Willing to Die: A Novel. Le Fanu Joseph Sheridan

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      "I see you have got a piano there," he said to me, in his low tones, not meant for her ear. "Miss Grey plays, of course?"

      "Yes; very well indeed."

      "Well, then, would you mind asking her to play something?"

      I had no idea at the time that he wanted simply to find occupation for her, and to fill her ears with her own music, while he talked on with me.

      "Laura, will you play that pretty thing of Beethoven's that you tried last night?" I asked.

      "Don't ask me, Ethel, dear, to-night; I don't think I could," she answered, I thought a little oddly.

      "Perhaps, if Miss Grey knew," he said, smiling, "that she would oblige a shipwrecked stranger extremely, and bind him to do her any service she pleases to impose in return, she might be induced to comply."

      "The more you expect from my playing, the less courage I have to play," she said, in reply to his appeal, which was made, I fancied, in a tone of faint irony that seemed to suggest an oblique meaning; and her answer, I also fancied, was spoken as if answering that hidden meaning. It was very quietly done, but I felt the singularity of those tones.

      "And why so? Do, I entreat – do play."

      "Shouldn't I interrupt your conversation?" she answered.

      "I'll not allow you even that excuse," he said; "I'll promise (and won't you, Miss Ware?) to talk whenever we feel inclined. There, now, it's all settled, isn't it? Pray begin."

      "No, I am not going to play to-night," she said.

      "Who would suppose Miss Grey so resolute; so little a friend to harmony? Well, I suppose we can do nothing; we can't prevail; we can only regret."

      I looked curiously at Laura, who had risen, and was approaching the window, close to which she took a chair and sat down.

      Mr. Marston was silent. I never saw man look angrier, although he smiled. To his white teeth and vivid eyes his dark skin gave marked effect; and to me, who knew nothing of the situation, the whole affair was most disagreeably perplexing. I was curious to see whether there would be any sign of recognition; but I was sitting at the side that commanded a full view of our guest, and the table so near me that Laura could not have introduced her chair without a very pointed disclosure of her purpose. If Mr. Marston was disposed to snarl and snap at Miss Grey, he very quickly subdued that desire. It would have made a scene, and frightened me, and that would never do.

      In his most good-humoured manner, therefore, which speedily succeeded this silent paroxysm, he chatted on, now and then almost whispering a sentence or two to me. What a contrast this gay, reckless, and in a disguised way, almost tender talk, presented to the cold, peculiar, but agreeable conversation of the ascetic enthusiast, in whom this dark-faced, animated man of the world had uncomfortably disturbed my faith!

      Laura Grey was restless all this time, angry, frightened. I fancied she was jealous and wounded; and although I was so fond of her, it did not altogether displease me.

      The sunlight failed. The reflected glow from the western sky paled into grey, and twilight found our guest still in his place at the window, with his knee on the bench, and his elbows resting on the window-stone, our candles being lighted, chatting, as I thought, quite delightfully, talking sense and nonsense very pleasantly mixed, and hinting a great many very agreeable flatteries.

      Laura Grey at length took courage, or panic, which often leads in the same direction, and rising, said quietly, but a little peremptorily: "I am going now, Ethel."

      There was, of course, nothing for it but to submit. I confess I was angry. But it would certainly not have been dignified to show my resentment in Mr. Marston's presence. I therefore acquiesced with careless good-humour. The stranger bid us a reluctant good-night, and Laura shut down the window, and drew the little bolt across the window-sash, with, as it seemed to me, a rather inconsistent parade of suspicion. With this ungracious dismissal he went away in high good-humour, notwithstanding.

      "Why need we leave the drawing-room so very early?" said I, in a pet.

      "We need not go now, as that man is gone," she said, and quickly closed the window-shutters, and drew the curtains.

      Laura, when she had made these arrangements, laid her hand on my shoulder, and looked with great affection and anxiety in my face.

      "You are vexed, darling, because I got rid of that person."

      "No," said I; "but I'm vexed because you got rid of him rudely."

      "I should have prevented his staying at the window for a single minute, if I had been quite sure he is the person I suppose. If he is – oh! how I wish he were a thousand miles away!"

      "I don't think you would be quite so hard upon him, if he had divided his conversation a little more equally," I said with the bluntness of vexation.

      Laura hardly smiled. There was a pained, disappointed look in her face, but the kindest you can imagine.

      "No, Ethel, I did not envy your good fortune. There is no one on earth to whom I should not prefer talking."

      "But who is he?" I urged.

      "I can't tell you."

      "Surely you can say the name of the person you take him for?" I insisted.

      "I am not certain; if he be the person he resembles, he took care to place himself so that I could not, or, at least, did not, see him well; there are two or three people mixed up in a great misfortune, whom I hate to name, or think of. I thought at one time I recognised him; but afterwards I grew doubtful. I never saw the person I mean more than twice in my life; but I know very well what he is capable of; his name is Marston; but I am not at all certain that this is he."

      "You run away with things," I said. "How do you know that Mr. Carmel's account may not be a very unfair one?"

      "I don't rely on Mr. Carmel's account of Mr. Marston, if this is he. I knew a great deal about him. You must not ask me how that was, or anything more. He is said to be, and I believe it, a bad, selfish, false man. I am terrified when I think of your having made his acquaintance. If he continues here, we must go up to town. I am half distracted. He dare not give us any trouble there."

      "How did he quarrel with Mr. Carmel?" I asked, full of curiosity.

      "I never heard; I did not know that he was even acquainted with him; but I think you may be perfectly certain that everything he said about Mr. Carmel is untrue. He knows that Mr. Carmel warned us against making his acquaintance; and his reason for talking as he does, is simply to discredit him. I dare say he'll take an opportunity of injuring him also. There is not time to hear from Mr. Ware. The only course, if he stays here for more than a day or two, is, as I said, to run up to your papa's house in town, and stay there till he is gone."

      Again my belief in Mr. Marston was shaken; and I reviewed my hard thoughts of Mr. Carmel with something like compunction. The gloom and pallor of Laura's face haunted me.

      CHAPTER XVII

      lemuel blount

      Next morning, at about half-past ten, as Laura and I sat in our breakfast-room, a hired carriage with two horses, which had evidently been driven at a hard pace, passed our window at a walk. The driver, who was leading his beasts, asked a question of Thomas Jones, who was rolling СКАЧАТЬ