 CHAPTER X Lady Nollis removes the coverlet. Lady Nollis pursued her inquiries. "'And why does not madame make your dresses, my dear? I wager a guinea the woman's a milliner. Did not she engage to make your dresses?' I really don't know. I rather think not. She is my governess, a finishing governess, Mrs Rusk says. Finishing fiddle, hoity-toity. And my lady's too grand to cut out your dresses and help to sew them. And what does she do? I venture to say she's fit to teach nothing but devilment. Not that she has taught you much, my dear. Yet at least I'll see her, my dear. Where is she? Come, let us visit, madame. I should so like to talk to her a little. "'But she is ill,' I answered. And all this time I was ready to cry for vexation, thinking of my dress, which must be very absurd to elicit so much unaffected laughter from my experienced relative. And I was only longing to get away and hide myself before that handsome captain returned. "'Ill?' is she. What's the matter?' "'A cold, feverish and rheumatic,' she says. "'Oh, a cold. Is she up or in bed?' "'In her room, but not in bed.' "'I should so like to see her, my dear. It is not mere curiosity, I assure you. In fact, curiosity has nothing on earth to do with it. The governess may be a very useful or a very useless person, but she may also be about the most pernicious inmate imaginable. She may teach you a bad accent and worse manners and heaven knows what beside. Send the housekeeper, my dear, to tell her the time going to see her.' "'I had better go myself, perhaps,' I said, fearing a collision between Mrs. Rusk and the bitter Frenchwoman. "'Very well, dear. And away I ran, not sorry somehow, to escape before Captain Oakley returned.' As I went along the passage I was thinking whether my dress could be so very ridiculous, as my old cousin thought it, and trying in vain to recollect any evidence of a similar contemptuous estimate on the part of that beautiful and garrelous dandy. I could not, quite the reverse, indeed. Still, I was uncomfortable and feverish. Girls of my then age will easily conceive how miserable under similar circumstances such a misgiving would make them. It was a long way to Madame's room. I met Mrs. Rusk bustling along the passage with a housemaid. "'How is Madame?' I asked. "'Quite well, I believe,' answered the housekeeper, dryly. "'Nothing the matter that I know of. She eat enough for two today, and wish I could sit in my room doing nothing.' Madame was sitting, or rather reclining, in a low armchair when I entered the room, close to the fire, as was her want, her feet extended near to the bars, and a little coffee equipage beside her. She stuffed a book hastily between her dress and the chair, and received me in a state of langua, which, had it not been for Mrs. Rusk's comfortable assurances, would have frightened me. "'I hope you are better, Madame,' I said, approaching. "'Better than I deserve, my dear child. "'Sufficiently well. "'The people are all so good, "'trying me with every little thing. "'Like a bird. "'Here is cafe. "'Mrs. Rusk, a poor woman, "'I try to swallow a little to please her. "'And you're cold, is it better?' "'She shook her head languidly, "'her elbow resting on the chair, "'and three fingertips supporting her forehead, "'and then she made a little sigh, "'looking down from the corners of her eyes "'in an interesting dejection. "'Je sens des lassitudes in all the members. "'But I am quite happy, and though I suffer, "'I am console and oblige de bonter, "'my cher, que vous avez tout pour moi. "'And with these words she turned a languid glance "'of gratitude on me, which dropped to the ground. "'Lady Nollis wishes very much to see you, "'only for a few minutes, if you could admit her. "'Vous savez les malades, si never visitors,' "'she replied with a startled sort of tartness "'and a momentary energy. "'Besides, I cannot converse, "'je sens de temps en temps des douleurs de tête, "'of head, and of the ear, the right ear. "'It is, parfois, agony, absolutely, "'and now it is ear. "'And she went, the moaned, "'with her eyes closed and her hand pressed "'to the organ affected. "'Simple as I was, I felt instinctively "'that madame was shamming. "'She was overacting, her transitions were too violent, "'and, beside, she forgot that I knew how well "'she could speak English "'and must perceive that she was heightening "'the interest of her helplessness "'by that pretty tessellation of foreign idiom. "'I therefore said with a kind of courage "'which sometimes helped me, suddenly, "'Oh, madame, don't you really think you might "'without much inconvenience? "'See, Lady Nollis, for a very few minutes. "'Cruel chai. "'You know I have a pain of the ear "'which makes me horribly suffer at this moment. "'And you demand me whether I will not converse "'with strangers? "'I did not think you would be so unkind, Maude. "'But it is impossible. "'You must see, quite impossible. "'I never, you know, refuse to take trouble "'when I am able, never, never. "'And, madame, shed some tears, "'which always came at call, "'and with her hand pressed to her ear, said very faintly, "'Be so good to tell your friend how you see me "'and how I suffer. "'And leave me, Maude, for I wish to lie down for a little, "'since the pain will not allow me to remain longer. "'So, with a few words of comfort "'which could not well be refused, "'but I daresay betray my suspicion "'that Maude was made of her sufferings and need be, "'I returned to the drawing-room. "'Captain Oakley has been here, my dear, "'and fancying, I suppose, that you had left us for the evening, "'has gone to the billiard-room, I think, "'said Lady Nullis, as I entered. "'That, then, accounted for the rumble and smack of balls "'which I had heard as I passed the door. "'I have been telling Maude how detestably she has got up. "'Very thoughtful of you, Monica,' said my father. "'Yes, and really, Austin, "'it is quite clear you ought to marry. "'You want someone to take this girl out "'and look after her, and who's to do it? "'She's a dowdy, don't you see? "'Such a dust, and it is really such a pity, "'for she's a very pretty creature, "'and a clever woman could make her quite charming.'" My father took cousin Monica's sallies with the most wonderful good-humour. She had always, I fancy, been a privileged person, and my father, whom we all feared, received her jolly attacks as I fancied a grim front of birth of old, accepted the humours and personalities of their jesters. Am I to accept this as an overture, said my father to his voluble cousin? "'Yes, you may, but not for my self-Austin. "'I'm not worthy. "'Do you remember little Kitty Weedon "'that I wanted you to marry eight and twenty years ago "'or more, with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds? "'Well, you know, she has got ever so much now, "'and she is really a most amiable old thing, "'and though you would not have her then, "'she has had her second husband since, I can tell you.'" "'I'm glad I was not the first,' said my father. "'Well, they really say her wealth is absolutely immense. "'Her last husband, the Russian merchant, "'left her everything. "'She has not a human relation, "'and she is in the best set. "'You were always a matchmaker, Monica,' said my father, "'stopping, and putting his hand kindly on hers. "'But it won't do. No, no, Monica. "'We must take care of little Maud some other way.' "'I was relieved. "'We women have all an instinctive dread of second marriages, "'and think that no widower "'is quite above or below that danger. "'And I remember whenever my father, "'which indeed was but seldom, "'made a visit to town or anywhere else, "'it was a saying of Mrs. Rusk. "'I shan't wonder, neither need you, my dear, "'if he brings home a young wife with him.' "'So my father, with a kind look at her, "'and a very tender one on me, "'went silently to the library, "'as he often did about that hour. "'I could not help presenting my cousin Nollis' "'a vicious recommendation of matrimony, "'nothing I dreaded more than a stepmother. "'Good Mrs. Rusk and Mary Quince, in their several ways, "'used to enhance by occasional anecdotes "'and frequent reflections, "'the terrors of such an intrusion. "'I suppose they did not wish a revolution "'and all its consequences at Noll, "'and thought it no harm to excite my vigilance. "'But it was impossible long "'to be vexed with cousin Monica.' "'You know, my dear, your father is an oddity,' "'she said. "'I don't mind him. "'I never did. "'You must not. "'Quacky, my dear, quacky. "'Decidedly, quacky.' "'And she capped the corner of her forehead, "'with a look so sly and comical "'that I think I should have laughed "'if the sentiment had not been so awfully irreverent.' "'Well, dear, how is our friend the milliner?' "'Madame's suffering so much from pain in her ear "'that she said it would be quite impossible "'to have the honor, honor fiddle. "'I want to see what the woman's like, "'pain in her ear, you say, poor thing. "'Well, dear, I think I can cure that in five minutes. "'I have it myself now, and then come to my room "'and we'll get the bottles.' "'So she lighted her candle in the lobby, "'and with a light and agile step "'she scaled the stairs, I following, "'and having found the remedies, "'we approached Madame's room together. "'I think while we were still at the end of the gallery, "'Madame heard and divined our approach, "'for her door suddenly shut, "'and there was a fumbling at the handle, "'but the bolt was out of order. "'Lady Nollis tapped at the door, saying, "'We'll come in, please, and see you. "'I've some remedies which I'm sure will do you good.' "'There was no answer, so she opened the door, "'and we both entered. "'Madame had rolled herself in the blue coverlet "'and was lying on the bed with her face buried in the pillow "'and enveloped in the covering. "'Perhaps she's asleep,' said Lady Nollis, "'getting around to the side of the bed "'and stooping over her. "'Madame lays still as a mouse. "'Cousin Monica set down her two little vials on the table, "'and stooping again over the bed "'began very gently with her fingers "'to lift the coverlet that covered the face. "'Madame uttered a slumbering moan, "'turned more upon her face, "'clasping the coverlet faster about her. "'Madame, it is Maud and Lady Nollis. "'We have come to relieve your ear. "'Pray, let me see it. "'She can't be asleep. "'She's holding the clothes so fast. "'Do pray, allow me to see it.' End of chapter 10. Chapter 11 of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Levanu. