"No, I am sorry I have seen nothing of the kind. It has been almost too
dark, though, to see it, as I have only just now come straight up the
road."
Even now, close as we were, I could not distinguish his face very
clearly, for the waning light was still further decreased by clouds. I
saw, however, that he was anxious and worried, though, looking at him as
attentively as I dared, I was surprised to see that he was not an
elderly man, as from Isabel's description the older brother must be.
"And it cannot be the younger," I thought, "as he is crippled, and this
man walks quite easily."
He thanked me, and passing me, again raising his hat, walked quickly
along the road, down which I was about to retrace my steps.
I waited a moment or two, and then followed him at a more leisurely
pace. But I had not gone more than a hundred yards or so when I saw
again his figure emerging from the gloom before me. In spite of myself
I felt a little afraid. The modern ghost is so very material and
commonplace in appearance, by all accounts, that one may easily mistake
it for a real flesh and blood personality.
"Can this path be haunted?" I asked myself, and as the stranger came
nearer I involuntarily shrank up a little towards the wall.
But as he was passing, the cheerful tones of his voice dispelled my
misgivings. He made an almost imperceptible pause in his quick pace,
exclaiming--
"I have found it! So sorry to have troubled you!" then hurried on,
doubtless to enter the grounds at the same spot whence he had emerged,
and where my common-sense told me there must be a door of some kind.
"I shall make Isabel come this way to-morrow to look for it," I said to
myself, and I hurried home, eager to relate to her my exciting
adventure.
She was looking out for me, walking up and down the drive.
"I could have come with you if you had waited five minutes. Papa only
wanted me for a moment or two, after all. It is rather too dark for you
to be out alone, and I didn't know which way you had gone," she said.
"O Isabel!" I exclaimed. "Something so interesting has happened;" and
I quickly related the incident, my friend listening attentively.
"Was it a Grey or a ghost?" I ended up half jokingly, but Isabel's face
was full of grave consideration.
"I never _heard_ of a ghost in or about the Grim House," she said
seriously. "But still less can I think it was one of the Grey brothers.
The elder one is _quite_ old-looking, peculiarly worn and haggard, and
the other, as I have told you, though he has a sweet, calm face, is an
unmistakable cripple. He walks very slowly, and generally with a
crutch."
"It is very mysterious, then," I replied, "though I shall not feel
satisfied that it was not the elder brother till I have seen him for
myself on Sunday. Do let me sit where I can have a good view of them,
Isabel. I promise you I will peep at them most discreetly."
Isabel smiled, but seemed nevertheless a little disapproving.
"I hope they won't occupy your thoughts during the whole of
church-time," she said.
"No, no," I replied. "Of course I wouldn't let it be so. Though
naturally what has happened this evening makes me more anxious than ever
to see them."
Fortunately for my peace of mind, this day was already Friday. I had
not, therefore, long to wait. Millflowers church still belonged to the
old order of things. There were two or three square pews, cushioned and
curtained, for the "upper ten" of the village, one of which, of course,
was appropriated to the Manor-house, and another to Grimsthorpe; and
Isabel kindly arranged, not without some conscientious scruples, I fear,
however, that I should occupy the corner whence the melancholy quartette
could best be seen. She made a little plan of the church and the pews
the evening before, for my benefit.
But without anything of this kind--almost, I think, without having been
on the look-out for the denizens of the Grim House at all--they would,
it seems to me, at once have attracted my attention. Indeed, at the
first moment, I felt surprised that every one in the church did not turn
round to look at them, forgetting the many years--years more than my
whole existence--during which the solemn little procession of the four
sad-faced people had, Sunday after Sunday, made their way up the aisle
to the gloomy old pew. No--sad I can scarcely call them all, without
making one exception. The face of the younger brother was, as Isabel
had said, not only sweet, but calm and peaceful in expression, though he
appeared pathetically delicate, with large soft eyes and almost
colourless complexion.
"_He_ is not the guilty one, if guilty one there is," I decided. "_He_
is not the cause of the family unhappiness and isolation. I should say
he is a sort of saint, happy to bear for the sake of others."
Then my eyes turned to the elder brother. The sisters I had already
glanced at, and found them exactly what I had expected from Isabel's
description--refined, rather insignificant-looking, inexpressibly
melancholy; but the face of the senior of the party was in a sense the
most interesting of all. He was evidently a strong man, well-made and
originally powerful. But his frame was prematurely bent, the lines of
his fine features were worn and furrowed. It was a good face, but the
expression had become almost fiercely defiant and hard.
I made up my mind on the spot--I think I am naturally gifted with a
certain amount of insight into character and idiosyncrasies--I made up
my mind on the spot that Isabel was mistaken.
"It _is_ the elder brother," I mentally ejaculated, "who is at the root
of it all! He is the most miserable of the four, because he feels that
he has brought their trouble upon them. But nevertheless it would be
very difficult to believe that that man has ever done anything mean or
dishonourable." And I felt that the personal sight of the Grey family
had to me only deepened the mystery. And then a sudden recollection
flashed across my mind--the man I had met, the young man who had lost
his pocket-book, was _not_ one of the group in the square pew! Who was
he? A ghost, after all?
I said so to Isabel, as, the service over, we walked home. The Greys, I
noticed, left their places with the very first who quitted the church,
and by the time we had reached the porch, the village fly containing
them was already some little way along the road.
"They always do so," said Isabel, as she pointed it out to me, "and the
people have come to understand it and fall back a little to let them
pass. But as to who it was that you met the other evening, I must own,
Regina, I am completely puzzled. Suppose you tell papa about it and see
what he says?"
Mr Wynyard was a little behind us, talking to Mr Franklin.
