and,except for a foreign accent, which gave a certain prettiness to all shesaid, she spoke it as perfectly as any native Englishwoman. This youngFrenchwoman was eminently handsome and attractive. Expressive, dark eyes,a clear olive complexion, small even teeth, and a beautifully-dimplingsmile, more perhaps than a strictly classic regularity of features, werethe secrets of her unquestionable influence, at first sight, upon thefancy of every man of taste who beheld her.
Mr. Marston's fortune, never very large, had been shattered by earlydissipation. Naturally of a proud and somewhat exacting temper, heactively felt the mortifying consequences of his poverty. The want ofwhat he felt ought to have been his position and influence in the countyin which he resided, fretted and galled him; and he cherished a resentfuland bitter sense of every slight, imaginary or real, to which the samefruitful source of annoyance and humiliation had exposed him. He held,therefore, but little intercourse with the surrounding gentry, and thatlittle not of the pleasantest possible kind; for, not being himself i