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11. Lady Nollis sees the features. "'Perhaps, if Madame had murmured, "'It is quite well. "'Pray, permit me to sleep. "'She would have escaped an awkwardness. "'But having adopted the role of the exhausted slumberer, "'she could not consistently speak at the moment. "'Neither would it do by main force "'to hold the coverlet about her face. "'And so her presence of mind foresook her. "'Cousin Monica drew it back "'and hardly beheld the profile of the sufferer "'when her good-humoured face was lined in shadowed "'with a dark curiosity "'and a surprise by no means pleasant. "'She stood erect beside the bed "'with her mouth firmly shut "'and drawn down at the corners "'in a sort of recoil and perturbation, "'looking down upon the patient.' "'So that's Madame Galarugier,' "'at length exclaimed Lady Nollis, "'with a very stately disdain. "'I think I never saw anyone look more sharp. "'Madame sat up, very flushed. "'No wonder, for she had been "'wrapped so close in the coverlet. "'She did not look quite at, Lady Nollis, "'but straight before her, "'rather downward and very luridly. "'I was very much frightened and amazed "'and felt on the point of bursting into tears. "'So, Mamoiselle, you have married, it seems, "'since I had lost the honour of seeing you. "'I did not recognise Mamoiselle under her new name. "'Yes, I am married, Lady Nollis. "'I thought everyone who knew me had heard of that, "'very respectably married for a person of my rank. "'I shall not need long the life of a governess. "'There is no harm, I hope.' "'I hope not,' said Lady Nollis, "'striely, a little pale, "'and still looking with a dark sort of wonder "'upon the flushed face and forehead of the governess, "'who was looking downward straight before her, "'very sulkily and disconcerted. "'I suppose you have explained everything satisfactorily "'to Mr. Ruffin, in whose house I find you,' said Cousin Monica. "'Yes, certainly, everything he requires. "'In effect, there is nothing to explain. "'I am ready to answer any question. "'Let him demand me.' "'Very good, Mamoiselle. "'Madame, if you please.' "'I forgot, madame. "'Yes, I shall apprise him of everything.' "'Madame turned upon her a peaked and malign look, "'smiling as scants with a stealthy scorn. "'For myself I have nothing to conceal. "'I have always done my duty. "'What fine scene about nothing, absolutely. "'What charming remedies for a sick person. "'Mathwa, how much obliged I am "'for these so amiable attentions.' "'So far as I can see, Mamoiselle. "'Madame, I mean. "'You don't sound very much in need of remedies. "'Your ear and head don't seem to trouble you just now. "'I fancy these pains may now be dismissed.' "'Lady Knowledge was now speaking French.' "'Mille-Lady has diverted my attention for a moment, "'but that does not prevent that I suffer frightfully. "'I am, of course, only poor governess "'and such people perhaps ought not to have pain, "'at least to show when they suffer. "'It has permitted us to die, but not to be sick. "'Come, my dear, let us leave the invalid "'to her repose and to nature. "'I don't think she needs my chloroform and opium at present.' "'Mille-Lady is herself as physic, which chases many things "'and powerfully affects the ear. "'I would wish to sleep, notwithstanding, "'and can but gain that in silence if it pleases me, Lady.' "'Come, my dear,' said Lady Knowledge, "'without again glancing at the scowling, smiling, "'sworthy face in the bed. "'Let us leave your instructions to her confotto.' "'The room smells all over a brandy, my dear. "'Does she drink?' said Lady Knowledge "'as she closed the door a little sharply. "'I am sure I looked as much amazed as I felt "'at an imputation which then seemed to me "'so entirely incredible.' "'Good little Simpleton,' said cousin Monica, "'smiling in my face and bestowing a little kiss on my cheek. "'Such a thing as a tipsy lady has never been "'dreamt of in your philosophy. "'Well, we live and learn. "'Let us have our tea in my room. "'The gentlemen, I dare say, have retired.' "'I assented, of course, and we had tea very cosily "'by her bedroom fire. "'How long have you had the woman?' "'She asked suddenly after, for her, a very long rumination. "'She came at the beginning of February, "'nearly ten months ago, is it not? "'And who sent her?' "'I really don't know. "'Papa tells me so little. "'He arranged it all himself, I think.' "'Cousin Monica made a sound of acquiescence. "'Her lips closed and a nod frowning hard at the bars. "'It is very odd,' she said, "'how people can be such fools. "'Here there came a little pause. "'And what sort of a person is she? "'Do you like her?' "'Very well, that is pretty well. "'You won't tell, but she rather frightens me. "'I'm sure she does not intend it, "'but somehow I am very much afraid of her.' "'She does not beat you,' said Cousin Monica, "'with an incipient frenzy in her face "'that made me love her. "'Oh, no! "'Nor he'll use you in any way. "'No.' "'Upon your honour and word, Maud. "'No, upon my honour. "'You know, I won't tell her anything you say to me, "'and I only want to know that I may put an end to it, "'my poor little cousin. "'Thank you, Cousin Monica, very much, "'but really and truly she does not ill-use me. "'Nor threaten you, child. "'Well, no. "'No, she does not threaten. "'And how the plague does she frighten you, child? "'Well, I really am half ashamed to tell you. "'You'll laugh at me, "'and I don't know that she wishes to frighten me. "'But there is something, it's not there, "'ghosty, you know, about her.' "'Ghosty is there? "'Well, I'm sure I don't know, "'but I suspect there's something devilish. "'I mean, she seems roguish, does not she? "'And I really think she has had neither cold nor pain, "'but has just been shamming sickness "'to keep out of my way.' "'I perceived plainly enough "'that Cousin Monica's damn nature of epithet "'referred to some retrospective knowledge "'which she was not going to disclose to me. "'You knew Madame before,' I said, "'who is she?' "'She assures me she is Madame de la Rougière.' "'And I suppose, in French phrase, she so calls herself,' "'answered Lady Nullis with a laugh, "'but, uncomfortably, I thought, "'Oh, dear Cousin Monica, do tell me. "'Is she? "'Is she very wicked? "'I'm so afraid of her. "'How should I know, dear Maud? "'But I do remember her face, "'and I don't very much like her, "'and you may depend on it. "'I will speak to your father in the morning about her, "'and don't, darling, ask me any more about her, "'for I really have not very much to tell you "'that you would care to hear. "'And the fact is, I won't say any more about her, there.' "'And Cousin Monica laughed, "'and gave me a little slap on the cheek, and then a kiss. "'Well, just tell me this. "'Well, I won't tell you this nor anything, "'not a word, curious little woman. "'The fact is, I have little to tell, "'and I mean to speak to your father, "'and he, I am sure, will do what is right. "'So don't ask me any more, "'and let us talk of something pleasanter. "'There was something indescribably winning, "'it seemed to me, in Cousin Monica. "'Old as she was, she seemed to me so girlish, "'compared with those slow, "'unexceptionable young ladies whom I have met "'in my few visits at the country houses. "'By this time, my shyness was quite gone, "'and I was on the most intimate terms with her.' "'You know a great deal about her, Cousin Monica, "'but you won't tell me. "'Nothing I should like better "'if I were at Liberty, little rogue. "'But, you know, after all, "'I don't really say whether I do know "'anything about her or not, "'or what sort of knowledge it is. "'But tell me what you mean by ghosty, "'and all about it.' "'So I recounted my experiences, "'to which, so far from laughing at me, "'she listened with very special gravity. "'Does she write and receive many letters?' "'I had seen her write letters and supposed, "'though I could only recollect one or two, "'that she received in proportion.' "'Are you Mary Quince?' asked my lady Cousin. "'Mary was arranging the window curtains "'and turned, dropping a curtsy affirmatively toward her. "'You wait on my little cousin, Miss Ruthin, don't you? "'Yes, I'm,' said Mary, in her gentilist way. "'Does anyone sleep in her room? "'Yes, and I, please, my lady. "'And no one else? "'No, please, my lady. "'Not even the governess sometimes? "'No, please, my lady. "'Never, you are quite sure, my dear,' said Lady Nullis, "'transferring the question to me. "'Oh, no, never,' I answered. "'Cousin Monica mused gravely. "'I fancied even anxiously into the grate, "'then stirred her tea and sipped it, "'still looking into the same point of archery fire. "'I like your face, Mary Quince. "'I'm sure you are a good creature,' she said, "'suddenly turning toward her with a pleasant countenance. "'I'm very glad you have got her, dear. "'I wonder whether Austin has gone to his bed-jet. "'I think not. "'I am certain he is either in the library "'or in his private room. "'Papa often reads or prays alone at night, "'and it is not like to be interrupted. "'No, no, of course not. "'It will do very well in the morning.' "'Lady Nullis was thinking deeply, as it seemed to me. "'And so you're afraid of goblins, my dear,' "'she said at last, with a faded sort of smile "'turning toward me. "'Well, if I were, I know what I should do. "'As soon as I and good Mary Quince here "'had got into my bed-chamber for the night, "'I should stir the fire into a good blaze "'and bolt the door. "'Do you see, Mary Quince, bolt the door "'and keep a candle lighted all night? "'You'll be very attentive to her, Mary Quince, for I... "'I don't think she is very strong, "'and she must not grow nervous. "'So get to bed early and don't leave her alone, do you see? "'And... and remember to bolt the door, Mary Quince, "'and I shall be sending a little Christmas box to my cousin, "'and I shan't forget you. "'Good night.' "'And with a pleasant curtsy, "'Mary fluttered out of the room.'" End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Lafannou This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 12 A curious conversation. We each had another cup of tea and were silent for a while. We must not talk of ghosts now. You are a superstitious little woman, you know, and you shan't be frightened. And now cousin Monica grew silent again and looking briskly around the room like a lady in search of a subject, her eye rested on a small oval portrait, graceful, brightly tinted in the French style, representing a pretty little boy with rich golden hair, large soft eyes, delicate features, and a shy, peculiar expression. It is odd. I think I remember that pretty little sketch very long ago. I think I was then myself a child, but that is a much older style of dress and of wearing the hair, too, than I ever saw. I am just forty-nine now. Oh, dear, yes, that is a good while before I was born. What a strange, pretty little boy, a mysterious little fellow. Is he quite sincere, I wonder? What rich golden hair. It is very clever, a French artist, I dare say. And who is that little boy? I never heard. Someone a hundred years ago, I dare say. But there is a picture downstairs I am so anxious to ask you about. Oh, murmured Lady Nullis, still gazing dreamily on the crayon. It is the full-length picture of Uncle Silas. I want to ask you about him. At the mention of his name, my cousin gave me a look so sudden and odd as to amount almost to a start. Your Uncle Silas, dear? It is very odd. I was just thinking of him. And she laughed a little, wondering whether that little boy could be he. And up jumped active cousin Monica with a candle in her hand upon a chair and scrutinised the border of the sketch for a name or a date. Maybe on the back, said she. And so she unhung it and there, true enough, not on the back of the drawing, but of the frame, which was just as good. In pen and ink round Italian letters, hardly distinguishable now from the discoloured wood, we traced Silas Elmer Ruffin. Itaati, eight. 