Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      It was no doubt unfortunate that my acquaintance with Mr. Edwin Barley should have begun with a fright. I was a most impressionable child, and could not get over that first fear. Every time I met him, my heart, as the saying runs, leaped into my mouth. He saw me and spoke.

      "So you have got back, Anne Hereford?"

      "Yes, sir," I answered, my lips feeling as if they were glued together.

      "Where's Mrs. Barley?"

      "She is gone indoors, sir."

      "And George Heneage. Where's he?"

      "He went in also, sir. John said some visitors were waiting to see Mrs. Barley."

      And to that he made no rejoinder, but went on with Philip King.

      Nothing more occurred that day to disturb the peace of the house. A gentleman, who called in the afternoon, was invited to dine, and stayed. Mrs. Edwin Barley rang for me as soon as she went up to the drawing-room. I thought how lovely she looked in her black net dress, and with the silver ornaments on her neck and arms.

      "What did you think of Mr. Philip King's temper this morning, Anne?" she asked, as she stood near the fire and sipped the cup of coffee that John had brought in.

      "Oh, Selina! I never was so alarmed before."

      "You little goose! But it was a specimen, was it not, of gentlemanly bearing?"

      "I think--I mean I thought--that it was not Mr. King who was in fault," I said; not, however, liking to say it.

      "You thought it was George Heneage, I suppose. Ah! but you don't know all, Anne; the scenes behind the curtain are hidden to you. Philip King has wanted a chastisement this fortnight past; and he got it. Unless he alters his policy, he will get one of a different nature. Mr. Heneage will as surely cane him as that I stand here."

      "Why do you like Mr. Heneage so much, Selina?"

      "I like him better than anybody I know, Anne. Not with the sort of liking, however, that Mr. Philip King would insinuate, the worthy youth! Though it is great fun," she added, with a merry laugh, "to let the young gentleman think I do. I have known George Heneage a long while: he used to visit at Keppe-Carew, and be as one of ourselves. I could not like a brother, if I had one, more than I do George Heneage. And Mr. Philip King, and his ally, Charlotte Delves, tell tales of me to my husband! It is as good as a comedy."

      A comedy! If she could but have foreseen the comedy's ending!

      On the following morning, Saturday, they all went out shooting again. Mrs. Edwin Barley had visitors in the forenoon, and afterwards she drove over to Hallam in the pony carriage, with the little boy-groom Tom, not taking me. I was anywhere--with Charlotte Delves; with Jemima; reading a fairy-tale I found; playing "Poor Mary Anne" on the piano. As it grew towards dusk, and nobody came home, I went strolling down the avenue, and met the pony carriage. Only Tom was in it.

      "Where is Mrs. Edwin Barley?"

      "She is coming on, Miss, with Mr. Heneage. He came up to the lodge-gate just as we got back."

      I went to the end of the avenue, but did not see her. The woman at the lodge said they had taken the path on the left, which would equally bring them to the house, though by a greater round. I ran along it, and came to the pretty summer-house that stood where the ornamental grounds were railed off from the pasture at the back and the wood beyond. At the foot of the summer-house steps my aunt stood, straining her eyes on a letter, in the fading light; George Heneage was looking over her shoulder, a gun in his hand.

      "You see what they say," he observed. "Rather peremptory, is it not?"

      "George, you must go by the first train that starts from Nettleby," she returned. "You should not lose a minute; the pony carriage will take you. Is that you, Anne?"

      "I would give something to know what's up, and why I am called for in this fashion," was his rejoinder, spoken angrily. "They might let me alone until the term I was invited for here is at an end."

      Mrs. Edwin Barley laughed. "Perhaps our friend, Philip King, has favoured Heneage Grange with a communication, telling of your fancied misdoings."

      No doubt she spoke it lightly, neither believing her own words nor heeding the fashion of them. But George Heneage took them seriously; and it unfortunately happened that she ran up the steps at the same moment. A stir was heard in the summer-house. Mr. Heneage dashed in in time to see Philip King escaping by the opposite door.

      The notion that he had been "spying" was, of course, taken up by Mr. Heneage. With a passionate word, he was speeding after him; but Mrs. Edwin Barley caught his arm.

      "George, you shall not go. There might be murder done between you."

      "I'll pay him off; I'll make him remember it! Pray release me. I beg your pardon, Selina."

      For he had flung her hand away with rather too much force, in his storm of passion; and was crashing through the opposite door, and down the steps, in pursuit of Philip King. Both of them made straight for the wood; but Philip King had a good start, and nothing in his hand; George Heneage had his gun. Selina alluded to it.

      "I hope it is not loaded! Flying along with that speed, he might strike it against a tree, and be shot before he knows it. Anne, look here! You are fleeter than I. Run you crossways over that side grass to the corner entrance; it will take you to a path in the wood where you will just meet them. Tell Mr. Heneage from me, that I command him to come back, and to let Philip King alone. I command it, in his mother's name."

      I did not dare to refuse, and yet scarcely dared to go. I ran along, my heart beating. Arrived at the entrance indicated I plunged in, and went on down many turns and windings amidst the trees. They were not very thick, and were intersected by narrow paths. But no one could I see.

      And now arrived a small calamity. I had lost my way. How to trace an exit from the wood I knew not, and felt really frightened. Down I sat on an old stump, and cried. What if I should have to stay there until morning!

      Not so. A slight noise made me look up. Who should be standing near, his back against a tree, smoking a cigar and smiling at me, but Philip King.

      "What is the grief, Miss Anne? Have you met a wolf?"

      "I can't find my way out, sir."

      "Oh, I'll soon show you that. We are almost close to the south border. You----"

      He stopped suddenly, turned his head, and looked attentively in a direction to the left. At that moment there came a report, something seemed to whizz through the air, and strike Philip King. He leaped up, and then fell to the ground with a scream. This was followed so instantly that it seemed to be part and parcel of the scream, by a distant exclamation of dismay or of warning. From whom did it come?

      Though not perfectly understanding what had occurred, or that Philip King had received a fatal shot, I screamed also, and fell on my knees; not fainting, but with a sick, horrible sensation of fear, such as perhaps no child ever before experienced. And the next thing I saw was Mr. Edwin Barley, coming towards us with his gun, not quite from the same direction as the shot, but very near it. I had been thinking that George Heneage must have done it, but another question arose now to my terrified heart: Could it have been Mr. СКАЧАТЬ