CHAPTER XI. THE CRY IN THE AVENUE.
The letter which Mr. Ravenor had been writing to my mother was finishedand sealed at last. Then he leaned back in his chair and looked steadilyat me.
"I shall not see you again before you go, Philip Morton," he said, "so Iwish to impress upon you once more what I said to you about my nephew,who is Lady Silchester's son, by-the-bye. I know that he is going onbadly, but I wish to know how badly. Unfortunately, he has no father,and, from what I can remember of him, I should imagine that he is quiteeasily led, and would be very amenable to the influence of a strongermind. If yours should be that mind--and I do not see why it shouldnot--it will be well for him. That delightfully Utopian optimism of yoursis, at any rate, healthy," he added dryly.
I felt my cheeks burn and would have spoken, but Mr. Ravenor checked me.
"Let there be no misunderstanding between us," he said. "I desire nogratitude from you and I deserve none. What I am doing I am doing for myown gratification--perhaps for my own ultimate advantage. That you are againer by it is purely a matter of chance. The whim might just as wellhave been the other way. I might have taken a fancy to have you turnedout of the place and, if so, I would have done it. On the whole, it is Iwho should be grateful to you for not baulking me in my scheme and forletting me have my own way. So understand, please, after thisexplanation, that I shall look upon any expression of gratitude from youas a glaring mark of imbecility, apart from which it will annoy meexceedingly."
I listened in silence. What could one reply to such a strange way ofputting a case? Mr. Ravenor's manner forbade any doubt as to hisseriousness and I could only respect his wishes.
"As you won't let me thank you, sir, I think I'd better go," I saidbluntly. "I'm sure to forget if I stay here much longer."
"A good discipline for you to stay, then," he answered.
Again the tinkle of the telephone bell rang out from the corner andinterrupted his speech. Mr. Ravenor motioned me towards it.
"Go and hear what it is and repeat it to me," he said.
I put my ear to the tube and repeated the words as they came:
"A man desires to see you, sir, but refuses to give his name. I have toldhim that it is quite useless my communicating with you without it; but heis persistent and refuses to go away. He is respectably dressed, butrather rough-looking."
Mr. Ravenor shrugged his shoulders and took up his pen, as though aboutto resume his writing.
"Tell him to go to the deuce!" he said briefly.
I repeated the message faithfully, but its recipient was evidently notsatisfied. In less than a minute the bell sounded again.
"His name is Richards, sir--or, rather, he says he is known to you bythat name--and he is very emphatic about seeing you--and, begging yourpardon, sir, a little insolent. He says that his business is of theutmost importance."
I repeated the message and stood as though turned to stone. Was my fancyplaying tricks with me in the dimly-lit room, or had Mr. Ravenor's facereally become ghastly and livid, like the face of a man who sees thephantom shadows of a hideous nightmare passing before his fixed gaze? Iclosed my eyes for a moment's relief and looked again. Surely it had beenfancy! Mr. Ravenor was writing with only a slight frown upon his calm,serene face.
"Let Mr. Richards--or whatever the fellow's name is--be given tounderstand that I distinctly refuse to see him," he said quietly. "If hehas any business with me he can write."
I repeated this and then took up my cap to go. Mr. Ravenor put down hispen and walked with me to the door. I had expected that he would haveoffered me his hand, but he did not. He nodded, kindly enough and heldthe door open while I passed out. So I went.
As I walked across the great hall on my way out I came face to face withLady Silchester, who was thoughtfully contemplating one of a long line ofoil-paintings dark with age, yet vivid still with the marvellouscolouring of an old master. To my surprise she stopped me.
"Are you a judge of pictures, Mr. Morton?" she asked. "I was wonderingwhether that was a genuine Reynolds." And she pointed to the picturewhich she had been examining.
I shook my head, briefly acknowledging that I knew nothing whatever aboutthem. I was quite conscious at the time that the question was only afeint. What was a farmer's son likely to know of the old masters?
