Uncle Silas (Horror Classic). Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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      Chapter 13.

       Before and After Breakfast

       Table of Contents

      NEXT MORNING early I visited my favourite full-length portrait in the chocolate coat and top-boots. Scanty as had 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 roué— the duellist — 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 magnates of his county, and by ordeal of battle have purged the honour of the Ruthyns. Thee in that delicate half-sarcastic tracery of the nostril I detected the intellectual defiance which had politically isolated Silas Ruthyn and opposed him to the landed oligarchy of his county, whose retaliation had been a hideous slander. There, too, and on his brows and lip, I traced 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, thee 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 Ruthyn. 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 thing. 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 Knollys — so she says. I really — I 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 enquiry, for he answered my thoughts.

      “I do really assure you, Miss Ruthyn, I am quite serious; you have no idea how very much we missed you.”

      There was a little pause, and, I believe, like a fool, I lowered my eyes, and blushed.

      “I— I was thinking of leaving to-day; I am so unfortunate — my leave is just out — it is so unlucky; but I don’t quite know whether my aunt Knollys will allow me to go.”

      “I? — certainly, my dear Charlie, I don’t want you at all,” exclaimed a voice — Lady Knollys’s — 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 Knollys,” murmured the young man, every 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 Knollys entered. “And you know, Charles,” she continued, “it would not do to forget your visit to Snodhurst; you wrote, you know, and you have only to-night and to-morrow. You are thinking of nothing but that moor; I heard you talking to the gamekeeper; I know he is — is not he, Maud, 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 Snodhurst, Charlie; and do not you think this window a little too much for Miss Ruthyn? Maud, 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 your papa 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 Knollys, and wondering why old ladies are so uniformly disagreeable.

      In the lobby she said, with an odd, goodnatured look —

      “Don’t allow any of his love-making, my dear. Charles Oakley has not a guinea, and an heiress 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 the Albums, the Souvenirs, the Keepsakes, and all that flood of Christmas-present lore 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 СКАЧАТЬ