SETTING THE DOG ON THE LION'S TRACK.
After this failure in the effort to come to an understanding with
Lord Chetwynde, Hilda sank into despondency. She scarcely knew what
there was to be done when such an appeal as this had failed. She had
humbled herself in the dust before him--she had manifested
unmistakably her love, yet he had disregarded all. After this what
remained? It was difficult to say. Yet, for herself, she still looked
forward to the daily meeting with him: glad of this, since fate would
give her nothing better. The change which had come over her was not
one which could be noticed by the servants, so that there was no
chance of her secret being discovered by them; but there was another
at Chetwynde Castle who very quickly discovered all, one who was led
to this perhaps by the sympathy of his own feelings. There was that
secret within his own heart which made him watchful and attentive and
observant. No change in her face and manner, however slight, could
fail to be noticed by this man, who treasured up every varying
expression of hers within his heart. And this change which had come
over her was one which affected him by much more than the mere
variation of features. It entered into his daily life and disarranged
all his plans.
Before the arrival of Lord Chetwynde, Gualtier, in his capacity of
steward, had been accustomed to have frequent interviews with Hilda.
Now they were all over. Since that arrival he had not spoken to her
once, nor had he once got so much as a glance of her eye. At first he
accounted for it from very natural causes. He attributed it to the
anxiety which she felt at the presence of Lord Chetwynde, and at the
desperate part which she had to play. For some time this seemed
sufficient to account for every thing. But afterward he learned
enough to make him think it possible that there were other causes. He
heard the gossip of the servants' hall, and from that he learned that
it was the common opinion of the servants that Lady Chetwynde was
very fond of Lord Chetwynde, but that the latter was very distant and
reserved in his manner toward her. This started him on a new track
for conjecture, and he soon learned and saw enough to get some
general idea of the truth. Yet, after all, it was not the actual
truth which he conjectured. His conclusion was that Hilda was playing
a deep game in order to win Lord Chetwynde's affection to herself.
The possibility of her actually loving him did not then suggest
itself. He looked upon it as one of those profound pieces of policy
for which he was always on the look-out from her. The discovery of
this disturbed him. The arrival of Lord Chetwynde had troubled him;
but this new plan of Hilda's troubled him still more, and all the
more because he was now shut out from her confidence.
"The little thing is up to a new game; and she'll beat," he said to
himself; "she'll beat, for she always beats. She's got a long head,
and I can only guess what it is that she is up to. She'll never tell
me." And he thought, with some pensiveness, upon the sadness of that
one fact, that she would never tell him. Meanwhile he contented
himself with watching until something more definite could be known.
Lord Chetwynde had much to occupy him in his father's papers. He
spent the greater part of his time in the library, and though weeks
passed he did not seem to be near the end of them. At other times he
rode about the grounds or sauntered through the groves. The seclusion
in which the Castle had always been kept was not disturbed. The
county families were too remote for ordinary calling, or else they
did not know of his arrival. Certain it is that no one entered these
solitary precincts except the doctor. The state of things here was
puzzling to him. He saw Lord Chetwynde whenever he came, but he never
saw Lady Chetwynde. On his asking anxiously about her he was told
that she was well. It was surprising to him that she never showed
herself, but he attributed it to her grief for the dead. He did not
know what had become of Miss Krieff, whose zeal in the sick-room had
won his admiration. Lord Chetwynde was too haughty for him to
question, and the servants were all new faces. It was therefore with
much pleasure that he one day saw Gualtier. Him he accosted, shaking
hands with him earnestly, and with a familiarity which he had never
cared to bestow in former days. But curiosity was stronger than his
sense of personal dignity. Gualtier allowed himself to be questioned,
and gave the doctor that information which he judged best for the
benefit of the world without. Lady Chetwynde, he told him, was still
mourning over the loss of her best friend, and even the return of her
husband had not been sufficient to fill the vacant place. Miss
Krieff, he said, had gone to join her friends in North Britain, and
he, Gualtier, had been appointed steward in place of the former one,
who had gone away to London. This information was received by the
doctor with great satisfaction, since it set his mind at rest
completely about certain things which had puzzled him.
That evening one of the servants informed Gualtier that Lady
Chetwynde wished to see him in the library. His pale face flushed up,
and his eyes lightened as he walked there. She was alone. He bowed
reverentially, yet not before he had cast toward her a look full of
unutterable devotion. She was paler than before. There was sadness on
her face. She had thrown herself carelessly in an arm-chair, and her
hands were nervously clutching one another. Never before had he seen
any thing approaching to emotion in this singular being. Her present
agitation surprised him, for he had not suspected the possibility of
any thing like this.
She returned his greeting with a slight bow, and then fell for a time
into a fit of abstraction, during which she did not take any further
notice of him. Gualtier was more impressed by this than by any other
thing. Always before she had been self-possessed, with all her
faculties alive and in full activity. Now she seemed so dull and so
changed that he did not know what to think. He began to fear the
approach of some calamity by which all his plans would be ruined.
