"Great Heavens! my child, what is the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing, Mr Hampton," cried Gertrude. "Something touched my
hand. Oh, Bruno, you bad dog, how you frightened me!"
The cry brought Mrs Denton to the door, and she hurried away directly
to return with a light, just as the dog set up another mournful howl
which echoed dismally in the gloomy ranges of cellars.
As the light shone in, the old woman holding it high above her head,
Gertrude was clinging to the old lawyer's arm, and the dog was crouched
in the sawdust close to the broken bottle of port, whose rich contents
had made a broad stain upon the floor.
"Well," said the old man, "I must not scold you, my dear, for being
startled, but you made me jump. Come along."
"No, no," said Gertrude hastily. "You must reach down another bottle of
port."
"What, after we have wasted one!" Gertrude responded by taking the
candle from Mrs Denton's hand, and fetching another bottle from the
bin, the dog following her uneasily, whining and tottering on his legs,
and showing great unwillingness to follow, till Gertrude coaxed him back
to his bed in the corner of the hall, after the cellar had been duly
locked up, and the keys replaced in the cabinet drawer.
"I suppose we must blame George Harrington for upsetting us, and making
us so nervous," said Mrs Hampton, with a forced laugh, as Gertrude
re-entered the drawing-room; "but, good gracious, child! there's a
dress! You look as if you had been committing a murder."
Gertrude turned ghastly pale, and looked down at her soft, light dress,
which was splashed and stained in great patches with the wine.
"Mrs Hampton!"
"What a stupid thing to say, my dear," cried the old lady excitedly.
"Don't take any notice of it. There, let's go to dinner."
That meal was not a success, for every one seemed troubled and nervous,
one infecting the other, but no allusion was made to the absentee, till
they were seated alone over dessert, when, as the old lawyer sipped his
claret, he said suddenly:
"You are right. I've been thinking it over. Saul Harrington's
invitation was too much for him. He repented of his refusal, and has
gone off after him."
"Yes," said Mrs Hampton, "that's it."
Gertrude was silent. Her thoughts seemed to enchain the power of
speech.
"Don't look so troubled about it, my dear. He is a bachelor yet, and is
making use of his last few days or weeks of freedom. We shall be having
a letter from him soon. Con--bless that dog! Are you going to keep him
in the house all night, my dear?"
"I did mean to, Mr Hampton," said Gertrude, as a low, piteous,
moan-like howl came from the hall.
"Like my impudence to speak," muttered the old lawyer; "seemed to think
I was at home."
"He shall be taken to the stables, poor fellow," said Gertrude, rising.
"Mrs Hampton, shall we go to the drawing-room?"
"To be sure, my dear. And Hampton, don't stop long."
"No, my love," said the old man gallantly, holding open the door; "and
when I come up I hope we are to have some music."
This was promised, and the lawyer returned to his seat, filled his
glass, held it up brow high, looked full at the portrait of his old
client, and nodded gravely.
"Your health, Harrington, old friend," he said; and he half emptied his
glass, and set it down.
"Absurd thing to wish a dead man health," he continued, as he gazed full
at the portrait. "Ought to have said welfare. Hallo! What's that?"
He turned his face to the door, and sat listening to a faint whining,
and the pattering of claw-armed feet on the floor.
"Humph! Poor brute, getting him to the stables, I suppose. Better
there."
Then, as silence once more reigned in the place, he sat back, and gazed
up at the portrait.
"You meant well, old friend," he said, "but you understood the care of
money better than the workings of human nature. James Harrington, you
understood laying down good wine, too; but, between ourselves, you made
as bad a will as ever I helped to draw up."
"Ah," he continued, after a pause, "you may look as stern as you please;
you know I'm telling the truth, and I shall do everything I can to upset
your plans."
He nodded, and sat sipping his wine.
"A scamp!" he said. "But one might have expected some good in him,
perhaps, such as tempted him to send the old man money, but an utter,
reckless scoundrel at heart. I loathe him, and he must not be allowed
to marry our poor little girl. It would be too cruel."
There was another sip or two of wine taken, as the old man gazed
thoughtfully before him.
"No; he has not gone with Saul Harrington, but on some expedition of his
own. Well, I can do nothing in that direction--I wish I could; but the
money is his, and he has a right to spend it as he pleases. A pity,
though--a pity. Eh?"
"Coffee, sir."
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Denton. Yes; thank you."
The old man helped himself to sugar and milk, before taking the cup from
the tray, when he found the housekeeper's eyes fixed upon him
pleadingly.
"Yes, Denton; you wanted to say something."
"Oh, yes, sir--so much. You knew master so well and he trusted in you."
"Not so much as I could have wished, Denton, but what is it?"
"Can't you do something, sir?"
"Something, Denton?"
"Something to persuade my poor dear young mistress; to alter her mind.
There, sir," cried the old woman, changing her tone from one of pleading
to one of anger and dislike, "I'd sooner see the poor child in her grave
than Master George's wife."
The old lawyer looked at her gravely for a few moments, and was about to
speak out as he felt, but directly after, with the cultivated caution of
his profession, he said slowly: "We must see, Mrs Denton--we must see."
Then, swallowing his coffee at a draught, he set down the cup, and
placing his hands behind him, as if to preserve his balance, he left the
room.
Denton stood looking after him till he was gone, and then turned, and
gazed up at the portrait.
"Oh, master," she half sobbed, "you ought to have known better--you
ought to have known better. She'll marry him unless something is done,
and all to please you."
Tea was on the way soon after, and, forgetful of the coffee he had just
swallowed, the old lawyer took a cup, and wandered all over the room
with it, pausing thoughtfully to stir it in different corners, his brain
busy the while.
At last he laid the spoon in the saucer, and was raising the cup to sip
the half-cold contents, when there was a sharp ring at the great
gate-bell.
"A letter," said Mrs Hampton sharply.
"Or a telegram," said the old lawyer.
Then there was a pause, in the midst of which the iron gate was heard to
clang, and footsteps sounded on the gravel.
"A visitor--so late!" said Gertrude in a trembling voice.
"George Harrington come back," said the old lawyer shortly.
His words had a strange effect upon Gertrude, who sank back in her seat,
and half closed her eyes, while a faint shudder ran through her.
"Not much like a lover," muttered Mrs Hampton, watching her in a
sidelong way, as her eyes closed more and more, and a long-drawn sigh
escaped her breast.
Meanwhile, the front door was heard to close, and there were steps in
the hall, as if some one was being shown into the study.
"It is not Mr Harrington," said Gertrude, starting up; and, as the
remembrance of the old housekeeper's ominous declarations came back, she
caught at Mrs Hampton's outstretched hand.
"Be calm, my dear."
"But it is some bad news," whispered Gertrude; and the feeling gained
strength as the old housekeeper tapped at the door, and entered, looking
wild and scared.
The old lawyer grasped in an instant that something was wrong, and he
came forward.
"Leave it to me, my dear," he said with quick firmness. "Now, Mrs
Denton, what is it?"
"A gentleman, sir."
"To see me?"
"No, sir; he asked to see Miss Gertrude."
"Well, what does he want? Did he send in a card?"
"No, sir."
"Then who is he?"
"If you please, sir," stammered the old woman, "he said he was Master
George."