The Shadow of Ashlydyat. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ me to town with him! The thought has just come into my mind.”

      Charlotte made no answer. Possibly she did not hear the words, for the dogs were barking and she was laughing louder than ever. Mrs. Verrall stamped her foot petulantly, and her voice rang through the room.

      “Charlotte, then, do you hear me? Put that horrible little brute down, or I will ring for both to be taken away! One might as well keep a screaming cockatoo! I say I have a great mind to go up to town with Verrall.”

      “Verrall would not take you,” responded Charlotte, putting her King Charles on to the back of the terrier.

      “Why do you think that?”

      “He goes up for business only.”

      “It will be so dull for me, all alone!” complained Mrs. Verrall. “You in Scotland, he in London, and I moping myself to death in this gloomy Ashlydyat! I wish we had never taken it!”

      Charlotte Pain bent her dark eyes in surprise upon her sister. “Since when have you found out that you do not like Ashlydyat?”

      “Oh, I don’t know. It is a gloomy place inside, especially if you contrast it with Lady Godolphin’s Folly. And they are beginning to whisper of ghostly things being abroad on the Dark Plain!”

      “For shame, Kate!” exclaimed Charlotte Pain. “Ghostly things! Oh, I see—you were laughing.”

      “Is it not enough to make us all laugh—these tales of the Godolphins? But I shall convert it into a pretext for not being left alone here when you and Verrall are away. Why do you go, Charlotte?” Mrs. Verrall added, in a tone which had changed to marked significance. “It is waste of time.”

      Charlotte Pain would not notice the innuendo. “I never was in Scotland, and shall like the visit,” she said, picking up the King Charles again. “I enjoy fine scenery: you do not care for it.”

      “Oh,” said Mrs. Verrall; “it is scenery that draws you, is it? Take you care, Charlotte.”

      “Care of what?”

      “Shall I tell you? You must not fly into one of your tempers and pull my hair. You are growing too fond of George Godolphin.”

      Charlotte Pain gave no trace of “flying into a temper;” she remained perfectly cool and calm. “Well?” was all she said, her lip curling.

      “If it would bring you any good; if it would end in your becoming Mrs. George Godolphin; I should say well; go into it with your whole heart and energy. But it will not so end; and your time and plans are being wasted.”

      “Has he told you so much?” ironically asked Charlotte.

      “Nonsense! There was one in possession of the field before you, Charlotte—if my observation goes for anything. She will win the race; you will not even be in at the distance chair. I speak of Maria Hastings.”

      “You speak of what you know nothing,” carelessly answered Charlotte Pain, a self-satisfied smile upon her lips.

      “Very well. When it is all over, and you find your time has been wasted, do not say I never warned you. George Godolphin may be a prize worth entering the lists for; I do not say he is not: but there is no chance of your winning him.”

      Charlotte Pain tossed the dog upwards and caught him as he descended, a strange look of triumph on her brow.

      “And—Charlotte,” went on Mrs. Verrall in a lower tone, “there is a proverb, you know, about two stools. We may fall to the ground if we try to sit upon both at once. How would Dolf like this expedition to Scotland, handsome George making one in it?”

      Charlotte’s eyes flashed now. “I care no more for Dolf than I care for—not half so much as I care for this poor little brute. Don’t bring up Dolf to me, Kate!”

      “As you please. I would not mix myself up with your private affairs for the world. Only a looker-on sometimes sees more than those engaged in the play.”

      Crossing the apartment, Mrs. Verrall traversed the passage that led from it, and opened the door of another room. There sat her husband at the dessert-table, taking his wine alone, and smoking a cigar. He was a slight man, twice the age of his wife, his hair and whiskers yellow, and his eyes set deep in his head: rather a good-looking man on the whole, but a very silent one. “I want to go to London with you,” said Mrs. Verrall.

      “You can’t,” he answered.

      She advanced to the table, and sat down near him. “There’s Charlotte going one way, and you another–”

      “Don’t stop Charlotte,” he interrupted, with a meaning nod.

      “And I must be left alone in the house; to the ghosts and dreams and shadows they are inventing about that Dark Plain. I will go with you, Verrall.”

      “I should not take you with me to save the ghosts running off with you,” was Mr. Verrall’s answer, as he pressed the ashes from his cigar on a pretty shell, set in gold. “I go up incog. this time.”

      “Then I’ll fill the house with guests,” she petulantly said.

      “Fill it, and welcome, if you like, Kate,” he replied. “But, to go to London, you must wait for another opportunity.”

      “What a hateful thing business is! I wish it had never been invented!”

      “A great many more wish the same. And have more cause to wish it than you,” he drily answered. “Is tea ready?”

      Mrs. Verrall returned to the room she had left, to order it in. Charlotte Pain was then standing outside the large window, leaning against its frame, the King Charles lying quietly in her arms, and her own ears on the alert, for she thought she heard advancing footsteps; and they seemed to be stealthy ones. The thought—or, perhaps, the wish—that it might be George Godolphin, stealing up to surprise her, flashed into her mind. She bent her head, and stroked the dog, in the prettiest unconsciousness of the approaching footsteps.

      A hand was laid upon her shoulder. “Charlotte!”

      She cried out—a sharp, genuine cry of dismay—dropped the King Charles, and bounded into the room. The intruder followed her.

      “Why, Dolf!” uttered Mrs. Verrall in much astonishment. “Is it you?”

      “It is not my ghost,” replied the gentleman, holding out his hand. He was a little man, with fair hair, this Mr. Rodolf Pain, cousin to the two ladies. “Did I alarm you, Charlotte?”

      “Alarm me!” she angrily rejoined. “You must have sprung from the earth.”

      “I have sprung from the railway station. Where is Verrall?”

      “Why have you come down so unexpectedly?” exclaimed Mrs. Verrall.

      “To see Verrall. I return to-morrow.”

      “Verrall goes up to-morrow night.”

      “I know he does. And that is why I have come down.”

      “You might have waited to see him in London,” said Charlotte, her equanimity not yet restored.

      “It СКАЧАТЬ