INDECISION.
"Vibert gone to London,--and so suddenly!" exclaimed Bruce, when, on the
following morning, he heard from his father of his brother's early
departure. "Wherefore did he go? He did not mention to me a word of his
intention to make the journey."
"You scarcely invite his confidence," observed Mr. Trevor.
"There is more money thrown to the dogs," muttered Bruce.
"No; Vibert has shown more consideration for my purse than usual," said
Mr. Trevor. "He has made no call upon it for this little expedition to
London."
Bruce looked steadfastly into the face of his father for several
seconds, but not in order to read anything there. The young man's mind
was busy with its own thoughts; a slight smile came over his lips,--the
smile of one who has detected a little plot, and knows how to foil it.
With an inaudible "I smell a rat," Bruce turned and walked up to the
window.
"Vibert need no money to carry him to London! As well might we believe
that the train in which he travels requires no steam," thought Bruce to
himself. "I happen to know that his purse was empty yesterday morning.
My belief is that Vibert is in this house at this moment, or at any rate
not further off than S----. He has some silly practical joke in his head
connected with the haunted chamber, and means to throw me off my guard
by a feigned absence in London. What folly possessed me to tell a wild
hare-brain like Vibert of the little door in the panel? But it is no
matter; whatever frantic freak he may have in his head, he at least
shall find me prepared."
Emmie came down to morning prayers looking very pale, and with the
violet tints under her languid eyes, which were tokens of her having
passed a sleepless night. She presided as usual at the breakfast-table,
but in a dreamy, listless manner, herself scarcely touching the viands.
It was evidently an effort to the poor girl to join in the conversation,
which her father purposely led to such topics as he thought might
interest his daughter. Mr. Trevor talked of literature and arts,
recounted amusing passages from his own history, and did his best to
divert Emmie's mind, but with little apparent effect. Her eyes were
constantly turned towards her brother with an anxious, questioning look,
until, the morning meal being concluded, Mr. Trevor, perplexed and
disappointed, left the room to speak to his steward.
Emmie then went up to Bruce, who was about to start on his daily walk to
his tutor's.
"Bruce, dearest, you look ill," said Emmie, laying a tremulous hand on
the arm of her brother.
"I might say the same to you, if it were not treason to utter anything
so uncomplimentary to a fair lady," observed Bruce.
"Why do you look ill? Has--has anything painful occurred?" asked Emmie,
in a hurried, nervous manner.
"I must act echo again," answered Bruce.
"Tell me, oh, tell me what has happened," urged his sister, who was not
in the slightest degree disposed to enter into a jest.
"Nothing has happened, dear Emmie," replied Bruce more gravely. "I have
had a little headache these one or two days; it is of no consequence.
You have not the least occasion to look so miserably anxious as far as I
am concerned."
To the young man's surprise, his sister's eyes filled and then brimmed
over with tears. Emmie leaned her brow against his shoulder, and drops
fell fast on the sleeve of his arm, which she was pressing with a
nervous grasp.
"My dear Emmie, what can be the cause of all this sorrow? What ails
you?" asked Bruce, grieved at the sight of distress for which he could
not account.
"Oh, Bruce!" sobbed Emmie, pressing her brother's arm yet more closely,
"promise me--promise me--" She stopped short, as if afraid to finish her
sentence.
"What would you have me promise?" asked Bruce.
Emmie gave no direct reply, but inquired abruptly, "Have you a bell in
your room?"
Her question was a real relief to the mind of Bruce, as it convinced him
that Emmie's misery arose merely from some fanciful terrors in regard to
the bricked-up apartment.
"Yes," he answered gaily, "and a gun besides, to say nothing of poker
and tongs, pen-knife, and razors. If any unpleasant guests were to make
their appearance, they should find me quite ready to meet them."
Emmie was crying no longer, but she looked pale and anxious
as ever; something seemed to be on her tongue struggling for
utterance,--something which she was afraid or unable to speak.
"It is time for me to be off," said Bruce, gently releasing his arm from
the clasp of his sister.