15th of May, 1779. It is very odd. I should not have been told or remembered who it was. I think if I had ever been told, I should have remembered it. I do recollect this picture, though. I am nearly certain. What a singular child's face! And my cousin leaned over it with a candle on each side and her hand shading her eyes as if seeking by aid of these fair and half-formed lineaments to read an enigma. The childish features defied her, I suppose. Their secret was unfathomable for after a good while, she raised her head still looking at the portrait and side. A very singular face, she said softly, as a person might who was looking into a coffin. Had not we better replace it? So the pretty oval containing a fair, golden hair and large eyes, the pale, unfathomable sphinx remounted to its nail, and the funeste and beautiful child seemed to smile down oraculary on our conjectures. So is the face in the large portrait, very singular, more, I think, than that, handsomer, too. This is a sickly child, I think, but the full length is so manly, though so slender and so handsome, too. I always think he my hero and a mystery, and I won't tell me about him, and I can only dream and wonder. He has made more people than you dream and wonder, my dear Maude. I don't know what to make of him. He is a sort of idol, you know, of your father's, and yet I don't think he helps him much. His abilities were singular. So has been his misfortune. For the rest, my dear, he is neither a hero nor a wonder. So far as I know, there are very few sublime men going about the world. You really must tell me all you know about him, cousin Monica. Now, don't refuse. But why should you care to hear? There is really nothing pleasant to tell. That is just the reason I wish it. If it were all pleasant, it would be quite commonplace. I like to hear of adventures, dangers and misfortunes. And above all, I love a mystery. You know, papa will never tell me, and I dare not ask him. Not that he is ever unkind, but somehow I am afraid, and neither Mrs. Rusk nor Mary Quince will tell me anything, although I suspect they know a good deal. I don't see any good in telling you, dear, nor to say the truth any great harm, either. No, that's quite true. No harm. There can't be. But I must know it all some day, you know, and better now and from you, than perhaps from a stranger and in a less favourable way. And upon my word it is a wise little woman, and really that's not such bad sense, after all. So we poured out another cup of tea each, and sipped it very comfortably by the fire, while Lady Nullis talked on, and her animated face helped the strange story. It is not very much, after all. Your uncle Silas, you know, is living. Oh, yes, in Derbyshire. So I see you do know something of him, Sly Girl, but no matter. You know how rich your father is. But Silas was the younger brother, and had little more than a thousand a year. If he had not played and did not care to marry, it would have been quite enough, ever so much more than younger sons of dukes often have. But he was, well, a mauve suger. You know what that is. I don't want to say any ill of him, more than I already know. But he was fond of his pleasures, I suppose, like other young men, and he played, and was always losing, and your father for a long time paid great sums for him. I believe he was really a most expensive and vicious young man, and I fancy he does not deny that now, for they say he would change the past if he could. I was looking at the pensive little boy in the oval frame, aged eight years, who was, a few springs later, a most expensive and vicious young man, and was now a suffering and outcast old one, and wondering from what a small seed the hemlock or the warflower grows, and how microscopic are the beginnings of the kingdom of God, or the mystery of iniquity in a human being's heart. Austin, your papa, was very kind to him, very, but then you know he's an oddity, dear, he is an oddity, though no one may have told you before, and he never forgave him for his marriage. Your father, I suppose, knew more about the lady than I did, I was young then, but there were various reports, none of them pleasant, and she was not visited, and for some time there was a complete estrangement between your father and your uncle Silas, and it was made up rather oddly on the very occasion which some people said ought to have totally separated them. Did you ever hear anything, anything very remarkable about your uncle? No, never, they would not tell me, though I am sure they know. Pray go on! Well, Maude, as I have begun, I'll complete the story, though perhaps it might have been better untold. It was something rather shocking, indeed very shocking. In fact they insisted on suspecting him of having committed a murder. I stared at my cousin for some time, and then at the little boy, so refined, so beautiful, so few nests they were in the oval frame. Yes, dear, said she, her eyes following mine, who would have supposed he could ever have fallen under so horrible a suspicion? The wretches! Of course, Uncle Silas, of course he's innocent, I said at last. Of course, my dear, said cousin Monica, with an odd look, but you know there are some things as bad almost to be suspected of as to have done, and the country gentlemen chose to suspect him. They did not like him, you see, his politics vexed them, and he resented their treatment of his wife, though I really think poor Silas, he did not care a pin about her, and he annoyed them whenever he could. Your papa, you know, is very proud of his family, he never had the slightest suspicion of your uncle. Oh, no, I cried vehemently. That's right, Mordruthin, said cousin Monica with a sad little smile and a nod, and your papa was, you may suppose, very angry. Of course he was, I exclaimed. You have no idea, my dear, how angry. He directed his attorney to prosecute, by wholesale, all who had said a word affecting your uncle's character. But the lawyers were against it, and then your uncle tried to fight his way through it, but the men would not meet him. He was quite slurred. Your father went up and saw the minister, he wanted to have him a deputy lieutenant or something in his county. Your papa, you know, had a very great influence with the government. Beside his county influence he had two boroughs then, but the minister was afraid, the feeling was so very strong. They offered him something in the colonies, but your father would not hear of it. That would have been a banishment, you know. They would have given your father a peerage to make it up, but he would not accept it and broke with the party. Except in that way which, you know, was connected with the reputation of the family. I don't think, considering his great wealth, he has done very much for Silas. To say truth, however, he was very liberal before his marriage. Old Mrs. Elmer says he made a vow then that Silas should never have more than five hundred a year, which he still owes him, I believe, and he permits him to live in the place. But they say it is in a very wild, neglected state. You live in the same county, have you seen it lately, cousin Monica? No, not very lately, said cousin Monica, and began to hum an air abstractedly. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan LaFannou This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 13 Before and after breakfast Next morning early I visited my favourite full-length portrait in the chocolate coat and top boots. Scanty as have been my cousin Monica's notes upon this dark and eccentric biography. They were everything to me. A soul had entered that enchanted form. Truth had passed by with her torch, and a sad light shone for a moment on that enigmatic face. There stood the roux, the dualist, and with all his faults the hero too. In that dark, large eye lurked the profound and fiery enthusiasm of his ill-starred passion. In the thin but exquisite lip I read the courage of the paladin, who would have fought his way, though single-handed, against all the magnets of his county, and by ordeal of battle have purged the honour of the rathens. There in that delicate half-sarcastic tracery of the nostril I detected the intellectual defiance which had politically isolated Silas Ruffin and opposed him to the landed oligarchy of this county, whose retaliation had been a hideous slander. There too, and on his brows and lips, I chased the patience of a cold disdain. I could now see him as he was, the prodigal, the hero, and the martyr. I stood gazing on him with a girlish interest and admiration. There was indignation, there was pity, there was hope. Some day it might come to pass that I, girl as I was, might contribute by word or deed towards the vindication of that long suffering, gallant and romantic prodigal. It was a flicker of the Joan of Arc inspiration, common I fancy to many girls. I little then imagined how profoundly and strangely involved my uncle's fate would one day become with mine. I was interrupted by Captain Oakley's voice at the window. He was leaning on the window sill and looking in with a smile. The window being open, the morning sunny, and his cap lifted in his hand. Good morning, Miss Ruffin. What a charming old place, quite the setting for a romance, such timber and this really beautiful house. I do so like these white and black houses, wonderful old things. By the by you treated us very badly last night, you did indeed. Upon my word now, it really was too bad running away and drinking tea with Lady Nullis, so she says. I really should not like to tell you how very savage I felt, particularly considering how very short my time is. I was a shy but not a giggling country miss. I knew I was an heiress, I knew I was somebody. I was not the least bit in the world conceited, but I think this knowledge helped to give me a certain sense of security and self-possession, which might have been mistaken for dignity or simplicity. I am sure I looked at him with a fearless inquiry, but he answered my thoughts. I do really assure you, Miss Ruffin, I am quite serious. You have no idea how very much we have missed you. There was a little pause and, like a fool, I lowered my eyes and blushed. I was thinking of leaving today. I am so unfortunate, my leave is just out. It is so unlucky, but I don't quite know whether my Aunt Nullis will allow me to go. I, certainly, my dear Charlie, I don't want for you at all, exclaimed a voice, Lady Nullis, briskly from an open window close by. What could put that in your head, dear? And in went my cousin's head, and the window shut down. She is such an oddity, poor dear Aunt Nullis. murmured the young man, ever so little put out, and he laughed. I never know quite what she wishes or how to please her, but she's so good-natured, and when she goes to town for the season, she does not always, you know. Her house is really very gay, you can't think. Here again he was interrupted, for the door opened, and Lady Nullis entered. As you know, Charles, she continued, it would not do to forget your visit to Snothurst. You wrote, you know, and you have only to-night and to-morrow. You are thinking of nothing but that more. I heard you talking to the gamekeeper. I know he is, is not he moored, the brown man with great whiskers and leggings. I'm very sorry, you know, but I really must spoil your shooting, for they do expect you at Snothurst, Charlie. And do you not think this window a little too much for Miss Ruffin? Moored, my dear, the air is very sharp. Shut it down, Charles, and you'd better tell them to get a fly for you from the town after luncheon. Come, dear, she said to me, was not that the breakfast bell? Why does not Chopper Park get a gong? It is so hard to know one bell from another. I saw that Captain Oakley lingered for a last look, but I did not give it and went out smiling with cousin Nollis, and wondering why old ladies are so uniformly disagreeable. In the lobby, she said, with an odd good-natured look. Don't allow any of his love-making, my dear. Charles Oakley has not a guinea, and an air-ess would be very convenient. Of course he has his eyes about him. Charles is not by any means foolish, and I should not be at all sorry to see him well-married, for I don't think he will do much good any other way. But there are degrees, and his ideas are sometimes very impertinent. I was an admiring reader of albums The Souvenirs, The Keepsakes, and all that flood of Christmas-present law, which yearly irrigated England with pretty covers and engravings, and floods of elegant twaddle, the milk not destitute of water, on which the babes of literature were then fed. On this, my genius-throve, I had a little album enriched with many gems of original thought and observation, which I jotted down in suitable language. Lately turning over these