an oath--sprang back into the hall--and shut himself into the
dining-room from the sight of her. The panic which had seized him
once already in the kitchen-garden at Windygates, under the eyes
of the dumb cook, had fastened its hold on him once more.
Frightened--absolutely frightened--of Hester Dethridge!
The gate bell rang. Julius had returned with the doctor.
Anne gave the key to the girl to let them in. Hester wrote on her
slate, as composedly as if nothing had happened: "They'll find me
in the kitchen, if they want me. I sha'n't go back to my bedroom.
My bedroom's full of bad dreams." She descended the stairs. Anne
waited in the upper passage, looking over into the hall below.
"Your brother is in the drawing-room," she called down to Julius.
"The landlady is in the kitchen, if you want her." She returned
to her room, and waited for what might happen next.
After a brief interval she heard the drawing-room door open, and
the voices of the men out side. There seemed to be some
difficulty in persuading Geoffrey to ascend the stairs; he
persisted in declaring that Hester Dethridge was waiting for him
at the top of them. After a little they persuaded him that the
way was free. Anne heard them ascend the stairs and close his
bedroom door.
Another and a longer interval passed before the door opened
again. The doctor was going away. He said his parting words to
Julius in the passage. "Look in at him from time to time through
the night, and give him another dose of the sedative mixture if
he wakes. There is nothing to b e alarmed about in the
restlessness and the fever. They are only the outward
manifestations of some serious mischief hidden under them. Send
for the medical man who has last attended him. Knowledge of the
patient's constitution is very important knowledge in this case."
As Julius returned from letting the doctor out, Anne met him in
the hall. She was at once struck by the worn look in his face,
and by the fatigue which expressed itself in all his movements.
"You want rest," she said. "Pray go to your room. I have heard
what the doctor said to you. Leave it to the landlady and to me
to sit up."
Julius owned that he had been traveling from Scotland during the
previous night. But he was unwilling to abandon the
responsibility of watching his brother. "You are not strong
enough, I am sure, to take my place," he said, kindly. "And
Geoffrey has some unreasoning horror of the landlady which makes
it very undesirable that he should see her again, in his present
state. I will go up to my room, and rest on the bed. If you hear
any thing you have only to come and call me."
An hour more passed.
Anne went to Geoffrey's door and listened. He was stirring in his
bed, and muttering to himself. She went on to the door of the
next room, which Julius had left partly open. Fatigue had
overpowered him; she heard, within, the quiet breathing of a man
in a sound sleep. Anne turned back again resolved not to disturb
him.
At the head of the stairs she hesitated--not knowing what to do.
Her horror of entering Geoffrey's room, by herself, was
insurmountable. But who else was to do it? "The girl had gone to
bed. The reason which Julius had given for not employing the
assistance of Hester Dethridge was unanswerable. She listened
again at Geoffrey's door. No sound was now audible in the room to
a person in the passage outside. Would it be well to look in, and
make sure that he had only fallen asleep again? She hesitated
once more--she was still hesitating, when Hester Dethridge
appeared from the kitchen.
She joined Anne at the top of the stairs--looked at her--and
wrote a line on her slate: "Frightened to go in? Leave it to Me."
The silence in the room justified the inference that he was
asleep. If Hester looked in, Hester could do no harm now. Anne
accepted the proposal.
"If you find any thing wrong," she said, "don't disturb his
brother. Come to me first."
With that caution she withdrew. It was then nearly two in the
morning. She, like Julius, was sinking from fatigue. After
waiting a little, and hearing nothing, she threw herself on the
sofa in her room. If any thing happened, a knock at the door
would rouse her instantly.
In the mean while Hester Dethridge opened Geoffrey's bedroom door
and went in.
The movements and the mutterings which Anne had heard, had been
movements and mutterings in his sleep. The doctor's composing
draught, partially disturbed in its operation for the moment
only, had recovered its sedative influence on his brain. Geoffrey
was in a deep and quiet sleep.
Hester stood near the door, looking at him. She moved to go out
again--stopped--and fixed her eyes suddenly on one of the inner
corners of the room.
The same sinister change which had passed over her once already
in Geoffrey's presence, when they met in the kitchen-garden at
Windygates, now passed over her again. Her closed lips dropped
apart. Her eyes slowly dilated--moved, inch by inch from the
corner, following something along the empty wall, in the
direction of the bed--stopped at the head of the bed, exactly
above Geoffrey's sleeping face--stared, rigid and glittering, as
if they saw a sight of horror close over it. He sighed faintly in
his sleep. The sound, slight as it was, broke the spell that held
her. She slowly lifted her withered hands, and wrung them above
her head; fled back across the passage; and, rushing into her
room, sank on her knees at the bedside.
Now, in the dead of night, a strange thing happened. Now, in the
silence and the darkness, a hideous secret was revealed.