"Bruce, stay. Tell me if you would again change rooms with me," cried
Emmie, with a convulsive effort.
"I am very sorry that you do not like your new apartment," said Bruce,
slightly knitting his brows.
"I do like it,--it is only too good for me," faltered poor Emmie.
"Then why quit it?" asked Bruce, with a little impatience.
"I thought that if you would not mind changing--" Again Emmie stopped
abruptly, without concluding her sentence.
"Of course I will change rooms with you if you really wish it," said
Bruce, willing to humour his sister, but making mental reflections on
the fickleness and unreasonableness of the fair sex, of which Emmie was
the only representative with whom he was well acquainted.
"But I do not wish it,--no, no,--not yet, not yet!" exclaimed Emmie,
betraying terror at the idea of her brother complying with her request.
The patience of Bruce was fairly exhausted.
"I wish that you would know your own mind," he said, with an air of
vexation. "Really, Emmie, you should try to overcome these ridiculous
fears and fancies. Where is your spirit,--where is your faith?"
Emmie turned away her head with a shivering sigh.
"We must send you to London for change of scene," observed Bruce; "a few
weeks with Aunt Mary will drive all these unreasonable terrors out of
your mind."
"Oh, let us all go--at once--to-day!" exclaimed Emmie, clasping her
hands. "Let us all leave this horrible place."
"For my father or myself to leave Myst Court at present is simply
impossible," said Bruce, in that tone of quiet decision which, as Emmie
well knew, expressed a resolution which it was useless for her to
attempt to shake.
"Then I will not leave you,--no, no!" she murmured. "Let us all at least
be together."
"If we be in danger from any foe, corporeal or spiritual, your slender
arm and more slender courage will scarcely avail much for our
protection," observed Bruce, with a smile. He had regained his
good-humour, and sought to rally Emmie out of her fears by assuming a
playful manner.
But the attempt was vain; Emmie only burst again into a fit of weeping,
and hastily quitted the apartment, brushing past her father, who was
just returning to the breakfast-room after his interview with his
steward.
"I am extremely annoyed about Emmie," said the affectionate parent,
addressing himself to Bruce; "I cannot comprehend what has taken such a
strange hold on her mind."
"Mere fear, I believe," answered Bruce. "She has never struggled to
overcome it, and now in this gloomy old place it has gained complete
mastery over her reason."
"The mere incident of her having been left alone on the lawn for a few
minutes last night seems scarcely to account for my child's terror,"
observed Mr. Trevor. "Surely Vibert, thoughtless as he is, cannot have
had the senseless cruelty to play on his sister's timidity any practical
joke." The same idea had occurred, to Bruce.
"Vibert is capable of any folly," thought the elder brother; but after
the experience of the preceding evening, he did not put the thought into
words.
"I shall keep my girl as close by my side as possible," observed Mr.
Trevor. "Perhaps this strange fit of melancholy may pass off; if not, I
must arrange for her going to Grosvenor Square. Her departure would
leave a sad blank in our little circle at Christmas-time, but my own
gratification must not weigh in the balance against my child's comfort
and health."
"Where is your faith,--where is your faith?" moaned poor Emmie,
repeating to herself again and again her brother's question, as she
paced up and down her own apartment, wringing her hands. "Oh, miserable
doubt and mistrust! I might once have met my enemy on the ground of
duty, and by prayer and resolute effort have gained some strength to
meet more serious trials; but I let my fears subdue me without a
struggle to cast them off, and now I lie prostrate,--a helpless victim
bound in their chains. Usefulness marred, peace destroyed, a horrible
dread on my mind, a reproving conscience within my breast, I seem now
unable even to pray! I have let go the Hand that would so gently have
led me; darkness is thick around me; I cannot find my Heavenly Guide! I
dread to keep silent, yet dare not speak. Oh, that horrible, blasphemous
oath!"
But it is time that the reader should be made acquainted with the
circumstances which led to Emmie's present state of misery. We will
therefore return to that point in the story where we left the maiden
silently tracking in the darkness the steps of Jael up the dark and
narrow stone stairs.