faded leaves of rhyme and prose, I lighted, under this day's date, upon the following sage reflection, with my name appended. Is there not in the female heart an ineradicable jealousy, which, if it sways the passions of the young, rules also the advice of the aged? Do they not grudge to youth the sentiments, though heaven knows how shadowed with sorrow, which they can no longer inspire, perhaps even experience, and as not youth in turn, sigh over the envy which has power to blight? Maud Elmer Ruthin He has not been making love to me, I said rather tartly, and he does not seem to me at all impertinent, and I really don't care the least whether he goes or stays. Cousin Monica looked in my face with her old waggish smile and laughed. You'll understand those London dandies better some day, dear Maud. They are very well, but they like money, not to keep, of course, but still they like it and know its value. At breakfast my father told Captain Oakley where he might have shooting, or if he preferred going to Dilsford only half an hour's ride, he might have his choice of hunters and find the dogs there that morning. The captain smiled archly at me and looked at his aunt. There was a suspense. I hope I did not show how much I was interested, but it would not do. Cousin Monica was inextrable. Hunting, hawking, fishing, fiddledy-dee. You know, Charlie, my dear, it is quite out of the question. He is going to snot her this afternoon, and without quite a rudeness, in which I should be involved too, he really can't. You know you can't, Charles, and he must go and keep his engagement. So Papa acquiesced with a polite regret and hoped another time. Oh, leave that all to me! When you want him, only write me a note and I'll send him, or bring him if you let me. I always know where to find him, don't I, Charlie? And we shall be only too happy. Aunt Monica's influence with her nephew was special, for she tipped him handsomely every now and then, and he had formed for himself agreeable expectations besides respecting her will. I felt rather angry at his submitting to this sort of tutelage, knowing nothing of its motive. I was also disgusted by Cousin Monica's tyranny. As soon as he had left the room, Lady Nullis, not minding me, said briskly to Papa, Never let that young man into your house again. I found him making speeches this morning to little maud here, and he really has not two pents in the world. It is amazing impudence, and you know such absurd things do happen. Come, maud, what compliments did he pay you, asked my father. I was vexed and therefore spoke courageously. His compliments were not to me, they were all to the house, I said dryly. Quite as it should be, the house, of course. It is that he's in love with, said Cousin Nullis. Twas on a widow's jointure land, the archer Cupid took his stand. Hey, I don't quite understand, said my father slyly. Tatostin, you forget, Charlie, is my nephew. So I did, said my father. Therefore the literal widow in this case can have no interest in view but one, and that is yours and maud's. I wish him well, but he shan't put my little cousin and her expectations into his empty pocket, not a bit of it. And there's another reason, Ostin, why you should marry. You have no eye for these things, whereas a clever woman would see it a glance and prevent mischief. So she would acquiesce my father in his gloomy, amused way. Maud, you must try to be a clever woman. So she will in her time, but that is not come yet, and I tell you, Ostin, Ruthin, if you won't look about to marry somebody, somebody may possibly marry you. You were always an oracle, Monica, but here I am lost in total perplexity, said my father. Yes, shark sailing round you with keen eyes and large throats, and you have come to the age precisely where men are swallowed up alive like Jonah. Thank you for the parallel, but you know that was not a happy union, even for the fish, and there was a separation in a few days. Not that I mean to trust to that, and there's no one to throw me into the jaws of the monster, and I've no notion of jumping there. The fact is, Monica, there's no monster at all. I'm not so sure. But I'm quite sure, said my father, a little dryly. You forget how old I am, and how long I've lived alone. I, and little Maud. And he smiled and smoothed my hair, and I thought, sighed. No one is ever too old to do a foolish thing, began Lady Nullis. Not to say a foolish thing, Monica, this has gone on too long. Don't you see that little Maud here is silly enough to be frightened at your fun? So I was, but I could not divine how he guessed it. And well or ill, wisely or madly, I'll never marry, so put that out of your head. This was addressed rather to me, I think, than to Lady Nullis, who smiled a little waggishly on me, and said, To be sure, Maud, maybe you are right. A step-dame is a risk, and I ought to have asked you first what you thought of it, and upon my honour she continued merrily, but kindly, observing that my eyes. I know not exactly from what feeling, filled with tears, I'll never again advise your papa to marry, unless you first tell me you wish it. This was a great deal from Lady Nullis, who had a taste for advising her friends, and managing their affairs. I have a great respect for instinct. I believe, Austin, it is truer than reason, and yours and Maud's are both against me, though I know I have reason on my side. My father's brief wintry smile answered, and cousin Monica kissed me and said, I've been so long, my own mistress, that I sometimes forget there are such things as fear and jealousy. Are you going to your governess, Maud? End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan LeFannou This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Chapter 14 Angry Words I was going to my governess, as Lady Nullis said, and so I went. The undefinable sense of danger that smoked me wherever I beheld that woman had deepened since last night's occurrence, and was taken out of the region of instinct, or prepossession by the strange, though slight indications of recognition and apporance which I had witnessed in Lady Nullis on that occasion. The tone in which cousin Monica had asked, are you going to your governess, and the curious, grave and anxious look that accompanied the question, disturbed me. And there was something odd and cold in the tone, as if her remembrance had suddenly chilled her. The accent remained in my ear, and the sharp brooding look was fixed before me as I glided up the broad, dark stairs to Madame de la Rougière's chamber. She had not come down to the school room, as the scene of my studies was called. She had decided on having a relapse, and accordingly, had not made her appearance downstairs that morning. The gallery leading to her room was dark and lonely, and I grew more nervous as I approached. I paused at the door, making up my mind to knock. But the door opened suddenly, and, like a magic lantern figure presented with a snap, appeared close before my eyes the great muffled face with the forbidding smirk of Madame de la Rougière. What you mean, my dear child, she inquired with a malevolent shrewdness in her eyes, and her hollow smile all the time disconcerting me more even than the suddenness of her appearance. What for you approach so softly? I do not sleep, you see, but you fear perhaps to have the misfortune of wakening me. And so you came, is it not so, to listen, and look in very gently. You want to know how I was. Vous êtes bien amable d'avoir pensé à moi. She cried, suddenly bursting through her irony. Why could not Lady Nullis come herself and listen to the keyhole to make her report? Fidon! What is there to conceal? Nothing. Enter, if you please. Everyone, they are welcome. And she flung the door wide, turned her back upon me, and, with an ejaculation which I did not understand, strode into the room. I did not come with any intention, madame, to pry or to intrude. You don't think so. You can't think so. You can't possibly mean to insinuate anything so insulting. I was very angry, and my tremors had all vanished now. No, not for you, dear child. I was thinking to Milady Nullis, who without cause is my enemy. Everyone has an enemy. You will learn all that so soon as you are little older, and without cause she is mine. Come on, speak of the truth. Was it not Milady Nullis who sent you here doucement, doucement so quiet to my door? Is it not so, little rogue? Madame had confronted me again, and we were now standing in the middle of her floor. I indignantly repelled the charge, and searching me for a moment with her oddly shaped, cunning eyes, she said. That is good, child. You speak so direct. I like that, and I'm glad to hear. But, my dear Maude, that woman. Lady Nullis is Papa's cousin. I interpose a little gravely. She does hate me so, you have no idea. She has tried to injure me several times, and would employ the most innocent person. Unconsciously, you know, my dear, to assist her, Marlith. Here, Madame wept a little. I had already discovered that she could shed tears whenever she pleased. I have heard of such persons, but I never met another before or since. Madame was unusually frank. No one ever knew better when to be candid. At present, I suppose she concluded that Lady Nullis would certainly relate whatever she knew concerning her before she left. No, and so Madame's reserved, whatever they might be, were dissolving, and she growing childlike, and confiding. Et comment va Monsieur votre père aujourd'hui? Very well, I thanked her. And how long, my Lady Nullis, her visit is likely to be? I could not say exactly, but for some days. Eh, bien, my dear child, I find myself better this morning. And we must return to our lessons. Je veux m'habiller, my cher Maud. You await me in the schoolroom. By this time, Madame, who, though lazy, could make an effort, and was capable of getting into a sudden hurry, had placed herself before her dressing table, and was ogling her discoloured and bony countenance in the glass. What horror! I am so pale! Que l'ennui, what bore! A week have I grown, two, three days! And she practised some plaintive, invalid glances into the mirror. But on a sudden there came a little, sharp, inquisitive frown, as she looked over the frame of the glass upon the terrace beneath. It was only a glance, and she sat down languidly in her armchair to prepare, I suppose, for the fatigues of the toilet. My curiosity was sufficiently aroused to induce me to ask, But why, Madame, do you fancy that Lady Nullis dislikes you? Tis not fancy, my dear Maud. Ah, no, mais c'est tout un histoire, Too tedious to tell now, Sometime may be, and you will learn when you are little older, The most violent etchards, often they are the most without cause. But, my dear child, the hours they are running from us, And I must dress, fit, fit, So you run away to the schoolroom, and I will come after. Madame had her dressing-case and her mistress, And palpably stood in need of repairs. So away I went to my studies. The room which we called the schoolroom Was partly beneath the floor of Madame's bed-chamber, And commanded the same view. So remembering my governess's peering glance from her windows, I looked out, and saw cousin Monica making a brisk promenade Up and down the terrace walk. Well, that was quite enough to account for it. I had grown very curious, and I resolved when our lessons were over, To join her and make another attempt to discover the mystery. As I sat over my books, I fancied I heard a movement outside the door. I suspected that Madame was listening. I waited for a time, expecting to see the door open, But she did not come. So I opened it suddenly myself, But Madame was not on the threshold, not on the lobby. I heard a rustling, however, and on the staircase over the banister. I saw the folds