THE QUEST CONTINUED.
_From Clement Hazeldine to Hermia Rivers_.
"Having written and posted my last letter to you, I lost no time in
asking Mr. Gruding, the landlord of the hotel where I am staying, to
again favor me with his company for a short time. It was from him I
had obtained my information about Mr. Hodgson, and it seemed not
unlikely that he might be able to supply me with some particulars
anent Miss Pengarvon, of Broome.
"Nor was I mistaken. Gruding had much that was interesting to tell me
in answer to the questions I put to him; all of which shall be re-told
you fully when next we meet.
"The interview with my landlord took place on Saturday. Having decided
upon seeing Miss Pengarvon for myself, I made my way yesterday morning
to the church she is in the habit of attending, which is situated on
the outskirts of the village of Dritton, and within half-a-mile of the
Hall; and there, in a square, old-fashioned pew, shut up by herself in
isolated dignity, sat the last living representative of the old
family.
"I was fortunate enough to be so placed as to have a good view of Miss
Pengarvon during the progress of the service, and I took care to be
standing close to the porch when she emerged from the church. She was
followed by an old serving man, who limped somewhat, and who carried
his mistress's capacious umbrella and large-print prayer-book.
"Enclosed is a sketch-likeness of Miss Pengarvon, elaborated from a
rougher sketch which I made seated on a tombstone, as soon as the
congregation had dispersed and I was left alone.
"Now I want you, dearest, to tell me whether you can detect in the
sketch any resemblance to either of the two ladies whom you saw that
evening in the oak-panelled room, as described by you in your last
letter but one."
_Hermia Rivers to Clement Hazeldine_.
"Without committing myself to a positive statement, I can safely say
that the sketch of Miss Pengarvon, which I received from you this
morning, bears a marked resemblance to the face of the elder of the
two sisters--if sisters they were--as stored up in my memory all these
years. More than that it would not be safe for me to say."
If Clem had been troubled by any faint doubts before as to whether he
was on the right track, the receipt of Hermia's last note would have
served to finally dissipate them. Being satisfied so far, he was at
once faced by the question, what ought his next step to be? It was a
question hard to answer, because it seemed to him that beyond the
point at which he had now arrived he had no sure ground to go upon.
As far as he had gone each step he had taken had pointed the way to
the next; but he now found himself, as it were, confronted by a dead
wall. Despite all he had discovered so far, he felt that he had no
sufficient basis of facts to warrant him in going to Miss Pengarvon.
What, indeed, could he say to her if he sought and obtained an
interview? He would simply be showing his hand prematurely, with the
result, in all likelihood, of defeating the very object he had in
view.
But although he could not see his way to call upon the mistress of
Broome, Clement was by no means minded to give up his quest at the
point to which he had now brought it, and admit his inability to push
it to a further issue. Somewhere in the dark must be hidden another
link of the chain, if only he knew in which direction to put forth his
hands and grope for it.
Two or three days passed without bringing him any suggestion that
seemed worth following up. Then, on the third forenoon, as he stood
leaning over a gate in a country lane, staring at nothing in
particular in a somewhat disconsolate mood, he said to himself:
"Perhaps if I could obtain access to the old Hall, and were allowed to
go over it, I might chance to light on something which would furnish
me with a hint or a clue to that which I am so anxious to find out."
The course in question seemed such an obvious one that he was
surprised it had failed to suggest itself to him before.
As soon as he got back to the hotel he sought another interview with
his landlord, who opened his eyes to their fullest extent when told
his guest's object in sending for him. He, Gruding, had never heard of
anybody who wanted to go over Broome. It wasn't a show place, and, as
far as he knew, there was nothing in it worth seeing. But granting
that anyone should want to go over it, he didn't for a moment suppose
that Miss Pengarvon would allow them to do so. Still, he might be
wrong. He had reason to believe that his barmaid's brother was engaged
to a young woman who was in service at Broome, and there was no doubt
the young fellow in question could easily get to know through his
sweetheart whether there was any likelihood of a stranger being
allowed to explore the interior of the Hall.
At Clement's request a message was sent to Mark Finch--that being the
young fellow's name--asking him to call upon Doctor Hazeldine at the
"King's Arms" as soon as his day's work was over. In due course he
made his appearance, and great was his astonishment when told what he
was wanted for. Like the landlord, he had never heard of anybody who
was anxious to explore the old mansion; nor did he believe they would
be allowed to do so. However he would ask his sweetheart, Lucy Grice,
whom he was going to meet that evening, and would let the gentleman
know her opinion in the matter by breakfast-time next morning.
Lucy's opinion proved to be merely a confirmation of those already
enunciated by Gruding and Mark Finch, except that it was expressed in
still more emphatic terms. Anybody, she said, who was acquainted with
Miss Pengarvon would know quite well that on no account whatever would
that lady allow a stranger, who could allege the gratification of an
idle curiosity as his only motive for wanting to do so, to set foot
across the threshold of Broome. Many people in Clem's place would have
given up the point as hopeless; but he was composed of more stubborn
stuff. Mark Finch was told to come again in the evening, when he would
have time for a long talk with Dr. Hazeldine.
