Constancy made Godfrey tell her all the story of the loss of Waynflete,
of the traitor's ghost, and of the Guy who was too late, as they walked
home round the paddock, and looked down over Flete Edge to the river
Flete at the bottom of the valley. A rough, ill-grown plantation
covered the steep descent, while scattered cottages were planted on the
equally steep hill opposite to them. Guy studied it with silent
interest, while Godfrey compared it unfavourably with the Ingleby
valley, and scoffed at the legends which he was repeating.
"Ghosts are all bosh," he said, with decision.
"Well, there are some odd noises at Waynflete," said Constancy, as they
reached the house. "Now, come and see a picture. It must be this
wretched Guy who was too late."
She took them upstairs to the extreme end of the wing of the house next
the stables. Here, with windows looking out three ways, was a little
octagon room, with polished oak floor, and scanty old-fashioned
furniture. Over the chimney was the head of a handsome fair-faced
youth, with the last rays of sun falling on his face.
"I declare, Guy," said Godfrey, "he's uncommonly like you, especially
about the eyes."
"I dare say," said Guy, but the likeness annoyed him.
"He looks very sad, poor fellow," said Florella, softly; while Constancy
looked from one to the other, and thought, "I've got a lot of `study.'"
Rooms had been assigned to the two boys at the other end of this same
wing of the house, opening into each other, as was the way of rooms at
Waynflete.
Godfrey went to bed, thinking that he did not much like these old
legends and old scandals; and as for ghosts, the idea was too
ridiculous! Still, there were certainly an odd variety of nocturnal
noises at Waynflete--scratch, tap--rats and mice? Then a low murmuring
and sobbing--the wind? He stuck his candle in the open window, and the
flame hardly stirred. There was an interval of silence, and he got into
bed and fell asleep as he ran through in his mind all the causes of
mysterious noises--distant trains, coughing sheep, scraping creepers,
pecking pigeons, whistling wind, scratching mice, etc, etc.
He was awakened by a violent clutch on his shoulder, and starting up
saw, in the stream of moonlight from the window, his brother, half
dressed and deadly pale, who fell on his knees beside him, hiding his
face and grasping him so tightly that he was hardly able to move.
"Guy--I say! Guy! Good Lord, what's the matter with you? Ill? Got
the nightmare? I say--let go--I can't stir!"
Guy loosened his hold after a moment or two, but he shook from head to
foot, and Godfrey, tumbling out of the bed, pushed him up on to it, and
stood staring at him as he lay with hidden face.
"What the dickens is the matter with you? I say, Guy! Can't you
speak?"
There was no answer, and Godfrey bethinking himself that cold water was
supposed to be an appropriate remedy for sudden ailments, plunged his
sponge into the water-jug, and soused it on his brother's head. It was
so far effectual that Guy began to fetch his breath again, in long
sobbing gasps, while Godfrey, to his increased horror, felt that there
were tears on the face that was pressed against his hand.
"Oh, I say, Guy! I say--what is making you such an awful duffer? What
_is_ the matter with you?"
Poor Guy shivered and trembled, perhaps not finding Godfrey's method
very helpful; but he came more to himself by degrees, asked for some
water to drink, and pulled the coverings round him.
"Didn't you see--him?" he whispered at last. "See--see what? Oh, I
say! Guy, you haven't been dreaming of the ghost? Oh, I say! how can
you be such a duffer! You're as bad as when you used to climb into my
crib, and Auntie Waynflete whipped you, after that nursemaid made the
bogie and scared you." What difference it might have made to Guy
Waynflete if, at that moment of terrible experience he had had some
comprehending friend to soothe and sustain him, it is impossible to say;
as it was, his boyish pride and self-consciousness began to revive,
under his brother's rough dealing; he made an effort to pull himself
together, laughed in an odd, startling way, and said--
"Dreaming! Yes, of course I was dreaming. Don't you ever say one word
about it."
"Not I," said Godfrey. "A nice story it would be to get about. Now, am
I to go into your room, and sleep with the ghost? It's getting chilly."
Guy raised himself on his arm, and stared out into the moonlight.
"No," he said, "I'll go back myself. You'll never hear another word
about it."
He got up, still tremulously, and went away, _shutting the door_ behind
him.
Godfrey was but a boy, with all the callous stupidity of his sixteen
years. He thought that the incident had been very odd, and rather
disgraceful to Guy's manhood. He was glad it was over, and he tumbled
back into bed again, and went to sleep.
Guy looked much paler than usual the next morning, but confessed to
nothing amiss. As he went out with the others to join in trying the new
tennis-ground, he saw Florella, standing a little apart from the others,
evidently just getting over a fit of crying.
"I say--can I help you about anything?" he said, good naturedly.
"No," said Florella, turning upon him a pair of translucent eyes, almost
as steadfast as Constancy's, and even more candid. "I--I--I've been
helping to do something wrong--that's all."
She ran away before he could speak; but, surprised as he was, there
remained in his mind the feeling that somehow she was a nice little
girl.
Godfrey heard no more of Guy's midnight adventure during the remaining
three days of the visit. The time passed pleasantly, and the aged vicar
of the parish and one or two of the neighbouring gentlemen called
formally on "Mr Waynflete." The recognition pleased Guy, or at least
that part of him which was free to care about it. He had very little to
say to his aunt when they came back about Waynflete, speaking of it in a
satirical, rather contemptuous fashion, which annoyed her very much;
while Godfrey described it fully, though he staunchly declared that he
liked Ingleby best.
Shortly afterwards Guy had a sharp attack of illness. He had never been
quite so strong as his brother, and he did not recover from its effects
for some time. Mrs Waynflete had little patience with any ailment less
definite than the measles, and thought him fanciful and self-indulgent.
She was also much put out by Mrs John Palmer's complaints of odd and
unaccountable noises at Waynflete, which upset her nerves and frightened
her servants. But for these, she would have liked to take the house
again next summer, as the air suited her, and she was glad to be near
her husband's family. As it was, she did not feel able to settle down
comfortably.
Mrs Waynflete thought Constance Palmer would have had more sense. She
let Waynflete Hall to a working farmer, with directions to look after
the house carefully, and keep it dry.
Nothing more was heard of mysterious noises, and Guy and Godfrey did not
see the place again for nearly five years, when the farmer's tenancy had
come to an end.