of her silk dress as she descended. She is going, I thought, to seek an interview with Lady Nullis. She intends to propitiate that dangerous lady. So I amused some eight or ten minutes in watching Cousin Monica's quick march and right about face Upon the parade ground of the terrace. But no one joined her. She is certainly talking to Papa, was my next and more probable conjecture. Having the profound distrust of Madame, I was naturally extremely jealous Of the confidential interviews in which Deceit and Malice Might make their representations plausibly and without answer. Yes, I'll run down and see, see Papa. She shan't tell lies behind my back, horrid woman. At the study door I knocked, and forthwith entered. My father was sitting near the window, his open book before him, Madame standing at the other side of the table, Her cunning eyes bathed in tears, And her pocket handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Her eyes glittered stealthily on me for an instant. She was sobbing, desolate in fact, that grim grenadier lady, And her attitude was exquisitely dejected and timid. But she was notwithstanding, reading closely and craftily my father's face. He was not looking at her, but rather upward toward the ceiling, Reflectively leaning on his hand, with an expression not angry, But rather surly and annoyed. I ought to have heard this before, Madame, my father was saying as I came in, Not that it would have made any difference, not the least, mind that, but it was the kind of thing that I ought to have heard, And the omission was not strictly right. Madame, in a shrill and lamentable key, opened her voluble reply, But was arrested by a nod from my father, who asked me if I wanted anything. Only, only that I was waiting in the schoolroom for Madame, And did not know where she was. Well, she is here, you see, and will join you upstairs in a few minutes. So back I went again, huffed, angry and curious, And sat back in my chair with a clouded countenance, Thinking very little about lessons. When Madame entered, I did not lift my head or eyes. Good child, reading, said she as she approached briskly and reassured. No, I answered tartly, not good, nor a child either, I'm not reading, I've been thinking. Très bien, she said, with an insufferable smile. Thinking is very good also, but you look unhappy, very poor child. Take care, you are not go jealous, for poor Madame talking some time to your papa. You must not, little fool, it is only for your good, my dear maude, And I had no objection you should stay. You, Madame, I said loftily, I was very angry and showed it through my dignity, To Madame's evident satisfaction. No, it was your papa, Mr. Rathin, who wished to speak alone. For me, I do not care, there was something I wished to tell him. I don't care who know, but Mr. Rathin, he is different. I made no remark. Calm, little maude, you are not to be so cross. It will be much better you and I to be good friends together. Why should we quarrel? What nonsense! Do you imagine I would anywhere undertake the education of a young person, Unless I could speak with her parent? What folly! I would like to be your friend, however, my poor maude, If you would allow, you and I together. What you say? People grow to be friends by liking Madame, And liking comes of itself, not by bargain. I like everyone who is kind to me. And so I, you are like me in so many things, my dear maude. Are you quite well today? I think you look fatigued. So I feel too very tired. I think we will put off the lessons to tomorrow, eh? We will come to play the grass in the garden. Madame was plainly in a high state of exaltation. Her audience had evidently been satisfactory, And like other people, when things went well, Her soul lighted up into a sulfurous good humour, Not very genuine nor pleasant, But still it was better than other moods. I was glad when our calisthenics were ended, And Madame had returned to her apartment, So that I had a pleasant little walk with cousin Monica. We women are persevering when once our curiosity is roused, But she gaily foiled mine, And I think had a mischievous pleasure in doing so. As we were going in to dress for dinner, however, She said quite gravely, I am sorry, maude, I allowed you to see that I have any unpleasant impressions About that governess lady. I shall be at liberty some day to explain all about it, And indeed it will be enough to tell your father, Whom I have not been able to find all day, That really we are perhaps making too much of the matter, And I cannot say that I know anything against Madame That is conclusive, or indeed at all. But that there are reasons, and you must not ask any more, No, you must not. That evening, while I was playing the overture to Senera and Tola for the entertainment of my cousin, There arose from the tea-table where she and my father were sitting, Aspirited and rather angry her rang from Lady Nollis's lips. I turned my eyes from the music towards the speakers. The overture swooned away with a little hesitating Babble into silence, and I listened. Their conversation had begun under cover of the music which I was making, And now they were too much engrossed to perceive its discontinuance. The first sentence I heard seized my attention. My father had closed the book he was reading upon his finger, And was leaning back in his chair as he used to do when at all angry. His face was a little flushed, And I knew the fierce and glassy stare which expressed pride, Surprise and wrath. Yes, Lady Nollis, there's an animus. I know the spirit you speak in. It does you know honour, said my father. And I know the spirit you speak in. The spirit of madness retorted cousin Monica. Just as much in earnest. I can't conceive how you can be so demented, Austin. What has perverted you? Are you blind? You are, Monica. Your own unnatural prejudice. Unnatural prejudice blinds you. What is it all? Nothing. Were I to act as you say, I should be a coward and a traitor. I see. I do see. All that's real. I'm no kihote to draw my sword on illusions. There should be no halting here. How can you? Do you ever think? I wonder if you can breathe? I feel as if the evil one were in the house. A stern, momentary frown was my father's only answer, as he looked fixedly at her. People need not nail up horseshoes and mark their doorstones with charms to keep the evil spirit out, ran on Lady Nollis, who looked pale and angry in her way. But you open your door in the dark and invoke unknown danger. How can you look at that child that's— She's not playing, said Nollis, abruptly stopping. My father rose, muttering to himself, and cast a lurid glance at me, as he went in high displeasure to the door. Cousin Monica, now flushed a little, glanced also silently at me, biting the tip of her slender gold cross, and doubtful how much I had heard. My father opened the door suddenly, which he had just closed, and looking in, said, in a calmer tone, Perhaps, Monica, you would come for a moment to the study. I'm sure you have none but kindly feelings towards me and little more there, and I thank you for your good will, but you must see other things more reasonably, and I think you will. Cousin Monica got up silently and followed him, only throwing up her eyes and hands as she did so, and I was left alone, wondering and curious more than ever. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Lafannou This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 15 A warning I sat still, listening and wondering, and wondering and listening, but I ought to have known that no sound could reach me where I was from my father's study. Five minutes passed, and they did not return. 10. 15 I drew near the fire and made myself comfortable in a great armchair, looking on the embers, but not seeing all the scenery, and dramatis personae of my past life or future fortunes in their shifting glow, as people in romances usually do, but fanciful castles and caverns in blood red and golden blaire, suggestive of dreamy fairyland, salamanders, sunsets, and palaces of fire-kings, and all this partly shaping and partly shaped by my fancy, and leading my closing eyes and drowsy senses off into dreamland. So I nodded and dozed, and sank into a deep slumber, from which I was roused by the voice of my cousin Monica. On opening my eyes I saw nothing but Lady Nollis's face looking steadily into mine, and expanding into a good-natured laugh as she watched the vacant and lacklustre stare, with which I returned her gaze. Come, dear Mould, it is late. You ought to have been in your bed an hour ago. Up I stood, and so soon as I had begun to hear and see a right, it struck me that cousin Monica was more grave and subdued than I had seen her. Come, let us light our candles and go together. Holding hands we ascended, I sleepy, she silent, and not a word was spoken until we reached my room. Mary Quince was in waiting, and tea made. Tell her to come back in a few minutes, and I wish to say a word to you, said Lady Nollis. The maid accordingly withdrew. Lady Nollis's eyes followed her till she closed the door behind her. I'm going in the morning. So soon! Yes, dear, I could not stay. In fact, I should have gone to-night, but it was too late, and I leave instead in the morning. I am so sorry, so very sorry, I exclaimed, in honest disappointment, and the walls seemed to darken round me, and the monotony of the old routine loomed more terrible in prospect. So am I, dear Maude. But can't you stay a little longer, won't you? No, Maude, I'm vexed with Austen, very much vexed with your father. In short, I can't conceive anything so entirely preposterous and dangerous and insane as his conduct, now that his eyes are quite opened, and I must say a word to you before I go, and it is just this. You must cease to be a mere child. You must try and be a woman, Maude. Now, don't be frightened or foolish, but hear me out. That woman, what does she call herself, Rougière, I have reason to believe is. In fact, from circumstances must be your enemy. You will find her very deep, daring and unscrupulous, I venture to say, and you can't be too much on your guard. Do you quite understand me, Maude? I do, said I, with a gasp, and my eyes fixed on her with a terrified interest, as if on a warning ghost. You must bridle your tongue-mind and govern your conduct and command even your features. It is hard to practice reserve, but you must. You must be secret and vigilant. Try and be in appearance, just as usual. Don't quarrel. Tell her nothing if you do happen to know anything of your father's business. Be always on your guard when with her, and keep your eye upon her everywhere. Observe everything. Disclose nothing. Do you see? Yes, again I whispered. You have good, honest servants about you, and thank God they don't like her. But you must not repeat to them one word I am now saying to you. Servants are fond of dropping hints and letting things ooze out in that way, and in their quarrels with her would compromise you. You understand me? I do, I sighed with a wild stare, and, and Maude, don't let her meddle with your food. Cousin Monica gave me a pale little nod and looked away. I could only stare at her, and under my breath I uttered an ejaculation of terror. Don't be so frightened. You must not be foolish. I only wish you to be on your guard. I have my suspicions, but I may be quite wrong. Your father thinks I am a fool. Perhaps I am. Perhaps not. Maybe he may come to think as I do, but you must not speak to him on the subject. He is an odd man, and never did and never will act wisely when his passions and prejudices are engaged. Has she ever committed any great crime? I asked, feeling as if I were on the point of feinting. No, dear Maude, I never said anything of the kind. Don't be so frightened. I only said I