DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and
for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty
at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to
whiten, even as mine has."

"Your sister is dead, then?"

"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to
speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have
described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and
position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister, Miss
Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally
allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. Julia went there at
Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines,
to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement
when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but
within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding,
the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only
companion."

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes
closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids
now and glanced across at his visitor.

"Pray be precise as to details," said he.

"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is
seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said,
very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this
wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central
block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott's,
the second my sister's, and the third my own. There is no
communication between them, but they all open out into the same
corridor. Do I make myself plain?"

"Perfectly so."

"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal
night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he
had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of
the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left
her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time,
chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o'clock she rose to
leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.

"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle in
the dead of the night?'

"'Never,' said I.

"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your
sleep?'

"'Certainly not. But why?'

"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in
the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it
has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps from the
next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you
whether you had heard it.'

"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the
plantation.'

"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did
not hear it also.'

"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'

"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled back
at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn
in the lock."

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock yourselves
in at night?"

"Always."

"And why?"

"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a
baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked."

"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."

"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending
misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were
twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls
which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind was
howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the
windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth
the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister's
voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed
into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear a low
whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a
clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the
passage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its
hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to
issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister
appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands

no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and

for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty

at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to

whiten, even as mine has."

"Your sister is dead, then?"

"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to

speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have

described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and

position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister, Miss

Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally

allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. Julia went there at

Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines,

to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement

when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but

within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding,

the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only

companion."

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes

closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids

now and glanced across at his visitor.

"Pray be precise as to details," said he.

"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is

seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said,

very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this

wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central

block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott's,

the second my sister's, and the third my own. There is no

communication between them, but they all open out into the same

corridor. Do I make myself plain?"

"Perfectly so."

"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal

night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he

had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of

the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left

her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time,

chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o'clock she rose to

leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.

"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle in

the dead of the night?'

"'Never,' said I.

"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your

sleep?'

"'Certainly not. But why?'

"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in

the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it

has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps from the

next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you

whether you had heard it.'

"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the

plantation.'

"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did

not hear it also.'

"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'

"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled back

at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn

in the lock."

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock yourselves

in at night?"

"Always."

"And why?"

"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a

baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked."

"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."

"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending

misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were

twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls

which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind was

howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the

windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth

the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister's

voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed

into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear a low

whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a

clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the

passage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its

hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to

issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister

appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands