‘Nearly ten years older than I am,’ she remarked, ‘and fourteen years
younger than Mr Aslatt; so you see he really is old.’
‘Not old for a man,’ I ventured to say.
‘Yes; he is,’ contradicted my companion impatiently, shaking back her
golden hair.
At this moment Mr Aslatt entered the room in which we were sitting. ‘I
have just been thinking, Rose,’ he said, ‘that if it is fine to-morrow,
we might ride over to Ashdene. I daresay Miss Bygrave would like to see
the old Priory there.—Are you fond of riding?’ he added, addressing me.
It was long since I had been in the saddle; but in earlier years I had
exceedingly enjoyed the exercise, and I told him so.
‘Then I hope you will enjoy a ride to-morrow,’ he said. ‘I think I have
a horse that you will like, and Rose will lend you a riding-habit.’
I thanked him heartily; but Rose said decidedly: ‘I cannot go to
Ashdene to-morrow; you forget that it is my day for visiting the
school.’
Mr Aslatt’s face changed, and a look passed across it, which I should
have called a look of pain had not the cause been so trivial. ‘Surely
you need not go to the school to-morrow, Rose,’ he said gently; ‘your
visit is not of so much importance, but that Mr Hammond can manage
without you for once.’
Rose’s face crimsoned and her lip pouted, but she made no reply; and
Mr Aslatt hastily introduced another subject of conversation. But her
brightness was gone for the rest of the evening; she replied shortly
and coldly to her guardian’s remarks, and flatly refused to sing
when he asked her to do so. It was evident that her conduct grieved
him, for the look of pain was more clearly visible; but he shewed no
sign of resentment, and the tone in which he bade her good-night was
as affectionate as if her behaviour had been all that he could have
desired.
‘This is the way to the haunted rooms,’ said Rose as we went up to
bed together, opening as she spoke a door at the top of the draughty
staircase. She raised her lamp, so that its light rendered visible the
gloom of the dreary corridor. The air which met us had a close musty
smell; and the grotesque figures carved on the oak panels, with the
sculptures in the distance casting dim shadows on the opposite wall,
had rather a weird appearance in the uncertain light. Suddenly a door
creaked on its hinges, and Rose sprang back, uttering a faint cry, and
hastily closed the door which communicated with this passage. ‘Did you
hear that?’ she asked in an awe-struck whisper.
‘Why, you silly girl,’ I said laughingly, ‘what you heard was only the
effect of the wind!’
She shook her head unbelievingly, and replied: ‘Well, remember, I warn
you to shun that part of the house, especially when night is coming on.’
The next morning, at an early hour, the horses were brought to the
door, and Mr Aslatt, Rose, and I started for Ashdene. Rose had made
no further opposition to the expedition, and there was no trace of
vexation on her lovely face as we rode off. She looked remarkably
well in her riding costume. The close-fitting habit of dark-blue
cloth shewed to advantage the exquisite symmetry of her figure; and
the little velvet hat, whose sole ornament was a heron’s plume, was
very becoming to the fair face. She was an accomplished rider, and
controlled admirably, without the least appearance of effort, the
spirited movements of the beautiful animal she rode. It was a bright
May morning, and the ride was most enjoyable. About noon we reached
the little town of Ashdene, where we dismounted; and after partaking
of some luncheon at the hotel, proceeded to view the ruins of the old
Priory. Here we found so much to interest us that the afternoon was far
advanced before we were ready to return. As we were walking our horses
up a hill not very far from home, I saw a young man coming towards us
dressed in a gray tweed suit. As he came into view, Mr Aslatt urged his
horse into a canter; but Rose checked hers as it quickened its pace,
and said reproachfully: ‘The horses are tired, cousin; we must not
hurry them up this hill.’
As the young man drew near, he raised his hat. ‘Good afternoon,
Hammond,’ said Mr Aslatt, rather stiffly I thought.