"Mr. M'Kenzie," said Hilda, rousing herself at length, and speaking
in a harsh, constrained voice, which yet was low and not audible
except to one who was near her, "have you seen Lord Chetwynde since
his arrival?"
"No, my lady," said Gualtier, respectfully, yet wondering at the
abruptness with which she introduced the subject. For it had always
hitherto been her fashion to lead the conversation on by gradual
approaches toward the particular thing about which she might wish to
make inquiries.
"I thought," she continued, in the same tone, "that he might have
called you up to gain information about the condition of the estate."
"No, my lady, he has never shown any such desire. In fact, he does
not seem to be conscious that there is such a person as myself in
existence."
"Since he came," said Hilda, dreamily, "he has been altogether
absorbed in the investigation of papers relating to his father's
business affairs; and as he has not been here for many years, during
which great changes must have taken place in the condition of things,
I did not know but that he might have sought to gain information from
you."
"No, my lady," said Gualtier once more, still preserving that
unfaltering respect with which he always addressed her, and wondering
whither these inquiries might be tending, or what they might mean.
That she should ask him any thing about Lord Chetwynde filled him
with a vague alarm, and seemed to show that the state of things was
unsatisfactory, if not critical. He was longing to ask about that
first meeting of hers with Lord Chetwynde, and also about the
position which they at present occupied toward one another--a
position most perplexing to him, and utterly inexplicable. Yet on
such subjects as these he did not dare to speak. He could only hope
that she herself would speak of them to him, and that she had chosen
this occasion to make a fresh confidence to him.
After his last answer Hilda did not say any thing for some time. Her
nervousness seemed to increase. Her hands still clutched one another;
and her bosom heaved and fell in quick, rapid breathings which showed
the agitation that existed within her.
"Lord Chetwynde," said Hilda at last, rousing herself with a visible
effort, and looking round with something of her old stealthy
watchfulness--"Lord Chetwynde is a man who keeps his own counsel, and
does not choose to give even so much as a hint about the nature of
his occupations. He has now some purpose on his mind which he does
not choose to confide to me, and I do not know how it is possible for
me to find it out. Yet it is a thing which must be of importance, for
he is not a man who would stay here so long and labor so hard on a
mere trifle. His ostensible occupation is the business of the estate,
and certain plans arising in connection with this; but beneath this
ostensible occupation there is some purpose which it is impossible
for me to fathom. Yet I must find it out, whatever it is, and I have
invited you here to see if I could not get your assistance. You once
went to work keenly and indefatigably to investigate something for
me; and here is an occasion on which, if you feel inclined, you can
again exercise your talents. It may result in something of the
greatest importance."
Hilda had spoken in low tones, and as she concluded she looked at
Gualtier with a penetrating glance. Such a request showed him that he
was once more indispensable. His heart beat fast, and his face
lighted up with joy.
"My lady," said he, in a low, earnest voice, "it surely can not be
necessary for me to tell you that I am always ready to do your
bidding, whatever it may be. There is no necessity to remind me of
the past. When shall I begin this? At once? Have you formed any plan
of action which you would like me to follow?"
"Only in a general way," said Hilda. "It is not at Chetwynde that I
want you to work, but elsewhere. You can do nothing here. I myself
have already done all that you could possibly do, and more too, in
the way of investigation in this house. But in spite of all my
efforts I have found nothing, and so I see plainly that the search
must be carried on in another place."
"And where may that be?" asked Gualtier.
"He has some purpose in his mind," Hilda went on to say--"some one
engrossing object, I know not what, which is far more important than
any thing relating to business, and which is his one great aim in
life at present. This is what I wish to find out. It may threaten
danger, and if so I wish to guard against it."
"Is there any danger?" asked Gualtier, cautiously.
"Not as yet--that is, so far as I can see."
"Does he suspect any thing?" said Gualtier, in a whisper.
"Nothing."
"You seem agitated."
"Never mind what I seem," said Hilda, coldly; "my health is not good.
As to Lord Chetwynde, he is going away in a short time, and the place
to which he goes will afford the best opportunity for finding out
what his purpose is. I wish to know if it is possible for you in any
way to follow him so as to watch him. You did something once before
that was not more difficult."
Gualtier smiled.
"I think I can promise, my lady," said he, "that I will do all that
you desire. I only wish that it was something more difficult, so that
I could do the more for you."
"You may get your wish," said Hilda, gloomily, and in a tone that
penetrated to the inmost soul of Gualtier. "You may get your wish,
and that, too, before long. But at present I only wish you to do
this. It is a simple task of watchfulness and patient observation."
"I will do it as no man ever did it before," said Gualtier. "You
shall know the events of every hour of his life till he comes back
again."
"That will do, then. Be ready to leave whenever he does. Choose your
own way of observing him, either openly or secretly; you yourself
know best."
Hilda spoke very wearily, and rose to withdraw. As she passed,
Gualtier stood looking at her with an imploring face. She carelessly
held out her hand. He snatched it in both of his and pressed it to
his lips.
"My God!" he cried, "it's like ice! What is the matter?"
Hilda did not seem to hear him, but walked slowly out of the room.
About a week after this Lord Chetwynde took his departure.