have formed from something I know, an ill opinion of her, and an unprincipled person, under temptation, is capable of a great deal. But no matter how wicked she may be, you may defy her simply by assuming her to be so, and acting with caution. She is cunning and selfish, and she'll do nothing desperate, but I would give her no opportunity. Oh, dear, oh, Cousin Monica, don't leave me. My dear, I can't stay. Your papa and I, we've had a quarrel. I know I'm right, and he's wrong, and he'll come to see it soon, if he's left to himself, and then all will be right. But just now he misunderstands me, and we've not been civil to one another. I could not think of staying, and he would not allow you to come away with me for a short visit, which I wished. It won't last, though, and I do assure you, my dear Maude, I'm quite happy about you now that you are quite on your guard. Just act respecting that person, as if she were capable of any treachery, without showing distrust or dislike in your manner, and nothing will remain in her power. And write to me whenever you wish to hear from me, and if I can be of any real use, I don't care, I'll come. So there's a wise little woman, do as I've said, and depend upon it, everything will go well, and I'll contrive before long to get that nasty creature away. Except a kiss and a few hurried words in the morning when she was leaving, and a penciled farewell for papa, there was nothing more from Cousin Monica for some time. Noel was darker gay, darker than ever. My father, gentle always to me, was now, perhaps it was contrast with his fitful return to something like the world's ways, during Lady Nollet's stay, more silent, sad, and isolated than before. Of Madame de la Rougière, I had nothing at first particular to remark. Only, reader, if you happen to be a rather nervous and very young girl, I ask you to conceive my fears and imaginings, and the kind of misery which I was suffering. Its intensity I cannot now even myself recall. But it overshadowed me perpetually, a care, an alarm. It laid down with me at night, and got up with me in the morning, tinting and disturbing my dreams, and making my daily life terrible. I wonder now that I lived through the ordeal. The torment was secret and incessant, and kept my mind in unintermitting activity. Externally things went on at Noel for some weeks in the usual routine. Madame was, so far as her unpleasant ways were concerned, less tormenting than before, and constantly reminded me of our little vow of friendship, you remember, dearest Maude. And she would stand beside me, and looked from the window with her bony arm round my waist, and my reluctant hand drawn round in hers. And thus she would smile and talk affectionately, and even playfully. For at time she would grow quite girlish, and smile with her great, careless teeth, and begin to quiz and babble about the young phalos, and tell bragging tales of her lovers, all of which were dreadful to me. She was perpetually recurring, too, to the charming walk we had had together, to Church Skarsdale, and proposing a repetition of that delightful excursion, which, you may be sure, I evaded, having by no means so agreeable a recollection of our visit. One day, as I was dressing to go out for a walk, in came good Mrs. Rusk, the housekeeper, to my room. Miss Maude, dear, it's not that too far for you. It is a long walk to Church Skarsdale, and you are not looking very well. To Church Skarsdale, I repeated, I'm not going to Church Skarsdale, who said I was going to Church Skarsdale. There is nothing I should so much dislike. Well, I never exclaimed she. Why, there's old madame's been downstairs with me for fruit and sandwiches, telling me you were longing to go to Church Skarsdale. It's quite untrue, I interrupted. She knows I hate it. She does, said Mrs. Rusk quietly, and you did not tell her nothing about the basket? Well, if there isn't a story. Now, what may she be after? What is it? What is she driving at? I can't tell, but I won't go. No, of course dear, you won't go. But you may be sure there's some scheme in her old head. Tom Folk says she's been two or three times to drink tea at Farmer Gray's. Now could it be she's thinking to marry him? And Mrs. Rusk sat down and laughed heartily, ending with a crow of derision. To think of a young fellow like that and his wife poor thing, not dead a year. Maybe she's got money. I don't know. I don't care. Perhaps Mrs. Rusk, you mistook, madame. I will go down. I am going out. Madame had a basket in her hand. She held it quietly by her capricious skirt at the far side, and made no allusion to the preparation, neither to the direction in which she proposed walking, and, prattling artlessly and affectionately, she marched by my side. Thus we reached the style at the sheep-walk, and then I paused. Now, madame, have not we gone far enough in this direction? Suppose we visit the pigeon-house in the park. What folly, my dear amour, you cannot walk so far. Well, towards home then. And why not this way? We have not walked enough, and Mr. Raffin, he will not be pleased if you do not take proper exercise. Let us walk on by the path and stop when you like. Where would you wish to go, madame? Nowhere particular. Come along. Don't be fool, moored. This leads to Churchcarstale. Ah, yes, indeed. What sweet place. But we need not to walk all the way to there. I'd rather not walk outside the grounds today, madame. Come on, you shall not be fooled. What do you mean, mademoiselle? said the stalwart lady, growing yellow and greenish with an angry mottling, and accosting me very gruffly. I don't care to cross the style, thank you, madame. I shall remain at this side. You shall do what I tell you, exclaimed she. Let go of my arm, madame. You hurt me, I cried. She had gripped my arm very firmly in her great bony hand, and seemed preparing to drag me over by main force. Let me go, I repeated shrilly, for the pain increased. She cried with a smile of rage and a laugh, letting me go and shoving me backward at the same time, so that I had a rather dangerous tumble. I stood up, a good deal hurt, and very angry, notwithstanding my fear of her. I'll ask papa if I am to be so ill-used. What have I done? cried madame, laughing grimly from her hollow jaws. I did all I could to help you over. How could I prevent you to pull back and tumble, if you would do so? That is the way when you petite mamoiselle are naughty, and hurt yourself, they always try to make blame other people. Tell her what you like, think you I care. Very well, madame. Are you calming? No. She looked steadily in my face and very wickedly. I gazed at her, as with dazzled eyes. I suppose as the feathered prey do, at the owl that glares on them by night. I neither moved back nor forward, but stared at her quite helplessly. You are a nice pupil, charming young person, so polite, so obedient, so amiable. I will walk towards Church Scarstale, she continued, suddenly breaking through the conventionalism of her irony, and accosting me in savage accents. You will stay behind if you dare. I tell you to accompany, do you hear? More than ever resolved against following her, I remained where I was, watching her as she marched fiercely away, swinging her basket, as though in imagination knocking my head off with it. She soon cooled, however, and looking over her shoulder, and seeing me still at the other side of the style, she paused, and beckoned me grimly to follow her. Seeing me resolutely maintain my position, she faced about, tossed her head, tossed her head like an angry beast, and seemed uncertain for a while what cause to take with me. She stamped and beckoned furiously again. I stood firm. I was very much frightened, and could not tell to what violence she might resort in her exasperation. She walked towards me with an inflamed countenance, and a slight angry wagging of the head. My heart fluttered, and I awaited the crisis in extreme trepidation. She came close, the style only separating us, and stopped short, glaring and grinning at me like a French grenadier, who has crossed bayonets, but hesitates to close. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 16. Dr Briley looks in. What had I done to excite this ungovernable fury? We had often before had such small differences, and she had contented herself with being sarcastic, teasing and impertinent. So for future you are guvernant, and I the child for you to command is not so, and you must direct where we shall walk. Très bien, we shall see. Monsieur Rathin he shall know everything. For me I do not care, not at all. I shall be rather pleased on the contrary. Let him decide. If I shall be responsible for the conduct and the health of Mamoiselle's daughter, it must be that I shall have authority to direct her what she must do. It must be that she or I shall obey. I ask only which shall command for the future. I was frightened, but resolute. I dare say I looked sullen and uncomfortable. At all events she seemed to think she might possibly succeed by weedling. So she tried coaxing and cajoling and patted my cheek, and predicted that I would be a good child, and not vex pour madame, but do for the future what she teller me. She smiled her wide wet grin, smoothed my hand and patted my cheek, and word in the excess of her conciliatory proxism have kissed me. But I withdrew, and she commented only with a little laugh, and a foolish little thing. But you will be quite amiable just now. Why, madame, I ask suddenly raising my head and looking her straight in the face. Do you wish me to walk to church Scarstale so particularly today? She answered my steady look with a contracted gaze, and an unpleasant frown. Why do I? I do not understand, are you? There is no particular day, what folly. Why, I like church Scarstale. Well, it is such pretty place. There is all what the grew fool. I suppose you think I want to kill you and bury you in a church out. And she laughed, and it would not have been a bad laugh for a ghoul. Come, my dearest Maude, you are not a such fool to say. If you tell me me go this away, I will go that. And if you say go that away, I will go this. You are a reasonable little girl. Come along, alon-don. We shall have such agreeable walk, will you? But I was immovable. It was neither obstinacy nor caprice, but a profound fear that governed me. I was then afraid. Yes, afraid. Afraid of what? Well, of going with Madame de la Rougière to church Scarstale that day. That was all, and I believe that instinct was true. She turned a bitter glance toward church Scarstale and bit her lip. She saw that she must give it up. A shadow hung upon her drab features, a little scowl, a little sneer, wide lips compressed with a false smile, and a leaden shadow mottling all. Such was the countenance of the lady, who only a minute or two before had been smiling and murmuring over the style, so amably with her idiomatic blarney, as the Irish call that kind of blandishment. There was no mistaking them a lignant disappointment that hooked and walked her features. My heart sank, a tremendous fear overpowered me. Had she intended poisoning me? What was in that basket? I looked in her dreadful face. I felt for a minute quite frantic. A feeling of rage with my father, with my cousin Monica for abandoning me to this dreadful rogue, took possession of me, and I cried helplessly wringing my hands. Oh, it is a shame! It is a shame! It is a shame! The countenance of the Gouvernante relaxed. I think she in turn was frightened at my extreme agitation. It might have worked unfavourably with my father. Come, Maud! It is time you should try to control your temper. You shall not walk to church Scarstale, if you do not like. I only invite. There, it is quite as you please. Where shall we walk, then? Here to the Pigeon House, I think