"Oh, no, no," I exclaimed, putting out a hand to stop her, as I fancied
she was turning towards her father, "oh, _no_, Isabel. You know your
father hates gossip, and he would be sure to ask why I had chosen that
lonely road, and we couldn't help letting him see that I _am_ awfully
interested in the Grim House; and then, if the least thing was said
about our thinking the man was perhaps a ghost, he would never forget
it--he would think it _so_ silly." Isabel laughed, but yielded to my
wishes.
"Papa is not nearly as prosaic and prim as you think," she said. "But I
am quite sure it wasn't a ghost, Regina."
"Then how did he get through the wall?" I inquired.
She shook her head.
"I can't say," she replied. "There may be a door there. As far as I
remember, the wall at that part is a good deal overgrown with ivy. And
the door, if there is one, is pretty certainly very seldom used, so it
may be almost invisible."
"Let us go that way to-morrow and look," I suggested, to which Isabel
assented. "Though all the same," I added regretfully, "if there were a
dozen doors, that would not explain what the man was doing at the Grim
House, or what has become of him."
"He may have been a tax-collector," said Isabel provokingly. She could
be mischievous now and then.
"Nonsense!" I replied. "He was unmistakably a _gentleman_, as I have
told you. And after all, they have had visitors, as you know."
"Yes, but they came openly, and were driven to and from the station. If
this _were_ a visitor, he has managed to come and go in a most
mysterious way. No, it is much more likely to have been a
tax-collector. You could not see him plainly, you know."
"Would a man like that have a private key for a private door?" I said.
"Don't be so silly, Zella."
"Well, we need not quarrel about it till we are sure there _is_ a door,"
Isabel replied good-humouredly. "In the meantime, tell me what you
think of the poor Greys, now that you have seen them for yourself?"
"I _will_ tell you," I replied impressively. "To begin with, the
sisters are just what you said; they must have been pretty, one of them
at least, in a fair, gentle way, and the younger brother's face is
almost saintly. I have got those three pretty clearly defined. But,"--
and here my voice deepened, I feel sure--"_the_ one is the elder
brother! He is at the bottom of it all;" and I went on to mention what
I had noticed in his expression and bearing. "Don't you remember my
telling you so even before I had any reason for it? It was an
intuition."
Isabel seemed considerably impressed.
"Yes," she replied. "I do remember what you said; but you know, Regina,
you do give the reins to your imagination sometimes, and I, I suppose,
am very matter-of-fact. So you see I didn't think very much of your
idea, as you had then _no_ grounds for it. But now I allow that it
_does_ seem probable Mr Grey's face is all you say; it tells of cruel
struggle, and endurance too, while the others rather express patience
and resignation. He must--the elder one, I mean--have been very
good-looking."
"He has a very high-bred look," I agreed. "But, Isabel, who can my
stranger have been? Is it possible that there is a fifth member of the
party who is kept dark altogether?"
Isabel shook her head.
"Quite impossible, I should say; besides, the man you met was young. He
could not have been reared up there from boyhood."
"He may have joined them lately," I said; but on reflection I decided
that even this was improbable. "No," I went on, "I am sure he does not
live there. There was a cheery, open-air sound in his voice. I think
he was very nice-looking. Tall and a very good figure, that I am sure
of."
Suddenly Isabel gave a little exclamation.
"What's the matter?" I cried.
"Only something that has just struck me," was the reply. "How stupid of
me not to have thought of it before. I do believe that your man,
Regina, was the younger of the two visitors who came to the Grim House
not long ago!"
"Why should you think so?" I asked, a little desirous perhaps that my
_trouvaille_ should be entirely my own. "Especially as you said
yourself that the others came and went openly?"
"I don't quite know," said Isabel slowly. "It was something in your way
of describing him just now that seemed to recall the man who asked me
the way to the church."
Fortunately perhaps, at this moment Mr Wynyard overtook us, and our
thoughts, which were becoming too absorbed in the mysterious subject,
were for the time being distracted. Not for very long, however. The
next morning found us, as we had planned, starting off on a search
expedition.
The door in the wall was the object of our quest, and on the way to the
spot where it must be, if it existed at all, I pointed out to Isabel the
exact place where I had met the stranger, and the distance down the road
that he had gone to look for his lost property.
"You see," I explained, "if he were a ghost, this would be of
importance, for everybody knows that ghosts are restricted to certain
limits; and after all, dusk though it was, it was rather curious that I
had not noticed the pocket-book, which seemed a pretty big one, as he
waved it in his hand."
"I can't say that what you tell of him sounds at all ghost-like," said
Isabel. "He was too prosaic surely! However, what we have to do is to
find if the door was a material reality or not."
"If it isn't," I said emphatically, "I shall be certain he was not a
real person. And if so, there must be some legend about this path which
we must set to work to disinter."
My heart beat rather faster than usual as we approached the place in the
wall whence the unknown man seemed to come out, and for a few minutes
our search was unsuccessful. No door was to be seen. The growth of ivy
was very thick just there. I stood back a little at last, and surveyed
the wall from a short distance, and at one spot it seemed to me that
there was a slight break in the line. I kept my eye as closely as
possible fixed on this spot while I approached it, and pushed gently
against the ivy with my hand.
Yes, I had not been mistaken; but I got a start as I suddenly felt what
seemed a bit of the wall itself yielding to my touch. I started back
with a little exclamation which brought Isabel to my side.
[Illustration: "'What is it?' she exclaimed."]
"What is it?" she exclaimed. "Have you found it?"
"I have found something," I said, and on examining more closely, it
proved to be the suspected door, overgrown with ivy indeed, practically
indistinguishable from the outside, but in good order nevertheless,
moving on its hinges smoothly and noiselessly.
It opened inwards of course, and, strange to say, it was open, as has
been shown.
"I wonder if he forgot to lock it," I said, "or if it is always left
unfastened."