In the sanctuary of her own room--with all the other inmates of
the house sleeping round her--the dumb woman threw off the
mysterious and terrible disguise under which she deliberately
isolated herself among her fellow-creatures in the hours of the
day. Hester Dethridge spoke. In low, thick, smothered accents--in
a wild litany of her own--she prayed. She called upon the mercy
of God for deliverance from herself; for deliverance from the
possession of the Devil; for blindness to fall on her, for death
to strike her, so that she might never see that unnamed Horror
more! Sobs shook the whole frame of the stony woman whom nothing
human moved at other times. Tears poured over those clay-cold
cheeks. One by one, the frantic words of her prayer died away on
her lips. Fierce shuddering fits shook her from head to foot. She
started up from her knees in the darkness. Light! light! light!
The unnamed Horror was behind her in his room. The unnamed Horror
was looking at her through his open door. She found the
match-box, and lit the candle on her table--lit the two other
candles set for ornament only on the mantle piece--and looked all
round the brightly lighted little room. "Aha!" she said to
herself, wiping the cold sweat of her agony
from her face.
"Candles to other people. God's light to _me._ Nothing to be
seen! nothing to be seen!" Taking one of the candles in her hand,
she crossed the passage, with her head down, turned her back on
Geoffrey's open door, closed it quickly and softly, stretching
out her hand behind her, and retreated again to her own room. She
fastened the door, and took an ink-bottle and a pen from the
mantle-piece. After considering for a moment, she hung a
handkerchief over the keyhole, and laid an old shawl longwise at
the bottom of the door, so as to hide the light in her room from
the observation of any one in the house who might wake and come
that way. This done, she opened the upper part of her dress, and,
slipping her fingers into a secret pocket hidden in the inner
side of her stays, produced from it some neatly folded leaves of
thin paper. Spread out on the table, the leaves revealed
themselves--all but the last--as closely covered with writing, in
her own hand.
The first leaf was headed by this inscription: "My Confession. To
be put into my coffin, and to be buried with me when I die."
She turned the manuscript over, so as to get at the last page.
The greater part of it was left blank. A few lines of writing, at
the top, bore the date of the day of the week and month on which
Lady Lundie had dismissed her from her situation at Windygates.
The entry was expressed in these terms:
"I have seen IT again to-day. The first time for two months past.
In the kitchen-garden. Standing behind the young gentleman whose
name is Delamayn. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. I
have resisted. By prayer. By meditation in solitude. By reading
good books. I have left my place. I have lost sight of the young
gentleman for good. Who will IT stand behind? and point to next?
Lord have mercy upon me! Christ have mercy upon me!"
Under this she now added the following lines, first carefully
prefixing the date:
"I have seen IT again to-night. I notice one awful change. IT has
appeared twice behind the same person. This has never happened
before. This makes the temptation more terrible than ever.
To-night, in his bedroom, between the bed-head and the wall, I
have seen IT behind young Mr. Delamayn again. The head just above
his face, and the finger pointing downward at his throat. Twice
behind this one man. And never twice behind any other living
creature till now. If I see IT a third time behind him--Lord
deliver me! Christ deliver me! I daren't think of it. He shall
leave my cottage to-morrow. I would fain have drawn back from the
bargain, when the stranger took the lodgings for his friend, and
the friend proved to be Mr. Delamayn. I didn't like it, even
then. After the warning to-night, my mind is made up. He shall
go. He may have his money back, if he likes. He shall go.
(Memorandum: Felt the temptation whispering this time, and the
terror tearing at me all the while, as I have
never felt them yet. Resisted, as before, by prayer. Am now
going down stairs to meditate against it in solitude--to fortify
myself against it by good books. Lord be merciful to me a
sinner!)"
In those words she closed the entry, and put the manuscript back
in the secret pocket in her stays.
She went down to the little room looking on the garden, which had
once been her brother's study. There she lit a lamp, and took
some books from a shelf that hung against the wall. The books
were the Bible, a volume of Methodist sermons, and a set of
collected Memoirs of Methodist saints. Ranging these last
carefully round her, in an order of her own, Hester Dethridge sat
down with the Bible on her lap to watch out the night.
CHAPTER THE FIFTY-THIRD.
WHAT had happened in the hours of darkness?
This was Anne's first thought, when the sunlight poured in at her
window, and woke her the next morning.
She made immediate inquiry of the servant. The girl could only
speak for herself. Nothing had occurred to disturb her after she
had gone to bed. Her master was still, she believed, in his room.
Mrs. Dethridge was at her work in the kitchen.
Anne went to the kitchen. Hester Dethridge was at her usual
occupation at that time--preparing the breakfast. The slight
signs of animation which Anne had noticed in her when they last
met appeared no more. The dull look was back again in her stony
eyes; the lifeless torpor possessed all her movements. Asked if
any thing had happened in the night, she slowly shook her stolid
head, slowly made the sign with her hand which signified,
"Nothing."
Leaving the kitchen, Anne saw Julius in the front garden. She
went out and joined him.
"I believe I have to thank your consideration for me for some
hours of rest," he said. "It was five in the morning when I woke.