you say. Tupia! Remember I concede you everything. Let us go. We went, therefore, towards the Pigeon House, through the forest trees. I not speaking as the children in the wood did, with their sinister conductor, but utterly silent and scared. She silent also, meditating, and sometimes with a sharp side-glance gauging my progress towards equanimity. Her own was rapid, for Madame was a philosopher, and speedily accommodated herself to circumstances. We had not walked a quarter of an hour when every trace of gloom had left her face, which had assumed its customary brightness, and she began to sing with a spiteful hilarity as we walked forward, and, indeed, seemed to be approaching one of her waggish frolicsome moods. But her fun in these moods was solitary. The joke, whatever it was, remained in her own keeping. When we approached the ruined brick tower, in old times a Pigeon House, she grew quite frisky, and twirled her basket in the air, and capered to her own singing. Under the shadow of the broken wall and its ivy, she sat down with a frolicsome plump, and opened her basket, inviting me to partake, which I declined. I must do her justice, however, upon the suspicion of poison, which she quite disposed of, by gobbling up to her own share, everything which the basket contained. The reader is not to suppose that Madame's cheerful demeanour indicated that I was forgiven. Nothing of the kind. One syllable more on our walk home she addressed not to me, and when we reached the terrace she said, You will please, Maude, remain for two, three minutes in the Dutch garden, while I speak with Mr. Ruthin in the study. This was spoken with a high head and an insufferable smile, and I, more haughtily, but quite gravely, turned without disputing, and descended the steps to the quaint little garden she had indicated. I was surprised and very glad to see my father there. I ran to him and began, and then stopped short, adding only, May I speak to you now? He smiled kindly and gravely on me. Well, Maude, say you say. Oh, sir, it is only this. I entreat that our walks, mine and madame's, may be confined to the grounds. And why? I am afraid to go with her. Afraid? he repeated, looking hard at me. Have you lately had a letter from Nadine Nollis? No, papa, not for two months or more. There was a pause. And why afraid, Maude? She brought me one day to Church Skarsdale. You know what a solitary place it is, sir, and she frightened me so that I was afraid to go with her into the churchyard. But she went and left me alone at the other side of the stream, and an impudent man passing by stopped and spoke to me, and seemed inclined to laugh at me, and altogether frightened me very much, and he did not go till madame happened to return. What kind of man, young or old? A young man, he looked like a farmer's son, but very impudent, and stood there talking to me whether I would or not, and madame did not care at all, and laughed at me for being frightened, and indeed I am very uncomfortable with her. He gave me another shooed look, and then looked down cloudily and thought, You say you are uncomfortable and frightened? How is this? What causes these feelings? I don't know, sir. She likes frightening me. I am afraid of her. We are all afraid of her, I think, the servants I mean, as well as I. My father nodded his head contemptuously, twice or thrice, and muttered, a pack of fools. And she was so very angry today with me, because I would not walk a game with her to church, Scarsdale. I am very much afraid of her. I, and quite unpremeditatedly, I burst into tears. There, there, little Maud, you must not cry. She is here only for your good. If you are afraid, even foolishly afraid, it is enough. Be it as you say, your walks are hence forth confined to the grounds. I'll tell her so. I thanked him through my tears very earnestly. But Maud, beware of prejudice. Women are unjust and violent in their judgments. Your family has suffered in some of its members by such injustice. It behoves us to be careful not to practice it. That evening in the drawing-room my father said in his usual abrupt way, About my departure, Maud. I've had a letter from London this morning, and I think I shall be called away, sooner than I at first suppose, and for a little time we must manage apart from one another. Do not be alarmed. You shall not be in Madame de la Rougière's charge, but under the care of a relation. But even so little Maud will miss her old father, I think. His tone was very tender, so were his looks. He was looking down on me with a smile, and tears were in his eyes. This softening was new to me. I felt a strange thrill of surprise, delight, and love springing up. I threw my arms about his neck and wept in silence. He, I think, shed tears also. You said a visitor was coming. Someone you mean to go away with? Yes, you love him better than me. No, dear, no. But I fear him, and I am sorry to leave you, little Maud. It would be very long, I pleaded. No, dear, he answered with a sigh. I was tempted almost to question him more closely on the subject, but he seemed to divine what was in my mind, for he said, Let us speak no more of it, but only bear in mind, Maud, what I told you about the oak cabinet, the key of which is here, and he held it up as formerly. You remember what you are to do in case Dr. Briley should come while I am away? Yes, sir. His manner had changed, and I had returned to my accustomed formalities. It was only a few days later that Dr. Briley actually did arrive at Knoll, quite unexpectedly, except, I suppose, by my father. He was to stay only one night. He was twice closeted in the little study upstairs with my father, who seemed to me, even for him, unusually dejected, and Mrs. Ruff conveying against them rubbish, as she always turned the Swedenborgians, told me they were making him quite shaky-like, and he would not last no time if that lanky, lean ghost of a fellow in black was to keep prowling in and out of his room like a tame cat. I lay awake that night, wondering what the mystery might be that connected my father and Dr. Briley. There was something more than the convictions of their strange religion could account for. There was something that profoundly agitated my father. It may not be reasonable, but so it is. The person whose presence, though we know nothing of the cause of that effect, is palpably attended with pain to anyone who is dear to us, grows odious, and I began to detest Dr. Briley. It was a grey, dark morning, and in the dark pass in the gallery, near the staircase, I came full upon the ungainly doctor, in his glossy black suit. I think if my mind had been less anxiously excited on the subject of his visit, or if I had not disliked him so much, I should not have found courage to accost him as I did. There was something sly, I thought, in his dark, lean face, and he looked so low, so like a scotch artisan in his Sunday clothes, that I felt a sudden pang of indignation at the thought that a great gentleman, like my father, should have suffered under his influence, and I stopped suddenly, instead of passing him by with a mere salutation, as he expected. May I ask a question, Dr. Briley? Certainly. Are you the friend whom my father expects? I don't quite see. The friend, I mean, with whom he is to make an expedition to some distance, I think, and for some little time. No, said the doctor, with a shake of his head. And who is he? I really have not a notion, miss. Why, he said that you knew, I replied. The doctor looked honestly puzzled. Will he stay long away? Pray tell me. The doctor looked into my troubled face with inquiring and darkened eyes, like one who half reads another's meaning. And then he said a little briskly, but not sharply. Well, I don't know, I'm sure, miss. No, indeed. You must have mistaken. There's nothing that I know. There was a little pause, and he added, No, he never mentioned any friend to me. I fancied that he was made uncomfortable by my question. And wanted to hide the truth. Perhaps I was partly right. Oh, Dr. Briley, pray, pray, who is the friend and where is he going? I do assure you, he said, with a strange sort of impatience. I don't know, it's all nonsense. And he turned to go, looking, I think, annoyed and disconcerted. A terrific suspicion crossed my brain like lightning. Doctor, one word, I said, I believe, quite wildly. Do you, do you think his mind is at all affected? Insane, he said, looking at me with a sudden sharp inquisitiveness that brightened into a smile. Poor, poor heaven forbid, not a sane a man in England. Then with a little nod he walked on, carrying, as I believed, notwithstanding his disclaimer, the secret with him. In the afternoon, Dr. Briley went away. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Lafannou This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 17 An Adventure For many days after our quarrel, Madame hardly spoke to me. As for lessons, I was not much troubled with them. It was plain, too, that my father had spoken to her, for she never after that day proposed our extending our walks beyond the precincts of Knoll. Knoll, however, was a very considerable territory, and it was possible for a much better pedestrian and I to tire herself effectually without passing its limits. So we took occasionally long walks. After some weeks of sullenness, during which for days at a time she hardly spoke to me, and seemed lost in dark and evil abstraction, she once more, and somewhat suddenly, recovered her spirits and grew quite friendly. Her gayities and friendliness were not reassuring, and in my mind presaged to approaching mischief and treachery. The days were shortening to the wintry span. The edge of the red sun had already touched the horizon, as Madame and I, overtaken at the Warren by his last beams, were hastening homeward. A narrow carriage-road traverses this wild region of the park, to which a distant gate gives entrance. On descending into this unfrequented road, I was surprised to see a carriage standing there. A thin, sly pastilian with that pert turned up nose, which the old caricaturist Woodward used to attribute to the gentleman of Tewkesbury, with leaning on his horses and looked hard at me as I passed. A lady who sat within looked out, with an extra fashionable bonnet on, and also treated us to a stare. Very pink and white cheeks she had, very black glossy hair and bright eyes, fat, bold, and rather cross she looked, and in her bold way she examined us curiously as we passed. I mistook the situation. It had once happened before that an intending visitor at Knoll had entered the place by that park road and lost several hours in a vain search for the house. Ask him, madame, whether they want to go to the house. I daresay they have missed their way, whispered I. Maybe, they will find again. I do not choose to talk to post-boys, alone. But I asked the man as we passed. Do you want to reach the house? By this time he was at the horse's heads buckling the harness. Noir, he said, in a surly tone, smiling oddly on the winkers. But recollecting his politeness he added, Noir, thank you, missus, it's what they called a picnic. We'll be taking the road now. He was smiling now on a little buckle with which he was engaged. Come, nonsense, whispered madame, sharply in my ear, and she whisked me by the arm, so we crossed the little style on the other side. Our path lay across the warren which undulates in the little hillocks. The sun was down by this time. Blue shadows were stretching round us, colder in the splendid contrast of the burnished sunset sky. Descending over these hillocks we saw three figures a little in advance of us, not far from the path we were tracing. Two were standing smoking and chatting at intervals. One tall and slim, with a high chimney pot, worn a little on one