Into the details of the conversation that passed between the two it is
not needful that we should enter. Mark and Lucy, it seemed, were
desirous of getting married, and were saving up towards housekeeping
with that end in view. Towards the fund thus being accumulated Clem
offered to contribute five pounds, on condition that Lucy, unknown to
the other inmates, should admit him to the Hall, and show him over
that part of it which was shut up and unoccupied. The girl would be at
his heels the whole time he was inside the house, and would be able to
watch his every movement; while, finally, he engaged that an hour and
a half at most should elapse between the time of his entering the
house and leaving it.
The temptation proved too strong for the lovers to resist. Lucy
foresaw no difficulty in carrying out her part of the scheme. Once a
month her uncle, Barney Dale, went to Marrowfield, as he had done for
the last quarter of a century, to dispose of the work of his
mistress's needle. Three days hence was his time for going, and Dr.
Hazeldine's exploration must take place while he was away. Breakfast
would be over, and Miss Pengarvon, intent on her work in the Green
Parlor, would hear nothing. As a further safeguard, however, it might
be as well if the young doctor were to wear a pair of list slippers
over his boots.
As it was arranged so it was carried out. Clement was surreptitiously
admitted at the side entrance about half-an-hour after Barney had
taken his departure. Under the guidance of the girl he tramped
upstairs and down in his list slippers, passing from one unused room
to another, having here a shutter opened for him, so as to let in a
modified daylight, and there a blind partly drawn up. Many of the
rooms were entirely denuded of furniture, while in others what there
was of it was sheeted up in brown holland. Everywhere the dust lay
thick and heavy; the clouded mirrors could but reflect the ghosts, as
it were, of the young man and the girl as they passed in front of
them. Nearly every corner was festooned with huge cobwebs; behind the
wainscoting the mice squeaked and scampered; everything was touched by
the mouldering finger of decay. When Clement and his guide spoke to
each other it was as people speak in the chamber of death.
Last of all they came to the picture-gallery, where hung some score or
more portraits of dead and gone Pengarvons. A lozenge-paned oriel
window at one end, the upper half of which was filled with painted
glass, suffused the gallery with a faintly-tinted half-light, which
seemed fitly to accord with the place and the throng of dumbly-staring
effigies on its walls. Clem walked up to the oriel and gazed out into
the grounds, while Lucy proceeded to open the shutters of two of the
long windows which fronted the portraits. Presently Clem's eyes came
back to the window, and to a recognition of the fact that sundry names
and initials had been scratched with a diamond here and there on its
panes. Among them he found one which sent a sudden rush of blood to
his heart the moment his eyes lighted on it. Surmounted by a true
lover's knot, and with the date 1649 below, were the two names "Hermia
Moray" and "Rupert Pengarvon." Here was proof positive of one
thing--that "Hermia" was a name not unknown in the Pengarvon annals
upwards of two centuries ago. Clem felt that this discovery alone
amply rewarded him for his exploration of the Hall. Presently he
turned to examine the portraits. One after another his gaze took them
in till the series was exhausted. They comprised both sexes, and some
of the oldest of them, judging from their costumes, seemed to date
back to the time of the First or Second Charles, but apparently none
were more modern than the first decade of the present century. Then
Clement went back to one of the portraits, and stood gazing at it in
silence for a long time. It was the likeness of a girl of nineteen or
twenty, wearing a short-waisted white robe, a broad blue sash, and a
wide-brimmed hat with sweeping plumes over an elaborate arrangement of
curls and loosely-coiled tresses. Taken simply as a work of art, it
was the gem of the gallery, and Clem at once set it down as being from
the brush of either Lawrence or Sir Joshua. But what struck him more
than aught else was the strange, haunting likeness it bore to Hermia.
Not merely was it that the eyes and hair of one and the other
approximated closely in color, and that the features of both might
almost have been cast in the same mould, there was an indescribable
something, a sort of spiritual likeness, so to call it, which brought
them into closer affinity than any mere similarity of physical
attributes would have served to do. Long and earnestly did Clement
gaze at the beautiful face with its hovering smile, and its fathomless
violet eyes which seemed as if they were reading his inmost thoughts.
Lucy, when questioned, could tell him nothing about the original. She
had only been in the gallery once before, and felt anything but
comfortable with all those staring eyes following her every movement.
But it would not do to linger there forever. Clem had brought
sketching materials with him in readiness for any emergency that might
arise, and he now proceeded, with a few bold, swift touches, to secure
the salient points of the likeness which had for him an interest far
exceeding that of all the other portraits put together.
He left Stavering by the afternoon train that same day, and a few
hours later was back at home.