"Ah, never mind!" she remarked, shutting up her eyeglasses with a snap."I can ask Mr. Ravenor this evening. I thought, perhaps, that as you werehere so often he might have talked to you about them. I know that he isvery proud of his pictures."
"Had I been here often he might have done so," I answered. "As ithappens, however, this is my first visit to Ravenor Castle."
"Indeed? And yet Mr. Ravenor seems to take a great interest in you. Why?"
I hesitated and wished that I could get away; but Lady Silchester wasstanding immediately in front of me.
"Your ladyship will pardon me," I said, "but might not your question bebetter addressed to Mr. Ravenor?"
She bit her lip and moved haughtily to one side. I made a movement asthough to pass her, but she turned suddenly and prevented me.
"Mr. Morton," she said, a little nervously, "my brother said that youwere going to Dr. Randall's, I believe?"
I admitted that such was the fact.
"I daresay you know that my son is there," she continued, "and I amafraid he's not behaving exactly as he should. Of course, we don't hearanything definite; but Cecil is very good-natured, easily led intoanything, and I am a little doubtful about his companions there. Now, Mr.Morton, you're not much more than a boy yourself, of course; but youdon't look as though you would care for the sort of thing that I'm afraidCecil gets led into. I do wish that you and he could be friends, andthat--that--"
She broke off, as though expecting me to say something, and I felt alittle awkward.
"It's very kind of you to think so well of me, when you don't knowanything about me," I said, twirling my cap in my hands; "but you forgetthat I am only a farmer's son, and perhaps your son would not care to befriends with me."
"My son, whatever his faults may be, has all the instincts of agentleman," Lady Silchester answered proudly; "and if he liked you foryourself, it would make no difference, even if you were a tradesman'sson. Promise me that, if you have the opportunity, you will do what youcan?"
"Oh, yes; I'll promise that, with pleasure!" I assured her.
Lady Silchester smiled, and while the smile lasted I thought that I hadnever seen a more beautiful woman. Then she held out a delicate littlehand, sparkling with rings, and placed it in mine, which in those dayswas as brown as a berry and not very soft.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Morton."
She looked up at me quite kindly for a moment. Then suddenly her mannercompletely--changed. She withdrew her eyes from my face, with a slightflush in her cheeks, and turned abruptly away.
"Good evening, Mr. Morton. I am much obliged to you for your promise,"she said, in a colder tone.
I drew myself up, unconscious of having said or done anything which couldpossibly offend her, and feeling boyishly hurt at her change of manner.
"Good evening, Lady Silchester," I answered, with all the dignity I couldcommand. Then I turned away and left the Castle.
I walked down the broad avenue slowly, casting many glances behind me atthe vast, gloomy pile, around which the late evening mists were risingfrom the damp ground. Many lights were twinkling from the upper windowsand from the east wing, where the servants' quarters were situated, butthe lower part of the building lay in a deep obscurity, unilluminated,save by one faint light from Mr. Ravenor's study. There seemed somethingunnatural, almost ghostly, about the place, which chilled while itfascinated me.
What was that? I stood suddenly still in the middle of the drive andlistened. A faint, muffled cry, which seemed to me at first to be a humancry, had broken the deep evening stillness. I held my breath and remainedquite motionless, with strained hearing. There was no repetition of i
t,no other sound. I was puzzled; more than half inclined to be alarmed. Itmight have been the crying of a hare, or the squealing of a rabbit caughtby a stoat. But my first impression had been a strong one, improbablethough it seemed. Poachers, however daring, would scarcely be likely toinvade the closely-guarded inner grounds, where the preserves were fewerand the risk of capture far greater than outside the park. Besides, therehad been no discharge of firearms, no commotion, no loud cries; only thatone muffled, despairing moan. What could it mean?
A steep ascent lay before me. After a moment's hesitation I hurriedforward and did not pause until I reached the summit and had clear viewaround through the hazy twilight.
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