side, and a white great-hote buttoned up to the chin. The other, shorter and stouter, with a dark-coloured wrapper. These gentlemen were facing rather our way as we came over the edge of the eminence, but turned their backs on perceiving our approach. As they did so, I remember so well each lowered his cigar suddenly with the simultaneousness of a drill. The third figure sustained the picnic character of the group. For he was repacking a hamper. He stood suddenly erect as we drew near, and a very ill-looking person he was, low-browed, square-chinned, and with a broad, broken nose. He wore gaiters, and was a little bandy, very broad, and had a closely cropped bullet head, and deep-set little eyes. The moment I saw him I beheld the living type of the burglars and bruises whom I had so often beheld with a kind of skepticism in punch. He stood over his hamper and scowled sharply at us for a moment. Then, with the point of his foot, he jerked a little fur cap that lay on the ground, into his hand, drew it tight over his lowering brows, and called to his companions, just as we passed him. Hello, Mr. How's this? All right, said the tall person in the white great-coat, who, as he answered, shook his shorter companion by the arm, I thought, angrily. This shorter companion turned about. He had a muffler loose about his neck and chin. I thought he seemed shy and irresolute, and the tall man gave him a great jolt with his elbow, which made him stagger. And I fancied a little angry, but he said, as it seemed, a sulky word or two. The gentleman in the white sur-tu, however, standing direct in our way, raised his hat with a mock salutation, placing his hand on his breast, and, forthwith, began to advance with an insolent grin and an air of tipsy frolic. Just in time, ladies, five minutes more and we'd have been off. Thank you, Mrs. Moussa Mam, for the honour of the meeting, and more particular for the pleasure of making your young lady's acquaintance. Nice Mam, Daughter Mam, Grand-Daughter by Joe Visit. Hello there, Mild Nice. Say, stop packing. This was to the ill-favoured person with the broken nose. Bring us a couple of glasses and a bottle of curacao. What are you feared on, my dear? This is Lord Lollipop here, a regler charmer. Wouldn't her to fly, lolly? Isn't he pretty, miss? And I'm Sir Simon Sugarstick, so called after old Sir Simon Mam, and I'm so tall and straight, miss and slim, ain't I? And ever so sweet, my honey, when you come to know me, just like a sugarstick, ain't I, lolly boy? I miss Ruthin, tell them, madame. I said stamping on the ground and very much frightened. Be quiet, Maud. If you are angry, they will hurt us. Leave me to speak, whispered the gouverneur. Or this time they were approaching from separate points. I glanced back and saw the ruffianly looking ran, within a yard or two, with his arm raised and one finger up, telegraphing as it seemed, to the gentleman in front. Be quiet, Maud, whispered madame, with an awful aduration, which I do not care to set down. They are tipsy, don't seem afraid. I was afraid, terrified. The circle had now so narrowed that they might have placed their hands on my shoulders. Great gentleman, what you want? Will you have the goodness to permit us to go on? I now observed for the first time with a kind of shock that the shorter of the two men who prevented our advance was the person who had accosted me so offensively at Church Skarsdale. I pulled madame by the arm, whispering, Let us run! Be quiet, my dear Maud, was her only reply. I tell you what, said the tall man who had replaced his high hat more jauntily than before on the side of his head, we've caught you now, fair game, and we'll let you off on conditions. You must not be frightened, miss, upon my honour and soul, I mean no mischief. Do I, lollipop? I call him Lord Lollipop. It's only chaff, though. His name's Smith. Now, lolly, I vote we let the prisoners go, when we just introduce them to Mrs. Smith. She's sitting in the carriage and keeps Mr. S here in precious good order, I promise you. There's easy terms for you, eh? And we'll have a glass of Curacao round, and so part friends. Is it a bargain? Come. Yes, Maud, we must go. What matter? whispered Madame vehemently. You shan't, I said, instinctively terrified. You'll go with us, Mum, young'en, won't you? said Mr. Smith, as his companion called him. Madame was holding my arm, but I snatched it from her and would have run. The tall man, however, placed his arms round me and held me fast with an affectation of playfulness. But his grip was hard enough to hurt me a good deal. Being now thoroughly frightened after an ineffectual struggle, during which I heard Madame say, You fool, Maud, will you come with me? See what you are doing! I began to scream, shriek after shriek, which the man attempted to drown with loud hooting, peals of laughter, forcing his handkerchief against my mouth, while Madame continued to ball her exhortations to be quiet in my ear. Oh, lift her, I say, said a gruffed voice behind me. But at this instant, while with terror, I distinctly heard other voices shouting. The men who surrounded me were instantly silent and all looked in the direction of the sound, now very near, and I screamed with redoubled energy. The ruffian behind me thrust his great hand over my mouth. It is the Gamekeeper, cried Madame. Two Gamekeepers! We are safe, than Kevin, and she began to call on Dykes by name. I only remember feeling myself at liberty, running a few steps, seeing Dykes his white, furious face, clinging to his arm, with which he was bringing his gun to a level and saying, Don't fire, they'll murder us if you do. Madame, screaming lustily, ran up at the same moment. Run on up to the gate and lock it, I'll be with you in a minute, cried he to the other Gamekeeper, who started instantly on this mission, for the three ruffians were already in full retreat for the carriage. Giddy, wild, fainting, still terror carried me on. Now, Madame Rogers, suppose you take young Misses on, I must run and lend Bill a hand. No, no, you must not, cried Madame, I am fainting myself for more villains they may be near us. But at this moment we heard a shot, and muttering to himself and grasping his gun, Dykes ran at his utmost speed in the direction of the sound. With many exhortations to speed and dejaculations of alarm, Madame hurried me on toward the house, which, at length, we reached without further adventure. As it happened, my father met us in the hall. He was perfectly transported with fury on hearing from Madame what had happened, and set out at once with some of the servants, in the hope of intercepting the party at the park gate. Here was a new agitation, for my father did not return for nearly three hours, and I could not conjecture what might be occurring during the period of his absence. My alarm was greatly increased by the arrival in the interval of poor Bill, the under-gamekeeper, very much injured. Seeing that he was determined to intercept their retreat, the three men had set upon him, rested his gun, which exploded in the struggle, from him, and beat him savagely. I mention these particulars, because they convinced everybody that there was something specially determined and ferocious in the spirit of the party, and that the fracar was no mere frolic, but the result of a predetermined plan. My father had not succeeded in overtaking them. He traced them to the Lugton station, where they had taken the railway, and no one could tell him on what direction the carriage and post-horses had driven. Madame was, or affected to be, very much shattered by what had occurred. Her recollection and mine, when my father questioned us closely, differed very materially, respecting many details of the personnel of the villainous party. She was obstinate and clear, and although the gamekeeper corroborated my description of them, still my father was puzzled. Perhaps he was not sorry that some hesitation was forced upon him, because, although at first he would have gone almost any length to detect the persons, on reflection he was pleased that there was not evidence to bring them into a court of justice, the publicity and annoyance of which would have been inconceivably distressing to me. Madame was in a strange state, tempestuous in temper, talking incessantly, every now and then in floods of tears, and perpetually on her knees pouring forth torrents of thanksgiving to heaven for our joint deliverance from the hands of those villains, notwithstanding our community of danger, and her thankfulness on my behalf however, she broke forth into wrath and railing whenever we were alone together. What fool you were, so disobedient and obstinate! If you had done what I say, then we should have been quite safe, those persons they were tipsy, and there is nothing so dangerous as to quarrel with tipsy persons, I would have brought you quite safe, the lady she seemed so nice and quiet, and we shall have been safe with her. There would have been nothing absolutely, but instead you would scream and push, and so they grow quite wild, and all the impertinence and violence follow, of course, and that a poor beel, all his beating and danger to his life, it is caused entirely by you. And she spoke with more real virulence than that kind of upgrading generally exhibits. The beast, exclaimed Mrs. Rathk, when she, I and Mary Quince were in my room together, with all her crying and praying, I'd like to know as much as she does, maybe, about them rascals. There never was such like about the place, long as I remember it, till she came to knoll, old witch. With them are merciful big bones of hers, and her great bald head grinning here, and crying there, and her nose everywhere, the old French hypocrite. Mary Quince threw in an observation, and I believe Mrs. Rathk rejoined, but I heard neither, for whether the housekeeper spoke with reflection or not, what she said affected me strangely. Through the smallest aperture for a moment, I had had a peep into pandemonium. Were not peculiarities of Madame's demeanour and advice during the adventure partly accounted for by the suggestion? Could the proposed excursion to Church Scarsdale have had any purpose of the same sort? What was proposed? How was Madame interested in it? Were such immeasurable treason and hypocrisy possible? I could not explain nor quite believe in the shapeless suspicion, that with these lightened bitter words of the old housekeeper, had stolen so horribly into my mind. After Mrs. Rathk was gone, I awoke from my dismal abstraction with something like a moan and a shudder, with a dreadful sense of danger. Oh, Mary Quince, I cried, do you think she really knew? Who, Miss Maude? Do you think Madame knew of those dreadful people? Oh, no, say you don't, you don't believe it. Tell me she did not, and distracted Mary Quince, I'm frightened out of my life. There now, Miss Maude dear, there now, don't take on so. Why should she? No such a thing. Mrs. Rathk, Lord bless you, she's no more meaning in what she says than the child I'm born. But I was really frightened. I was in a horrible state of uncertainty, as to Madame de la Rougière's complicity with the party, who had beset us at the Warren, and afterwards so mergersly beat our poor gamekeeper. How was I ever to get rid of that horrible woman? How long was she to enjoy her continual opportunities of a frighting and injuring me? She hates me, she hates me, Mary Quince, and she will never stop until she has done me some dreadful injury. Oh, will no one relieve me? Will no one take her away? Oh, papa, papa, papa, you will be sorry when it is too late. I was crying and wringing my hands, and turning from side to side, at my wit's ends, and honest Mary Quince, in vain, endeavoured to quiet and comfort me. End of Chapter Seventeen