I hope you had no reason to regret having left me to sleep? I
went into Geoffrey's room, and found him stirring. A second dose
of the mixture composed him again. The fever has gone. He looks
weaker and paler, but in other respects like himself. We will
return directly to the question of his health. I have something
to say to you, first, about a change which may be coming in your
life here."
"Has he consented to the separation?"
"No. He is as obstinate about it as ever. I have placed the
matter before him in every possible light. He still refuses,
positively refuses, a provision which would make him an
independent man for life."
"Is it the provision he might have had, Lord Holchester, if--?"
"If he had married Mrs. Glenarm? No. It is impossible,
consistently with my duty to my mother, and with what I owe to
the position in which my father's death has placed me, that I can
offer him such a fortune as Mrs. Glenarm's. Still, it is a
handsome income which he is mad enough to refuse. I shall persist
in pressing it on him. He must and shall take it."
Anne felt no reviving hope roused in her by his last words. She
turned to another subject.
"You had something to tell me," she said. "You spoke of a
change."
"True. The landlady here is a very strange person; and she has
done a very strange thing. She has given Geoffrey notice to quit
these lodgings."
"Notice to quit?" Anne repeated, in amazement.
"Yes. In a formal letter. She handed it to me open, as soon as I
was up this morning. It was impossible to get any explanation
from her. The poor dumb creature simply wrote on her slate: 'He
may have his money back, if he likes: he shall go!' Greatly to my
surprise (for the woman inspires him with the strongest aversion)
Geoffrey refuses to go until his term is up. I have made the
peace between them for to-day. Mrs. Dethridge. very reluctantly,
consents to give him four-and-twenty hours. And there the matter
rests at present."
"What can her motive be?" said Anne.
"It's useless to inquire. Her mind is evid
ently off its balance.
One thing is clear, Geoffrey shall not keep you here much longer.
The coming change will remove you from this dismal place--which
is one thing gained. And it is quite possible that new scenes and
new surroundings may have their influence on Geoffrey for good.
His conduct--otherwise quite incomprehensible--may be the result
of some latent nervous irritation which medical help might reach.
I don't attempt to disguise from myself or from you, that your
position here is a most deplorable one. But before we despair of
the future, let us at least inquire whether there is any
explanation of my brother's present behavior to be found in the
present state of my brother's health. I have been considering
what the doctor said to me last night. The first thing to do is
to get the best medical advice on Geoffrey's case which is to be
had. What do you think?"
"I daren't tell you what I think, Lord Holchester. I will try--it
is a very small return to make for your kindness--I will try to
see my position with your eyes, not with mine. The best medical
advice that you can obtain is the advice of Mr. Speedwell. It was
he who first made the discovery that your brother was in broken
health."
"The very man for our purpose! I will send him here to-day or
to-morrow. Is there any thing else I can do for you? I shall see
Sir Patrick as soon as I get to town. Have you any message for
him?"
Anne hesitated. Looking attentively at her, Julius noticed that
she changed color when he mentioned Sir Patrick's name.
"Will you say that I gratefully thank him for the letter which
Lady Holchester was so good us to give me last night," she
replied. "And will you entreat him, from me, not to expose
himself, on my account, to--" she hesitated, and finished the
sentence with her eyes on the ground--"to what might happen, if
he came here and insisted on seeing me."
"Does he propose to do that?"
She hesitated again. The little nervous contraction of her lips
at one side of the mouth became more marked than usual. "He
writes that his anxiety is unendurable, and that he is resolved
to see me," she answered softly.
"He is likely to hold to his resolution, I think," said Julius.
"When I saw him yesterday, Sir Patrick spoke of you in terms of
admiration--"
He stopped. The bright tears were glittering on Anne's eyelashes;
one of her hands was toying nervously with something hidden
(possibly Sir Patrick's letter) in the bosom of her dress. "I
thank him with my whole heart," she said, in low, faltering
tones. "But it is best that he should not come here."
"Would you like to write to him?"
"I think I should prefer your giving him my message."
Julius understood that the subject was to proceed no further. Sir
Patrick's letter had produced some impression on her, which the
sensitive nature of the woman seemed to shrink from
acknowledging, even to herself. They turned back to enter the
cottage. At the door they were met by a surprise. Hester
Dethridge, with her bonnet on--dressed, at that hour of the
morning, to go out!
"Are you going to market already?" Anne asked.
Hester shook her head.
"When are you coming back?"
Hester wrote on her slate: "Not till the night-time."
Without another word of explanation she pulled her veil down over
her face, and made for the gate. The key had been left in the
dining-room by Julius, after he had let the doctor out. Hester
had it in her hand. She opened he gate and closed the door after
her, leaving the key in the lock. At the moment when the door
banged to Geoffrey appeared in the passage.
"Where's the key?" he asked. "Who's gone out?"
His brother answered the question. He looked backward and forward
suspiciously between Julius and Anne. "What does she go out for
at his time?" he said. "Has she left the house to avoid Me?"
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