How it happened I don’t know, but just then Rose dropped her
riding-whip, and it fell within a few feet of Mr Hammond. He picked it
up in a moment, and handed it to the young lady, who thanked him most
graciously, and even bent down from her saddle to shake hands with him.
‘I was so sorry to be absent from my post to-day, Mr Hammond,’ she
said; ‘but we were tempted to take advantage of this fine day for a
ride to Ashdene.’
‘It was a great disappointment to the scholars not to see you,’ he
replied; ‘but they have no cause to complain, for it is so seldom you
are absent. I think you are if possible too devoted to their welfare.’
‘That is my opinion too, Mr Hammond,’ interrupted my employer; ‘and you
must not be surprised if for the future you do not see Miss Sinclair so
frequently at the school.’
‘I trust that will not be the case,’ exclaimed Rose indignantly. ‘I see
no necessity for changing my habits.’ She looked quite angry as she
spoke, and I felt sorry for Mr Aslatt, he seemed so agitated.
Mr Hammond smiled complacently at Rose’s remark, and there was
something almost supercilious in his manner as he bade Mr Aslatt ‘Good
afternoon;’ but the bow and parting glance he bestowed upon his ward
were most deferential in their admiring homage. As we pursued our way
in silence, the expression of Rose’s face plainly shewed that she
considered herself injured.
Mr Hammond was a good-looking young man, apparently about thirty,
though he might have been older. Good-looking though he was, his
countenance did not impress me favourably. His dark eyes had a hard
look, in spite of their fine shape and lustrous hue, and there were
faint indications of self-indulgence in the curves of his mobile mouth.
His manner was easy and suggestive of conceit; in short, his appearance
inspired me with distrust. Perhaps the want of cordiality which Mr
Aslatt’s manner betrayed, contrasting so vividly with Rose’s gracious
greeting, may have given rise to this feeling on my part.
Rose kept up an appearance of offended dignity during dinner-time
and as long as she remained in Mr Aslatt’s presence. But as we were
strolling in the garden after dinner, she suddenly asked me what I
thought of Mr Hammond. Guessing that she had a great liking for that
individual, I was guarded in my reply to her query, merely reminding
her how impossible it was to form a just estimate of anybody in such a
brief interview.
‘Did you notice how rudely Mr Aslatt spoke to him?’ she next inquired.
‘I observed that he seemed impatient of the interruption,’ I replied;
‘but I do not think his words were rude.’
‘I believe he hates Mr Hammond,’ she said quickly. ‘You cannot
think how unjust he is to him. You know Mr Hammond is the village
schoolmaster. There was no school in the village many years ago, when
Mr Aslatt came to reside here, so he built a very nice school-house at
his own expense (I must take you to see it to-morrow), and promised
always to make up the master’s salary to a certain sum. For years I
have been accustomed to go in and out the school whenever I like;
and when I asked to be allowed to give the children a weekly singing
lesson, Mr Aslatt made no objection, indeed he seemed pleased for me
to do so. But since old Mr Green died, and Mr Hammond succeeded him,
he has changed his mind on the subject, and can’t bear me to go to the
school-house. At first he seemed to like Mr Hammond so much; but lately
he has taken a decided dislike to him; though what poor Mr Hammond
has done to call forth such a feeling, I cannot imagine. Cousin has
tried to persuade me to give up my visits to the school; but that I am
resolved not to do, and I have told him so. He also tried to get my
consent to our removing to London for the season; but I would not agree
to that. So then he could not rest till he had got a companion for me.
I made no opposition to that plan, although I did not like the idea,
for I saw he had set his mind upon it, and I could not bear to vex
him. He is so good to me, and I am not altogether ungrateful, though
I do behave so naughtily. I know you thought my conduct very bad at
dinner-time, for you looked so dreadfully grave.’
She glanced up at me as she spoke with such a pretty air of
deprecation, so like a petted child, that I could not find heart to
scold her. Indeed her captivating ways so fascinated me, that although
I saw much to disapprove, I was disposed to be very lenient towards her
faults.