The summons from Mr Percy reached the Manor-house the very morning
after the escapade which I described in the last chapter, so Moore was
still rather on cold terms with me when the departure of our hosts was
announced.
Afterwards, though it had scarcely struck me at the time, I remembered
that he had been rather silent when he heard of it, expressing but very
little regret in the prospect of their absence. I recollect Isabel's
turning to him and saying--
"You don't seem to mind it much, Moore; I feel rather hurt;" whereupon
he grew red and said something rather confusedly about its only being
for a few days; that we would manage to amuse ourselves all right, or
words to that effect. But in the little bustle that ensued, the boy's
peculiar manner, as I have said, made no great impression on me.
Isabel and her father started, I think, the next day. I remember
standing in the porch with Moore to watch them off, and as soon as the
carriage had disappeared down the drive, I turned to him with some
little remark as to how odd it was for him and me to find ourselves
alone for the first time in our lives, and that not at our own home.
"You must be your very nicest to me, Othello, do you hear, to prevent my
feeling dull," I said, meaning to propitiate him after my sharpness on
the evening of our last expedition, for I saw that the cloud had not yet
disappeared.
"I shall be quite ready to do anything you like," he said, rather
primly, "and yes, I think I can promise you that it will not be my fault
if you have a _dull_ time."
"What do you mean?" I exclaimed, with a passing flash of misgiving; but
he evaded a direct reply, though I fancied I heard him murmuring
something practically inaudible.
"The best thing I can do," I thought to myself, "is to put some other
things in his head, if he _is_ still planning any fresh investigations;
and after all, I have his promise to do nothing without telling me." It
did not then occur to me that the vague threat he had thrown out as to
not letting the matter drop could be twisted by his boyish conscience
into a definite announcement of his project.
I went on talking about the drive that had been proposed for us that
afternoon in Isabel's pony-cart--a drive in a new direction, as to which
Mr Wynyard had instructed us before he left. Moore answered with
interest, even getting up a little argument as to the exact route we
were to take. But still he was not _quite_ himself, nor did he become
so during our expedition, though it passed off very successfully,
without our losing our way or any other misfortune.
And during the evening that followed something in his manner continued
to give me the same feeling of slight uneasiness. He did not seem to
care to talk much, and looked himself out a book from among those in the
library which Mr Wynyard had recommended to him, and then settled
himself in a corner to enjoy it. I felt a little hurt and anxious too,
though I hoped it only meant that his irritation with me had not
entirely subsided.
"I wish I had never told him a word about that hateful old house or the
stupid people that live in it. I dare say there is no mystery at all,
and that they are just a parcel of half imbecile hypochondriacs," I
thought to myself, feeling as if I must give vent, at least in thought,
to my vexation towards _somebody_! And aloud I appealed to Moore--not
captiously, as that would only have made things worse--but with a touch
of reproach.
"I think you might talk to me a little, or play chess, or something
sociable," I said brightly. "You might even read aloud. It is rather
dull for me."
"I can't read aloud; you know I can't," he replied quietly enough.
"I'll play chess if you like."
And so we did. But Moore did not put his usual spirit into it, and so
when I checkmated him at the end of an hour or so, I did not feel as
pleased as would have been the case in an ordinary way. For he played
better than I. And soon after I said I felt tired, as I did, and got up
to go to bed.
"How long are they,"--meaning of course our hosts--"going to stay away?"
Moore said abruptly as we were bidding each other good-night.
"Three days--four at the most," I replied. "This is Tuesday. Yes, they
quite hope to be back on Friday."
He murmured something unintelligible in reply, but I said no more. I
was really tired, for our drive had been a long one, and over very rough
roads for some considerable part of the day.
The next morning, however, I awoke quite refreshed again, and ready for
another expedition of any kind.
"I must amuse Moore if he won't amuse me," I thought to myself. "Boys
are terrible creatures for getting into mischief if they are idle, as
the old hymn truly says," and I prepared to go downstairs to breakfast
in excellent spirits.
But alas! the sunshine which had passed into my room while I was
dressing had been but short-lived. Before we had finished breakfast the
skies had clouded over into a very unpromising grey; long before noon it
was hopeless.
"No chance of an expedition to-day!" I said, rather drearily, as I
stood at the window gazing out, but Moore seemed inclined to take things
philosophically.
"I'm afraid not," he said, as he joined me, his hands in his pockets, a
somewhat superior air about him. "Not for you at least, Reggie. It may
clear up by late afternoon, enough for me to get out a bit, but the
roads will be terrible, it's coming down so heavily."
"I don't see why I shouldn't go out as well as you if it clears at all,"
I said. "You forget that I am less sensitive to cold than you, since
you were ill!"
If I had thought a moment I would not have said this, knowing what boy
nature is as to any precautionary measures for health. I was surprised
that my not very tactful speech did not seem to annoy my brother.
"I don't know about that," was all he said in reply. "I'm ever so much
tougher than I was, and at worst, I have the advantage over you of
having no flapping skirts to soak up the wet."
No more was said just then. We got through the day comfortably enough.
I amused myself, as one can always do on a wet day when away from one's
people, by writing a long letter home; Moore entertaining himself, so
far as I saw him during the morning, with a wonderful "find" in the
shape of a collection of old bound volumes of _Punch_--dating back years
before their present reader had honoured the world by his presence. I
overheard him chuckling quietly to himself now and then, as he sat in
his corner, and the sound was pleasant to my ears for more reasons than
one. I was glad that he was not feeling bored, and I was relieved to
think that the suppressed excitement which I had begun to suspect his
manner had no existence except in my fancy.
"I don't believe," I said to myself with satisfaction, "I don't _think_
there can be anything brewing in his brain," and in this comfortable
state of mind I passed the greater part of the day, reassuring myself
now and then by taking a peep at the boy whenever I lost sight of him
for many minutes at a time.
We had tea together, of course, very comfortably in the library, which
we had chosen in preference to the drawing-room during our _tete-a-tete_
days, and Moore did full justice to the cakes which Isabel before she
left home had taken care to order in profusion for his, or our,
delectation.
The second post came in about five o'clock at Millflowers, and the
outgoing post left at six. To-day brought an unexpected letter from
mother, from whom I had already heard that very morning. This
necessitated an addition to what I had previously written, as it
concerned a matter of some little importance.
"I shall only just have time," I reflected, "to answer what mother asks
before the bag goes," and for a moment or two I sat thinking over what I
had to say, rather absorbed in it.
Moore meanwhile had strolled to the window, and stood there looking out;
the post had brought nothing for him.
"It has cleared up," he remarked, "to some extent at least, but it
doesn't look tempting. What do you say about going out, Reggie?"